Chapter 04
Emily Prentiss' Apartment
Georgetown
Washington DC
Day #4
Emily
Emily decided to make it a Saturday in. She stopped at her favorite market and picked up everything indulgent she thought of, cookies, pastries, ice cream, better than usual coffee, wine. Once home she ordered some inauthentic but reasonably yummy Italian food, fed Sergio, and went to change. By the time the food got there she was in her comfy clothes, and she settled in with a glass of Merlot, some timballo di bucatini and something off the stack of steamy romance novels she kept for just this sort of week-end.
The problem was, as the night went on, something that was nagging at the back of her mind kept becoming more and more of an issue. It just wouldn't go away, not when the timballo and cheesy romance turned into ice cream and a decent movie, or when the movie ended and she found herself in the tub with more wine and the rest of that novel. Finally she just gave into it and found her phone.
You awake? She debated an entire minute before sending the text to Reid
Yeah.
Where are you?
Home. Why?
Dunno. You OK?
Yeah.
OK G'night.
Good night
For the life of her she did not know why she did that.
The initial rush of the campfire had died down. She lay back in her bedroll and looked up into the sky where a gas giant overwhelmed the stars. "That's so beautiful." She murmured. "And so scary."
"Why scary?" He asked.
"Our sky is nothing like that. It just shows how far from home we are. I'm used to having a team, familiar people around me. I guess it makes me feel kind of lonely."
He reached over and took her hand. "You're not alone in this." He pointed out. "I just hope I can get to that level of trust someday."
"I think you will." She looked over at him. Gentle and kind as Reid but with a body to rival Morgan's, was it any wonder why she was feeling that sudden tightness in her belly. And he read people as well as any profiler; he could probably see it on her face. "Andrew, I…."
"Shhh. We can't. Not until they're safe within the abbey. But once they are…." He reached over and ran one finger down the side of her neck.
She couldn't help it. She rolled into him and found his lips with hers…
Giant Food
4303 Connecticut Ave. NW
Washington DC
Spencer
Spencer lied. He was not home. And he was most certainly not okay.
Once he'd roused himself out of the park he had gone home for a time. He'd had a very long, very hot shower during which he delighted in the clean scents of shampoo and soap and eventually talc and deodorant. Then he'd put on his oldest, softest cords and a well-worn shirt and gone into the kitchen to contemplate his options. There weren't many, but he made himself a PB&J and had a glass of milk, which was usually enough to last him at the end of the day, and settled down to read.
Tonight it didn't. Before he reached the end of the book he was utterly famished.
Right then. He pulled on his ankle holster and jacket and headed for the store two blocks away. At this hour the streets were still busy enough to walk, and even if they weren't he rather thought that tonight he would have walked anyway, to delight in the open air and the sights and sounds of the city, I've been cooped up for so long, he thought.
He stopped. No he hadn't. Where did that thought come from? And come to think of it, why did he still feel like he missed Henry's birthday?
No. No, he was not turning into his mother. He was not. Simple as that.
Right. Grocery store. Corner. They usually had those rotisserie chickens and all different kinds of pre-packaged sides, he was thinking mashed potatoes, gravy, the corn medley, maybe some kind of pie for dessert. Go home, fix up a plate and settle in front of some classic Star Trek or something. Go to bed very full and content, get up tomorrow, go get Henry his gifts. It was a simple, good plan.
Until he got to the store and someone opened the door and he caught the scent of the cooking chicken.
Immediately he felt his hunger grow acute, grow painful, like his stomach was so empty it was trying to turn itself inside out. And then he felt the sensation of something in his mouth, something thick and slimy and furry, and his senses were filled with the taste of rancid fats and rotting meats and sour, fermented vegetables and the musty funk of mold, and he was eating it, he was so hungry he didn't care, he could feel it sliding down his throat in great, thick strings of foul guck. He immediately ran to the gutter and vomited back the PB&J and pretty much everything he had eaten that day, just to get that disgusting mixture out of his body.
And he was still hungry! He actually wanted that muck! What the hell was he thinking!
"Hey man, you okay?" Some guy walking by asked.
Spencer was dimly aware that he was bent over a DC gutter, that he had narrowly missed his shoes, that he was shaking, that his throat was burning, hell his nose was burning, and his mouth was full of the taste of bile and acid. But compared to what had been in there just moments before it was heavenly. "Yeah." He gasped out. "Stomach flu."
"Oh man." The Good Samaritan said before hurrying off into the store.
The scent that came out brought along a fresh wave of nausea. I can't, Spencer thought, I just can't.
He staggered back toward home. He had plenty of milk, more peanut butter and jam and bread, cold cereal for the morning. And he could get all of the above at the corner bodega a block in the opposite direction of the grocery store. He'd figure this out. Something he'd figure this out. He was not hallucinating after all. He couldn't be.
As he went a text came in on his phone.
You awake?
It was cold. It was so cold in there. He couldn't move, he couldn't see, he couldn't focus on anything except what was happening to him. And what was happening to him was so very, very wrong. Just stop, he kept thinking, just stop. Just please stop touching me, please, it hurts so much. But they were laughing and they wouldn't stop. And his body was responding, damn it, if he could only have some kind of control.
"Li fariĝas proksima." One voice growled.
"Jes." The other responded. "Nun mi montros al vi kiel ruinigi ĝin rapide."
No, no, please no. I'm too close, he thought, I just…
There was a wave of sensation and then his body exploded in agony.
Spencer screamed himself awake from the nightmare. It was so real, so horribly real. He could still feel their hands, their breath, the pain….
His sheets were wet. His sheets were spotted wet. He had…he had…
He rolled out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and threw up his second PB&J of the night. Then he crawled into a shower, not even bothering to wait for hot, and started scrubbing the dreams off his skin.
