I hope you enjoy this.
Chapter Two:
His sister Nadine lived in a modest house in a middle-class neighborhood in DC. She was unloading groceries when he arrived.
"Hey sis," he said casually and grabbed some bags.
"Hey Doc," she said sweetly as her pet name for him since he graduated from med school.
"Where are the kids?" he asked as they walked in.
"Elly is at soccer practice and Chris is at a birthday party," she said. "I have another hour to myself."
They put groceries away in companionable silence. Nadine then poured two glasses of water and they sat down at the kitchen table.
"A little early for beer, so water will have to do," she said. "So, how's the new job?"
"The place looks more like the Ritz than a hospital, but the patients are the same," he said.
"Did one get under your skin?" she asked.
He stared at her.
"Was it that obvious?" he asked.
"Only to someone whose known you her whole life," Nadine said with a smile. "What can you tell me about him or her without breaking confidentiality?"
"He vaguely reminds me of A Beautiful Mind," he said.
"That movie you once made me watch to point out every medical inaccuracy?" she said.
"He reminds me of what happens when the potential of extraordinary achievement is lost," he said sadly. "It's still possible, but not at the same success level."
"Can you get him into any drug trials?" she asked.
"There haven't been many major developments recently," Jameson said.
"Well, you're there to improve his quality of life," Nadine said. "You're a good doctor and you'll help him. I'm sure of it."
"You're always good for a pep talk sis," he said. "Thanks."
"Your welcome," she said.
"Now what about you?" he asked. "How are DC's finest treating you?"
"Life as a homicide detective is what it is," she said. "Law and Order makes my job look easy."
"Now that I'm back in town, I'm happy to be a free babysitter," he said. "I'm here to help."
"I may end up taking you up on that offer sooner rather than later," she said. "Something nasty is going down and I think I'm going to be pulling a few doubles soon."
"Anything you can tell me about?" he asked.
"Remember when I applied for the FBI and I took those profiling courses?"
"Yeah that was roughly two years ago," he said. "What about it?"
"A couple deaths that were initially OD's appear to be something more insidious and that is saying something," she said and groaned. "I swear the Feds are going to be invading my space the next time I show up for work."
"Why do you dislike them if you once wanted to be one?" he asked.
Nadine gave him a look.
"I'd be a different kind of Fed, one who doesn't question why the I's and t's aren't crossed on every piece of paperwork," she said.
"But you have better penmanship then me," he said.
She gave him an uglier look.
"You try working under the microscope of the Behavioral Analysis Unit as they interview suspects and witnesses with you," she said. "I hope you know to keep this information to yourself. The last thing we want is a public panic."
"My lips are sealed," he said. The name Behavioral Analysis Unit rang bells from Spencer Reid's employment history. It was a curious connection.
"I better get going," she said standing up, "I wish I could have helped you move, but it is always a little crazy around here."
"I know," he said standing up also. "I look forward to becoming part of the craziness."
Nadine reached over and hugged him.
"Thanks," she said.
"Anytime sis," he said.
…
"They won't let me have access to the news," Reid said when he met him in the morning. "They're afraid it will agitate me."
"But it did, didn't it?" he said. According to the report, the mother of his two godsons had been shot at close range. This put him in a downward spiral that led to his suicide attempt, when he saw it on the news.
"That won't happen again," he said twitching his left foot. "I promise, I just need to stay informed. Informed so I know what to expect."
"I'll see if I can arrange some news stories to be sent to you," Jameson said. "What do you like to read about?'
"Homicide incidents," he said. "I like to know how people were killed."
Jameson knew he had to tread cautiously.
"You're perfectly safe here," Jameson said. "I don't think anyone can harm you here."
"That's not the point," Reid said stubbornly. "I need to know because that is what I needed to know. I found patterns where other people didn't. Did you know there are between twenty-five and fifty serial killers operating at any given time in the US? I need to know about these things."
Reid was at a tipping point. Jameson knew what he said next could send him in a downward spiral if he didn't say the right thing.
"Spencer," he said carefully. "Your job will always be part of who you are. It is what made you special and always will. But you have potential to do so much more than what you are used to doing. I believe you are capable of great things, if you believe in yourself too."
Reid began to violently shake. Jameson reached for the button in his desk.
"I AM NO ONE WITHOUT MY JOB!" he screeched. "NO ONE!"
Jameson reached around his desk just before Reid tried to slam his head into it. Nurses instantly appeared as Reid kept yelling about his job. Jameson was left alone on his knees at they took Spencer away.
Leah's head appeared.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
"I'll be fine," he said getting up. "I just need a few moments to myself."
"Your next patient won't be in for another twenty minutes," she said. "Take any extra time you need."
"Thanks Leah," he said as he took a seat behind his desk.
Leah left, and Jamison massaged his forehead. Sometimes words weren't enough if the thought was already there. It felt like something wasn't adding up about Reid though. None of the standard drugs prescribed for schizophrenia produced a significant favorable effect according to the reports. Some actually made things worse. Given the nature of the disorder, this wasn't entirely unusual. He needed to consult the rest of Reid's treatment team to find a better approach. Meeting Reid's team from the FBI might not be a bad idea either.
To clear his head of Reid, he checked his phone. There was a message from his sister:
"As I predicted, I'm doing doubles. I will need your FREE services tonight."
He texted: "No problem," and then sat back. It was interesting how things ended up connecting at times.