It was early morning and the sky was a bleak, dirty grey. Through the quiet of the cracked industrial street, a black SUV prowled across the tarmac, moving swiftly around a corner. The big, muscled agent behind the wheel glanced at the passing street signs, a slight furrow appearing between his eyes.
"What street did you say it was again, Reid?"
"Thurman Road..." the young man buckled in beside him replied, eyes fixed on the document he was leafing through. Morgan steered the beast of a car down a narrow little street to the left and in the distance they saw an intersection. The familiar flashings of red and blue, flickered and blinked in the faint dawn light.
They pulled up at a stretch of gravel a few steps away from the crime-site. Down by an open concrete pipe, they saw a group of investigators and police officers, milling around, putting up yellow tape, collecting evidence and snapping photos. Hanging over the lip of the pipe, was a grimy white, bloodless hand. The reek of death hung over the air like a wet, musty washcloth, dark, thick and unescapable.
Prentiss was already there, speaking to what was most likely the officer in charge. She nodded at the two as they got out of the car, walking over towards them. After a quick obligatory introduction, Morgan made an instant beeline towards the pipe, shoes crunching over the muddy garbage littered beneath his feet.
Reid shivered, wishing he had worn something warmer as he hurried over to investigate as well. Prentiss and the officer opted to stay at the top of the gravelly embankment, looking in.
The boy was young - preadolescent. His naked body was laid out on the damp concrete, his legs obscenely bent up and parted for the world to see. His hair was black and floppy and his face was fixed in a expression of pure terror.
Reid watched as Morgan bent down to look at him closer. He noticed immediately how tightly the man's shoulders were tensed, how hard his jaw was set. Reid hoped this case wouldn't get to the other man too badly.
"When was he reported missing?" Morgan called over his shoulder towards Prentiss.
"Only last afternoon..." she called back stiffly. "His parents notified the police at 5:30 p.m."
He couldn't hold it in anymore.
"The MO of the kill is identical to that of Charlie Port from two weeks ago," he edged closer to the pipe, words rapidly mixing into one another. "They're the same age and the same build, placed in the exact same degrading positions, post-mortem. There's the same bruising around the neck that suggests strangulation and we have to assume Xavier Arlington has been sexually assaulted in the same way Charlie Port was."
He took a quick breath, before pressing on.
"The UNSUB works extraordinarily fast - his victims are reported missing in the same afternoon they were last seen walking home from school. Which means, if we're here..." he quickly checked his watch; "at 6.30, the victims were raped, murdered and dumped in the immediate thirteen hours after they were abducted. "
"Which suggests that the UNSUB might be murdering his victim's in a vehicle...maybe he commits the rape and strangulation in the back of a van before quickly finding a place to dump the body," Prentiss suggested from the embankment.
Morgan's face coiled up slightly, before returning back to it's stony professionalism.
"Obviously he doesn't need them around for too long...he only sees them as disposable toys for his pleasure..."
Reid moved aside to let a woman through with a camera, as she snapped a photo of the crime scene from a different angle.
"I think we should investigate the routes the victim's walk home," Morgan said, taking a step forward towards the upwards slope where Prentiss was standing.
"JJ and Hotch are interviewing the parents, right?"
He was already reaching for his phone before she could answer. He turned his back to them as he tapped the number in.
Ignoring this, Reid moved closer to the opening of the pipe, apologising as he squeezed past the small bundle of people surrounding it. Something caught his eye. He hadn't noticed it before...but written on the dripping concrete, right above the spread-eagled body - in what he had to guess was blood - was the single word HA!
The same word had been carved into the trunk of the tree, where Charlie Port's body had been dumped under.
"Prentiss?" he called, waving her over as he examined the jeering word more closely. He heard her coming up behind him, cursing her high heels as she stumbled slightly down the gravelly hill.
"Well - he's mocking somebody obviously," she said when she finally arrived beside him, squinting up at what he'd found. "The parents, the police..."
"Maybe he has some kind've connection to the families affected..." Reid pondered aloud. "He may resent them for some reason..."
Suddenly up at the embankment, the police officer, talking to someone with a plastic zip-lock bag of evidence, turned around sharply, staring at something down the road. Prentiss glanced up and Morgan turned, pushing his phone back into his pocket. He quickly jogged up to meet the officer, who was making frustrated noises and striding towards whatever it was that had caught his attention.
Prentiss quickly followed the two men, leaving the youngest agent to gaze up at the two bleeding letters alone.
He heard their faint conversation in the distance, his mind working over as he picked apart at all the little details of their evidence so far. He could hear the officer's exasperated voice and he gave in to curiosity, tuning in to what they were saying.
"...he's been hanging around the case like a bad smell...he was at Port's dumping site, hanging around his parents, calling out lewd comments..."
He paused as Morgan murmured something urgently.
"Yeah, yeah we investigated it all, pulled his apartment apart, held him as long as we were able too...but nothing came of it. Trust me, Reynolds' just a local creep..."
A few muttered words from the two agents and then
...even more faintly, almost a whisper in the distance...
"...I bet they liked it! I bet they liiiked it! In the ass, in the assssss...!"
Reid turned around, frowning slightly, not quite understanding the sudden uncomfortable tightening in his stomach. Morgan was staring down the road with his fists clenched, the officer pinching at the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"How does he know where the dump-sites are?" Morgan growled, voice harsh and low. "How does he know where to show up at just the right moment?"
"And if he's a local creep," Prentiss hastily put in, Reid scrambling up the hill towards them; "he might have something to do with the case...he might know our UNSUB..."
Down at the far end of the street was a faint figure sitting on the curb. He was swigging from a bottle and yelling out obscenities.
"...fucking tight, baby assholes!" the stranger hollered and Morgan seemed to grow more and more quietly furious by the second.
"Hot, tight and wet for Daddy! Stretch it out, streeeetch it out for Daddy, sweet thing...!"
Reid felt something sharp and painful stab deep down in his gut all at once. He didn't know why his breath suddenly felt all short and useless in his lungs and he tried to focus on the figure down the road, the tightness in his chest nearly choking him.
"I mean...you guys can go ahead and question him if you want...he's been our only solid lead so far, but take it from me, I don't think he's the type to start going after kids..." the police officer was explaining, but the words seemed faint in Spencer's ears.
"Why's that?" Prentiss asked and the officer pulled a face in reply, like he'd just drunken a pitcher of vinegar.
"I've had a few calls about him...he's made sexual advances towards a few teenage boys..." at the look on Morgan's face, he quickly added, "they were all around eighteen or nineteen though..."
When Reid looked down at the concrete, he saw that his hands were shaking. He stuffed them deep into his pockets, not wanting anyone to see his moment of weakness. He had to get a handle on himself...he had to calm down. He was probably just jumping to conclusions.
