I didn't sleep at all that night. I attempted to do some calming yoga and meditation, but it just ended in tears so I resorted to stressed out pacing around my apartment.

I was scared. I knew Spencer was a trained FBI agent and I'm sure they would have prepared him for these kinds of situations, but at the end of the day he wasn't the most physically fit person, he wouldn't be able to fight his way out. Anyway, the psychos they dealt with could overpower even strong, imposing men.

As the sun came up that morning I found myself staring at my phone on the table willing it to ring, for Spencer to call me and tell me it was alright, it was just a misunderstanding. But the call never came.

I wanted to cry, scream, hit something, break something, anything to get the feelings I was feeling out. I felt anxious and unsettled and I couldn't focus on anything for more than ten minutes.

The months we'd spent together had been wonderful. I felt supported, trusted, believed in, all the things that I'd been trying to find for the last few years. Spencer didn't see me as some drunk kid with no regard for anyone's feelings, he saw me for who I was today. He didn't hold my past against me, he gave me a fair shot and I really did think we had a bright future ahead of us. So of course some insane murderer would kidnap him. Just my fucking luck.

And he didn't deserve it. Penelope was right when she described him as a warm sunny day. He was the most kind hearted person I'd probably ever met even though the world hadn't always been kind to him. He was fiercely loyal to his friends and would do anything he could to help anyone. It wasn't fair.

By lunch time and after my third unanswered call to Penelope, I was driving myself insane. I needed something, anything to take the edge off and distract me which is how I found myself cracking open a bottle of rum at three in the afternoon.

I knew I shouldn't have. I knew that drinking to cope with stress was a slippery slope that I'd tried very hard to pull myself out of before, but I needed something to stop my brain from spinning and maybe help me sleep. All the 'what ifs' running through my brain had my stomach in knots. I suddenly was thinking about our relationship on a different level and all the things we hadn't had chance to do yet. Like waking up curled up in each other's arms without Spencer's phone disturbing us, making love slowly without the frenzied desperation we'd had our first time, introducing him to my parents and showing them that some people don't see me as a waste of space like they do, meeting his mom and assuring her that her little genius is in good hands, spending a weekend together with nothing but junk food, movies and Spencer's endless list of facts about everything the movies got wrong. We'd never get to have a fight and I'd never get to tell him how absolutely wonderful I think he is.

The first sip of alcohol sliding down my throat felt like heaven. I instantly felt my shoulders relax as if my body knew that I wouldn't be feeling this stress and pain for much longer. I told myself just one or two to take the edge off, but when yet another call to Penelope went unanswered, I lost any sense of self control I'd gained over the last few years and before I knew it the afternoon had flown by and almost the entire bottle was gone.

The room was spinning and my head was pounding from the alcohol and lack of sleep, but everything seemed brighter. Spencer would be fine. He had to be. And with that thought I drifted into an unsettled sleep on my couch.


I blinked my eyes open as the sound of my door slamming shut woke me.

"Spencer?" I called out. "Is that you?"

Nothing, but silence answered me and as I sat up from the couch, I noticed the window was open, the curtain fluttering softly.

"Must just have been the wind," I thought to myself, not wondering in my half asleep state why the window was open at the end of January.

Something felt odd though, like I wasn't alone, but just as I was about to lay down and close my eyes again I heard it. Faintly in the distance. Spencer calling my name, whimpering it almost like he barely had the strength.

"Spencer!" I shouted again. "Spencer, where are you?"

The same, soft moan of my name was all that replied. I pushed myself up off the couch, cautiously moving towards the hallway, but as I turned from my living room suddenly I wasn't in my apartment anymore. Well, I was or I felt like I was, but the hallway that had previously only had my bedroom and a bathroom in it was now long, stretching out with enough space for the ten mysterious doors that had suddenly appeared.

Spencer's voice floated towards me once again, sounding closer than it had before so hesitantly, I opened the door closest to me. Nothing. It was empty and dark. The voice was still there though so I moved to the next one. Again, there was nothing.

