Gabriel García Márquez once said, "He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past."

Prologue

. . .

Reston, Virginia, 2004

"Eric…"

Spencer Reid's voice cuts through the thick, looming tensity of the moment, and what follows is merely abstract noise; the soft sobbing of a teenage girl, the heavy trod of boots on the floorboards, the young agent's own labored breathing. His hands are shaking as he raises them, his finger curled around the trigger of a cocked pistol, taking his aim at his target. He doesn't want to pull it—he hates violence, even if it's necessary to save another life—but it's his job, and if he has to, he will.

"Eric, please," Reid repeats, his voice hoarse and cracking despite himself. His mouth feels dry and his tongue inelastic, but he licks his lips nervously and pushes on, determined to prevent another young girl from dropping dead right before his eyes. "Put the gun down. Think about the repercussions if you kill Kelly… They're far worse than if you don't. I-I know her fear probably motivates you, but I need you to realize that she's just a kid. You've already killed her family and robbed her of just about everything else. There's nothing left for you to take. Please… It isn't worth it."

Even to his own ears, his vindication sounds unconvincing. How could he expect to persuade a psychotic killer not to carry out his plans, when he's already gotten a taste of what it's like to feel blood on his hands? To hear the desperate screams of his victims before the bullets rip into their flesh? In reality, he was going to jail whether or not he killed the girl in front of him, but Reid needed an argument, needed to convince him to let her live even if he had to lie through his teeth.

Just then, a low sound bubbles up from the pit of Eric Mann's throat. It starts out as a chuckle, and then progresses into a full-on paroxysm of manic laughter, and soon he's throwing his head back and roaring as if he'd just heard the funniest joke in existence. Reid is fucking terrified, now. His fingers feel clumsy, and he can barely hold his weapon straight. He tells himself to stay calm, to stay focused, to exert all his energy into making sure Kelly comes out of this house alive, but he's having a hard time convincing himself.

Kelly looks up with teary eyes, mumbling incomprehensible pleas into the tape covering her mouth. She's begging for her life, begging for it not to end so soon. Reid exchanges a sympathetic look with her, the sadness and desperation in her eyes making his heart ache.

I'll save you, his lips promise silently.

Suddenly, Reid can hear fast, frantic footsteps approaching, and Gideon, Morgan, Elle, Hotch and JJ all trail suddenly into the room, visibly exasperated from the grisly sight of the corpses back in the kitchen; lifeless, lacerated, virtually unrecognizable bodies that had once been Kelly's parents. Nevertheless, they have their poker faces on, braced and ready for another fight. Reid can't wrap his head around how they do it, how they remain so stoic and professional after all they've witnessed in their careers. Then again, they've probably become numb to it over the years. This is one of Reid's first cases, after all.

Morgan is the first to speak. His voice is filled with anger, disgust, and it's the first time Reid had ever heard him so livid. "Let her go, you bastard! I won't hesitate to kill you!"

"Go ahead and kill me, see what a difference it makes," Eric begins ominously, and the smile on his face makes Reid's stomach lurch. "It's not like you guys can stop everybody from getting killed, anyway. People are always gonna die, whether you like it or not."

Before anybody can even process what's going on, Eric points his gun at Kelly and shoots. Reid doesn't even realize he's pulled the trigger to his own gun until another shot rings out and Eric freezes in place, eyes wide with surprise as the bullet rips straight through him. Before Eric knows it, his knees are buckling under him, and he's crashing to the floor. He's gasping for breath, his limbs spasming, blood pooling out around him like a sea of glittering red rubies. The price of his life, completely drained from him within seconds. The barrel of Reid's gun is smoking, and he's hyperventilating, trying to make sense of the fact that he'd just killed somebody.

Reid stands still in a sudden state of shock. There are two people lying on the ground, bleeding to death, and he feels like he's gonna hurl. This wasn't what he had been expecting.

Morgan's voice brings Reid back to the moment. He's yelling into his walkie-talkie, requesting paramedics ASAP. Acting on sudden impulse, Reid holsters his gun and bolts for Kelly. He all but falls as he frantically kneels down over her, grabbing her wrist and checking for a pulse. It's there, but it's fleeting, and he knows that she'll die if she loses any more blood.

"Oh god oh god oh god oh god," Reid whispers over and over again to himself, his chest contracting with every shaky breath. He presses his hand to the wound in a feeble attempt to stop the blood from flowing, but now he can feel the warm liquid on his palm, spreading out over his skin, staining her otherwise light blue shirt a sickly crimson. His mind is a blur, and reality seems to dissolve into nothingness around him. He can hear muffled shouts of alarm, the trampling of his colleague's shoes as they rush over to assist him. Elle is running around the room, gathering whatever item of the girl's clothing she can find. She hastily compresses it to the girl's chest, but it doesn't prove useful, as it's soaked with blood as soon as she does.

