Title: Losing My Religion by Lexikal (Chapter Twenty Six)
Rating: M for graphic violence against a child and language (in the first chapter, chapter 8 and chapter 10 so far)
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Summary: After two years away from his father and his father's violent rages, Spencer Reid, now ten, is returned home. Spencer has changed... but has William Reid?
Author's Note: The Christmas Spirit has gripped me, I guess. Either that or I am on a writing streak. Here is Chapter 26. Angst ahead.
Chapter Note: Like always, please review. I write faster when I get reviews (does that count as blackmail?) Oh yeah, in 1990, from what I can tell Asperger's syndrome wasn't yet a DSM diagnosis but the phrase was in use. For those of you interested in seeing some of the paintings in Richard Martin's office, here is a list. I highly recommend coming back and checking these out after reading the chapter if you are curious. I think these are beautiful paintings.
Magritte painting of "girl eating a bird" (The Pleasure): www dot wikipaintings dot org/en/rene-magritte/young-girl-eating-a-bird-the-pleasure-1927
Golconda by Rene Magritte: www dot wikipaintings dot org/en/rene-magritte#supersized-featured-211359
The False Mirror by Rene Magritte: www dot wikipaintings dot org/en/rene-magritte#supersized-featured-211512
Tiger in a Tropical Storm by Henri Rousseau: www dot henrirousseau dot org/Surprise! Dot html
Sleeping Gypsy by Henri Rousseau: www dot henrirousseau dot org/Sleeping-Gypsy dot html
Dhotel nuance d'abricot by Jean Dubuffet: www dot artchive dot com/artchive/D/dubuffet/dhotel dot jpg dot html
Willem De Kooning's Woman: www dot precisionnutrition dot com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/willem_de_kooning-300x190 dot jpg
Someone (thanks Nympha Fluminis!) also told me that if I don't write out "dots" in links, they will be removed, so here is the "link" for the fan fiction music video for this story (first fan fic vid I ever made so it's not as polished as it would be if I made it *now*): www dot youtube dot com/watch?v=iKT7Rxjjy8o&feature=plcp&context=-xX
STORY BELOW!
"If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything." ~Mark Twain
They had checked in with the receptionist and Reid had used the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, dried his face with a paper towel, had a glass of water from the water cooler and used the bathroom again. He had played with his pocket repeat for about a minute before turning it off and handing it back to Gideon. His fingers were dancing as if he was playing an invisible piano, when they weren't plucking at his tie or collar or the hem of his cuffs.
"We should have got the cufflinks." He admonished more than once. To which Gideon smiled reassuringly.
"So, what video games do you want to get for your Nintendo later?"
"Bribery is not going to make me less anxious right now, Gideon."
Gideon stopped, and played the last comment through his mind. He wasn't sure when it happened but Reid had stopped calling him "Gid-yun" and had started to enunciate his name extremely carefully.
"Yes, well, I am sort of excited about this Nintendo thing."
"Technically, we will be getting the new Super Nintendo, won't we?"
"What's the difference?"
"Well, the original Nintendo is an 8 bit video game system, from what I have heard, that was released in North America in 1985. The Super Nintendo, or SNES, was recently released and is a 16 bit system. I suppose it depends on the price and what games are available. I want to get a chess game."
"You already have an electronic chess game."
"Yes, well... whichever system has more puzzle games. I am not really interested in shoot-em-up or racing games but puzzle games like Tetris look okay, although I think Tetris could become monotonous fairly quickly. Because the SNES is such a new system, we might want to go with the original Nintendo, simply because we will have a larger game selection. So I retract my earlier statement where I tacitly endorsed the SNES over the NES and..."
Yup. The kid was nervous as Hell. He was speaking more like Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation than usual.
"I heard of a game called Battle Chess where the chess pieces come to life, so to speak, and capture each other in a small animation when you play against the computer. I am not sure if it is a 1 or 2 player game, but if it is 2 player you would play with me and..."
"Spencer Reid?" A soft, intelligent voice said clearly, jolting the kid out of his monologue. Reid ripped his head around anxiously and nodded. Dr. Richard Martin was a tall, thin man dressed in chinos much like Reid's and an argyle sweater in earth tones over top of a dress shirt. His eyes were warm and bright and the color of root beer, his voice soft and rich as cognac. Richard Martin quickly closed the space between them and extended his hand. Reid stared at the man's hand for a moment before completing the handshake.
