THE BONDING

a/n: this is a follow up from THE CANDY SUCKERS....might be best you read that first if you've not already. Thank you!!!! Pb

The existence of forgetting has never been proved: We only know that some things don't come to mind when we want them. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

That is why I spend the next I don't know how long drinking myself back into oblivion and taking any drug I can get my hands on. The beauty of this place is that my ability to metabolise all the crap in my system doesn't work. I can feel the alcohol taking effect. I can feel powders and liquids rushing through my brain and I can feel that dead empty loss I am feeling. I don't often get the pleasure to actually feel things. Not physically and not emotionally, but here in my "room" somewhere in this dark place I can take it all on and think properly probably for the first time in decades. Maybe longer. Time has a funny way of running forwards too fast and then slipping back again. Memories too, they fade. There is too much to remember and so it just drifts away like the smoke from this thing I'm smoking right now.

I have a headache. Now I do know all about those. I live almost constantly with headaches and nose bleeds, but that was a small price to pay to be able to do what I was; whatever that was. I'm not sure I remember too well now. I remember his smell. I remember the feel of him under my hands. I remember the way he walked and those special little noises, but I'll be damned if I can remember what he looked like. Tall I think. Taller than me and skinny, but the face it just a blur of hundreds of blokes I've had and used and discarded. He had been special though. I thought would remember more, but even the sound of his voice has gone now and those special little things; all drifting from my mind ready to fill with some new slut.

They come in occasionally and we have a party, if you want to call it that. More of an orgy really, but I don't enjoy it. I have no control over what happens. I am the dog. I am the bit of meat they come looking for to use and discard and this is something I need to change. I need to talk to them. I am serving no purpose here drinking and getting high. I need to fill that empty place inside me. I need to fill someone else's empty place inside them, but not here. I need to go back down. I need to do what I enjoy. I need also to talk to the other team. Maybe they will have me back now?

So I get up and I walk away from my room. I walk in a random direction. It really doesn't matter as all directions lead you back to the same place in the end. At first it is just complete absolute darkness. There is nothing, but slowly the light appears around me. They know I am here. They know I am coming and so I keep walking.

'What do you want?'

The voice echoes around me from an unknown source.

'To go back.' I tell them as I peer out into the inky black.

'To do what?'

That is a very good question. 'To collect for you.'

'You are a fuck up Flanders. Go back to your room, when we have something for you we will send for you.'

'I can just go back and collect. I've never failed you there.' I don't actually know if I have or not to he honest. And honesty is not something which comes naturally to me.

'We have collectors. You're not needed. We've removed your bonds. There is no reason why we would choose you over someone who can do a job and not continually come to us complaining we changed the rules.'

I frown at the darkness and have to think about that one. 'But no one collects with the style I have.' More bullshit.

'You are begging to be returned? You have come here to ask for forgiveness?' Forgiveness? I have no bloody idea what they are talking about now.

'Sure. I'm err…I'm sorry?' I don't think I've ever used that word before and it has a surprising result.

'You will have to be careful Flanders. No more bonding. No more playing for the other side and you will find your abilities sorely reduced until you prove yourself to be of worth.'

'So I just collect? Nothing else? That's it?'

Yu hu seems that was it.

And another bit of filth is ejected and lands in the gutters of some dark back street somewhere.

-o-o-o-

The next few days I spend deciding what the hell I'm going to do. I know this place. I can find my way around but I don't know why I know it. Still I am trying to pull up the face or name of that person I miss so damned much and still it is evading me. There are two things I have to do. I have to get money and I have to collect. Just call me the grim reaper cos that is what I will be doing. Reaping souls for them up there, or down there, wherever they are, but I have to be careful. I don't seem to be able to heal like I could before. I need to earn back the rights I had before and it's going to be a very long and tedious process.

Money is easy to come by. People are stupid and I take up my old hobby of helping myself to wallets. A few hours work every other day will see me through easily enough. It won't afford me somewhere to live though, so I'm taking up squatters rights in a room which is part of an abandoned apartment building. The other stuff I make sure I do away from home. You should never hunt or shit on your own doorstep.

