Author's note: Kids, don't try this at home.

Waking up was never Reid's favorite part of the day, and today was no different. He thought that it took him an inexcusable amount of time to figure out where he was and what had happened. His entire body ached and he was incredibly thirsty. Had he let Morgan lure him out on a bar round last night? That was when the complete numbness of his left arm registered and everything came rushing back. Bailey!

It took some maneuvering to sit up, and when he finally had his back firmly planted against the radiator he was trembling and panting, and sweat was running down his back. He looked over to the bed, where Bailey was sitting up in bed, looking right at him.

"Hi, Bailey. Are you okay?"

The boy nodded.

"Has the man been down here again?"

Bailey shook his head.

"Good."

He heard the floorboards creak above him, and the sound of water running. He looked at his watch. The glass had broken, but it was still working. It was just after 7 a.m. Morgan's voice echoed in his head "He has a normal 9 to 5 job… During the weeks of the kidnappings he won't have missed a single day of work."

Tom had said that he had to take the bus to work today and that he was always the first one there in the morning. He should be leaving shortly. And then Reid had about ten hours to figure out a way to escape and get Bailey to safety. But at the moment, he didn't have a clue as to how that would come to be.

The basement door opened and Tom came down with the TV tray again. He completely ignored Reid, and went to place the tray on the bed. It contained a juice box and a plate with two pieces of toast.

"Good morning Mattie. I have to leave a little early today, but who knows? It's Friday, I might be able to sneak out a little early tonight. Then we'll spend some quality time together. Be good today!" He leaned over and kissed the boy's head.

On his way out he stopped by Reid and squatted in front of him. He smiled crookedly. "I have big plans for you too tonight. I have found a nice little place to stash you away in. I'm even going leave nice little clues for your friends. Then we'll see who they will look for first." He chuckled. "I wish I could see their faces when they find you. Too bad you'll be missing that grand finale."

"And just why is that?" Reid said, wanting to show the man that he wasn't afraid.

"Well, you know all those things the papers seem to think I'm doing to my boy? Well, since they have already condemned me for the crimes, I might as well commit them, right? Seems like a shame to let all that nice writing go to waste, no?"

Reid felt his stomach roll, but his face showed nothing.

Tom chuckled again, patted Reid patronizingly on the cheek and stood up. On the way up the stair he whistled a cheery little tune. "See you tonight boys," he called from the top of the stair.

When the door was closed Bailey sat up and jammed the straw into the juice box. Then he took one of the pieces of toast and held it out towards Reid.

"No thank you, Bailey. That's very sweet of you, but I can't reach it. It's better if you eat all of it."

Upstairs the front door slammed shut as Tom left the house. They were alone.

While Bailey ate, Reid did an inventory of himself. His left leg was left rather unscathed while his right knee was so swollen it was straining against the fabric of this pants. His back and stomach ached fiercely, having been repeatedly kicked. But his belly was soft, so he wasn't overly worried about any major internal bleedings. There was extensive bruising though, which was hot and throbbing. Pressing his hand over his ribs proved to be another unpleasant experience. Healthy ribs should not yield under pressure like his were doing. He hoped they were just cracked, but he suspected at least two broken ones. His face had no new injuries, except a soreness to the jaw from that first blow, but the skin on his right cheek felt warm and tender, proving that infection had set in. He probably hadn't been able to wash out all the dirt last night. His right arm was bruised, but otherwise unharmed. The pinkie and ring finger were probably broken, though, but he could live without them for the time being.

His biggest problem was his left arm. The shoulder had been dislocated for several hours, and he knew that without treatment he was in danger of permanently damaging the nerves and blood vessels around the shoulder. He had actually set a dislocated shoulder before. On a mandatory FBI survival training one of the other participants had fallen off a cliff, and the nearest help had been several hours away. At that time his knowledge about field medicine had been purely theoretic, a fact he had conveniently hid until the agent in question had been safely tucked away in a hospital room. He had never done it to himself though. And it was a procedure that took quite a lot of strength and proper leverage. But it had to be done. As it was now, his arm was completely useless, and he would most certainly need it for an escape attempt.

