I knew I shouldn't call again it was two am, he was probably asleep. I should just leave it be but, I couldn't. He could be hurt, kidnapped, or something far worse. I wouldn't let the idea of him being dead enter my mind, because if I let myself think that thought for any longer, I'd go mad with worry.
I got up not letting myself think exactly what I was doing and grabbed a jacket and keys to my car. Hotch hadn't wanted to give my directions to Gideon's cabin, but I had talked him into it. I knew this was foolish, but I couldn't stop it.
The drive there was long and several times I almost turned around and went home. But something kept pushing me forward, I knew I needed to go just to make sure. Driving always made me nervous, but it was dark and foggy which made it worse. I held tight on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white from the strain.
After seeing nothing but trees for miles I should have felt relief at the dark cabin in front of me, but all I felt was cold dread. I got out the car leaving it on to give me some light and knocked on the door. I knocked several times each harder than the last just in case he was asleep and then tied the door knob.
The door swung open easily letting me view the darkness of inside.
"Gideon" I called out hating the whining scared tone in my own voice, but hating more how he didn't answer. He's dead or kidnapped and we just stood by and let it happen, all of the worst case scenarios flying through my head as I flicked on my flashlight.
I had imagined his cabin on occasion when he spoke of it, but it certainly didn't look like this in his mind. The room being pitch black besides the one ray of light I shone in. The shelves empty, the walls blank, the only thing I could see was furniture that would be too heavy to move.
I moved to the light and flicked on, the light filled the empty room. Empty just like I felt, I knew what had happened , but at the same time just couldn't comprehend. Had Gideon, left. It just didn't make since he wouldn't do that.
I could see what was on the desk, but walked closer as if it could change into something else as I neared it. A badge, a gun and a letter. This couldn't be real, I reached out and gently touched the badge to see if it was just in my mind, it wasn't.
My whole body felt cold, this just couldn't be what it looked like it just couldn't. Their was probably some explanation, one I was misunderstanding and it be okay, because Gideon wouldn't abandon him. He wouldn't, He knew how much he needed Gideon, because he was the only father figure in his life.
I could myself shaking, but I couldn't control it, tears burned at my eyes. But I didn't cry because there was no reason to, because Gideon was quitting, he wouldn't do that.
I reached for the letter, written on it was my name 'Spencer' I could barely read it with my hands shaking, slowly I opened it.
I knew his handwriting, it was familiar and now almost foreboding, I had to take several deep breaths before beginning to read the letter.
I knew it would be you who would come to the cabin to check on me. You must be frightened; I apologize for that. I never meant to cause you any pain.
And I also never envisioned writing this letter. I've searched for a satisfactory explanation for what I'm doing. All I've come up with is this:
A profiler needs to have solid footing, and I don't think I do anymore. The world confuses me. The cruelty, indifference, the tragedy.
When my dear friend Sarah was murdered, it tore a hole in me and I truly believed the way to handle the pain was to get back into my work as soon as possible. Get on to somebody else. I thought I could handle Sarah's murder, work through it. But the very first case we had after was on a college campus.
You see, I met Sarah at college, on a campus just like that one thirty-one years ago. Campuses are supposed to be places of life and excitement. They're supposed to be about the future, figuring out who you are, who you're going to be. They're suppose to be about dreams, not nightmares, about hope.
I really don't understand the world anymore.
All homicide scenes are tragic, but when the victim is someone young, their life ripped away before they've even had a chance to live, it's devastating.
In this line of work I was afraid I would lose the ability to trust, but I've realized I can't look at anyone without seeing their death. And as bad as losing faith in humanity seems, losing your faith in happy endings is much worse.
How many victims have we seen? How many crime scenes? Hundreds? Thousands? Pictures of families, victims- both alive and dead, I was always able to stay objective, to stay at arms length, but now, all I see is Sarah.
Nathan Tubbs was easy, but there was a time in my career when I would have asked the question I should have asked: Was it too easy? The biggest trap for a profiler to fall into is pride: forgetting that for all your skills, profiling is just a tool.
It was like you could physically feel the mood change on campus. Kids, they're so resilient. They trust and believe in a way I can't reach anymore, like a very old picture. You remember the circumstances, but the feelings, the emotions, they're just out of your grasp. They believed in us. They believed in me, the way Sarah believed in me. And, as with Sarah I believe I led them right to the slaughter.
What was I even doing there? How many times had I told you that a profiler cannot do the job if the mind Is unfocused? That if anything was going on in your personal life it would cloud your judgement. My mind has never been more unfocused than it was on that campus. Did I let a lion loose amongst babies? Was my judgement clouded by the need to make someone pay for Sarah's death?
Two more dead, was the price that needed to be paid? I s death ever worth it? Was the world always this grey? Is it only in the movies that it's black and white? Is that just a illusion? I used to know. I used to understand my place, my direction, where I was headed.
Profiling requires belief: Belief in the profile, belief in yourself. After Sarah, I no longer trusted myself at home. After Tubbs, I no longer trust myself in the field.
And without that I have nothing.
And that was the last domino: the death of that girl, Hotch being suspended over something that was my fault. I said at the beginning of this letter that I knew it would be you to come up here. I'm sorry the explanation couldn't be better, and I'm sorry it doesn't make more sense, but I already told you, I just don't understand any of it anymore.
I'm sorry.
I sat there just staring at the letter in my hands, he was gone. Tears made their way down my face and this time I was shaking so bad I dropped the whole letter. He had left the same way my father did, letter and all.
He was the bravest man I knew, but in the end he was a coward. Who couldn't tell me this to my face, who had to leave a letter explaining why he had run away. He had abandoned the team all of us, we'd be lost without him.
He had stood up to some of the nastiest murders, but yet he wouldn't say goodbye to my face. I knew I wouldn't be able to drive home in this condition, so I curled up in the chair, tucking my feet under me an stayed in the empty cabin.
The cabin that reflected how I felt now.