Author's greeting: If I wasn't such a wussy about physical pain, I'd be whipping myself like an obsessed monk with a cat-o'-nine tails over taking so long to update. Seriously, a year and a half. Old-timey explorers have found their way out of jungles in less time.
But until my time machine is working order, this will have to do. It was meant to be longer, but the next part looks to be so huge, I just had to cut this off here. And maybe it will encourage me to post again before the end of the decade.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
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August 2, 2015
Dave might have missed it if it hadn't been on top of the flyers and other assorted junk mail which made up the bulk of things he still got in his mailbox these days. As it was, after getting back in the wee hours of the morning following a long case, he absentmindedly scooped it up and dumped it on the desk in his office, not even looking at it until that weekend when he went to do some writing.
Raising an eyebrow at getting an actual honest-to-goodness letter, his first feeling was curiosity. He turned it over a few times in his hands, contemplating the chances it was something dangerous sent to him by an Unsub.
It was thick, but felt like nothing but paper. He shouldn't have touched it with his bare hands, but nothing seemed to be happening, so he - cautiously - dismissed the idea of it being coated with something. The blue envelope itself was cheap, common stuff, available in any bargain store or even a 7/11. His address, however, was written in the flowing script of someone well educated - and likely of a certain age where penmanship was marked in school.
It was when he glanced at first the postmark and then the return address, though, that both his curiosity and apprehension spiked.
Ms. D. Reid
Bennington Sanatorium
Las Vegas, Nevada
89112
Dave sat down as half a dozen scenarios ran through his head. The idea that something had happened to Diana and the staff at Bennington wanted him to break it to Spencer he dismissed almost immediately; they would have called, and more importantly, they would have called Spencer, not him.
Unless they can't get a hold of him and they're trying to track him down… Rossi considered.
The next thought was that perhaps the kid's aunt was questioning his right to have had Diana committed - there'd already been one very loud brouhaha that Dave knew about over Spencer having sold the family's properties to pay for Diana's hospitalization while he'd still been in school - but again, they would have contacted Spencer, not him. And if he, Dave, was being called as a witness to some sort of evaluation or hearing, then the letter would have come from a lawyer's office, not Bennington itself.
Likely it's something simple, Dave thought as he rooted around his desk drawers fro the letter opener young Jack had bought him for his last birthday, like they've misplaced Spencer's new address or phone number and are hoping I can give it to them.
Letter's a bit thick for that, isn't it? the more logical part of his brain pointed out.
Finally finding the letter opener, he worked it through the flap and along the top of the envelope and then pulled out the last thing he was expecting.
It was a letter from Diana Reid.
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Dear Agent Rossi,
Please forgive my formality, but truthfully I have no idea on how to address this letter. How does one address the man who has laid claim on your child? "Agent Rossi" seems so very formal when we apparently share a son, but, simply put, I do not believe myself quite ready to address you any more intimately than that.
In fact, if I may continue with such blunt candour, I'm of two minds over even writing this letter. I am still not fully reconciled to this situation and every word I put to paper, every indelible mark of ink that flows out of this pen, fills me with deep anxiety and the ( I can say it today) irrational fear that you are stealing my little boy away from me as surely as that awful man Michaels tried to do years ago. However, since life as surprised me today by granting me more clarity than I've been gifted with in a long while, I realize I should seize this opportunity.
Firstly, I want to express my deepest apologies for unknowingly being a part of the events that took your son from you.
(Dave was no handwriting expert like Spencer, but even he could see the hesitation in the word "your".)
You have no reason to believe me, but I truly never dreamed that Spencer might not be Janine Rutherford's child. We spent a great deal of time together, her and I, in the months before her child was due and I both saw and felt the child move within her. I often accompanied her to her doctor's appointments and while there was never a sonogram, I never saw anything on the doctor's face to suggest Janine was not pregnant. So when she came back after running away, the idea that the child she was offering us was not her own never even occurred to me.
I can only say that, as much as I adore Spencer, I would never have taken him if I had had any idea he had been abducted from a loving couple. I might have been tempted, yes - from the moment I laid eyes on him I wanted so, so badly - but I wouldn't have gone through with it. You may not believe that, and I can't find it in my heart to blame you if you do not, but I too have known what it is like to bury a child, to stand by their tiny grave and be willing to give anything on this Earth to have them back again, and I promise you I would never, ever wish that on another human being. That I have helped to cause that pain, even unintentionally, is devastating, and I beg your forgiveness. I dearly wish I could beg it of your former wife as well.
In any case, all I can hope to do is to try and make amends as best as I am able. It terrifies me to think that if this had not happened, I would never have known Spencer. I would never even have known of the existence of such a wonderful man, such an exceptional human being as my... my apologies... our son. It is a feeling I've had to face frequently in recent days as I find myself struggling more than usual to hang onto those memories. The idea fills me with a cold, paralyzing fear, but it's quite possible nature will soon take from me what was taken from you and your wife by a horrific crime: all knowledge of Spencer's childhood.
So, to that end, I have asked for Doctor Norman's help in compiling copies of my journals from those years. They can never make up for what you have lost, but I hope they will give you some understanding of Spencer. I hope to get them to you soon.
While on that subject, however, I would also beg leave to make a request. My sending you the journals is not contingent on it by any means; they will be sent to you no matter what. Think of it more as a favour to our son. My request is this: I would like you to encourage Spencer to stay in touch with William, not for my former husband's sake, but for Spencer's. It is a lot to ask, I know, and I can only imagine how difficult it will be for you, but should anything happen to me, William will be Spencer's only connection to his childhood. No one, least of all our son, should be bereft of that.