"Hi. Nice to meet you. I am Dr. Richard Martin, but you may call me Richard if you like."
"Which Moniker do you prefer?" Reid asked shyly, shooting a nervous look to Gideon. Gideon smiled warmly and nodded to Reid. It is okay, pal.
"Richard is fine. I don't feel as old when kids call me Richard."
"You don't look old. How old are you?"
"I am 37, actually. And you are... 10 years old?"
"Yes. Chronologically ten years of age." Reid agreed, nodding, and his response elicited a warm smile from the doctor. "Jason has told me quite a bit about you. He told me you were very bright, but most parents and guardians tend to think their kids are bright. However, I can see now he was accurate in his assessment. So... what do you say we retire to my office?"
"Jason is coming, too, right?" Reid said quickly, again glancing back at his guardian. Richard Martin glanced over at Jason Gideon, made eye contact and saw Gideon's subtle nod. The shrink smiled down at Reid and nodded.
"Yes, for sure. For the first little bit Jason is more than welcome to sit in with us."
"Okay." Reid said shyly, and began to wheel himself towards the doctor. Gideon got up, grabbed his briefcase, and followed the pair towards the man's office.
Richard Martin's "office" was large and airy with huge windows overlooking a courtyard full of trees bursting with the rich greens of late summer. Hardwood floors were covered in bright rugs designed to appeal to children. The rugs were colourful and patterned without appearing juvenile. The walls were lined with book cases full of books, knick knacks, toys and games. A mobile hung from the ceiling, what looked like hundreds of multi-coloured origami cranes spinning lazily above their heads. The wall space was decorated with framed photos of kids and art work- both the art work of children and prints of famous artists. There were some bean bag chairs, a leather couch with ottomans, a large desk in the corner with an odd assortment of puzzles and games and curios prominently displayed. Gideon also knew that there was a dollhouse and dolls and a humungous panda almost 6 feet high in the closet behind the desk. Martin changed his office, somewhat, between patients, so that little children felt sheltered and protected, older children were interested and engaged and adolescents felt like they were being treated as equals and not as "kids". Gideon had been in the man's office quite a few times and could see that it was in its standard 13-17 year old "mode".
"You like Rene Magritte?" Reid said softly, pointing to a framed image on the wall of a girl in a brown dress eating a bird. The white lace collar of the child's dress was stained with bright red blood.
"I'm impressed. Most people don't realize that is Magritte, even if they are relatively familiar with his work. It is not one of his better known pieces like Golconda or The False Mirror."
"Why did you select it for your office? Isn't the subject matter a little gruesome?" Reid's voice was pensive and wary, but his eyes never left the painting. He obviously had seen it before in order to know who had created it, but he seemed mesmerized.
"Well, I find it interesting to look at. Both innocent and primal at the same time."
"Innocent?"
"Well, the child only appears violent because she is dressed in clothes and looks relatively clean and healthy. But I think Magritte was trying to convey the message that, no matter how we dress ourselves up, we really are all just animals and we all have primal instincts."
"I guess..." Reid said slowly, shooting Gideon a questioning glance.
"Does the painting disturb you?" Martin asked nonchalantly, walking up to it and appearing to study it much as Reid was.
"No. Nah. I just... you deal with child and adolescent trauma victims. So to have a painting depicting death or blood or violence of any sort...I just assumed..."
"You think it's in bad taste?" Martin asked earnestly, tilting the painting to make it even.
"No. No. Nevermind..." Reid was blushing now, scarlet. He rolled his chair to another painting.
"Henri Rousseau's Tiger in a Tropical Storm." Reid said, glancing over at the shrink for confirmation.
"Yes. Right. I love his use of colours." Martin said.
"And another Rousseau. Sleeping Gypsy. This one is well known." Reid said softly, gazing up at the framed print.
"I really like the atmosphere of that one, even if it is seen everywhere, from cartoons to college dorm room posters. When I look at this painting, I can almost smell the desert, and hear the lion breathing as it stands over the woman. I can imagine the royal blue sky of early evening and even imagine the glint of the stars just starting to show for the evening. I can even smell the sand, and maybe the smell of the lion, of the lions' fur and breath and remnants of previous kills, the smell of the woman and maybe the distant smell of hyacinths."
