Disclaimer: Criminal Minds belongs to CBS, not me.
The first thing he realized as he came to was the blood. It dripped thick and heavy from his left temple, caking his ear and the side of his neck, plastering his hair to his cheek, wetting the collar of his shirt. He couldn't gauge how bad he was bleeding. Head wounds always bled a lot, there were too many blood vessels close to the skin...maybe it was just a bad bleed, nothing too serious.
The pain hit him next. Heavy, pounding, all encompassing, starting at his temple and spreading like a spiderweb down the side of this face. He gritted his teeth and pushed against it. He needed to keep his head on straight.
He wasn't on the property, definitely not. Tobias had driven for a pretty long time- at least he thought. He didn't know what time it was, how long he'd been in the truck or how long he'd been propped up on the uncomfortable wooden chair.
It was a small room, dirty, cluttered. A cabin, maybe? Somewhere remote. The depths of a forest or a field. He could see daylight through the cracks in the slatted walls.
The handcuffs dug into his wrists. He tried to raise his arms, but he could barely lift them. A wide leather belt looped through the chain and around the lower rail of the chair, pinning him in place.
Hunger pangs gnawed at his belly, but he didn't want to eat anything. The thirst was overwhelming, overpowering. He could go for weeks without food but only days without water. Vague nausea settled in his body, sapping his energy.
The door banged open and he jumped. Raphael stood in the doorway, a long coat hanging around him and his arms laden down with firewood. Cheerful cold sunlight shone behind him. It was morning, maybe even midday.
"What are you staring at, boy?"
Sencer dropped his gaze. Raphael walked over and dumped the firewood on the ground near the old fashioned stove. "You're not Raphael," he breathed.
He glared at him. "Do I look like Raphael?" he said, and his voice was back to that heavy tone, that southern drawl. Charles.
He picked up a log and fed it into the fire. "Thank you for burning those...keeping us safe," Spencer offered. Maybe he could play to Charles's need for respect, the unquestioning loyalty he clearly demanded from his son.
Charles's mouth drew down in a scowl."Don't try to trick me," he said.
"I would never try and trick you," Spencer said quickly. Not the right tactic, not the right tactic.
"You're a liar."
"I'm not a liar."
Charles lifted the firewood in his hand, a heavy broken branch splintering on the ends. "Lying's a sin," he said.
"I'm not a liar," he repeated.
Charles sat down across from him and grabbed him hard by the ankle. Spencer froze, his shackled hands raised protectively over his chest. "This will be over quickly if you just confess your sins," he said.
"I'm not a sinner," Spencer protested.
Charles tore off his shoe and threw it aside. "We're all sinners," he said. He ripped off his sock too, his ragged fingernails tearing stripes into the thin skin of his ankle, then did the same to his other foot.
Panic bubbled in Spencer's throat. "The lord spake unto Moses saying, 'speak unto all the congregation of the children of the lord,' and say unto them, ye shall be holy, for I, the lord your god, am holy," he babbled.
He struggled to make eye contact, and Charles met his gaze in surprise. "You know Leviticus," he said.
Spencer could hear the approval in his voice. "I know every word of the Bible," he said desperately. "I can recite it for you."
A shadow passed over Charles's face. "The devil knows how to read, too."
"I'm not a devil," Spencer whispered, hot tears spiking in his eyes. "I'm not a devil. I'm a man. My name is Spencer Reid, and I have a mother, and I have a father just like you, and they taught me the Bible." Charles stood up, gripping his left ankle, and his other hand held the branch. His lips trembled. "Let me just recite the Bible."
"Time to confess, Spencer Reid."
Charles drew back his arm and whipped the sole of his foot with the branch. Spencer howled in pain and the sudden shock, unable to escape the viselike grip on his ankle.
"Confess."
Spencer writhed against the wooden chair. "I... I don't have anything to confess," he managed to say.
Charles drew back and struck him again. Spencer screamed. He sank back against the chair, howls breaking from his throat. He couldn't stop it. Charles whipped at the soles of his feet, sending shockwaves through his ankles and shins, tearing at the skin, until at last the branch snapped. Spencer gasped for breath, unable to speak. Charles looked at the half on the floor, tossed the remains of the branch on the floor, and stalked away, slamming the cabin door behind him. Spencer slumped back against the chair, his feet and legs aching, and once he was alone he allowed himself to cry.
