15

Sam Reads Spencer's Journal To Floyd.

Wednesday: Floyd didn't come home again tonight. I waited up until midnight, but I've work tomorrow. I wish he'd carry a cell phone so that I can contact him.

Friday: Still no sign of Floyd. I've checked my emails a thousand times today. Not that I expect he will leave one, but he has done in the past. The bed feels so empty without him there. I feel so empty. Work is becoming more stressful than usual. Finding concentration difficult and I adore Pen but I wish she'd stop trying to cheer me up. Equally I would like Morgan to stop thinking that my low mood requires him to constantly joke about me. It's not always too amusing.

The Weekend: I've contacted hospitals and the local PD. As far as I can tell he's not laying in a hospital bed dying, or worse closed up in a morgue. The PD have no record of him over the past couple of weeks. I spend the weekend making phone calls, checking my email, looking through my books and eating ice cream. I had a very silly idea that he might have left me a message hidden in a book, but I was hoping too much. I will tidy up next week.

Thursday: A long few days away trying to find some missing children. All found safe and well of course, but no thanks to me. I feel like I'm not really contributing much recently and Emily has noticed. I'm sure Aaron and Dave have too, but it's Emily who's said something to me. I know she's just trying to be friendly… but I'm not telling her Floyd is missing. She's likely to go out looking for him. Emily has very pretty eyes. I had a pile of mail waiting and everything contained a letter thanking me for paying some thing or another. I didn't really look that carefully. Floyd always dealt with that side of things. Damn I miss him so much. I've checked to see if he's been back. Still no note in a book for me.

Monday: I've been given two weeks leave. They seem to think I'm suffering from some kind of trauma. Garcia offered to come round with more ice cream but I don't want company. I've checked emails… nothing. I've gone next door and asked if anything has been left for me. What I was expecting I don't know, but obviously there's nothing. I spend the afternoon calling the hospitals again and then the morgues and then the PD. I am told that there is no one fitting his description there. I really wonder if they're telling the truth though. Why would Floyd just walk out and not come back. His things are here still. He would have taken his things wouldn't he? If his purpose was never to return. It's slightly comforting seeing his clothes there. He will return. I know he will.

Wednesday: I drove down to the local hospital. I think I got a bit irate because they just wouldn't listen to me! I've been told to not come back. The Police though helpful were not so very helpful. They've told me if they hear anything they'll let me know. How long do I have to wait?

Friday: I had email from an unknown source, but I cant open it. My whole laptop now has a virus. I will ask Garcia to come around and look at it for me. My eyes are sore.

Sunday: Garcia came around yesterday. She fixed the laptop but the email which sent the virus has gone. I thought I was going to hit her! I really did. My hand was raised and my anger so deep. It might have been from Floyd and now I'll never know. I ate ice cream… I was very sick in the night and today I don't think I can eat at all.

Tuesday: Local PD have been round to see me. They've told me that I have to stop pestering them. They say that I'm becoming more than a pest and that the girl on the desk was actually quite alarmed at how angry I got.

Friday: How do I know if he's been arrested if they wont talk to me! The hospitals are hanging up on me now too. I've been so sick that I was puking up blood. I've checked the books for a note and there's nothing so I put one there in case he comes back. I've left the curtains open. I've left my key in the door just in case he's lost his. I've also started scratching and pinching at my arms. I would love to sink into that place where nothing hurts again. I really would love to do that. I actually will. I need to stop feeling so alone.

Sunday: Went out today to get something. It was such a stupid thing to do, but I'm in so much pain I needed to get rid of it somehow. I guess that it's fortunate that the guy I used to deal with is no longer around. I don't trust anyone enough to go elsewhere. I've been cutting my arms. I have thrown away my electric shaver and stocked up on razor blades. I need some sort of excuse for why they're there even if no one else sees them I will. I've stopped all the clocks. I cant sit here night after night watching time drag by and still have nothing but a feeling of deep loss. I'm grieving I think. I've been constantly sick and I know I'm losing weight again. My eyes are sore, my gums have been bleeding. I've started …

'Hey…' Sam stops reading from the journal. 'The words are smudged… I bet he was crying. Do you want me to carry on?'

