~ Chapter Nine ~

Sinner

I Wonder, If I Will Ever See Your Face Again.
And I Know That I Will Find A Way To Shed My Skin.
It's Simple; I Know That I Will Suffer In the End.

Forsaken, I Live for Those I Lost Along the Way.
And I Can't Remember How It All Began to Break.

I'm Cold And Broken.

~Fade Away, by Breaking Benjamin

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.


Frowning, Spencer turned his attention back to the epicenter, gazing at the seemingly random pattern with wide brown eyes. A startled breath of hot air rushed through his lungs and into the world around him. That was impossible! At the epicenter of the activity rested one small – and incredibly familiar – building, otherwise known to the public as Expresso Yourself. He hadn't recognized the building, however, because this particular map was so old and the café was a restaurant at the time!

Everything suddenly fell into place, including the desperate affection with which his long time friend, Lindsay Black, had directed him for the last few weeks at their café. The images of her husband, with his brown hair, thin build, and the wedding ring upon the ring finger of his left hand appeared within his mind.

Jared Black had died in an accidental car accident two weeks ago, though, right?


Sometimes, Spencer really had to question his judgment, which appeared to be lacking, even at the best of times. Take this moment as a prime example. The lanky brunette had discovered the truth about the mysterious serial killer lurking in their neck of the woods, so he'd decided to take matters into his own hands, in order to prove to the rest of the team that even a silly genius was capable of helping to protect the innocent civilians and his precious people. Too bad his damn badge and weapon were still back at the apartment. In his dresser drawer. Not here.

Oh, well! Grabbing his blue sweater vest and darting towards the nearest policeman, Spencer had beguiled the man into thinking this situation an emergency – because it was, to some extent. The brunette had borrowed the nearest unmarked police cruiser and driven towards his favorite haunt, then, a café known by the local community to be the best place for late night snacks and the best coffee in town. College students were especially fond of the cozy establishment, as it was open at all hours, and it provided a gentle atmosphere in which to study, eat, drink, and socialize with friends.

Needless to say, Spencer had found it rather strange that the café had been deserted at this time of night. Midnight was prime time for Expresso Yourself. Most students were just now arriving to fill their tanks with coffee – extra sugar, please – and cram in a few extra minutes of studying for the early morning set of classes. Calculus and Microbiology were not easy to survive, after all, without at least a pot of coffee in tow. The only alternative would be to guzzle two dozen energy drinks. Red Bull would give them wings and, with any luck, passing grades, too.

Not a soul, however, was within sight. He paused upon realizing that there would be trouble ahead, considering all of his options and thinking on the fact that this serial killer might be hiding within the safety of the café. And Spencer scowled lightly at the thought, because this small café belonged to him. Expresso Yourself had been, and always would be, his safe haven. It pissed him off that there was some strange, cruel, homophobic jackass hanging around his favorite haunt.

And Spencer, of course, had this habit of rushing headfirst into situations that positively screamed danger, in spite of the fact that the young man was a genius. It was one of his many weaknesses, this penchant for flirting with disaster. Just look at his relationship with Aaron and Derek! The two of them were incredibly dangerous alpha males, and he was merely an innocent, weak puppy. Spencer obviously liked flirting with disaster, danger, and the like, because the genius had been and out of the hospital at least three times a year since joining the FBI. He thusly earned that reputation around the BAU for getting himself into trouble. Voila!

This time was no different. He had recently found himself in a rather humiliating experience – possibly the most humiliating of his lifetime, come to think of it. The brunette was now strapped firmly to the cracked, laminated table belonging to the booth that he had chosen to occupy on a weekly basis for the last six years. Spencer quietly cursed himself for being a creature of habit, tugging on the myriad of duct tape, rope, and metal chains that linked him to the metal railing beneath the yellow bench seat. Like a sacrificial limb about to be, well, sacrificed to God.

Huh. God might come in handy right about now…

Spencer bit his lip, closed his tawny eyes, and began muttering words written with various passages of the Bible. Yes, Spencer was a sick hypocrite. Even as an atheist, the young man still found himself praying for a miracle. No such luck. And, as an atheist, it did not surprise Spencer too terribly much that his wish had not been granted. God was not a genie, after all.

"You are rather quiet." The male voice was soft, almost gentle in cadence, and deceptively so, at that. A calloused hand traced the outline of his pelvis through the thick material of his brown corduroys, before tapping once on the button above his zipper. "And I had thought that you would surely be a screamer, too…" He sounded almost disappointed.

His throat became scratchy and dry at that last comment; thus, Spencer had to swallow the sudden lump that rested within his voice box in order to mumble, "My boyfriends claim that I have to be seriously fucked for that to happen…" Pause. "…in a figurative sense, anyway."

Thankfully, Spencer had been gagged, and the words were indistinguishable from the coughs that suddenly wracked his lanky frame, due to the nasty taste. A small piece of thick cloth – the torn remains of tube socks, perhaps – had been balled up and stuck in his open mouth. It stifled the sounds of his voice, and his soft screams, too. The (hopefully, albeit doubtfully) clean tube socks had been placed there by his captor in order to muffle the aforementioned panicked screams for help that had ripped themselves from his throat, almost instinctually.

