The Venerable Reid
The present life of man...seems to me ... like to the swift flight of a sparrow... flying in at one door, and immediately out at another, whilst he is within, is safe from the wintry storm; but after a short space of fair weather, he immediately vanishes out of your sight, into the dark winter from which he had emerged. So this life of man appears for a short space, but of what went before, or what is to follow, we are utterly ignorant. – Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, The Venerable Bede (c. 672-735), Anglo-Saxon historian, theologian, and scientific writer.
Dr. Spencer Reid's gaze was drawn to movement in the leafy bushes at the edge of the manicured lawn outside the ivy-ringed bay window of his university chambers. Presently a red fox emerged. Reid watched it delicately sniff the air and held his breath, fascinated by this rare glimpse of the wild. A breeze stirred the leaves, ruffling the fox's russet fur. It lifted its muzzle and turned its head toward the windows. For a moment, the fox locked eyes with Reid, before slipping silently back into the spring foliage.
Reid sighed contentedly and pivoted stiffly, absently rubbing his left knee. Rays of weak afternoon sun fell on the papers, books, and untidy stacks of unopened mail lying on his antique oak desk. The February issue of The American Journal of Medical Genetics lay open above scattered sheets of blue-lined, ruled drawing paper on which was scrawled his latest treatise. He would have to verify that last equation, he thought. It was almost too elegant to be true. And his professional rivals would seize on the slightest error with glee. After years of scientific celebrity, Reid was used to his colleagues' professional jealousies.
Reid idly fingered a mastodon tooth that lay among the fossils, rocks, and jarred specimens scattered across his desk. The equation had been an exhilarating distraction. It had flashed through his mind, so simple and pure, that even he was impressed by its brilliance. But polishing this startling insight for his peers would have to wait. His publishers were clamoring for the final chapters of his next mass-market book. They were eager to follow up on the startling success of his autobiography. Mind Reader, Crime Stopper, describing his early years at the FBI's BAU, was into its fourth printing, the first 50,000 paperback copies already on order.
Reid pondered with bemusement how far his career had come based on the unique combination of his genius 187 I.Q., his experience delving into human behavior, nine graduate and postgraduate degrees, anthropological and environmental research, plus unprecedented empathy and sensitivity to both man and nature. Without courting fame or fortune, Reid found himself all alone at the top of a new field of study. One of his own making, invented to engage his wide-ranging interests.
A shadowy figure appeared in the doorway of his outer office.
"Come in, Mrs. Adamson. You look untidy hovering there," Reid said.
A petite, attractive brunette of middle years stepped across the threshold, carrying a sheaf of papers. A short asymmetric haircut drew attention to her oval face and hazel eyes. She was wearing a gray and white plaid wool skirt, a long-sleeved red silk blouse, and pearl earrings. A slight smile graced her lips.
"You know I never want to accidentally distract you, Professor," Mrs. Adamson said. Her eyes roved over his tall, lanky figure, approving the soft wool charcoal trousers, purple and black-striped shirt, and black vest. "An idea that could change the world might escape," she continued with gentle humor, sensing his good mood.
"Not likely. Besides, if I had been absorbed in thought, I wouldn't have noticed you," Reid pointed out.
"You know I can't take a chance. I couldn't live with the guilt."
Reid laughed. Their familiar banter meant everything was still safe and serene in his world.
"I wish you had come in earlier," Reid said. He waved vaguely toward the window. "A red fox at the edge of the wood," he said animatedly. "For an instant, we communed."
"How wonderful," she said, eyes sparkling.
"Do you think it's too late to become a naturalist?" Reid asked wistfully.
"Not if you invent a 38-hour day. You don't even have time to eat as it is." She pulled a half-eaten turkey and cheese sandwich from under a stack of galley proofs for his soon-to-be published collection of essays, The Unforeseen Universe.
"That's from yesterday. I haven't unwrapped today's. Eating's overrated," he defended himself.
"At least you'll get dinner at the reception tonight," she commented, tossing the stale bread into Reid's overflowing trashcan.
"Chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas. I hate peas," he said, grimacing. "Even if they do contain phenylethylamine."
"Eat every bite," she said sternly, ignoring his outburst.
"I think I'll just skip to the dessert. And the coffee," Reid declared.
Mrs. Adamson shook her head, amused at his sometimes Peter Pan-like refusal to grow up. She was a widow with a 17-year-old son. Hired as Professor Reid's research librarian four years ago, she had quickly become his girl Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. In fact, she was literally "on-call." Even on social occasions, she carried a notebook to jot down the Professor's musings. She knew that behind her back, she was referred to as Professor Reid's "office wife." She considered it an honor.
