3

The light suddenly flickered, went out, flicked on and off, stuttered for a while and then settled for a yellowish coloured bit of strip lighting in the middle of the room. Spencer blinked and looked up at it. A long plastic case sat on the ceiling, covering up the tube. He could see dead flies laying there behind the lumpy transparent plastic… almost transparent. It was stained yellow which was likely what was causing the light to not be the bright white it should have been. Now he could see the cup of water which had been put next to him, and he could see the wooden door, painted green, set into the dirty grey wall. There was nothing else here apart from himself and in the corner there was what appeared to be a very dirty toilet, which he really hoped he'd never have to use. The floor was concrete. The paint on the walls looked shiny, but was probably the damp he could feel. He let out a sigh when the door clanked and creaked and opened a slight amount. The face of a grubby girl peeked through the gap, she then slowly crept into the room and gave Spencer the smallest of smiles.

'So glad you're not dead or anything.' A voice not much more than a whisper. 'If I come closer, you're not going to kick me or something are you? Because they will turn off the light again and, well, that will be the end. For you at least.'

Reid nodded slightly. 'Are you being held here? A prisoner? Can you untie me?'

She screwed up her face and licked at her lips. 'I, I can't really tell you that. I've been told not to communicate with you. Not personal stuff. He wouldn't like that.'

'Who is this man? Has he got a name? Do you have a name?'

She took a small step towards him. 'That would be personal information, now don't you think? Put your hands out and I'll untie them. Or you can stay as you are. Not my problem. Won't make me lose sleep, but the better you are at doing what is asked, the more treats you will get.'

Spencer blinked at the small girl in a yellow sun dress and wellington boots. 'Are you real?'

'No.' She took Reid's hands in hers and pulled the binding away. A blink of her dark, dark eyes, which reminded Spencer of something. They looked familiar. Yet he couldn't place where he had seen those eyes before.

'Do I know you from somewhere?' He could feel that he was staring at her face.

'How can you possibly know me? I'm not real.' She turned her back on him and walked back to the door. 'I'll bring food. But if you keep asking stuff, then I'll not be back again.' Then she was through the door and it was slammed shut behind her. No scraping sound this time. There was a chance that the door hadn't been locked.

Spencer slowly got to his feet. He ached all over, but couldn't find any actual injuries. Picking up the cup of water he saw it had a film of dust and bits on the top of it. Not something he was going to drink. He placed it back down again and walked over to where the toilet sat, looking grimy, but not really smelling like he thought it would. The water there had a blue tinge to it. There was a roll of paper wrapped in plastic on the floor between the bowl and the wall.

It seemed odd to Reid. He was a captive. He had been threatened, by a child, but he was still being given odd home comforts.

His back was wet from where he had been leaning on the wall, as was his rear from sitting of the hard floor. His wrists were a bit red, but not damaged to the point of bruising. Nothing made sense. For a while he stood looking at that door. There was a brass knob. He knew that the door pulled inwards. Also there was no sound coming from the other side. There was a good chance that he was able to just walk out of here, just wander out walk away from this place.

There was also a very good chance that there were armed men out there just waiting for him to do exactly that.

What would Floyd do? Sit and wait? He thought not. Floyd would leave and stop anyone who tried to prevent it.

Spencer wasn't Floyd, though. Nor was he Sam. He wasn't going to sit and cry and protest, he also wasn't going to open that door and kill everything he could see. There was the fact that this wouldn't have happened to Floyd in the first place and likely they would have strung Sam up already because of his need to shout his demands.

There was nowhere to sit, apart from on the toilet, and that was not going to happen, or on the floor where he had been before, and after pacing the room for a while (no idea how to tell, no watch), he sat back down, pulled his feet close and rested his head on his knees. Eventually someone other than a child would come to talk to him. If not, well then he would reconsider an escape attempt. Not yet. He wanted to know why he was here.

o-o-o

Sam tried to behave. He really put a lot of effort into not insulting Emily, or doing something she would find annoying. He remembered to put clothes on. Proper things. Skinny jeans and a sparkly shirt. A bright pink one. He tied his hair back so it looked like he really had considered everything. There was still a nagging feeling in his gut that what was meant to be an alluring scent which he carried with him, stank of toilets, but he cleaned his teeth and his hair had been washed, so all in all he wasn't too worried. Emily hadn't commented on his smell again, so for now he tried to push that uneasiness away.