JJ rested her head on her hand as she looked through another journal, the words blending together. She was alone at the table; Garcia was working on Hankel's computer set up, Gideon and Prentiss were searching the house, Morgan was covering the grounds, Hotch was outside talking to the sheriff. Her whole body ached, demanding that she give in to sleep, but she turned a page.
"JJ? Are you okay?"
She raised her head to see Garcia watching her. "Hm?" she said. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," Garcia said. She pointed. "I think your arm's bleeding again."
JJ looked down at the white bandage on her forearm. "Oh," she said. "Yeah, I...I might have popped a stitch or something."
"Go take a break," Garcia said. "Get cleaned up."
"But I-"
Garcia touched her shoulder. "Nothing bad will happen if you stop for five minutes to clean up the blood," she said. "Don't worry."
"Fine," JJ sighed. She pushed back from the table.
"Jayje, nothing will happen to Reid if you take a break," Garcia said, but JJ was halfway down the hall already.
She set her gun aside while she used the bathroom and cleaned up the blood clotting on the gauze. Her shirt was a lost cause, she would have to throw it out as soon as she could.
She leaned on the edge of the sink, her eyes sliding closed. The exhaustion was too much, pulling her down, drowning her, but she couldn't give in. She didn't deserve to rest.
She opened her eyes, and one of the dogs was behind her, relfected in the mirror. It snarled, low and menacing, teeth bared, and she fumbled for her gun, whipping around, prepared to shoot-
"Hey, hey, hey!" Prentiss exclaimed, hands held up in surprise. "JJ, it's me." JJ fumbled to holster her gun, fumbled to smile and play it off like she hadn't just aimed at a team member. Prentiss frowned. "Are you all right?"
"Uh...yeah," she said,. "I'm sorry. You scared me."
Prentiss clearly didn't buy it, but she didn't press her further. "I'm sorry," she said instead. She hesitated. "I'm talking tomorrow morning to some guy who knew Hankel from Narcotics Anonymous. Why don't you come with me, get out of the house?"
Getting out of Hankel's house might mean that she would miss Reid coming back. But it also might mean she could catch her breath, get her head on straight. "Yeah," she said.
"Okay," Prentiss said. "Great."
She started to walk away. "Emily?" JJ said.
"Yeah?"
She stepped out of the bathroom and met her in the hall. "How come none of this gets to you?" she asked, her voice catching.
"What do you mean?"
"You came off a desk job," JJ said. "Now suddenly you're in the field surrounded by mutilated bodies, and...you don't even flinch."
Prentiss seemed caught off guard. Hotch materialized behind her, stoic as ever. "She's right," he said. "You've never blinked."
She looked from one to the other "I... guess…" she stammered. "Maybe I compartmentalize better than most people."
JJ's gaze dropped, but before she could press further Morgan shouted from outside. "Hey, guys! I think I got something!"
JJ and Prentiss moved to follow, but Hotch put out a hand. "Stay here," he said. "Just in case."
She rubbed her eyes. "Do you think Morgan found him?" she asked. "Has he been here the whole time?"
"I don't know," Prentiss said. She sighed. "He'll be fine, I'm sure of it. He's so smart."
JJ sank down in a chair, the journal she'd left on the table still open to page with no useful information. Garcia ran out of the lab. "What's happening? Why is Morgan shouting?" she asked.
"He found something outside."
"Oh my god," Garcia said. "Reid? Is it Reid?"
"I don't know," JJ whispered.
Morgan and Hotch walked back inside, and judging by the former's slumped shoulders and the latter's grim expression it wasn't good news. "Well?" Prentiss said.
"We found a body," Morgan said, dropping into the chair across from JJ.
"Oh my god!" Garcia exclaimed, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.
"Not Reid," Hotch said quickly. "I think it's Hankel's father. He's been dead for a while." He checked his phone. "It's too late to call the ME out here. We'll call in the morning, have them take a look then." He cast a scrutinizing look at JJ. "You should go back to the hotel. Get cleaned up, get some rest."
"No, I'll-"
"Jennifer."
She twisted around in her chair to see Gideon. "Go get some rest," he repeated. "You and Prentiss go back. You can see Hankel's NA friend in the morning and then report back here."
"I should stay," she whispered, but Gideon shook his head.
"C'mon," Prentiss said. "I'll drive."
JJ got up reluctantly. She walked past Morgan, who didn't look at her, and headed out to the SUV, climbing into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind her. Prentiss got into the driver's seat, started the engine, and backed out of the driveway, the unkempt house disappearing into the shadows.
