- Lost in a Memory
Chapter Six
By The Chronicler
Whispers….
"Leave him…"
Pleading…
"he's done nothing to you…"
From the shadows that moved just at the edge of his memory.
"please… leave him out of this…
Whispers, hissing, pleading, so quiet he wasn't really sure he was hearing them.
"He's an FBI agent… never get away with this…"
So quiet, he leaned closer, trying to hear.
Suddenly the whisper was a scream, shattering his eardrums, echoing in his head, exploding against the back of his eyes.
"REID! RUN! GET AWAY! GET AWAY!"
"Get away!" Reid gasped, bolting upright, grabbing at the cushions with one hand while striking at the shadows with the other.
When his swinging hand met with no resistance, he froze, realizing that what he thought was out there… wasn't.
So, what was?
Taking a shaky breath, Reid dared to open his eyes. At first, nothing had changed. There were shadows all about him, nothing quite visible enough.
But then he recognized feelings.
He could feel the soft cushions of the couch.
He could feel the warmth of a blanket thrown over his legs.
He could feel the ache of his feet, the twisting of his gut, the pounding in his head.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he recognized something else. Light.
Turning his head, he saw a desk lamp sitting on the edge of a desk across the room from him. Special Agent Dr. Jason Gideon sat behind the desk, papers in hand, looking back at him, watching him through the shadows.
"Gideon?" Reid breathed, hoping to produce a sound that he recognized.
The older man sat his papers down. "Reid." he answered softly.
Reid could of feinted with relief. He knew that name. That was his name! And he knew that man! Even if he didn't quite remember him beyond that day, he knew him!
It was something. It wasn't much, but, damn it, it was something!
With a heavy sigh, he relaxed some, turning on the couch and dropping his feet to the floor. Resting his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head down, tangling his fingers in his hair.
It was something.
Gideon rose from his seat and crossed the room to the couch, turning on the end table lamp, chasing the shadows away. Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around Reid's wrist.
Instantly the young agent stiffened, his eyes snapping up, his breath catching.
Gideon waited a moment, letting the boy get used to his touch again. Then, careful not to make any sudden or forceful moves, he pulled the arm out, turning it so he could inspect the cuts. "You need to stop clawing at them." he advised. "They'll scar." He snatched a tissue from the box on the table and dabbed at the cuts.
Reid watched him for a long time, before asking "Are you mad at me? For running away?"
Gideon glanced up at him, flashing that famous half smile of his. Then returned his attention to the cuts. "No." he answered. "A little frightened, but not mad." he admitted.
Reid frowned. "Frightened?" he wondered.
Jason Gideon shrugged. "J.J. and Derek are your friends. They were there to protect you." he explained. "If you run away from our protection…" He glanced up again, but, this time the smile was no where in sight. "How can we protect you?"
The boy tilted his head to one side, confused, bewildered even. He was genuinely concerned, worried… about him!
Why did they worry about him? Why did they want to protect him? What was he to these people?
"What has to get away?" Gideon suddenly asked.
Again Reid frowned. "What?"
Gideon released his arm and sat up. "When you woke up, you said get away.' What had to get away?"
Reid blinked at him, once, twice… then his eyes closed. "Get away?" he whispered, more to himself.
What had to get away?
The shadows.
The rumble.
A light…. Then it was gone.
Another light… then it was gone.
The whispering… just barely out of ear shot….
Yet he could still hear them…
As if…. As if through a fog….
"You don't have to do this. He doesn't know anything."
"Consider it paying your does."
"He has nothing to do with this!"
"He has everything to do with this!"
"I won't let you hurt him. I won't allow it!"
"For being such a braniac, you sure are stupid."
"He's an FBI Agent!"
"If you had done what you were told, we wouldn't need him! It was you who did this to him!"
The rush of icy air.
The squeal of tires.
"REID! RUN! GET AWAY!"
"Get away." he whispered again.
Gideon reached out and cupped Reid's chin.
Reid's hand jerked up, grabbing his wrist, his eyes snapping open.
Again, Gideon asked "What had to get away?"
Reid blinked at him, once, twice… "I did." he answered, his voice void of any emotion. "I had to get away."
"You, oh handsome one, are going to love me!" Garcia sang, spinning about in her chair and looking up at Hotch.
Hotch crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to one side, waiting.
Garcia waited for him to coax the answer out of her, but, when he didn't, she frowned. Shaking a pink feathered topped pen at him, she complained "Has anyone ever told you that you are absolutely no fun what so ever?"
"Anything about this day seems fun to you?" the man wondered.
Garcia grinned. "This does." She spun about again and tilted a lap top screen back so Hotch could see. "Tada! An ordinary looking e-mail filled with ordinary information about Senator Dumb Ass from a seemingly ordinary Yahoo! Group Brainy University."
