Moira4eku, thanks for your great comments. I like writing Jack, and Garcia was fun too. Rossi isn't the most fun, but he's a good guy, and I'm sure he would be supportive. Hm, what will Reid do? We'll see.

Jane, thanks for another great review. You know Reid pretty well.

WARNING: Things get bad in this chapter. Very, very bad. Your teddy bear and night light may not be enough. Make a cup of tea or hot chocolate to sip while you read the horror. I'm planning to post the next one very quickly so I don't leave you in this dark spot for long.

Setting: Reid's flashback, where we left off in his account in the previous chapter.

Surviving 20: A Safe Place

He always sat across the table from me, so I couldn't consider making a grab for his knife. He would have it before I could move that far. He was more worn out than usual, but he didn't seem to be in too bad a mood. He had a beer with supper.

"Long day," he said between bites of soup. "At least tomorrow's halfway through the week."

I nodded. It had been three days since my abduction. I wondered if the team was close to finding me. Maybe there had been a bigger suspect pool than I had anticipated. Maybe we weren't even in Virginia… maybe Al's house was actually in West Virginia or even North Carolina.

"Let's go to bed early tonight."

I couldn't help thinking that that wasn't a good idea. "I was hoping you could show me how to develop some pictures tonight," I said.

He smiled. "I'd like that, but not yet. I just want to be with you tonight and not think about work."

"Is it hard, what you do?"

"Not very hard. Just time-consuming. And I have to deal with people… you know how it is."

He was still being vague about his job, but I was getting some ideas about what it might be. "On your feet all day?"

"Some of it. I don't want to talk about work. Eat up. Then we'll get ready for bed."

"Okay."

"You want some of my beer?"

I realized I'd been staring at the bottle to avoid looking directly at him. I really didn't want to exchange saliva with him, but it wasn't at the top of my list of concerns at the moment. "Um… okay."

He pushed the bottle into the middle of the table so I could reach it. I took a drink and passed it back. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. You want your own? I like watching you drink."

That comment was a little unsettling. I thought it might be nice to drink a whole beer right now; it could help take my mind off things. But the last thing I wanted to do was to become dependent on alcohol to tamp down my anxiety. "Thanks, but I don't want a whole one."

"Okay. No pressure." He smiled at me and took a drink, himself.

Maybe I could drink part of one and get him to finish it for me… I calculated his body weight. He was shorter than me, but not much lighter. Eighteen to twenty ounces of beer probably wouldn't even get him buzzed. It wasn't worth trying. Maybe another time, if he were drinking something stronger, I could use the idea. For now, I put it aside.

"I can help you do the dishes," I offered as he started clearing the table.

He looked around the kitchen, and I knew he was thinking about any knives that might be within my reach if he let me stand at the sink. "Stay there," he said.

He got out a couple of towels and put them on the table in front of me. "I'll give you clean dishes to dry."

"Okay." I tried to think of something useful to discuss. "Hey, I was wondering… I'm always smelling different chemicals, like citric acid and ammonia… That's probably the darkroom chemicals. But sometimes I can smell something like chlorine or bleach, too. Maybe acetone?"

"I keep a lot of chemicals around," he said carelessly. He glanced back at me now and then as he washed dishes, making sure I wasn't trying to move from my place.

"I was just thinking about your taxidermy book. You might use solvents and bleaching agents for that, right? To cure the skins?"

"I've done a little bit of hide-tanning. Not for a long time, though. I still have some of the chemicals out back. That's probably what you're smelling."

Or you're using an alkali solution to break down the remains of your victims as a forensic countermeasure. He didn't strike me as a collector. I had kept a sharp eye out for any remains of my predecessors, but if he intentionally kept parts of the other victims, it must be "out back" with his chemicals. I sometimes thought I also caught a smell like rotting flesh—I knew it well from some of the crime scenes I'd been to in recent years.

I thought it was best not to talk about the chemicals any more at the moment. I didn't want to make him irritable.

It was only around eight when we finished the dishes and he took me back to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He stood against me while I relieved myself, one hand holding his knife and resting on my shoulder, the other moving over my hip and down my thigh. I was getting better at shutting out his touch, but he was getting more invasive.

He tied me to the bed again before going back to the bathroom for a couple of minutes. He turned out the overhead light when he came in and seemed calm and happy when he came to join me on the bed.

He opened my shirt and stroked my skin for a while. I had learned not to try to talk to him while he was touching me.

