Appearances are like a double-edged sword. They can be so telling to a person's every feeling and every thought. Yet, at the same time they could be used as a mask as the person hides behind a facade of lies. This was something I had come to learn in my many years as an agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) and even more so when I was transferred to the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU). We were taught to discern the serial killer's nature by the appearance of his victims but at the same time not to be fooled by the killer's innocent appearance.
I rushed into the BAU's conference room, our media liaison, JJ, had a new case to brief us on. When we were all seated, she began her presentation, the gory pictures of the victims splashed across the screen. I gasped in horror as I took in the awful sight. The victims had each been burnt beyond recognition in a tub of acid and viscously stabbed sixty-two times. I could feel my teammate,Prentiss, shaking like a leaf beside me. I scanned the room and saw two of my other teammates, Derek and Rossi, with their hands over their mouths, their eyes wide with shock. Finally my eyes landed on the youngest member of our team, Spencer Reid. He was swallowing convulsively, trying hard to keep his breakfast down. Something else about him stood out, he looked paler this morning; his dark eye circles were a stark contrast to his pale skin. His hair stood out at awkward angles, as if he had not been able to comb it that morning. Just as I was watching him, his hand flew up to his mouth. He dashed out of the room and ran towards the toilets.
"Hotch, what's your opinion on the killer?" Dave asked, drawing me back to reality.
I stared at the pictures imagining what it would have been like if I were a victim. I saw him stab them over and over in my head like a never-ending nightmare. These victims had been through hell before they died.
"The appearance of these victims suggests that the killer had a truly sadistic nature. All the stab wounds were deep enough to inflict a great amount of pain yet not to kill. The victims were alive up till the point where they were thrown into the acid bath. He watched his victims burn slowly, their flesh bubbling in the acid." I commented.
Just as I had stopped talking, Reid came back into the room looking a little paler, if at all possible, than earlier.
"Are you alright?" I asked, "You don't look so good."
"I'm fine, just stayed up too late reading a book," he replied.
He straightened up in his seat and began flipping through the case file. He appeared to be fine, a little tired at most. Deciding that my worries were unfounded, I let them slide. That was one of the biggest mistakes I would make on this case.
An hour later, we were on the airplane that would take us to Los Angeles where we would be working the case. All of us were asleep or trying to sleep as we knew that once we landed the chances of sleep were slim. We had to work fast, the murderer had killed five victims in ten days and we only had another forty-four hours to catch him before he killed again. Glancing over at Reid, I realized he appeared even more exhausted. Deciding that it was probably my mind playing tricks on me, I pushed my worries to the back of my mind and fell asleep.
As we filed off the airplane, I saw Reid sway and grab onto the wall of the airplane for support. I rushed over and helped support him till he could stand on his own two feet without keeling over. Now I knew something was not right. He appeared exhausted, yet flushed with fever with beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as his body tried to bring down his temperature. I reached my hand up to his forehead placing it there, trying to ascertain how high his temperature really was. Shocked at the heat radiating from him, I quickly withdrew my hand.
"You're sick!" I exclaimed.
He shook his head as once again he tried to straighten his back and appear as if he was perfectly alright. I shook my head, he should never have come on this case if he had not been feeling well. Now he would end up as a liability to the team instead of an asset. I ordered him to check in to the hotel that we would be staying at and to recover before joining us again in the field. He had refused at first but I was adamant. Eventually he relented and picked up his bag to head to the hotel. That was the last I saw of him till I was able to reach the hotel that night.
Due to a shortage of rooms, I had been forced to share a room with Reid. After bidding goodnight to the rest of my team, I trudged towards my room, completely drained from the day's activities. Although the appearances of the victims were difficult to stomach, the appearance I had hated seeing the most that day was those of the grieving parents. The look of helplessness, loss and grief on their faces were enough to rip my heart to shreds. Little did I know that soon I would be in the same situation as them.
Opening the door, I stepped into the room and was greeted by the sight of Spencer huddled under a pile of comforters, shivering violently. I swore as I grabbed the thermometer, prying open his mouth to stick it in. He struggled, unable to focus on what was going on, trying to get the foreign object out of his mouth. I held him down as he fought the urge to get up and rip the thermometer out of his mouth. Finally, it beeped, I pulled the offensive object out, hoping that it would be enough to relax him. The thermometer showed a reading of forty degrees celsius. I felt Spencer tugging on my arm and looked down to see him struggling to tell me that this neck felt so stiff that it hurt to move. I knelt down beside him, trying to calm him down. Afraid that he might be suffering from meningitis, I urged him to move his head down, to the side and up. He found that he was unable to do any of it. I peeled the covers off him and lifted up his shirt revealing the nasty purple blotches that had begun appearing on his upper abdomen and along his arms. Recognizing the symptoms of bacterial meningitis, I whipped out my hand phone and called an ambulance.
There was a whir of activity after that. Derek who had noticed the door to my hotel room open came in to see me hovering over Spencer who was writhing in agony. Quickly he organized the team and as soon as the ambulance appeared in a whir of lights and whisked Spencer off to the hospital, we all got in our cars and followed behind. We were brought to a waiting room where we were told to wait patiently for a doctor or nurse to update us on Spencer's condition. I was overwhelmed with fear. I felt loss and scared, unsure of what would become of my beloved teammate. After five impossibly long hours, the doctor came out and confirmed my suspicions. Spencer had indeed caught bacterial meningitis, and was now hanging onto his life by a thin thread. The doctor also told us that he wished we had brought him in earlier as then the side effects would not have been as adverse.
He appeared so pathetic, so lost in the multitude of tubes sticking out of him. I sat heavily down in the chair next to beside his bed, sighing and running my hands over my face. His appearance was one of pure misery, seeing him like this filled me with regret. Guilt began eating at me from the inside out as I realized that I should have taken more note of his appearance. I cursed myself for not thinking of going back with him to the hotel, for not stopping him from getting on the airplane in the first place and for my negligence in caring for him. A list of after-effects of contracting bacterial meningitis ran through my head. Blindness, deafness, loss of hearing and the list just go on and on. Staring at him, I vowed from that day on I would always take note of my teammate's appearances and never be negligent in my care for them ever again.