"A couple of matters we need to deal with before you have to leave," she said.
"How is it possible that more work comes in than goes out?" Reid protested.
The phone in the outer office began to ring. Mrs. Adamson picked up the receiver on Reid's desk.
"Office of Research Professor Dr. Spencer Reid," she said briskly. "Oh, yes. Hello, Mr. Wharton."
Reid's hands made vague fluttering motions, as he shook his head "no" vigorously.
She shot him an exasperated glance. "I'm sorry, but Professor Reid is chairing a department meeting. Of course, I'll let him know you called. Yes, yes, I have your number. Have a nice day."
She replaced the receiver and fixed Reid with a stare. "I'll tell Professor Reid that a big, bad, billionaire philanthropist is trying to shower him with laurels and gold."
"He wants to own me," Reid complained. "What if the results of my research don't support his theories?"
"'Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored,'" she quoted.
"Aldous Huxley," Reid responded absently, penciling a note in the margin of a student's doctoral thesis. Mrs. Adamson waited expectantly until he had finished.
"I'll turn him down politely tomorrow," Reid promised finally.
"I hear he has a temper."
"Yes. That's part of his profile," Reid agreed. "Don't worry. I know exactly how to handle him. He'll thank me for refusing his offer and become an even stronger ally."
"Promise me you'll only use your powers for good," she said.
Reid laughed. "You know, of course, that when I whip off these glasses and geek disguise, I'm actually a geek who wears glasses."
"I've always suspected as much," she said good-humoredly. "Maybe you can demonstrate your powers by reading these papers I'm holding using your extremely myopic vision."
"Letters from publishers, universities, and people I have never met with questions I have no expertise to handle," Reid said without hesitation.
"Don't forget susceptible maidens of tender years," Mrs. Adamson teased.
"What on earth are you talking about?"
Mrs. Adamson waved a lavender sheet of stationery. "Miss Henley, a gushingly young art student, was so inspired by your speech at Duquesne University, she has painted an abstract she calls, 'Portrait of Dr. Spencer Reid'."
She handed over a photo. "I haven't the foggiest idea what you said to inspire that."
"Something dark and incoherent, apparently. What are those red and blue splotches meant to represent?"
"I have no idea," she shrugged.
"I helped solve a case once by rearranging a collage that seemed meaningless. But this…." Reid shook his head in wry amusement. "Send her a thank you letter, telling her I am honored and wishing her acclaim as an artist."
He handed the photo back. "What else?"
"Your lecture dates for next fall are mostly firmed up. You'll be on the road all of October and November. Northwestern is still haggling over the lecture fee. I think we've exchanged two dozen letters over the past three years."
"You know I leave these arrangements to you."
"That's because you can't play hardball," she said fondly. "Don't worry. They'll come around on the fee. There are at least 15 other universities hoping Northwestern falls through."
"You've booked them so I'm not zigzagging all over the country?" Reid had long ago tired of the extended college tours demanded by his renown.
"Of course."
Reid sighed. "I do miss the BAU jet."
"I still think you made that up," Mrs. Adamson teased.
"I protest. In 249 different languages, including Klingon and Jingpho."
"Spare me your multilingual indignation. I refuse to believe in this mythical jet."
"It was real," Reid insisted. "'For one brief shining moment….' Like Camelot."
Mrs. Adamson watched his eyes light with the flame of memory. She knew he missed the BAU and the camaraderie of his former teammates.
Reid shook off his reverie and smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry. I was looking into a distant mirror."
She took in the large, wide-spaced eyes and classically modeled face that only seemed to improve with age and thought it must have been a lovely reflection.
"Where were we?" Reid asked.
"Discussing your travel schedule. When you get back from Montréal…"
"Why am I in Montréal?" Reid asked.
"To accept an honorary degree as a Doctor of Science from McGill University."
"I already have one from McGill," Reid protested.
"An honorary Doctor of Engineering. Not Science," she corrected him.
"There must be some deserving person who doesn't have even one yet," Reid said.
"And probably never will with Dr. Spencer Reid always in the running," she asserted.
"I only have 22 honorary degrees," he said defensively.
"So far. When you get back from Montréal," she resumed, "you need to accept or reject the invitation to be Sloan Visiting Professor at the Menniger Foundation. The honorarium is outrageously more than any human except you is worth."
"One semester of research and writing, yes?" Reid confirmed.
"With a single public lecture at the end of your tenure," she added.
"There's always a catch," he lamented.
"A few more things," she said without commiseration. "First off, congratulations."
Reid raised an eyebrow, surprised and curious.