Just stay still. That's all he wants. I tried to imagine that I was somewhere else. With someone else. Voluntarily. It wasn't a sexual experience at all… just a relaxing one. And it mostly worked until he opened my fly. He started tugging my pants down, and I decided to attempt the invasive medical examination imagery again. Unpleasant, but necessary. I lifted my hips slightly so he could get my pants down.

If I don't do this, he'll kill me. I tried to shake off the thought to get my distraction back. It's necessary. It will be over soon. Clean bill of health. That's what we want.

He paused to get out his camera and take a couple of quick shots. Then he was touching me again. I stared at the ceiling.

Stay still. In order for this examination to go well and be done quickly, I have to stay…

I stiffened. He wasn't just touching me with his hands.

"Shh, stay still."

"S-sorry." I tried to relax, to shut him out again, but it wasn't working. I wanted to scream. I couldn't slow my breathing down. My heart was pounding. A tear ran out of my eye toward my ear.

"Spencer." He moved up into my field of vision and put his hand on my chest. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry… I'm just… I've always been shy," I said, thinking it probably sounded like a very weak excuse.

He wiped the tear from my face. "You don't have to be shy of me. I love you." He leaned down and kissed me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll do better next time."

"I think we should try something else."

Thank god… "O-okay."

The familiar procedure of being hobbled felt almost comforting compared to what I'd just been through. He put the handcuffs on me and let me sit up.

"I want you to try giving me a blow job."

When the initial shock started going away, my thoughts started screaming. No, no, no, no, no, no, no! That's just as bad! Worse! God, please… no! "I… I… I've never…"

"I know, but you'll be fine. It's easy. Here…" He put a pillow on the floor. "You can kneel on that." He nudged me to get off the bed.

I stood and had enough presence of mind to pull my pants up while he turned me toward the bed. Then he pushed my shoulder down and I obediently knelt. "Please, Al… please don't make me do this yet. I'm not ready."

He pulled his pajama pants and underwear down with one hand, the other holding his knife. "You're just nervous," he said. "There's nothing to worry about."

He sat in front of me and I glued my eyes to his face. "I'm sorry I couldn't hold still for you," I tried desperately. "I promise I'll do better. You can do whatever you want."

"Spencer, it's okay." He caressed my face. "I'm not angry with you. For this, you don't have to hold still. You can do it."

His words were soft and loving, but the knife was always in my peripheral vision. I wondered if he really meant what he was saying. Was it part of his psychosis to be kind to me, or was it a sadistic part of his act? Either way, acting like I believed it seemed to be what would most likely keep me safe.

"I… I'll try," I heard myself say, though I still felt like I'd throw up if I went through with it. "I'm just scared I won't do a good job for you. You said I'm the one you've been looking for, and I want to believe it."

"You are." His free hand ran lovingly through my hair.

"I'm scared I'll do something wrong and you'll change your mind. I don't want to disappear like Jason Lee."

That seemed to knock him off kilter a little. He shook his head. "Spencer… I wouldn't hurt you."

I wished he would stop saying my name. I'm the only person here. I know you're talking to me. Stop saying it.

"I know you want to make me happy," he added.

"I do," I said earnestly.

"And you will. Everything's all right." He started gently pulling my head down. "It won't be hard, I promise. See? I'm already aroused for you."

I couldn't avoid looking anymore, and he was right: he was already well engorged. Maybe he'll get off quickly, at least. Oh, god, am I really thinking of doing this? I put my hand on his thigh for stability, reminding myself that Al had showered today, and I had observed him to practice very good hygiene. It should be safe. Probably. Not really. But I had no choice. I'm not sure why, but it didn't even occur to me that he was more vulnerable than usual at that moment. Attacking him didn't cross my mind.

He wasn't pulling on me anymore, but his hand was still on my head, combing through my hair. "It's okay, Spencer. Put your mouth on me."

Please, stop talking. It's hard enough trying to think of somewhere safe I can send my brain right now… I was trying desperately to think of that safe place. It just wasn't going to work. I would have to think of a slightly less horrible place instead.

I pictured myself back in junior high and a scene began to unfold. One of my childhood tormentors, Bobby Lyons, was showing something to kids in the boys' bathroom. Somehow, he had gotten hold of a dildo.

This hadn't actually happened in real life, but it wasn't too hard to imagine that it had. Kids love anything that they're not allowed to have or do, or that they're not supposed to know about.

"Whatcha gonna do with it?" someone in my imagination asked.

"Make the beanpole lick it!"

And they dragged me over to Bobby, forcing me down on my knees. Imaginary Bobby held the dildo out to me.

"Lick it, wuss!"

I opened my mouth. Give them what they want and they'll leave me alone, my junior-high self thought. They can't stay in here past the bell. It won't last long.

