Heal Me
He swore he could smell it. The burnt skin lingering and the heavy breathing that came after it. Eyes staring at him quietly behind closed doors.
He swore that it was there that night, and even though he checked his closet with bated breath, no one appeared. No one was there.
He quivered and checked the whole house before sitting back down slowly onto the bed.
A door creaked.
His head snapped to the right and swallowed as his skin seemed to tighten across his forehead and chest. His chest crushed his lungs. He couldn't breath.
He stood slowly, legs shaking, and then the door slammed.
He backed up a few steps and fell to the floor with a large bang as his breath became even more labored.
"M-Marsha? Marsha, leave me alone.." He murmured beneath his breath as he pushed himself backwards, further and further towards the closet doors.
His lips quivered as the smell of burning, fried, skin filled his nose and throat, almost suffocating him.
It was her, wasn't it? It had to be. It just had to be her.
He swallowed harshly, almost vibrating inside as another door slammed, this time however, it was closer to his bedroom. He sucked in another breath, eyes scanning the room before slamming his hand on top of the side table and picking up his phone. His fingers attempted pushing buttons, but even the touch screen appeared to be failing him.
Another door slammed.
He gave up on trying to call anyone as cold sweat ran down his neck, instead pushing the texting option and sending a text to everyone on his contacts list, which happened to be the team. That was all.
'Help.' Was his simple text as he, lied the phone beside him, hand shakily on the gun, as he watched his own door creak open.
There was some breathing.
It was her.
There was that disgusting smell.
It had to be her.
An eye was visible and Reid picked up the gun, "Marsha." He called out plainly as though nothing were wrong.
The eye suddenly glared at him and the door slammed, some scampering came and then one more door slam.
Reid swallowed and let out a small sob, even though he knew nothing good could come of his current fear. Thi crippling fear he now had.
The dark had never been his speciality, not at all. But now when actual threats were popping up in that darkness, his fear became the worst it had ever been.
Another door opened, slamming against his wall and multiple foot-steps came.
Reid let out a small breath, knowing this would be the end of him. Had she gone out and gotten more people to help her kill him off for good now? Perhaps she wanted revenge for setting her on fire.
Wait..that fire.
Wasn't she dead? She was supposed to be. How could she not be dead?
"Reid?"
He let out a guttural noise from out of fear and grabbed his gun, eyes wide in crippling anxiety, clad in nothing but a pair of boxers and a black T-shirt. He pointed the weapon at the door as it opened, and finger went instinctively to the trigger as he breathed in and out carefully.
It wasn't Marsha.
It was the team.
He'd forgotten he'd requested for help.
He refused to lower the gun, even when they looked at him with sympathy in their eyes at his position, back to the closet, gun cocked and aimed, fear evident in his glassy eyes.
"Reid, it's us, man. What's the problem, what happened?" Morgan quickly questioned, a determined Garcia coming up behind him, a gun in her own hand. She insisted upon going after the text, though they insist that if she just had to come, she had to carry a gun.
"Reid?" She whispered, approaching him carefully.
Even in the midst of the night without make-up and her glitzy clothes, she looked fashionable. Her hair was done up in a messy bun and she wore a simple pair of sweats, flip-flops, and a T-shirt.
"..S-Sorry.." He whispered, heart still racing. "M-Marsha. She was here. She's alive. She was in my house. She looked at me through the door.."
Hotch looked at him quizzically.
"Well, it's your own fault. You deserve to die, Reid."
Reid awoke with a start, heart racing in his chest as he tried to shake off the last memories of the dream. However, that was no easy task when your memory tended to store everything it possibly could like photos that could never be burned.
He swallowed forcefully and let out a breath just as a door down the hall slammed.
His eyes went wide.
Alright, just a prologue, not too store where this will expand, so perhaps give me a day or two to think this all over and plan further. Once I start though, I'll probably update just as fast with the last story.
If you didn't get this, please make sure you've read the prequel to this, Guardian Angel. Thanks and please review!