Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.

Author's Note: To Nina, a reviewer, I must say I enjoy tall guys as well. Particularly, skinny, tall guys who are nerdy. And you have just learned why I love Reid so much. Haha. And to velociraptoritis, me too, oddly enough. One of my favorite episodes is Revelation. Despite this, I really do love him I swear! Haha.

Chapter Six: Mad Men Know

'There is a pleasure, sure, in being mad, which none but mad men know!' –John Dryden

All color had drained from Reid's face.

"What…what do you mean?" he asked as he shifted his hand to his side to place it reassuringly on the handle of his gun. The cold metal felt unpleasant against his skin, as always, but he continued to grip it until his knuckles turned white.

Dr. Wright turned to him, a dreamy smile gracing his face as he looked at Spencer with…was that adoration in his eyes? His blood was ran colder and colder as realization dawned on him. He was sitting side by side with the UnSub.

'Be calm. Talk him up,' he thought to himself as he cleared his throat and asked again, "What do you mean by that, Doctor?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he reached over and grabbed the papers, pulling them towards himself and turning them over to read. His eyes scanned the page before holding them out before him, his arms outstretched as he placed two hands on the top side of the pile he held landscape wise. Then, he turned to Reid and said, "Not my better work. Best to let it go so I can move on." Then, he pulled his hands in opposite directions, one pulling towards him, the other pulling away from him, and ripped the stack in half. Then, he placed the two halves together and did the same, creating quarter pieces.

Reid watched as he crumpled the pieces together and then dropped it in the running water, letting the current carry the notes away. He swallowed nervously as he stood up, not wanting to have the disadvantage that he would have if he remained sitting. Slowly, he began to back away, but Dr. Wright turned to him, a far off look in his eyes now.

"Hopefully, my work will yield better results with you," he said.

Every survival instinct told him to run and never look back, but the profiler in him told him to keep cool and talk his way out of it until a clearer alternative could be discerned. So, shoving his emotions and instincts into that chest once more, he said, "And what work might that be?"

Dr. Wright snapped to attention then, as he shook his head sadly. "You think I'm wrong, don't you? Crazy, right?"

"No, no, no, of course not!" he stammered, before clearing his throat and adding in a calmer tone, "The others don't understand you, do they? But I do, I know why you're doing what you do. And I think it's wonderful," he lied, buying himself more time as he tried to still his nerves.

Dr. Wright smiled. "Of course. You…you would understand, wouldn't you? You and I are very much the same."

Something snapped with Reid in that moment he said those words.

Reid was smart.

Reid was a doctor.

Reid understood what it felt like to be outside of the norm.

But he wasn't crazy. Dr. Wright was wrong.

And in that one instant, that chest jumped and rattled until the lock broke free and every emotion, every impulse, and every suppressed thought came loose. He shook visibly, his brown curls quivering with the violent motion, and his eyes narrowed, becoming colder than ever thought possible.

"I. Am. Nothing. Like. You," he said slowly and harshly, a large space between each word as though he were battling with himself on saying it.

Dr. Wright's eyes widened at this sudden outburst, but before he could say anything in response, Reid had pulled the gun out from his waist and was attempting to make his aim when Dr. Wright, with startling speed and reflexes, slammed a right hook across Reid's head, angling it so as to hit his concussion.

Reid's vision was immediately obstructed by white, exploding stars that made him swoon, his gun slipping from his hands. He barely registered the sound it made as it crashed from one flat rock to another, shattering piece by piece on the hard stone. Before his vision could even clear enough to collect himself, he felt a hand grip tightly around his forearm and instinct kicked in again.

He struggled on unsteady, shaking legs, trying to wrench himself free of the grasp. When the fingers released suddenly, leaving soon-to-be-bruises in its place, he stumbled backwards, unprepared for Dr. Wright to let go. As the flecks of green and brown and gold came into view from the trees above him as his vision finally settled somewhat and allowed blurs to become fuzzy, colorful shapes, a shove at his chest pushed him further back. And when he placed a foot down, searching for a stable surface, he found none.

