Friday, January 27th, 2012 4:32 PM BAU Headquarters, Quantico, Virginia
Reid sat at his desk going through the items Garcia had sent him via email. Hotch had left early to spend the rest of the day with Jack - at everyone's insistence - and Emily had called in sick. They didn't have a case yet, so JJ had requested - and been granted - the day off and was out with Will and Henry. Only Rossi, Morgan, Garcia, and Reid were there, and for once Reid was greatful for the quiet. It allowed his mind to wander within its restricted areas while he worked on the case.
Just for the heck of it, he Googled "Stan Fields" and millions of results greeted him. Each of the first ten were soley about his dancing and music skills. The next page involved other people who were named Stan and in fields. None of it helped Reid.
Then, one link called to him. He clicked it, and instantly he was greeted with Stan's personal website. It was full of tributes to the dance studio, rehearsal dates and times, videos of past recitals - his own and those of his dancers' - and links to purchase music he had recorded on his own. On the side bar was a category labeled: AN-Dance and Music Prodigy. Knowing it could only mean Amy, Reid clicked it. Instantly, the screen changed to a photo of a younger, smiling Amy holding a bouquet of flowers, her hair pinned up in a bun, her pink leotard sparkling in the light of the camera. Next to it was a short autobiography, and the page itself was filled with photos, video links, and audio links. Some, however, were more recent. The more recent audio files were from dates after she moved in with Stan - the post date on the most recent one was of the day before.
Reid clicked the audio link and listened intently. Amy's sweet voice greeted him. "Hi! It's me, Amy, again. I just wanted to let everyone know that I've still been having a bit of a tough time readjusting to a different life, but now I think I'm better enough to move on and put all those murders behind me. Here's a song I think will help anyone who's gone through something rather similar to what I have been through cope and at least move on with life, even if they can't get over what happened."
A piano began to play, and the voice that sang was one of the most beautiful Reid had ever heard.
"I know this hard, I know life looks bleak.
People can be cruel, people can be sweet.
It's a confusing madness that's unpredictable.
But what I still know is I can breathe.
"You have to
Move on
You can't hold on anymore
Sure bad things happen but you can't really control them, can you?
Can you?
"People have asked me what keeps me going.
I tell them I'll never know
My life's a confusing madness that I can't understan
But what I still understand is that I can hope!
"You just have to
Move on
You can't hold on
Much longe
Love another
Soul-it's easier
Sure life ain't easy - it never was.
Sure bad things happen but you can't really control them,
Can you?
Can you?
Can you?
"Can you
Please try?
At least you'll have answers
That's more than ever I got.
Can you
Please do
What you want to
What you can do?
"Can you?"
Suddenly a male voice accompanied hers, and Reid could only guess it was Stan's, as the two voices made a perfect match.
"Can you?
Can you? (At least you can try)
Can you? (At least one more time)
Can you? (Can you at least try?)
Can you? (Do what you want to?)
Can you?"
The singers stopped, as did the piano after a brief ending, then Amy's normal voice returned. "That was 'Can You?' by Stan and I. I played the piano, and we both sang, obviously. The link to download it to your iPod or other music device is on the bottom of the page under the song's title, as always! Hope you all enjoyed today's song!" With that all-too-cheery note, the recording stopped.
Reid refreshed the page, expecting another to show up. In fact, two did. One was another song, but the other was obviously for him. It was in Latin.
"Stan has asked me to show off my skills in speaking a particular dead language: Latin," Amy said, but her voice had lost its cheery tone. "So here it goes!" Instantly her words made sense to Reid. "I have no idea where I am. I'd appreciate it if you'd try to find me now! If I don't recieve help soon-" Her words were cut off as the recording was as well. Suddenly, a message appeared on Reid's screen:
I know you heard that. Just know she's paying for it.
Reid could only imagine what that meant as he flung himself from his chair and raced into Garcia's office where he knew she and Morgan were.