JJ leaned her head against the window, staring at the farmland as the road moved from clay to gravel to pavement. It was a long drive back to the hotel on the outskirts of Atlanta. She was looking forward to it, and dreading it.
"I think I have an answer for your question," Prentiss said, breaking the silence.
JJ lifted her head. "Hm?"
"I think I know why this isn't bothering me as badly as it's bothering the rest of you," she said.
"Why?" JJ asked.
Prentiss sighed. "I don't know Reid as well as the rest of you do," she said. "For me...I can take a step back, see this as an ordinary crime scene. But you guys know Reid."
JJ bit back a bitter smile. "We do," she said. She exhaled slowly. "He's...like our little brother. He's just a kid. He's so brilliant, but...he's so naive. He can give you any statistic you want, calculate any problem he's given, but he needs someone to hold his hand when he crosses the street because he probably won't remember to check both ways."
Prentiss exhaled slowly. "Do you think we need to notify his parents that he's missing?" she asked.
JJ looked down at her hands. "There's no point," she said softly. "His father walked out when he was ten, and he never contacted the family again."
"What about his mother?"
For a moment she debated lying, or deflecting. But there was no point. Everyone else knew already. "She has schizophrenia," JJ said. "Pretty severe. Spencer had to have her committed."
"Oh my god," Prentiss said. "When did that happen?"
"When he was eighteen."
Prentiss was quiet for a moment. "That's so rough," she said. "Poor kid."
"He already had his first PhD at that point," JJ said. "He started college at twelve, you know. Moved to California all by himself."
"When he was twelve?" Prentiss repeated.
"He learned how to take care of himself, really early on," JJ said. "He's so smart, and resilient, and self-reliant, and-" Tears smarted at the corners of her eyes. "He's not good at opening up to other people. He doesn't know how to trust people. Even us, after all this time. He just...hides, and pretends everything's okay, even when it's not, and none of us know how to...break through."
"Hey," Prentiss said, and JJ realized a tear had rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away hastily. "Jayje, everything's going to turn out all right. Spencer's strong. He'll pull through this."
JJ's mind conjured up the memory of Spencer after the LDSK in Des Plaines, how he shivered in her arms, crying without making a sound, his panicked breathing catching in his throat as he gripped her hand tight. How he raised his head and smiled at her, telling her he was okay, trying to reassure her even though his hazel eyes were red-rimmed.
She thought of him alone, trapped, scared, trying to keep himself together, trying to come up with a plan, trying to escape.
Maybe he was hoping they were coming for him.
Maybe he had already give up.
"Emily, what if we don't find him?" she whispered. "What if we don't find him in time?
"We will," Emily said quietly. "We will, JJ."
She sighed, wet and shuddering, and stared fixedly out the window. They had to find him. She had to.
Spencer sat alone in the cabin, his mind drifting as the light began to fade. The room grew colder despite the wood stove in the corner, and the stench of rotten burning fish was relentless. He ran calculations through his mind, reciting anything he could remember, keeping himself awake and alert. His feet ached, the pain running through his ankles up to his knees. Something might be broken but he wasn't sure.
The cabin door opened and his captor walked in, carrying a bloody carcass in his arms. He caught Spencer's gaze and walked towards him, showing his spoils- a pig, maybe, or a sheep. "You need to eat," he said earnestly.
Not Charles. Probably not Raphael. He needed to know for sure. "What's your name?" he ventured.
"Tobias."
"Tobias?" Spencer repeated. He nodded and deposited the carcass next to the stove. Definitely a sheep. They had to be near farmland; whether it was Hankel's own land or a stranger's he wasn't sure "Who was here before?"
"It was probably my father."
He was right. Tobias was fractured, split into three alters- his father, himself, and Raphael.
He noticed Tobias staring at him, one foot covered in a blood stained sock, the other bare. "I'm sorry if he hurt you," Tobias said.
Suddenly he dug for something in his pocket and lunged for Spencer. He pulled off his belt. "What are you doing?" Spencer asked.
Tobias wrapped his belt around his upper arm, just above his elbow. "Don't," he pleaded. "Please don't."
"It helps," Tobias said, sincere, almost sweet. He pulled out a glass medical vial and a capped needle. "Don't tell my father. He doesn't know they're here."
"Please, I don't want it," Spencer whimpered. He couldn't pull his arm away. Tobias drew clear liquid into the vial with practiced ease. "I don't want it. Please."
"Trust me. I know."
Tobias slid the needle into the soft crook of his elbow and pressed the plunger down with his thumb. Spencer fought weakly, trying to pull his arm away, but the drug reached his bloodstream and soaked through him, and he slumped back, his breath falling into faint gasps.