But when he looked down the road, that little figure on the horizon stirred something raw and painful deep down inside him. He could see that the man was overweight...and although he had his body turned slightly away from them, he could see faint curls of his orangey-blonde hair.
Do you remember how heavy he was, how you thought all your bones were going to break under his weight, do you remember...?
No, he was being ridiculous, he had to be calm, he had to stay cool. He had to be a professional, he couldn't lose his head, he couldn't...
"It's a good idea to take him in for questioning," Morgan was saying in a firm voice. "If he knows anything about who could be behind this, we need to know."
"Sure, sure..." the officer nodded, waving his hand around dismissively. "Go ahead, don't mind me."
The larger man nodded slightly, before he started making his way down the road, shoulders squared, drawing himself up to his full intimidating height.
They watched as he said a few, short words to the drunken man sprawled over the curb. There was a loud, derisive laugh and then "Jesus fuckin' Christ, I didn't even fuck them..."
Prentiss winced and the officer made a disgusted sound.
Reid was biting his lower lip hard enough to bleed and he felt his stomach doing slow, steady flops, around and around and around...he was going to vomit, he was going to throw up, oh God...
He turned his face away, tugging the thin fabric of his cardigan around himself tighter, trying to get his breathing under control. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Morgan grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him up to his feet.
He was going to be sick...he was going to be sick...
It was him, it was him, it was him...oh god he was going to throw up, this couldn't be happening...
"...Mr Reynolds, you're not doing yourself any favors talking like that..." Prentiss was saying as the twin footsteps grew closer and closer.
"Why the fuck am I even here?" the loud, slightly nasal voice snarled.
..."little kitten's so hard..."
"...I ain't even done shit, why don't you all go fuck yourselves, bunch of fucking Federal cunts...!"
..."you like eating Daddy's come don't you?"
God, why did the world seem so unsteady all of a sudden, he wasn't going to fall over, he wasn't going to be weak, he wasn't...
"Well as you've insisted on hanging around the crime scene, Mr Reynolds," Prentiss continued, completely ignoring the slew of profanity he'd just unleashed on her; "we're going to have to take you in for questioning, as you've just made yourself our most credible suspect..."
Reid stared down at the concrete, refusing to look around, his back turned to them firmly. He had to get a grip on himself. He had to calm down. All that had happened years ago for Christ's sake...years ago...he wasn't a kid anymore, he wasn't some scared little boy...
But do you remember his hands on you, his hands between your legs, how he touched your most intimate spots...
He breathed out hard, in and out, and focused on the heated conversation behind him again. His hands were shaking so hard, he had to squeeze them together to make them stop.
"I've already been questioned, you fucking bitch," the man spat and his voice was laden with such acid, he heard the officer cough a little in surprise. "Bet you wish it was your cum-filled asshole over there, don'tcha? Those boys are dripping with it...I can smell 'em from here..."
Reid gagged and he heard Morgan give the man a rough shake.
"You watch your goddamned mouth before I shut it for you!"
But the woman wasn't fazed by the man's vile abuse at all.
"We're with the FBI, Mr Reynolds at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. That's why you're being subjected to more questioning," she told him coldly. "I'll be seeing you there."
There was a hawking, phlegmy sound in response as Morgan wrenched the man away from the dark-haired woman, marching him off across the tarmac.
Reid looked carefully over his shoulder and felt the entire bottom of his stomach drop out.
Morgan had a firm grip on the man's sallow, mottled forearm. He was nursing a bourbon bottle to his chest, growling obscenities, eyes narrowed with hatred.
He was older...wider...and his teeth were more stained and the bags under his eyes were heavier. But it was still him. Definitely, completely him. Dressed in an old black dressing gown, greying t-shirt, boxer shorts and slippers. Wavering on the spot, slightly tipsy - but his eyes were as sharp and cunning as ever.
Do you remember how they raked up and down your body like you were a piece of meat he was about to eat up...?
Do you remember them clouded over with lust as he spread your legs and...
As soon as the memory flashed through his mind, the man's sunken eyes slid over and caught the younger man's gaze immediately. Reid felt his skin shrink up tight over his bones all at once and the bugs started crawling under his skin and he couldn't look away, couldn't break the contact...
The man was staring right into him, mouth hanging slightly open as Morgan pushed him past the younger agent, leading him over towards the SUV. The overwhelming stench of alcohol, cheap aftershave and musky sweat hit him all at once...
Do you remember being surrounded by his smell as he pressed his stomach against you, pressed something else deep, deep inside you, hurt so much, burning, tearing...
"Ohh..." came the sudden breathy moan as the man looked back at him, his eyes darkening liquid black. Spencer just stared him down, determined not to break his gaze as his fat, pink tongue slid out over his rubbery lips.
"...little boy all grown up," he whispered and then he grinned like a wolf with his yellow, glistening teeth. Reid just glared back, trying to hide the shudder that wracked through his body.
Morgan seemed to pause in mid-step, hand tightening at the man's forearm. He stared at him for about three seconds before turning around to stare at Reid. His face worked and he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, eyes shining with something strange and emotional as he figured everything out all at once.
The shame suddenly hit him so hard, it was like a tidal wave of water crashing over his body. All the breath left him and Morgan's eyes were so searching and confused and his eyes were so dark and hungry and it was all too much, it hurt too much. He turned away and resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself protectively like he would've done when he was younger, cause he was an adult now and he was supposed to be over this, this wasn't supposed to hurt so much, it wasn't, it wasn't...
He bit his lip again, right on the sore part where he'd chewed at before, bit so hard he thought he'd break through the skin. He stared at a point at the ground, focused all his energy on staring at it and tried desperately to keep his shoulders from shaking and his eyes from tingling. He had to keep his head. He had to be calm.
His stomach rolled as he heard a soft cooing sound from behind him and then muffled laughter.
"You get in the car right now, you sick bastard," he heard Morgan hiss as viciously as he'd ever heard him before and the humiliation was so strong, he felt like curling up in a ball on the road until no-one could see him ever again.
Without turning back around, he walked up to Prentiss, who was still in conversation with the officer. Her gaze was softer then usual when he came up by her side.
"Morgan's taking him back for questioning?" she said lightly and he nodded, avoiding her eyes. She didn't push it, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. She said a quick goodbye to the officer, before marching off to the sleek grey car she'd arrived in. Spencer trawled by her side with his hands stuffed in his pockets, staring at the ground, wishing he was anywhere but here.
"JJ and Hotch are going to question the victim's families, teachers, neighbors, etcetera," Prentiss was explaining and he forced himself to stay focused, diverting his attention onto her voice. "Morgan told me that we should check out their walking routes, while he and Rossi interrogate...uh...while they interrogate Reynolds."
