"Drawn to Revenge" chapter 4- Draw

Disclaimer: I own nothing; I wish I could own Criminal Minds and its characters, but I, unfortunately, do not. I do, however, own this twisted plot line and the villain. No profits were made in the making of this work of fiction.

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"Have it your way,"

The words had haunted Hotch ever since that day. He had tried to resolve the situation peacefully but it had ended in the exact opposite manner. He knew he was doing his job and he knew he hadn't done anything wrong; everything was by the book and everyone told him so; some even commended him on his handling of the situation- all the hostages and SWAT team were alive, after all. But this did not stop the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that something else could have been done. If he had done something different, Grant would still be alive and Reid would not be in the hands of a madman.

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Spencer Reid weakly looked up as Donald Grey entered the room stridently. The man stormed across the room with heavy footsteps; he carried his large bag and a tripod with an already-attached video camera in his hands. He released Reid from his bindings; the younger man weakly leaned against the wall and attempted to lower his arms from below his head; his shoulders and back were cramped severely. The only act of kindness was that Grey had allowed him to keep his clothes on to keep the smallest amount of extra heat within his body.

"Ready, Dr. Reid?" Grey asked pleasantly from where he sat after he had set up the tripod and started recording with the camera.

"Ready for what?" Reid thought as he looked up at Grey worriedly. He did not answer.

Grey smirked and zipped open the bag which was sitting beside him. He pulled out a rather large knife and examined it in his hands, the blade catching the artificial light.

"Turn around, Dr. Reid," he said quietly, his eyes still on the weapon in his hands. "And remove your shirt,"

Reid did not do so, eyeing the knife apprehensively whilst absently rubbing his raw wrists.

"We can do this the hard way or the easy way, Dr. Reid; I have already told you I will not kill you but should you disobey me I will stab you non-lethally to help the process along," Grey said in an even voice, glaring at him. "Now; do as I say,"

Reid reluctantly complied, shivering as he removed his shirt from his already cold and injured body. Grey took the shirt from him and put it in his bag.

So much for his only act of kindness.

"Now, Dr. Reid, I am sure you have heard of the condition hypergraphia?" Grey stated softly. "Care to define it for me?"

Reid opened his mouth the words did not pass his throat; he was dehydrated and his oesophagus was raw from being forced to drink Carisoprodol-and-sedative laced water.

"I'm waiting, Dr. Reid," the older man's voice said coldly.

"Compulsive writing," he managed to choke out with a wince. It was much shorter than his usual explanations but it seemed to satisfy Grey.

"Yes, Dr. Reid. Now, I myself do not suffer from hypergraphia, but I have always wanted to know what writing on strange surfaces with strange materials would be like; have you?" Grey stated calmly, edging closer to the younger man.

Reid shook his head.

"I prefer pen and paper," Reid muttered hoarsely.

"I'm sure you do; now, raise your arms in front of you," Reid's captor said, gathering up some rope. Reid could hear the leer in his voice.

Reid allowed himself one more stretch of his aching limbs before doing so with a sigh.

Grey tied Reid's hands together and forced them above his head.

"You know, this could all be over with a single pill, Spencer," Grey muttered in his ear, using Reid's given name for the first time. The younger man could feel the warm droplets of saliva make contact with his earlobe.

Reid remained silent for a few moments.

"It could be, but it won't," Reid said with as much conviction as he could muster.

"Have it your way," Grey said, unknowingly reciting the last words of his son. He crouched over Reid, extending the lithe man's legs and tying them at the ankles so that his back was arched painfully against the floor, and begun.

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"Okay, what do we have so far?" Hotch asked, running his fingers through his hair, staring at the papers on his desk with agitation.

"I've released the photograph of Donald Grey to the press and it is currently being circulated and aired," JJ said briskly; as soon as she had found out, she had started helping in any way she could. "Garcia managed to find some more recent photos of him so it should help the public recognise him should he be seen,"

"Anything else?" Hotch pressed.

"There's also going to be a photograph of Reid released," JJ added in a slightly softer, less professional tone; she could hear the stress in Hotch's voice and knew that the man was blaming himself.