That, none of it seemed to have made a difference. It didn't appear that anything he did ever pleased. Always the complaints. Forever hated and pushed away.

'Goodwill for all men.' Sam had shouted this. Maybe yelling in her face was the wrong thing, but it narked him so damned much! 'I know I don't actually celebrate this fantasy, but fuck's sake, Auntie Em, you would think you would put yourself out just a damned bit!'

Nope. That wasn't how this little break was going to go for Sam.

'Firstly, I'm not your auntie, stop calling me that. Then there's the fact that I have some friends coming over to visit and I can't have you here. I'll give you some money for a cab. Book yourself in somewhere.' She was standing looking out of the window, watching Sam's reflection in the glass.

'Everyone hates me.' A whining voice whispered at her back. 'There's nowhere to go.'

'Home.' She hissed.

Sam slumped on the couch. The couch he could sleep on if only she would let him. 'Floyd won't let me go home. He's doing stuff.'

'Well, I'm doing stuff too. You can't stay.'

'You invited me in! You opened the door and let me in. You offered to let me stay here for a couple of weeks.'

'No.' She span around to look at Sam making himself too comfortable in her lounge. 'You forced your way in. And you have another family you can stay with.'

Sam raised his eyebrows at the woman. 'You're kidding me. Really you're having a laugh. And I don't even know where they are and you think they'll receive me with happy and open arms? You really believe that I won't be treated like an animal and put in a cage? Thanks for the idea, though. May I have a look on your computer to see if I can trace where they are? At least I won't be – I don't know how to describe how people have made me feel these past few days. I am reviled. Loathed and hated. Even the cab drivers threated to beat the merry shit out of me. What do I do that's so wrong?'

Emily scratched at her neck and looked through traitor's eyes (at least they were traitor's eyes to Sam) and shook her head. 'If you don't know what it is by now, then you will never know. You don't listen. You lie without even knowing you're doing it. You're rude and vulgar. I'm not surprised that even Floyd didn't want you around. Really. What was it that Hotch didn't like? He must have said why you couldn't stay there.'

'Overly sexual. Said he wouldn't share his bed with me and he didn't like my clothes or having his neck licked. Objecting to my complaints over his cooking. Drinking. Grinding up my morphine so I could snort it. I'm in dreadful pain. He didn't like me smoking in the house and he missed Jack who he had sent somewhere else because he can't be around me because I'm so disgusting. He said I was a dirty slut. He said I was a dog bitch. He accused me of being lazy. Lazy! Can you believe that?'

She could. She could believe that, but not all of what Sam had said. Why couldn't he just tell the truth? It was the lack of trust she had in him. There was none. She didn't want and could not have Sam here when her friends arrived. Quickly she walked away. Her money was hidden away in her bedroom, behind a locked door. The only safe place she could think of. A place Sam couldn't get to. Her pity for the boy was slim. There was a small amount there, but she had a very good idea that it was because of that vile stench he was wafting over towards her.

'Wait there. Or you can make a coffee. Don't grind your medication in my kitchen, if you don't mind and I will sort something out for you. I know where Iolanda is. We do keep a track on his whereabouts. It's not far from here. I'll give you money for a cab to get there, but you are not staying overnight here. Is that understood? Break my rules, give me reason to mistrust you and I will just throw you out into the rain. That's up to you.' She pointed at the kitchen and walked down to her bedroom.

So that was the reason Sam was sitting in the back of yet another cab going wherever it was Emily had told the driver to go. He'd tried crying. He'd kicked her in the shins. He'd thrown a pot at her window, and what he did to her Christmas tree couldn't be described, but to say it was in bits on the floor and the baubles had been stamped on.

o-o-o

It was another girl who came to visit Spencer next. She was dragging behind her a small and thin mattress and a blanket. They were dropped onto the floor just inside the door as she frowned at Reid who was watching her closely.

'Thank you.' He tried to show as little anger as he could. This child was older than the previous. She was wearing jeans and a sweater. Her dark hair was tied tightly back and her dark eyes looked uncompromising and maybe tired.

'I'm not permitted to have conversation, but to deliver a message to you. Put this where you will be most comfortable. Food will be here soon. And a drink.'

