The Only Thing Missing Is You.

!!I support the 2007 WGA STRIKE!!

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

Floyd walked slowly up the stairs past the paintings and old photographs on the walls and down the pitch dark hallway to a room at the end. He opened the big old door at the end and entered his bed room. It was a huge room with a bay window over looking the back of the property. He stood in the darkness and looked down at the pool he never used and over to the places for his friends to sit that he never asked over. With a deep sigh he pulled his heavy velvet dark drapes and turned on a small side light.

He went and sat at a small desk in the corner of this monstrously large room and woke up his lap top. Maybe he could email Spence? Was he getting obsessed by this man, or was he just worried.

"I haven't seen him since he collapsed in the street and couldn't breathe. That's not being obsessive is it? That is pure worry."

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket again and checked once more for missed calls or messages. "One more message won't hurt."

'Spence. RU OK plz rply Im worried. F'

He hit send and sat looking at the object in his hand. He picked up a bottle of whiskey and undid the top. He poured a generous helping of the amber liquid and lit a cheroot. "Please be alright."

By the morning Floyd had made his way to his big four poster bed and had drunk himself into unconsciousness sprawled on his stomach and clutching his cell phone.

……………

The morning saw Spencer sitting in a hotel room. He was with Morgan. Hotch had taken Haley and Jack off to another hotel on the other side of the city. Too little too late, Spencer thought, but not his place to say anything. He had a huge bruise on the side of his face and a nice lump on the back of this head. His back was skinned and scraped, but all in all not too bad off. Morgan kept scowling at Reid and he had no idea why. This whole business was just so confusing. Why was someone murdering people and making the scenes look like it was him? If it was meant to confuse and scare then it was working. Morgan finally asked the question he wanted to ask.

"Remember McAllister, Virginia?"

"Not something I am likely to forget."

"What were you wearing?"

"This is a trick question to see how hard I hit my head?"

"Seriously; I need to know."

Reid sat and looked at his hands for a while.

"At what point?"

"When we found the body in the sluice house."

"Dark trousers, shirt, jacket, and an FBI over jacket, a scarf."

"Ah."

"Why?"

"Just checking on something." He handed Reid a copy of the note which was left. "Who else apart from us would know what you were wearing that night?"

Reid looked down at the note. "The unsub dressed the victim as I was then? How would he know? He must have been there." Reid looked puzzled

Morgan nodded. "I was thinking the same, but then surely he would have got your clothing correct for all the scenes?"

Reid fiddled with the paper and looked over to Morgan. "So you think the person doing this was in McAllister?"

He shook his head "Or has access to information. I don't know. I am getting Garcia to see if there is any information on what we were wearing that night."

"Well that is doubtful. It might be a lucky guess." A shrug.

Morgan looked doubtful and shook his head slowly. "Too close, too close."

He leaned over to his bag and pulled something out.

"Does this mean anything to you?" Morgan passed over a book to Spencer.

A paperback copy of 'Thus Spoke Zarathoustra by Neitzsche'. Reid took it and nodded. "Apart from having read it. It is associated with the McAllister case. The unsub had a copy of it. Where did this come from?"

"It was found with the last victim. Reid do you own a copy of this?"

"Of course I do." He started to flick through the pages quickly. He paused frowning at it and flicked through again. "Morgan, this is my copy."

"How can you tell?"

"There is a mark where I bent over a page when I didn't have a book mark. Page hundred and five and I got coffee on page sixty eight. This is definitely my copy."

……………….

He left his room with a headache. The cell phone stuck in his pocket and wearing what he had been the day before. Today he had someone coming round to look at a book. He really couldn't be bothered. He didn't really need the money from this sale. He could just pretend he wasn't in. Slowly down the dark corridors of his big empty house he walked. Another drink would be nice. Something to calm the nerves maybe. He didn't think he had ever been this worried about someone before. This worried over a sale or a doll but not over a person.

Floyd walked into the dark room he had sat and slept in briefly the night before. It was instant. Something hit him over the back of the head and something else caught him in the face as he started to go down. There was no noise. No shouting. Just instant pain. He felt his lip split and he tasted blood as boots kicked him in the stomach and head. Then just as he thought they couldn't hurt him any more everything went black.

…………….

Reid was still sitting looking at the book and wondering how someone had got hold of it when there was a tap at the door. "Room service."

"No thank you" Morgan called back

"I have a package for a Dr Spencer Reid. I was asked to deliver it personally."

Reid started to stand up, but Morgan motioned for him to stay and made a silence gesture at him. He pulled his gun and walked to the door. Morgan put the door on the chain and looked back at Reid who had stood up again. "Get down Reid." Morgan hissed and slowly opened the door.

"Dr Reid?" the man in uniform asked. Morgan nodded, and the package was handed over. Morgan slammed and locked it. He walked slowly over to where Reid was starting to stand up again.

"What is it?" He asked Morgan and put his hand out for it. Morgan turned it over in his hand and passed it over to Reid.

"We should get it checked out first." But Reid had already opened the flap and was dropping the contents onto his bed. He moved his hand slowly towards them. Morgan stood and looked. Photographs and a cell phone. He picked up one of the photos and looked. Derek saw Spencer's hand begin to shake.

"Oh god. Oh no." And his hand was moving to the cell phone.

"No Reid. Leave it. Don't touch. Glove up."

"It's Floyd. Someone has done something to him." Reid picked up another photo. "Morgan. What's going on?"

Morgan threw over a pair of gloves and donned a pair himself. Reid pulled on the blue gloves and slowly picked up the phone. He flipped it open. "This is Floyd's phone." He pressed buttons and looked at last calls made and messages sent. He stood and frowned. "Morgan, where is my cell phone?

Derek threw across the bag Reid had come out of hospital from the day before. After a little rummage Reid pulled it out and turned it on. A list of missed messages and calls. Some of them from Floyd.

……………..

They met up with Hotch and Prentiss at the home of Flanders.

"Nice place." Prentiss noted.

The front door was slightly open. "You been here before?" Aaron asked Reid – who shook his head as he pulled a flak jacket on over his head and fastened it at the sides. "OK be careful. This might be a trap."

They nodded and slowly with guns up and ready entered the home of Floyd Flanders.

The place was dark. Sitting on the floor just inside the door was a Polaroid camera. They all looked down at it. This meant there were in the right place at least. Slowly they moved down the hall. There was light coming from under the door to the right. This was the direction they all moved in. Torches cutting through the darkness. Aaron looked back at Reid who was chewing on his bottom lip and shining the torch up the walls. Hotch gently pushed the door open to the room where the light was coming from. He was about to enter, but stopped and took in the scene. Reid heard the collective gasp coming from Morgan and Hotch and moved forwards.

The four of them stepped into the room. It looked mostly untouched. It didn't appear to have been a burglary. But once again a staged crime scene and once again one which they could all remember only too well.

There was an old wooden chair sitting in the middle of the big room. Flanders was sitting on the chair with his head down and his hair covering his face. His hands were cuffed and the cuffs then attached to the bottom chair rail by a leather strap. Both of his shoes were removed and one sock. His right hand sleeve was rolled up. Scattered around on the floor in front of him were gutted fish.

"Son of a bitch." Morgan whispered.

……………

!!I support the 2007 WGA STRIKE!!