Chapter Four

Aubrey had parked at the top of Graber Hill. From the summit, Reid looked out over the landscape of Amish farmland. Gravel and dirt roads criss-crossed between the green fields; rambling white houses dotted the landscape. Each was partnered with a red barn and outbuildings. Each boasted a pristine farmyard, uncluttered, neatly arranged, no automobile or tractor in sight. Although Reid couldn't see it from where they stood, he knew there would be a large vegetable garden, dogs, barncats, livestock grazing or corralled nearby. From here, he could see the tiny gathering of houses where he and J.J. had been. "We drove through a town today...," he said, "and there was nothing on the map."

Aubrey stood quietly beside him, sharing the beauty of the site before them. "There is no need to be on a map. You know, they call themselves 'The People' - 'Amish' is OUR word. They don't consider themselves part of our world. They say, 'We are IN the world, but not OF it.' That's what they feel, to their core."

She touched Reid's arm lightly, pointing to a house to the north of the hill, "See that one? That is the Bishop's house. They elect the bishop from the men most respected in the community - those thought to be the wisest, to walk closest to God."

"Where...where is the church?" Reid scanned the landscape, squinting.

"They don't have a church building. They alternate meeting Sundays in houses. And then only every other Sunday - the ones in between being for visiting. They work hard to stay bonded to their neighbors."

Aubrey sat down on the grassy bank, then smiled up at him. "I sit here sometimes, and feel such...peace looking at all this." She looked out at the farms, "And then I know I could never be part of it. And it makes me sad."

Reid cautiously lowered himself down beside her. The earth under the grass felt cool and damp. He smelled the familiar mustiness that set in every evening here. He wondered exactly why she had brought him here to this spot. Aubrey stretched her legs out in front of her and kicked off her shoes. Her feet were smooth and white at the end of her jeans, and he noticed that her toenails were painted red. His throat felt dry, and when he swallowed he worried that it had been loud enough for her to hear it. But she gave no indication.

"A few years ago, when I was doing my dissertation, I was talking a lot to the Amish people," Aubrey said. "Some of the women one day, they told me that one of the young men in the community had been violent and unpredictable. He threatened to kill another man in the community. He threatened women. He was apparently..." here she stopped and sighed, "beating his wife. He didn't let her visit other homes except for church. She was pretty isolated. They had two young children and another coming. The bishop and the best men in the community, all paid him a visit. They explained to him that God would not like him to be beating his wife, creating a bad atmosphere for his children to grow in. They tried to help him."

Reid felt his heat beating harder..anticipating the story. "What happened?"

"One night their young son - he was maybe ten or eleven - he ran to the neighboring house in the middle of the night."

Reid's eyes once again measured the distance between the farms. A child, running in the dark, alone. He couldn't imagine. Reid had always feared the dark as a child, and could barely admit to himself he still did fear it at times. His mind strained to grasp the terrified thoughts of a young boy running the through the dark field at night, down a gravel-strewn road, to find help.

"When they got back to the house, the mother was beaten near to death. The little girl was bruised as well, and didn't speak for...weeks. The woman lost the baby. The man was gone. Just, gone." Aubrey drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest. "But it was a good thing, you know. The mother - Lydia - she took her children and went to live with her husband's sister and their family. You see, if you are Amish, you are never left alone with no options. No place to go. They will always take you in."

Reid stared down at his hands. "Jacob Yoder."

After a time he said to Aubrey, "You know he is back."

Startled, she turned her head to look at him. "Back? Are you sure?"

"Mr. Wilson at the hardware said he came in ... Thursday."

"Oh, Spencer." Aubrey looked back out across the fields. "Oh, Spencer," she said again. "Do you think Jacob is involved in this?"

Reid's mind snapped to business, "Do you think they won't talk to us because they are afraid of him? Why? Why wouldn't they want to help us?"

Aubrey sighed. "I don't know. They will feel he is one of their own even now. He was banned - they shun you when you do something against their way of life, against the community, God's laws - but if he has expressed repentance and promised to change, he would be welcomed back and forgiven. If they feel you are suspicious of him..perhaps they would try to protect him."

"Harboring a fugitive is against the law," said Reid abruptly.

"He isn't a fugitive...is he?"

"He is if he was wanted for harming his wife. If his beating caused her loss of the baby, that was murder."