Friday, January 27th, 2012 Somewhere in the wooded foothills of the Appalacians, United States
Journal,
I just finished recieving an extremely painful "love session" after my attempt at getting help. I know Dr. Reid will be listening to it if he just searched for Stan on the Internet! It was worth the pain. Someone will end up finding me, I know it.
By now, Stan's rather pleased that our recordings have swayed the public that doesn't know the truth into believing I'm alright, when I'm far from it. I learned just yesterday that I lost weight. I didn't weigh much before, but now I'm actually frightened for my health. I know I'm eating as much as I can when the routine hits the "food" sections. Is he not feeding me enough times a day? True, I was hungry my first day, but now that I have access to the kitchen I shouldn't be, but I still kind of am. Also, I have discovered one unlocked door leading to a room with one window, but the view doesn't help me any. All I can see is a frozen, wooded maze sloping down away from us here. We're near mountains. The Appalacians, perhaps? That could only mean we crossed state boundaries, throwing off the track of FBI agents. Or are we just in a house on a hill in Connecticut still? No matter what they should know where he is, since this has to be registered in his name...unless he used an alias or someone else owns the place. I don't know, but I am starting to care. The more I stay here the worse I begin to feel.
I've been getting headaches, but now they've escaladed into full-out dizziness even when I'm not dancing or singing or holding my breath for some reason. I definitely am getting nauseous now, and lately I've been easily distracted, disappointing Stan even further. Am I just dehydrated? I might as well be, since I don't drink anything at any time except during "food" sections. Or am I just overhungry? Or am I actually sick?
I'll see if my condition gets worse before telling Stan. I don't want to make him any more aggrivated than he already is.
Amy
Amy sat at the edge of the mini stage, her head in her hands, between her knees as Stan limped over to the stereo. The headache that wracked her mind was one of her most severe, and Stan had insisted on doing a very loud song despite Amy's pleas. A wave of nausea rippled through her stomach, almost forcing her to scream.
"I don't think she's okay," Cameron said hesitantly.
Stan just glared at him in response, but grasped his cane and limped over to the shriveled-up Amy after turning off the music. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, not a shred of anger in his voice.
Amy grimaced, but nodded. "I just have a really bad headache. Probably made worse by the music."
Stan nodded, stood fully, and limped back upstairs, saying, "Once you're okay to walk again, either head to the dining room or your room. Food'll be ready soon."
Amy looked up momentarily to nod, then her head fell back into her hands again as he continued up the stairs.
Once the door was closed, Cameron practically shot over to her. "You sure you're okay, sweetheart?" he mocked, emphasizing the "s". "You don't look it."
"Go away," she said with a weak smile. "Please. You're making my headache worse."
Cameron trudged back over to Mr. Bronsky, who began to scold him quietly. Mrs. Meyes walked over then, rubbing her back. "This seems to have been getting worse. You've managed to act like you aren't in pain or sick, but it's been getting worse. You are showing the effort in the dance." She stopped rubbing momentarily. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Amy sighed. "I don't know. My headaches are getting worse, I'm dizzy without spinning, I'm almost always cold, but that could easily be from the clothes I wear."
"So put on a sweatshirt or leggings or tights or something, and get a hot chocolate if you're cold," Mrs. Meyes replied.
"It would help if I had one with me," Amy noted. "You guys are lucky. It's nice and warm down here. Upstairs..." Amy shivered at the thought of the frigid rooms of the main and second floors.
Mrs. Meyes suddenly started to remove her grey fleece sweatshirt, which had the Bethel education logo on it in blue. "Here," she said, handing it to Amy. "Wear this when you're cold."
"Won't he notice?" Amy ask, thinking of Stan.
"So what? He's not going to hurt you, and he knows he can't hurt us. The most he can do is yell at us," Mrs. Meyes said.
He can do a lot more than hurt any of us, Amy thought, but all she did was hug her teacher, thanked her, and walked slowly, quietly upstairs back to her room.