Spencer nodded, not saying a word. When they climbed into the car, he fought the urge to curl up in on himself, like an insect in a puddle of bug-spray. His fingernails were biting into his palms so hard, his knuckles shone white through his skin.
Something was starting to grow and pulse deep down inside his chest. A bleeding, infected mass of muscle that shot white-hot tendrils of pain through his body, with every single breath.
Do you remember him kissing your forehead as you cried?
Do you remember the names he called you, do you remember how he groped at you, how he laughed at you, how small and childish and weak you felt, do you remember how you called him Daddy, how sick you felt, how sick it was..
But you didn't stop him, did you?
Prentiss eyed him cautiously as he pressed his forehead against the freezing glass of the window, his shoulders bunching up under his ears, clenching his eyes shut. He just wanted to block the entire world out. He just wanted to get away from here.
He was thankful she didn't see the need to question him about it.
He didn't think the swelling in his chest could handle it.
They drove through the streets and past Charlie and Xavier's separate elementary schools, in the tree-lined, white-picketed suburbs. They drove Charlie's way first, noting that his trip didn't take very long at all compared to Xavier, who had a slightly longer way to walk home.
"So Xavier only lives around the corner from Charlie," Prentiss pondered as they drove past the Port's humble family home. Although the sting in his chest was throbbing harder and larger by the second, Reid could push the pain to the back of his mind when he had a case to focus on.
"Well we know that our UNSUB picks his victim's from this specific area...but he probably wouldn't live close by...maybe he'd be a few suburbs away..." she continued.
"Most likely a poorer area..." he suggested quietly. "The word HA suggests...suggests...real bitterness. Maybe he hates the fact that these families are well off, when he isn't..."
The woman nodded and reversed, so she could drive back down Xavier's route. Spencer's eyes stared fixedly out the window for any clue, trying to do anything to distract himself from what was happening back at the BAU.
He breathed in and then out, trying to get rid of the buzzing in his head, his breath fogging up the glass. He reached up to wipe it off and his eyes caught something.
"Prentiss!" he said suddenly, licking his lips as he sat up in his seat. "Go back...go back towards Zinnia Avenue...!"
She rolled the wheel around through her fingers, driving around the corner and down the street.
"What is it?" she demanded.
"They intersect! Zinnia Avenue is the most direct way Charlie gets home, because his house is right around the corner, but at the end of this street is a dead-end road that connects to the back of Xavier's school! Instead of walking home by the front way, which takes him longer, he'd take this short-cut which is right on Charlie's route. And look, Zinnia Avenue is fairly busy...no-one would notice a car, van or whatever driving by..."
"We should get police stationed in this immediate area, especially during the after school hours," Prentiss suggested instantly. "Although there's a good chance the UNSUB will move on to another neighborhood...there's too much of a risk, sticking to such a specific spot for too long."
"Of course...but now we know he almost definitely took both his victims from this street. Maybe we can..."
"..go door-knocking down Zinnia?" she cut in and Reid nodded. They pulled up at the curb at the end of the street, parking underneath a wide, billowing willow tree. Climbing out, Reid straightened his cardigan around himself, shivering in the cold and Prentiss pointed at the house straight ahead of them.
"Should we start with that one?" she asked and he tucked his hair behind his ear.
"Of course."
The first handful of houses proved only slightly successful - the residents remembered students walking by, but no strange vehicle picking a kid up. Apparently the street was used as a frequent pick-up spot by parents, so someone picking up the two boys wouldn't be seen as anything dreadfully unusual.
The two agents glanced at each other, as they walked back out onto the sidewalk. This obviously implied the victim's knew their murderer somehow. Someone was bound to notice a kid been dragged screaming into a vehicle...but if they just hopped in without complaint, no-one would bat an eye.
They reached a house smack dab in the middle of the street and when they knocked, an old man in a plaid shirt came toddling to the door.
"Hello sir," said Prentiss, getting out her badge. "My name is Emily Prentiss and this is my associate, Doctor Spencer Reid. We're with the FBI and we're investigating the kidnapping of Charlie Port and Xavier Arlington..."
"What was that ma'am, ye must excuse me," the man cut in, squinting up at them and grinning a gummy little smile. "I'm quite a bit hard of hearing y'see. Ah, it was back in about 1944 it was, back when I was in Scotland y'see, and me idiot brother Alistair, well he gone and hit a tennis ball square in me ear he did, and me hearin's been all knocked to shite ever since..."
Prentiss smiled and Reid tried to as well, but he couldn't quite manage it. The elderly man's eyes swept over to him instantly.
"Ah sonny, ye look like death's been breathing down yair neck ye do!" he told him sternly and Reid felt himself flush a little with embarrassment.
"It's this damned weather it is, but I must say it don't compare to a Scottish winter. Ahh back in the day's when I was a young lad, the winter's were as cold as a witch's tit, if yair mind me language."
Before they could manage to get a word in, he was rattling on again.
"Ye know sonny, I could pop in and get you a nice cuppa tea, maybe add a drop o' whiskey to it if ye like. Warm ye right up - aye I've always sworn that whiskey is the good lord's medicine..."
"Thank you..." Reid said as Prentiss struggled to suppress her grin from beside him. "Sir, we're from the FBI...I'm Doctor Spencer Reid and this is Agent Prentiss. We're investigating the kidnapping of Charlie Port and Xavier Arlington...?"
"Ahh...I heard of them poor lads..." the elderly man cut in again and his face grew a little more pinched, his dark eyes growing sad and pensive. And then he was talking again, staring up at them earnestly;
"Y'see I do enjoy a spot o' gardening and I'd often see a few of the young children walkin' by. Ever since me own lass, Sian, well she's grown up now o' course, but I remember when she was still but a wee thing, she used to get harassed in the street a fair bit. Still only a school-girl as well, ah, you don't treat a girl like that no matter what her age...but ever since then, I'd schedule me gardening 'round the time when the wee little bairns be walkin' home. Just to keep an eye on them in case some strange man be getting the wrong idea. It's why I felt so dreadful about them poor boys...felt I shoulda kept me eyes open a bit more..."
Prentiss nodded with sympathy, as the elderly man sighed, shaking his head, clearly disappointed in himself.
"I think it's very good of you to be looking out for the local kids, sir. Not many people can be bothered nowadays," she told him encouragingly before putting in; "I was wondering if you've seen anything suspicious around here lately? Maybe while you were doing your gardening? Strange cars, vans...?"
"Ahh..." the man said slowly, furrowing his brow. "Ahh, ye see, other's around me age get to forgettin' all these little details, but I still got me head screwed tight on me shoulders. I do remember seeing a big black van around yesterday afternoon...I remember it so, cause I saw one near identical to it about week or so ago an'..."
