Hi Friends!

Thanks for all the awesome reviews, follows and favorites! You guys are wonderful.

Please forgive any mistakes...I always seem to miss one or two things...

Enjoy!


Rossi ignored Detective Cox's protests as he hauled him through the station and into an empty interrogation room. The grizzled Italian was livid and he had no patience for the struggling man's lies.

Once he got the detective into the private room he forced him down in a chair. He removed the man's cuffs and reattached them in front of his body after he looped them through the bar under the table. "Sit tight," was all he said before he left Cox alone in the room.

Rossi closed the door behind him before Cox's objections to his treatment could permeate throughout the office. He noticed that Hotch must have spotted him while he was moving the detective into the room because his stoic teammate had stepped out of the empty conference room and was giving him a questioning stare.

"I'll explain in a minute," he stated, walking past his friend and back to the restroom. "I've gotta go get the kid. Make sure Cox doesn't get free."

Hotchner trusted Rossi's judgement implicitly and went to stand by the interrogation room door without question, awaiting the older profiler's return.

Rossi's leather shoes glided over the precinct floor as he rushed back to the bathroom, silently praying that Spencer was still in there. He pushed the door open and felt his heart drop; the room was empty. He dashed out of the bathroom and frantically looked around the large office, hoping to spot the lanky young man.

"Damn it," he swore when he didn't see any sign the brilliant kid.

He turned heel and went back to where he left his Unit Chief. Rossi walked right up to the other agent and said, "I've never seen a precinct as fucked up as this place."

Hotchner's face remained as still as stone at Rossi's uncharacteristic words. "What happened?"

Dave looked around and decided that he didn't want to have this discussion out in the open. He walked over to the viewing room and opened the door, waving Aaron in with his hand.

When the two men were securely ensconced in the room the Italian walked over to the two-way mirror and peered at a distressed Detective Cox. A sigh escaped his lips before he launched into his explanation, "Long story short – I went to the bathroom and found that jackass in the middle of sexually assaulting Spencer."

Aaron's face blanched, "You're kidding, right?"

"Would I kid about something that serious?" Rossi growled back even though he knew that Hotch had only asked him that out of disbelief.

"No…I know you wouldn't. So what's your plan?"

"Beyond arresting him and charging him with attempted rape and assault?"

Hotch nodded, "Captain Wesley needs to know. Do you want me to tell him?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why should we tell him?"

"It's his man. He'll want to know."

"Yeah, well we should probably put that off until the last possible moment. Maybe we can wait until after Spencer gives his official statement," Rossi suggested.

"Alright. Where is he?" Hotch asked.

"He ran off," Rossi said with a disgruntled tone.

"What? Wh-"

"Look, I told the kid to clean himself up and meet me in the conference room. What was I supposed to do? I had to make sure Cox didn't get away and run to Wesley. There wasn't anyone else around that I could trust to help the boy because we don't know how deep Wesley's influence runs. So, I just had to hope the kid would listen…but he obviously didn't," Rossi explained gruffly.

Agent Hotchner's face took on a grim appearance, "Okay, we both know that the captain is going to fight this tooth and nail. We have to have Reid's statement to make this stick; otherwise Cox can claim that you misunderstood what was happening."

"Yeah, he's already trying to claim that it was consensual. He was trying to get Spencer to agree to it before I brought him out of the bathroom."

"Then it's absolutely imperative that we get him to tell us on the record his side of the story – without Cox or Wesley present," Aaron asserted.

"My thoughts exactly," Rossi agreed.

Hotch pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons before holding it out in front of him so both of the profilers could hear.

"Hotch, you're calling already. Prentiss and I haven't even made it two blocks yet," Morgan griped, thinking that his boss was checking in on them.

The Unit Chief ignored his subordinates comment. "Morgan, I need you to drive Prentiss to the coroner's office."

"Hotch, man…JJ's already on her way there."

"I know that. Prentiss will meet her there and they'll reexamine the bodies together – "

"So you don't want her interviewing KiKi with me?" Morgan asked, cutting off his boss.

Hotch gritted his teeth. He hated being interrupted, "Morgan, listen. We need you to go to Spencer Reid's apartment and check to see if he is there."

"Why? What happened?" Derek asked, concern coloring his voice.

"Rossi walked in on him being sexually assaulted by Detective Cox."

"Seriously?!" In the background Hotch could hear Prentiss asking Derek what happened.