"That's it," Al said, hand still busy in my hair. "Good. Keep going."

"Keep it up, nerd. Look, he likes it! He's a total fag!"

My face was burning.

"You're doing fine, Spencer. Now, take me in your mouth."

"Suck it. Go on!"

I choked back a gag and did as I was told. It's not real. It's just a stupid sex toy. It's rubber or silicone or something. It's just warm from Bobby holding it.

Al was panting softly. "Yes… oh, yes… more."

"Suck harder, dweeb! Suck it like your mom would."

I always hated it when they brought out the "your mom" crap. It was the only thing that made me almost mad enough to fight back. Almost.

"I'm almost there, Spencer. Swallow me. Oh, god…"

Then hot liquid hit the back of my throat and I reeled back. I was barely aware of Al telling me again to swallow. I couldn't help it—I spat the semen on the floor.

The hand left my hair and I felt a hard slap across my face that knocked me sideways. So hard that my cheekbone probably hurt his hand, too. "Why would you do that?!" he demanded.

"I'm sorry," I said immediately, though I really wasn't sorry at all. "I choked. I'm sorry." I was on all fours, shaking. I'd been hit harder before, but this worried me because Al hadn't acted aggressive until now. Would this be the turning point that got me killed?

I got back onto my knees and looked up at him pleadingly. I didn't have to fake the tears. I was sure that I was really begging for my life. "I'm really sorry. I told you I'd do it wrong… I didn't mean to." I rested my head against his knee and put my hands on his calf. "Please, forgive me. I'm sorry, Al. I'm sorry."

I cringed when he finally touched me again, but then I relaxed a little as his hand started going through my hair again.

"Okay, I forgive you. I lost my temper, but... if it was an accident, then it's not your fault." It was almost an apology.

I let my breath out shakily. "Thank you," I whispered. I nuzzled against his leg a little, not ready to look up yet.

"All right. Let's just forget about it."

Yes, please. "Okay."

I was almost happy to be tied down. He seemed calm again, and it looked like he was winding down for the night… but then he straddled my hips.

"Just lie still again, Spencer, okay?"

I nodded grimly. Here we go again…

Bobby Lyons had jumped me on the way home from school. He was sitting on me so I couldn't get up. "You gonna cry for your mommy?"

I imagined stealing the caps off his bicycle tire valves and just smiled up at him.

"Weirdo!" He started bouncing up and down, trying to scare me with suffocation.

Al was rocking back and forth, stroking himself while he looked into my smiling face. "God, you're so beautiful," he said, running his free hand up and down my body. He moved faster and faster. His blinking became more rapid.

Bobby was just tiring himself out trying to make me cry. I really should cry. It was what he was waiting for, after all. But it was kind of funny seeing him huff and puff and get frustrated that I didn't seem to be bothered. I just kept smiling.

"Spencer, you freak! What kind of name is Spencer, anyway? Spencer's a last name!"

Al was moaning my name. He put his free hand on the bed beside me and leaned forward so his ejaculate sprayed onto me.

"Take this, germ freak." Bobby was peeing on me. He'd never done that in real life, but it was a possibility that haunted my nightmares about him. I had heard that he had done it to another kid before I had enrolled there, and that kid had had to change schools. It probably wasn't true.

I tried my best not to cringe. At last, Al was sliding off me. Lying beside me.

He kept panting as he came off his high and started tracing a finger through the stickiness on my chest. "That was perfect," he said breathily. He kissed my pectoral and sat up a little to reach more of me. He worked his way to the semen splash and started licking at it.

I needed a new scenario. I was naked, tied to the goal post behind the high school, and kids were daring each other to come up and lick me. They knew I hated germs. I had tried begging them to stop, but that didn't work, so now I tried just holding still. If I didn't react, they would decide it wasn't any fun and go away.

Al licked up all the semen he could find and then kissed my neck. "Thank you, Spencer. That was just right."

I sighed in relief. "I'm glad you liked it," I whispered. "I told you I could do better."

He smiled. "Yes, you did. I'm very happy with you." He kissed my mouth. Then he turned out the lamp and burrowed into the bed, putting his arm around me. "Good night, Spencer. I love you."

"Good night, Al." I clenched my teeth, waiting for him to comment on my not saying I loved him, but he didn't say anything else.

Exhausted, I found myself drifting off to sleep right away, in spite of the fingers that were tracing circles on my chest and frequently pausing to play with my nipples. I was just too tired to care.

Sorry for any triggering; I'm going to have the next chapter up soon so you can get your mind out of this spot. Thanks for making it through the chapter. Less creepy stuff next time.