Exclaimer: I do not own characters from Criminal Minds. I just don't. ;)
Do not profile her. Try not to. Reid was repeating those words in mind as Ellen was searching for the key in her purse. They stood at the door of her apartment. She still had to use a wheelchair but her physical condition has certainly improved. Though not the same could be said about her state of mind. Reid did his best to abstain from studying her behavior but, after all, that was his job and the thing he got used to. From what he saw it was almost like she built some kind of wall between her genuine emotions and created a 'set' of phrases, face expressions and gestures, that were socially neutral – kind, looking almost natural smile, calm posture, casual jokes. Reid knew that it wasn't regular kind of attitude in cases of survivors of serial killers. Most of them would encounter many different kind of mental problems: depressions, delusions, anxiety disorders, personality disorders and others. However, there were individuals, who shortly after the experiencing that kind of stressor situation, were able to return to normal behavior. Of course, Reid knew that there was in fact nothing really 'normal' about that. From the medical point of view it also is a disorder. Artificial calmness in most cases is the result of…
Ellen finally found the key and unlocked the door with a rasp that interrupted Reid's course of thoughts. The apartment didn't looked like he imagined it to be. From what the team found about Ellen Crust, he knew that she was born in United States, her parents died in a plane crush when she was 3 and her grandparents took care of her. She studied fine arts in Europe and during that time both grandmother and grandfather died. That was when she returned to the States. Surprisingly, she sold grandparent's house and found herself a new place. That's how she ended up here.
-It's a very…tidy place. – he said but then realized the stupidity of that remark.
-You probably expected something more…artistic from me, right? – she smiled as he nodded – Well, I usually like to have all things under control but if you could see me painting – everything looks like after some hurricane or earthquake then. - she laughed and Spencer joined her. Though he couldn't really imagine that. The apartment was in fact one big open room - the attic transformed into a living space – but everything had its place. Tidy kitchenette, living space with table and comfortable sofa, work space with a computer, light box table and easel and sleeping space – huge bed half shrouded with a screen. Everything in very bright coloring. There weren't also many objects that would personalize the space: only books on a shelf, few paintings on a wall and a teddy bear on a bed. No photographs, post cards from friends, redundant decorations, even no notes to herself. Almost as if she didn't live here, didn't really exist.
-Doctor Reid?
-It's just Spencer, Ellen.
-Okay. Spencer. Could you open a window? It's so stifling… And, please pass me the crutches. I'll make us some tea.
-I don't think you should get up. Doctor Hallman said you still have to rest. And you have broken bones, so let me do that for you, okay?
-It's my leg, that's broken, not the hands – she replied with a grin on her face – I think I'll manage.
-I'm the doctor. You said, you're supposed to listen to me, right? Then it's highly recommended for you to sit on a couch and wait for me to prepare the tea and help you with whatever you need. – he smiled having the feeling of déjà vu. I couldn't speak so decidedly with Lila. I just let her pull me into a swimming pool. In spite of what he was planning, they were meeting for a short period of time after that. He liked to think that it was her carrier and paparazzi that hindered this relationship. Truth was, after his abduction everything changed. He became entirely different person, even more mature and distant.
-As you wish, doctor – she smiled obstinately and sat on the big, gray sofa.
-I imagine that you already know everything about me. – she said after a while – Spencer, mugs are in that cupboard on your right. – she added noticing Reid's helpless search for the dishes.
-What I know, are only few facts of your life, that were helpful while building a victimology profile. It's essential for us to check what the unsub's preferences are… Are you really willing to listen to that? – he asked Ellen, handing her the mug with hot, black tea.
-I'm alright. Please, continue.
-Okay then. – he replied, sitting on the sofa, next to her – Paul Headenby aka the Palm Killer was, unfortunately, the type of unsub, who can kill everyone. It was not the sex, age or type of look of the person that he desired. This sexual sadist only satisfied with hands of his victims, 'received' after five days of ritual tortures… - he stopped and for a moment saw a shade of pain on Ellen's face. She quickly hid it behind a mask of fake smile.