'No.' Floyd took the journal from Sam and closed it. 'Time to just sleep I think.' Sam received a long deep kiss on the mouth and Floyd dropped the journal on the floor. 'Here.' Floyd held up the small phial. 'Something to help you sleep? Not too much – that's all I've got and I wont be able to get more where we're going.'

Floyd waited until Sam was snoring softly next to him and then picked up the journal and began to read to himself.

Week four: I know he's been gone missing before but in the past I've been so very sure that he was alright. I'm not so sure this time and I don't know why. I'm still being sick. My arms are a mess. I've started smoking! I feel like I'm falling apart slowly. When did I last wash my hair? I don't know. I spend my spare time checking emails or soaking in the tub. So much junk email and every time I see one I think it might be from Floyd. I have to check each one to make sure. I'm back at work but they can all see that something is wrong. Hotch's talked to me. He suspects drugs I'm sure of it but he's said nothing to actually accuse me. Tempted to ask Garcia if she can trace him but then they'll know what's wrong and they'll be trying to tell me how this is all for the best when I know it's not. How can I be feeling so alone and why would I be feeling this panic and pain if this was for the best? It's strange how you get to rely on someone so fully and not even realise it's happened. I stand for hours looking at his clothes and asking them what I should do. I'm losing my mind.

Week five: Still no messages for me… nowhere. Garcia is asking to come around for a movie marathon. I've said it's not convenient. I know that Morgan put her up to it. They're spying on me. I've been to see Hotch in his office. I've told him that I'm not feeling very well. I'm sure he can see that though. I have dark circles under my eyes and I noticed today that my fingernails look chipped and un-cared for. It's Dave though who actually asks the questions. He asks right out what the problem is. He's looking at me as though I have victim tattooed on my forehead. I tell him it's nothing. Nothing is wrong. Everything is great. I spend that evening walking round the streets. The back streets. Amongst the prostitutes and drug dealers. I ask if anyone has seen Floyd. No one has.

Month two: I've walked the streets until people see me coming and walk away. It's no use. If they've seen him they're not going to tell me. They know who I am. They don't want to talk to me. I've got a constant headache. I think if I could just talk to someone about this then I'd feel better, but only Hotch would even begin to understand and I'm not telling him. At least not yet. I think I'm going to have to tell someone eventually. I've put ads in the classified section of the newspapers. Local ones and national ones. Tried the hospitals once again and had the phone put down on me as soon as I said my name. Nothing… just nothing.

Month four: I've packed his clothes away. Not because I don't want to see them… or maybe that's partly why, but I don't want them to get ruined. I don't want them to lose their smell. It also hurts every time I open the closet to get my own things. I've packed all of his things away. I don't want to lose anything. I don't want anything to get broken. I've left most of his books on the shelves though. I read them constantly over and over again.

Month six: Where is he?

Month eight: I never realised that you could love someone this much. Eight months and that's closer to becoming a year than I like. I wish I'd left more of his things around. I've had my hair cut partly to spite him which is stupid as he wont even see it.

A year: I've not written in here for a while. That doesn't mean I don't miss him or love him. Every time someone knocks on the door I leap up hoping it's him. Every time I check emails, (which is very often) I hope one will be from him. Every time a letter arrives I look at the writing and hope.

The rest of the journal was full of disjointed words and feelings. Some of the pages were stuck together with what turned out to be drips of blood. Some of the words were smudged with drops of salty water. A couple of pages had been ripped out. Some words had been scribbled out. Floyd prodded Sam to make sure he was asleep and then slipped out of bed and crept from the bedroom. Spencer was sitting on the couch staring at the books. He'd not moved. Floyd dropped the journal on the couch next to him.