Hotch nodded. "We found hard copies of the same thing in Reid's apartment." He shook his head. "Strange, but…" He shrugged, admitting that he didn't know what it meant.
Garcia held up one finger. "Watch, oh sweet naïve one, as the most divine being of the information Highway turns water to wine." Striking a single key, she opened another e-mail.
A blue screen popped up titled in red with "The Alpha/Omega Files." Barely giving them time to read the title, the page began to scroll, passing page after page of black writing, moving almost too fast for the eye to follow.
Hotch could only focus on a word here and there: "failed" "operation" "tested" "denied" The page sped by so fast that he wasn't sure if he was actually seeing words or just gibberish.
Then the screen snapped close, revealing underneath another ordinary, unamazing e-mail all about the life and times of Senator Dommas.
"What the hell…" was all Hotch could manage, shaking his head. He turned confused eyes to Garcia.
The woman gaped at him. "Agent Hotchner! Watch your language!" She smiled. "And it's a Flash Record." Garcia explained. "Large amount of information zapped into an e-mail, hidden under boring script. Once open, if the recipient has a key, it does that. Well, almost that."
"You have the key?"
Garcia shook her head. "Reid has, at least, a partial key. That's why it didn't stay up, why, when he tried to print the information, or save it somehow, he only got these." She held up a hand full of the papers recovered from Reid's apartment.
Hotch frowned. "If whoever wanted Reid to have these files, why would they only send him a partial key? Why did they even hide the information? Why not just send it to him? Even if they wanted to keep it unnoticed, there are secure channels." He waved a hand at the computer. "What was that? Thirty seconds?"
"Never lasts more than forty-five to sixty seconds. Too fast to read… well, for us to read." She looked up at Hotch pointedly.
Hotch suddenly understood. "Reid can read that fast."
"He can read that fast. He has a photographic memory. And, and don't forget this, his little bouncy brain can decode the DaVinci Code without even bothering to see the movie." She scrunched up her nose. "Little brat."
But then Garcia spread her hands. "And a genius is born." She shrugged. "Well, reaffirmed anyway." She turned her attention back to the laptop. "If someone hacked the key, chances are they would only get a partial key. A Flash Record's key all depends on the author of the original lock. The original computer of said author leaves a finger print For a complete key, we need to identify that computer and mimic its fingerprint."
"So… if someone was hacking this Alpha/Omega file, could only produce that partial key, they would need someone like Reid to translate it for them." Hotch mumbled, thinking out loud.
"Yea, so why'd they go extreme on our beautiful baby boy?" Garcia wanted to know. "Why'd they dope him up? Why'd they cut on him?" Suddenly she snapped her fingers in the air, making Hotch jump.
"What?" Hotch snapped, glancing about.
Garcia scooted the laptop aside and punched out a few keys on her own keyboard, pulling up a couple of pictures on her overhead screens. "The cuts on Reid's arms. Morgan sent a couple of pictures. Look." She pointed at them.
Hotch frowned once more. "Alpha and Omega. Someone didn't want him to forget." he mumbled. "But who?" He closed his eyes, taking a moment to wish the pounding in his head to subside. Seemed like every time they answered one question, five more popped up. Finally sighing, he looked down at Garcia. "Can you complete the key?"
Garcia actually hesitated, as if she might have a little doubt. But then she flashed him a smile. "Is bubble gum pink?"
Hotch raised one eye brow.
Garcia rolled her eyes. "Yesss!"
Hotch finally smiled slightly. "And the other thing…"
"Yes, sirree!" Garcia spun about in her chair to another computer. "Deputies Ugly and Uglier have a short, yet boring history." She keyed in the requested files. "Both born in little town, Midwest, pre-computer era, pre-saving-anything-for-future-reference era…. crap, far as I can tell they're running off hamster powered generators."
"No backgrounds?" Hotch frowned.
"Backgrounds, sure." Garcia waved a hand at the computer screen where two bios appeared, side by side for comparison. "But they're rubberstamped backgrounds. Practically only difference from one to the other is a few, and I do mean a few, name changes." She shook a finger at the screen. "It's like Men in Black. We should check and see if they're fingerprints have been seared off or something super spy like!"
Hotch crossed his arms over his chest. "When did they join the sheriff's department?"
Garcia hit the scroll. "Um… couple of weeks off from each other… in '00." She paused, her head tilting to the side. "Isn't that when Dumb-ass ruined the neighborhood?"
Hotch nodded slightly, though, at that point he was barely listening to her. "Dommas teaches Ethics…"
The computer tech huffed. "Yea, with an unhealthy lesson in keeping your mouth shut."
