"Monsters are real. Ghosts are real, too. They live inside us and sometimes, they win"
~Stephan King.
You take a deep breath and smile slightly at the night. Before you lies two paths: the Path of Self Destruction and the equally treacherous Path of Admittance. The question swirling in you're beautiful mind asks, which one should you take? You know the choice isn't easy, it never is but Time, just like she promises, passes and suddenly you find yourself unable to ignore the matter that's been assaulting your brain for weeks, demanding a course of action. You weigh up the pros and cons, deciding which will lead you, in the end, to a mutilated form of serendipity.
Regardless of what you choose you know, deep down, that one way or another you will be caught, they'll notice the signs, get increasingly worried, but you know the beauty of it as well as the curse. They will not intervene. This causes the smile to linger a little longer on you're face, twisting you're usually soft features into a threatening, alien like grin. They will not intervene, the blessing allows you to keep hold of the fragments of your life after the crash, the curse? Well, you couldn't ask for help even if you wanted to. You think that maybe, somehow, the shards of your life are better than the whole thing being removed, no link with it whatsoever, no time to wish the coffee fuelled BAU goodbye. However your getting a little ahead of yourself.
The tap of shoes draws you out of your mind. The man is approaching, he has short brown hair, curlier that Tobias's, with a superior look on his face and it takes you an extraordinarily length of time - for you that is - to realise that perhaps he pities you, he holds you in contempt but he pities you none the less. After all an FBI agent reduced to this. You don't smile back at him, you just stare at the two roads again and wonder.
The urge has been building up for awhile now, demanding to be realised, tormenting you every moment you have a chance to rest. You wonder, idly, if this torment was felt by Nathan Harris. Or Tobias himself. You knew Nathan's fantasies, his desires and the high he would get out of it, how could it be different to dilauded? Why would someone murder for a lesser high? You were like this stranger, you pitied Nathan, now, in a sick sense, you can relate. You think back to the decision ahead. It is after all its an important choice, do you self destruct or try to contain it? You realise, partly with dread, that containing never really worked out for Nathan or Tobias. Yet your mind is still trying to argue that they would be special cases, statistics in a report, perhaps talking to people maybe be the more beneficial course of action. Of course that won't sit right with you. How could it ever? You know that statistics aren't accurate, they could tell you the sky is magenta.
You find it funny that it's now you realise your career, you're quirk, is spouting things which aren't always reliable. It almost makes you feel a little sick.
Although you know deep down that statistics are also right, that this statistic will be right, you will be affected, like they were affected, then you will react.
It's cause and effect.
It causes a foreign, white hot rage to settle in you're chest.
The alley you're sitting in is almost deserted save for the brown haired man walking near you. He still looks sympathetic. You realise he suspects you homeless, your worn jeans and battered hoodie not the usual attire for an FBI agent. Not that you'd ever really considered yourself an FBI agent. You mentally envision the team: Hotch, Morgan, Emily, Gideon now they, theylook like FBI agents. Even JJ and Garcia are more convincing that you.
The geek.
The genius.
Their faces slide past you, faster and faster and their expressions morph into that of disappointment, anger and other emotions associated with betrayal. They get dizzying like a carousel, it makes you feel slightly nauseous as a flash of the old you shines through.
Can you really go through with this?
Hurt them to this extent?
Like every man your less noble side declares it is worth it, that whatever the consequences the burning need is worth it. However the Reid they know is still in there, still fighting and still losing like the weakling he's always been. You want to scream loudly and paint your anguish on the walls, get it out so that after you'll be drained and can lie on your bed blissfully empty. You want one of the team to find you here and get a way to talk you out of it, to not do what you wish to and leave, they'll help you get through it, help you return to the halfway normal state you were in before. But not even in your mind can they be so lenient. Besides to let them see you so vulnerable, so animal like, it's inconceivable. You regard the BAU as you're friends but, you know, they're also your work colleges, just that. The last thing you need is to land your shit on them. However that doesn't mean to say they won't try and break down your defences in the next few weeks, but your prepared for this, it's all part of the bumps in the road.
The road that you've already subconsciously chosen.
Your gaze wanders across to the Tobias-like man and it hits you, you want it, no you need it, you need the high it promises, you need the power surging through you're body. You look at the man and return a small, albeit grim, smile back.
And just like that you're back against at the crossroads, your mind going a thousand miles a minute. You will shock them. You will let them all down and you really can't care less. But you will let them know you aren't weak and you aren't innocent. Of course then you realise the absurdity of that, giving into you're demons is weak, it will always be weak, but at the same time you know the action would surely be done by the strong. And for a few minutes you're stuck, confused with you're mind arguing with itself. You try to get back on topic.
You know you will be caught, it isn't a doubt in your abilities, however you aren't going to let your ego take over. You will be caught, it's the natural order of life. The only thing that is immortal is morality, an ironic little mind game. However you're getting away from the point again and you look at the roads, each as long and unpredictable as the other. You turn left.
You get up from the alley, dust yourself down and walk behind the man. You're still surrounded by the unfriendly buildings but you can see the moon from here, the light that gave so many hope and courage, as you bathe in it you're faith is renewed. He freezes as you slide the knife against his throat. It creates a rush, the rush you need. This man isn't a stranger. He isn't even Tobias. He is Charles, and Charles it at you're mercy. You laugh at how unsubtle your MO is, it sounds hysterical but controlled. Your voice quivers with joy as you whisper in his ear.
"The fun's just beginning, Charles" and when the man whimpers you realise there is something out there better than the high of dilauded. You could almost go limp with delight.
Almost.
But you need to regain composure, you have the chance to make you're dreams a reality.
First, you need to torture Charles, make him suffer just like you did. The thought fills you with delight. You can imagine it clearly, the sounds of his screams, the rush of dilauded coursing through you're veins, the power you will feel while killing him. Pointing that gun to his head and spinning the chamber, hitting not just his foot but his whole body with a baseball bat, seeing him on fire with pain. It seems a logical course of action, revenge on Charles. It feels right, it gives you closure.
You take a deep breath.
The air feels cold and cleanses your body.
It takes Dr Spencer Reid - a symbol of friendliness, smarts and shy - and strips him down to an animal, alone in the wilderness, fighting subconsciously to be chosen for Natural Selection.
You no longer stand at a crossroad, the small smile that contorted your features contorts them some more. The Path of Self Destruction with all it's peculiarities awaits. You wander and get further and further away from admittance, the path is a moonlight stroll and the weather always warm. Your mind tries to go over every outcome that this road can lead to as you take you're place amongst a group of accurate statistics. You can't envision everything, no one can. But perhaps, after the high of a kill you will reach some twisted form of serendipity and the need will die down, the serendipity will make everything become clear.
So you squash down the doubts that suggest you'll need more than one fix, one shot will suffice. You laugh quietly as you lead the stranger- no, Charles, into your waiting car and, when he whimpers again, you hit him over the head with the handle of the knife, allowing another wave of pleasure to flow through you. Then you reach over his unconscious body, into his pocket and pull out the two vials of dilauded. Yes, one fix will suffice.
But, then again, perhaps you're just deluding yourself.
This is my first CM fanfiction, I know the drug plot and serial killer stories have been done to death, resurrected, then killed in an incredibly gruesome manner, but like most authors on this site, I really couldn't resist :D. I apologise for any grammar and spelling mistakes.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own CM, if I did then Prentiss and JJ would have stayed :(