*Another rewritten chapter.
Sometimes peace and quiet were needed, to think and plot and plan. Other times, the noise of the prison day room helped to drown out the voices in his head. The voices which were telling him to rip the bitch apart limb from limb. This place was going to drive him crazy.
Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything stupid. He took another sip of overly salted soup. Disgusting. Maybe he'd brave the dangers of the cafeteria after all. He knew for a fact it was better than this junk.
He threw the styrofoam bowl in the trash. What to do? He could go to any one of the guards stationed here. Hell he could even go to his Counselor, but he knew all of them would be pointing the finger elsewhere. Not one of them would consider the obvious. He tried to calm down, tried every meditation technique Fiona had taught him in preparation for the anxiety of the courtroom. Nothing was working. All he could see was Cat's gleeful, twisted, smile as she handled the photographs of his godsons. How had she managed to get them off of his bunk wall? Who was she bribing now? And how?
"Must be nice." A soft voice, tinged with envy abruptly caught is attention
Reid turned to his left, towards the neighboring table and a kid with buzz cut blonde hair and a bruised eye that was turning an interesting shade of green. The inmate could not be day over 25. "I'm sorry?"
"You get commissary money and throw it away?"
"My stomach doesn't feel good." Surely throwing food in the trash wasn't going to cause a fight.
"Whatever, man, must be nice to have extra commissary." He turned back to his book, Algebra, judging from the partially obscured cover.
Reid reached for his last purchase: a half-full bag of chips. Cheetos reminded him of J.J. "Name's Spencer. I can share if you like. No charge."
The kid's eyes darted towards the bag. "Scott. Why would you give something away for free, Spencer?"
"Well I can't eat them all right now, and like you said - rude to let it go to waste."
The kid licked his lips, eyeing the bag. Reid was more than happy to let him have it, he had no idea why J.J. had a borderline addiction to the stuff.
Maybe actually solving someone else's problems would get his mind off of his own. "Bit of odd reading material, you've got, Scott"
Scott bit the inside of his cheek, at first Reid turned back to his book, convinced that the kid wasn't going to say anything, but then -"Mom says to think of the future, when I get out. So I'm studying for my GED, but it's hopeless." He slammed the book shut. "Get a job when I get out? Really? Who's going to hire a thief?"
"That's why you're in federal prison? Theft?" That seemed a bit harsh - unless the kid had a juvie track record before he'd turned 18. "Most counties allow for jail time - Never mind. None of my business. Sorry." Theft charges were usually jail time - less than three years. Unless there were mitigating circumstances, but if he kept going he'd sound too much like a cop for an inmate. Besides, something didn't seem right- not that he could do anything about it, whatever it was. Best focus on problems at hand that were solvable. "So, Algebra homework?"
The kid had the gall to roll his eyes? Maybe he didn't want help."You really think you can help me pass that test? Well, I guess beggers can't be choosers." He pushed the book in Reid's direction.
Reid scowled. He wasn't used to being insulted when offering help, but the kid didn't know what he was missing. How many other times had that attitude cost him an opportunity? He had to learn eventually, right? "Just so you know, I've got a PhD in Mathematics, so yes, I can teach Algebra. But I can tell when I'm not wanted and I've got to prep for court." He shut Scott's text book, and purposefully ignoring the kid's slack-jaw face, walked off without a backward glance.
Time to go talk to his Counselor, even if only so he could point an accusing finger when nothing was actually done. But he couldn't just walk up to his Counselor, that would require leaving Pod D. Leaving Pod D did not happen, unless for approved yard time or meal time. This was neither.
A shrill screeching sound echoed from the loudspeakers. Damn, damn, damn.
Reid turned on his heels. If there were only three things in life that were guaranteed. It was death, taxes, and...count.
Within seconds, every man stood in front of his cell...including Peterson whose keen eyes weren't missing the way Reid's fingers tapped against his leg.
"Everything all right?"
Reid just swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew Peterson didn't actually give a damn, so long as there was no cell drama. That was the problem, though. Stolen items, did indeed equate to just that, as easily as 2+2=4. Forget algebra, this was just basic prison arithmetic.
"Someone stole my photos," he whispered. "The ones on my wall."
Reid could have sworn that a litany of profanity escaped from Peterson's sealed lips. Maybe he'd been an expert ventriloquist on the outside.
