Some Simple Rules

The difference between Rosa and Sam, apart obviously from the gender is that Rosa isn't me. Sam is, was, I'm not sure anymore, Sam is a clone. Rosa has a mother. A whore of a mother but one none the less. A short boyish looking woman with a flat chest and nothing going for her in any way except I was able to fuck her and pretend it was a boy. She had Rosa. Sam means the world to me please don't get me wrong. He means everything to me. Everything dark and sordid and dank. Rosa is, Rosa is a blossom in the breeze. A true angel. And I can't just go out and create another like I can with Sam. I've moved his consciousness over to Spencer to hold and secure for now. Rosa though, she's not an immortal. She is just a little girl with a foul mouth and lust for boys. Even at her early age. That though is environment. That is not something I can blame her for, but she will die, and there will be nothing I can do to prevent it. I need to move and get away from here and find where that son of a bitch has taken them. And why. I need to know why so I can figure out what to do and lying here on the fucking forest floor isn't what I had in mind when I ripped Barbie and Ken apart and their dog.

They will, if I don't move my sorry arse get caught. I don't know how long it will be until they find them, but I am sure they will eventually go missing and then I will be tracked right back to where I am now. Crap.

I'm not easy to kill. It's not a task many would want to take on and I'm not sure why Taki didn't just finish me when he had the chance. Why just maim me. I'm not sure. Unless this is some stupid revenge foe deeds done many years ago. So fucking long ago I can't remember anymore what it was. He took Sam and as far as I was aware Sam was with Hotchner so now I am left wondering what the hell has happened to Mr FBI. Right now all I can do is spit – yes I can spit and I can move my fingers slowly but the rest of me is immobile. I'm trying to figure it out, you know? Am I immobile because of the poison, which I'm still trying to metabolise, or because of the damage the demon sword did to me. It really feels like my head is virtually off my shoulders, but in actuality I know it's not that bad. Just one thrust in the chest narrowly avoiding my heart and one in the side of my neck narrowly avoiding nothing. I squirted and pumped blood every fucking where and now I can't move. Shit and now it's getting dark again and I need to follow him. I need Spencer back. What the hell is he doing to my Spencer? Who put the contract out?

'Who put the fucking contract out?'

I say that aloud. I want them to hear it, but it starts me coughing and gagging on the blood collecting in my lungs. I won't die. I know I won't die, but I will definitely spend some very uncomfortable moments lying here.

-o-o-o-

They have washed me. Well rather they permitted me to have a shower and now they want me to identify Sam. He was dead? Someone killed Sam? I don't understand why someone out in the forest would do that to a lad. He was a child. A violent and malevolent child but that wasn't necessarily his fault.

Now I have a dressing on the wound on the side of my head and a mind full of tablets to stop me from vomiting and shaking. I am wearing dark blue sweat pants and a white Tshirt and we are standing in front of the door taking us to the mortuary. I don't want to be here. I don't want to identify the body of Flanders child. I was meant to be caring for him. I had said I would and I failed him. I should have been more vigilant. I shouldn't have betrayed the boy's trust and taken the cell phone from poor Elsie, but I can't go back and repair it. It is done and my failure caused the death of a boy.

'Are you ready?'

A stupid question I am asked. How can anyone ever be ready for this? We walk in slowly, maybe not as slow as it feels to me. It is as though I am walking through tar. I even look down at my feet at one point. I'm wearing grey sports shoes. There is nothing slowing me done but the lack of want to go and see what is left of Sam.

They told me previously that the head was missing. They thought they might find it, but no, they haven't. They also said it was curious that he had been there for a couple of days and yet no animals or insects had taken bits of him or landed on him. As far as they could tell. They also didn't think animals had done this.

The drawer is opened. A big metal fronted drawer and inside is a covered body. I've seen some bad things in my line of work. I've seen many mutilated corpses. It is somehow very different when it is someone you know. Someone you talked to. Someone – god help me – you bonded with and even liked.

Mainly it was going to be the hands and the clothing I would be looking at but I could tell, even though they didn't pull back the cloth far enough to show where the head should be, I could see it was Sam. A small wiry strong body. I could see where the people here had sewn back up where his heart had been ripped from him. It just seemed otherworldly. Who would do this? Why take the head?