I start off with one a night. Easy pickings firstly out in the park. Rent boys and slags all hang out there and one or two going missing doesn't raise alarms right away. Then I move to the back alley ways and side streets and offer up some hobos and other worthless bastards and the more I do this the more I resent it. This isn't what I should be doing. I should be doing this for fun, not so I can stay here and try to remember what they've made me forget. The first few get broken necks. Then I get pissed off and I do a bit more and when no one is looking I'll use them totally afterwards. Which of course is every time cos no one's going to be looking now are they? Right, I don't want to catch something. I do have to be more careful now but condoms are just not what Floyd does, so yeah, I need to watch what I screw.

So I bagged someone last night and now I want something to eat. This is another thing I've noticed. I need to eat. I get hungry and so I am watching and waiting for the perfect victim.

Here in the mall is the best place. Very busy and lots of money changing hands. I've been here a few times. There is somewhere to get food too and it's dry and reasonably warm and the added advantage that I can disappear into the crowds quickly. I am pissed off today though. My heart is really not in it. I'm doing this to shut up the strange noises coming from my stomach. I would rather go home and sleep. Yes sleep. I need to sleep too. So I am tired and hungry and fed up with not having a goal other than pleasing them. I walk around for a while. I sit on a bench for a little while. I fiddle with things in my pockets and then I decide to get some cash then food and then go home.

I was sloppy. I was stupid. The guy is walking in my direction but looking in the store windows. I walk over towards him and bump into him and slide my hand to where I can see the bulge of a wallet.

As I said I was sloppy. I wasn't paying attention to my task and that is what got me into somewhat of a mess. He knew what I had done and as I spun and started to leg it he was shouting and people moved out of the way for me.

Most people moved out of the way. There always has to be that one fucker who thinks he is some kind of a damned hero. A tackle to my back and legs and the two of us are sliding across the mall's shiny floor. I feel my head crack as we go down and the wallet flies from my hands and suddenly there I am with someone sitting on me and a circle of people standing around looking.

OK…yes I could just kick him off and kill a few hundred locals, but that really isn't going to help my situation.

'Get the fuck off me you bastard!'

Shouting that didn't have an effect and so I lie there and waited. He has his wallet back. No need really for all this damned fuss, but they can't fucking leave it be can they? Can't they see I'm sleeping rough? Can't they see I'm down on my luck? Bollocks to them all. I'm pulled to my feet by Mall Security, who I spit at and curse at, but there are four of them and one of me and my hands are forced behind my back and cuffed in freaking plastic crap and they keep me there until the cops arrive.

The local PD is a shit hole. My squat is better decorated, but I don't tell them this right now. They empty my pockets and I'm taken to an interview room. Though what they want to interview me about I'm not sure. At least they remove the bloody cuffs which have been digging into my wrists. They leave me there alone for fucking ages. I pace and I kick things in anger. I tell them I need a coffee. I demand my smokes and nothing happens for bloody ever. There is no clock in here to keep people from knowing how long they have been detained for. One fucking wallet. That was all. What the hell are they keeping me all this time for?

Finally someone walks in.

'Sit down.' I am told

And I do cos there is nothing else really to do.

They ask me my name and I just stare at them and don't answer. They ask me for my address and I raise an eyebrow.

'Look at me. Do I look like I have a fucking address?' He is recording this but making notes too. 'What are you writing?' But he doesn't answer me. Then he does something which puts everything into a brand new focus. He places a cell phone in an evidence bag and a small female's wallet also in an evidence bag, on the table. Err the wallet being small not the female. Though she was small too...that's not what I meant.

'Seen these before?' He asks me.

And yes I've seen them before. I took them off my last victim. So I shake my head. 'Nope.'

'Then explain how your finger prints are all over them.'

I lick my lips and look at the things then back at the suit sitting the other side of the table. 'I dunno.' I tell him.

'You don't know how the property of a violent rape and murder happened to find its way into your pocket?'

And now would be a good time for the cavalry. 'Someone must have put it there.'

'With your finger prints all over them?'

'How the hell should I know? Look I pick pockets. You got me on that, but I never killed and raped no chic.'

