Please note: OC and some undetermined point in the time line. I'm new to this, so please review.
The Chess Set
Six months ago
Another case; another unsub; another victory; twelve young women this time, all lined up in neat rows behind a garage in another small town in another rural state.
Now they just had to find the guy who did it.
Morgan lounged in his seat on the plane and looked over at Reid. The kid had pulled a small chess set from his ever-present bag, and was setting up for a game, even though no one else was sitting near him. He nudged Hotch with his toe, nodded in the kid's direction.
"This kind of case troubles him."
"Yeah, and now he's playing himself. He does that, you know, whenever the victims are in their late teens and early twenties, and the killings have been going on at least five…"
"Stop, you know the rule, we don't profile each other."
"Yeah, I know."
Still, it bothered him. After a few minutes he got up, moved to the seat across from Reid, knocking him out of whatever reverie he was in.
"Hey kid, I'll play ya." Even though he knew he would lose, easily.
"All right."
As they set up the game he noticed one of the black knights. The bulk of the set was a simple, straightforward design, heavy enough to be comfortable in the hand, light enough to carry easily, not fancy at all. But this black knight was different, it was slightly larger than the other pieces, a far more ornate design, and it gave off a subtle, spicy odor.
"Sandalwood?"
"Yeah, it was a gift, a replacement." He chose to play black.
Well, Morgan told himself, at least if he was paying attention to the game, the kid wouldn't be dwelling on the case. He, however, needed his full concentration if he even wanted to make a good showing against Reid.
Little did Morgan know that Reid only needed part of his mental capacity to play. And that he had not been dwelling on the case at all, except to reflect that whoever the unsub was, he had made it easy on him by saving the eyes as trophies. Once he found those, he would know.
No, he wasn't dwelling on the case. He was remembering.
Then
It had been his last semester in the Mathematics program, before he'd achieved his first doctorate, at the ripe old age of sixteen. The very beginning of the semester and already he was looking forward to the next year, his work in Chemistry and Engineering, being seventeen, and losing his "handler."
That was the problem with going to university so young. Being away from home wasn't the problem, he stayed with his sponsor, Professor Fleinhardt, most of the time and headed home at least one weekend a month to check on his mother. Who, in all honesty, most of the time didn't even realize he was gone. No, it was that he was still young enough for the local school district to get involved, to insist that a "minor" could not be allowed to roam the campus unsupervised. After pointing out that Anything Could Happen and then the university Would Be Responsible, the end result was Lydia. She was a sweet, comforting, chatty type with a love of crocheting who couldn't have beat off a mosquito, but who pleased the lawyers and who made amply sure he would never have any sort of personal relationship with any of the other students on campus. And, as the only student on campus with a full-time babysitter, that he would never, ever meet a girl.
At least he thought he was the only student on campus with a full-time babysitter. He was completely surprised then, when he walked in to the Mathematical Analysis seminar to find another motherly woman sitting in the back row, a pile of improbably colored yarn in a bag at her feet.
"Oh good! It's my cousin Adelene. I was hoping we'd have a class with her kid. I'll sit back here with her. Look, there's a spot down in front for you."
Another handler meant someone else his own age. But he didn't have a chance to scan the room, the seminar was starting. He couldn't meet Adelene, or her charge, until after the class was over.
That was when he received his next, and more striking, surprise of the day. Adelene was standing next to a girl.
She stood a foot shorter, leaving him looking down on her head. Her hair, he noted, was elaborately braided and tucked in a way similar to the cheerleaders at his old high school. She had this odd, whitish stuff on her lips, and glasses even uglier than his. He couldn't tell what the rest of her looked like; it was wrapped in a too-large cotton sweater, and baggy, old jeans.
He stared at her for a minute, one part of his mind listening to Lydia and Adelene chatter, catching the name Lynnie while the other part wondering what was ringing as so decidedly off about her. It was her eyes, he realized. The lenses of her glasses were a horrid shade of orange, turning her irises a dark, muddy color. He could not think of a single reason for it.
"You kids mind if we eat lunch together?"
They both shook their heads and followed the women towards the main cafeteria. Food was acquired, meals guaranteed not to look geeky enough to attract notice in a high school setting. He wondered if she had had as much a problem with bullying as he'd had. And then as tables opened up they found a shady spot to sit, a bit away from their chattering handlers, next to a planting full of roses.
"So, you're Lynnie?"
"Gwendolyn. Ryder. And you're…?"
"Spencer Reid. I know it's rude, but, how old are you?" She had the most amazing, gentle voice. "Did you know that the statistics on two people in our age range in a program like this are…
"Yeah, I do, know the statistics. I'm fourteen. And it is rude to ask that." She interrupted, but he was used to that. "You're in the Mathematics program then? How much longer? And how old are you?"
"Sixteen. I should complete my dissertation by the end of this semester. How about you?" He reached for his soda, only to knock her miniature oranges into his open bag. Crap. Now he had to dig for them. "Why miniature oranges, anyway?"
"They're clementines, they're sweeter. I have two semesters left to go myself." Now he was impressed. He had to pull a wooden box out of the way when he pulled out her clementines . "Is that a chess set?"
"Do you play?"
Her smile turned competitive. "I have ninety minutes until my next class. I bet I can beat you that quickly."
"I'd like to see you try it." Food was shoved aside, the board set up between them. "What will you bet me?"
"Hmm?"
"A bet, a wager, what will you wager on this? Not money, something else?"
"Ummm. If I win we play again tomorrow."
I'd do that anyway, he thought. "Done. And if I win, take off those glasses. I can't see your eyes."
He couldn't clearly see her eye color, but there was no mistaking the dare there. "Done."
It took the better part of the ninety minutes, but in the end he…lost.
"That's impossible! I haven't lost in years." He'd been so wrapped up in the game, the most challenged he'd ever been, that he'd forgotten who he was playing against or why.
She laughed at him, "Good, you could stand the humility. Now we have to play again tomorrow." She started gathering the pieces, only to have one slip from her grasp and bounce from the table to a chair to the storm drain. "Oh! I am so sorry!"
"No, it's all right. It's not like it's irreplaceable. I'll pick up another this weekend. In the meantime we can use a quarter or something." He found himself grinning, amazing for someone who had lost. "I guess we're meeting again tomorrow, Gwendolyn."
"Gwen."
"Gwen."
Six months ago
Reid shook himself from his memories, just in time to head Morgan off at the pass. The next day Gwen had brought that replacement knight, ornate and sweetly scented. For the rest of their time in college they had played at that spot every day, and now his memories of this set were utterly bound with the scents of sandalwood and roses.
"Checkmate in four moves."
"Aw hell, kid, I knew I would lose." Morgan sat back with a chuckle. "Feel any better."
No, Reid thought, but Morgan didn't need to know. Once again he hid his feeling behind a puppy dog grin. "Yeah. I'm fine".