His stomach slipped into his throat as he fell of the rock, crashing into the water before him, his leg cracking against a protruding rock below. He cried out in pain for only seconds before the water slipped into his open mouth and choked him. Sputtering and coughing, he frantically fought with all four limbs to resurface, to find air, to breathe. The water was strangling him, icy fingers wrapping around his neck and closing tight. The liquid seeping into his clothes dragged him under, weighing his tan slacks and shirt and sweater down and making his struggle for air even more difficult. His chest was collapsing, his lungs filling with water. He was going to drown.

And then fingers, warm and large, grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled him up. In what felt like hours but was really only seconds, he broke through the water's surface, gasping and coughing up water as he tried to take in air. Air! Sweet, clear, mountain air! He was so intent on breathing, on filling his lungs once more that he didn't realize until it was too late that the man who saved him was a killer.

His eyes shot open just in time to see a syringe plunge into his shoulder. He yelped as he felt a liquid drug rush into his body, into his muscle and blood as it raced to all destinations of his body. He reached over, trying to remove the needle before anymore could be injected, but he was too heavy, too lethargic. He felt so tired all of a sudden. His vision receded once more and everything became shapeless as his head lulled back and he went limp. His muscles weren't working, aside from a slight spasm as a result of the drug. Numbness invaded his body as he realized he wouldn't be able to fight.

And even though he was awake and fully aware of the world around him as he was carried across the creek and inside the car, bound and tied as a blanket covered him from sight, the drug caused something to occur in him that Reid had never experienced before.

He forgot the whole damn thing.

xXx

The drug was Ketamine, commonly used as a date rape drug. While Dr. Wright would've preferred something more effective to make his capture easier, Ketamine was the most fast acting and its effects were almost instantaneous. And it worked just as well. While Reid did still maintain a fight, the drug had weakened and slowed his motor system enough for it to be a mild nuisance instead of a hindrance. And he placed the man on the floor of the backseat, tying his hands and feet tightly as he slurred protests, his speech system being affected as well.

"Pleeesh," he drawled, his voice quiet as he tried to maintain a fight. Dr. Wright chuckled and leaned in, brushing some stray, wet locks out of his patients face.

"Don't worry, Spencer, I'll take good care of you," he said.

"No…d..don..pleesh," Reid said again, his eyes unable to focus and shifting wildly around as he fought against the drug coursing through his veins.

Dr. Wright didn't respond, just grabbed an old, fleece blanket and covered the man, the mess in his car from running between his home and the hospital effectively concealing him. There was nothing suspicious about a blanket when sweaters, shirts, pants and garbage littered the rest of his car.

Straightening himself up, he slammed the door shut and then walked over to the driver's side, slipping in and turning on the ignition as he began to drive home. He smiled, excited to begin studies on his new patient.

'And this time,' he thought with a large smile, 'it will work.'

xXx

"Up here, Morgan," Hotch said coolly as he pointed to an area off to the left, where the guard rail was bent and lead to a sloping hill, covered with slim oaks and birches. Morgan slowed to a stop and pulled over, running out of the car before it even came to a full stop as he grabbed his gun from his hip. Without waiting for Hotch or the others to follow, he threw his body over the guard rail and ran down to the water as if the rocks and trees proved no match for the determined FBI agent.

As the others ran over the guardrail and slid down the hill, they heard Morgan curse loudly.

"SHIT!" he shouted, kicking the base of a tree harshly before throwing his fist against it as well, wincing slightly as the bark ripped against his skin.

"Morgan, what- oh my god!" Emily began before clasping a hand over her mouth with her exclamation. Opposite them, on a large, flat rock that stood several feet above the water, was Reid's discarded messenger bag, his shoes and socks thrown to the side. Below that rock, one that jutted out slightly further, was a shattered Glock 17, and a large pool of blood.