The second the guard sounded the all-clear, Peterson all but shoved Reid into the cell, pulling the heavy door shut with the resounding thud that usually made Reid's skin crawl. "You told me you would handle it. Any drama comes into MY cell -"
"I know, it must have been during yesterday's bunk inspection. I was out in the yard, then I went to visitation. It was dark when I got back. I didn't realize they were gone until this morning."
"You checked everywhere?"
"You mean in my one shelf of microwave soup and papers in my locked cabinet, yes. It took me exactly 27 seconds to realize they were gone, but nothing else. I'm just going to go report it to the Counselor now."
"Your Counselor? Miller, right? Same as mine. He's a useless lump. He cares about safety, don't get me wrong, but that paper will be lost. You're better off calling your lawyer, that'll get Miller's attention."
"There's no time! We have to get those pictures back before they get out!" If another one of Cat's accomplices got a hold of one of his precious godsons. He couldn't let his brain linger on such horrifying thoughts.
"Call your lawyer!" Reid's attention snapped back to the present as Peterson waved a hand at his blank stare. "Call your lawyer! I'll ask around, see if anyone knows who did our bunk search yesterday." He muttered some profanity about counselors under his breath and started off towards the poker game. Reid shuttered. Once upon a lifetime ago, he'd loved poker, but he knew - hell, everyone knew - what they were really gambling. Whatever Peterson was up to, Reid was sure he didn't want to know. Best to keep on walking towards the payphones - in the opposite direction.
"Inmate Reid, report for visitation. Reid, you have a visitor."
Reid put down the receiver of the phone, glaring up at the loudspeaker. Visitor? The only visits he got were lawyers, and those weren't at the visitor booths. Except of course for Morgan, but he wouldn't make the trip twice in two days. Well, whoever it was, it would be great to explain this mess in person. Preferably to someone whose child wasn't at stake. He hung up the phone and met the guard at the Pod door, hands spread against the pearly white walls as he was roughly patted down and the chains applied perhaps tighter than necessary.
Reid kept his back to the wall, inching down the visitation line one step at a time, watching in alarm as inmate after inmate was escorted back to his cells in tears. Visitation was depressing to be sure, but it wasn't that bad. Was it?
Finally next in-line, Reid craned his head over the neighboring 5'5" inmate, hoping to satisfy his curiosity. No such luck. All he could see were dull grey walls. Would it kill someone to put up some pictures, or at least to pain the walls a pretty color. Something, really anything else would do.
"Hopkins, Reid, Chandler."
Reid took his appropriate chair, only to drop his jaw at the most out-of-place picture possible. Across the glass was a very familiar stern face with pink glasses and grey hair. It was the look he'd gotten when his hand was caught in the cookie jar - except, worse. Now she was talking very sternly to the glass, and he wondered momentarily if picking up the receiver was such a good idea.
Knowing it was a lost cause, he slowly picked up phone, hoping his visitor was in a better mood than appearances suggested. "Auntie Ethel? What brings you here?" She couldn't have come cross-country just to see him, right?
"You, Spencer," her voice was dead-panned, her head tilted as she scrutinized the boy who might as well have been her second son. "You brought me here, driving on ice. Spencer, I've never driven on ice before! I never want to be making icy hair-pinned turns against guard-rails ever again."
The thought of his little old auntie, driving down hill on ice made him wince in what would have been comical, had it not been for the 20-car pile up featured on last night's news. "But you made, I'm glad you made it, safe. Just, how did you find out? Garcia called, didn't she?" He knew Garcia wasn't the best at keeping promises and secrets, but just for once?
"No, I don't even know who that is, but no one on your team called."
"Oh no! Mom called you!" It must have been, he thought he'd been careful. "Damn it." Damn it, damn it! After he'd promised her so many times not to leave her again. Maybe she had a nightmare, called Auntie Ethel, only to find out it was true. No, that didn't make sense. Her doctor knew to keep the secret. He'd even sent her letters to J.J. to mail so there would be no prison name on the return address. He'd called her doctor so she wouldn't hear the prison automated message. Something, something hadn't been done right.
"Spencer, Spencer!" Auntie Ethel was taping on the glass, any harder and she'd get the guard's attention. He motioned for her to put her hand down. "It wasn't your mom. Your dad called me to ask about seeing you on the news."
