Part Two
For a long time, Gideon sat in silence, contemplating what he had just learned. Gradually the bull pen emptied as agents stopped work for the day and went home. The busy hum of computers and chatter gave way to low lighting and a stillness that now felt ominous. Gideon had it in black and white in front of him. Reid had been in Vegas at the time of each of the murders. His handwriting matched that on the card. He had the law enforcement knowledge to leave nothing for the CSI team. He became upset and agitated when the team dealt with child abuse cases, indicating that he felt strongly about the issue; that he possibly had previous experience of it. If it had been anyone else, it would have been enough to bring him in.
But he wasn't anyone else. He was Spencer Reid and Gideon would not believe he was a killer. He turned to his computer and brought up the profile he had written. Gideon took a deep breath, and then he turned against everything he knew and believed in and rewrote the profile.
He stated that the unsub would have previous military experience and be aged 30 to 45. He would live in the Las Vegas area and have always done so. He would work a menial job and feel powerless at work. He probably had drug or alcohol issues. He was likely to have a partner, possibly female, who helped arrange the children's bodies.
Gideon stared at the screen for a moment and then hit the print icon. He grabbed the sheet of paper as it slid out of the printer and quickly stuffed it into an envelope. He scrawled Detective Martin's name and address on the front and then grabbed his coat. Dropping the envelope into the post tray, he walked decisively to Reid's desk.
He stopped behind the young man. Reid was bent over, scribbling rapidly in one of his notebooks. He had an air of extreme concentration about him, oblivious to his surroundings. On any other day, this was typical Reid behaviour. Today, this was enough to alarm Gideon. He tapped him gently on the shoulder.
Reid gave a start and turned round. For a moment, he looked worried, almost childlike, but then the mask and the fake smile returned. Gideon almost gasped with sadness and he clenched his jaw in the effort to push those feelings back down. "Can I give you a ride home?" he asked "I have an errand near your end of town."
Reid nodded and quickly packed his satchel. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked pale, as though he hadn't been sleeping.
The drive was mostly in silence. As they neared Reid's apartment, Gideon started to question him gently. "How are the nightmares these days?" he asked.
Reid turned to him. "Depends," he replied. "Sometimes I have lots, and other times I have none at all."
Gideon continued. "What about now? That case in Pittsburgh was pretty difficult. I know Hotch couldn't look at the pictures of those mutilated kids for very long."
Something flickered across Reid's face. "Children should be safe from harm," he said with a hint of sadness in his voice.
Gideon pulled into the parking lot. He turned to face Reid. "You're right. Adults should take care of kids, not hurt them. These cases must really get to you."
A smile spread across Reid's face. This time, his eyes were shining too. "I don't worry anymore," he said, in a tone Gideon had never heard before. "Because I know that if I do my job properly – I can save them!"
Then, he opened the car door and with a cheerful wave, bounded towards his apartment block door.
Gideon watched him go in and then sat in his car, staring at the building. A chill started in his heart and then slowly began to pump around his body. He knew what he was seeing in Reid and he could hardly bear to admit it. There was always a chance he was wrong, but he sincerely doubted it.
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For the next few days, Gideon managed to suppress the fears that he had. He continued to observe Reid closely but as the BAU were called to another case, there was little time to dwell on his suspicions.
Hotch noticed that he seemed preoccupied on the flight back to Washington and asked him if there was something wrong.
Gideon smiled at him and shook his head. "Just got a lot of stuff to think about," he said.
"Don't keep it all to yourself, Jason," replied Hotch with a worried frown. "I can help you, remember?"
Gideon nodded. "No need, but thank you."
He turned to look at Reid, curled up asleep on the seats across from him. He looked so young when he did that, so innocent and fragile. Gideon was filled with tenderness for him and for a moment, it was easy to dismiss any notions of psychosis. But then he remember how the young man's eyes had lit up when he talked about saving the children and he knew that there was something terribly wrong.
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Any remaining doubts that Gideon had were quashed when he received a letter from the LVPD thanking him for his profile and including a tape from a CCTV camera. It was showing somebody carrying what could be a child's body through the park where Brian had been found. The footage was only thirty seconds long and it was impossible to see the man's face, but Detective Martin thought it could be the unsub.
Hoping it would allow him to stop worrying by implicating somebody else, Gideon locked the conference room door and then sat down to watch the tape. It was grainy and difficult to see any detail properly, but as the man on the tape carried the bundle in his arms, he suddenly put his hand up to tuck his hair behind his ear. At that moment, Gideon knew.
At that moment, Jason Gideon's heart broke.
All that night, Gideon sat in the darkness in his office, wondering what to do. He knew what Hotch would have done, but he couldn't do that. He loved Reid, really and truly loved him and he could not hand him over to Detective Martin, much as that would be the correct thing to do. But he had to be stopped from killing anybody else.
The options facing Reid were terrible. His future lay either in jail or a facility for the criminally insane. Gideon could not bear the thought of either of these. He closed his eyes and saw a picture of Reid sat in the corner of a barren room, rocking slowly back and forth, the light gone out of his eyes forever. In which ever place Reid ended up, he would be forever branded a child killer – a true monster. This beautiful, brilliant young man would spend the rest of his life locked away, surviving amongst the very worst of society. And he would be one of them.
