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Reid could only wonder why Pierce had decided to leave him here like this instead of just killing him right away. He watched the screens as Pierce walked through the hallway and left through the back door. For the first time, Reid was completely alone. Alone, strapped to a table, and slowly bleeding to death.
As he looked to the fresh stab wound on his stomach, Reid had no doubt that the amount of time Pierce had given him before he bled to death was pretty accurate. Pierce would know exactly where to stab to allow him to last for a little while. He had at least an hour, maybe less if he was 'lucky' and passed out sooner. His only chance now was to figure out a way to save himself in the little time he had left.
He forced himself to breathe and push away the fear welling up inside of him. He couldn't afford to let himself panic. Still, he began to pull frantically on the cuffs above his head, tugging much harder this time and not caring about the noise he made. In this case, noise would actually be a good thing, but he knew nothing would be loud enough for anyone outside the house to hear.
He could feel the cuffs beginning to cut into his wrists, but he didn't care. He struggled with his ankle restraints as well, but even those wouldn't give. Reid stopped for a moment and forced himself to think.
The handcuffs won't budge. The ankle straps won't budge. His cell phone was still lying on the desk. He needed to get off the table and get to the phone, and he needed to do it soon. He may have an hour, but even if he could call for help, it would also take a little time before that help actually arrived. And the help would need to find him first if he didn't get the chance to let them know about the hidden room.
Reid decided to just take things one step at a time.
Task number one: free his wrists. If he accomplished that, then the rest would be much easier. Figuring out exactly how he was going to get out of the handcuffs was almost a task in itself. Reid had no idea how to begin, so he tried turning his body to see how the cuffs were linked to the table. He slowly twisted his body to the side as much as the ankle restraints would allow him to. Of course, this action aggravated the stab wound immensely.
But he forced himself to push past the pain and focus on the task at hand. He pushed himself up on his elbows a little, taking a moment to breathe as his head spun slightly. He looked up at his cuffed wrists, seeing that they were linked through some sort of handlebar on the edge of the table. Reid searched for a weak point in the bar but couldn't seem to find one. Still, he pulled once again.
It was a few moments before he realized the mistake he was making. If his mind had been up to par, he would have noticed as soon as he had seen the bar. His mistake was pulling it; he should be pushing it.
If the bar was going to give, it needed to be pushed away from the rest of the table, not be pulled towards it. With the way the handlebar was attached to the table, it looked like it could break off under enough pressure. Reid knew there was still a chance that it wouldn't budge, but he had high hopes because the table looked relatively old and un-sturdy, something he hadn't been able to take note of before.
He grabbed the bar with both hands and immediately began to push on it. He forced himself upwards a little more and put as much weight on it as he could, focusing on one end of the bar. It shifted a little and he continued pushing, ignoring how winded the efforts made him feel. Each time he pushed harder, he could feel the bar shift a little. Suddenly, the bar gave, and Reid grunted slightly in surprise as he fell forward with the bar.
Task number one: complete.
It didn't matter that his hands were still cuffed together; it only mattered that they were no longer cuffed to the table. Reid almost wanted to cry in triumph at the seemingly small feat, but he knew this wasn't over yet.
Task number two: free his ankles. He carefully twisted his body back around, and brought his hands down from above his head. His arms were stiff and sore, almost to the point of being painful. He tried sitting up to reach to the restraints on his ankles, but the wave of dizziness that assaulted immediately him sent him back down. He only took a moment to push past it, though, since he didn't want to waste any time. He couldn't. He hadn't even bothered to remove the tape from his mouth for that reason.
The second attempt to sit up was much better, only in the fact that he hadn't collapsed back down this time. The dizziness was still there. He reached his hands towards the straps on his ankles. Loosening the straps was harder than he thought, mostly because he was having trouble getting his hands to work properly. But eventually, he did it.
Task number two: complete.
Task number three: get to his phone. He didn't even necessarily have to call for help. Garcia would certainly have a trace on his cell phone and would know the instant that it was turned on. Then, it would be up to his team getting here on time. And finding the room.
Getting to the phone seemed simple enough, but Reid knew it wasn't going to be that easy. He slowly brought his legs over the edge of the table. He knew his body was weak and wasn't all that surprised when his legs buckled underneath him as he tried to stand. As he fell to the floor, his only thought was a mantra of don't pass out. But as he collided with the hardwood floor, unable to catch himself, waves of pain were sent throughout his body. He couldn't seem to catch his breath, and he knew that no matter how hard he tried to stay awake, he was going to pass out...
When Reid woke again, he was still in pain. He groaned as he shifted slightly. He stayed still and breathed slowly for a minute, trying to clear his head, and in doing so, he realized that he had no idea how long he'd been out. It could have been seconds, or the majority of his last hour could have just been wasted lying in a heap on the floor.
He forced himself to focus. He needed to ignore the pain and get to the desk. Reid slowly forced himself up and began to crawl towards the desk. It wasn't very far, but for him, it was a major accomplishment, and moving to the desk was quickly diminishing what little energy he had left. With an amount of effort that almost seemed ridiculous for the small task, he reached onto the desk and grabbed the phone, hardly taking notice that his gun was no longer next to it.
Task number three: complete.
He barely managed to turn the phone on before his vision blurred violently; he wasn't going to be able to make a call. The phone slid from his hands, and his body seemed to mimic its movements as he collapsed the short distance to the floor...
He was only vaguely aware of slowly being turned onto his back and of the new noises around him. The duct tape was no longer on his mouth, and he couldn't stop a small intake of breath as it had been removed. He started to become a little more aware as rough hands gently released his battered wrists from the handcuffs and placed them carefully at his side. Slowly, he realized most of the noises around him were the movements of people and their voices, but he couldn't exactly make out what they were saying.
Reid tried hard to open his eyes, but they felt too heavy. His entire body felt heavy. There was a sudden pressure on his stomach, which quickly turned to pain. Someone was trying to stop the bleeding of the stab wound. His focus was taken away from the pain as the same rough hand that had removed the cuffs grabbed one of his hands. He knew someone was talking to him, but it took a large amount of effort to understand what they were saying.
"Reid, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand."
It took a moment for the voice to register to him as Hotch's; his team had found him. A sudden and odd realization came to him that he should be embarrassed. He was practically shirtless in front of his boss and most likely the rest of the team. He knew it was a ridiculous thought, and the team wouldn't be concerned about that. They wouldn't be concerned that his chest was bare, but that his chest was covered in numerous cuts. Reid knew he should be more concerned with that as well and that it was a bit of delirium that caused the initial thought in the first place.
Focusing back on what Hotch had said, with all the effort he could muster, he slowly curled his fingers around Hotch's hand. It wasn't much of a squeeze, but he was sure it was enough for Hotch to understand that he heard him and that he was awake.
"Good, Reid, just stay with us. The ambulance is almost here."
Reid slowly curled his fingers around Hotch's hand a second time to acknowledge that he heard again. A moment later, Hotch's hand was gone, and Reid felt oddly sad at the loss of contact, but he soon realized why Hotch had let go. New hands replaced the ones that were on him and began poking and prodding him. He groaned a couple of times when they reached the worst injuries.
The little energy that Reid had was fading again. He was only partially aware of being placed on a gurney and being lifted. As he was lifted into what he presumed to be the ambulance, a hand clasped his again. This time, Morgan's voice was the one that came with the hand. As Reid began to drift off again, he wasn't entirely sure what Morgan was saying, but it sounded something like "hang in there, kid."
Reid had hung in there all this time; he wasn't about to just give up now.