Again it was those familiar eyes. This girl must be related in some way to the previous one. Now, though, there was something more. The accent. Those clipped words. He would have asked, but didn't want to annoy the child, so he just nodded at her and waited for the door to close again until he went over and pulled the mattress to the spot he had already marked as his place. A slightly less damp bit off the room. His stomach was rumbling. His mouth felt dry and he had a very good idea that his breath wasn't the most minty fresh it could have been.

He should have asked the child, as he had the other one. Was she real? Was this his over active imagination? Was he really here, or was he slumped on the bed in the motel? He would have liked it to been the latter, but had a good idea it was the former. Either way – one or the other – eventually Floyd would notice that he was gone… missing… and he would come and get him. How long it would be? How long until he was missed?

Sending out messages: Floyd? I need you was getting no reply.

o-o-o

Floyd turned off his ability to pick up on what his boys were feeling. It interfered dreadfully with the way drugs made him feel. He wanted the full effect and not have it muffled by Spencer complaining about something or Sam being screwed by some backstreet stranger. His friends had arrived, in a puff of yellow smoke, glitter, and a yell of happiness. The celebrations started with howls and yappings of madmen who were high enough to glue themselves to the ceiling and call for the gods of whatever and wherever to grant them with peace and love and arse.

That was about all Floyd could remember about his week of licking and drunken revelry. He had a good feeling that he had been howling like a dog and singing something and expecting more. This was not a celebration which happened every year, so he was going to make the most of it.

When the world seemed to come back into focus again, he was laying on his back on the bed, fully clothed… not fully aware, but there was a nasty taste in his mouth and a thought that maybe he'd been here all along. Had his visitors arrived? No idea. Would have been nice to think that it had happened, but just as good to think it hadn't. He pulled the rubber band off his upper arm and rubbed at marks on his arm where it looked as though he'd been stabbing himself with needles. Probably the same one over and over again. His tongue was bitten along both sides, and there were cuts on his palms where he had dug his fingernails in. Eventually he would move, actually move more than his eyelids and toes and he would get up, and see if the apartment had been as wrecked as he thought it had.

o-o-o

Spencer had food. Some sort of chicken cooked until it was a bit burnt and there was some gritty bread. He had also been given a plastic bottle of water with a screw on lid and another one with what looked like watered down red wine. Spencer ate the food. No need to starve himself, and he drank some of the water, but the suspect liquid he decided to leave. It was a good feeling, if any of this could be called good, that the water bottle made a small hiss as the seal was broken. At least it hadn't been tampered with. The same couldn't be said for the other bottle, which had definitely been interfered with in some way or another.

For now, with the light on, and sitting there on his mattress, which was delightfully comfortable compared to the floor, he rocked back and forth slightly and then lay down, watching the twinkling of the lights which covered the ceiling and the rainbows darting beautifully from the flickering yellowish light. Actually, with the music playing somewhere, distantly, yet clear as a summer day, he was feeling content. The world was a fantastic place to be. There were no complaints. Nothing.

'Remarkable.' He whispered the words from between slightly sore and cracked lips.

'Hey.' The voice of an angel spoke softly to him, causing the lights to wobble and lose focus for a few seconds.

Reid turned his head to look at the child standing at his side. 'You're not real.' He muttered and reached out for his water.

'Maybe not. Look at me.'

'I don't need to. I know you're not there.'

'You know me? Recognise me?'

Again Spencer turned to look at the girl standing there. Familiar again. Those dark eyes. The shape of the face. 'One of the many.' Spencer smiled.

'An original. No others quite like me. I can't stay here. I have to go. Just know that I'm keeping an eye on you. I'm not meant to be here, but they're all dancing around the fire with ribbons in their hair and eating chicken and roasted cat. Not my idea of fun… apart from the ribbons. I'll be back, but I can't be sure when.'

'You're not meant to talk to me. Leave me alone.' Spencer waved a hand in the direction of the girl. She was wearing tight jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

'I'll come back when it's safe. I need to get away and let him know.'

Spencer blinked a few times and the person was gone again. If she had ever been there. But there was something bothering him about this last little girl. Apart from she wasn't as young as the other two. This one was taller, more familiar. Something about that clipped accent and the shape of her chin and mouth. A vision from a dream long ago. No point in puzzling over it. Spencer returned to looking at the lights and rainbows and wondered if this was anything like how Floyd felt when he did his powders. Did he feel this absolute peace and wonder?

'Beautiful.' And he smiled.