A/N: Hi hello! Tis me again. I hope everyone is getting stoked for the holidays (all you school-goers I assume are grateful for some time off)! I was really excited to write this chapter because sometimes I just lay in bed pondering ideas around. There were a few changes in my mind (and as you read you'll see quite a few 'I was sooo not expecting that moments'), but I hope everyone is still happy with me. I have my time line all set up which is quite exciting. All of your reviews are so great. You'd be astonished at how much they help me just write another chapter. I have had to do a bunch of research for this story which is more than I'm used to, so if I got anything wrong I'm terribly sorry. Expect a new chapter in a couple of days. Thank you again and I hope for feedback and that you like everything you see! :) Oh and I realize chapter two didn't have the breaks to separate each part of the story. That was because I had a friend beta for me and I didn't notice they didn't appear when I uploaded it from my word processor. It's all fixed now and I'm sorry if it confused anyone.


Chaos. That would be the correct term to describe everything going on around the small, crowded police department. Chaos. There was Morgan who sat at an abandoned desk that belonged to another officer, head propped up by his hands as he stared forward into nothingness. Nothingness was easy, but it didn't get them any closer to finding Reid. Then there was Hotch who was consistently asking the lead detective if they had found anything else. It made him feel as if he wasn't doing his job. He was the one who was supposed to be finding things, but they'd run out of evidence to collect. All of the evidence in the world would only lead them to a dead end. Then there was Prentiss and Rossi who sat across from each other in the main lobby of the department, both sipping on their coffees silently. J.J. was picking up her phone every few moments, trying to make the phone calls to the press last as few minutes as they needed to. She didn't care about the press. No one cared about anything but getting Reid back. Perhaps that was the issue in the first place.

An irritable vibrating began to echo throughout the room. Sure, it was far from silent; there were officers speaking loudly and papers shuffling. Which truly, explained the chaotic spirit of the room. It was all the team could hear though as it projected off of Morgan's desk. It literally took him a few moments to comprehend the sound. He glanced at the name lit up on the screen and slowly opened the phone. With a tired and monotonous voice, he answered.

"Got anything for me baby girl?" His eyes moved back to the blank wall in front of him, sure that this was nothing but another dead end.

"I um- there's someone on the line who wants to speak to you. I have him on hold... he found something pertaining to Reid. Is the team with you?"

Morgan's body movement quickly shifted and he jumped to his feet. "Hotch! Guys! C'mere!" His fingers fumbled to turn on speaker phone and he addressed Garcia to carry on as the team circled around him.

"Okay- he says he found Reid's card... I'll just let him explain." There was another pause and another voice rang through the speaker.

"Am I speaking with the team leader?" asked an extremely redneck accent. Hotch cleared his throat.

"Yes you are. I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. I believe you have some evidence pertaining to my agent?"

"Oh yes yes. I was just cleanin' out the bathroom of my station. I work at a gas station ya' see. In Blacksburg, Virginia. I see this little card and I figure it's just trash some jack ass forgot ter throw away. 'Turns out it's some business card. I wouldn't have given it two looks if it didn't had some kinda blood stain on it. Like a fingerprint? Anyways, front of it says some junk about the FBI. Then Spencer Reid. I turn the thing over and some scribbled message's on it! I'reads, 'Help. Call the office number.' Tha's it, but I figure if this is FBI matters I best call."

"Sir, my team and I are going to come to you right now. Garcia, send the address to my PDA." Without another word, he walked away from the phone and got out his own. "I need to get the jet ready. He's taken him to Virginia. The question is why."


It was very often that Reid would wake up with a dull ache in his body. He did a lot physically as a person, therefore he didn't even question it. This time though, his body felt completely broken. As if every bone in his body had been fractured and would never heal right. His head, oh how it pounded against his semi-functioning brain. His forearms throbbed and ached, as did his chest and thighs. His stomach burned and churned, as if there were devices going on inside of his body attempting to break him from within. Then there were his ankles. Not only was the pain unbearable, it was uncomfortable just as well. The idea and the reliving of the pain tearing throughout his body. There were times when he cursed himself for his memory. This was one of them.

The grogginess that once filled his body was completely gone. Any effect the Dilaudid had before had most definitely wore off. This probably helped the fact that he was rudely awakened by his own body turning against him. It was hard to breathe - he felt suffocated. When his eyes finally allowed themselves to open, he saw his own ceiling of his own bedroom. He moved his arms. They were chained to something with his handcuffs, but what? Rather than stiff and uncomfortable, the surface beneath him was squishy and soft. He was, no doubt, on his own bed. Which left one explanation for the handcuffs: he was chained to his bedpost. There would really be no point in binding his legs, seeing as any movement he made allowed bursts of pain to fill his body.