'Was he sexually assaulted?' I ask whilst running my fingers down they boy's arm.

'Not as far as we can tell. He was still fully dressed. There are signs of lots of past abuse though.'

I look up at the coroner. 'What sorts of abuse?' I feel sick. I need to sit down.

'Anal sex mainly. It really is hard to tell though. Without the head.' He pulls the cover back over him. 'Broken bones, cracked ribs, broken fingers. All healed over now, but definitely a victim.' I stand and watch as the drawer is pushed back in again. 'We do need to confirm a name though.' So I nod.

'Sam Flanders.' I tell them. 'Can I see his clothing? I can tell you what he had been wearing.' I receive a nod and I'm taken to one of the examination tables where they tip out the contents of a bag. Sam's dungarees and orange Tshirt make me want to scream. Even now I desperately wanted to be wrong. 'They are his.' I mutter almost to myself and a much unwanted tear threatens to escape. I turn and wipe at it with anger. I don't want to feel sorry for him. He beat me. He murdered that poor girl with now remorse or guilt, but the fact that he too was a victim of something vile doesn't make it easier. I am told that I need to go back to my room and someone will escort me because they are unhappy with the way I have seemingly gone very pale. They police will want to talk to me. The Feds are not involved in this. It's at the moment, a local thing but I think they will be calling in our help. I'm sure of it. If Flanders did this to his child…….

………… but no, it wasn't him. This person used a weapon they say. Whoever it was took the boy's head off in one strike, so they tell me. Flanders wouldn't do that. I know that much. Flanders would have torn into him with his bare hands. There is nothing to connect the boy's death with his father.

'My god Flanders boy is dead.' I say to myself. 'Why is he not there claiming the body? Why is Floyd Flanders not here?' Something has stopped him form coming back. He is with Reid. Has something happened to them too? 'I need a phone' I tell the nurse I am with. 'I need to call someone.' That someone turned out to be David Rossi. I need to tell him what has been going on. I need to know why I am not missing! On vacation? I had a full month off. As did Spencer, it would be a while before we are missed.

-o-o-o-

It's not an actual sleep.

I don't know what it is, but I lie there with my eyes staring off into the never ending darkness and listen to the child screaming.

I can imagine what he might be doing to her and I just hope to the gods that I'm wrong. She only looked to be about ten. He is going to use that poor child against me. He is going to use her to force me to do things I don't like.

But then maybe I did like it.

Maybe he just needs to ask.

I know I'm crying but I'm not sure why. I'm not sure if it is for the child or if I am feeling sorry for myself. I hurt. What he did is probably no worse than Floyd does to me, but this hurt. There is no comfort afterwards. No loving hands touching me. No whispered words in my ears. But the actual act. The thing he did to me. While he was doing it – I would be very hard pressed to admit that I didn't like it and it makes this all worse. I can see Floyd lying there pouring blood and the look on his face. That look of helplessness. I'm in this alone. I have to fight this alone. For all I know Floyd is dead. I saw what this Taki person did to him I saw how deep that blade went in. I saw the way it spurted from Floyd's neck and I could see the growing puddle he was lying in. I just don't understand why. Why is this guy doing this? To get at me? To get at Floyd? He won't let me communicate with him, but damn the rules. I will ask.

I talk to my voices for a little while and they tell me more about the thing living inside me. They tell me that it crawls around under my skin. They tell me I have to keep it safe.

It talks to me too. It tells me that it likes being inside me. It likes my brain. It likes my thoughts and it likes Taki. I want to tell it that liking Taki isn't really an option and he has to stop these feelings but he just yabbers on and on at me. I pull myself over the floor so that I am lying next to my cuffed hands and then I begin to scratch at my stomach. I want to tear it open so that this thing can step out of me and leave me alone.

But I like it here Spencer

It tells me.

I don't want to leave.

And I am here with blood behind my fingernails and my abdomen smeared with fresh blood when Taki comes back in again.

'Get up.' He tells me and slowly I lift and push myself so I am on my hands and knees again. He moves around behind me and he pushes my legs apart and I feel him kneeling down behind me.