He dreamed of his father for the first time in years.
He was ten years old again, small and thin, his hair long and shaggy because his mother kept forgetting to get it cut. His father packed a suitcase, cold morning light shining through the bedroom window, and his mother paced, frantic and scared and angry by turns.
His father walked out the door, and now Spencer could see himself, a lost little boy in a sweater that didn't fit. "I'm not weak," he heard himself say.
His mother looked at him, sad, sympathetic, her long hair hanging lank around her shoulders. "I know, baby," she said, and now she was pulling him back into his body, into a hug that brought no comfort or reassurance, her cardigan scratchy against his cheek and smelling like drugstore shampoo and cigarettes and patchouli.
"I'm not weak," he repeated, rubbing his face against her arm. "I'm not weak, I'm not weak…"
And he was in the cabin again, hunched in the wooden chair, his neck stiff and aching, numbness spreading through his body, taking away the headache and the pain in his legs and the fear and the feelings.
"I'm not weak," he mumbled, his eyes still closed, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I'm not weak."
"I don't give a damn whether you're weak or strong."
Not Tobias. Tobias was gone again.
He sensed a presence leaning over him, hot breath on his cheek, and his eyes fluttered half open. Charles sneered at him, Tobias's sweet face twisted in rage and disgust. "Yell all you want, boy," he said."Ain't no one gonna hear you where you are."
Charles bellowed, a harsh barbaric cry, and Spencer's chin tipped to his chest. He was dizzy; it could have been the drugs, or thirst, or the trauma. Charles's scream echoed and died away.
I can't escape, he thought. I can't escape like this. And they'll never find me.
For the first time he thought of his team, meeting at the conference table, getting briefed about his disappearance, and his eyes burned.
Are they looking for me?
Charles shoved him, his head bobbing like a sunflower in the shade, and his body went limp.
Please look for me, he thought, and everything slowly faded, carrying him away.
Despite her best efforts, JJ felt better in the morning. She probably could have slept for longer and she didn't sleep well, her dreams mixing with wild dogs and Spencer running into a cornfield that never seemed to end, but for now she felt better, her head more clear. Maybe the others were right after all. Sleep and a shower and a meal made her feel like a new person.
We're going to find him today, she thought as she shoved her bloody shirt to the bottom of the bathroom trash can. It was well past twenty-four hours now, but she didn't need to think about that. She couldn't think about the odds.
Emily got her coffee from the hotel lobby. "Two creams, two sugars," she said, offering her the cup like a peace offering.
JJ took a sip and made a face. "Oh, that's terrible," she said, almost laughing.
"Yeah, but it's hot and it's caffeinated," Emily said with a sheepish grin. "Let's go."
Hankel's mentor lived on a farm on the outskirts of town, the white frame house neat and tidy and a purple child's scooter parked near the driveway. The man's wife answered the door, offered them coffee or breakfast, but they declined. "My husband's out in the barn, give him just a second," she said, and they waited outside by the porch. It was colder today than it had been all week, the sun bright but the temperature biting.
The man tromped out of the barn and gave them a friendly wave as he approached. "Hey, y'all," he said. "Morning."
"Good morning," Emily called.
"My wife says y'all are from the FBI," he drawled as he pulled off a pair of muddy work gloves and stuck them in his back pocket.
"Yes, sir," JJ said. She held out the list Emily had found. "We were wondering what you could tell us about Tobias Hankel."
He sketched it out for them in a few terse sentences, the image of a kid that didn't have a chance, whose mother ran off and whose father drowned in religion. A kid whose only refuge from abuse was self-medicating with drugstore heroin, but he was too afraid to leave home.
Emily stowed her notes in her pocket. "Thank you so much for your time," she said.
The man nodded. "Hope everything turns out okay," he said. "He was a sweet kid. Just...didn't have a chance. Didn't have anyone to turn to."
JJ followed Emily back to the car, lost in thought. "Well, that was interesting," Emily said as she turned the key in the ignition. "What do you think?"
"I don't know what to think," JJ said. "I want to feel sorry for Tobias, but...I can't. He took Reid."
"Maybe it was a psychotic break?" Emily suggested. "The drugs got to him, pushed him over the edge."
"Maybe," JJ echoed. "But that doesn't explain the other unsubs. If his dad is dead, who's telling him what to do? And how does Raphael fit in?"
"We'll fill in the rest of the team," Emily said. "Maybe they can use what we found out, put the pieces together."