He suddenly grew deadly silent, eyes widening in horror. He looked up at them, as the realization hit him all at once and all the color rushed out of his face.
"That was it, wasn't it?" he murmured and turned away, running a hand over his face. "Ah, why didn't I realize...?"
"It's not your fault," Prentiss gently reassured him. "You've been incredibly helpful to us. Did you manage to get the number plate by any chance?"
The old man shook his head, trembling slightly.
"So sorry ma'am, didn't think to take a look at it at all," he said. He was looking very shaken up.
"Thank you very much, sir."
"Ahh," the man waved a spotted hand around, after he had seemed to get himself a little more under control.
"You tell me when the bastard's been caught now won'tcha, lassie?"
"I'll make sure of it," Prentiss smiled and the man returned it graciously. After saying their goodbyes, they made their way out the gate and back towards the car again.
"I guess we can do a check on all the black vans in the area, but it might be better to hone in a bit further, find some more common variables," the woman was suggesting and Reid nodded absent-mindedly. He had been very quiet during the door-knockings - unable to ignore the pinching feeling at the back of his skull and the heavy sickness in his stomach. He really hoped by the time they got back to the BAU, Morgan and Rossi had managed to get rid of...of...
He took a deep shuddering breath in, not wanting to think about it.
He was climbing into the car and buckling himself in, when his phone went off. Prentiss started up the car, driving back down Zinnia Avenue as he got it out of his pocket.
"Reid speaking."
There was a slightly uncomfortable noise from the other end of the line.
"It's Morgan," the familiar voice said into his ear. "Look...uh...Rossi and I have been trying to talk to this guy and Hotch and JJ have come over and tried to as well. Uh...look kid, he's...he's refusing to...refusing to talk to anyone but you."
Reid clenched his eyes shut and felt his skin do an awful nauseating crawl across his bones. He didn't want to...he didn't want to confront him...God, he could just imagine it...sitting in a goddamned interrogation room with that face leering down at him all over again...
No he couldn't...he couldn't do it...he couldn't...
"Look kid, I can tell him to take a hike if that's what you're more comfortable with..."
Reid breathed in hard, biting into his lip, feeling the awful bubbling in his veins surge like poison through his body.
The memory of the old Scottish man, disgusted with himself for not watching the local kids flashed through his mind and he knew he had to do it, knew he had to talk to him. He couldn't be weak. He couldn't hide away and snivel like a child because of something that had happened to him years ago.
"No...no...I'll do it Morgan," he said, his voice tired and strained. "I can talk to him...I can handle it."
"I know you can, kid," the other man replied. "I don't know what happened between you and him, but you don't have to be ashamed, okay? You can talk to any of us, we're not gonna judge you..."
Spencer's chest was too tight...his intestines were twisting and writhing and he felt too dizzy, too sick.
"I know..." he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Th-thanks Morgan...I'll be right there."
"No problem Reid."
He disconnected. Sitting back in his seat, he saw that his hands were shaking again at his knees. He coiled them tight into the ribbed material of his cords. There was a feeling of impending disaster looming in his heart. God, he didn't want to go, he didn't want to do this, he didn't want to see him again...
He rubbed at his eyes, willing himself to calm down. Prentiss glanced at him worriedly and he sniffed, clearing out his throat.
"Uh...that was Morgan...he wants us back at the BAU," he said and he hated the way his voice cracked at the end of the sentence. She nodded and he was grateful she could sense he didn't want to talk about it.
They drove on down the suburban streets and the sickening mixture of nausea and terror grew stronger and stronger in his chest, the closer and closer they got to the BAU again.
He walked past the bullpen and down the corridors leading to the interrogation room, Prentiss clicking by his side in her heels. There was a strange buzzing in his head and his hands felt numb, tongue swollen and dry in his mouth.
There seemed to be a ruckus going on outside the viewing room. He could see Morgan's broad, muscled shoulders, turned away from him, whispering to somebody he was firmly holding back. As they drew closer, he saw the curly blonde hair and bright flowered dress of Garcia, struggling against Morgan's strong arms.
"...you can't let him in there with that pervert, what the hell are you thinking, you can't let him in there, you can't, I won't let you, you won't...!"
Reid felt his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he slid as inconspicuously as he could through to the viewing room, Prentiss walking over to try and calm the other woman down.
"Spencer no...!"
He shut the door, cutting her off, feeling his hands begin to shake uncontrollably again. He turned around in the tiny dark room and caught Hotch's eye, standing by the mirror with the police officer from before by his side. He nodded at him when he entered, as grim-faced as ever, pressing a thin bundle of papers into his hands.
"This is what we've got on Harrison Reynolds," he told him shortly, his face revealing nothing. "Reid, it's imperative that you find out whether he has any knowledge about this case or not. Our UNSUB works fast. With his last two successful murders, his confidence is growing, meaning the time between his kills will decrease. We don't have any time to waste...do you understand?"
Reid nodded, not meeting his eye as he flicked through the papers at top-speed. As the information soaked in, he felt his breathing begin to calm and his muscles relax. These were facts...solid facts. He could find confidence in facts and statistics. He could do this. He could...
Looking up, he stared through the viewing mirror and into the interrogation room. Rossi was growling across the table with JJ flanking his side, hissing something over towards...towards...
Him...with a hand hanging between his legs, sprawled back smugly in his chair, smirking over at them. His stained shirt had pulled up slightly to reveal his sagging beer belly, his dressing gown was hanging around his swollen, hairy ankles.
All those years and years ago, he'd looked like any other person you'd pass by on the street. But now he looked a filthy bloated grub, blinking moistly up at them.
"I ain't gonna talk to you and your cock-sucking whore," he sneered, before clearing out his throat with a soggy, phlegmy sound. "I wanna talk to the kitten. Maybe I can bend him over the table and give you all a show, huh?"
JJ's glossy lips curled up as she struggled not to look at him with disgust, clearly playing the good cop. Rossi didn't care about that and openly stared down his nose at the man with complete and utter disdain.
"You're gonna be lucky if you get out of here at all...we read up on your website, Reynolds...it's gone down recently hasn't it? Why's that, finally got yourself some morals?"
"Ain't fuckin' illegal to run a porn site, what you from the 1920's or some shit?" the man shot back, cocking his head to the side in a threatening manner. "Now why don't you shut your mouth and send your boy in? Cause he does things with his mouth I like a whole fucking lot."
The humiliation was hitting him in waves and he wanted to turn around and run away. He knew his cheeks were flushing red and he fought back the urge to just put the file in Hotch's hands and walk out the door again. He had his facts...he had to focus on his facts. He couldn't let his disgusting words get to him. He breathed in and then out, telling himself to stay calm, telling himself not to get effected by this...