"We've arrested Cox but Reid left without giving a statement. So we need you to find him and bring him back in to formally lodge a complaint. We're pretty sure without his testimony Captain Wesley will dismiss the charges," Aaron explained. "I'll have Garcia text you his address."

"Alright, no problem. But Hotch…even if I do find him, you know he'll likely refuse to say anything. Those bastards – his father especially - have gotta be holding something over his head. It has to be the reason he thinks we can't help him," Morgan declared, remembering his prior conversations with the young man.

"Well than it's up to you to make him believe we can," Hotch stated before hanging up the phone.

Morgan pulled the devise away from his ear and shoved it back in his pocket.

"Mind telling me what that was all about?" Prentiss asked curiously from the passenger seat.

The profiler shook his head in dismay, "Trust me. You don't want to know."


Reid galloped up the stairs leading to his apartment. His keys were already in his hands and ready to go when he got to his door. Mindlessly, he kicked his shoes off of his feet and onto the rubber mat while he unlocked the deadbolt on his door. When he heard the click of the lock pulling back into its home, he pushed his shoulder against the door and rushed into the dark studio.

Once he got inside he closed the door and reset the locks out of habit. His messenger bag was quickly unslung from his shoulder and dropped down to the ground. Without stopping to allow his eyes adjust to the dim lighting he rushed into his bathroom and flicked on the light.

He hissed at the sudden brightness and had to wait for his pupils to contract before reaching for his toothbrush. Spencer clutched the brush in one hand while he squeezed a huge amount of paste onto the bristles. The faucet was pouring out cold water seconds later as he furiously brushed his teeth. Back and forth. Up and down. He put so much pressure on the brush that he was sure it was going to break into two pieces. It wouldn't matter if it did, though. For, the only thing he could think about at the moment was the intense need to disinfect his mouth and banish the musky taste of Cox's anatomy that still lingered on his tongue. If it took wearing the bristles down to their nubs in order to achieve that sense of cleanliness then so be it. He was not going to die tonight with that man's seed tainting his mouth.

When he felt that his teeth were sufficiently clean he dropped the toothbrush down into the sink and finally looked at himself in the mirror.

Shock overtook him as he stared at the unfamiliar face that was reflected in the glass.

Haunted.

That was the first word that popped into his brain as he studied the despondent figure.

Disgusting.

The man looking back at him was beyond revolting – dirty and foul down to the core.

Hollow.

His image was lifeless; his body a shell that no longer contained a soul.

Hopeless.

There was no prospect for change in that man's life – nothing to look forward too and no reason to live.

Was that him?

He reached his hand up to his face and tenderly touched the visage staring back at him, wincing whenever he grazed a particularly sore spot.

Soon his fingers stopped their travels, but Spencer's eyes continued the journey. He found that he couldn't stop his big brown orbs from picking out every flaw that peppered his face. Scars, cuts, scrapes and bruises couldn't hide from them. He saw each one and relived the story behind its making. Memories he didn't want to experience again started flashing through his mind. Each one was like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and in agony.

He could feel his mental reserves breaking as the assault became too much for him to handle. Knowing no other way to get his mind to stop, he clenched his right hand into a fist and smashed it into the mirror.

It cracked instantly as it absorbed the force of his blow. He watched the glittering shards tinkle down into the sink. His solution to destroy the face in the mirror had been thwarted. Because now, sitting in the white porcelain below him, were hundreds of pieces of glass and each one was reflecting the image he had tried to obliterate.

The genius put both his hands down onto the counter and dropped his head in defeat. The pain of the strike had cleared his mind and injured his hand. Rivulets of blood were spreading across his right hand's papery-thin skin. Each stream was taking its own path as they wound their way from his scratched knuckles through the creases in his skin. Reid found that he didn't care when he heard the pitter-patter of his blood dropping off the back of his hand and down onto the tiled floor beneath him. Soon there would be more to follow anyways.

Deciding then and there that he would utilize the reflection of that unfamiliar face to help him complete his mission, he picked up the largest shard he could find and clasped it in his wounded hand.

He carried his only means of salvation with him over to his bed and set it on the nightstand. He had one more task to complete before he could drift off into a sweet oblivion; he had to write to his mother.

Reid's hands moved automatically to the drawer embedded in the stand. He used his uninjured appendage to pull it open and inside he found the stationary pad and pen that he always used when writing his mother.

Realizing that he was going to have to staunch the blood-flow coming from his knuckles to prevent staining the paper, he took his pillow out of its case and used it to sop up the fluid.

