14th NOVEMBER 2012
The cold wind carried the light flakes of falling snow through the crevices of old buildings, carelessly allowing them to drift into oblivion. The threadbare green of old gloves painted a picture of abstract color against the ivory canvas upon Manhattan's streets. The cruelty of the whistle the wind carried, drove every soul inside their humble abode, all except the forgotten. There were worn-out blankets littered endlessly through the main streets, the soulless eyes of the forgotten staring at, but not seeing in the least, the icy floor upon which they huddled. Some begged for money, others had dogs. Some had strained their voices from sobbing endlessly through the night, others were just too cold, and their only prayer from this day forward was to perish upon the glacial floors, and vanish into the blizzard, like so many had.
The city people walked past these souls so blindly, that sometimes it was a wonder if they were even still in existence at all. They scavenged for leftover food scraps, they stole from food and clothing stores with lax security, and slept in the mild and meagre shelter of benches, train stations and shop doorways. Many of the forgotten were once quite successful, most were happy and loved, and all were once more than the shells they now were. Everyone had their story to tell. One man in particular had too many memories. Painful and dreary in his eidetic memory, he was plagued endlessly by each whispery one. He had been a successful profiler for the BAU, and he had excelled in his field, but those days were long gone, and his life was now nothing but a patchwork of faded and broken remembrances.
Spencer Reid was not who he used to be; the mind that used to set him apart from the rest, was now only an instrument of torture. His face was unshaven and often cut, from the panicked scrambles he faced daily for the last scrap of someone's old bagel. He had formed somewhat of a bond with two other urchins of the streets. He has gained their trust quickly, after sharing his stolen treasures with them, upon their granted request to harbour him from the bitter cold in their home. If you could call it that; it was a run-down, abandoned husk of a building. It had once been a department store, as illustrated by the grotesque plethora of mannequin parts, piled in an unused corner.
Spencer raised his sepia eyes up to meet those of a passing stranger, an outstretched, trembling hand daringly held to be visible. He said nothing, his meekness still abundant, and hoped the stranger would take pity on his existence. The man flipped a quarter haphazardly in the direction of Spencer's hands, it tumbled and landed noiselessly upon the snow. Spencer grabbed the shiny achievement and put it in the old Starbucks cup he used for change. The people of New York were often ungenerous, but today, at last count Spencer had collected five dollars and thirty two cents; enough for a hot meal. Often, he wouldn't eat for days because the right time to steal hadn't come up, or he hadn't gathered enough money. On some days, he and the others would walk the four blocks to the soup kitchen, but given their frailety and lack of stamina, this was rare. They rarely roamed too far from Bargain City; that was the old department store they settled in, just in case they became too weak to make it back.
They rarely left alone either, for on the streets every man and woman who was just as forgotten as you, was your enemy. Every forgotten one had learned this the hard way, upon being mugged for their stolen goods, or even just for a better spot to sleep. That was why Spencer had been lucky to find Liana and Billy; they'd saved him from the Twelfth Street Ringers. Some of the forgotten ones had come together in crime and proceeded to torment any and every one they saw. The settlement was a couple of blocks from Twelfth Street, but still they were not safe; the Ringers thought nothing of crossing jurisdictions between camps.
Spencer pulled himself up from the maroon-coloured blanket, which was now sodden from the melting snowfall. He dragged it limply behind him the way a lost child drags a security blanket, and slinked through the broken doorway of the Bargain City settlement. He eyed the area cautiously, and once he had concluded there was no imminent threat he set the blanket across a haphazard scaffold to dry. He ambled over to the dimly lit corner of the first floor and knelt in front of the oil drum which harboured a modest fire. He held his trembling hands over the dancing embers, a dull ache shocking its way through his fingers as the numbness subsided.
Liana looked up at Spencer curiously, pulling her slender fingers through the tangled mass of hair that graced down her shoulders. Her eyes always seemed wild and fearful; which was a deceptive representation. Liana was a scrappy and intelligent woman beyond her eccentricity, but she would never let it be known. She pulled her thin, grey shawl around her fragile frame and scurried quickly to Spencer;
"Whatchya get?" she asked hurriedly, crouching down beside him.
"Five dollars thirty two cents," he replied, placing the Starbucks cup in front of her.
"How much were the hot dogs at the cart?" she frowned as her crystal blue eyes caught his.
"A dollar ninety five," he uttered softly.
"We don't have enough for three," Liana whined forlornly, throwing the change back into the cup with a sigh. Spencer didn't look up from the fire, he only numbly replied;
"Don't worry, we don't know what Billy got yet. Where was he headed today?" he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his black zip-up hoodie; an early theft from Target, in his desperation. Liana thought for a moment;
"He said he was gonna play outside Macy's today, it's a busy area so maybe he had some luck out there," she tried to reassure herself that maybe she would get her hot dog tonight. Hot dogs were Liana's favourite, and she had the patience of a small child craving candy. The wind was growing in force, rendering Spencer's body stiff and limited. He made his way over to the old mattress that he called his own, wth difficulty, and flopped down. He curled himself up as small as his frame would allow and cuddled himself in a futile effort to keep out the cold. He had been out there for two months, three weeks, four days; like an alcoholic never forgets his last drink, Spencer remembered his last night of security. He cast the thoughts away from him, not allowing the shadows to engulf him; he would sort neatly through everything his brain was storing, just not tonight.