The door creaked open before Rossi could say anything back to the man. Reid jumped a little. He hadn't noticed Morgan sliding into the room behind him.
"Rossi, JJ," he nodded at them. "I think we're done with him for now."
They both got up - the most perfect good and bad cop imaginable - and briskly walked out again. Inside the room, the swollen, sallow-skinned man settled down more comfortably, the smirk still hanging on his lips. Reid looked away, skin crawling.
The memories were filling up his mind again...sitting across from him on the couch as he pointed the camera at him, in that exact same goddamned position.
He remembered that sudden shot of fear that had gone through him, back when he was nineteen. Of suddenly realizing all at once, what exactly he'd gotten himself into, how there was no turning back...of the man uncrossing his legs ahead of him, displaying clearly what his nervous stuttering words were doing to him.
The surge of bile was like battery acid at the back of his throat, before he told himself to push those revolting memories away. He steeled himself, fixing his face into a blank slate and walked forward. Rossi and Morgan nodded shortly at him as he passed and JJ sent him a small, encouraging smile. The door fell shut, reminding him of a cell door slamming closed for the night, locking him in with him.
When he walked into the dim interviewing room, he felt that tension in the air immediately. Something harsh and toxic that flooded his lungs and boiled his blood, until it was clotted and syrupy in his veins.
There was something thick and heavy, hanging like poison all around them - so strong, it made the younger man's throat clench up and the raw, fragile spot in his chest ache with pain. Ache so hard, he thought it might just burst open and bleed out all over the floor. He took a deep breath in.
Sitting down, stacking his papers in front of himself, he didn't hesitate to meet those dark, burning eyes across the table for a second.
"Mr Reynolds, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid, Supervisory Agent here at the BAU - I understand that you're...refusing to answer my colleagues questions on the rape and murder of Charlie Port and Xavier Arlington..."
"Why don't you call me Harry, sweetheart," the man smirked, and his lips pulled back over his teeth in a predatory smile. He was leaning slightly forward now and his eyes were heavily lidded, pupils blown fully black.
"God, I nearly forgot how pretty you were..."
Reid thought he could feel the eyes of the rest of the team, watching from behind the glass and his insides coiled up, his skin prickling and itching across his bones.
"You're to call me Doctor Reid, Mr Reynolds or we'll end this interview and another agent will talk to you instead," he told him shortly, voice clipped and cold.
Something flashed dangerously in the other man's eyes.
The memory suddenly hit him all at once, hit him so hard, for a second all the oxygen left his lungs. Of the suffocating terror that clouded his mind as big, groping hands slid all over his body - those eyes glinting warningly when he tried desperately to squirm away, tried to get away from him and his huge, exploring hands...
"Spencer Reid," he drawled the name out in relish, grin growing wider, showing every last one of his nicotine stained teeth. "Aww...even your name is cute."
Reid didn't say anything, all of his muscles tensed and coiled up. He wished he could push the influx of memories back, but they were swarming his mind like cockroaches. The pet names whispered reverently down into the crook of his neck, the soggy kisses over his crawling skin, the guttural moans and afterwards...afterwards with the blood running down his leg and, and...
...and how he felt so filthy...so...so unclean...
The man leaned in close across the table, so close they were nearly centimeters apart. His thick fingers slid over to gently brush the soft skin at his inner wrist.
"Y'know, you were always my favorite," he whispered and his breath was warm, so close Reid felt it brush damply against his face. "Out of all my boys...you were always my baby."
Reid snapped his hand back immediately and he wasn't going to be that terrified teen anymore - trapped on a downwards spiral, with no money to support himself, his mother's medical bills growing larger and larger by the day, no way out, no escape. He wasn't that boy anymore...he wouldn't be scared by him...he wouldn't be cowed.
He wouldn't.
"I'm not sure if you understand the seriousness of the situation," he said and his voice was perfectly composed, echoing slightly around the room. "There's a man out there raping and murdering little boys and the more you talk about some liaison that happened years ago, the more time we waste when we could be looking for him. The more innocent lives you put at risk. Can you make sense of what I'm saying, Mr Reynolds?"
The man just stared at him for a few seconds. For a moment there was something so burning hot behind his eyes, something so angry...
Reid breathed in hard and the tightness in his chest was growing too strong to bear. There was something so hurt and tender hanging over them, something bleeding and inflamed. Something that took all the oxygen away, leaving only an sickening, airless vacuum that sucked away all his breath. Something just awfully intimate and that thought made him feel so sick and exposed and vulnerable, like someone had peeled away all his skin, leaving only a slather of bloody muscle and open nerves behind.
He couldn't do this, he couldn't do this, he couldn't, he couldn't...
"Oh now you think your fucking better then me, do you?" he was snarling over at him, teeth shining greasily in the florescent light.
"Little doctor so high and mighty, eh?"
His smirk grew twisted as he shifted closer in his seat, so close it seemed like they were breathing the same breath. Reid swallowed around the growing lump in his throat and didn't break his gaze.
"Does anyone know how much you cried when I had my cock jammed up your ass?" he hissed viciously, showering him with a fine layer of spit.
"Or how about you choking on it like a cheap, dirty slut? Do they know how I came all over your pretty little face with you red asshole all stretched out for me? Huh? Fancy fucking doctor?"
Reid didn't say anything. It felt like his stomach was shrinking up inside him, dropping deep down into his bowels.
The urge to cry was growing so strong...
He couldn't be weak...
He couldn't...
He stared down at his hands, where he'd folded them one over the other on top of the table. He was aware of how close they still were to each other - they're foreheads almost touching. He wanted to move away, but knew it would be seen as a sign of fear, a sign the man was getting to him. And he knew if other man saw any sign that he was scared, he'd pounce like an animal and tear him into little bloody shreds on the floor.
He breathed in, dank sweat and alcohol fumes filling up his nose and flooding his skull with poison.
"I'm not here to play power games with you," he told him and his voice was low and soft. "I'm here for something more important then that. I know the only thing that's ever mattered to you is having power...and I know that stems from your massive sense of inferiority..."
"Oh yeah?" the man cooed back at at him, eyes burning with something darkly venomous. Reid just pushed on, swallowing as he clasped his hands in front of himself, so close to those thick, sallow fingers at the table-top.
He had his facts, he had his fact, he had his...
He steeled himself again, before he finally spoke.
"You've...never had any power, have you Harry?" he asked him, looking up and meeting his gaze. The man just stared back, face narrowed and cold.
"You've never held a job for more then a year or two," he said, staring up at him, not blinking. "You've lived in cheap apartments in the poor parts of town all your life. Even as a child, you were always aware of how little you mattered to anybody. That thought, of how insignificant you were to everyone else around you...it made you so angry, didn't it?"