I'd gotten through almost four doors when Spencer's voice changed. Suddenly it wasn't weak and quiet, it was loud and fearful, screaming my name in desperation. My heart was pounding as I picked up the pace, flinging open doors until finally there was only one left. And of course, it was locked. He was in there though. His voice was now clear and strong, he was right on the other side of the door.

With all my strength I slammed my shoulder against it, forcing it open just as the voice went quiet. And there, to my horror, I found Spencer. Covered head to toe in blood, beaten so badly he was barely recognisable.

I screamed and fell to my knees next to his body, but it was too late. He was gone.


I sat up so fast that I almost fell off the couch. My heart was racing as I fought to catch my breath and my head was throbbing from the fast movement I'd just made, reminding me of the large amount of alcohol I'd consumed the night before. It was just a dream. Spencer was fine. He wasn't beaten to death in some mysterious room in my apartment. His team would find him and he would be okay.

I glanced at the clocking seeing that it was almost nine am meaning I'd slept for almost 13 hours. It was then that I realized my phone was ringing.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice rough and scratchy from the alcohol.

"Mickey?" Penelope's voice asked me. "Are you okay? You don't sound well."

"Other than my boyfriend being kidnapped by a psycho, I'm just great," I said sarcastically as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, feeling the familiar post-night out puffiness on my cheeks. "Have you found him yet?"

"No, we haven't. That's what I called to tell you." My heart sank at her words, but her tone seemed harder than before. "Mickey, have you been drinking?"

Damn, she was perceptive, but I knew there was no point in denying it. She'd been working with profilers long enough to learn a few things.

"I had a few drinks last night," I admitted. "Maybe more than a few."

"Seriously, Mikayla?!" Penelope snapped at me. "Now is not the time for you to be acting like this! Drinking yourself stupid isn't going to help anyone! I don't have time to babysit you and Spencer doesn't need to be greeted by a thoughtless alcoholic when we finally get him home."

I knew tensions were high and everyone was worried, but as she scolded me, I felt tears fill my eyes.

"Penny," I whimpered, cutting her off before she could continue her rant. "I'm just so scared."

"What?" She asked, her voice softer again as her concern trumped her annoyance as it always did with Penelope.

"I'm scared," I repeated as one tear slid down my cheek. "I really care about him, I feel helpless. It sounds so silly, I know I've only known him for a few months, but I can't imagine not having him around anymore and it's so frustrating that I can't do anything to make sure that doesn't happen. I had a dream that he was here, but someone hurt him and I couldn't get to him in time. I just want him to come home."

By the time I was done, tears were flowing steadily down my cheeks and my words ended with a sob.

"Oh, Mickey," Penelope sighed. "He's going to be okay. We're going to find him. We're getting closer and we know he's still alive and doing alright. But what won't help him and what he wouldn't want is for you to make a mess of yourself again over this. He'd never want to be the reason you started using alcohol as a crutch again."

"I know," I sniffled. "I just didn't know what else to do. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't focus and you weren't answering your phone."

"I know, hun, but cell service is pretty spotty out here," She informed me. "Dump out whatever is left in that bottle, go take a nice long shower, do some of your yoga or whatever will help you relax and I promise you I will call you later, okay?"

I reluctantly agreed before letting Penelope get back to work.

I took her advice as far as dumping the tiny bit left in the bottle and taking a long hot shower, but I still was far too restless to do yoga. Instead, I stress cleaned my entire apartment. I scrubbed all the floors, counters, cupboards, the shower, the toilet, washed my sheets, dusted everywhere and didn't even stop to eat until that evening when I got the message I'd been waiting for.

"We've got him. He's safe."


Note: Not gonna lie, I'm not super happy with how this one turned out, but some massive family drama kicked off on Monday just as I started writing it and it completely derailed my focus :(

I'm still quite distracted, but I'll try to get it together soon haha