The agent glanced at her sharply. "Yes." he agreed after a moment. "What was Dommas doing before he was a senator?"
Garcia smiled. "And I thought you would never ask." One click and another bio appeared up beside the other two. "About thirty years older than the other two, but… hey! Looky there! Smallville, Kent Farm, Yadda, Yadda, Yadda." She looked up at him expectantly.
"Artificial backgrounds." Hotch closed his eyes. "C.I.A."
Garcia bobbed her head. "That or we stumbled upon the dim-witted version of Eureka."
"Dommas has intelligence training." Hotch was thinking out loud. "It is unusual, but not unheard of, for a team to follow a team leader into retirement, particularly if they're a special unit. Jason did profiles for the C.I.A." The man frowned. "Did he profile Dommas' unit? Did that force them into retirement?"
"Gideon?" Garcia looked up at him.
"Garcia, can you access Central Intelligence files?"
The woman suddenly looked way too innocent. "Do you know the penalty for…"
"Garcia…"
"And we thought you were such a Boy Scout!" she chirped with a grin. Turning back to her main keyboard she asked "How deep do I get to go?"
"Find out when Gideon and Dommas first crossed paths." He paused before adding "No phone numbers."
Garcia hesitated, her eyes flickering back at him. "You know about that?" she asked almost too softly to be heard.
Hotch actually smiled. "Let's call it an educated guess. Let me know as soon as you find out anything." He started to turn to leave, but stopped. "Garcia, can you check a computer for the key?" he wondered.
Garcia gave an exaggerated sigh. "No rest for the wicked." She tilted her head to one side. "You have a particular computer in mind?" she wondered with a smile, knowing he wouldn't have asked if hadn't had one in mind.
"A few." the agent mumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest, his brow scrunched up in a frown.
When he didn't continue, Garcia leaned back so she could look up at him, catching his eyes. "Sweety, I'm good, but I'm no mind reader." she pointed out.
Hotch looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing. After a breath, he nodded slightly, more to himself, than to her. "Dommas'. I'll have it brought to you. And I'll work on getting our hands on his office system." He nodded again, this time stronger, as if he was agreeing with himself, with his chosen path of action. "And check Gideon's office computer. Start with his. He's in my office with Reid, so his office is empty just right now."
Garcia had to turn in her chair and look at him straight on. "Gideon's computer?"
"And, Garcia, this is between you and me." Hotch cautioned. "No one else. Understood?"
"You think Gideon would hurt Reid?" The woman shook her head. "They're practically father and pup! Gideon would never hurt…"
"I never said he did… or would." Hotch quickly corrected her. Taking a deep breath, he leaned down, speaking softly to her, as if worried someone else might hear. "Gideon is connected to Dommas. And Dommas is connected to what happened to Reid. I don't know what that connection is. And I need to know."
The computer tech looked at him for another moment, before slowly nodding. "Yea… sure. I'll check it out." she assured. "But I won't find anything."
Hotch offered her a smile. Nodding once more, then he walked out of the room.
Morgan paced, his cool anger obvious in every snapped step, every tense muscle, every ground out word. "Just what made you think you could come in here, smack around an FBI tech, and walk out with one of our agents?"
Elle crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair. "So, is that…like… specialty training? Or were you improvising?" she asked with a smirk.
The Sheriff Deputy smiled back. "It was improvising." he admitted in light tone, as if he was talking with friends at a dinner party rather than being interrogated by angry FBI agents. He shrugged. "A very smart young man in unknown condition… mentally and physically… able to slip out of FBI custody, linked to a violent crime in some unknown way… possibly the unsub himself…"
"Reid did not hurt anyone!" Elle snapped. She bounced a knuckle on the table, looking up at her partner. "You know, I'm really getting tired of saying that."
The other deputy threw his hands in the air. "What the hell is wrong with you people?" he demanded. "We followed an escaped murder suspect! If he didn't happen to be your little pet nerd, he would be sitting in here, listening to some nerdy profile saying just why the hell he did it… instead of us!" He shook a finger at Elle. "We're cops, you know!? We're the good guys!"
"Good guys don't assault a helpless computer tech!" Morgan snapped.
"Helpless, my ass!" the man snapped back before he was silenced by his partner's upraised hand.
Hawkins shook his head. "I did not assault Miss. Garcia. My intent was to move here away from our suspect and to a safe distance. We did not, and still do not, know his emotional state. We did not know if he would hurt her." This time he held up his hand, silencing Elle's protest. "My intent was to move her away from the situation as you would have done in any like situation. Remove the civilians to a safe location."
"You can move someone without hurting them." Elle pointed out.
Hawkins shrugged. "She resisted." With a sigh, he spread his hands. "And, as your own Agent Hotchner saw himself, we had reason to be concerned. Agent Reid had a weapon."