The man said nothing. His lips were turning up in a thin, crooked smirk, his eyes two squinted hateful slits.
"Your attitude towards women...that spurns from your experiences with your older sister, Deanna. After your parents, Craig and Joanne died in a drink-driving related accident when you were fifteen - she was made to be you and your younger brother Bryson's legal guardian. And she never paid you any attention."
His breath was rattling in his lungs and he felt the shift in the room moving slowly, steadily around him. He watched as the man's fists clenched tight at the table top, fatty lips sucking in, nostrils flaring.
"She was always out, she was never home..." Spencer pushed on regardless of the potent fury he could feel burning from across the table. "if you were lucky, she'd come back with cheap takeaway for dinner and she always had some new boy on her arm. And the social workers and the teachers didn't care...didn't care that the apartment you were renting was a pig-sty and you came to school filthy everyday."
The man's eyes sparked with something strange and violent and emotional and the words were tumbling uncontrollably from the younger man's lips, a bubbling, unstoppable wave.
"They only cared about Bryson...because he was the one in the car with your parents that night...he was the traumatized one. Deanna looked after him...she loved him. And Deanna and Bryson were good-looking, healthy children and to you, everybody loved them so much. Bryson was talented at school and Deanna was sociable and popular. But then there was Harry in the middle. You were overweight, nothing to look at compared to your brother and sister, you were getting nowhere at school, and you had all your health issues with your chronic dyspepsia and obesity...you weren't anything special. You were going nowhere and no-one cared...you were nothing..."
There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears and a fine layer of sweat coating his face - and Harry's eyes looked like two black holes staring across from him. His mouth was slightly open, showing all his bared crooked teeth like a hungry animal. And all Reid could do was keep on talking, unable to stop.
"..you hated it. You hated it so much. And you hated her the most, because she was supposed to care, she was supposed to look after you after your parents died, but she didn't. And you couldn't say anything, because she had all the power. You were just a minuscule speck in her life and you hated that. You were so angry, angry at everyone and everything and there was nothing you could do about it. You had no-one to take out your rage on, no-one weak enough to overpower...no-one except for Bryson."
Harry swallowed hard and slid his hands away into his lap. Spencer thought he could sense them clenching and unclenching in a steady rhythm under the table.
"Deanna reported you as soon as she found out what you were doing to your brother. And when you violated him every night, you felt so strong and powerful. You felt like a man and Bryson was nothing. Bryson was weak and you were bigger, stronger, the dominant one. You felt so good, better then you'd ever felt in a long time. But Deanna turned you in and the only reason you got away with it, was because Bryson refused to testify. You'd scared him too badly...scared him into submission. And that was the feeling you loved the most - the fact that you could terrify a vulnerable little boy to the point where he submitted to your every whim."
His flabby muscles worked and the fists clenched harder and harder, over and over again underneath the table.
"And when you got older, with all your menial low-paying jobs, being undermined and made to feel worthless on a daily basis...that's the feeling you craved for again. The only way you could get a sense of power, the only way you could ever feel like you were actually important, that you actually meant something, was was when you were preying on someone younger and more fragile. That's what you did with all the people in your videos...that's why you made your videos in the first place...so you could feel like you were something, anything at all. When someone was scared of you, you were something. And when they left, you were nothing again."
Reid paused to take a breath, looking back down at his stack of papers. He shuffled them around as the man slowly hunched over, tendons standing up red and stark in his neck.
"You're trying to do that again with me. But it's not going to work Harry, because I'm not some traumatized child anymore. So stop wasting my time and answer the question - do you know who killed Charlie Port and Xavier Arlington or not?"
The silence in the room was ringing in his ears - loud and deadly and deafening.
The hatred in the man's eyes was so strong, it was like he wanted to burn holes through the younger man's skin. He put his short, stubby fingers back on the table top and they clamped into fists immediately, squeezing so tight, his knuckles shone through his yellow-tinged flesh.
"I wish I coulda fucked you harder," he hissed suddenly through clenched teeth. "I wish I could've fucked you so hard you bled to fucking death, like a goddamned little bitch."
Spencer said nothing as the man's breath become tight and labored with rage. Then he sat back all at once, eyes squeezing shut, lips pinching down into one short, thin line. There was a painfully long pause as the man's phlegmy breath struggled in and out of his tar-encrusted lungs.
When he opened his eyes again, they were wild and damp, his face pulling into a grimace of agony...and Spencer wondered if it was his heart-burn setting in...or something else.
"I don't even know who killed those brats, okay?" he shot out, spit flying from his mouth, eyes glistening in their deeply-set sockets. "Bryson's a police cunt, he was put on the case...I rang him up and forced him to tell me when there was a murder going on, so I could go and watch..."
Reid exhaled harshly and there was a sudden prickling behind his eyes that he couldn't control. He turned down quickly to hide it, shuffling his papers and getting to his feet.
"Thank-you for your cooperation Mr Reynolds. One of my colleagues will escort you out."
He turned on his heel to leave, but there was a loud grunt from behind him and he looked over at the flabby-skinned man who had once scared him so much. He had a crazed look in his sunken shining eyes.
"I was only there in the first place cause I don't have nothing else, alright?" he rasped and his voice cracked, like he was about to burst into tears. "Don't you stand there and fucking judge me like all the rest of them! All I had were my fucking videos...and they took those away from me too, they took my boys away from me, they took you away from me, I don't have nothing else..."
He slammed his fists down hard at the table and the cracking sound made Reid's heart jump to his throat and his body seize up.
"I know who it was, I know it, I know..." he was roaring, spittle landing on his chin as his eyes gleamed with uncontrollable rage. "She fucked up my computer, she fuckin' hacked my fuckin' website, it was her, it was that fat blonde bitch I know it was, she took my boys away, I know she did it, I know she did..."
Reid was frozen.
The whole world was frozen.
His veins felt like they'd been replaced with icy water and his skin was suddenly too hot, he was covered in too much sweat, the colors and the sounds and the smells were too hard, all too strong, all too much, too fucking much. His breath came out all shuddering and he was turning and grappling for the door handle, needing to get out, needing to get away.
"You're not so fucking special, I know you fucking liked it, I made you come, I made you come all over yourself, you coulda walked away, you came to me, you came to me fucking goddamned pretty boy...!"
He was pushing through the tiny viewing room, the rest of the team reaching out for him, JJ with tears in her eyes, Prentiss with her face drawn and white and he heard Rossi, Hotch and Morgan bursting into the interview room behind him, heard Morgan's booming, furious voice echoing in his ears. And he was flying down the corridor, through the bullpen, the whole world a bright, sharp kaleidoscope of colors and sounds and it was making him feel so sick.
And the aching scab in the middle of his chest was about to burst, it was going to explode, he felt himself cracking up, this was too much, too much, too much, and before he knew it, he was banging at her office door, trying to breathe, and he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe...