Reid was silent, absorbing. Finally nodded.
"Hyacinth is native to the Mediterranean, north-east Iran and Turkmenistan. The painting depicts a lion, and wild lions only live in sub-saharan Africa and some parts of Asia." Reid, Gideon knew, was talking more to center and ground himself than to show off. The Mediterranean, Iran and Turkmenistan were parts of Asia, Africa and Europe.
"Iran is part of Asia. So is Turkmenistan. The Mediterranean basin covers Europe, Africa and Asia. At any rate, the Hyacinth can grow in places besides the locales you named. And it is a painting so I like to think the rules of our reality don't necessarily apply." Richard Martin's voice was as confident as Reid's.
"I know. I was thinking maybe the painting is supposed to be in Persia. That could be an Asiatic lion, now extinct? I just think it was odd you mentioned Hyacinth. Plus, you could have been referring to the mineral or one of numerous Saints or..." More babbling that didn't really make sense or pertain to anything in particular.
Martin smiled anyway, apparently quite entertained by Reid's formidable knowledge.
"Let me ask you something Spencer... do you prefer Spencer or Reid?"
"Whichever."
"Okay, Spencer it is. Do you have an eidetic memory?"
"Yes."
"Cool. Me too."
Reid blinked and glanced over at Gideon, who nodded confirmation.
Reid, apparently not impressed with the psychiatrist's admission, wheeled himself on to another painting.
"I am not familiar with this painting. Is it a Jean Dubuffet? It looks a little bit like his painting Dhotel nuance d'abricot but it also has a De Kooning feeling to it, too. Sort of like his painting Woman from 1953-1954. Who did it?"
Gideon, resting against the wall and watching his foster son and colleague exchange verbal information was like watching a figurative boxing match for nerds. Despite the underlying reasons for Reid being in the room, Gideon was finding it hard not to chuckle. So far the kid was throwing most of the mental punches but he knew Martin was bright. Not as bright as Reid, but what he lacked in sheer, alien intelligence he made up for in life experience and confidence.
"Actually, that was a gift from a boy I knew." Martin said softly. Gideon instantly noticed, and appreciated, the way Martin had refrained from referring to said boy as a "patient".
"He made you that? Why? Did you ask him to?" Reid spoke quickly, and Gideon could almost see his mental shields rising and the unspoken warning: You better not expect me to draw you any stupid pictures.
"Well, he was a high functioning autist. He witnessed both of his parents killed and he wanted to express to me how he felt at the time. I am still not sure I understand how he felt, but the production of the piece was important to him, and I like the roughness of it. The urgency of it."
"He couldn't speak?" Reid inquired thoughtfully, frowning as he studied the work of some autistic boy he would never know.
"He could speak. Quite eloquently in fact, but he preferred to communicate through visuals. He said he found spoken language inherently imprecise."
"Language is inherently imprecise, because we all have a subjective reference of word definition," Reid said softly, still staring at the art work. "What did he use? Oils and pastels?"
"Yes. And charcoal and pencil, as well. On water colour paper."
"How old was he... when he saw his parents killed?" Reid's eyes were thoughtful, a crease forming between his brows. Something in the piece had grabbed him like a terrier going after a bone.
"He was perhaps a few months older than you? Ten and a half or so." Martin said thoughtfully, walking over to the painting, to Reid.
"And when he painted...when he made this? How old was he then?" Reid pressed, one small hand trailing an inch above the framed painting as if trying to capture the original lines of the work.
"He made that in my office three days after the murders."
"So...a ten year old autist with an obviously adequate, if not superior, grasp of verbal language made this for you. A ten year old autistic boy who saw his parents murdered." Reid trailed, tone of voice unreadable.
"Yes. That's right."
"By autistic... did this boy...did he have...let's just say...would Hans Asperger have at one time referred to him as an autistic psychopath?" Reid was being intentionally cryptic, Gideon knew. He also knew that at some level his use of the antiquated term had been deliberate.
"Yes. When the syndrome is added officially to the ICD or DSM 4, whichever comes first, Asperger's Syndrome will almost certainly be one of his diagnoses." Martin confirmed, emphasizing the words Asperger's Syndrome. "No one on the autistic spectrum is referred to as an autistic psychopath any longer."
"Interesting," Reid said blandly, ignoring the shrink's last sentence.