Glancing at Bailey, who seemed preoccupied examining the print on the juice box, Reid slowly turned around so that he was facing the wall. He had to use his right arm to help guide his left arm, but he managed to wrap the fingers of his bad arm around the sturdy radiator pipe. He hoped he would be able to hold on and he clamped his right hand around his wrist, just above the handcuff, to help hold it steady. He then lifted his feet up and planted them firmly with the soles up against the wall. His knees were bent as far as he could get them, making his right knee scream in agony. Taking several deep breaths to calm his shaking nerves he then pushed off with all his might. His body was pushed backwards, the recoil forcing his shoulder joint back into position. An excruciating pain flowed through Reid, wrenching an unwelcome scream from him, leaving him panting and sobbing. When the pain became bearable again, he carefully let his right hand seek out his shoulder, poking and prodding. Thankfully it seemed as if he had succeeded on the first try. He wasn't sure he would have been able to do it again, now knowing how much it hurt. He could already feel a tingling sensation in his fingers, as they started to come alive again. Pushing a sweaty strand of hair behind his ear with a trembling hand he looked up at Bailey. The boy looked at him with a pained and terrified expression, tears flowing down his face.

"I'm sorry, Bailey," he said, his voice still shaky with pain. "I didn't want to scare you. I'm okay now."

The boy did not look reassured; in fact he looked rather skeptical. Reid tried to explain.

"You know when you fall and skin your knee, it hurts a lot, right? And then you go to your mum or dad and they put a cream on it that stings really bad at first, but then it makes everything feel better?"

Bailey nodded warily.

"That's what I had to do. My arm was feeling bad, and I had to make it hurt a lot to make it feel better afterwards. It hurts very little now."

That last part was actually a lie, but Reid chose to think of it as obfuscation. Unfortunately, the hard part was nowhere near over. He still had to think of a way for them to escape.

At 8 a.m. the command center had v

irtually emptied, as all personnel went out to go door to door with the sketches. Morgan had spent the morning hounding Garcia every 15 minutes, but so far she hadn't found anything. There was still a lot of the list left to go through, and she was putting both her computers and her own skills to the test. It was now nearing lunch time and no positive reports had come in. The BAU team were all nervous and edgy, but none so much as Morgan. He was constantly lashing out at people, questioning whether they were working hard enough, or if they had the proper skill for their tasks. Both Gideon and Hotchner had taken him aside several times to ask him to calm down or to take a break. People had been patient with him all morning, but that patience was wearing thin. Beneath the extreme worry for his friend's life, Morgan was also overcome with guilt. He kept seeing his own hand tossing the car keys to Reid, pushing him out with his words, sending him out into harm's way. And then there was the phone message. Morgan had retrieved Reid's phone from evidence. It now lay in his pocket where he kept clutching it, as if it were a lifeline, his one connection to Reid. He had listened to the message several times and his own words kept ringing in his ears. "You get kidnapped on the way or something? Not a valid excuse!" Where were Reid, and why couldn't they find him?

Had anyone asked Derek Morgan to theorize over how his friend would chose to spend his free time, it would have involved large tomes filled with knowledge and big words, covering every known subject under the sun. Though Reid did have his fair share of those books in his bookshelves, they were also well filled with novels. Especially brick-size mystery and horror novels. And it was from one of them he devised his escape plan.

Reid had spent the last couple of hours going over their prison, trying to find something, anything, within his reach that could help them escape. Nothing had stood out, and of course, his pockets had been emptied last night. Besides, the simple truth was that they were going nowhere as long as he was chained to the radiator. Both the handcuffs and the radiator had been submitted to very thorough examinations, but without a hacksaw, neither would budge. His hand, however, was another matter. Though his wrists were as skinny as the rest of his body, there was no way to simply slip out of the cuff. Not without the aid of some sort of lubrication.

Reid had once read a Stephen King novel called Gerald's Game where a woman was in a similar situation. She had been handcuffed to a bed in a house in the middle of nowhere, with no one knowing where she was. She had broken a water glass and used the shards to cut her own wrist, and used the blood as lubrication, and so she escaped her prison.

As desperate a plan as it was, it was the only viable plan Reid had. It was already early afternoon and he only had three or four hours to get Bailey to safety before Tom came back. His foremost worry right now was how to explain to Bailey what he had to do without scaring him. But first he needed a tool. There were no windows, and he could not sacrifice their one source of light. Not only would it be too dark for him to find the shards, he would also not be able to see where to cut. Within his reach there was nothing that could be of use. On Bailey's bed, however, stood the TV tray, and on top of it stood the now empty porcelain plate.