When he was satisfied that his mother would not see a hint of red on her letter he pulled the writing supplies out of their home and sat down on his bed, crisscrossing his gangly legs beneath him. After he was situated on the mattress he reached over and tugged the chain hanging down from the antique lamp on the nightstand next to him. The 40 watt bulb generated a soft glow that permeated the room around him while casting a few shadows at the same time.

Reid immediately put pen to paper.

Mom,

I'm not going to bother you with the usual platitudes that come along with this type of letter.

You knew this was coming. I could tell.

Let me first say though, that this wasn't something that you could have prevented. I've been thinking about it for quite some time now.

Sure, at one point I used to have hopes and dreams for a better future. One in which you and I could be happy. You'd be at a better facility - one that actually cared about you and your needs. And I would have pursued a higher education; maybe I would have even gotten a doctorate or two.

But now I realize, thanks to Wesley and his cronies, that a future that bright just isn't in the cards for me.

I am what I am - Wesley's puppet.

And there is no escaping that, mom.

Trust me. I've looked for a way out. I've plotted and planned. I've saved up money and researched hospitals for you in other cities. But every time I even come close to executing my ideas they are always stymied by Wesley. His reach stretches too far and I can't escape it.

There is only one way for me to be free and this is it.

I'm hoping that once I'm gone Wesley will release you from his clutches. And if he does, don't worry. I've already set it up in my will for you to receive all the money I have in my bank account. It's not much, and it won't last you that long but it will get your foot in the door at a lovely facility on the west side of Vegas. I've already filled out and submitted your application and applied to the government to get you some aid. My lawyer is going to follow up with Wesley and get you moved…hopefully.

I know it's not much of a parting gift but I'll feel better knowing your being taken care of by a staff that is really invested in your health and well-being.

So mom, please promise me you won't morn for long. Know that wherever I end up in the universe it will be better than here.

But before I go I just really want you to know how much I love you.

And I need you to know that I spent every day of my life proud to be your son.

-Spencer

He sat the pen down on the bed next to him when he finished his letter. On the paper there were spots of moisture due to the drops that had fallen from his eyes as he had written his farewell. One particular bead of salt water had landed on top of his signature causing the ink to bleed out, blurring the written words. For some reason he felt compelled to poked his finger into the tiny puddle and smudge the ink, making his name as obscure as he felt.

The miserable genius took his time to fold the letter perfectly and insert it into an envelope. He wrote his mother's name on the front of it. He placed it upright against the lamp on the nightstand, hoping that whoever found it would see it to its rightful owner.

With a sigh he picked up the mirror shard from earlier. It was shaped like a jagged isosceles triangle and had a particularly sharp point at one end. He glanced at himself one more time in mirrored glass and grimaced at the reflection.

He tightened his grip around the weapon and laid his left hand out, palm up. He undid the button at his wrist and hooked one finger into the sleeve of his shirt. He slowly drew the fabric up above his elbow and looked down at his arm. The pasty white skin that covered him was so thin that he could clearly see the route of the blue veins beneath it. It was like his body was showing him the map he needed to follow to end his life.

He brought the pointed tip of the glass to the crook of his elbow and jabbed it into his skin.

Mesmerized, he watched as a globule of bright red blood rose up out of the wound. The liquid welled up into a large bubble, until it got so big that the surface tension holding it together couldn't do its job any more. The bead of blood broke on the side and trickled down around his elbow.

The movement of the red liquid broke him from his trance. Reid shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

He placed the shard on top of the puncture and inhaled.

His long lanky fingers pushed down with the intent to draw the glass across his skin but a loud bang boomed throughout the room.

With a gasp he dropped the mirror, his expressive eyes going wide at the interruption. He snapped his gaze toward the door and watched as it vibrated along with another thunderous knock.

"Spencer! Spencer! It's me, Morgan. Open the door, kid."

The boy on the bed held his breath, hoping that if he remained quiet and didn't respond that the man would go away.

"Spencer! I know you're home, kid. The shoes you wore today are sitting out here on the mat," the agent called through the wood.

"Shit," he hissed into the air as the profiler on the other side of the door jiggled the knob.

"Look kid, you've got till the count of five to open this thing up or I'm going to do it for you," Morgan threatened.

"One."

Reid tossed the crystalline shard down and yanked down his shirt sleeve.

"Two."