-It's really alright.
-So, Headenby was not picky, but at the same time he was extremely organized. We figured out that there has to be a pattern in a way he chose his victims. And we found it.
-What was it?
Reid took Ellen's hand. It was warm and soft. He pointed at her ring finger.
-My ring? – she was genuinely surprised, looking at a silver, belt-shaped ring.
-Palm Killer was a victim of child abuse. We presume that the strongest memory of that time were hands of whoever was hurting him. And a ring on that finger.
-But…
-…there are many people who wear rings on that finger? Yes. But the trigger was only the closer contact with the palm. That's why we thought about the place you work at.
-You say that I served a coffee to that son of a bitch?
-Yes. That's how he chose you.
-I.. I don't even remember his face. I don't know the face of the man, who tortured me for 5 days. And I served him coffee… - her mask broke and for a moment she was as vulnerable as when he found her for the first time. For a second Reid wanted to hug her, comfort her somehow, but he decided not to. She was too tough, too proud for that. They remained sitting in silence. He looked outside. It was already dark.
-It looks like our genius boy suddenly started living a life outside a work – Derek Morgan laughed, as he saw Reid packing his stuff to bag – You used to be here first and leave last.
-There was not much to do at home, I guess – he replied smiling.
-How is she, Reid?
-A lot better, thanks for asking. She has a rehabilitation few times a week and soon she will be able to get back to the previous life, I guess.
-Reid… You know, you don't have to prove yourself anything? You're a good man. And it's not you fault that she suffers. You saved her.
-When I suffered, you all were there for me. But I didn't want your help. With all my IQ I was too stupid and proud too realize that the only thing I needed was someone to be there for me.
-And now you are that person for her. I understand. But she's just a victim. Don't let it get personal. We do our thing but what happens next is just outside our 'jurisdiction'. You remember what happened to Gideon.
-I do.
-Just, promise me then, when it'll get too difficult you'll leave it to specialist.
-I promise. And, by the way, are you staying here tonight?
-Yes. Something about this murder with a broken leg seems odd to me.
-But it's been like few weeks since the unsub stopped killing. He's probably dead or in jail.
-I know, I know… But something in my guts tells me it isn't over yet.
On his way to Ellen's apartment he was thinking again about what Derek said. "Don't let it get personal." It wasn't going to happen soon. Although he was visiting her as often as he could, and spend most of his free time helping her, surprisingly he still didn't know much about her. The both didn't like to talk about themselves, personal matters, emotions. During on of the first visits at her place he discovered that Ellen was interested in literature, just like his mother. For the next two or three weeks they were having long conversations about favorite authors, books, characters, poems. Then they switched to movies, art, science, even politics. But it was always a neutral topic. At those moment he was forgetting about work, profiling, murderers, victims, painful memories. She also looked as if all the pain was really gone. She dropped the mask of artificial calmness, acted more freely and naturally. And as soon as she could walk on her own, she started painting again. Ellen had never done it when he was at her place, but he could tell by the way she looked, when he visited her.
-Where you painting? – he asked her once.
-Do you want some tea? - she answered evasively. But he could tell it from the brightness in her big grey eyes. They were sparkling with some kind of warm energy. He understood then it was something too intimate and never asked again.
As Reid arrived at her home he noticed something strange from the street. Lights at the attic were off. It was completely dark. He went in the building to check. He knocked on the door, but Ellen did not open, called her, but there was only voice mail. Finally, he decided too use the key she gave him to use in case something happens. He unlocked the door and opened it. He switched on the light. Ellen was not there. Everything was in it's place, no signs of a struggle. On the other hand, she had never told him she was going somewhere. He looked around fro some clue and noticed piece of paper on a table. Laconic message read as follows:
I had to go.
Don't worry.
I'll be back.