-o-o-o-

'That's him?' Morgan sounded almost disappointed and ran his hands over his head. I look at Morgan for a second and then back through the window at the man they arrested for picking a pocket in the mall. We'd been looking for a break in the case since it was first brought to our attention and though I am glad at last there is someone we can talk to, I'm not happy that someone else had to die for us to get this opportunity.

He's not what we expected. He's younger and not as well groomed as we had profiled. Actually nothing about him seemed to fit the profile and that bothers me.

'I'll go and talk to him.' And I see Derek nod. 'Alone to start with.'

'I'll be right here.' He responds as the officer lets me into the room.

He looks up at me and frowns. I don't like his self confidence. I don't like the way he is looking me directly in the eye. I don't like anything about him. I introduce myself and sit down. All the while I know his eyes are locked on mine and I look for a reaction when I say who I am, but there is nothing there. No surprise. No worry. Nothing. He doesn't even blink.

'We don't have your name recorded.' I open with. Something easy. Something I might get a reply to.

'I've not given it.'

He is still staring at me. His hands are resting on the table and as I sit he removes them and folds his arms. I know that a lawyer has been offered and I know he has refused and so I carry on.

'It will be useful for our records if we have a name.'

He nods but doesn't answer.

'I have a warrant here.' And I pull it out of my pocket. 'But it would look better for you if you will do this without the need.'

'Warrant for what exactly?'

His eyes are still locked on mine and his face seems horribly familiar. I just can't place it. I put a folder on the table and slide it over to him. 'Please have a look. Tell me if you recognise any of these people.' I watch carefully as his eyes finally leave mine and he looks down at the folder. He opens it and picks up the photographs of the fifteen victims we have so far. Still there is no reaction on his face and this is in a way good. I would expect someone who is just a common pick pocket to be repulsed by what he is looking at, but he doesn't react.

'I don't know. It's kinda hard to tell.' He finally says and closed the pictures away inside the folder again. 'But I am curious as to why you'd think a bloody pick pocket would know a load of dead people.'

And something somewhere makes my stomach twist in alarm. The accent maybe? The use of language. I push a bit further so I can hear that voice again. There is something about it. Something which should belong in a nightmare.

'Does the pickpocket have a name?' I place my hand over the folder and see him watch me. He is looking at my hand as though he is expecting something to happen.

'Flanders.' He says.

And again my head begins to pound. I need to get out of this room. As I stand I look at him sitting there looking so smug. 'I will be back.'

'You haven't said what the warrant is for.' I walk towards the door. 'How's Sam doing?' I place my hand on the door handle. 'Agent Aaron Hotchner? How's my boy?' And I am out and slamming the door behind me and Derek's hand is on my shoulder.

'How the hell does that scum know you?' He asks.

'I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I need to talk to Sam.' I run my fingers through my hair in a panic. The guy we have been looking for knows me and knows of Sam and claims to have the same last name. I look back through the window at him. 'Surely not.' I sigh.

'What is it Hotch?'

'Look at him. His hair. The way he is sitting. Everything about him…his speech patterns.'

'You think he is related to Sam?'

I don't know what to think, but I need Sam brought here now. Or do I need him as far away as possible?

'We need a blood sample, Derek make sure he gives one. Whoever raped all those people left traces behind each time. If they match him then we have our man.'

Morgan nods and rushes off in one direction while I stand at the window and look at Flanders. I pull my phone from my pocket and make a call. I take some deep breaths and slide my hands into my pants pockets. The name Flanders again. This is the third time it has come up in the past few weeks.

Sam. Sam is a sixteen year old boy I have taken in to my life in an attempt the straighten him out. It's not been an easy task so far. He was living rough and for some reason I'm not sure about now I gave him a home. His last name is Flanders. Also the last name of the person who seems to be Reid's next of kin. The name of the person preventing us from visiting him. Not that he'd know we were there. He's been on life support since the accident. He has no brain activity. Reid is dead but being kept alive by machines on the word of someone called Flanders. We are refused access. He is allowed no visitors and I thought it a strange co-incidence that both Sam and this other person had the same last name, but here it is again. I need to talk to him, but I will wait for the guys from the lab to turn up so we can take blood from this person.