On another note, being gagged made it difficult for him to hide the tears streaking down his pale face, a sign of weakness that he could not afford to show in front of the disturbed individual that had captured him. The white cloth wrapped around his brown eyes, however, was another story entirely…

As if reading his mind, the other male lightly slapped his cheek and sternly ordered, "Do not, under any circumstances, remove that blindfold."

Spencer slowly nodded his head in the affirmative, as it was not actually possible for him to speak the words aloud at the moment. The young genius didn't really care about being degraded in such a manner, however, because he was much too busy attempting to cope with the resulting feelings of shame and disgust burning in his stomach. Each of the former emotions, of course, had erupted within him due to the fact that Spencer had been kidnapped yet again.

Per the norm, Spencer could only remain seated and stare at the ceiling, helplessly waiting for one of his team members to figure out that he had (stupidly) left the station. Would someone, anyone, care to help him? The sooner, the better, in his honest opinion…

"Now, I would like to introduce myself, Dr. Reid." The mysterious man leaned forward then to formally clasp his hand between his both of his own, shook the limb, and declared, "My name is Eric Wilkerson."

He would have gaped at the man, given the chance, but the blindfold prevented him from doing so. Tawny brown eyes could only stare blankly into the manmade darkness, feeling blind as a bat. Spencer had to disagree with that old phrase, though, because most bats weren't actually blind, per se. Bats could navigate through the dark nights with sonar, whereas he, Doctor Spencer Reid, was still chained to the table, left to rot in the darkness of the café.

Spencer would have loved to turn into a bat, like a vampire, and take off into the shadows of the night. Too bad Dracula and his evil minions didn't actually exist in the real world, right? Absolutely not! Because Spencer already had to deal with too many psychos, anyway.

"'Luke, I am your father,'" Spencer stupidly quoted, feeling too shocked to do anything else, save for reciting that pointless quote from Star Wars. His voice was muffled, however, and it merely sounded like – "'Fwuck, Eh ham yer fwatter.'"

Yeah. Smooth. Sounded exactly like Darth Vader, didn't he?

His captor snorted quietly, and Eric Wilkerson darkly muttered, "You really shouldn't try to talk with your mouth full, my dear Sinner." That sounded like a nasty insinuation, given the situation, and the name-calling was completely unnecessary, too.

Angrily, Spencer raised his head and snapped, "Fug hyou!" To which Eric laughed, clapped his hands, and shook his head with glee.

Dammit! Spencer hated being gagged, even more so than he hated being blindfolded. He hated many aspects of life, including being forced to clean his plate of its three serving of vegetables. Following that strange train of thought, Spencer figured that he hated being gagged almost as much as eating broccoli, which was quite a bit, as a matter of fact. Broccoli had immense nutritional value, though, as most green vegetables did. The nasty – er, tasty and incredibly nutritious – green vegetable provided its consumer with many protein and vitamins, a fact that his mother had not failed to remind him of at every…single…mealtime.

In spite of this, Spencer blatantly refused to eat the nasty, green plant, pointing out that most kids his age despised broccoli, and more than likely with good reason, too. Even the thought of his having to eat broccoli made him want to vomit. Or was that feeling of needing to retch being caused by the tube socks still lodged firmly in his mouth? Hmm…

His captor calmly interrupted his musings to add, "And I do not wish to see your pretty brown eyes, either, or else there will be a great deal of pain in your future." There was a small pause, quickly followed by the grating sound of wooden table legs roughly scratching against the cement floor – moving closer and closer and closer to him. "Understood?"

Another nod had been made in response to this question. Meanwhile, Spencer was in another world entirely, one that the other members of his team affectionately referred to as "The Dark Side," due to the fact that his plans often involved methods of questionable legality. As a genius pursuing a degree in law, though, Spencer understood the nature of loopholes. He had also been taught to recognize these little details almost immediately, and he began to catalogue the various sounds traveling to his brain via the canals within his sensitive ears – wood, chair, cement. Not to mention the painfully obvious thud of his knife landing in the table, right beside his crotch.

Oh, shit. The young man mentally reviewed those words, before it occurred to him that his captor had barely concealed the threat – and the nasty promise – within those words. One only had to read between the lines to figure that this man was about to torture him to within an inch of his life. And then…

Eric Wilkerson was going to kill him.


***Authors' Note***

I had planned to update this Saturday, but I was called into work to cover a shift for two other employees. And Sunday, I slept, and read, and watched TV. In other words, I was being super lazy! XD Here is the new chapter, though, and hopefully, everyone likes it. I am actually quite proud of this one. ;)

Please read and review, my darling readers. And I would appreciate about 64 reviews, give or take. In the review, I would like you to answer the following questions, if you are up to it...

1) Should I Skip the Scene With Spencer Getting Beaten To Within An Inch of His Life,

2) Should Eric Black Die At The Hands Of The Team, Or the ALPHAS?

3) Will You Kill Me If I Keep This Rated T, AKA: No Lemons?

Thanks, ladies and gentlemen! ;)