Aubrey was silent, and Reid could feel her sudden emotional distance from him. He wanted desperately to draw her back. "I'm sorry," he said softly, unsure what he needed to be apologizing for.

Down in the valley, a gathering of cars had been parked along a stretch of gravel road. Several dozen people were now walking across the nearby field and arriving back at their cars, climbing inside, pulling away. A group of volunteer searchers out looking for the missing children. "They won't find them, will they," Aubrey stated flatly.

"I don't think so," said Reid, his heart pounding in sympathy for hers. Then he offered, "Not here. But they may still be out there."

"But don't they have little chance of survival now? After so long?"

"I don't know, " he said. "This feels different. They took the children, they could have left them dead...for whatever reason. But they took them."

Aubrey looked at him again, hard into his eyes. "I don't want to know why, do I?" Reid looked away, unable to sustain his gaze in the face of her upset. Aubrey stood up. After a few moments, she slipped her shoes back on and started to walk away.

They were nearly to the Jeep when she turned to face him, stopping him in his tracks. Her face was dry but her eyes were red. "Spencer, I don't know why I'm angry. I just hate all this." She stood looking at the ground, searching for her next words. He felt his hand twitch, wanting to reach out to her. "These people don't deserve this... this intrusion from the outside. You said these men were English. What could Jacob have to do with that?" Reid stood looking at the ground, ashamed that he couldn't offer an answer. "I'm sorry." She looked up. "I don't mean to be so . . ."

And then she did something that shocked him to his core. She stepped close and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his chest. Spencer held his breath for several long seconds, and then carefully placed his arms around her. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing. He smelled the shampoo and perfume in her hair. He kept waiting for her to step back again, but she didn't, and so after a time he closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of her head, sure that he had never been more content in his life than he was in that moment.

~~/~~

Aubrey had calmed during the drive back to town. The tense vibes of their conversation on the hill fell away and she was once again feeling herself, centered and generous of spirit. She was mildly ashamed that she had been so emotional with Spencer. After all, none of it was his fault. It was just that she was so torn, between wanting to help the FBI find their answers and yet forcing the world to respect the wishes of the Amish to be left alone. She had nurtured her loyalty to The People for years, and now this duty to the federal investigation had challenged it. She felt that Jacob was somehow involved, and knew that is what Spencer felt too.

Gentle Spencer. The abruptness of his answers had surprised her. She had seen a spark of something unexpected - the part of him that was tough in the face of the horrors he must see in the course of his work. A sort of stubborn commitment to truth. It belied his soft demeanor, the way the gun on his hip belied his graceful presence. The enigma of it had startled her; and on top of that sitting there with him so close had befuddled her.

She was behaving like a schoolgirl. She had found herself fighting not to turn and study his handsome face, the fine lines, to search for some clue there - the mystery that was this beautiful complex man. Sitting on top of the hill beside him, she had felt his eyes on her. She had looked at his hands and their elegant long lines, like the hands of an artist, and she had thought about how they would feel on her. She had felt him listening to her breathe. Had that been her imagination? Some silly fantasy? Good grief, she thought she had outgrown that years ago. She thought she had stopped wanting that years ago... and she had. But something about Spencer was challenging her will.

And so on top of the hill she had allowed herself a brief moment of surrender, and had walked into his arms as if she had a right to. Just to pretend for a moment. For the five minutes or so she allowed him to hold her, she refused to feel any guilt, and now she would refuse to feel any remorse. Even if he thought ... what DID he think? He had been uncharacteristically chatty on the way back to the hotel, telling her all about his home in Virginia and card games with his colleagues. She had listened the charm of his voice as if she were hearing it for the first time, basking in his presence beside her, glancing at him from time to time to see his hair blowing across his face and his disarming smile. She had hoped he wouldn't look at the speedometer and realize she was milking each mile for all it was worth, without being obvious. When she had finally rolled to a stop in front of the hotel, he had softly placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks, Aubrey, goodnight.." and then she was watching his lanky frame hop up the steps to the door of the hotel, hands in his pockets. She had hastened to pull away before he had time to wonder why she lingered.

~~/~~

Derek Morgan wondered where Reid was at this hour. Morgan had hung around the lobby of the historic hotel, checking out the Victorian architecture and decor, watching the clientele come and go. He had called Reid's phone repeatedly with no return call for 3 hours, and now, at 10:30, he was getting concerned. It wasn't like Reid to stay out alone late. He was early to bed early to rise. Morgan had often forced him to go out, stay up, have a drink, hit on a girl - using magic tricks, the only trick in Reid's repetoire. But the kid wasn't one to stay out on his own.

