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Emily glanced down at her watch and sighed under her breath. It read 9:27, which meant that only ad hour and a half had passed since Agent Richard Stryker from Organized Crime had picked her up for drinks.
Why did you agree to go out with him?
He was good looking in a golden god sort of way, with blue eyes, a build like Morgan and a perfect smile. Every female agent at Quantico wanted to go out with him. He was exactly the kind of man her mom and dad had always wanted for her, charming, educated and completely boring. She also suspected that underneath his macho image, he was a wimp that used others to further his career.
"So, why did you finally agree to drinks with me? I've been asking you out for months."
His question startled her into stopping right there on the sidewalk next to his car. "My mother wanted me to go to an after Christmas party with her Washington friends. Telling her I already had a date was the best way to get out of it."
His eyes crinkled up when he smiled at her answer, but somehow they weren't as alluring as a certain pair of chocolate puppy dog eyes.
Why are you here if you prefer puppy eyes?
"I'm glad I could be of service, my lady."
She nearly rolled her eyes. He obviously didn't recognize the insult in the explanation. Agreeing to this as a way to get her mind off Reid was a colossal mistake.
I wonder if he'll fall for it if I tell him I'm sick.
"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
"I was just thinking."
She tried to smile for him, but it was impossible. Funny, she never found it difficult to smile at Reid. It was especially easy when he was beating Morgan, JJ, or even Hotch at cards. Then there were the times that he went off on some strange tangent. No matter the case, or how badly she felt about what was going on in her life, he could always do something to make her smile. She'd never smiled so much as she had after making love with him, before he'd terrified her with his declaration of love.
I thought it was just sex.
How could she have been so stupid? Here she was with this golden FBI Adonis and all she wanted was to get away and talk to Reid.
"Hey, cheer up beautiful. I know just the thing to make you smile."
She nearly pulled her gun out of her handbag at his tone. "I'm really not feeling well, Rick. Do you think we could take a rain check on dinner?"
"Come on Prentiss. It's early. It's Christmas, the lights are bright and it stopped snowing. It's beautiful, a night suited for a gorgeous woman."
"Rick I really -"
Tires squealed loudly on the black top as a black SUV rounded a corner. She turned in time to see the muzzle flash of the gun, but she didn't hear the shot or feel the bullet as it tore through her flesh. She fell in near silence to the slushy pavement just before everything went black.
CMCMCMCM
Reid dropped his messenger bag on his bed and hurried back out of his room. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to dial Emily's number, then stopped. It was 9:30 pm and she might be busy, or asleep. No, it was too early for her to be asleep. They still had ten more days of vacation courtesy of Rossi bullying Strauss and Reid knew Emily liked go to bed late and sleep late when they were off. He dialed again, but the phone went straight to voicemail. He ended the call without leaving a message. There was no way he wanted to say what he needed to say over the phone.
Damn, now that he wanted to talk to her she wasn't available.
He sat down on the new easy chair he'd bought as a Christmas gift to himself. It wasn't a luxury. It was to aid in keeping his knee elevated. That was his story and he was sticking to it.
I'll go look for her.
He snorted laughter. He couldn't just go knock on her door. She wouldn't like it. He had to be smart about this. She'd already heard him say he loved her even if he lied about it.
She's a profiler, so she probably knows you were lying even if she didn't call you on it.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Other people didn't have to worry about having a relationship with someone that could read every mood, facial expression, or word.
Oh, so you're having a relationship with her. When did that happen?
Yeah, Emily had made it perfectly clear to him that she was only interested in one night. Everything his father told him went out the window as he levered out of the chair, and grimaced against the stabbing pain in his knee. He limped into the bathroom for his bottle of pain pills.
Half an hour later, he returned to his chair and stretched out. Slipping down into sleep was much easier than he'd anticipated. He didn't realize he was asleep until he opened his eyes and saw he stood in the aisle between two long shelves of books. He looked left and right, noticing that the shelves seemed to go on until they were out of sight.
It was some kind of library, but not like any, he'd ever been in. The books were shelved by size and some of them were very old. One book, right in front of his eyes, slid out of the shelf on its own and dropped forward. He caught it out of reflex, and sneezed at the dust that puffed up from the top cover. It was bound in leather with gold leaf, and the title read, "How to talk to Emily."