"Bailey?" he said carefully, gaining the boy's attention. "I want you to do something for me, okay? See the plate?"

Bailey looked at object in question and tentatively picked it up. He looked over at Reid, questioningly. Reid nodded in encouragement.

"That's right. Now, I want you to throw it to me, or as close to me as you can."

Bailey still looked hesitant.

"It doesn't matter if it breaks. In fact, that's what I want it to do. Can you do that for me?"

Bailey nodded, and with a deep breath he tossed the plate, Frisbee-style, across the distance that separated them. It landed just a little beyond Reid's legs, shattering into three large pieces.

"Good," Reid praised. "You did really well. That was just what I needed."

Bailey gave him a shy smile as he let his eyes curiously follow Reid's hand as he put the shards in his lap to examine them. Though Reid had had his fair share of hardship and unhappiness in his life he had never been suicidal, so sitting here evaluating sharp objects with the intention of cutting his own wrist felt odd and very wrong. He would have to rely on his knowledge of the human anatomy not to cut in the wrong place, or too deep, but still deep enough to get what he needed. The wrist was a complicated part of human body. It had blood vessels and tendons lying so close to the skin that it was much too easy to cause irreparable damage.

None of the porcelain pieces quite lived up to his expectations though. Taking the largest piece he smashed it against the floor at an angle, hoping to make a sharper edge. It took him several tries to make a satisfactory mock-knife. He then loosened his tie, placing it in his lap for easy access. He would need it to make a pressure bandage once he was done.

He once again looked to Bailey, wracking his brain trying to figure out what to say next. "Bailey," he started. "I'm about to do something that you're never supposed to do. I'm only doing it because I really believe that it will help us get out of here and go home. That's the only reason. I would never do it otherwise. Do you understand?"

Bailey nodded.

Reid sighed. Bailey's refusal to talk was a real problem, but one that he was forced to let be for the time being.

"Okay, good," he said. "The thing is, it's too scary for you to watch. So I want you to turn around, and just close your eyes or keep looking at the wall, until I tell you that it's okay to look again. Okay? Can you do that for me?"

Bailey bit his lip and nodded again. Then he turned away.

Reid waited until all he saw was the back of the boy's blond head before picking up his chosen tool. "Good," he said. "Really good. Thank you for helping me with this."

Twisting around a little to get into a better position, he mentally prepared himself for what he would have to do. As much as he would have loved to just sit tight and wait to be rescued, the little blond head on the bed made the decision easy.

He placed the tip of his "knife" at what he deemed was the most strategic starting point and pressed it down a little, forming a dimple in his skin. Imagining his trajectory he closed his eyes and made the incision.

Opening his eyes again he stared in shock at his wrist. There was nothing. Just a thin white line, no more than if he had drawn his fingernails across the surface. Daring to breathe again he sighed. A healthy psyche was very reluctant to hurt itself, he knew that. He just had to overwrite his own safety codes.

'Alright,' he thought. 'Second try, here we go.'

This time he kept his eyes open, but quickly closed them when he saw blood beginning to well up. He had to fight with himself to keep going, but he knew he needed more if he were to succeed. He bit his lower lip fiercely, to keep his focus, but also to not scream and scare Bailey.

When he once again looked, blood was flowing freely from a gaping wound on his wrist. A strangled sob escaped his lips. He could not believe what he had just done. A quick peek at the bed showed that Bailey had not moved. He let his tool fall to the floor and tilted his wrist to get the blood flowing in the right direction and then used his hand to smear it around to the other side of the wrist. It hurt like hell. One thought kept repeating itself in his mind. 'Morgan's gonna kill me for this.'

His wrist was getting slippery as he kept smearing the blood on and around the handcuff. He figured it was time to try to get free before he lost too much blood. He had purposely laid the cut low enough so that he would be able to lift the cuff over it, instead of dragging it. He had concentrated his lubricating efforts where the wrist and the hand met, and over the thickest part of the hand. Still it was tough going. He kept sweating and swearing and jiggling and pulling and smearing and when the handcuff suddenly plopped off with a jerk, he was so surprised he didn't move for at least 30 seconds.