"Dad called?" At least it wasn't his mom, perhaps that secret at least was still safe.
"I couldn't tell which was more surprising: you in prison or hearing from your father for the first time in 25 years."
Reid looked down at the empty half table on his side of the barrier. He really didn't want to spend his visitation replaying that old argument again.
"He cares, Spencer. He's a lawyer and he wants to help. He's just -"
"- a coward. If he wants to help, he can come see me himself."
"You mean that, you won't turn him away in two seconds."
Reid thought about it for a second. "Okay. If Dad really wants to help, tell him that he needs to call my counselor, Miller's his name, and report that my four pictures of my godsons were stolen from my bunk yesterday, possibly during guard inspection." He was going to call Hotch anyway, but it would be interesting to see if his dad followed-through or not.
"Okay, let me get write this...hang on, I left my purse in the trunk. Actually, better yet, I'll just go get the warden."
"No! Auntie! Ethel!"
She was gone.
Damn, so much for not getting the guards involved.
Why was he cursed with such a wonderful, stupid family? Reid laid on his bunk, hands in his head. "I know!"
"So, I tell you not to go directly to the guards or the counselor, but the warden? Tell me, Officer Reid, do you really want a target on your back? Because, you're asking for one and I'm this close to asking for another cell assignment."
The sound of the toilet flushing prompted Reid to put his pillow down. His wide eyes meeting Peterson's narrowed one as the man finished zipping up his green jumpsuit.
"This close!" He repeated, his fingers held barely a centimeter apart. "Do you really want to risk getting assigned to Hayes?!"
"You wouldn't!" Would Miller actually do that to him?
"Don't tempt me!"
Reid gulped. Hayes had the only solitary cell in the Pod for a good reason - and Reid had a pretty good idea what that reason was.
"Inmate Reid, please report to the security module. Inmate Reid to the security module." He was really beginning to hate hearing his name on the intercom. It was beginning to sound like the herald of doom.
Peterson flopped back on his bunk and picked up his sports magazine. "Have fun at your funeral."
Reid knew that look, could smell it from a mile away. High school principle or prison warden, it didn't matter. They always stuck up for the bullies.
"Inmate Reid, take a seat."
It wasn't a kind gesture, more like a barking order, which Reid obeyed. The warden fiddled with the paper for another couple of seconds before he set it down in front of Reid.
"Your visitor, Ethel Armenta- "
"My aunt, yes."
The warden scowled at the interruption, but said nothing when Reid wisely sealed his lip. "She said you were accusing my guards of theft! But there's no mention of which guard."
"Yes, sir, I don't know who"
"You don't know. So, you, an inmate -" the warden flipped through his file - "charged with rape and homicide think it's okay to accuse my guards without any solid evidence."
"My photographs are missing, sir. I last saw them before the inspection."
"Well be that as it may, I went through the confiscated contraband, and I found this."
He pulled a photograph out of his drawer. "Is this the photograph?" The warden kept his fat fingers on the picture as he held it just out of arm's reach, but it was enough to confirm. It was the picture Alvez had taken of Henry and Michael at the zoo with their new stuffed animals.
"Yes." Reid reached out of his photograph, but it was pulled back before he could touch it.
"In order to get it back, I will need you to fill out this here form."
Reid clicked the pen and read the form. "Conflict resolution," he whispered. I, Spencer Reid #76789, reported that on Sunday October 16, 2017 a photograph of my godsons went missing from my bunk. It was accidentally mixed up in the bag of confiscated items during a routine cell inspection and has now been returned to me. I thereby withdraw my accusations against the staff of Greensburg Prison due to the satisfactory resolution of this conflict. Warden, I can't sign this. There are still three missing pictures."
"And you have no idea who could have taken them?"
"Well, I know a female inmate, Catherine Adams, has a vendetta against me -"
"But a female inmate, 7 months pregnant, didn't slip past barbed wire security and get into the men's dorms undetected. Furthermore, my deputy warden and I have already searched all of the staff and their lockers. No other photographs were found. There was a mistake, it has been corrected." He placed the pen back on the paper.
Reid folded his hands in front of his chest. "No, not until I have them all."
"Very well, until you decide to cooperate all privileges shall be revoked. Guard, take Inmate Reid to his new housing assignment."