Within a few moments, footsteps were heard entering his room. The smell of coffee which was usually so comforting to the agent filled his nostrils. Before him stood Rob, a mug in his hands as he stared at the distressed young man. If Reid could see himself, he was sure he'd wince and look away. If this was any other crime scene that he looked upon, he wouldn't be able to hold a stare for more than a few moments without feeling disgusted. He felt disgusting.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" asked Spencer, his voice raspy and dry. Unlike anything he'd ever heard from himself before. To say he was dehydrated would be an understatement. The question wasn't really because he wished for death by this point, although the pain he wouldn't be able to deal with much longer. He received no response, just a glare. Rather than pushing the matter as he usually would, he changed the subject. "Y-you know... if you want to keep me alive for whatever reason, you're going to have to give me water. I won't make it much longer without it." Again, no words were spoken in response, but Rob descended off into the other room.

With all the strength he had, Spencer lifted his pounding head to examine his body. There was part of a sheet tied around his stomach where he had been stabbed, likely to refrain it from bleeding. His ankles too had tight cloth wrapped around them. He was sure the cut wasn't deep enough to hit the tendon beneath the flesh, but with the condition his body felt at the moment, he wasn't about to try and see if he could move his legs either. With a small sigh of relief, his head fell back against the mattress, the pillows that were once present when he slept in the bed usually now gone.

If Rob was trying so hard not to actually kill him, he must have not meant to injure him so badly in the first place. It must've been the rage he felt – or the need for domination. It was a weakness on his behalf and Reid was going to do whatever he needed to to make his captor weak. Perhaps, it would be the only way out.

Rob returned with a water bottle in his hands, unscrewed with a straw stuck inside. "Sit up," he demanded of Reid. The agent tried with effort, but his body refused to listen to him.

"I-I-I can't. I can't move."

"Sit up, or you don't get any water." Spencer blinked, keeping his eyes closed tightly for a few moments before opening them again and forced his body upward with all the strength he had. His arms twisted awkwardly behind him, causing him to cry out. The bottle was put to his lips, straw soon covered by his mouth as he sipped away half of the bottle. It was forced away from him quickly, leaving Spencer feeling still a bit empty. His stomach growled unceremoniously, but he didn't even begin to push that matter. "I'm not about to give you a bunch of bathroom breaks so be happy you got what you got."

Reid's body fell limp back onto the bed, as his eyes closed. He considered this the little peaceful rest he'd be getting for a while.


While in the jet, no one said a word. It was as quiet as it had been in the department, although this time there was no background shuffling or talking – just the roar of the engine. Each mind was still filled with chaos though. Morgan didn't have on his headphones, Hotch didn't stare out of the window, no one had their nose stuck in a book or a case file. Most eyes focused on their own hands, each mind realizing the extent of what could have happened to one of their own. They all had seen the worst – who was to say Reid wasn't one of those cases?

"We have to believe he is going to be okay," Prentiss finally said, unable to handle the silence. "We are the only ones who can have the faith in him that he needs. Everyone keeps imagining what all of these UnSubs have done to their victims, but Reid isn't just one of those victims. He's qualified and smart. He's one of us. I don't know about you, but I know he can at least hold off the UnSub until we find him."

The mutual agreement with Prentiss was silent, but more outspoken than any words could've described. Luckily, when they filed into the SUV that would take them to the gas station, the silence was really broken. This time by Hotch's phone ringing.

"Hotchner," he answered, emotionless.

"Agent Hotchner, this is Detective Burns. It seems just a little bit after you left, Priest's father decided to speak. I had one of my own go in and interrogate him seeing as we couldn't get in touch with you on your flight. The most important thing we found out was though, Priest never listened to 60's music. Not while the kid was growing up. His son never did either – apparently he was a metal head or something like that. I don't understand, your profile said-"

"The profile was wrong. I-I'll call you back detective." Hotch closed his phone and looked forward blankly for a moment.

"What is it, Hotch?" asked Morgan.

"I think we've had this all wrong. What if murdering all of those people was just to get us here. What if his plan all along was to take an FBI agent? No one who just killed people for the sake of music would've been this precise and untraceable. I think this was his plan."


The gas station was just off of the interstate. There was practically no one around considering the city wasn't the most rural in the area. One would think it would be more populated than this. Each agent hopped out of the SUV and made their way towards the station. A man with a long beard and short, untidy brown hair stood just in front of it, waving to the agents as if they were celebrities.

"Hi Mr. Crawford, I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner, we spoke on the phone. These are Agents Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, and Dave Rossi."

"Hello hello," he said rather cheerfully, nodding to each of the agents. Immediately, he held out the card he had found to which Hotch thoroughly examined it. Everything read just as the man had said.

