Written by me, betaed by AA, and now yours for the incredibly low price of...FREE!
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine. --begins to sing "We're in the imaginary money...--
Reid lay on the cold tiles a long time, imagining the red in each square being a measure of his own blood.
I could be dead now. I could be lying dead, talking to myself in the hereafter, and I'm not sure if I could tell the difference.
He tried to sit up, and the overpowering ache that still racked his limbs definitely told him that he remained among the living.
Okay, Spencer, he chided himself. Think. If you don't come up with some way to get yourself out of here, that crazed woman will do if for you—and you'll end up in a box instead of on your own feet.
He thought about trying for help, but he realized that even if the team realized their mistake the second they got off the plane, it would still take nearly a day to fly back from Alaska.
Even if they did figure out the mistake, they're still probably at my real apartment, wondering why on earth I've left all my things and disappeared…
Reid's head hurt. His stomach growled uncontrollably. He made to move one of his legs to try and get up, and the sight of his wasted limbs made him begin to cry.
Okay. You're going to get off this floor. You're going to find something in this room that can be used against her, hopefully long enough so you can find a way out of the door. You're going to walk down to the living room, and find some way to get dressed.
And while I'm at it, I might as well put in for a two month vacation to Scotland, he thought bitterly.
Ignoring the pain that crept through his legs, the young man pushed his aching limbs underneath him and tried to stand. It took every ounce of willpower not to scream in agony as he did so.
He clutched the basin of the sink to steady himself.
So far, so good.
He saw a small wooden cupboard in the far right corner. Reid took slow, careful steps towards it so as not to lose his balance or anger his already protesting limbs.
What's in here, I wonder? he thought. Cyanide? Arsenic? Antidepressants? Iocaine powder?
A small smile crept over Reid's face as he suppressed a chuckle at the last item.
I really have got to stop watching The Princess Bride…
His eyes wandered over the labels. Sienna kept quite a stock—ibuprofen, acetaminophen, Valium, Xanax, paralytics. There was even a midsized vial of pure morphine.
I'm not sure I want to know why she's got that…
Reid reached out and grabbed the two bottles of paralytics. Each contained about ten pills in them.
If I can find a way to crush these, maybe I could slip them in something, he thought.
Sliding the bottles into the folds of the small towel, Reid gingerly walked towards the bathroom door and opened it.
"Hello?" Reid called out weakly. "Is anyone there?"
There was no answer. Wherever his deranged captor was, she wasn't in the apartment, and that was just fine with him.
Reid took a deep breath, and forced himself to search every closet within reach in search of clothes. After nearly three hours, the only things he could find were a thin silk robe that had been laid out on the end of the couch, a lone sock, a neon-pink thong that had been dropped just outside of Sienna's room, and a gauzy white shift dress that looked like it could swallow the poor man in one fell swoop.
Terrific, he mused. My only choices are a see-through robe or a dress.
Wincing in disgust, he draped the thin robe over his shoulders. It covered all the places that needed covering, but the design of the garment left very little to the imagination.
He slid the small bottles of contraband into one of the robe's pockets, and then went into the kitchen to find something to crush the tablets with.
I'd better make this quick. If she walks in and finds out what I'm doing…
Reid swallowed hard at that thought.
There was little to work with in the kitchen. Anything sharp was locked away; anything of any substance was kept somewhere Reid didn't have access to.
Except the frying pan. Reid grabbed the object and began to test its heft in his hands.
I hate to admit it, but right now I could kiss her, he thought. A cast iron pan…
He sat down at the uncovered table, laid out his precious contraband, and began to grind the pills into a fine powder. Once he finished, he carefully scooped the powder into one of the small bottles, cleaned up any trace of evidence pointing to what he'd done, and then went slowly out of the room to go and sit on the couch.
I'll have to play along with her once she gets in, he thought. This time, though, I'm going to try and take the lead on the suggestions. Maybe she'll go for it.
I hope to God she goes for it…
He settled on the stiff couch cushions, and began to wait.