Billy ran through the archway, his breath catching in his chest as he checked he had not been followed back to the settlement. he set down his saxaphone case, the latch was broken, the metal of the instrument was now tarnished and scratched.
"What happened?" Spencer lifted his head a little at the commotion. Liana interrupted, and skittered over;
"Never mind that! Got enough for hot dogs?" she licked her lips and held out her hands, almost dancing on the spot. Billy rolled his eyes; he had grown used to Liana over the years;
"I got enough for forty hot dogs," he smiled smugly. Spencer's interest was piqued; he had a sinking feeling he knew how he had obtained the money. It was something he'd done himself in dark times; he had become comfortably numb with it.
"How do any of us get fifty bucks, Lia?" Billy replied stridently. She looked down and wrung her hands together;
"You gave 'im one didn't ya?" she laughed but in no way was it mirthful, it was nervous and ashamed. Billy nodded, a grim smile upon his chapped lips. He threw the balled-up notes at Liana's feet, and much like a rat after scraps, she scurried to gather them in her soot-covered hands. Spencer stood shakily from the mattress and took the money from Liana's hands;
"I'll go this time. I'll hit the store on the way," he twitched a small smile and moved towards the arch.
"Spencer, get some cheap liquor!" Billy hollered after him. Spencer saluted him half heartedly to acknowledge that he'd heard.
Spencer pushed his hands into his jacket pockets and put his head down as he fought against the bitter wind and snow. He kicked a stray tin can as he walked a block to the store, a meagre distraction from his chill-bitten face and hands. He walked through the doors of Minute Mart, and grabbed a basket. He grabbed two bottles of cheap bourbon as Billy had requested, a big bargain jar of coffee grinds, some orange juice, bread, crackers, rice and beans and headed to the counter. The checkout girl glanced at him curiously; his dishevelled clothes and unkempt hair were out of place even for this place. Spencer had calmly worked out the prices in his head in seconds (thirty eight seventy two) he thought to himself;
"Thirty eight seventy two please," she uttered quietly, and Spencer handed it over. She returned his change of one dollar twenty eight to his grubby palm, and he put it in his pocket. He concluded they had seventeen dollars fourteen left, he thought he should leave some money for emergency supplies, but he wanted a smoke so badly. He and Billy had shared any that had been bought, found or stolen, and he found that replacing his one vice of dilaudid with nicotine, had been his only way out.
He walked back out into the bracing tundra, and made his way to the lowly hot dog vendor; he couldn't understand why this guy still stood out in the cold, all bundled up next to his little cart. Spencer had to admit he admired the guy's defiance against the elements, and he was thankful he could get Liana her favourite meal.
"The usual, Spencer?" Joe, the vendor asked, recognising Spencer.
"Yeah, yeah he usual," Spencer nodded softly.
"D'ya find a place yet?" Joe replied, his attention focused on retrieving mustard from the near-empty container. Spencer nodded;
"We sleep in the old Bargain City now. It's hardly the Tangiers, but it stops us from dying like stray dogs," Spencer had lost a lot, but never his eloquent sense of poetry; granted it was a little darker in ouvre these days.
"I'm glad. I worry about you; I like you guys," Joe smiled genially and handed over the three wrapped hot dogs in exchange for Spencer's money. Spencer took his change and proceeded to walk away. The sound of Joe's voice made him hesitate;
"Hey, uh Spencer? You want some hot pretzels? I'm packin' up and headin' home; I don't wanna dump 'em in the trash," Spencer's eyes widened, and he began to salivate at the thought;
"Yes please!" his voice was almost childlike as he danced over to grab the box;
"Thanks Joe," he grinned, and wrapped his arms around him, taking him by surprise. Joe chuckled;
"Glad I could help," he patted Spencer lightly on the back and turned, dashing off in to what was now darkness. Spencer smiled as he walked back, and he was reunited with the same tin can from before, he kicked with more vigor. He ducked into the liquor store to buy some smokes, leaving four dollars, give or take, for an emergency. As he turned the corner to get to his humble abode, he smiled. He was poor financially, but he was still alive, that was a lot to be thankful for. He went through the arch and laid his bounty on the table.
"Whoa! You got all this for fifty bucks?" Billy stared open mouthed.
"Mostly. Joe gave me the pretzels for free 'cause he was heading home. I even got us a pack of smokes," he grinned at the awe upon their faces; they were like kids at Christmas time.
"Jeez, thanks Spence!" Liana clapped and started to open everything. In an instant, Spencer's eyes grew stormy;
"I told you before, don't EVER call me Spence," he snapped, his jaw popping in frustration. Liana yelped and nodded like a scolded puppy;
"I'm sorry," she spoke meekly, frightened by the hostility. Spencer sighed and sat down on an old fruit crate;
"I'm sorry...It's just a painful reminder of somebody that I used to know," his eyes never left the flames flickering from the oil drum.
"Tell us, tell us your story Spencer and we'll tell you ours," Billy chimed in, cracking open the bourbon and swigging it like soda from the bottle. Spencer's gaze, once again did not move, but his jaw clenched slightly. His eyes finally shifted to look at Billy, then Liana, then his hands. He pulled out the one tattered photograph he had of himself with his old family. He scanned to see JJ; the only one to ever call him Spence, Morgan; who had been so close to him, Hotch; the boss who had admired him, Emily, David and Garcia; the friends he could never forget. A tear splashed onto the face of the man he had once been, and he felt the eyes of Liana and Billy patiently awaiting his refrain. He looked up and took a deep breath;
"I was born in Las Vegas..."