Reid can feel the beginning of a panic attack coming on. "Where are the goddamn medics?!" He shouts angrily, a lump forming in his throat. Oh, god, why the hell was this happening? It was all his fault. Maybe if he'd used his words better, they wouldn't be in this mess, and Kelly wouldn't have a bullet hole in her chest.

As if on cue, multiple men in dark grey suits with "Paramedic" patched onto them come rushing into the room, carrying boxes of medical equipment and first aid kits. Reid quickly retreats from the girl's moribund frame, his mind racing a million miles a minute. He stands up, and his legs feel like they're going to give out. He tries not to focus on the sensation of Kelly's blood coating his hands, the bitter, metallic stench of it, using every last bit of effort he has to force down the bile that's rising at the back of his throat.

Reid stumbles backward, and thankfully Morgan is there to steady him, gripping onto his shoulders.

"Reid…" Morgan begins, but then he sees the panicked look on Reid's face, and his brows crease with consternation. The younger profiler is gasping like he forgot how to breathe, wrapping his arms around his own shoulders. The world is spinning around him, coming and going in ghostly snatches, and he's sure he's about to pass out.

"Clear!" One of the paramedics says, followed by the sharp countershock of a defibrillator. That seems to do Reid in, because he takes a deep breath and then lets out a heart-wrenching sob. Pent-up tears pour from his eyes, and he buries his face in Morgan's Kevlar vest, wanting nothing more than to just fade from existence.

Sobered, Morgan wraps him up in a hug, resting his chin on the top of his head. "Oh, Pretty Boy…"

Hotch is explaining the situation to one group of paramedics while another hauls Kelly out of the room on a stretcher. Morgan rocks Reid back in forth, stroking his hair, doing his best to calm him down, but the tears keep coming.

Maybe he's just not ready for this job.

. . .

The team follows Kelly to the hospital, and Reid is still trembling when he steps out of the van. The waiting room is packed with nervous parents, their legs bouncing up and down and their nails splintering between their teeth. It feels like they're all staring at him, judging him, their eyes burning holes into the back of his head.

'You let a little girl die, you asshole. It should've been you', their narrowed gazes accuse.

And that's exactly how he feels, too.

. . .

Morgan waits with Reid in the waiting room for two hours, and, when the doctor finally comes out, his brow furrowed and concerned, Morgan already knows the verdict. He senses the slight tremor of Reid's body, and he slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against his chest to brace him for what's coming.

The man in white approaches the two agents, lowers his surgical mask, and glances down at the clipboard in his hands. He sighs.

"I'm sorry, but there was nothing we could do. The bullet went straight through her heart and ruptured the ligaments in her aorta. We did everything we could to keep her alive, but her body just couldn't keep enduring it. We tried to jumpstart her heart for the last time, but it was too late. She had already died of cardiac arrest."

The words are like a bullet to Reid's own heart. He just stares at the whitewashed hospital walls, stony and unblinking. He's too numb, too pissed at himself to even think. This was all his fault. Kelly was dead, and he was the one who let it happen. They weren't even able to save her parents. He was a poor excuse of an FBI agent. He was too young, too naive, too sensitive. He'd never make it in this field. The BAU deserved better than him.

"It's my fault," he mutters suddenly after a painfully long interval of silence, his words void of emotion. Morgan's heart sinks like a rock, and he squeezes Reid's arm thoughtfully.

"No, Pretty Boy, it isn't. Don't you dare blame yourself for this. You did what you could, and it's that sick bastard Eric's fault that she's dead. But now he's gone, and he can't hurt anymore else. You did a good thing."

Reid doesn't respond.

. . .

The smell of iodoform is making Reid dizzy as he and Morgan navigate through the hospital halls, heading towards the exit where the rest of the team is waiting for them. It is silent except for the specters of their own footsteps on the linoleum behind them, the steady beeping of a nearby cardiac monitor. Reid closes his eyes against the sterile white light shining down on them, illuminating the barren hallway like some sort of surreal portal to another dimension. His head is pounding from the weight of his stress. He desperately wants to escape his own mind, to run as far as he can and forget all of this ever happened.

But he can't.

The memory will forever be etched into his brain, the words chiseled deep and precisely like the haunting final date on a gravestone.

As they step out into the cool, crisp Autumn air, Reid is unsure whether or not he even wants to get back in the car.

A/N: Currently rated T for some violence and language. I'm unsure where I want to go with this, since I'm extremely self-conscious about my writing and don't know whether this would be better as a multi-chapter story or a oneshot. Reviews are appreciated.

Also, Reid is my precious baby and he deserves all the love in the world. This has been a PSA.