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Chapter 13:
Reid woke to the sound of hushed voices outside his cell. The most recent beating he had sustained had left him in a limbotic state between consciousness and unconsciousness. His head pulsed with the throbbing ache he normally associated his recent migraines with. How ironic, his mind clouded with bitter thoughts, in order to remove myself from the incessant migraines, I have to get abducted and beaten. It was all he could do to prevent himself from falling into the cold, dark embrace of the emotional abyss of self-pity. The abyss was like a toxic relationship, one that he always fell back on no matter the number of times he told himself he wouldn't; because sometimes the emotional blowback was more intense than his intellectual walls. Probably because you're weak. Tobias' voice whispered in his ear. I'm not weak, he replied, I survived my father walking out on my mother and I, I survived high school and college, I survived putting her in Bennington, I survived Dowd, I survived Elle's betrayal, I survived Gideon leaving, I survived Anthrax and getting shot, I survived YOU. Tobias' voice was replaced by Morgan's, Survival doesn't mean anything if you keep letting it happen to you. I wouldn't have. Reid grimaced, too many times had he tried to convince himself that the hardships he'd faced could happen to anyone. Now he could see he'd been unsuccessful, he would always see himself as the most likely victim. You're only a victim if you act like one Spencer. Hotch's voice this time. Learn from your past mistakes and forge a new path.
Forge a new path, forge a new path, forge a new path. Reid's mind raced as he plotted his escape. It was obvious that it would need to be soon, Doyle was so close to breaking him, but there were factors to consider. Why had Doyle taken him in the first place? This had to run deeper than just trying to get to Emily. How had he run such a successful operation underground for so long? Did he have an inside man? Why did he leave for long periods at a time? Was this Doyle's endgame or was his abduction just the linchpin? His internal musings were interrupted by the rising volume of the conversation outside. Any information is vital information, Reid reassured himself, straining to listen in.
"Coinnigh do ghuth síos!" an unfamiliar voice warned. "Cén fáth? Níl aon duine a chloisteáil." Doyle replied. "Cad mar gheall ar an príosúnach?" the voice asked. "Eisean? Tá sé ag curtha amach fuar do na sé uair an chloig caite, glaoch a chuardach le haghaidh duit féin." Doyle said dismissively. Reid let his head fall to his chest, containing the sigh of relief he'd felt about the heart rate monitor not registering his reentry into the world of the living. With bated breath, he waited for his ruse to be discovered. It took all of his willpower to not flinch away in surprise when a cold, slim hand crept under his shirt, coming to a rest over his heart.
"Sásta?" Doyle's voice echoed through the room. Sharp nails dug into Reid's chest, but the hand did not retract. "Go hiontach, tá sé amach fuar." Doyle scoffed, "Ar ndóigh, tá sé! Mo fir a fhios conas a bheith ag obair le fear os a chionn." "Caithfidh sé a bheith leithdháileadh do chumas mar cheannaire agus mar feidhme. Tá sé go hiontach chun féachaint tú ag obair Ian, bhí sé do na cúig bliana déag anuas." the voice said in a sultry whisper. "Cén fáth an tástáil sin?" Doyle asked suspiciously. "Ba mhaith Fiú amháin an dáta feidhme is ardoilte ann a rialú an rithim a heartbeat agus awake. Theastaigh uaim a chinntiú nach raibh againn lucht féachana neamhbheartaithe. Tá tú go maith ag tying suas scaoilte chríochnaíonn Ian, ach imní dom go bheith ag labhairt amach sa oscailte, a bheith ar mo chúlra. Ba cheart duit níos ísle i ndáiríre do ghuth cé." The nails dug deeper into Reid's skin before the hand retracted from his chest.
"Cén fáth ar chóir dom nach yell?" Doyle hissed, "Conas a rinne siad a chinneadh nuair a bhí mé chomh tapa?" "Cosúil go raibh do bréagán beag gléas rianú." Crack! An unknown object, presumably Doyle's fist broke the concrete wall next to the door. "What? How did we miss this? What have you heard?" Reid could almost feel the palpability of Doyle's rage, radiating across the room. He expected Doyle to storm over and start beating him again, but was relieved to hear Doyle's partner redirect his attention. "Tá a fhios acu go bhfuil sé i limistéar Bhostún, ach ní na comhordanáidí cruinn. Thagann siad anocht. Pleananna sí ar chaiteachas bhaint amach leis an líonra tanaí de theagmhálacha sásta labhairt léi gan a chur le piléar trí mheán a inchinn." "Is fuath sin, go leor di, huh, shíl mé go raibh mé ar cheann de na cúpla." Doyle chuckled bitterly.