In his boredom, Morgan had called Aubrey Bennett too. He wasn't sure what excuse he would give - he'd think of something once he had her on the phone. After all, he had some unfinished business with her the other night. He laughed to himself, thinking about how she had dismissed him at the door. She wasn't stupid that one. She was smart, sassy, and gorgeous. And Morgan was having a ball playing the game with her.

He had begged her number off of Hotch, making some excuse about asking her a question about the Amish. Of course, Hotch knew better, and Morgan knew it. But he didn't mind. It was all in fun. The thing was, she hadn't answered her phone either. Not for the three hours he had been ringing her and ringing Reid. Morgan refused to consider that they had been in the same place. That would just be too bizarre.

He was dialing Reid for an eighth time by his count, when he glanced the slender figure glide through the lobby. "Reid!"

Spencer stopped at the call and turned toward Morgan. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you."

"Why?"

Morgan could sense a bit of annoyance in Reid's voice, and wasn't surprised. Reid hated to be looked after, even though he often needed it, in Morgan's estimation. He shoved Reid's shoulder lightly, "Don't tell me you had a DATE!"

"Funny," Reid smirked. But Morgan thought that even in the dim golden light of the hotel lobby he saw Reid flush. Something in Reid's eyes made him soften.

"Hey," Morgan said. "Come and have a drink with me. Just one. I'm buyin'."

~~/~~

Reid watched Morgan nurse a Michelob, wondering how Morgan could stand it. He was in awe of this friend, this man who didn't seem to be afraid of anything, who exuded confidence - who could drink so-so beer and have one think it was the only beer made. Reid stuck to brandy, which was after all at least worth poisoning your kidneys over.

Morgan had listened carefully to the things Reid had learned about the Amish that day, about their philosophy and way of thinking. He didn't ask where Reid had learned it all, and Reid didn't say who he had learned it from. They discussed the case like the behavioral analysts they were, picking one anther's brains, throwing out theory and conjecture for the other to analyze. In this way members of the team eventually arrived at fresh leads and hopefully conclusions.

Reid had no problem withholding secrets from Morgan, or from anyone. He had spent his life hiding secrets. He had learned early that doing so was basic to survival. Whether it was his mother's schizophrenic episodes, his messy childhood, his shame at constantly feeling defective and painfully different from those around him, or his past drug addiction, he felt no qualms at selectively sharing information, even with those who most cared for his welfare. He had simply never understood any alternative. Tonight he held the secret that he had held in his arms for a few minutes Morgan's elusive prize, and he relished it.

He watched the thick liquid brandy as he swirled it in the snifter, and thought about the thing Morgan would never know. That he, Reid, was not as innocent as Morgan thought. Any one of them, the team, would be amazed to know the truth. Reid knew a thing or two about women.

The year before his recruitment into the FBI, he had been a 22-year-old with two Ph.D.'s and working on a third. He had had few real friends. Those his own age were still drinking themselves into oblivion at frat parties and trying to pass a test on Monday. Those his equal in education were much older, and those equal in intellect were deep in their various endeavors. Reid had found himself lost, academia being the only comfortable place he knew, the only place in which he truly understood the rhythm. He was biding his time until he would fall into teaching, or until he found his path elsewhere, whichever came first. At 22 he really didn't care. He had the education and mind of a middle-aged man, and the experience of a teenager. Already, he felt himself on the wrong planet. That was before Gideon had come to steal him away to the BAU.

Sometime during that year, he met a professor of art history through other acquaintances. Or rather, she met him. Annette was foreign, lovely, and fast. She was disarmingly comfortable in her female skin. There was no male she feared to conquer, and none that cared to resist. She was smart, worldly and gregarious. She ate life raw and never looked back. At first acquaintance, Reid was terrified.

She had asked him to dinner. He took it as a joke. He had laughed, and said, "Do you know how old I am?" knowing that she was at least ten years older. Later he had regretted the laughing, realizing she had been serious after all. But then she had asked him again, to various gatherings and functions, and he had gradually realized she meant it. She thought he had the slightest idea what to do, how to behave with her. The more he refused and avoided her, the more she pursued him. Then one certain evening, he attended a pool party at the instigation of a fellow student companion. Annette was there, scantly clad in a bikini. Pairs of male eyes hungrily followed her throughout the evening as she flitted happily about the party, chatting and laughing. And eyeing Spencer across the pool.