He pushed himself up off the bed and started trudging to the door. All the while he was mentally preparing multiple excuses he could use to send the profiler on his way.

Nothing was going to stop him from seeing his plan through tonight.

"Three."

Spencer reached his hand out and turned the locks. He cracked the door open and peered out at the muscular man. "Agent Morgan?"

Derek's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn't expected the boy to answer the door so easily. "Yeah, kid."

"What are you doing here?"

The agent licked his lips and brought his hand up to rest on the jamb. "Why don't you let me in and we can talk about it?"

Spencer hesitated slightly before answering, "Uh-I'd rather not. I'm kinda busy right now."

Not up for arguing with the stubborn kid, Morgan pulled out his trump card, "Well I'm not leaving until you talk to me. So unless you want me shouting at you through the door about your assault - out here where all your neighbors can hear no less - than I suggest you let me in."

Reid's face slackened in defeat. He stepped back from the door and allowed the profiler to enter.

Morgan squeezed by the genius and found himself standing in what seemed to be the living room portion of the apartment. He turned at looked the boy up and down, disturbed to see a trail of blood painting the kid's left hand. "Shit, kid. Did Cox do that to you?"

The assistant's big brown eyes widened in panic when he realized what had caught the profiler's attention. He raised his left hand and looked at it as if he was seeing it for the first time. "Uh-I-I-uh…I'll be right back." He knew his words weren't the most eloquent but his brain couldn't come up with an excuse for the blood fast enough. So instead of telling the truth, Reid took off to his bathroom and shut himself inside, where he proceeded to clean and bandage the lesion with the materials from a kit that he kept under the counter.

When he was finished he dropped the bloody scraps of linen into the garbage, followed by the pieces of mirror that were in the sink. Once he had the bathroom looking spic and span he approached the door and rested his hand on the knob. Spencer was dreading the confrontation that would occur once he stepped out of his safe-haven.

"Just get it over with. The sooner you get rid of him the sooner you can finish what you started," he whispered to himself, trying to bolster his courage.

He took in a deep breath of air, turning the handle at the same time.

The sight that met him as he stepped back out into his apartment made his blood run cold.

There, next to his bed stood Agent Derek Morgan holding the bloody shard in one hand and the unfolded letter to his mother in the other.

"What are you doing?" he squawked at the man.

Derek's eyes flew up to meet Reid's distraught face. For a second Spencer found himself taken aback by the pained expression in the profiler's chocolatey orbs. It was an emotion he hadn't expected to see on the other man's face.

Morgan shook the letter in his hand at the kid's arm, "Were you – did I – did I just stop you from killing yourself? That's why you're bleeding, right? Fuck kid, how bad did you cut yourself? Do I need to get you to a hospital?"

As Derek spouted out his questions, his voice becoming more frantic with each one, Spencer started to shrink in on himself. He curled his long arms around his body, hunched his shoulders and dropped his chin. The profiler's genuine worry for him hit him harder than he would have expected. No one except for his mother had ever shown so much concern for him. He could feel his cheeks heat up as a heavy dose of shame spiraled through his body.

"Kid? Kid? Spencer?"

The agent's uneasy voice interrupted the boy's self-loathing, snapping him back to the reality at hand. "Uh-"

"Do I need to call an ambulance?" Morgan asked again, slower this time as if he was talking to someone of low intelligence.

"Um…no. I-uh-it-the cut-it wasn't that bad," he stammered.

Though Spencer couldn't see it as skeptical look overtook the profiler's face. "Come on, let's sit down. You shouldn't be on your feet right now," Morgan directed, ushering the young man to his worn down couch.

Reid followed the suggestion robotically. He had no idea what was going to happen to him now.

The couch creaked under their combined body weight; the old piece of furniture hadn't had to endure such a burden in a long time. Spencer sat close to the arm, his body bundled into a tight ball with his knees up to his chest and his arms still wrapped around his waist. Derek, on the other hand, chose to sit right next to the genius in the hopes that his presence might encourage the boy to open up to him.

So they sat there for a few minutes in an uncomfortable silence while they each contemplated the turn of events that led them here.

It was Morgan who finally decided to speak first, "Do you wanna tell me why you – why you felt that this was the best solution to your problems?" Internally the muscular man cringed at how blunt his question was but he needed to know the answer and didn't feel like beating around the bush.

For a moment Spencer considered not answering the other man but then he whispered out, "You know why; you read the letter."