"And obviously he is quite bright. IQ of...say, at least 150 or so." Reid continued. His voice was no longer as speedy and shaky as it had been just a few minutes it ago, but determined and confident. The voice of a chess player two moves away from putting his opponent into check.
"Yes."
"This room is full of fine art and for lack of a better term...outsider art from your patients... and 3-dimensional puzzles. You left a Ninja Turtle action figure on your desk, behind that cheap phrenology bust." Reid sounded pleased with himself. "There are also places on the walls that are lighter, where other, larger framed works have recently hung. Did you redecorate this room for my benefit?" Check.
Richard Martin did not answer that in words. Just laughed happily. Gideon, still leaning against the wall, smirked to himself.
"You have a ceramic phrenology bust on your desk." Reid mentioned again when the shrink failed to answer his question, and adjusted his glasses. "You do know phrenology is complete hokum?"
"Of course. I have that as a paper weight. An ironic paper weight."
Reid wheeled his chair over to the man's desk and began to pick up each object in turn, giving a brief description of everything as he did.
"Spencer, do you think it's okay if Jason hangs out in the lounge while we talk now? He can stay for a bit longer if you want, but..."
Reid instantly but down a Chinese puzzle box he had been fiddling with and looked over at Gideon anxiously.
"But...we are going to talk now?"
"We have been talking for a while now. Not so bad, is it?" Martin's voice was calm and soothing and completely devoid of the condescending tone that so many adults seemed to use with kids when they thought the kid in question was being unreasonable or over-sensitive. Gideon was glad that Richard Martin had agreed to see them.
"No... I guess not. But when he leaves, then you are going to ask me questions about what happened to me with... back at home. And that will be awkward, and I might not want to answer them. Just so you know in advance." Reid set his jaw.
"That's fine. And I am not going to just shoot questions at you like a lawyer. You'll control the conversation. This isn't an interrogation."
"If I control the conversation, then why am I here? I don't want to have a conversation about the past, period..."
"Well, we can talk about you not wanting to talk about the past if you want."
"I don't want to talk about that, either. By definition, that line of inquiry still pertains to the past." Reid's voice was both petulant and uncertain, as if afraid that the new man in front of him might suddenly react... badly. There was also a trace of curiosity in the young genius's voice, something that spoke to a grave desire to unburden himself to someone intelligent, someone who would not look down on him or judge him, would not see him as a burden because he was emotionally connected to him.
"What would you like to talk about?" It wasn't a question.
"I...Gideon has told you about my past. Isn't that enough? We don't ever have to talk about it, do we?" Reid's words were hurried, starting to garble together. Martin and Gideon exchanged a knowing look.
"We'll only discuss what you're comfortable discussing."
"Then we never discuss the past." Reid ordered. Gone was the momentary confidence and in its place the anxious, rambling tone of a scared, small child.
"What about the past is so uncomfortable for you?" Martin asked gently, walking over to his desk and picking up what looked like a stress ball.
Reid was silent for a moment. Finally, in a low voice, came the response: "Nice try."
Richard Martin laughed again, a sympathetic gentle laugh.
"See? You know all my tricks. So, what do you say? We talk alone for a bit?"
"We have to, don't we?"
"Well, as far as the courts are concerned... I have to be able to say I saw you on your own for my assessment of your behaviour to have any merit."
"Why do you have to assess my behaviour?" Reid sounded petulant. "There is nothing wrong with me. I didn't do anything wrong. Why don't you assess..." Reid trailed and buried his face in one of his hands. Exhaled slowly.
Gideon started to move toward the kid to reassure him but Martin raised a hand. The message was clear: Don't. Don't comfort him right now. Gideon nodded and stepped back.
"Nobody thinks you did anything wrong. You know what happened to you. The doctors, the police, Jason, are all in agreement. I am inclined to believe them, however, that would be pretty sloppy of me. I generally like to come to my own conclusions."
"You don't believe my file." Reid said flatly, as if he expected the severity of his injuries to be disbelieved. He lifted his head from his hand and wiped at his eyes. He had obviously been beaten to within an inch of his life, but he still, obviously, doubted that anyone would believe he had been beaten. Gideon knew it was a common reaction. The abuse victim often feared they would be ridiculed or shamed or blamed or flat-out disbelieved, even when the evidence was substantial.
"I just want to get to know you. So what do you say? If you get upset, I can go get Jason from the waiting room. Deal?"