"I hope so," JJ said.
"Hey. Hey, you need to eat something."
He was hungry but he wasn't. Mostly he was tired, so tired. He'd been sleeping for hours, days even, but it wasn't enough.
"Hey, kid. Y'okay?"
He tried to lift his head but his neck ached. His whole body hurt.
"Kid, open your eyes. You're scaring me."
He finally opened his eyes to see Tobias inches from him his face, staring at him in concern. "I don't feel good," he mumbled.
"Yeah, I wouldn't think you would," Tobias said. "My dad's beat you pretty bad. Is...is the dilaudid helping?"
Spencer licked his dry lips. It did nothing. "The dilaudid?" he echoed.
"It's a little hard to come by, but it's worth it," Tobias said. He rocked back on his heels. "It's my own blend. You like it?"
He struggled to sit up in the hardbacked chair. "It's...I feel sick," he said. "I feel sick. Please, can you take these off?"
He held up his cuffed wrists, but Tobias shook his head slowly. "I can't," he said. "My dad would be so mad. But I'll get you something to eat."
Tobias got up. Spencer tipped his head back. He could see cool morning light shining through the rafters. He'd been missing well over twenty-four hours.
He knew the odds. It wasn't good.
Tobias held a tin camping plate in his hand, heaped with roasted meat. The sheep from earlier. "Here, you should eat something," he said. "Get your strength back."
He tore off a piece of meat and held it to his lips. Spencer ate it despite himself. It was gamy and stringy, but it was something. "What's your name?" Tobias asked.
He frowned for a moment, then remembered. He'd told his name to Charles. "Spencer," he said. "Spencer Reid."
He left off doctor, and agent. Tobias would be more sympathetic to him without the titles.
"Hey, Spencer," Tobias said. "You're not from around here."
"No, I'm from...I'm from Virginia," he said. "But I grew in Las Vegas." He swallowed hard. His stomach twisted in knots; he wasn't sure if it was the food or coming down from the drug. "I lived there with my parents, but...my dad left when I was ten."
"We got something in common, then," Tobias said. "My mama left when I was eight. Broke my dad up something terrible."
"We're not so different," Spencer said.
Tobias's face fell into hard lines. "Probably not," he said. "I reckon your mama never asked you to kill her."
"Wh-what?" he stammered.
"He got sick," Tobias said. "He knew he wasn't gonna make it. He asked me to put him out of misery."
He got up abruptly, taking the plate with him. Spencer's mind raced. The stressors, he thought. His mother left. His father snapped. His father died. Asked him to kill him.
"Tobias, I'm sorry about your dad," he said softly.
Tobias turned around. "Don't tell my dad I let you eat," he said. "He'll be mad."
He stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him. Spencer curled up against the wooden chair, trying to get comfortable. Everything hurt, and he closed his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep. But sleep evaded him.
Several squad cars lined the Hankel yard and the medical examiner's van was parked close to the house. Emily parked in the gravel drive. "Maybe they've found something," she suggested. "Maybe the ME figured out something we can use."
"Yeah, maybe," JJ echoed.
The Hankel homestead seemed worse than it did the day before. JJ didn't want to go inside, but she knew there wasn't another choice. So she followed Emily up the porch steps, sidestepping the piles of broken furniture and rubbish, breathing shallowly to avoid the smell of dust and mold and death. She walked into the dining room, hands in her pockets. The table was still heaped with books and clutter; papers and photos were pinned to the wall.
Gideon glanced away from the wall of notes. "Any luck with the rehab contact?" he asked.
Emily pinned up her pages of notes. "Well, he has no idea where Hankel might be, but we did learn that he has a serious drug problem," she said. "Dilaudid."
Hotch frowned. His suit looked rumpled, like he'd slept in it. He probably had. "Well, that could explain the psychotic fracture," he said.
"What are you talking about?" JJ asked. Was Emily actually right?
"Tobias is living as at least three different people," Gideon explained." He looked like he'd aged ten years in the past thirty-six hours. "Himself, Raphael, and his father."
Emily's jaw dropped, but before she said anything the sheriff stomped into the room. "This could be some bad news," he said, half out of breath. "A computer store was robbed in the middle of the night. A suburb outside of Atlanta. The thief got away with four laptops, external hard drives, and a satellite."
"If it's Tobias, it puts him right back in business," Hotch said quietly.
"What do you think might do with all that equipment?" JJ asked, but before anyone could answer Morgan shouted from the next room.
"Guys! Guys! Get in here!"