'I would have contacted you if I could.'

Spencer looked at Floyd with damp hazel eyes and nodded. 'I missed you.'

'So you told Hotch I was gone?' Floyd slumped down on the couch next to Spencer and curled an arm around his shoulders.

'Eventually. It felt that if I said something to someone that close… you know? I thought it would confirm it. It would make it too real, but I did have to say something and his reaction was odd. He seemed more concerned that he didn't know where you were than the fact that I was worried about you. He seemed annoyed that I'd not said something sooner so he could keep track of you. I was told I had to pull myself together and be thankful that you'd left quietly and not with a trail of bodies behind you. I didn't realise until he said that… that was the problem. You left so quietly. What happened? Where have you been?'

Floyd shrugged and pulled Spencer in closer. 'I was going to look for some yarrow plants for my nose bleeds and headache. Thought it might be better then the shit I'd been snorting. I walked out of the apartment and the floor just opened up under my feet and I was gone. At least gone from here. The bastards held me in fucking limbo for what felt an eternity. They told me…' He sighed and closed his eyes. '…told me that my… I had to…' He pulled his arm away from Reid and stood up. '… Well I'm back now.' He walked over to the books and ran his fingers over the old leather spines. 'What I cant figure out is that when I came back you just wanted me gone again.'

'I thought I'd moved on.' Spencer stood too and walked over next to Floyd. He placed a hand over Floyd's which was about to remove a book from the shelf. 'Don't. You've read that excuse for a journal - you don't have to read this too. And Floyd I was so angry with you. I still am. I'm so angry. That's why… you know?' Spencer gestured towards the bedroom. 'I was thinking - stupidly that I was punishing you.'

Floyd pushed away Spencer's hand. 'Well it worked and please don't for one minute think that my peaceful disposition now changes what I said earlier. You touch Sam again or allow him to touch you and there's going to be bloodshed and a lot of screaming.' Floyd pulled the book from the shelf and flicked through the first few pages. A bit of paper fluttered out and Spencer twitched and tried to put his foot over it. 'Hey Spence – after reading that shit you wrote in the book how bad could this possibly be?' Floyd placed his own foot over it and carried on flicking through the pages. Another bit of paper fell out. 'Oh my another one. Are there more?'

Spencer shook his head. 'Just two.'

'I'm only worth two?'

'It was more than I got from you.' Spencer snapped and walked back to the couch. He was getting lippy and was going to end up getting a slap… and maybe a couple of years ago Floyd would have slapped him for that, but not today. Today Floyd stayed his hand and after replacing the book picked up the two bits of paper. Without reading them he walked back to Spencer and knelt on the floor in front of him. He held them up so Spencer could see.

'Which one did you write first? I want to read them in the correct order. Spencer flicked one of the small scraps of paper with a finger.

'That one. The other I wrote today.'

'Did you? You don't feel that you can talk to me anymore? You have to leave notes hidden in books?' Floyd turned over the bit of paper but still didn't read it. 'Babes… if this is going to be real bad I'll just put it back.' But Spencer just shook his head. Floyd looked down at the slightly childlike writing on the paper. I miss you. Where are you? Please come home. 'Nice.' Floyd put the bit of paper on Spencer's knee. 'I missed you too babes.' He now looked down at the other bit of paper. I Love You. 'Oh dear you're turning into a right sop. You know I cant return this sentiment don't you? I'm a psychopath… did Gideon once try to say I was a sociopath, well that's wrong. He was off the mark there. But I don't think I can actually say I love you because I don't know what that means. What does it mean Spence? What thoughts form in your mind when you say that? What are you feeling? What chemicals are firing?'

'Why do you have to belittle my feelings Floyd? What pleasure do you get from that? I would find it easier for you to just admit that you use me and manipulate me for your own gain.'