Reid sighed miserably. Finally nodded his head.
Martin smiled gently and escorted Gideon back to the waiting room.
"So... before we start, can I get you something to drink?" Martin asked as he came back into the room, carefully shutting the door. He moved slowly towards the couch and sat down, motioned for Reid to come and join him. Reid wheeled himself backwards until he was facing the man. Between them was an oak coffee table, scarred and flecked with paint and what looked like crayon smudges. The juvenile ghosts of patients past were beginning to make themselves known.
"Um...coffee if you have it. Strong. Black. 2 sugars."
"Coffee. Hmm." Martin was silent for a moment, corners of his mouth turning up in a rueful smile. "You're a 10 year old genius whose IQ hit the ceiling on the Stanford Binet and the WISC at the age of 6. You're in the 11th grade. Or ready to enter the 11th grade. You drink coffee instead of soda pop or juice or chocolate milk and have substantial knowledge of fine art, psychology and my guess is any subject that you find even remotely interesting."
"What's your point?" Reid asked guardedly when it was clear the man before him had finished talking.
"Nothing, really. Most people don't usually start drinking coffee until they need to burn the candle at both ends. I've known teens in high school who guzzled the stuff. College kids. Twenty-somethings in med school."
"It tastes good. Colas and chocolate milk both contain caffeine too. And I am in high school." Reid volleyed back. Already he was regretting Gideon's absence. He couldn't make up his mind if he found the man across from him disturbing and scary or calming and reassuring.
"Maybe that was my point. You have had to grow up, from the little bit I can tell, really quickly." It wasn't a question, just a comment that hung in the room like a spectre and made Reid want to squirm. The boy shrugged and pulled at the cuff of his dress shirt. He wished Gideon had purchased the cufflinks.
Finally Reid nodded. Give the guy what he wanted to hear. Get this over with.
"I suppose. Sort of goes hand in hand with..." Reid trailed. No, not a good idea. Yes or no answers only. No extra information, nothing offered. Nobody could hurt him if he just responded in yeses and nos.
"Goes hand in hand with what, Spencer?" Martin prodded when it was clear Reid had trailed off.
"With being smart." Reid said quickly, hoping the man would accept that and move on. And get him his damn coffee already.
As if reading his mind, Richard Martin nodded and chuckled. "Okay. Well. I have to agree there. I was drinking coffee pretty early, too. Not as young as you, but young enough. You want any snacks? We have crackers, cookies, licorice all-sorts."
"I can't." Reid said petulantly before realizing he had already fallen into a trap.
"Can't have a snack?" Martin asked innocently, as if he had misheard the kid.
"That's right." Reid said softly, wishing this interview was over. He glanced down at his watch. Gideon had been in the room with him for a little over 11 minutes. He had been alone with the psychiatrist for 3 minutes, bringing the grand total assessment time to 15 minutes. And that 11 minutes was just the preliminary niceties. They hadn't gotten into the deep water yet. Shit.
"Why can't you have a snack?"
"I mean... I could have a snack if I wanted to. I just don't want one."
"But you said you couldn't have one. Not that you didn't care for one." Martin corrected gently.
"Not cookies or crackers or licorice, I can't have those."
"Why not?"
Reid sighed tiredly. This was going to be a long day.
"Because those foods involve chewing and I can't eat anything that involves chewing or putting any significant amount of pressure on my teeth or jaw, because my dental implants are still healing and I need to eat only mushy, soft food or liquids until my jaw bone strengthens around the little metal buds so that my permanent teeth can be screwed in. That's why."
"Okay. Fair enough." Martin didn't seem to notice Reid's speedy tone of voice, or the weariness in his comments. Reid knew that just because the man acted as if he were oblivious didn't mean he was. Far from it.
"Coffee. Strong. Black. 2 sugars. Is that right?" Martin asked cheerfully as he padded back towards the door.
Reid nodded tiredly, chewed at his lower lip.
"Okay. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Reid didn't respond to that. What was this guy's angle, anyway?
More coming soon. It is taking longer to write the interaction with Reid's shrink than I had initially considered. Hard to find the right balance of innocence, intelligence, confidence, fearfully guarded responses and faith in Reid and compassion, tenacity, intelligence and wisdom in the shrink. Anyway. Please review. PLEASE. Thanks.