"Prisons of the Mind: Unlocking Schizophrenia is the winner of the national Phi Beta Kappa Science Prize," she announced.
Mrs. Adamson watched a slow smile soften his features. "Your mother will be so proud," she said.
"I hope so." It was barely a whisper. The pain in his eyes broke her heart, as it always did.
"Of course, she'll be proud," she said vigorously. "I've already sent her a brief note. You can give her the full details in your next letter."
"I vowed to find a cure," Reid said quietly.
"More patients live normal lives than ever before, thanks to your research," she reminded him again. He seemed to crave this reassurance regularly. She could only imagine what demons drove that need.
"Treatment, not cure," Reid emphasized, not meeting her gaze.
"You have made a difference."
"I have to work harder," Reid said doggedly. But she heard the sadness and exhaustion behind his renewed resolve.
"You already do," she said soothingly.
"It's never enough, though, is it?" he said ruefully.
Outside, the shadows were lengthening. She reached over and turned on the Tiffany desk lamp to hold back the encroaching twilight.
"Just one more item before you have to leave." She unfolded a buff-colored sheet of paper. From the back, Reid could see the stamped emblem of an institution bleeding through.
"It's from a David Ruthven, Director of Archives at Cornell University. Would you consider placing your papers in the University's Special Collection?" she summarized.
"Donate my papers?" Reid asked, taken aback at this reminder of his mortality. "I'm still a few steps from the grave, I hope. Tell him I need my papers to carry on my work. Tell him I think his request is premature."
"Certainly," she said, amused.
"Anyway, I'm leaning towards Caltech."
Her eyes followed Reid's to the far wall that was crowded with certificates, awards, and degrees. In a place of honor in the center was the ornate gold frame holding his PhD from Caltech.
"It was the first place I fit in. Where being a genius was normal," Reid said.
He gave her a crooked smile. "Not once did anyone stuff me in a locker."
Mrs. Adamson laughed because he expected her to. It wasn't the first time a remembered hurt had surfaced, even though Reid usually made light of it.
"For that reason alone, you should include them in your will," she agreed jokingly.
Reid put down his fountain pen and stepped out from behind his desk. Keeping his left hand flat against the surface, he shifted his weight off of his left leg.
"Bothering you again?" she asked sympathetically.
"With $22,000 worth of screws and plates, you would think this bionic knee would work better. Do you mind?" Reid asked, gesturing toward a maple stand near the door.
"Not at all." She crossed the room quickly and returned with his cane. The ebony wood gleamed in the lamplight as Reid gripped the monogrammed sterling silver knob, burnished by use.
He limped around the desk and stopped in front of her. "You know, Rossi put on this cynical, tightfisted, tough guy act. Then he gives me this Italian handcrafted cane as my going-away present."
She listened fondly as Reid began to reminisce. Almost before he could ask, she handed him the oak-framed photograph. Facing the camera, arms around each other's shoulders like The Seven Musketeers smiled the BAU team. Reid was at the far left, beaming, a lock of hair falling over his right eye, impossibly young.
Reid handled it lovingly. "That was taken in 2012. Just before Emily Prentiss decided to go back to Interpol. But I've told you this before."
"I never mind," she said gently.
"That's me," he pointed, grinning boyishly. "Then Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, our Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, and the celebrated David Rossi. Best team of profilers ever," Reid boasted proudly.
He looked wistfully at these figures out of the past, then carefully set the photograph down.
"Age and nostalgia seem to be overtaking me," he said apologetically.
"So it happens to even the best of us. I feel better. Let's get you ready, all right? The limo is picking you up in precisely twenty-three minutes," she said, checking her watch.
She motioned, and he inched into the open. She took his black doctoral gown and black velvet four-sided tam from the coat rack. Solemnly, she held the gown up for him to slip on. Handing her the cane, he put his arms into the billowing sleeves.
Returning the cane, Mrs. Adamson eyed him with critical affection. She ran a finger over the three golden yellow bands on the sleeves and straightened the velvet-facing running down the front of the gown. Circling, she adjusted the hood, making sure the golden yellow velvet was prominently visible. Finally, she placed the tam on his head at a rakish angle and smoothed back an errant lock of hair.
"Your husband was a lucky man," Reid said.
"Thank you."
"My speech!" Reid's voice rose in mild panic.
"Right here." She produced a stack of index cards.
Pocketing them, Reid grinned at her impishly. "I've come a long way from rambling on and on about rare paraphilias," he remarked. "There are even times when the audience doesn't stare at me blankly and snicker."
"I heard you speak at the Distinguished Nevadan Awards, remember? You were spellbinding," she declared.