Morgan looked down at the said piece of paper that was still in his hand. "Yeah, I read it. But that doesn't answer my question."

Reid scoffed at the man's response, "Doesn't it?"

"No," Morgan said simply. "It doesn't."

"Then I'm not sure what you want to hear, Agent Morgan," Reid spat out venomously. The mental rope he had tying his emotion together was fraying fast.

"I want to hear what Wesley has done to back you into such a tight corner. What's his hold on you, kid?"

Morgan observed how his questions seemed to cause the assistant pain. The boy's eyes squeezed shut and he dropped his head down onto his knees.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing if you're calling yourself his puppet. Your father is –"

Spencer's head shot up and he growled through gritted teeth, "He. Is. Not. My. Father."

Morgan held up his hands, "Whoa…I didn't mean to –"

"Let me make one thing clear, Agent Morgan. Bernie Wesley may have signed a piece of paper that named him as my legal guardian but he has never been a father to me. I have no father," he swore with conviction.

"Okay…no problem. He's not your father," Morgan said, trying to placate the kid.

The man's efforts to pacify him seemed to have worked for Reid allowed his body to return to its prior state.

"So…going back to my earlier question…what's Bernie got on you? Is it your mother? You said she was in his clutches. What does that mean?"

"…"

"Spencer…please. I want to help you – we want to help you. My team and I – we-we know that something fishy is going on with you and Captain Wesley. We even know that somehow you two are connected to these recent murders." Morgan saw the kid stiffen at that statement and quickly went on to assuage his worries. "Look, connected doesn't mean we think you did it. But you know something about them that you're hiding from us. Hell, we wouldn't be good at our job if we didn't see it. And I promise you that we can help…you just have to give us-give me-that chance," he said gently, reaching his hand out and putting his hand on the boy's leg.

The young man flinched at the touch but didn't pull away. It seemed like each word the profiler uttered cut at those emotional ropes, whittling them down to mere pieces of twine.

"Please."

He was so close to cracking but the fear of what could happen to his mother kept holding him back. "I can't."

"Why?"

"Be-because I just can't."

Morgan heaved a gigantic sigh, "I'm not going to let you die, Pretty Boy. And you can't let Wesley win like this. You told your mother in your letter that you wanted her to have a brighter future. Well, I'm telling you right now that if you do this…if you end it like this…you've ruined any chance of that happening. There is no mother on Earth that could live a happy life after that. And she will always blame herself."

Spencer's breath hitched, "But if I tell you he'll take her away from me. He-he'll make it so that I can never see her again. Tell me Agent Morgan, is that any better than me being dead?"

Realizing that the boy's defenses were starting to break, Morgan continued his probe. "How? How could he keep her away from you?"

"Wesley has power of attorney over her. He makes all of her medical decisions. He can ban me from seeing her or he relocate her to another facility and never tell me which one. He has all the power…he always has…ever since he tricked her into signing the papers back was I was younger."

"Tricked her?"

"Yeah…my…my mom has schizophrenia. She started developing it when I was little and it grew worse and worse as I got older. Wesley was our neighbor and he knew about her condition. He also knew how smart I was and how to use my talents to further his career. So he preyed on us by convincing me that he was going to help us financially in return for my help. About a year later he decided that he didn't want to lose me when I went away to college. So when mom was having one of her episodes he talked her into signing papers that would give him power of attorney over her and another set that turned him into my legal guardian. He then used his new authority to prevent me from leaving and he's kept me and my mother under his thumb ever since," Reid explained in a tiny defeated voice.

"So you're adoption was just his way of making sure he had absolute control of you and he got your mom to sign over her parental rights without even knowing it," Morgan stated, shaking his head in disgust.

Spencer finally tilted his chin up and turned it to look at Morgan. His cheeks had tear tracks running down them and his eyes were bloodshot.

The agent squeezed the boy's leg that he had been gripping with his hand, "God kid, I'm so sorry."

"So you see? You see why I can't talk…because if I do –"

"If you do he'll take her away from you permanently."

"Or worse," Spencer murmured.

"What could be worse?"

"He's threatened to have me committed too."

"What? How?"

"When I turned eighteen he forced me to make him my power of attorney. If he wanted he could call up the hospital and claim that I was ill. He'd be in his rights too…he's allowed to act in my interest if I ever become incapacitated. And the kicker is that no one would question him at all because he's Captain Wesley, one of Las Vegas's finest," the boy said bitterly.