The door creaked open and her big eyes peered out at him from behind fogged up glasses, and she was crying, and she knew, and she knew...
"R-Reid...?" she squeaked up at him. He could feel the hot wetness dribbling down his cheeks, felt his throat close over and cement line his lungs as he stared at her, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to, he couldn't, he couldn't...
"You knew," he croaked and the tidal wave hit, the dam cracked, and he couldn't hold it in, the tears were already pouring down his face. "You knew, you've seen the video, you saw it, you saw what he did, you saw what he did to me, you saw it..."
And then she was pulling him in close and her arms were wrapping around him tight, until her necklaces and earrings and perfume were choking him, sticking sharp and jagged into his skin. And he was burying his face away into the crook of her neck and he was sobbing and shaking so hard, he thought his knees might buckle from underneath him and she was crying too, crying uncontrollably as she squeezed him so hard, he thought his spine might just snap in two.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, oh god Spencer, I'm so sorry..." she was whispering desperately into his hair and he was gasping for breath and the tears wouldn't stop coming, he couldn't stop, he couldn't stop...
"It's okay...it's okay...it's okay..."
He felt like all his bones had melted - the tight, tender spot in his chest had finally burst, flooding him with shaky, stomach turning nausea. His throat tightened and the urge to vomit grew so strong, he felt like his stomach had shot up into his throat. The warm waves of queasiness made his legs buckle in on themselves and then Garcia was supporting his skinny weight, stroking his hair, as he shuddered through the surges of sickness, retching and shivering and crying.
"It's okay... it's okay...I've got you...I've got you..."
And she led him back into her den of flickering computer screens and sat him down on a cushy little chair and he rested his head on her shoulder. Her arms were wrapped around his thin, shaking frame and he cried and cried until he had nothing left inside him to cry anymore.
It seemed like hours had passed, like it'd been a lifetime - but it had really only been ten minutes.
She was sitting on her chair now, her mascara running and he was tucked up into the seat, feeling drained and empty and exhausted. They didn't say anything. They didn't need to.
The minutes rolled on and on, until there was a soft, uncertain knock at the door. Spencer didn't look around, his head heavy and his eyelids drooping. Garcia tottered slowly across the room and opened the door an inch.
"Hey..." he heard JJ's voice whisper. "Uh...we've - we've found another lead...the Arlington's and the Port's both used the same babysitter, Sophie Mays at one point recently and she broke up with her boyfriend not so long ago. We're going to need his address...if that's...that's okay..."
"Sure...sure..." Garcia was nodding frantically back. "Yeah...yeah oh-okay...what's his - what's his name?"
"Geno Destri," she replied and the other woman nodded briskly again, wiping at her eyes. JJ made a sound in the back of her throat like she wanted to say something but she stopped herself, sensing it wasn't the right time. Nodding awkwardly, she chose to slip away down the corridor instead, as the other woman closed the door behind her.
Garcia made short work of finding the address online and rang someone up to tell them. Her voice was tight and squeaky and she ignored all attempts at more personal conversations, sitting back in her chair, her makeup a blotchy mess down across her face.
The silence filled up the room as they just sat and stared at their hands, a tired, broken mess of emotions.
And Spencer wondered if she knew...knew what had really haunted him for all these years and years. Wondered if she knew the most carefully guarded secret he'd kept locked up inside himself for so long now. Why seeing him again made everything feel so...painfully intimate...so aching and hurt.
"Ga-Garcia...?" he said and he hated how high voice had gone. She looked over at him, her eyes soft and gentle.
"Yeah?"
He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably in his neck and the words were right at his tongue - right there, but he didn't want to say them...not this soft, vulnerable thing he'd kept close and protected inside his chest for so very, very long.
He had to say it. He'd have no other chance to.
"I...I..." he breathed in and exhaled, playing with the loose threads on the arm-rest of the seat. "I lied in the video..."
She stared at him, silently encouraging him to say more. He felt his eyes go damp again - he was surprised he had anything in his tear ducts left and he bit back the weak shuddery smile. When he tried to say it again, he suddenly felt small and scared, like he had all those years ago - like he was that child all over again.
"I was...I was a virgin..."
The woman's eyes were just as damp as his as he stared down at the dark fabric, unable to look at her.
"I...I...I know r-responding to it...is a physiological response which-which can result from m-mere physical contact or...or...extreme stress...but...but...it's so...disgusting that I...that I reacted and I...how could I even like what he did to me? Why did I react like that?...It's just...it's so disgusting and...and..."
He brushed at his eyes, swallowing hard. His nose was beginning to run and he wiped at it almost angrily.
"...why...why would I give away something so special to...to someone like him? It's supposed to be...it's supposed to be something...something you share with someone who loves you. And...and...and...no-one made me look him up, no-one made me ring him, no-one made me go to that place...I did that all myself...and I've got no-one else to blame for what happened but me."
And when he breathed in again, the world hurt too badly and all his old scars ripped open, torn apart and bleeding.
"And he's always going to be apart of me now," his face was a mess of tears but he didn't care, he didn't care.
"I'm always going to have this...emotional connection to him, because of something I did in...in a bid of...desperation...and...and I wish I could just...just...Garcia, Harry Reynolds took my virginity and I hate it, I just hate it so much..."
She pushed over towards him and took his hand, squeezing it tight.
"Spencer...it's..it's..." she said as the tears started rolling down her cheeks again, struggling to find her words. "I was...I was that kid who drank and...did drugs and had all this meaningless sex with so many losers and creeps who couldn't care less about me and...and I didn't respect my parents until they were gone and...and I regret it all so much but...but...Spencer...I don't know..."
She sent him a watery smile, sniffing wetly, before brushing at her damp cheeks.
"I just...I know my stupid advice's more cheesy then goddamned mozzarella but...but...I dunno...I don't let...what happened to me define who I am...and we've...we've all proven, everyone on the team...that...that...we're not just the awful things that happened to us as kids...we're more then that, okay, Spencer you're more then that, you're not a bad person, he didn't make you a bad person..."
And they were both crying again and they were being so stupid - sobbing it out in this tiny, little office. Reid didn't know what to say, what to do...and all he could do was cry with her.
"...and...and...and...everyone here loves you, they don't care about that bastard, they don't care at all and, and...I love you Spencer, I love you so much..."
Her breath had gone all tight and uncontrolled and Reid wiped madly at his eyes, sliding their fingers together.
"I...I love you too..."
She smiled weakly and squeezed his hand harder then ever, until he was sure he felt his bones clicking under her grip. They fell into a long, sniffling silence, just holding the other's hands - Reid could feel her rings digging into his skin.
