The Sewing Kit
Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful: - Buddha
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.
It was quiet when Floyd got home. The lights were off and as he got out of the car he could smell it. A deep sickly smell of blood. Spencer's blood. Spencer's fear and Rosa's.
He stood for a minute on the lawn looking at the dark quiet house and tried to sort the scents out in his mind. He wiped at his mouth with the back of a blood smeared hand and lit up. Slowly he walked to the porch and took the step to the boards in front of his door. Floyd crouched down and placed his fingers on the dry wood and took a long deep breath.
Now slowly standing he pushed open the front door. The room didn't look disturbed at first. A half drunk glass of juice stood on the side but apart from that it was as he left it. Almost.
He hadn't left it with this energy pulsating through it. He hadn't left it with these smells.
Fear and pain.
And blood.
"Rosa! Spence!"
Silence.
Again he stood and took in the air.
He walked fast and then he broke into a run.
He went to the bedroom and looked.
The bedding was pulled half off the bed, and the smell of fear permeated the essence of the room. He turned and looked in Rosa's room. Nothing.
And now he was standing looking at the bathroom door. There was no sound of water. No sound of anything. He turned the door handle and pushed it open with his foot. Spencer was laying on the floor with a towel in his hand. One arm stretched out in front of him, and the other he was laying on. He was fully dressed and dry and not moving. It was from here that the greatest smell of blood and fear was coming from. And an underlying stench of Iolanda.
"Spence." Floyd moved to him and rolled him over onto his back. His unpatched eye was staring right at Floyd. The front of his shirt was sodden with dark red blood. He had wrapped a towel around his left arm in an attempt to stem the flow. "Spence – where is Rosa?"
Reid blinked and licked his lips. "I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't bloody well know?"
"They took her. I'm sorry Floyd."
"They took her. Just like that? Did you follow them or try to help her? Was she hurt?"
"I – I couldn't."
"You couldn't so you came in here and sliced yourself? I hope you don't expect me to feel sorry for you. You fucking waste of space. Get up and come with me."
"Floyd – They had guns. What was I meant to do? They – they – I couldn't do anything! I could even see who it was at first. I had a gun stuffed down my throat, what the hell was I mean to do?!"
"You were meant to protect my daughter!" He pulled Reid up by the arm which wasn't bleeding and half dragged him to the dining table. "Sit there. Don't you damned well move. You are incredible Spencer. You blow my mind with you total ineptitude."
"I don't know what to say." Reid looked at the soggy towel. "They made me do this Floyd. I didn't want to."
Floyd came back and stood in front of him. "They made you slice your skin? Why would Iolanda do that to you? Why didn't he just do us all a favour and pull the trigger when the gun was 'stuffed down your throat'. I expect you enjoyed that – stop moving your arm. I'm gonna stitch it."
"It doesn't need stitches I was careful not to cut too deeply."
"You fucked up then didn't you. Keep still."
Reid tried to squirm his arm out of Floyds grasp as he saw his sewing kit being opened up. "No! no Floyd really leave it. The bleeding has stopped." And again he tried to pull his arm away.
Flanders twisted Reid's hand so it was palm up and pulled the towel off from where Spencer had wrapped it. "Keep still." He pulled out a small knife and looked down at Reid's arm.
"Stop it Floyd. What do you think you are playing at?"
The small knife went through Spencer's palm and into the table. He yelled out in pain and tried to jerk his hand out of the way, but it was pinned down.
"Now will you keep your sodding arm still?"
Spencer just sat and looked into Floyd's eyes. His sight was still blurry but he could see enough to notice the smear of blood across his face and now he looked closer he could see the splatters up his sleeves and the dark dried blood behind his fingernails. Tears of pain and frustration crept out of his eyes and loped slowly down his cheeks.
"I did this so they wouldn't hurt Rosa. Why are you doing this to me Floyd? What did I do wrong this time?"
"You fell out of the stupid tree this morning didn't you? What did you do wrong? Why am I doing this to you? She is my little girl Spence. I can't replace her. She is unique. You failed in your duty. You let them take her from me again. Now I have to go and find her."
"I stopped them killing her! I did this to save her!"
"No! No Spence you did this because it was the easy option. They would never hurt Rosa. Ever. You really think they came back and took her just so they can hurt her? What were you thinking?"
As Floyd spoke he stitched together the wound in Reid's arm. Spencer just sat and looked at the knife sticking his hand to the table.
"Where have you been? She is your daughter – why leave her with me? Where has all the blood come from Floyd? Please tell me you haven't been out 'hunting'"
"I wasn't out hunting Spence. I went and got herbs."
"And they ambushed you?"
"Pardon?" Floyd looked into Reid's wet hazel eye.
"They ambushed you?" He repeated. "The blood. I wondered where it came from."
"I had a nosebleed."
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"Yes fine – whatever Floyd." Spencer moved his other hand over and grabbed the knife handle.
"What are you doing?"
Reid pulled his hand back again. "Ungrateful sod you are Spence."