"Ní féidir leat a bheith sa mhéid is go domhain chomh fada gan a dhéanamh do sciar cothrom de naimhde. Léir nach raibh cinnte." The voice warned. "Bhí sé riachtanach." Doyle replied. "Bhí Mar seo?" The voice asked incredulously, "Cén fáth a chaitheamh an oiread sin ama agus acmhainní ar saighdiúir d'fhéadfadh a insint duit rud ar bith? Is cinnte nach bhfuil a fhios aige faoi Declan, ní bheadh sí inis sé dó." Declan? Who's Declan? "Ní bhaineann sé seo imní cad a fhios aige faoi Declan, tá sé seo mar gheall ar súil le haghaidh súil. Maidir dhéanamh Lauren fulaingt mar tá mé fhulaing. Ba mhaith liom í a fháil amach cad é mar a chailleadh do chuid fola féin." Doyle snarled. "Fola? Tá siad comh-oibrithe, rud ar bith eile." Amusement tinged Doyle's voice at his partner's disbelief, "Ah, mar sin is cosúil go bhfuil Lauren choinnigh a rún maith. Ach ní hionann an ábhar, d'fhoghlaim mé é agus úsáidtear é chun mo buntáiste. Bealtaine mé i láthair an Dr Spencer Reid, an chéad col ceathrar anaithnid de Lauren Reynolds."
Reid's blood ran cold. He did not speak Celtic, he had never seen the point. There were very few books worth reading in Celtic, fewer Irish journals worth corresponding with, and no cases involving the Irish mob. While Reid's bucket list involved mastering over half the languages known to man, he had yet to even consider learning Celtic. However, because Celtic was a latin-based language, there were a few words he was able to discern from the conversation: secret,blood, of, first, and cousin. Putting them together, he was able to uncover Doyle's true motive for taking him. He hadn't been abducted only because he was Prentiss' co-worker, but also because he was her cousin; her best kept secret. Hurt coursed through him, I can't believe she didn't tell me. It wasn't her secret to keep, I had a right to know! So shocked was he by Doyle's unwitting revelation, that it was minutes before he was able to refocus on his captor's conversation.
"An gá dom dul hullmhúcháin a dhéanamh. Tá sé seo bhrú cinnte suas an amchlár." Doyle's voice had returned to the hushed murmur that had woken Spencer from his state of unconsciousness. "Cad ba mhaith leat dom a dhéanamh?" His partner asked. "Ceann ar an líomatáiste FBI, déan iarracht a stalla ar bhealach ar bith is féidir leat." Doyle replied. "Cad mar gheall air?" the partner sounded anxious. "Tá sé fós gan aithne, go mbeadh sé i bhfad ró-de hassle a bhogadh dó." Doyle reassured them. "Nach bhfuil tú ag cur gach ceann de do chuid gardaí?" the partner insisted. "Tá, ach breathnú ar air. Níl sé ag dul in áit ar bith!" Impatience tinged through Doyle's voice. "Ceart go leor, beidh mé téacs chugat nuair a fhios agam níos mó." the partner answered, walking away.
"A ligean ar dul!" Doyle yelled to his gang. Reid listened to the heavy stomp of boots file past his cell, and then the slam of a door. Good! They're gone. Reid waited another ten minutes, praying that this would be his much needed break. The fingers of his right hand groped aimlessly until finding their target. As a well-practiced magic enthusiast, Reid had dabbled in all areas of the field. However, it hadn't been until after the Hankle debacle that he'd truly looked into the art of escape. After his abduction and torture at the hands of Tobias Hankle, Reid had promised himself that he would always have a way to escape situations. In addition to installing a tracking device into his watch, he'd also wrapped a bobby pin around the watch catch. Sweat dripped off Reid's fingers as he spent an agonizing ten minutes struggling to free his wrists from the chains binding them above him.
Click. His hands came down in front of him, but did not spring apart. "Mmmpf!" Reid let out an irritated groan, frustrated that he would have to pick another lock in order to get his hands free. This would be easier if I could see what I was doing. He thought, hands grasping at the knot of his blindfold. With a savage yank, Spencer pulled his blindfold and then gag free. "Woosh." He gasped, sucking air into his mouth in greedy breaths. "Shit." he muttered, looking down at his bound wrists. While bobby pins worked on nearly every type of binding, they would be useless against flex-cuffs. Guess I'll have to wait a bit longer to be completely free. He thought ruefully, attacking the chains around his ankles. "Shit!" He swore again, glaring at the angry welts around his ankles. Doyle had stripped him of both his socks and his sneakers, leaving his skin to the mercy of the cold, tight chains. The wounds would heal, but he had little doubt that they would also scar. Get over it! He scolded himself, it's a small price to pay for your freedom. With a savage yank, he pulled the electrodes of the heart monitor off his chest.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Shit! Reid hobbled out of the room, praying that Doyle was too far away to notice the alarm he'd tripped. Spencer stumbled into the room next to his, noting the presence of multiple pairs of coats and boots. Praising his luck, he pulled on the boots and wrapped a coat around his shoulders as well as he could with bound hands. Get a move on Spencer! You need to get far away from here before Doyle gets back! The sunlight assaulted his eyes as he exited the concrete bunker Doyle had stored him in. With a suppressed grimace, he limped down the muddy dirt road, praying that it would take him where he needed to go.