He jerked back in surprise. How did the very book he needed more than anything just happen to fall into his hands? It couldn't be real because none of this was real. He knew on some level that it was a dream. He lifted the book to return it to the shelves, then stopped and began brushing the rest of the dust from the bindings.
Just open it.
He opened it, and his forehead crinkled in confusion. The words were gibberish. He flipped though book, but all the pages were the same. He couldn't read any of it. He blinked and the book was back in its place on the shelf. He blinked again and the shelves disappeared. In fact, everything had disappeared.
Emily stood in front of him. They were back in the same hotel room. She reached out for him and he stepped forward. "Emily."
"Spencer, I missed you."
"I wanted to say I'm sorry."
She shushed him with a kiss that heated his blood to his toes. He tangled his hands in her hair, pulling her in as close has he can. Her scent washed over him and he closed his eyes. Suddenly, her lips were gone. He opened his eyes to see that she had vanished.
The scene had changed again. He stood outside, after dark, in a forest with birch trees that quaked all around him. The rustling of their leaves sounded like dried cornstalks. Something screeched in the air right over his head. He ducked away from it and angled his head around at the same time to see a huge owl fly overhead.
"Spencer."
He whipped around, but Emily wasn't there. He could've sworn she was right behind him. "Emily."
"Over here."
He walked slowly in the direction of her voice. The wind suddenly gusted so hard he stumbled. Leaves crackled under his feet as he tried to get his footing back.
"Spencer, where are you?"
He looked up, and all the stars winked out one by one as though they were candles, easily extinguished by the wind. The moon went black last and something touched his shoulder.
He yelped, and fell hard on his injured knee. He screamed and rolled to his back. He blinked and light flooded his eyes as Emily's voice called out to him again. He pushed up to his feet; the pain in his knee was suddenly gone as though it had never been there in the first place. Emily stood at the other side of a wide-open meadow. She held out a hand to him, but no matter how fast he walked he never got any closer to her.
"Spencer," she called out to him.
He tried to respond, but he couldn't speak. Something had paralyzed his vocal cords. He began to run, not feeling the high grass as it slapped lightly at his thighs. It seemed to grow taller and taller until he couldn't see Emily, who didn't get any closer. The smell of the fresh, green grass was cloying and he began to sneeze, and his eyes to water.
He tried again to call out to her, but he couldn't hear her voice outside his mind. The grass was taller than his head. He was forced to stop. His breath wheezed in and out of his lungs and he sneezed repeatedly.
"Spencer."
Emily's voice was fading away. He finally found his voice and screamed in response, but she didn't answer. The grass was so tall it blotted out the sun. Footsteps behind him shook the ground as though a giant were approaching. He backed away from the sound, but it came closer and closer.
"Spencer, help me."
"Emily I can't find you. Where are you? I need to talk to you."
"I'm sorry," her voice was so far away he could barely hear her.
The thundering footsteps receded and a ringing began in his ears, increasing in ferocity until he had to clamp his hands over his them.
"Stop," he screamed. "Leave me alone."
His eyes flew open as he fell sideways out of the chair. His bad knee exploded in pain as he pushed up from the floor. His cell phone rang once more then fell silent. He looked at the missed calls and saw Rossi's number.
Why Rossi? Did they have a case?
He stared at the phone until it signaled he had a message. "Call me the minute you get this, Reid. Something's happened. I need to talk to you right away."
A chill froze his heart and pumped ice into his blood. If it were a case, Rossi would have said so. He wouldn't be so cryptic on the phone. His hands shook and he could barely press the speed dial button for Rossi's number.
"Rossi," came the older profiler's greeting.
"It's Reid, what's going on?"
"I need you to meet me at Georgetown University Hospital."
He felt his legs give way as a terrible foreboding further cooled his blood to glacier-like temperatures. "What's wrong?"
"Emily's been shot, Reid. It's bad. Just get down here."
He shut the phone without another word. Oh God, if she died thinking he was mad at her or that he hated her - he couldn't live with it.
No, he'd never let that happen. He levered up to his feet, grabbed his cane and went in search of his messenger bag. Nothing else mattered, but that he was there for her whether she wanted him or not.