"Good; what have we got on the profile so far?" the ex-SWAT questioned.

"We already know the basics; male, Caucasian, between the ages of 35 and 50…" Morgan said, looking at his notes.

"He's confident; cocky. Because he thinks that what he is doing is right, he has no doubt in his mind that he will not be caught; he thinks what he is doing is a balance," Gideon stated. The man took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms; they were all tired but none of them were willing to admit it and get some rest.

"He's strong; dominant. He's used to getting his own way; should he be confronted, he proves the challenger 'wrong' to the nth degree," Elle said. Images of what Reid could be going through ran through her head and she sighed. The best thing they could do is catch the bastard before he did any severe damage.

"Could this be a sexual thing? Could he get off on the power?" Morgan theorised.

Elle shook her head.

"This isn't about sex," she stated firmly.

Gideon nodded.

"This is about getting even and doing what he believed will make his life right again," he stated. The profiler paused for a moment. "He probably feels guilty; his son had to be pretty desperate to rob a bank,"

Hotch nodded.

"Bank records show that Donald Grey severed a linked account with his son six weeks before the robbery," he said, looking at a copy of the record in question. He looked around his desk before picking up another piece of paper. "Grant's criminal record shows that he performed many small robberies, but when he was caught, his father paid bail,"

"Another reason to feel guilty," Gideon hypothesized. "If he had allowed his son to stay in jail, he would have never robbed the bank and he probably would have been put in a rehab program,"

"He's taking out revenge so he can place the blame and clear his own conscience," Morgan said. "Because he's put so much into this act of revenge, he believes it will balance everything out,"

"An eye for an eye," Gideon said, quoting Grey's letter.

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Reid bit his lip and clenched his eyes shut as Grey carved into the skin on his back. He could not shift to prevent the action; the only possible way of movement was upwards and a fraction to the left or right, all of which caused the wounds to either become deeper or dragged.

W-O-R-T-H-L-E-S-S he felt along his left side, the top of the letters were facing outwards; warm blood trickled along his ribs and onto his stomach before reaching a certain point and making contact with the floor.

F-R-E-A-K-O-F-N-A-T-U-R-E was written along his right with the letters, again, facing outwards so that they were opposite to the other side. Reid bit his lip so hard he tasted coppery blood. Unbeknownst to him, tears of pain were running down his face.

Grey then took the knife and lowered it to the bottom of Reid's neck. He wove the blade with slow, even pressure around Reid's vertebrae; in and out, in and out from his neck to the base of his back. Then, he continued the process upwards, creating interlocking figure-eights. Grey's hand held an ice-skate; the knife was the blade and Dr. Spencer Reid's back was the ice.

Donald Grey cut Reid down with the blood-stained knife and stopped the recording, smirking into the camera. He only wished he could be in the room when the man who caused his son's death saw what was happening to the young agent.

The older man left the room with confidence and Reid in darkness and pain.

Spencer carefully stretched his body out; it was difficult to move his shoulders forward because of the position his body was in when the wounds occurred, but he knew that once they started to heal, it would be even worse. He forced his spine to curve forwards and brought his knees up to his chest, his ankles still held together; he could have tried to untie them, but he didn't. He gently touched the wounds he could reach easily and attempted to assess the damage. The wounds were neither severe nor mild. They would scar, but not badly due to the smooth edge of the blade.

Reid personally didn't know why Grey chose to whittle words into his skin; it wasn't like he would ever need a reminder of what had happened.

He hugged his legs tighter, trying to preserve some warmth; Grey hadn't given him his shirt back.

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Author's note: Yes! 'Tis me! Sorry I took so long to update! I really appreciate the reviews so please keep them coming; they help me update faster! They really do!

It's a little short, and I'm sorry about that, but it is 4:20am!

Please let me know what you think, I appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism; no flames please.

Also, I'm an Aussie, so I may use terms more commonly used in Australia rather than America, but hopefully that won't occur often and it shouldn't affect the story at all; I won't say "Melbourne" instead of "Quantico" or anything to the same effect.

Anyways, happy reading!

I will update as soon as humanly possible!

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