~Boston FBI Field Office: 17:47~
"We've been going around in circles for the past two hours." Frustration seeped through Prentiss' voice as she was hung up on yet again. "So much for having useful contacts." "Emily, you need to understand that this will take time." Hotch said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "We'll get him back." "Yeah, and then I'll kick his ass for putting all of us through this!" Morgan added. Prentiss glared at him. "It wasn't his fault Morgan!" Morgan held his hands up defensively, "I know, but Pretty boy and I are gonna have a chat about counter-surveillance and surroundings' awareness." "I think we all would benefit from that." Rossi joked, Seaver nodding in agreement. "Protection 101:" JJ quipped, "how to keep yourself safe from psychopaths, sociopaths, and," her voice trailed off.
The entire team swiveled around, turning to see what had caused their friend to lose her train of thought. A man had just entered the Boston headquarters, drawing the attention of all the agents in the central bullpen. His build was impossible to discern from his slouched posture and baggy overcoat, but he appeared to be tall and thin. Thick, dark hair, matted with dirt and blood, hung lankly against his pale forehead. Deep purple bruises trailed along his jawline and down his neck, disappearing under the bloody rags of what was a button-down shirt. The man winced as if the light bothered him, bringing his hands up to shield his face. The heavy overcoat fell away as he did so, revealing two thin wrists bound together with flex-cuffs. All the agents present gaped, momentarily forgetting the protocol for unexpected visitors, as a single voice broke the silence, "Reid?"
My apologies for not posting this with the actual chapter, blame the sleep deprivation. This is the basic google translate of what I wanted the conversation to be in Celtic, so apologies for the fact it didn't actually translate that way. This is what the ENGLISH version of the Celtic conversation should say: "Keep your voice down!" The unfamiliar voice warned. "Why? No one to hear." Doyle replied. "What about the prisoner?" Asked the voice. "Him? He's been out cold for the last six hours, feel free to look for yourself." They Doyle dismissively. Reid Let his head fall to his chest, containing the sigh of relief he'd felt about the heart rate monitor not registering his reentry into the world of the living. With bated breath, he waited for his ruse to be discovered.
It took all of his willpower to not flinch away in surprise when a cold, slim hand crept under his shirt, coming to a rest over his heart. "Satisfied?" Doyle's voice echoed through the room. Sharp nails dug into Reid's chest, but the hand did not retract. "Impressive, he's cold out." Doyle scoffed, "Of course he is! My men know how to work him over." "It must be attributed to a leader as skilled as yourself. It is wonderful to see you working Ian, it was for the last fifteen years." the voice they in a sultry whisper. "Why this test then?" Doyle asked suspiciously. " Even the most skilled operative would not be able to control the rhythm of their heartbeat while awake. I wanted to ensure we did not have an unintentional spectator. You are good at tying up loose ends Ian, but I am concerned to be speaking out in the open, it must be due to my background. You should really lower your voice though." The nails dug deeper into Reid's skin before the hand retracted from his chest.
"Why should I not yell?" Doyle hissed, "How did they determine where I was as fast?" "It appears that your little toy had a tracking device." Crack! The unknown object, presumably Doyle's fist broke the concrete wall next to the door. "What? How did we miss that? What have you heard?" Reid could almost feel the palpability of Doyle's rage, radiating across the room. He expected Doyle to storm over and start beating him again, but was relieved to hear Doyle's partner redirect his attention. "They know he is in the Boston area, but not the exact coordinates. They arrive tonight. She plans on spending tonight trying to reach out to the thin network of contacts willing to talk to her without putting a bullet through her brain." "She is hated that much? Huh, I thought that I was one of the few." Doyle chuckled bitterly.
"You can not be in that world so long without obtaining your fair share of enemies. You sure didn't." The voice warned. "It was necessary." Doyle replied. "As this was?" The voice Asked incredulously, "Why spend so much time and resources on a prison that can't tell you anything? Certainly he does not know about Declan, she would not have told him." Declan? Who's Declan? "This does not concern what he knew about Declan, this is due to an eye for an eye. So that Lauren suffers as I have suffered. I want her to know what it's like to lose your own blood. " Doyle snarled. "Blood? They are co-workers, nothing else." Amusement tinged Doyle's voice at his partner's disbelief, "Ah, so it seems that Lauren kept her secret well. But that does not matter, I learned it and used it to my advantage. May I present Dr. Spesncer Reid , the unknown first cousin of Lauren Reynolds."
"I need to make preparations. This has certainly pushed up the timetable." Doyle's voice had returned to the hushed murmur that had woken Spencer from his state of unconsciousness."What do you want me to do?" His partner asked. "Go to the FBI Field office, try to stall in any way you can." Doyle replied. "What about him?" the partner sounded anxious. "He is still unconscious, it would be too much of a hassle to move him." Doyle reassured them. "You are taking all of your guards though?" the partner insisted. "Yes, but look at him. He's not going anywhere!" Impatience tinged through Doyle's voice. "Alright, I'll text you when I know more." the partner answered, walking away.
"Let's go!" Doyle yelled to his gang.
~End of Translation~ Again, I am so so sorry for not posting this with the chapter. Thank you to the readers who informed me about this! -Criminalmindsaddict16