A.N. Second of three, one for each episode that Reid (and every Reid fan) endures...


The Banishment

Chapter 2

The social worker was coming, he had to hurry. Kitchen clean…check. Bathroom clean….check. Wait, there was a pill bottle out. It wouldn't do for an outsider to see the label for the antipsychotic medication. Hide that one in the freezer.

No, wait! They'll be checking to see if we have enough food!

He shoved it inside a box of cereal, making certain to cover it over, just in time to hear the sound of the bell, followed by the expected, "Spencer? Spencer!"

He'd warned his mother they were coming, but apparently she hadn't remembered. Like always. She sounded confused, and kept calling him, insistently, "Spencer! Spencer!"

"Spencer!"

She'd called his name as loudly as she dared without attracting the attention of the staff. It wouldn't do to have them running into her room to find that her son had snuck in during the night. They might arrest him as an intruder. Forgetting, momentarily, why he was there.

Diana made her way from the bed and shuffled over toward the window, and the sofabed that held her son, now finally stirring awake. She crouched next to the bed, putting her face at eye level with his. Gently, she pushed back the wayward bangs that always seemed to make their way into his eyes, even in sleep.

"Spencer, honey, it's time to wake up."

Thirty years melted away, just like that. Spencer Reid opened his eyes to the image of his mother, gently rousing him from slumber, just as she had in the earliest years of his boyhood. Those were the years before the social workers, and the spot checks, and his collusion in hiding the extent of her illness. His dream may have taken him back to the nightmare years, but the waking took him back to that blissful time when they could still believe they were a normal family.

He'd been out for only an hour or two, after spending most of the night ruminating. Still he blinked himself awake, and managed a croak. "Mom, hi. Good morning."

"Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

Reid pushed himself up on his elbows, and took stock of his mother. He'd learned the hard way that each day was a different day in her world, some good, some bad. Some aligned with reality, and some decidedly not. He would have to test the waters to see what kind of day today was.

"I slept okay. You?"

"As well as one can in this hellhole."

That kind of day.

"Mom, you like Bennington. You've told me how nice the people are here. Are you saying something's changed?"

Sometimes reminding her worked, and sometimes it didn't. Over the years, on her good days, she'd told him how lovely the staff were, and how well they took care of her. He preferred to believe those accounts. But he always did have just a niblet of worry that maybe there were times when one or more of the aides hadn't treated his mother all that well. After all, a patient's paranoia could be put to use in many ways, including the covering up of mistreatment.

I just have to trust that Dr. Norman cares about her as much as I think he does. That he looks out for her, in a way that I can't.

Today, the reminder worked. "I have? Oh. Well, maybe some of them are. All right, then." Changing the subject, unconsciously echoing once again their typical morning conversation of years ago. "Did you dream sweet dreams?"

It was how she'd always started, by asking about his dreams. Many years later, he'd learned why.

In the earliest phase of her illness, Diana had interpreted her delusions as waking dreams. She'd successfully dismissed the unwanted intrusions on her thoughts as momentary lapses in concentration, a wandering of her mind, a daydream. But, gradually, the 'lapses' had become the norm, the delusions more frightening, and her need to hide from them more intense. The illogic of it had been lost on her, but she'd also come to desperately fear that her son might begin to suffer the same frightening encounters.

So, every morning, she'd inquired about the quality of his dreams. He'd learned quickly enough not to report his nightmares. News of them had served only to spawn a whole new level of paranoia, and heightened fear, for both of them. Because, while the young Spencer understood his mother's visions weren't real, he also realized that she did not. He recognized true, debilitating, fear when he saw it. And his fear was that his mother would die of hers.

So, this morning, he reported on his dreams as he had long ago learned to do.

"Sweet dreams, as always, Mom. In fact, I dreamt about you." Sort of.

She smiled in that way that always broke his heart, because it couldn't quite erase the finely etched lines of psychic pain.

"Good." She patted his cheek. "That's my boy."

Reid swung his legs over the side of the sofabed and stood, raising his mother with him.