Morgan let go of Reid's leg and sat back on the couch. "Ah, kid…I can definitely understand where you're coming from now…and I can tell you for a fact that we can help you. It won't be easy but with your help we can take him down and free you from his hold."

A tiny tendril of hope started blossoming in Spencer's mind at the agent's words. "How?"

"Well for starters, Hotch is a lawyer. And from what you've just told me I bet you any money he could get those power of attorney papers thrown out in any court. He could probably even get you named as your mother's power of attorney instead."

"Do you think he would do it? He doesn't even know me…"

"I can almost guarantee that he will," Morgan vowed, knowing that his unit chief would never stand for the injustice that had been done to this kid.

"But what about Wesley…he'll try to retaliate against me."

"That's where you come in."

"What do you mean?"

"Like I said earlier we know that something rotten is going on beneath the surface of that precinct and you can't tell me that the source of that stench isn't Captain Wesley, himself. Now that I think about it, you running away from the station after what happened with Cox makes more sense. You knew that Wesley wasn't going to take your assault charges seriously even though Rossi witnessed it happening. Am I right?"

Spencer shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of what had happened to him earlier. "It's not the first time Cox has done that to me," he admitted to Morgan. "Uh-Wesley…he…uh…uses me as a reward…a prize for his men when they do a good job. So I-I knew that even with Agent Rossi's help my claims would be thrown out – disregarded. Wesley would have just forced me into saying it was consensual."

"Not the first time? Fuck kid, how many times – no…we'll save that till later." Derek cut himself off, knowing the kid wasn't up for that discussion right now. Instead he decided to continue to gather information pertaining to Wesley's influence, "Uh-How many people on the force are under his control?"

"Not as many as you'd think. It's really just the detectives that work directly under him. He's smart, Agent Morgan. He knows that he only needs a few men to get the job done. If he has too many there's a big chance someone might get fed up with him and turn him into the higher authorities."

"You know what I don't understand?"

"What?"

"I don't understand how his bosses can't see what's happening. It's as plain as day that he's a crooked cop."

Reid smirked before saying cynically, "Like I said, he knows what he's doing. He knows how to hide his tracks and throw people off his scent."

"So putting him away comes down to gathering proof and right now we don't have any…but you do. Spencer, with your help I'm betting we can put him away for a long time and maybe even solve these murders – your friend's murders."

Spencer took a few minutes to consider the consequences of snitching on Wesley, "I-I don't know. Bernie has a ton of influence in this town…even if you do end up arresting him I'm sure one of his…uh…associates would come after me."

"I doubt it. When you take out the head of an operation the followers usually disband in order to save their own necks."

Spencer remained silent but Morgan could tell his wheels were turning. He knew that the boy just needed a little more nudging to come over to their side. "Hey, kid. Trust me, this is a better option than trying to kill yourself. We'll get you through this and in the end you and your mom will finally have a chance to lead the lives you've been dreaming of. I'm not going to let you down and I'm not going to walk away. I'm going to be here through the bitter end and I'll make sure that bastard can't ever touch you again. But you've gotta have faith in me."

Reid let Derek's words sink in slowly. He believed the agent when he said he wasn't going to abandon him. He really did. He stretched out his left arm and looked down at the few speckles of blood that had seeped through the bandage and stained the sleeve. What did he have to lose? If this all went wrong – if it was all for naught, he could come back here and finish the job.

He turned his honey-brown eyes towards the agent and scanned his face. Upon seeing the man's sincerity written all over it he knew what he was going to do. "A-alright Agent Morgan. I-I'll help you guys."

Derek's lips cracked open revealing his white teeth as they stretched into a big smile, "You're doing the right thing, kid."

"I know," Spencer confessed. "So what do we do now?"

"We need you to give a formal statement pertaining to Wesley and all of his misdeeds. We can do it here or down at the station."

"Here." he said fervently. There was no way he was going back to the precinct to squeal on Wesley.

"No worries, kid. Let me call in one of my teammates so they can be here to witness it. We'll record what you have to say and then we'll get the ball rolling," Derek explained.

"O-okay…"

The profiler reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He stood up and hit Hotch's number on speed dial before holding the phone up to his ear. The first ring was jingling in his ear when three sharp knocks sounded throughout the room. Derek glanced down at the kid and saw a look of panic on his sharp features.

"Spencer! Spencer, open this door right now!"

The boy's body started shaking uncontrollably. He turned his wide eyes up to Morgan and said, "It's Wesley."