Shaking himself out of the momentary paralysis, he gathered up his tie and with the help of his sticky right hand and his teeth he wrapped his make-shift bandage around his wrist and tied it with a sloppy knot. He dried his hands as best as he could on his shirt before he stood up, with all the grace and mobility of a bedridden 85-year-old. His head spun and his vision kept swimming in and out of focus. He had to grab the top of the radiator to be able to keep standing. After a while he felt better, and he started to make his way over to the bed.

"Bailey," he called. "It's all right to look now. The bad part is all over."

The boy shifted over on his back. He took in the blood on Reid's hands and shirt and his lower lip immediately started to quiver.

Reid fetched the key for Bailey's handcuffs and sat on the bed. "It'll be okay now," he said. "We'll be out of here in no time."

The minute he unlocked the handcuff, Bailey threw his arms around Reid's waist, buried his face in his blood-smeared shirt and started crying. Reid held him as tightly as he could, ignoring his body's cries of pain. He rocked them slowly back and forth, stroking the boy's hair, trying not to look at his watch. There had to be time for this, if he wanted to save the boy's soul as well as his body.

Some time later the crying became sobbing, and soon they were ebbing out as well. Bailey lifted his head and looked at Reid, who smiled at him.

"Ready to get out of here?"

Bailey nodded and moved his arms so that they were now encircling Reid's neck.

"Don't want to walk by yourself, huh? Okay, we can do it this way. Just hold on a moment."

He carefully stood up, bringing Bailey with him, until the boy was standing on the bed. With some difficulty Reid managed to take off his jacket and carefully guided the boy's arms into the sleeves. It was October and rather chilly, and the boy was barefoot in his pajamas. He also checked him over for any hidden injuries, and was grateful when he found nothing. He then faced a dilemma. If he were to carry the child on his good leg, then he would have to hold him with his bad arm, and vice versa. He chose to place Bailey on his right hip, even though his ribs protested. He didn't trust his left arm to be able to hold him. Together they made it slowly up the stair.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" Reid asked as the stood in the living room.

Bailey nodded, so he carried him over to the bathroom and put him down. "I'll be out here, okay?"

Bailey looked hesitant.

"I'm not leaving without you, I promise."

Bailey was apparently soothed by this, so he walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

Reid should probably also have used the bathroom, but he just couldn't face himself in the mirror right now. Instead he washed his hands as best as he could in the kitchen sink and tightened the knot on his wrist. He looked at his watch. 2.48. They would have an hour and a half at least before Tom even left work. He opened the fridge. Finding several bottles of water, he took one out and twisted the top off, gulping down the entire bottle. His stomach did a shocked roll, but thankfully he was able to keep it down. Going through the cabinets he found a pack of Animal Crackers, which he tore into while he waited for Bailey. Looking around the room, his eyes landed on the table next to the garage door. He couldn't be that lucky, could he? But there they were. The keys to the SUV lay exactly were Tom had left them last night.

The toilet flushed, and a moment later Bailey came out. He quickly padded over the floor, reaching his arms up to be picked up again. Reid complied stiffly and gave him the box of crackers to hold. Bailey gladly accepted it and started decapitating giraffes and monkeys with his teeth. Reid also took two more water bottles, meshing them in between their bodies for safe keeping. Bailey giggled when he felt the cold bottles against his stomach, and the sound made Reid's heart soar.

Limping heavily he made his way to the garage, stopping to successfully retrieve the car keys without dropping Bailey or the water bottles. He opened the door and asked Bailey to hit the light switch, which was at the perfect height for him, hanging off Reid's shoulder as he were.

The car wasn't even locked he discovered, as he opened the front passenger door and put Bailey down. He was a bit too short, but they had nothing to use as a booster seat. Reid helped him with the seatbelt and opened a water bottle for him before closing the door.

He hit the button for the automatic garage door opener, standing still as it opened. He carefully took in his surroundings, but everything seemed peaceful enough. He got into the car, started it with a shaky hand, smiled at Bailey and backed out of the garage. Once out, he left the engine running as he got out of the car and went to close the garage doors. There was no reason to inform Tom of their escape any earlier than necessary. He just hoped they wouldn't meet him on the road back into town. He didn't even know what his car looked like.

TBC