"We have the whole day ahead of us. What would you like to do?"

The freedom she'd been granted when the new drug was working had been restricted once again, once the symptoms of relapse had become evident. But Reid was certain Dr. Norman would make an exception, as long as she was in the company of her son.

"Oh, I don't…" She seemed about to dismiss the idea, when a thought struck her and altered her words. "Do….do you suppose we could take a ride? In a car? Maybe we could just….go…anywhere. Somewhere where it's open. Somewhere without walls."

He smiled at her. He might not have been able to offer her a cure, or a reprieve, or even the comfort of hearing that her relapse was only temporary. But he could take her away from Bennington for the day. He could indulge her wish for freedom, however fleeting it might be.

"Of course. I'll arrange it with Dr. Norman. Why don't you get washed and dressed. Do you need me to ask for an aide to help you?"

"Hmph. That will be the day, when I need someone to help me get ready for a date with my son."

His grin widened. Exchanges like this one always made him feel like he was seeing a glimpse of what they could have had. And, as bittersweet the transience of it was, he'd long since learned to grasp the moment, and savor it.

"All right then. I'll find Dr. Norman. Save me a little hot water, okay?"

"I'll save it all for you, my love. I don't mind a cold shower now and then."

"Mom, I didn't mean…"

"Relax, Spencer. I was only kidding."


The day was glorious. Bright sun, dry heat, uncrowded roads.

"Ah," said Diana, "It's been so long."

Her son looked over from the driver's seat.

"Haven't they taken you anywhere since the Grand Canyon?"

"The Grand Canyon? Who would have taken me to the Grand Canyon? Besides my wonderful son, that is." She reached over and rubbed the back of Spencer's head.

He smiled back at her, masking his concern. What good does it do her to have these experiences if she can't relive them?

"Don't you remember? The last time we had a case in Las Vegas, I thought I might visit you, but then I found out that you were away, on a trip to the Grand Canyon."

"I was?" Genuinely confused.

"You don't remember?"

"I think you must be mistaken, Spencer. I've haven't gone anywhere."

"But you sent….never mind."

She took him at his word. "But it would be a wonderful place to visit, wouldn't it? Do you remember when your father took us there?"

No. "He did? How old was I?"

"Oh, you were a baby. I guess he really took me, because I'd never seen it. Now that I think about it, I don't recall you being impressed. I suppose it really is just a big hole in the ground, isn't it?"

His mind was lasered onto the image of the family trip.

"I wish I could remember all of us being there together."

"Yes. Well." Diana resumed staring out the window.

"Do you want to go there now?" It was a few hours' drive.

She seemed to ponder it a bit. "No. No, I don't think so. But…do you think we could visit the desert? I always did love the desert."

It sounded familiar. "Why, Mom? I remember, but I've never known why. Why was the desert so important to you?"

Her answer subdued the hope in him.

"It's open. Empty. There's nowhere to hide in the desert, but it's all right, because it means they can't hide either. It makes me feel safe."


They ended the day in familiar fashion, the son stretched out on the bed beside his mother. Diana had offered to read to him, and he'd readily agreed.

"What a beautiful day we were given, my son. The sky was so vast, the clouds so beautifully laden, and the desert….oh, its hues were so paradoxically muted and brilliant at once. So wonderful. Thank you, Spencer."

Her words brought a melancholy to Reid. He'd so often wished she'd been able to pursue her career. He'd been gifted with her teaching. But the world had been deprived of her writing. When she spoke like this, he realized how much they'd all been deprived.

"It was a great day, Mom. Thanks for coming with me. And thanks for the idea to go out to the desert. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until we were there."

She smiled at him, as she opened her book. "If it's all right with you, I've chosen our reading for tonight, too."

He grinned. "Fine with me. You always choose the right thing."

He meant it. As a boy, he hadn't quite realized he felt that way. He'd known only that it was a great source of comfort…. .sometimes his only source of comfort…..to sit beside his mother and listen to her recite the prose of the great authors.