'But I don't. I was serious Spence.' Floyd's fingers dug into the flesh of Spencer's knees. 'I need to know.'

Reid sighed. 'It's like my life cannot continue without you. My heart pounds in my chest as though it's trying to escape. My vision blurs, my skin tingles, my stomach twists and knots, my mouth goes dry… I want to hold you so badly that I think if I have to go another second and be without that my body will just give up living. It feels as though I would rather not exist than exist without you. The thought that you'll one day be gone forever terrifies me. I want to touch and smell and taste you. I want…'

'OK I get the idea. So it's slightly more than really liking a good movie but not as good as a fuck?'

'Why do I bother?' Spencer tried to push Floyd's hands away but they were grabbed and squeezed.

'I was kidding. I was joking with you.'

Spencer stared at Floyd's face taking in every little mark. He then looked Floyd right in the eyes. 'Jokes are meant to make people laugh. That wasn't funny and so was not a joke. I was being serious Floyd.'

Floyd nodded and let go of Spencer's hands. 'OK. It seems to me that love is basically a series of different chemicals flooding the brain which causes a feeling of total dependence upon that person. That cant be healthy.'

'Have you never felt that way about anyone?'

Floyd snorted a laugh and sat down in Spencer's chair. 'Me? Feel totally dependant upon someone? Come on now Spence I thought you knew me better than that.' Floyd began to clean his toenails with his fingers.

Spencer didn't bother saying anything else. He watched Floyd's vile hygiene routine though knowing full well that Floyd knew those feelings. He was just stubborn and refusing to admit it. What Spencer didn't know was if those feelings had ever been for him. He didn't feel right now that Floyd loved him even slightly. But maybe once he had. 'So where were you all that time? Just in limbo?'

Floyd looked up. 'Oh I wish it had been that simple Spencer. It's complicated and I don't feel like talking about it all right now, but I wasn't off screwing someone else. I didn't have time for such frolicking fun. Spent most of my time knee deep in mud with bullets flying over my head. Gotta love it when They decide to have a little war.'

'You were fighting?'

Floyd put a hand over his heart. 'For my very existence my sweet thing, but I'm back for now.' He wiped his fingers on the front of his grubby hoodie and then started cleaning his teeth with his fingernails. 'When I say for now – what I mean is… yeah… for now. If they can hijack me once and force me to do what they want then they can do it again.'

'You don't like being told what to do, do you? Maybe it…'

Floyd pointed a finger at Spencer. 'Oh please don't tell me it was good for me… Tell me something else. And no, I don't like being told what to do. They have no fucking rights over me. I don't hold any loyalty to any of them. I'm there on sufferance and not because I sit in a dark room with demonic writings over the wall done in my own blood and excrement. I do what they ask because I have no choice and before you ask me or even try to tell me, I know! I know it's what I do to Sam. I have to. I cant let him run wild. See what mischief he gets up to? I have to rule him Spencer or he will destroy everything including himself. And speaking of Sam I will go back to bed and…'

Spencer stood, picked up the two bits of paper and ripped them into tiny squares. He then threw the bits in the bin.

And Floyd stood and nodded. 'Well tomorrow we pick up the van and start off on our adventure. Get some sleep. I think we are going to have some wild times over the next few days. You'll need all your energy.'

The Following Morning.

Sam's happy mood seemed to draw off all the remaining happiness Spencer had been clinging onto. Reid wasn't the sort of person to take delight in the suffering of someone else but after Sam had skipped around a bit and held up different items of clothing for Floyd to see Sam's happy mood disintegrated. He wasn't allowed to shower for a start which caused a great amount of shouting and pleading and kicking of doors. He was told to pack his new clothes away and his wailing increased to a point that Spencer for once wished that Floyd would slap him.

'You'll just get dirty before we arrive. Put something else on.' Floyd told Sam. Sam's protestations that he'd stay clean didn't fall on deaf ears though. 'Do you really want to get your beautiful new clothes covered in blood and piss before you've had a chance to show them off?'

