Hunter

Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you: - Marsha Norman

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.


He lay on his back in some dark hole somewhere and could smell it getting closer. He couldn't move. His whole body was paralysed and all he could do is lay there and slowly slowly sink in the mud. Things twisted and he fell.

He was laying on his back in the dark slowly sinking into some stinking mud someone had his foot on his chest and was pushing him slowly down deeper. He could hear laughter and he could feel the thick muck swallowing his arms and legs. The booted foot moved off his chest and onto his face and again it pressed down forcing his face under the mud and as he sucked the muck down into his lungs things twisted and he fell again.

He was laying on his back blind folded and restrained on a bed. He had a tube pushed down his throat and it made him want to vomit. The blind fold was removed and Floyd was looking down at him, but this was not the Floyd he knew, this was something cold and demonic and he slowly dropped wriggling things down the tube to the laughter of children standing watching and now he was falling sideways off the bed and he was on the floor in the dark vomiting with his hands tied behind his back and things started to crawl onto his face and up his arms.

Spencer shuffled forwards spitting blood and (wriggling) stuff out of his mouth and attempted to find the door again. He could feel the coldness of old blood and stomach contents stuck to his face and hair, and now things buzzing around his head and landing on his face and crawling again towards his ear. He opened his mouth to shout out and things crawled into his mouth.

Reid lay back on the floor and curled up as tightly as he could. The things landing on every part of available space. He could feel them sucking on this wounds and now finally they were in his ears and burrowing under his eyelids. He wanted to scream, but now all he could do was try to keep breathing, until the things started to make their way up his nose and down the back of his throat.

Again Reid was pulled away into a void of complete nothingness and there he stayed.

……………………….

Floyd had his back tight against the wall in his clean little corner of mayhem and enclosed himself in a comforting blanket of smoke. He took the vile chemicals deep down into his lungs and felt it begin to course through his blood.

The blood which had soaked into the thing he was smoking made it taste a bit odd but it wasn't until he was about half way through that he realised something was not quite right.

He lay on his back smoking - his head spinning wildly and his mind racing in all directions. Vaguely he thought he might have heard the door open and then close. He had a sensation of someone sticking needles in his arms and he felt them manhandling him to roll over onto his front while they stuck something which might or might not have been painful into his spine. Then onto his side.

Floyd considered moving but the smoke was too tight around his head and the drugs too strong in his already spiked system to be able to stop this. He could feel his nose was bleeding and he could feel he was going to be sick. This was the same sensation he had when they took him from the apartment. The same drug given to him in a different way. The only thing he could do as they stuck the long needle like devise into his hip bone was to inhale a bit deeper. The sensation of marrow being sucked from his bone was almost amusing and something was screaming warnings at him. Something was shouting at him to stop them before it's too late.

Turned back onto his front again the smoke all but finished it was removed from between his lips and a fresh one put in its place. Floyd could see the flame from the match and he could feel swabs being taken from places he didn't fancy them taking swabs from. He wanted to protest, but the lure of the match over came all warnings, and he inhaled from the fresh smoke. Which strangely enough had the same odd taste as the first. Oh well.

Now a swab from his mouth and his nose and turned back over quickly a swab from somewhere else. Then they pulled him back onto his front.

"Thank you very much Mr Franks. Enjoy the rest of your smoke. It might be your last one."

"Go screw yourself." He mumbled from somewhere in the fog.

…………………………

They stood around in the lab with the collection of samples they had taken from Floyd.

"We need to get this stuff tested immediately. I need to know what that thing is. I need to know what makes Flanders tick and once we have found that – well Mr Franks is going to one pissed off – whatever he is.

Different samples were taken to different areas and one man picked up a twist of cellophane. "Shall we let him have this now? I would be interested to see what an overdose on this stuff will do to him."

Yellow teeth looked over at him. "It won't kill him?"

A derisive snort. "I hardly think that is likely."

So with a nod he left the room with an armed guard.

…………………………

'They will be back – Oh yes they will and when they come back they will be very surprised at how quickly I can adapt to their poisons. Stupid people – they are really not understanding this situation. Yes they will be back soon. I can almost smell their smugness I can taste it – I can feel it with my – with my thing I feel emotions with. They are coming and they have a gift for me. How nice – how thoughtful, but it is a trick Floyd, don't be fooled. Don't be taken in by them, you know what you need to do so do not allow for distractions.'

He crawled slowly in a circle around the room – a spiral ever increasing in its size. Timing it carefully but making it look random. Stopping staring at nothing and then continuing. He heard the ties being snipped off the locks. Oh goody. He heard the locks being carefully unlocked and he watched the door open. Floyd chose this moment to be a staring into space one. He could see in his peripheral vision a man holding a twist.