He did consider running away. He could take Reid across the Mexican border and escape to South America somewhere. It would be easy enough for them both to disappear. He would take care of Reid – nurture and protect him, save him from himself and from the authorities. Gideon could help him through this state and nurse him back to reality. Gideon would make sure he never killed again and they would be safe. They would be together.
It was almost a possibility. He had almost decided to drive to Reid's apartment and pick him up, ready to leave. But then he thought about it properly.
If Reid was to be helped, he needed to be brought back to into the real world. He had to see his delusions for what they were – figments of his imagination. He needed to acknowledge that he was sick and accept treatment. He needed to understand that he had killed people and learn how to prevent himself from doing so again. And that was where the plan fell down.
At this point, Gideon felt fat wet tears begin to slide down his face. He truly did not know which was worse; for Reid to remain in a psychotic state, completely unaware that he was sick, or for Reid to realise what he had done. This knowledge would destroy him. Whatever Gideon did to soothe him, how ever far away they ran, Reid would never be able to escape from what he had done, from what he had become. But Gideon loved him and he would find a way to help him, no matter what it cost.
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When Gideon invited him to spend an evening at his cabin, Reid accepted eagerly. Gideon picked him up and the drive out through the woods was peaceful, with inconsequential chatter and an air of easy friendship. Gideon found it easier to think of it as a date - Reid was coming to his cabin for dinner and possibly more.
Once inside, Gideon busied himself with cooking. Reid sat on a high stool in the kitchen with him, nursing a beer and spilling out food facts at regular intervals. Occasionally, Gideon would feel his eyes fill with tears, but he blamed the onions and laughed at his weakness – the vegetables had got the better of him, he quipped. And then he turned away so that Reid would not see the anguish in his face. He couldn't bear for the young man to be upset, not tonight.
They shared a bottle of wine whilst they ate and during dessert, Gideon asked a tentative question. "Do you believe in angels?"
Reid put down his spoon and smiled at Gideon. "Angels are all around us, Gideon," he said. "I know that I am safe. And I can make others safe too."
Gideon took a deep breath, pushing down the panic rising in his throat. "And how do you make them safe?" he asked.
Reid stood up and walked to the window. Gideon followed and looked as Reid pointed to the night sky outside. "I trust them to the angels," he said softly, turning to Gideon. "Sometimes, you just have to believe."
Gideon nodded. Then he took the young man's hand and squeezed it gently. "Its late," he said, "Would you like to stay the night?"
The smile he received was warm and trusting. "I'd like that a lot," said Reid, and Gideon felt the guilt stab him like a knife in his belly.
"Why don't I fix you some hot chocolate?" he said, placing an arm around Reid's shoulders.
"Thank you," said Reid and he turned back to stare through the window.
Grateful that Reid wasn't watching him, Gideon let a few tears fall as he warmed the milk and made the hot drink. Then he handed the cup to Reid and hurried to the bathroom, quickly washing his face and trying to pull himself together.
Returning, he saw Reid sitting on the couch, blowing into the cup and taking small sips. He looked so young and so very, very beautiful. He lifted large brown eyes to Gideon and gave him a gentle smile. "You make wonderful hot chocolate, Gideon," he said, "I don't think I've ever had it this good before."
"Please call me Jason," replied Gideon, his voice cracking. He sat down next to Reid. He put his arm around Reid's shoulders and eased the young man back so that he was leaning against Gideon's chest.
They sat in silence for a short while, Gideon watching the young man as he enjoyed the comforting sweetness. Then Reid leaned down and set the empty cup on the floor. He settled back into Gideon's embrace and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sleepy," he said, yawning.
"Probably all that fresh air," smiled Gideon. "Just go to sleep if you want to. I don't mind."
"Mm," mumbled Reid. "Thank you, Jason." He snuggled closer to Gideon
"Oh, my sweet, sweet boy," whispered Gideon, stroking Reid's hair with trembling hands. As Reid closed his eyes, Gideon started to sing a lullaby; one that he had sung to his own son when Stephen was small.
Lullaby and good night, with roses bedight
With lilies o'er spread is baby's wee bed
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed
Lullaby and good night, thy mother's delight
Bright angels beside my darling abide
They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast
They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast
Gideon's warm, rich voice trailed off. Reid had slumped heavily against him and his breathing had deepened and slowed. The large dose of barbiturates in the hot chocolate had worked quickly and Reid had now lost consciousness.
"Oh, my sweet boy," said Gideon as the tears fell. He kept on stroking Reid's hair, listening to his soft breathing. His chest rose and fell, slowly and rhythmically. "I love you," Gideon said, "I love you so, so much, sweet boy." He placed a gentle kiss on the young man's head.