Morgan then began jumping from rock to rock, reaching the stone with the blood, pulling himself up as he desperately searched for some other evidence that would prove that Reid wasn't the victim. But none could be found. The young man's broken gun was evidence enough that things did not go the way he had hoped, and he angrily bit his lip as Rossi called the station, reporting the disappearance.

JJ was sitting on a rock, staring absentmindedly at Morgan as he kicked another tree and Emily ran her hands through her dark hair in frustration. Slowly, trying to make as little fuss as possible, Hotch stepped back out onto the road and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

He failed him.

He was supposed to protect him and he failed him.

He was acutely aware of the way his body tensed and how his hands shook. He had known that Reid was the UnSub's preference. He had know that Reid, as smart as he was, would have too much pride to outright accept help as he wanted to prove himself. So why didn't he stop this from happening? Why did he let that monster get his hands on Reid?

He stopped his thoughts, trying to calm his breath.

He had to focus. He needed to work. He needed to pretend like this was just any other person, and treat it that way. He would be able to think clearly and be more likely to bring Reid back safe. But the accusations still ran through his head.

He was the boss.

He should've stopped him.

He should've known.

He had failed Spencer Reid.

xXx

The team rushed into the station, filing into the boardroom as they tried to calm their frayed nerves. Focus was key. They had to forget about Reid in order to save him. They couldn't let such a thing cloud their judgment. They had to be objective.

That plan failed however, when Varney saw them and, noticing they were short one member, asked, "Hey, where's that smart one? Dr. Reid?"

"He's been kidnapped. By the UnSub," Hotch said quietly, preparing the room for their briefing as an excuse to not look at him.

"Wh…what?" the officer asked, his eyes wide in shock as he ran a hand through his wiry hair. "Oh my god…where? When?"

"When he was decoding the papers," Morgan said, his face resting in his hand as he stared down at the table, his hard, searing gaze practically burning through it.

Varney covered his mouth as he asked, "Where…where I told him to go? Oh my god. Oh my god, it's my fault! I suggested he go there, I…I didn't know…I…I'm so sorry…so sorry!" The police officer became hysterical as he was wracked with guilt. He had told him to go there! He put him in the hands of that monster! He was responsible for the genius who, only hours earlier, had astonished him with his capabilities and was now being sent to the slaughter!

Emily rested a firm hand on his arm, speaking soothingly as she explained, "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. We need to focus now if we want to find him." With a nod and hollow smile, she turned away from him and sat down with the others.

The debriefing began.

"Garcia," Hotch called as he phoned in the technical analyst.

"Yes, Boss-Man?" she called cheerfully. Hotch bite his lower lip, knowing he was about to ruin whatever happiness was there.

"We have a new victim. I need you to pull up information on him so we could compare it side by side," he said, ignoring the quiet sob that came from a catatonic-like JJ.

"Of course, what's the young man's name?"

A pause followed before he cleared his throat.

"Spencer Reid."

xXx

Author's Note: And the plot thickens! Thank you all again for your reviews, favorites and alerts. They mean a lot for this old writer (by that I mean old by how many years I've been writing, not my age- eighteen is hardly old at all.) Anyway, let me know what you think! I do enjoy reading your thoughts and suggestions.

Chapter Seven: Humor Me (Preview)

"You...you killed him," Morgan accused, feeling betrayal ache in his own heart.

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "No, Morgan. You did." His cold eyes then looked down, and Morgan followed them, seeing his own hands clutched around the handle of the knife, blood spewing from the now warm and pale pink body. Choking sounds met his ears and he looked up to see Reid, alive, turning his sad hazel eyes to his friend.

"Morgan," he coughed out, as blood began dripping down his chin, the stitches loose but still there as if they were cut through to uncover his mouth. "Wh...why?' Reid asked, and Morgan's hands flew away from the knife he wasn't even aware he had stabbed him with, jumping back as if it had burned him.