Floyd's head snapped around and his eyes locked with the other thing he really needed right now. His twist. His nectar. He inhaled the scent coming from behind the cellophane and it made his mouth twitch. They had despoiled this too. They had added something to it. There were chemicals in that twist he hadn't put there.

He carefully and very slowly and a bit wobbly on his feet – stood up and looked at the thing in the man's hand.

"You want this?"

A slow nod and now his nose was pouring again.

"Well come and get it then."

Smug bastard.

He walked slowly forward moving his hand out in slow motion towards the thing they thought he needed, but now he was distracted by that pulse in the neck. He looked from the spoiled drugs to the neck and back again and wiped the blood off his face with the back of his hand. Getting closer. Almost within touching distance.

He was waggling it now trying to tempt him to get him to come closer.

I'm not a sodding dog.

The guy was watching the hand moving slowly towards the drugs, Floyd was watching the hand moving a bit faster but not so obviously towards the mans other arm.

It was a quick movement. Done so fast even a playback on the monitors would have been hard pressed to see exactly how he did it, but the drugs fell from dead hands as arterial spray hit the guard behind him in the face. The guard went down just as quickly but cleaner as the neck was snapped cleanly. He swooped down and picked up the gun stuffing it in rear of his waist band. He personally didn't need a gun, but if he could find Spencer, he might.

Lights blinked off as he walked down the passage way. He could smell people up ahead. He could hear their talking, but right now it was Spencer he needed to find. He didn't want them to use Reid as a weapon against him again. He pulled back into the shadows he had made and crouched down. His head was still spinning and his nose still bleeding. He stayed still and pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head back. He felt the blood run down the back of this throat and he swallowed gratefully. Now his senses were clearer and he took in a deep breath. He could smell Spencer and he could smell Spencer's fear.

He ran fingers through dirty hair. To get to Reid he would have to pass an open door full of people with guns. If they suddenly came out he wouldn't be able to stop them. He knew he didn't have the strength to fight the bullets. Not today – and he was sure they would all be head shots and then they would take his Spencer and that just wasn't permitted. He needed insurance against this going horribly wrong.

Doubting your abilities today Floyd. What is happening to you? Go on then contact someone, just don't make a habit of it. You are becoming weak Floyd, you are becoming like them.

Floyd pulled back as far into the shadows as he could and still crouching looked down and closed his eyes.

…………………….

Aaron and Derek were down on the parking level. It was time to leave but Hotch really didn't feel like going once again back to that empty house.

"Morgan, fancy coming back to my place to talk about all this? A drink and pizza on offer."

As Morgan started to nod both he and Hotch put hands to their hands and Hotch went down to his knees whereas Morgan grabbed onto the side of the car. Both of them started nose bleeds and both of them had images shooting through their minds.

Reid shackled and bleeding

Floyd drugged and bleeding.

Men with guns and needles.

Faces of people

Building layout.

A tall thin guy with yellow teeth.

Reid being dragged away.

Blood lots of blood.

It stopped as quickly as it started and Morgan stared at Hotch. "What the hell was that?!"

"That was Floyd." Hotch wiped the blood from under his nose. "I am sure he will do that again."

"How?! What?! Just that can't happen!" Morgan too wiped blood away.

"What can and can't happen doesn't really count for much with Flanders. Hopefully you will never have to find out. Now back to my place I think because if that happens again I think we should be together and I want us to be able to compare notes on what we just saw. If we saw the same things. I'll drive."

"Hotch man wait! What if that happens again? Whatever 'that' was."

A quick glance at Derek. "Then let us be quick."

…………………….

Floyd pulled himself down to be as small as he could and moved forwards. Each scuttle forwards accompanied by his fingers resting on the floor and his head cocked slightly to the side.

He loved to hunt.

This was totally fabulous.

He just couldn't afford for one tiny error.

Why would there be an error Floyd? Doubting your self again. It must stop or you will fail.

A smirk as he reached the open doorway behind which was an enemy he needed – for now – to avoid. Hotch would have not been overly surprised at the speed he moved. Morgan would have probably rubbed his hands over the back of his head. Prentiss - she would have started to say something and then stopped herself. Rossi would have made a note in his book – but they weren't there to see the blinding speed Floyd moved and the men in the room saw nothing but a slight flash out of the corner of their eyes, explained by the flashing bulb slowly dying in its holder.

And now to find Spencer.


Society will forever judge hunters by their compassion for the animals they hunt: - Jim Slinsky