'Why are you doing this to me?' I ask him. Even though I know I shouldn't. I need to know why this is happening.

'I told you the rules boy.' He hisses at me in a strange accent. 'You will keep your head down. You will stay silent unless I tell you to talk and you will enjoy it.'

'No.' I tell him. 'You can't make me enjoy this.'

'But nevertheless Reid, you will. I will take from that bastard Flanders all he has ever wanted or loved. You are one of those things. Luck has it for me that you are just a piece of filthy trash. This means I can actually do what I please with you. You are outside the main rules of this game. An extra. A perk.'

'What a about the little girl?' I need to know she is alright. It has been quiet for a while now.

'Hush Reid. You've said enough. I don't want to have to beat you into silence. It is much easier if you just agree to my terms.'

I stay quiet for now. I know what is coming and I will consider this a rape even if something inside me is screaming for it. That something I'm sure isn't me. It's just one of the many voices.

So I feel his hands grasping my hips and he holds me still. I want to struggle. I want to move away from him but I am secured to the floor. There is no where to go. The only thing I can think of doing is to kick, but even that seems pointless now – now that I can feel him pressing against me and I want to close my eyes but I don't want to share this with the voices or the creature living inside me, but I can hear it, there in my brain whooping with delight and forcing me back onto him, pushing harder and being more and more demanding. I can hear excited little sounds of enjoyment breaking from between my lips and I open my mouth to tell it to stop and leave me alone but the wrong words leap forth. I am shouting out for more. I am calling for it to be harder and my words are in time with the movement I am giving. Forcing myself back harder and needing him deep inside me. This should be for Floyd only. I don't desire anyone else. I definitely don't want to be raped whilst cuffed to a grate in the floor, but I can't stop it. It is all happening. I feel a hand moving around me and touching me and teasing me with long warm fingers and I arch my back and howl out and writhe but not trying to get away, I need more. I want more. I demand more, but suddenly it stops. Suddenly Taki moves back. He is finished and I am still kneeling rocking wanting and needing to be satisfied.

'You are such a dirty little whore.' He says to me and I turn my head and look up at him and blink. My look gets me a kick in the face. It gets me, once I am on my side a kick in the stomach. My cries of delight and pleasure are quickly replaced. The voice inside me has gone and all that is left now is me and for me this is pain. This takes away from me that lust I was feeling.

'Sorry!' I shout, but he is either not listening or it is too late. The kicks are vicious and there is no way for me to defend myself. All I can do is curl up and attempt to stay alive as best I can. I am sure he doesn't intend killing me. I am almost certain that his motive is purely for his own pleasuring and begging for him to stop kicking me isn't helping.

I feel him stamp down on my exposed side. Onto my ribs. I feel them crack under the force and somewhere I can hear myself screaming. I am told to shut up.

'Keep quiet whore or the girl will get a seeing to as well.'

And so I need to. I have to stay quiet and take this. I couldn't face being the reason that poor child was hurt.

'Please stop. I'm sorry.' But he doesn't listen to me as his feet make contact with my back. I try counting. I do this. I am used to being beaten, only in the past Floyd is usually there. He is there to protect me or if he is the one hurting and he frequently is, then he will be there to hold me afterwards and heal me and take some of the pain away. This though isn't going to happen.

'Filthy whore dog.' And the spit lands on the side of my face. I need desperately to move it. To wipe it away, but he will repeat it if he does so I just move so I am on my front and I throw up. I throw up everything and anything going back to the beginning of time. It slides down the drain and finally the kicking has stopped. Finally he is not touching me. He is still shouting abuse at me though.

'This is what happens to scum. This is what happens to rule breakers. You will not look at me. You will not talk to me unless I ask you a direct question. You will enjoy me and you will forget about that dog Flanders. You are mine now.'

I want to look at him. I want to tell him he's wrong and Flanders will always be mine but I can't move. I am too busy vomiting down the drain and then he is gone and the lights are off.

I lay on my side with my face next to the drain and listen to the screams of the child again. I listen to her begging for someone to help her and all I can do is lie here and listen and cry silent tears.