"I don't pay you enough, do I?" Reid said.
"Not even close. Ready?"
Reid looked around distractedly before nodding.
"Then off you go," she directed, giving his arm an encouraging pat.
She watched Reid stride across the office, his limp barely noticeable. Trying to hide it, she knew.
"Don't be nervous," she called as he reached the door. Reid turned briefly, winked, and was gone.
As soon as he disappeared, Mrs. Adamson was on her phone. This would be one of the proudest moments in Professor Dr. Reid's life. Time and distance had presented unexpected difficulties, but she had determined it would be especially memorable for one other reason as well. As she texted her thanks to Penelope Garcia, Mrs. Adamson wished she could be there to witness his surprise.
The East Room of the White House was bathed in the warm amber glow of three large Bohemian cut-glass chandeliers hanging from the plaster ceiling. Reid's eyes took in the paintings of George and Marsha Washington that flanked the doorway to his left. Beneath each painting, an antique Adam sofa hugged the wall. At the far end of the 80-foot-long room, fringed draperies with golden silk swag valances lent an 18th-century classical elegance to three narrow windows rising from floor to ceiling.
Seated on the small stage with Reid were the four other recipients of the night's awards. Reid shifted uncomfortably on the straight-backed wooden chair. Invited guests were still arriving, taking their places in the rows of chairs to the left and right of a center aisle. Reid listened to the murmur of quiet conversation as his eyes roamed the audience for familiar faces. Seeing none, he admired the colorful variety of evening gowns and the rare modern tuxedo.
The television crews had finished setting up near the windows when they filed in.
Rossi was in the lead, leaning on a flaxen-mopped Henry's arm, an ageless roué, sporting the dapper goatee and cutaway coat of an Italian nobleman. Then a trim, gray-silk-suited Morgan, arm-in-arm with a surprisingly understated Garcia in pale blue brocade and turquoise bangles. Behind them were a lovely JJ and Will, his hair now white, her long bob still blonde. A tall, lithe Jack, clean-cut, with an Ivy League haircut, followed.
And finally the solemn, careworn face of his beloved former Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner, rigidly erect, his close-cropped hair sprinkled with gray. And on his arm… No. Reid blinked. It couldn't be. But it was. On Hotch's arm, dignified and still remarkably vibrant, was Emily Prentiss. Emily, raven-haired, whose eyes immediately sought out his and whose full red lips instantly curved into a playful smile. Emily, whom Reid had seen last seen eight years ago, when he had received the Copley Medal from the Royal Society in London.
Reid felt sudden tears well up. He had hoped a handful of acquaintances would be on hand. But this was beyond all expectation. Mrs. Adamson, Reid realized, being lovingly thoughtful as always. That explained the recent flurry of messages and texts.
Reid watched, overcome by emotion as his now legendary teammates moved toward their reserved block of seats in the front row. As they drew even with Reid, Rossi halted. Edging up to the stage, he looked up at Reid with a twinkle in his eye.
"When you became Chair of the Faculty at MIT, I thought 'not bad, kid,'" he called up loudly, ignoring Reid's embarrassment. "When you received The Bradford Washburn award, I was impressed as hell. But now...Now, Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm beginning to be awed." With a bow and a grin, he motioned Henry to move on.
Reid blushed as the other award recipients chuckled and his friends passed by, smiling broadly.
No sooner were they seated than an expectant hush fell over the room. Two muscular, black-suited men with military haircuts and earpieces had entered. Secret Service, Reid thought, as their piercing eyes rapidly scanned the room, before turning back to the doorway and nodding.
Reid joined in the applause as the President of the United States appeared. With an energetic stride, the President reached the stage and stepped up to the dais. Acknowledging the awardees, the President faced the audience.
Reid couldn't contain a thrill of pride as the President began to speak.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is a privilege for me to award the distinguish scholars onstage tonight with the highest honor our nation reserves for achievement and leadership in advancing the fields of science and technology.
"These intellects and innovators," the President continued, "have enlarged our understanding of the world, made invaluable contributions to their fields of expertise, and improved countless lives. Our nation has been enriched by their achievements, and this country will be eternally grateful for their dedication to discovery and invention.
"The individuals you see behind me deserve the special recognition we are giving them by reason of their outstanding contributions to knowledge in the physical, biological, mathematical, engineering, or social and behavioral sciences. In some cases, they have contributed to more than one of these fields."
The President half-turned. "So it is with pride that I present the first of tonight's awards to Dr. Spencer Reid."
To cheers and applause, Reid rose on shaky legs.
"Dr. Spencer Reid," the President said, extending a sculpted golden medallion. "The National Medal of Science."