"What's got into you recently Floyd? I don't get it. If you don't want to be around me why do you drag me around with you? If I am such a waste of skin, why are you still here? What is it I have you need so desperately?"
"Nothing babes. You have nothing. I have taken everything from you. Bled you dry and now you have nothing to offer me I can't get elsewhere with a bit more – I don't know – a bit more excitement I suppose. Spencer – you are boring – but reliable. You are my kicked dog. You are pathetic and I don't like the look of you now, but I am sort of addicted to you."
"Thanks."
"Welcome. I love the scar. I love the patch over your eye and I love your hair tied back. I just need some of that old fire you used to have. I need you to fight back. I don't want a punch-bag Spence. I want what we used to have."
"You knocked my fight out of me Floyd. I have nothing left."
"Give me your hand babes."
Reluctantly but with not much choice he lifted his hand off his lap and held it out to Floyd. It was taken and each finger was gently kissed. Floyd nibbled on Reid's wrist. "You have beautiful hands Spence." Floyd ran his teeth behind Spencer's fingernails and then held it tightly in his hand. A bit too tightly. "It's such a shame. But I need to teach you a lesson. Floyd pulled something out of his sewing bag.
He slapped Reid's hand on the table. Palm up and impaled his hand onto the table with a pair of scissors. Reid let out a howl of pain and shock and stood up as Floyd now moved around the table quickly and pulled Reid down into the chair.
"Sit the fuck down."
"Floyd! What – p please. S stop this!"
"No – no I won't stop this! Don't you tell me what to do you little shit. Head on the table. Now – head on the table now Spencer or the next thing I stick a pair of scissors in with be your groin."
Floyd pushed Reid's head down onto the table so that his bad eye was closest to the surface. "Please. What are you doing? Floyd don't do this. I am sorry. I am sorry!"
Flanders moved away from the table and grabbed something else from his bag. Reid's face was looking the other way and so he couldn't see what Floyd had planned. He tied Reid's legs to the chair legs and then the chair legs were tied to the table legs. He was stuck sitting with his hands pulled out at arms length spread across the table.
Reid didn't resist. There was no point. He just lay across the table looking occasionally at the blood coming out from under his hands and let Floyd do what he needed. He really had nothing left in him now to fight this. If Floyd had walked over and broken his pathetic neck now he wouldn't mind. He had let him down. He had let Iolanda take Rosa. He hadn't fought for her. He hadn't given his life for the child.
And now Floyd did the last thing Spencer expected him to do. He climbed up onto the table next to him and started to kiss the back of his neck. "I have this feeling I might love you. I'm not sure. I don't know if that is what this is called. Love – or addiction. I don't know the difference. I know I can't be without you. I know I am not good for you and I know I have just hurt you but Spence I would – if I could – you know I would die for you." More kisses and nibbles. "You smell so divine. I can't resist you. I can't not have you near me. But you need to learn some rules Spence. You seem to have forgotten them. I am going to leave you here to think about it. When I get back with Rosa I will ask you what you have learned from this."
"Floyd – don't leave me here."
"This is what I am talking about babes. Don't tell me what to do. Don't EVER tell me what to do." He got down off the table and stroked the back of Spencer's head. "Take care; I will be back as soon as possible. Within a week - I promise.
"A week! No Floyd!" He heard the door slam shut. "Floyd! Come back!"
He was about to shout out again, to call for help when he heard footsteps behind him. "You just don't learn do you? I was hoping you would keep quiet but I can see I will have to fix that too."
"I'm sorry! P p please F Floyd I – I am sorry!"
He pulled Reid's head around so he could see his face and snagged some cloth out of his kit bag. He stuffed some wadding into Reid's mouth and then gagged him tightly with thin supple leather strips. "Face the wall."
Floyd pulled Reid's ponytail tight and then used the staple gun to hold his hair to the table – thus keeping Reid's head down and unable to move.
When he left he went without saying a word. He didn't say goodbye, he didn't curse at him…he just left. He didn't see the tear running out of the corner of Reid's eye.
-o-o-o-
He tried phoning the house and got no reply. He paced up and down the lounge looking at the havoc left behind by Floyd. There was blood smeared up the wall and sprayed over the rug.
Aaron had showered slowly in warm water and washed every part of him he could reach with a rough cloth. He should report this. He knew he should be reporting it and if he was on the other end of this problem he would advise it was reported and wonder why the victim didn't want to.
Hotch stood for about an hour just looking at himself in the mirror. More bruises to his face. His nose was swollen and didn't look quite right. He was hoping it was just soft tissue swelling. He touched it carefully and winced at the pain. His lip was split, his fingernails broken. The taste he had in his mouth was something he didn't think any amount of coffee was going to get rid of.
He needed to talk to Floyd. He needed to – needed – he needed Floyd. Hotch ran his fingers through his dark hair and looked at his tired eyes. He pulled on a sweat shirt and a pair of old jeans and tried Floyd and Reid's home phone again. Still no answer so he had a strong coffee and called again. No answer. A drink of whiskey. No answer.