'They wont!' Sam seemed insistent.

Floyd was equally insistent though. 'Oh Sam my dear little… silly ignorant fool… of course they will.' He gripped a hold of Sam's shoulders and looked at Sam's dark eyes. 'I will make sure they will. Get your other stuff on before I give you a demonstration.'

Sam called Floyd a bastard amongst other things which actually made Spencer cringe. Reid had put on a pair of cords and a long sleeved shirt with a sweater over the top. He had a feeling it was going to get cold before it got warm again. He wished he could persuade Floyd to get a flight to where they were going but Floyd was banned from flying within the United States. Not because they were afraid he'd try to get away but because Floyd reacted very badly to being in flight and was considered a risk. The other choice was maybe a train.

'We could get the van loaded on the train and go that way? Then we'd have beds and…'

'I'm not going on a train!' Sam screamed the words. 'Bad very bad things happen on trains.'

Spencer had no idea what Sam was going on about. He couldn't remember Sam having problems on trains but maybe he'd missed something at some point.

'I got a van so we can drive… no need to stop to sleep, we can take turns.'

It sounded like the trip was going to be full of laughs. Spencer sighed and nodded. Then gave Floyd a frown. 'What are you doing poking around in my bag for?'

Floyd was rummaging around in Spencer's messenger bag. 'Looking for some of those plastic wrist cuff things.' He pulled a few out of the bag. 'Here..' He held them up for Spencer to see. '…these.'

'And what do you need those for? I cant drive if you've cuffed me to the seat.'

Floyd's eyes flickered to Sam and back to Spencer and he raised an eyebrow. 'I'll only need them on you if I think you're going to do something stupid, so I suggest you don't.'

Spencer's Thoughts On The Road Trip.

It's going to take about ten or twelve hours to drive to this… this whatever it is Floyd had purchased. He's going on about sandy beaches but seems to have forgotten that it's mid winter and will likely be snowing there – if not now, but soon. It's going to be a disaster; I know it will. He has decided that because of the short journey that he will drive the whole time. I've tried persuading him that I can drive part of the way but it seems that the more I try to offer the more paranoid he's becoming.

I was also wondering how I was going to sit up front in the van and not have physical contact with Sam. Stupid thing to even consider as Floyd already has that well in hand. You have to remember that Floyd isn't someone who will lash out when he's angry. Floyd will lash out just because he's bored, or too hot, or too cold, or you look at him the wrong way…oh I could go and give you such a list but please remember that this man is a psychopath and his mind doesn't work like everyone else's mind. At least it doesn't work like mine. (But I'm unique I've been told.) I stood and watched what Floyd did to Sam firstly because I couldn't have stopped him if I'd tried and secondly because I knew Floyd wouldn't have killed Sam. Yes he dragged him by his hair into the back of the van, pushed him onto his front and hog tied him, but he didn't actually hit him. I can see though why Floyd said about blood and urine. Sam has struggled. No person would voluntarily be tied up in the back of an empty van and not struggle and that has resulted in the plastic binders cutting into Sam's wrists and ankles. He's told that something will be added around his neck if he didn't stop wriggling. Sam stopped.

Of course I tried to reason with Floyd. What if we were stopped? We cant have a young man tied up in the back of the van. We'd be arrested and charged, but Floyd says he's going to drive carefully and asks me what else I thought he was going to do with Sam. I would like to crawl in there just to let him know that I'd not let Floyd hurt him, but I don't think I'd be crawling out again if I did and how can I protect him and keep an eye on what Floyd is doing if I'm tied up in the back too.

