Dr. Spencer Reid had never wanted to get involved in this case.

He just knew from the start it was a bad idea. His headaches had been getting worse, and no doctor could tell him what was wrong. Even though he had brushed aside Hotch's offer to take some time, right now, he really wished that he had taken a few days off/

He finally reached his floor of his building and rubbed his midsection as it racked with pain. He had been shot during their last case. Luckily, he was wearing a bullet proof vest, but it still hurt like hell, and caused a wicked bruise.

He rummaged through his bag to find his keys. It was late, he was exhausted from the flight home, and all he wanted to do right now was to fall into bed.

Yes, sleep sounded like a good idea right now. He would shower later, it was all he took just to stay awake as he pushed his key into the lock and opened door. His alarm system didn't beep, which concerned him. He felt his hand drift towards his gun and he walked in.

He pulled it out of its holster, resting his hand on it. He searched his small apartment. It was clear. He breathed a sigh of relief and holstered his weapon. The alarm probably beeped. He was just paranoid and tired. He set his gun and holster on his well-worn dresser and slid his bag off of her shoulder, placing it neatly next to his holster. He winced as he turned around.

God, his stomach was killing him.

He treaded wearily into his front room so he could take off his shoes.

"Nice little place you have here." said a voice. Reid whipped around. A figure was standing by his bookcase. In one hand, a book titled "Demographics of Serial Killers." was opened casually to a page. In the other hand, a gun was pointed at Reid.

"W-who are you? How did you get in here?" Reid asked him, trying to keep his cool in front of this figure. The voice sounded deep, so it must have been a male.

"Oh, Spencer. We'll save that for later. And for how I got in here, well…" he chuckled. "You should really improve your security from a simple alarm like that."

Reid took a few deep breaths. "I thought it was pretty up-to-date."

"It wasn't very easy for me to get in here, really. That's something we're going to have to fix."

"We?" Reid questioned while his heart pounded in his chest.

"We is correct, Spencer. You feel it, don't you?"

"Feel what?"

"Your headaches, Spencer, your mind. You're a smart kid, but a skitzo for a mother and a runaway father? Harsh." Reid looked at the gun, and then let his eyes look around.

Find a weapon, find a weapon.

"Oh, I'm afraid you won't need any weapons. I don't intend to harm you."

"Then what's with the gun pointed at me?"

The person shrugged. "To keep you still. I need you alive to train you."

"Train me? Train me for what? Who are you?" he asked again.

"To kill."

If Reid's heart had been beating fast before, now it was doing a Macarena solo in his chest.

"You have a talent, and promise of what would make a good killer. And who am I?"

The person shut the book with a gloved hand and tossed it onto the floor. "Officially, my name is Scourge. But since you're going to be my apprentice, you can call me Master."

Reid stared at him. "Apprentice."

"Indeed, you heard me right, Spencer. Oh, and before you try and call your FBI friends…" Reid swore quietly to himself. His hand was only inches from his phone in his pocket.

"Do try and think of your dear mother. I'm sure you won't want any of the voices inside of her head to convince her to do something terrible. And I wouldn't tell anyone about this little meeting, apprentice. Give what I said a little thought, won't you?"

With that, the person backed into the shadows and left through the open window down the fire escape. Reid stared at the bookshelf and the book on the floor. When he was sure it was safe, he walked over to the bookshelf and picked up the book from the floor. He pushed it back into its place in the bookshelf, his hands shaking.

His mother was in danger. He didn't who this person was, and how they could hurt her… but he couldn't call his bluff. He didn't even know if he was bluffing.

He snapped the window shut, drew all the curtains, and turned on every light in his house. His bruised abdomen was the last thing on his mind as he started the coffee maker.

He didn't sleep at all the night, he didn't eat, he didn't read, he didn't do anything except drink cup after cup of coffee and thinking.

Yes, he was scared. Yes, he was worried. Yes, he wanted to tell someone.

But no, he couldn't.

And end. What do you guys think? It's my first Criminal Minds fic, though I've been a fan of the show for a long time. You like it? Hate it? Tell me what you think! Should I even update or leave it as it is? I'm not sure….

Peace and Mist,

Rlb190