"Sir, do you remember seeing anyone come into your store earlier that looked like this?" asked J.J. as she handed two photographs to the man; one of Reid and one of Rob.

"Yes! Yes I do. That one there," he pointed to Reid, "busted in here like nobody's business, looking like he was fixin' ter be sick. Then that guy," he now pointed to Rob, "followed him in. 'Told me the kid had just eaten some bad lunch while they was on their way ter Baltimore. 'Said he was so nauseated, he fell an' hit his head on the concrete... he didn't hit his head on the concrete did 'e?"

"No sir, I don't believe so. Do you have any security cameras?" pressed Hotch, not wanting to waste any time.

"Can't afford 'em. I'm so sorry, Sir. I woulda stopped them if I'da known!" Guilt rushed over the store-owner's face.

"It's not your fault," Prentiss said gently as Hotch walked away a few feet.

"He's going to Quantico," Hotch finally said, realization in his eyes, as if it should've been obvious the entire time. "When you're driving, you have to go this way. He's taking Reid to Quantico. We need to leave now."


The idea of finding sleep seemed so endearing, yet so dangerous. Reid attempted to anyway, but was not granted with it. The pain in his body was too overwhelming so he fell into an almost light nap. That's when he heard a knocking noise. His eyes opened and he looked up, unaware of where it was coming from. Was it coming from his door? Was someone here to save him? His heart lunged and he was two seconds from screaming for help.

"Say a word and I swear to God, I'll put a bullet through that smart little brain of yours," said the cold voice, reminding him that sometimes in life, there was no way out. His eyes scanned confusedly as his shackles were undone. A bathrobe was thrown at him shortly thereafter. "Get up. You need to go answer your door so hurry up." With all of the strength he had lost and all of the pain that tore through his body, Reid easily sat up and put on the bathrobe. It turns out his legs did work after all. Each step towards his front door felt like needles piercing him from his heels. He continued his journey. Each step was closer to freedom. Somehow, he had a good feeling about this. Even with a gun to the back of his head as he walked, he felt better with each long, painful step. Then he was at his door.

"Police open up!" exclaimed a voice from the opposite side of the door. Reid couldn't have unlocked the door faster, swinging it open. This was too easy.

Before him stood an officer who seemingly had absolutely no idea what was going on. Before him stood a confused man who had gotten a noise complaint from the room above him due to Reid's screaming earlier. Before him stood that could've been his rescuer, had Rob not put a bullet through his forehead before he could speak or call for help. Before him stood a dead officer who was now being pulled into his own apartment.

Reid was sure thoughts had never flowed through his brain so fast before. He went from safe and rescued, to astonished at the scene before him, to confused, to someone had to have heard that gun shot, to very very frightened.

"You son of a bitch!" Rob yelled, suddenly coming at Spencer with all of the force he could conjure up. The blow to the face was definitely not the first and definitely not the most forceful, but it did send Spencer straight to the floor. "Can you not keep quiet?! You are so screwed!" he continued to bellow as he threw more punches at the helpless genius. Reid pulled himself into the fetal position, small whimpers passing his lips as tears fell easily down his face. Rob stood again, kicking him once-twice-three times into the stomach before clearing his throat.

"I-I-I can recite lyrics to you... I know every song by Bob Dylan..." he said in a quiet, distant voice. He felt incredibly stupid, but he was desperate. It's all he had.

"For a genius, you're a moron." Rob put on a different voice, that of a mocking tone. "You're-you're just as bad as the others... just as bad." He chuckled, a hint of evil behind his eyes. "You think I did all of this because I was seeking revenge on the sixties musical era? Think, Reid. It was easy enough to get you and your team down here. One thing is true. People like you killed my mother. The BAU killed my mom... ten years ago."

"I-I wasn't even on the team then..."

"What worse punishment than taking one of their own? Luckily for me it was probably their weakest, youngest member. It really was going to be a draw. You should've realized solving the case was too easy. I led you right to my house. You were the one who made it too easy. Wandering off by yourself. While my father held the other agent's attention. You deserve to die all the same. And you will. I'm going to wait until you're begging for death though."

The tears had yet to stop flowing down Reid's cheeks as he heaved for breath. All of the information was so overwhelming that he could barely handle it. Receiving another kick to his lower abdomen caused him to make another distant wheezing sound and cry out at the same time.

"I managed to break you. I don't doubt I will have you begging me for your death before nightfall comes."

Instinctively, Spencer's eyes fell upon his window, bright light shining through. Considering the level of the sun, it was probably around three in the afternoon. Though, his mind could be fooling with him and he could be extremely off. He assumed it to be three in the afternoon though.

He didn't dare say another word. Unless he came up with a brilliant plan soon, he'd be dead before sundown whether he begged for it or not.