In time, he'd come to understand that it was how she communicated. That, even on those days when her illness waxed strong, even on those days that left her emotionally stunted, she was able to express herself, through the words of others.

It wasn't an accident that Diana so often chose the tales of knightly chivalry and valor. She'd seen her internal battle as a crusade, and her son as a dedicated defender of her honor.

For a time, after she started reading, Reid watched her profile. He studied the sharp outline of her cheek, the distinct angle of her jaw, each so familiar from looking at his own visage in the mirror. He focused on the sound of her voice, the deep, raspy tones evoking sense memories of his boyhood. In all the years intervening, he'd only encountered those same comforting tones once more…..in the voice of his best friend. More than once, he'd wondered if that was what had drawn him to JJ in the first place.

As Diana continued to read, her son was lulled into a state of timelessness. The past had become the present, as the present evoked the past. He closed his eyes and imagined them in the bedroom of his childhood home, feeling the tension of their current situation drain away. In time, the sleeplessness of the night before exacted its toll, and he drifted into slumber, his head lolling slowly sideways to rest against his mother's shoulder.

Feeling the contact, Diana turned her head to look at him, and realized that Spencer was no longer listening. She tilted her head to bring her lips to the top of his head.

"Sleep well, my son."

And she continued to read aloud, instilling his dreams with the lightness and warmth of a mother's love.


The next morning, Reid awakened before Diana, surprised to find himself still lying on the bed with her, as she reclined with the book still open across her middle. He moved as gently as he could, so as not to jostle her awake. Still clothed from the day before, he slipped from her room, hoping to find Dr. Norman making early rounds on his patients.

Reid spotted his quarry at the thinly disguised nurses station located at the hub where several hallways came together.

"Dr. Norman, good morning."

The older man looked up from the computer monitor he'd been scanning.

"Oh, good morning, Dr. Reid. How is the visit going?"

"It's going fine, I guess. Mom enjoyed the trip yesterday, so thanks for letting her go."

Reid paused before moving on to his agenda.

"Dr. Norman, would you have time to speak with me for a bit? I need to have a better understanding of what's going on with my mother. There are times when I see hints of her old symptoms, and other times when she's…..really, she's great! Better than she's been since I was a boy. And I don't know what to make of it."

And I don't know what to do about it.

Dr. Norman rose and came around the counter. As he ushered Reid into a neighboring conference room, he commiserated.

"I've made the same kinds of observations. And I'm afraid I don't know quite what to make of them, either."


Behind the closed door, Dr. Norman reviewed Diana's recent status changes with her son. Then, with Reid's indulgence, he did something he'd been wanting to do for a long time. He sat and listened as the young man relived his own experiences of his mother's illness, eager to hear what Reid remembered of his early years with Diana. The psychiatrist was fully attentive as Reid dug deep into his eidetic memory, which presented the events to him as a series of visuals, only gradually accompanied by conversation.

Dr. Norman found the exercise to be both fascinating and helpful, as he learned about the typical ebb and flow pattern of Diana's symptoms. But he could also see that the telling of it was beginning to take an emotional toll on the young man before him. As Reid's narrative approached the time of his eighteenth birthday, the psychiatrist noted the change in the quality and pace of his voice. He couldn't help but interpret it.

"You did the right thing, Spencer. She was unable to care for herself at home." Purposely addressing Reid by his first name. This wasn't subject matter for formality.

"But I could have stayed with her. I could have taken care of her. Instead, I put my own needs first. I was selfish."

And I still am. If you only knew.

"Have you ever spoken with her about it, since?"

Reid sat forward, elbows on his knees. " A couple of times. She said what you said, that I'd done the right thing, and that she understood."

"But you didn't believe her."

"What else was she going to say? Her only son essentially banished her from society so that he could live his life unencumbered. To acknowledge that, she would have to…she would have to…." His words were lost to misery.

"What, Spencer?" Softly. "What would she have to do?"

"She would have to acknowledge that I didn't love her enough."

Ah. The psychiatrist had been waiting years for this confession. He'd known it would come one day, because it always did. But he hadn't expected it to present itself quite so abruptly, on this particular morning. Still, from long experience, he was ready.