Secondly, now while my mind is still clear, I would like to talk about Spencer.
People, even those closest to him, will often misunderstand him. They tend to underestimate the gentle and soft-spoken in general, pushing them to the background. They only listen to those who strut and boast and shout banalities as loudly as they can. And yes, some quiet people are soft and will wilt at the first harsh word to come their way. However, our son is not one of them. People see a gentle man and assume he is a naïve child, never realizing the sheer strength it takes to remain a good and decent man in this world. They see someone who is kind-hearted and genuinely considerate and mistake him for a submissive weakling desperate to please. They don't see a protector, but that is what Spencer is. Perhaps I read him too many stories of chivalrous knights when he was small, or perhaps he is simply one of those people for whom living by their own internal moral code is a necessity, but even as a little, little boy, he wished for nothing more than to save other people. He was always far more willing to stand up for them, even at those times when he would not stand up for himself. I cannot recall if you were there when Spencer and the others were pursuing Randall Garner, but one of your colleagues - a young blonde woman whose name is not coming to me - told me what the man had called Spencer: Sir Percival. And, for all of Randall's delusions, I have yet to hear a more apt description of our son.
Let me be clear, Agent Rossi - David - there are so many fools out there and, forgive me, but I think you were one of them once, or at least you said something very foolish to me when we met. You said to me how you had watched Spencer had become a man in just the short time you had known him. I will pass over it quickly as you obviously meant it as a compliment, but frankly, it was an unforgivably obtuse remark, as well as more than a tad arrogant. Saying Spencer had only become a man in the brief time he had been on your team almost suggests the event was somehow attributable to all of you. Let me assure you, that is not the case.
My grandmother used to say that a boy became an adult when he learned to take care of himself, but that he became a man, a real man, when he stepped up to take care of others. According to her, to judge by anything else was ridiculous, and it is a sentiment with which I am in wholehearted agreement. By either criterion, our son was a man long before he ever joined your team. He may have gained experience and grown steadier and more sure of himself in his time with you, but to believe Spencer was anything less than a man when he entered the FBI demonstrates a singular lack of perception. Do not be one of these people who cannot spot substance because they cannot see past style, Agent Rossi. There are so-called "men" out there three times Spencer's age who will never be as worthy of the title as our son was at ten. And, considering one of those was my own husband, it is a distinction I feel I am well-equipped to make.
That being said, Spencer still needs a parent. Not as a child does, but as an adult does. He needs to be able to fully realize he is an adult, and children cannot do that until they can look on themselves as being an equal to their parent, to leave the idea of themselves as a child in the eyes of that specific relation behind. As a parent that can be hard to see. The more capable will understand that a child needs to make their own mistakes to grow, but how many see that sometimes they have to accept that their child is right? That sometimes your children do know better than you and that it should not be a matter of injured pride to admit it. Like any adult, Spencer has had to make decisions for himself - hard ones - and only hope that he was right. But he had to start so young, and most often do it with no advice beforehand nor any reassurance afterwards. That, and the lack of security that made his decisions much more high stake than they should have been for a child, has affected his ability to trust in himself. I have seen that he has gotten better at it, as everyone does with the practice afforded by continuing experience, but that those doubts should be there in the first place breaks my heart. They are my fault and I will never forgive myself for them.
In my more aware moments I watched him leave his childhood behind, starting even before William left, and I grieved deeply for it. I still do. When Spencer should have been out exploring the world and meeting new people, I held him back. I think I perhaps even dampened some of the ambition he might have had. It is possible my illness has inhibited him, even more than can be put down to the fears of developing it himself. (Something else for which I will not forgive myself.) From the time he was born, he has felt the need to be cautious around me - contemplating every unexpected movement or noise he made, considering every word - so as not to make an episode worse. He spent so much time with me, caring for me. And I worry that, subconsciously at least, he absorbed some of the suspicions and fears inherent with my illness.
When you talk to him, reassure him that I do not blame him for his actions in committing me. I know that weighs heavily on him, and that I reinforce it when I am not well. I am grateful he was able to make the right decision not only for me, but for himself. When I am myself, I am nothing but immensely thankful he is no longer sacrificing so much in order to care for me.
Spencer also needs a father in other ways: as an ally and knowledgeable companion to depend on, a family member to give him that deeper connection, and - hopefully - to give him a good example on how to be a father should the day ever come when he blesses us with grandchildren. I hope you will be these things for him, Agent Rossi.
In any case, while it is hard for me to wish you well, Agent Rossi, I do so for Spencer's sake. This situation is certainly in no way your fault, but you can understand if it is difficult for me to see you as anything other than a threat. You can give him a life I cannot, a life where the parent/child relationship is one of normalcy and ease. Where he takes care of me, you are able take care of him. You can visit him whenever you want to and you will be the one to guide and console him when he is troubled. There is no way for me to adequately describe how much all of this pains me, but his happiness trumps any petty fears of mine. Therefore I will try my best not to fight it any longer because he needs you.
However, be warned: If you hurt him, keep in mind that I am an extremely intelligent woman and that no court will ever see me as legally responsible for my own actions. Not to mention that any good mother will be fiercer than a lion when it comes to their child. You would be wise not to make an enemy of me, Agent Rossi. Remember that.
Sincerely,
Diana Reid
-x-
Rossi put the letter down. He sat at his desk for hours, but no writing got done that day.
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Anyway, I hoped you liked it. But what I really want to do here is thank everyone for nominating and/or voting for me for the Profilers Choice Awards. I know I'm incredibly late, but I was very touched by it for both 2014 and 2015. Thank you again.