Then, he slowly got up from the couch, cradling Reid's head and carefully laying the young man down on his back. He picked up a cushion and knelt next to the couch. "Please forgive me," he whispered and he kissed Reid softly on the lips. Then, his vision blurred with tears, Gideon took the cushion in both hands and pressed it firmly over the young man's face.
There was no struggle, no fight back from the supine figure. The only sound was the ticking of the wall clock and Gideon's occasional choked sob. He held the cushion down for a few long minutes. He needed to be sure. Then he removed the cushion and picked up Reid's wrist, feeling for a pulse. There was nothing. He checked the young man's neck and again, there was no pulse. His chest was completely still. Spencer Reid was dead.
Sobbing uncontrollably by now, Gideon took his body in his arms and buried his face in Reid's hair. He howled with the loss and rocked the lifeless body, screaming out the pain of what he had done. The sweet boy, so very dear to him, was gone. Gideon would never see those warm brown eyes again or his shy, nervous smile. He would never again watch him, as a gentle blush creep up the young man's face or hear him, his voice bubbling with excitement as he tried to explain a conundrum to his bemused colleagues. Gideon was clutching a limp, silent form, weeping for all that had gone. Reid was the thing Gideon loved the most and he had killed him.
Then, after he could cry no more, he picked Reid up and carried him to the bedroom, laying him gently on the bed. He folded the young man's arms onto his chest and was about to place a blanket over him, but found that he couldn't bear to cover his face. "Forgive me, my angel," he whispered, kissing Reid's forehead and feeling the warmth starting to leave his body.
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As the sun came up, Gideon stepped outside and made a call on his cell phone. Hotch was at the cabin within the hour.
"Jason, what's happened?" he said, seeing the devastation on the older agent's face.
"Spencer's gone," replied Gideon in a trembling voice "I killed him."
Hotch was stunned. He stared at Gideon in disbelief, shaking his head. The wind darted through the leaves and their rustling was the only sound as Hotch and Gideon faced each other.
Gideon pressed his palms to his swollen eyes. There were no tears left. "Believe me, Aaron, he's dead."
"Jason," started Hotch warily, "If you confess to a murder, I have to do something. Think carefully, please."
Gideon nodded at him. He had done nothing but think carefully about this. "He didn't suffer," he said simply. "I couldn't hurt him. But I had no choice."
He led the way into the cabin and showed Hotch the body laid on his bed. Hotch shook his head and then looked at Gideon with real pain in his dark eyes. "Jason – I don't understand this."
Gideon nodded at him. "You will," he said, handing Hotch an envelope. "I explained everything in there. But he was lost and we couldn't get him back. I had to save him."
Hotch took a deep breath. He would deal with Gideon appropriately for now and try to understand this afterwards. He would not shout and scream here. He would not think about the fact that a close colleague was dead and that one of his oldest friends claimed to have killed him. He quickly buried all feelings of pain. Hotch was a professional and he needed to act like one.
"I know I need to be arrested, and I wanted it to be you," said Gideon. "Can I just get something from the back room?"
"Of course," nodded Hotch, still in shock. He sat down on the bed next to Reid as Gideon left the room. The young man looked so peaceful. Hotch reached out to touch him and recoiled. He was icy cold.
Gideon opened the screen door in the back room and stepped outside onto the grass. No sense in making more of a mess for someone else to clean up. He wiped his eyes and put his head back, feeling the morning sunlight on his face. Then he took out his Glock, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Hotch froze when he heard the shot, unable to move for a few moments. Then he took a deep breath – he knew what he was going to find in the next room and he was in no hurry for that. Instead, Hotch reached for the edge of the blanket and pulled it up over Reid's face. He knew that he shouldn't really touch anything – crime scenes were meant to be preserved exactly - but this was Reid, not some unknown murder victim. He was far too young to be lying here with his heart still and his skin pallid. He deserved some privacy in death.
Then Hotch took out his cell phone and called 911.
Hotch told the police that he had heard the shot on arriving at the cabin. Later, he wondered if he had subconsciously known what Gideon was about to do and if he should have done more to prevent it. But he knew Jason Gideon well and he cared too much for him to make him live with what he had done.
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Hotch gave the eulogy. He spoke of angels, of an enduring love and a fear of being parted. He told a story of lovers that had chosen death rather than separation and he kept his composure throughout it all.
He kept strong afterwards, sitting alone in his office, reading through Gideon's letter for the umpteenth time. Then he placed it in an envelope, along with all the notes and evidence and the copy of the LVPD file, and locked it in the bottom drawer of his desk.
Hotch held the team together and told nobody of what had really happened. He managed all the legal and financial matters arising from the deaths, cleaning up after all the fallout from Gideon's decision. Hotch dealt with everything and the FBI were grateful for that.
A year later, Detective Martin contacted the BAU to thank them for their help and to tell them that he had caught his unsub in the act. Gideon's profile had given them some suspects and the Angel of Death, as the press had called him, had been arrested in the home of his last intended victims. Hotch thanked Detective Martin for letting them know. And only then, after putting down the receiver, did he finally allow himself to cry.
Cover her face. Mine eyes dazzle. She died young.
John Webster, The Duchess of Malfi