At some point in the evening he consented to donning a suit and sliding into the cool water, feeling less exposed when up to his neck in the dark of the pool. He talked to Jeanna Murphy, a girl he knew from chemistry lab, as she sat dangling her feet in the pool. Occasionally they would be splashed from the rowdy play of those around them. They would duck and smile and go on with the conversation. The ripples and waves made by the revelers as they splashed comforted Spencer, as he knew they hid him from sight.

But suddenly he had felt hands around his waist, turning him around. Before he could respond, he was staring into the pretty face of Annette, and she was sliding her arms around him, pulling him to her. "Hello," she purred. She kissed him deeply.

She carried on a conversation with Jeanna over his shoulder, calmly, practiced. Occasionally she kissed his mouth, ignoring his astonished embarrassment. Then he felt her hand slide into the front of his bathing suit, "What are you doing?" he chocked. He knew that to make a loud statement or commotion would be to let Jeanna and maybe others know what was transpiring, and so he remained still, hoping against hope that it was some tasteless joke on Annette's part. "What do you think I'm doing," she laughingly whispered and kissed his nose, as she wrapped her long legs around him.

Even now he still felt the confusion of that evening, the absolute disbelief when she drew him closer and he felt himself sliding into her. He had been surprised at how detached he had felt, how emotionless. So that was it, he had thought. That landmark of his youth conquered. The Big V. That was over with. He had been glad of it, and at the same time disappointed in it. In the end he had found himself apathetic. He was relieved that it went smoothly, that all the mechanics were functioning as he understood they should. When it was over she kissed him again and swam away. He had stood there in the pool, people splashing around him, water up to his neck, and felt his knees shaking, his stomach turning.

Later that evening, as he had wrapped himself in a towel and walked toward the house to change, she had stopped him. For the first time, he saw something genuine in her eyes. "Spencer," she said softly, "Was that your first time?"

He had been unable to speak then, and she had taken his hand in hers and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I didn't think. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he had shrugged lightly. "Why be sorry?" But he couldn't bring himself to smile, and just looked at her.

"Come on," she finally said, "Let's get dressed. I'll drive you home if you like." But she didn't take him home. She took him to her place, and spent the night making it up to him, caressing him in ways a practiced lover could, teaching him to return the caresses. She continued to see him for months afterward, and he allowed it, enjoying her company on an intellectual level, and not minding the sex either. He had a sneaking feeling her colleagues considered him her current toy, but he didn't care. Once he overheard her joke that he had been the only man she had ever chased. When he consented to go to the BAU with Gideon, he actually felt some genuine remorse at leaving her.

Their last night together, as he lie sleepless anticipating his job at the BAU and contemplating Gideon's description of the opportunity to come, she had held him close to her in the dark and had told him how beautiful he was, how gentle, and that someday he would be loved greatly by a woman. He had tried to believe her, and maybe he had even managed to do it for a time. But now years had gone by and he didn't believe it anymore. He told himself that his work hours and the nature of the job had made it impossible to get involved with a girl, and he didn't want a one night stand. He wasn't like Morgan. That wouldn't have been worth the trouble.

Once he dated a girl a few times, one he had met in the course of the job, but then the team was called off on a case, and he found himself losing interest. And now the years had passed and he stood on the crest of 30. His 29th birthday had brought him no joy, and he felt the seconds of the next twelve months already ticking away.

But what did he want? Certainly not something like Annette - that had been empty, temporary, without meaning. After that had ended he had felt bewildered, used up. He thought of what he felt near Aubrey Bennett, trembling, sick, weak, terrified. He had never experienced such total fear in the presence of a woman. Ineptitude, embarrassment, yes. But not this - not this feeling of desperation, of wanting to lie at her feet and beg...

She had held him for a few minutes, that's all. She was sad, and upset. She had no knowledge of his feelings, and that was the way he should keep it. Aubrey was far above him, above anything for which he dared to hope, or anything he would have the faintest clue how to deserve. He looked across the table at Morgan, re-focusing on the conversation, and resolved to put Aubrey out of his mind.