Chapter 11

New Life

It was a two hour drive from Quantico to Audrey Mannix's home. Prentiss drove, and Morgan sat up front beside her. JJ stayed behind fielding 'phone calls. Garcia didn't want to come.

Morgan could hardly blame her. Since hooking up with Reid her life had been a constant stream of worry.

"He is either missing, or recovering. There's no peace, Derek." She had spent the entire night before sitting with Morgan in the lounge, trying to get her thoughts into words. Her last words to Morgan as he left with Prentiss were, "Just bring him home."

The woman who answered the door was in her twenties, blonde cropped hair, and no make up. Emily was doing the talking.

Audrey led them through to a small cluttered living room, and offered them a drink. Prentiss declined. She and Morgan just wanted to find out what she knew.

"I was driving home along the desert road, there was this guy standing in the middle of the road, wanting me to stop." She looked guiltily at Emily. "I didn't want to. I wish I had now."

"But you did stop, Miss Mannix."

"Well yes, I did in the end. You see, he didn't get out of the way in time. I hit him with my car."

Emily didn't react, but she felt Morgan register shock.

"You hit him?" Derek didn't quite believe what he was hearing.

"Yes. I felt so bad. I watched in my mirror. He got up, and walked a few steps. I thought he was ok, but then he kind of collapsed on the verge." She had tears in her eyes. "I felt terrible. I turned round and went back. I asked if I could take him to the ER but he said no, and asked if I could drop him at a motel just up the road. So I did." She wiped her eyes. "I had no idea he was FBI. I am so sorry."

Emily leaned forward and took her hand. "Well, you did the right thing, calling us. Now can you take us to the motel please?"

Audrey got up and reached for her jacket. "Sure."

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Spencer spent a miserable night. He was cold and in pain. His thin cotton clothes were torn and damp and bloodstained, and the chains prevented him from moving too much.

He curled up to conserve any body heat, and shivered.

And thought of Aaron.

He tried to bring back images of him. Flashes of memory, smiling and happy, gentle and loving.

He wasn't sure that the memories were real, or just creations of his mind. He couldn't remember ever being happy, or laughing. Just this abuse and pain.

That's all he had.

No past, no future.

Just now. Lying here, alone and hurting.

He could hear noises in the darkness. Unfamiliar and frightening. He crouched behind the toilet, trying to hide himself from his own mind. Whimpering and sobbing, he waited for the next round of beating and pain.

When it came, Spencer wasn't sure he would live through it.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

John Doe was waking up after a rough night. The nurse stood by his bed as he opened his eyes.

He was surprised to feel warm and comfortable. The last thing he could remember was being cold and in a lot of pain.

And Spencer.

"Can you tell me where I am?" His mouth was working, although his voice was still croaky.

The nurse smiled at him. "You are in hospital. You were found near the desert road yesterday evening. Can you tell me who you are?"

I'm Aaron Hotchner, I'm with the FBI."

"Just, a minute, Aaron. I need to show you something."

The nurse ran from the ward and returned with a newspaper. She gave it to Aaron.

"Is that you?" she asked, as Aaron stared at the front page,

"Please," he said. "I need a phone."

He called Garcia, and then he called a taxi.

"You can't leave; you still have toxins in your blood." The nurse tried to restrain him, but Aaron's dark look made her step away.

"I have to go. This is very urgent." He realised he had startled her, and he gave her a warm smile. "I'll sign a release form. Anything. Just please get my clothes."

"I am very sorry, Aaron. They are torn and dirty. You can't possibly wear……"

Aaron interrupted her. "It doesn't matter what they look like, I need them now."

She smiled, lips pressed in a reigned fashion. "Ok, I'll get them, and a discharge form."

Aaron pulled himself into a sitting position on the bed. He had insisted on leaving, he wasn't even sure that he could sit. He checked himself out. The back of his head had been shaved, and he could feel stitches. He had something metal taped to his nose, and stitches in a cut on his cheek.

Not too bad, so why did he feel so sick, and his arms and legs so shaky.

The nurse came back in with a bag of clothes, and a form. She removed the drips from his arms, and Aaron signed the form.

"When you came in, we thought you had taken something. We found a needle mark on your neck but we couldn't find what poison it was."

"I was injected against my will."

"That's the conclusion we came to. But you were seizing, and the drip I have just removed stopped them. You may still have a seizure, so be aware.You really shouldn't go."

Aaron got off the bed and stood unsteadily, holding on the bed for support while he got his balance.

The nurse stood watching him. "I would really recommend you stay." she said.

"I understand, but I have to leave."

She still didn't move. Aaron held up the bag of clothes. "Please?"

"Oh yes, sorry. Let me know when you are ready, I'll take you down to the taxi. Can you remember your address?"

Aaron nodded to her, although he had no intention of going home.

When he was ready, she took him down in the lift, and led him to the car park, where the taxi was waiting.

As soon as the Nurse had gone, Aaron leaned forward to the driver

"Rendezvous Motel, please."

As the taxi drove off, Prentiss was about an hours drive from Audrey Mannix's house.

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Boyd had spent a last night in the motel room. He had pulled the dirty sheets off the bed, and replaced them with fresh ones that he had demanded from reception. He had slept well, after a bad night the night before. It had taken longer than usual to break the boy in, but once he had the name, the rest was easy. He had had to waken him four times (or was it five? –A lot anyway) before he finally broke. The pathetic weakling kept fainting. Still, a good night's work, and a nice wad of cash.

He got up and showered. He thought back to the boy. Yes, he was one of the better ones. Shame he sold him to Goff. The last kid only lasted a week before he died. Goff could be a bit OTT with the violence. But then, what was that to Boyd? Goff always paid, and the quicker he got through them, the more money for him.

Still, it was a shame….

Someone was knocking on the door.

Reception, probably. He'd not paid for the room. Damn it. He had no intention of paying for this hovel.

He pulled a stiff grey towel around him and opened the door

It wasn't reception. He stepped back and turned to run. The man who kicked the door open wasn't carrying. But he looked as if he could kill him anyway.

He grabbed Boyd, swung him round and pushed him hard against the wall.

"Where. Is. He?"

The man had his forearm pressed against Boyd's neck.

"I'm s-sorry, he's gone. But I can get you another, no problem!"

Aaron hit him.

"Where have you taken him? You had better be quick, I don't feel very well, and I have not got a lot of patience!"

"I can't remember. The address is in my book in my coat."

Aaron turned him round, and with his arm up his back, took him to where his coat was on a hook by the door.

"Find it!" Aaron spoke in low menacing tones.

Boyd took a note book out of the pocket, and held it up. Aaron took it from him.

As he opened the book, his arms started to shake again, his head exploded in pain. It took a second for him to get control again, but in that second, Boyd took a gun from his coat. He barely got it level when Aaron was on him. Boyd pressed the trigger, and a bullet tore through Aaron's shoulder and hit the wall behind him. Aaron hardly flinched. This was for Spencer.

He wrestled Boyd to the floor, and much as he wanted to shoot the creep between the eyes, he hit him on the temple with the gun, knocking him out, and dragged him over to the bed.

Aaron tied him to the bed frame.

He saw the wires and croc clips under the bed as he restrained Boyd, and felt sick.

Oh Spencer. My Spence. What did he do to you?

He put Boyd's gun in his pocket, and made a make-shift bandage out of the cleanish sheets from the bed. He wasn't worried about the GSW, he had had worse.

He looked in the note book at the last entry.

Spencer Reid

Scott.

And an address.

In an unaccustomed show of anger, he kicked the unconscious Boyd as he lay on the floor, retrieved Boyd's car keys, and left.