"Is that what you think, Spencer? That you don't love her enough?"

Purposely transitioning to the present tense.

Dr. Norman leaned forward. He'd been here with so many other family members, so many other times. He couldn't recall any of them looking more miserable than the young man sitting across from him.

Genius can only trump guilt for only so long, he thought. So he offered the genius something to hold on to.

"Schizophrenia is a capricious beast. That's how I look at it. It wreaks havoc on everyone and everything in its path, but only after years of torture. You don't need to absorb the blame for what it did to you and your mother, Spencer. Neither of you is responsible for that."

When Reid didn't refute him, Dr. Norman continued. "In fact, it would be only natural if you were wondering if it was about to come after you again….if it might be plotting to intrude on your life in yet another way."'

They both knew he was talking about what would happen if Diana stabilized, or even improved. What would happen if she no longer needed to be institutionalized.

Reid's breath held as he sat in stunned silence. It was as though the psychiatrist had read his mind. He'd been found out.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible..."I'm ashamed."

"What you are, Spencer, is human."

He let the words hang there. Dr. Norman was comfortable with silence. It was one of the most important tools of his trade. So he waited as his words took effect, confident that the young man would speak again when he was ready.

Speak, maybe. But not make eye contact. Reid's gaze was on the floor.

"I don't even know what to say. For so long, I prayed that she would get better. I prayed, and I don't even believe in God. But it wasn't just for her. It was for me, too." "He paused, shaking his head, not ready to let go of the self-recrimination. "I know it's selfish, but I wanted her to get better because...just….I guess I just always wanted a family. Someone to belong to, and who belonged to me. And, now..." He couldn't bring himself to finish.

Despite his long experience, Dr. Norman had rarely encountered a situation comparable to the Reids'. Their isolation from the rest of the world had been profound. He'd often marveled that Reid had done as well as he had.

"There's no shame in that, Spencer. What there is, is love. My experience tells me that it's the healthy families that face this. The ones who still have the capacity to care. Others have long since let go, too decimated by the illness to even define themselves as family any longer."

Reid shook his head. "That's not us. She's still my mother. And I'm still her son."

"Exactly. So, in some ways, the fact of your dilemma is an encouraging one."

Gaining a wry smile. Dr. Norman took it as permission to continue.

"You've been on your own for a long time, Spencer. You've established a life for yourself, and you have a career that makes a difference in the lives of others….even if you do work for the government."

Reid's brows went up until he saw the smile on Dr. Norman's face.

"Yes, on those days when she was really doing well, your mother proclaimed the news all over Bennington. She's very proud of you."

A shy, lop-sided smile rose on the young man's face this time.

Dr. Norman sat back. It was time to get down to the business at hand.

"You asked me how to interpret her symptoms. From what you described earlier, it seems that the natural, untreated course of her illness has been a waxing and waning one. That effect has long been dampened by the medications she's been on, so it's been less visible here. The new drug seems to have uncovered it again, although the swings from good to bad seem, at times, wider and more dramatic. And we haven't yet been able to determine a predictable timeline for them, or to relate them to peak and trough levels of the drug."

"What about combination therapy?" Latching on to a more familiar, less emotionally challenging, topic. Even if they hadn't actually done anything to address his dilemma.

"It's already under way, although we haven't quite found the cocktail that seems to work for her. The swings seem to be less dramatic, but they also occur more often. It's similar to the kind of relapse that's been seen in others, but, as you know, each case is unique." Dr. Norman mused on his own words for a moment before adding, "Although her case seems to be particularly challenging."

Reid couldn't suppress a sarcastic guffaw. Leave it to Mom to be 'unique' among the unique.

Aloud, he queried, "What else is there? What else can we try? Isn't there anything I do to help?" Willing to put all 187 IQ points to work.

The psychiatrist smiled, trying to mitigate the disappointment he was about to incur.

"Thank you for the offer, Spencer. But I'm afraid we're already doing all that can be done. If you were a praying man, I'd ask you to pray."