And things don't end there. Well why would they? Floyd has made the stupid decision to drive all the way and so as I'm not needed to drive I've been secured by one ankle to a strut under the seat. Now again I ask what will happen if we're pulled over and again Floyd says that he's going to drive carefully. At least I have the small, very small comfort that now that I'm being held too I wont be held accountable for the Sam situation. There is also the worry that we'll be involved in an accident. I don't voice this worry though because I know he'll just moan on at me that I don't think he's a safe driver. I know he is. Maybe he's reckless on his bike sometimes but considering who he is he's had very few bad accidents. He puts a bucket on the floor at my feet and tells me that's to avoid rest stops. He's in a generous mood today. All fired up for his holiday adventure no doubt. An adventure which I know is going to be a vacation from hell.

He starts driving carefully. I at least have to give him that much credit. Sam though is making a dreadful noise in the back and my fear that someone is going to report this is increasing as the miles drift by. I don't want to tell – I mean ask Floyd to do something to keep him quiet because I know what that will involve. It's when the traffic gets a bit heavier and Floyd is swerving dangerously between vehicles that Sam's screams reach a point that Floyd at last realises that he has to do something to quieten him. He pulls over and grabs a bag where we have stuffed them behind the seats.

'He's going to get us in trouble.' Floyd is moaning as he pulls out the phial. I don't know if I'm happy that he's going to try to drug Sam or concerned. At least Sam will not be hurting… It's not how I should be thinking but I know how much this thing is digging and scraping into my ankle – Sam must be in agony. He's not gone long but Sam is quiet now. I don't know what Floyd has done.

'Did you give him some?' I gesture at the phial he is putting away again.

'No.' He answers me and my stomach hitches. 'What's your fucking problem?' Floyd snaps at me.

'I was just thinking that if you untied him he wouldn't be in so much pain.'

'Are you questioning my reasoning?' He starts up the van and we are drifting back into the traffic again.

'Not questioning it no. Could you maybe untie me though?'

'Why? You planning on running out on me Spencer?' He's looking at me and not where we are going.

'No but it's hurting.' I settle back into the seat and try to force him to look where he's driving again. He gives the road quick glances and I just know that we're going to end up in a smash. If not here, then later on when he's been driving for ten hours.

'Hurt as much as this does it?'

And I turn to look at what he means just as he swipes me across the face with a hard backhand. I let out a yelp of surprise and then there's pain in the side of my head, one side as his fist makes contact and the other as my head smacks on the window.

Next time I open my eyes it's dark and the van has pulled over again. Floyd's not in the driver's seat and I feel that knot of panic rising mixed in with the dreadful headache I've now got. I listen out for sounds in the back of the van and I think I can hear Sam crying, but nothing else. We seem to be in a parking lot of a small diner. He's taken a bit of a risk leaving us here. Unless he's in the back. About ten minutes later Floyd opens the van door and gets back in again. He smiles a tired smile at me and sighs.

'Had to make a phone call.' He mutters. 'All sorted now. You want something to eat, drink, suck?'

I am gasping for a coffee and I give him a slow nod. 'A drink would be nice.' I take a deep breath. 'Is Sam alright?'

Floyd glances at the dividing wall of the van and shrugs. 'Well he's crying so I assume he's not dead. I'll get you a coffee. Five minutes. Don't go anywhere and if you even think of asking for help I'll boil your balls in sugar. We're doing OK. Everything's going to be great. You'll see.' And he slides out of the van and is jogging over to the diner. He brings back two card mugs of coffee and I ask him if he got anything for Sam and he tells me that he didn't bother.

'You should at least check up on him Floyd. It's really not fair.'

'Fair? You should know by now that life's not fair. He cant drink coffee if he's tied up.'

I don't bother saying I'll go and help him. I don't bother asking Floyd to. I know it'll end up with Sam getting covered in scalding hot coffee. It's probably best that until I'm free and able to help that Floyd stays away from him. He only sips a couple of times of his coffee and then throws it out of the window and starts up the van again.

'Careful sweet.' He touches my arm. 'Don't spill that on your lap. Don't have time right now to kiss it better for you.'