-o-o-o-

So I pace some more again. They didn't tell me what the warrant was for but I'm taking a wild guess that it's for DNA or something, which is fine. I don't mind that too much. Blood is a wonderful thing. I need a smoke. I need a coffee and I need to sleep and maybe eat something.

When the door opens again it's Hotchner. Now; I know this guy but I don't know why I know him yet. It will come to me though. If I know his name then I will eventually get the trail right back to how I know him. A Fed. I keep that going over in my head. Why the hell would I know a Fed and why am I not feeling too surprised that I know him? Sam. I know he has Sam. I remember Sam. He is my spawn. That's the connection, but why does he have Sam? I need to talk to the boy. He will fill me in with the lost bits, but that's going to have to wait. They want blood as I thought they would.

'Roll up the sleeve on your left arm please.' Some technician is saying to me as Hotchner sits back down again and now it is his turn to stare at me.

'This is what the warrant was for?' I ask and just get a nod as a reply. I don't resist. I roll up my sleeve and the technician just stands there for a few seconds looking at me. I look back then down at my arm. 'Track marks.' I say. 'I'm sure you've seen them before.' He doesn't talk to me but says more into the air…

'This might sting.'

'Don't worry about it. I'm not afraid of a little prick.' And I look at Hotchner as I say this. He is quick. Gets what he needs and leaves and as he leaves someone else enters and I know this person too. This person though makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

'Agent Derek Morgan.' I say and sometimes I should keep my mouth shut, but I see the looks between the two men. A look of puzzlement maybe? He doesn't say anything. I move my eyes from him and back to Hotchner who I feel a bit more comfortable talking to.

'So now what do you want?' I ask.

'How did you come by the wallet and cell phone belonging to a murder victim?' He pushes a picture of the girl across the table for me to look at. I glance down at it and them I look up at Hotchner again. 'Your finger prints are on it.'

'I expect they are. I handled them. They would be on it.' I tell him. Oh I'm getting pissed off with this routine now.

'Then care to explain how they found their way into your pocket?'

'I put them there.'

'You said earlier that you'd not seen them before.'

'I lied.'

'How did you get these items? They belong to her. To Lucy Banks. Why did you have them?'

'Look, you have me for picking a pocket. Are you going to charge me for that or not? Cos I didn't fucking kill anyone.'

'The wallet and cell phone first. We need to talk about that a bit more.'

Morgan is standing next to Hotchner watching me.

'I was given them.'

'Who gave them to you?'

'I dunno. Didn't get a name.'

'Why would a stranger give you those items?'

'Payment. I'm not too expensive when I'm hungry.'

'Payment?' Morgan's voice.

'For a blow job. He wanted to and I needed money. I whored myself. Are you happy now?' Sort of a lie, but a very believable one. The only part of that which wasn't true was I give my self for free. I'm no whore. I'd never degrade myself like that, but that's fine. I will be out of here soon.

'We need your full name.' Hotchner again.

'Flanders. Floyd Flanders Franks.'

And well, I've never had quite that reaction to my name before. Morgan is going for the door with Hotchner hot on his heels like I just announced I was the second coming. Which I am. HAHA! Well not second, more like fifth or sixth. Unless we are talking about something else, but either way I am left on my own again and the door is slammed behind me.

-o-o-o-

'What the hell is going on?' I look at Hotch who has started pacing the corridor.

'I don't know, but the more that man says the more I am feeling that this is not a co-incidence. That man knows things. He knows us and it looks like he knows Reid.

'That creature in there cannot be Reid's next of kin. There's been a mistake. If he is picking pockets and prostituting himself for cash how in hell's name is he paying for Reid's medical bill?'

'The DNA results will tell us more. We will have something to hold him on, but as it is now all we have is a pickpocket who knows more than he should. We will have to charge him with something soon.'

'He's not asked to go yet. He gave up his blood willingly enough. None of this fits Hotch and I have a strong feeling I know him from somewhere. I know his voice and his posturing. I even know that damned smell. Where have I seen that sonofabitch before?' I go back and look through the window at the guy sitting rocking slowly on his chair. Too calm. Not a note of panic in him. Something is very wrong and it has something to do with Reid.

a/n: Shall I continue?