"God," she wiped at her eyes, half-laughing. "I'm being ridiculous aren't I...?"
Reid looked up at her and seemed to think about it. Then he shook his head and Garcia laughed before she clambered off the chair and onto the floor, pushing her head against his skinny shoulder. They lay together silently, the stillness around them only punctuated by a wet sniff and the occasional whirl from a computer.
And she whispered to him through the blue-lighted gloom;
"It's going to be okay now."
And he just squeezed her hand silently in reply and let her wrap her arms around his shoulders, until his eyes drifted shut once more.
Around half an hour later, Geno Destri was found at his flat in a rough neigborhood, twenty minutes away from his victims. After searching the place up and down, they'd found Xavier and Charlie's bloodied clothes stuffed into a black garbage bag in his bedroom ceiling. He'd been taken in, spitting and swearing hysterically about how his girlfriend loved the kids she babysat more then she'd ever loved him.
Morgan had hissed to him about what happened to pedophiles in jail with such restrained venom in his voice, that Destri had fallen quiet immediately. He sniveled quietly to himself for the rest of the trip back to the police station.
JJ had hugged him so tight he thought she might just wring his neck, as she held back her silent, shaking tears.
"You're better then them Spence," she whispered desperately into his ear, holding onto him as tight as a vice. "You're better then all of them put together."
Rossi had been white faced and stunned, but he stopped the younger agent in the corridor one day and told him, while staring him dead in the eye; "people like him Reid, their lives are sick and goddamned meaningless, but that doesn't mean they have to infect you with their shit, okay? He's scum - the only enjoyment he gets is bringing decent people down to his level. You're a good kid. Don't let that bastard get to you, you hear me?"
He'd given him an encouraging pat on the shoulder as Spencer nodded, watery-eyed before the older man walked off again.
Prentiss had sent him little comforting smiles, bought him constant cups of coffee and patted him on the shoulder whenever she passed him in the bullpen.
"If you want to talk to us, we're always here, but...but if you don't want to, don't feel like you're being forced to do anything," she said to him in passing one afternoon. "Look...just don't ever think you're alone, Reid, cause you're not and I'll personally kick the ass of anyone who says different, alright?"
It had brought a tiny smile to the young doctor's face as she walked back to her desk again.
Morgan had returned to his role as the overprotective big brother, a role Reid was very used to him occupying by now. He'd ruffle a hand through his hair, swing a burly arm around his neck, all the while murmuring lowly, "you good kid? You can talk to me about anything, y'know?"
Spencer had nodded yes, he was fine, but of course Morgan didn't buy it.
"I know what it's like Reid..." he said to him one evening, after everyone else had left for the night and they were both getting ready to leave. Spencer had looked up from his desk, meeting his dark, earnest gaze.
"I know what it's like to feel...ashamed," he said and the fact he was opening up about something which he kept so guarded and secret, shocked him down to his very core.
"I know that feeling...that it was somehow your fault, that you somehow deserved it. But it's not true, okay? You don't need to be ashamed, you don't have to stay quiet. You're stronger then him. And don't think for a second that he made you weak, because he's just a dirty coward and he isn't worth your time, you understand?"
Spencer had stared down at his hands, licking his lips before nodding up at him.
"I know, Morgan," he whispered, feeling his throat tighten and his eyes dampen. "Thank-you."
"Don't you worry about it, kid," Morgan had replied gently as they walked off towards the elevators together.
And the very next day, Hotch had taken him into his office and ordered the man to take some time off.
"I want you to get some counseling," he told him bluntly, no-nonsense, no sugar-coating. "You can't bottle this up, Reid. You need to talk to a professional - sort through all this."
Reid nodded grimly. Hotch's stern expression had barely changed, but his eyes and voice had grown softer.
"I'm proud of the way you handled him, Reid. Not everyone could've gone in there and dealt with the situation the way you did. It's a testament to how strong you are. But you still need to be kind to yourself. You can't just trek through something like this without any help...no-one can. So you get the help you need and you know we're always there for you, okay?"
And when Reid had nodded and gotten up to leave, Hotch had patted him comfortably on the shoulder, as he walked back through to the bullpen again.
Throughout all those encounters with his team-mates, Reid had felt almost embarrassed by their attention, that old shyness niggling away in his chest, making him want to curl up and away from their concern. But underneath all that childish self-consciousness, was something warmer and safer then what he'd ever felt in a long time.
He wasn't alone. And if he failed...on the chance he crumbled...he'd have his family around to help him up again.
That thought made the whole world seem calm, instead of crawling and filthy and dirty. It just filled him with something that felt like peace.
And now it was Monday, and days and weeks and months had passed since he'd run into Garcia's office, with the man's sticky fingers sliding deep into the dark crevices of his mind.
He was stopping by a coffee shop to get his morning caffeine hit, waiting with his fingers tapping impatiently at the counter. While he was waiting, a newspaper caught his eye and feeling bored, he picked it up. He flicked through it disinterestedly, eyes absorbing the information - storing it away to bring up at some random moment, later on in time.
As he was reading through the pages, something jumped out at him. He paused, turning his head to the side to read the tiny lettering of the article more clearly.
Man found dead in apartment, police confirm suicide.
His heart jumped to his mouth all at once.
Harrison Reynolds, aged 50 was found by police at 6.30 a.m., Saturday morning, having hung himself in his apartment. His body was found, after neighbors complained of a unexplained smell from his residence. Reynolds left behind one brother, Bryson Reynolds, one sister, Deanna Richardson and a niece and nephew, Cindy and Rudy Richardson. He had no partner or children.
"Reid?"
He looked up as the barista passed his drink over the counter. He took the cup with a thin smile and sat down slowly at a table, staring at a point on the wall.
He felt numb.
There were no feelings of satisfaction...no sadness, no anger, no hatred.
He just felt...empty.
He sipped at his drink and burnt his tongue immediately, barely noticing the pain.
Should he feel pity?
Regret?
Disappointment that no-one had ever helped the man, no-one had paid him the attention he craved?
He didn't know what to feel.
Did the man feel ashamed in those last moments, with the rope tied around his neck? Did he feel the same self-hatred that he had all those years ago, colt-legged and doe-eyed, crying with a strange man in a strange place, trapped all by himself like a rabbit with a wolf?
Did Reynolds take that shame down to his grave?
He took another sip from his coffee, the burning, bitter liquid filling up his mouth.
He didn't know. He'd just didn't know.
He got up and stared down at his shoes for a few seconds, his mind a white, blank void. Swallowing and squeezing the coffee cup in his long fingers, he gave his head a shake to clear it and made his way towards the cafe door, walking back out into the bustling, city streets.
Leaving that leering old man with his filthy words and groping hands in the crumpled old newspaper behind him.
Leaving him behind to rot in his memories forever.