"Yea!" his partner blurted. "Little punk had a gun!"
Morgan's answer was instant and violent, spinning about and slamming his fist down on the table. "THAT little punk is an F.B.I. Agent!" he roared.
"THAT FBI Agent pulled a gun on us!" the man snapped right back.
"Gentlemen!" Hawkins reprimanded, shaking his head. When both men looked at him, he sighed and turned his attention to Elle. "I don't need to explain my actions any further than I have. We were justified. If you don't believe so, then make the arrests and call our lawyers." With that, he shut his mouth, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back in his chair.
Elle slammed the door behind her. "How about we throw them in a cell with some real bad asses? Show him what resistance really looks like!" she suggested.
Sheriff Jackson leaned against the viewing window, his arms crossed over his chest. He smiled slightly and shrugged. "Well, now that would be illegal, considering that they did nothing wrong."
Morgan threw him a glare. "You're saying you support what they did?" she challenged.
Jackson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I would have preferred that, once Agent Reid had entered this building, that they notified me and requested further instructions. At which point I would have told them that I, along with which ever one of you happened to have been with me at that moment, am on my way and to wait." Again he shrugged. "That's what I would have preferred. None the less, what they did do was within the scope of their duty." He turned his eyes to Morgan. "Putting him into G.P. would be, in the very least, attempted assault. Could end up First Degree. You really want to go there?"
Elle tilted her head to one side, but it was J.J.'s cooler head that answered. "No one wants friction between the your department and the F.B.I." she told him.
Jackson offered her a friendly smile. "Neglecting to point out that friction already exists. Very P.R. of you." He glanced at Morgan. "Do I get my men back now?"
This time it was Elle who was ready to answer. "Why don't we let a judge decide what was in the scope of their duty?"
The Sheriff sighed, his head dropping. After a moment, he looked up again. "If that's what you want…" He shrugged. "Then on to other matters." He looked directly at Elle. "Can you tell me when the last time you saw Agent Reid was? Before today, that is."
The agent's eyes narrowed, her voice dropped to a growl. "What?!"
As if to the rescue, Jackson's cell phone rang. He held up a finger. "Hold that thought." he said, before stepping away to answer the call.
"Morgan, Elle." Hotch called as he entered. He threw a glance at the Sheriff who offered a smile and a wave, before returning to his call. Hotch continued on to his agents. "What did we learn?" he wanted to know.
Morgan turned his attention back to the one way window and the deputies sitting on the other side. "Hawkins is the control. He calls all the shots on the team. He's cold, calculated. He doesn't do anything without all possible outcomes planned for."
Hotch crossed his arms. "Separate them?"
Elle shook her head. "Franklin doesn't know anything. He's the muscle. Nothing more."
Morgan agreed. "He's Hawkins' crowbar. You don't tell your crowbar when nor how you intend to use it."
The lead agent sighed, running a hand through his hair. "In your opinion… is Hawkins Agency trained?"
"Agency?" J.J. repeated.
"You're talking about the C.I.A.?" Elle and J.J. looked at each other, hoping the other might have more information than she had.
But Morgan focused on Hotch. "Trained, definitely. Agency, good possibility." Then he shook his head. "But, if he is, he isn't good enough to have lasted long. Good training, but he's too cocky. he gives away too much with body language." He glanced over his shoulder to another door. "Nowhere near as good as she is."
"Humph." Elle smiled slightly. "Maybe we should let her question him."
Sheriff Jackson snapped his cell phone close, letting the agents know he was back in the picture. When he had their attention, he tilted his head to one side. "Ladies and gentlemen, situation has changed."
A statement that made them all uneasy.
"How?" Hotch wanted to know, stepping in front of his team.
Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he informed them "We now have a body to go with the blood pool. Mrs. Dommas' body was found in the garden house on property. The murder weapon was found beside the body." His eye brows rose. "And guess who's bloody little fingerprints are all over the weapon and body?"
Elle opened her mouth to protest one more time, but Hotch spoke first, asking "Who?" He knew the answer. He just needed the man to say it, make it official.
Sheriff Jackson locked eyes with the man. "Your pet boy, Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid."
This time it was Hotch who sighed, dropping his head.
"Ah, hell." Morgan cursed, spinning about and taking a few steps away from the news.
"There's no way Reid killed her!" Elle snapped.
Jackson shrugged. "The warrant is being faxed to you as we speak." He waited until Hotch looked up again before asking "Do you want to wait for it? Or you want to get it over with now?"
"Get what over with?" J.J. wanted to know.
Special Agent Aaron Hotchner's eyes never left Sheriff Jackson as he answered "Arresting Reid for murder."