(Simon's POV)

I should have never yelled at them. I should have never let them leave me here to die. I should've begged them to stay with me so I wouldn't be dying here alone...

All of the blood on my hands had dried, but the pain all over my body was still throbbing.

However, my hands, somehow, still felt wet.

I looked down and saw water coming out of my hands. I couldn't possibly begin to understand how it was happening, and I also couldn't control it. No matter how many times I kept my hands stuck to the ground, it wouldn't stop.

The water was up to my chin when I sat back down, and it just kept getting higher and higher.

I tried to find higher ground so maybe it would stop. No luck. The water just kept flowing, and I was suddenly submerged in it.

I had to call for help a couple of times, but unfortunately, no one had answered me. When the water finally reached the top of the freight, I ended up partially drowning until I lost consciousness.

The first thing I felt as I was waking up was Jeanette giving me CPR. She seemed a little shaken, but I figured she was just scared.

Someone else was with them, but I couldn't distinguish who it was. "He needs some space, you two," she said. "Reid, Morgan: I'm pretty sure now's a good time for questions."

I sat myself up as two men walked into the room. Both were dressed in FBI uniforms and armed with handguns.

One of them knelt down to my level. "How are you feeling?"

I sighed. "Better than yesterday, I suppose."

The woman I saw with Jeanette and Wendy before stood by the agent's side. "Don't worry. We're only here to help." She paused for a second. "My name is Agent Jareu, or JJ, if you want. This is Agent Morgan beside you and over there is Doctor Reid. We came to ask you a few questions. Okay?"

I nodded. "As long as I don't have to go through that chute again."

"Alright... Morgan, I think you're the one that should be asking the questions."

Morgan stayed at my eye level as the other agents left the room. "I know you're a little on edge right now, but trust me. Things will get better before you know it." He stood back up, giving me some space. "Were you the kid that called yesterday at around two o'clock?"

"Yes, I was."

"Do you know anything that could possibly help us in this case?"

I suddenly remembered Wendy's mother back on the train. "I know what your suspect looks like."

This caught Morgan's attention. "Give me as much information as you can."

"Morgan, hold on," came a voice from another agent entering the room. "This kid looks like he could be a useful profiler. If he's able to successfully profile his kidnapper, we just might be able to get him a job on a team."

"And take him back to Quantico? What are you, nuts?"

"No, that's not what I meant. What I meant to say was we could use him on an as-needed basis."

Morgan looked intrigued. "Why not? Come on, kid. You're coming with us to profile our suspect."

(Reid's POV)

Something told me that Simon, the kid Morgan was talking to before JJ and I left, was definitely profiler material, especially since when we got back to the station, he was there.

JJ and I grabbed the team's lunch and headed towards the door.

"McDonald's, Reid? Really?" Morgan asked.

"Well, it was the only place closest to the crime scene," I answered. "Where'd the kid go?"

"Inside with Hotch already. He says he's got a profile of our suspect. No name, just details."

JJ joined in to the conversation. "Wait a minute... A ten-year-old has a profile on our suspect? Sounds like you, Reid."

As odd as it was, he did seem a lot like me, even though he was so young. I wonder what kind of hell made him like me, or maybe if he was like me to begin with.

I made my way inside and sat myself at the conference table with everyone else.

"Reid, are you okay?" Prentiss had asked me.

Focusing my mind on the case, I told her, "Never better."

I saw Hotch paging for Garcia, and Simon sat across from me, folding his hands. He didn't look up at any of us, probably because he was uncomfortable around us, but I couldn't be too sure.

"What can I do for you, Hotch?" I heard Garcia ask.

"Language filter, Garcia," Hotch ordered. He urged Simon up out of his seat. "We have a kid in the room who has our unsub's profile... well, bits and pieces, anyway."

"How old's the kid?"

"Ten years old, Garcia."

She seemed surprised. "Really? This is... new."

"I know, but trust me. The kid's much smarter than you think."

"Well, let's hear it."

Simon didn't move.

"A little intimidated, I guess," Hotch told her, "but I think this is just new for him."

In less than a minute, Simon had stood up. "Your suspect's a thirty to thirty-five-year-old white female, and she has a daughter named Wendy. I have reason to believe her motivation for torture is she believes she's on a mission. She has pity for children with abusive parents and no pity for the parents and anyone who stands in her way. The only abusive parent she hasn't murdered is herself because she believes she's being a good mother... Do you think you can go on that?"

The rest of us stood astonished with the profile until Garcia chimed in. "Got it. Vivianne Thomas. Lives on 32 Charmaine Ave."

Hotch turned to me. "Get Simon in the car. He's coming with us." He grabbed something out of his pocket. "By the way," Hotch said, handing me a gun, "this is his. I know he's tried suicide once, but his current guardians assured me that he won't be doing it again."

I suddenly got curious. "Is it licensed to him?"

"Surprisingly, yes."

Heading back to my car, I didn't try to put any more thought into Simon and tried to focus more on the case as we made our way to the address.