They all followed him, because Morgan never sounded like that, because something had to be wrong, and JJ stopped on her tracks, her hand pressing to her heart as she took in the sight of a dozen computer screens all showing the same image.
Spencer slumped in a railback wooden chair, his long legs limp, his chin tipped to his chest. His wrists were cuffed together, and even in the black and white screens she could see the blood darkening his temple.
"He's been beaten," Emily breathed.
"Can't you track him?" JJ demanded, her heart thumping under her hand.
Garcia's fingers rested on the keyboard but she didn't type anything. "Hankel's only streaming this to his home computer," she said.
"This is for us," Gideon said, grim and quiet. "He knows we're here."
JJ bit her lip. Spencer didn't seem conscious, his eyes dull and half-lidded. "I'm gonna put this guy's head on a stick," Morgan said.
"Why can't you locate him?" Hotch asked, and he sounded so calm JJ wanted to punch him.
Garcia started typing, the screen reflected in her glasses. "He's rerouting to a different IP address every thirty seconds, I can't track him," she said.
The audio crackled on the livestream. "Can you really see inside men's minds?" a voice said offscreen.
"That's Hankel," Hotch said.
"Yeah, which one?" Morgan said. "Father, son, holy ghost?"
"See these vermin?" the voice said. "Choose one to die. I'll let you choose one to live."
Spencer raised his head. "No," he said softly, and the sound of his broken voice made JJ want to cry.
"I thought you wanted to be some kind of savior."
Spencer stared at someone behind the camera. "You're a sadist on a psychotic break," he said, and he sounded a little stronger, a little more like himself. "You won't stop killing. Your word's not true."
"The other heathens are watching. Choose a sinner to die, and I'll say the name and address of the person to be saved."
"What's Hankel doing?" Morgan asked.
"Look how Spencer's eyes are tracking," Hotch said. "He's looking at something. Other livestreams from other webcams. Other potential victims."
Spencer dropped his head, but he looked up at the camera under his long lashes, making direct eye contact. "I won't get choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher," he said, slow and deliberate.
A figure in a dark hoodie lurched into frame, grabbing Spencer by his upper arms and pulling him out of the chair. Garcia inhaled sharpy, covering her mouth with her hands. "Can you really see into my mind, boy?" Hankel demanded. "Can you see I'm not a liar?"
A long pause. JJ couldn't see Spencer clearly and her heart raced. "Choose one to die, and save a life. Otherwise, they're all dead."
Hankel threw Spencer back into the chair. He whimpered, trying to catch his breath. "All right," he whispered, hollow and hoarse. "I'll choose who lives."
"They're all the same," Hankel said, and he shifted out of frame. JJ watched Spencer's eyes track from left to right.
"Far right screen," he said finally, his voice small.
"Marilyn David," Hankel said. "4913 Walnut Creek Road."
"You got that?" Hotch asked, but Garcia was already typing the information.
"Yeah," she said, highlighting the phone number. Gideon pulled out his phone to make the call.
JJ leaned closer, watching Spencer on the screen. His shoulders slumped, and her heart ached. And then he sat up, his eyes widening in fear. "Raphael," he whispered, and the screen went black.
JJ covered her mouth. Garia stared blankly at the black screens, then typed frantically. Nothing happened. Morgan swore under his breath and stormed out of the room, punching the flimsy door on his way out.
"So now what?" the sheriff asked. "Wait for a 911 call, and hope we get there in time?"
No one had an answer.
JJ stared at the black computer screens, seeing only her own distraught reflection, willing the livestream to come back.
Please give him back to us, she thought, and all she could see was the fear in Spencer's eyes. Please give him back to us.
Author's Notes:
And we have part two of the Hankel arc!
I don't really have a lot of notes, mostly this is delving into Spencer's slow decline. And I also think Tobias injected him with the dilaudid at least once or twice before they got to the cabin; in the first scene when he's chained to the chair his shirt sleeve is already rolled up. And I wanted to delve deeper into JJ's guilt.
Lots and lots and LOTS of love and thanks and appreciation to nitrogentulips, because you were my only reviewer on the last chapter. I know people are reading and liking this story, this chapter has the most hits out so far out of all my chapters, so that's at least encouraging. But even if all you say is that you liked what you read and you're looking forward to the rest, please know that you are making my day and bringing me a lot of joy!
I'm open for prompts on my tumblr (themetaphorgirl) too if there's anything you'd like to read!
Up next: Spencer is fading fast and all they can do is watch