Hotch spent the next hour kneeling in front of the toilet. His stomach cramping and his throat sore from the acid he was now bringing up. He showered again. He changed his clothes. He sat in the spare room and stared at a picture of a vase of flowers and then he had a soak in the tub.
Aaron got a pre-packed sandwich out of the fridge and sat on the couch looking at the blood and wondering what to do. He had called in sick. He had man flu – his nose was blocked and he had a temperature. It was a paperwork day. The team didn't need him. He couldn't lead jack in this state. He nibbled around the edges of the bread and then had to empty what he had just eaten into the downstairs toilet.
He had to pull the control back. He knew he could do it. He had to do it or he would never be able to function again. It was what he was all about. Being strong and in control. Not letting his emotions show. Why did he allow Floyd to do that to him? He knew he could have stopped it. He knew deep down that he could have taken back the control – and now it was too late.
He called Floyd's number again. Still no answer and so he set the alarm and check all the windows and doors and he pulled the throw over him and curled up on the couch. He couldn't sleep. He knew if he slept then Floyd would be there when he awoke and he needed their next meeting to be on his terms. He wanted to be the one to call Floyd and demand his attention. It could only be like that.
He wondered how many rape victims really never revealed what had happened. He wondered how many other men were sitting alone wondering the same thing. He wondered how Reid had coped with it for so long. Even when he was at the BAU still he managed to get into work and do a damned good job too…right up to the end. Right up until Floyd completely broke him.
Was that why he was sniffing around him now? He didn't understand. He knew that there were personal issues between Floyd and Morgan, but why was Floyd showing interest here now. Hotch thought he was the one person Reid was told to keep away from. He thought it had been because he didn't like the idea of Spencer getting comfort, but now this profiler was thinking he had been way off. They all had been and it made his skin crawl.
He picked up the phone for another call to the Flanders house and again there was no answer.
Aaron now rotated between cleaning his teeth and drinking mouthwash, taking hot showers, throwing up in the toilet, drinking coffee and having baths. Between each of the things in his cycle he phoned Flanders and got no answer. He changed his clothes until there was nothing left for him to wear and was now standing at his front door - shaking with the thought of what he needed to do – wearing black combat trousers and black capped sleeved Tshirt. He bent down and with trembling hands he laced his boots.
He went quickly to the downstairs bathroom again and just checked that there was nothing left inside of him to vomit up and then stood and looked in the mirror. This wasn't the man he was used to seeing. His hair needed a cut. He pushed his dark hair off his forehead and tucked a wayward bit behind his ear. He couldn't remember when he had last had hair this long. Haley had always insisted he kept it very short. Maybe it was time for a change. Just maybe this was the new Aaron.
It was time. I was time to take matters into his own hands and confront Floyd on his territory. He couldn't keep letting him in his home. His secure place. His familiar surroundings were getting soiled by him. He needed this place to stay clean from Flanders contamination. If it wasn't too late. If it was he would sell up and move.
He left the house and drove to the Flanders residence.
-o-o-o-
Reid pulled at his hands for a while but the blade and scissors where too far into the wood to be able to dislodge them. He tried to move his head but nearly scalped him self in the process. The wadding in his mouth had sucked up all the moisture. He tried to dislodge his legs and feet but they were held too tightly.
The only good thing about this – and Spencer marked this down in his mind of evidence that Floyd did love him afterall – was the fact he was sitting. He curled his toes up and rubbed the ends of his toes of the parquet flooring. He wanted to stay awake. He desperately needed to stay awake. He dare not be sleeping when Floyd got back and so he talked to him self in his head and recited nursery rhymes. He hummed classical music. He talked to his mum and he begged Floyd to come back in silence.
He awoke with a start. Someone was hammering on the door. He tried to call out. He wanted whoever it was to come and get him, but the gag stopped all sound. He tried pulling his head off the table so he could at least make a sound that whoever this person was could hear. He tried rocking the chair but the spikes in his hands started to pull and bleed again so all he could do was lay and listen.
"Flanders – Reid – anyone there?"
'Hotch – oh god it's Hotch. He would rescue me. He would make this all right again – but I have to keep away from him. Floyd will hurt me if Hotch comes near me. Please don't come in Aaron. Please don't find me.'
-o-o-o-
Aaron saw that Flanders car wasn't there. He saw all the lights off. He knew in his heart that Floyd wasn't here but he hammered on the door anyway. He called out to Floyd and Spencer, but there was no answer. For a while he sat on their porch and thought what to do.
Only one option – he had to go home and shower. He had to try to eat something. He had to stay at home. Out here – out at Floyd's house he could feel the small amount of control he had gained back slipping away from him.
Hotch stood up and looked at the house again. He tried looking through the window but the curtains were closed tight against any such peeking. So he got in his car and went home again.
He raided his fridge and found ice cream.
He spent the next two hours kneeling in front of the upstairs bathroom toilet controlling it. Staying in control as his stomach cramped and he brought back up his butter pecan ice cream.
-o-o-o-
Meanwhile.
Floyd was killing stuff.