Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.
Chapter Ten: Never Stops
'Awareness is the enemy of sanity, for once you hear the screaming, it never stops.' –Emilie Autumn
Reid's lip was bleeding from where he bit down, trying to stop the scream before it left his body. A long, serrated blade dragged lazily across his chest, pulling from right to left, and he struggled with himself to not scream, digging deeper into his lip. His hospital gown was cut on the shoulder seams and then pushed down to his hip so that Andrew had access to the flesh of his torso, which was now sliced and bruised. The blood staining his skin glittered in sharp contrast to his complexion, even paler than ever thought possible due to the lack of sunlight and poor health.
He was becoming dizzy- whether it was from the pain, the blood loss, or clenching his teeth so tightly around his lip he wasn't sure. All he could smell was the disgusting aroma of blood and the metallic taste filled his mouth, but still, he continued to bite down, deciding that if he did pass out, it wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen.
The knife continued to pass along his skin, burning and tearing it at the same time, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth clamping tighter around his now swollen and red lip. He tried to distract himself from the pain; tried to think of something, anything, that would convey enough emotion to block it out. His response came in the form of a memory- the memory of the first time he met his team and came to the BAU.
"Agent Hotchner, Agent Morgan, I would like to introduce you to Dr. Spencer Reid, your newest teammate," Strauss said, gesturing to the tall yet slender young man, brown hair smoothed to the side so that all the sharp angles of his face stuck out plainly. He raised a hand and ran it through the air once, before dropping it to his side as his hazel eyes shifted slightly, avoiding the amused expressions of his new coworkers.
"You…you can't be serious, Agent Strauss. He's like what…twelve?" Morgan asked, chuckling. Reid's face fell as he shifted his weight awkwardly and slumped over, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Strauss raised a stern eyebrow at him before regarding Reid with an appraising look. After a moment of Reid standing uncomfortably under her scrutinizing eyes, she turned to Morgan and Hotch and said, "I'd explain, but I think he'll answer all your questions the second he opens his mouth." She gave a quick, tight-lipped smiled before leaving the room, Reid casting a frightened and worried look to her back.
But she didn't come back to help him or make the conversation any easier, she just kept going until she disappeared and Morgan and Hotch crossed their arms over their chest expectantly, waiting for him to speak.
"So…how old are you?" Morgan asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Twenty-three," he said quietly, his voice cracking as it often did when he felt highly uncomfortable or scared.
Hotch raised an eyebrow at this, as if he was calling Reid out on a bluff.
"Twenty-three is still pretty young, especially for the BAU. How'd you get up here?" Hotch asked, unable to deny that he was equally as curious Morgan about their new young teammate.
Reid blinked and looked behind him. "The uh…the elevator," he answered.
"No, I mean…how did you get this position," Hotch clarified as Morgan chuckled beside him.
Reid opened his mouth to form an 'o' shape before clearing his throat and saying, "I ugh…met the qualifications, I guess."
Morgan eyed him, looking him up and down before saying, "I could snap you in half."
"Ahh…academic merit," he explained, shifting his eyes over to a window in the far corner. He was practically jumping as he moved from his left foot to his right foot, and back again in an attempt to calm his anxiety about the situation. "I failed the physical exam. Ultimately, they had to make an exception for me to get in."
"Are you like…really smart then?" Morgan asked.
He jerked his head to the side in a second of thought. "I personally believe it's impossible to measure someone's intelligence quantitatively as there are always unexpected variables and the standards of the test regarding the assessment as well, whether or not it's based on aptitude. But I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words a minute." By the time he finished his answer, Hotch and Morgan's mouths were wide open and both eyebrows raised high over the brow line. Reid swallowed nervously.
"Of course, I'm not bragging, I was merely responding to the question you asked," he added.
"An eidetic memory?" Hotch questioned. "Is that where you're able to remember everything you've ever seen?"
Reid nodded. "Ah well, yes and no. It's not so much the inability to forget as it is the ability to recall specific accounts with extreme precision. There's much debate over it, particularly in the field of neuroscience, on whether an eidetic memory could possibly exist. As of yet there's no factual evidence to support the idea that anyone could recall everything with total accuracy, but for the current definition, I do have an eidetic memory," he answered.
Morgan and Hotch turned to each other with a look of shock, before understanding settled into Hotch's face. "Well, I guess now we know what Strauss meant," he mumbled as he sat himself down behind a desk and Morgan laughed.
The former street cop walked over to Reid, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he extended one out for him to shake. "Welcome to the team then, Boy Wonder. I'm Derek Morgan," he said, and Reid shook his hand with a shaking smile on his face.
Reid was pulled back into the present situation by a sharp sensation in his shoulder, brought on from the knife plunging into his flesh. He screamed as the blade tore through skin and tendon and muscle, throwing his head back with the noise. He started gasping and wiggling around the handle, his legs kicking and his hands reaching out to nothing. Andrew's face appeared inches away from his, and he felt his breath, hot and moist, against his cheek as he began to speak.
"Spencer, you must take your medication. Your delusions are getting worse. You just slipped into a fabricated memory, don't you see that! Spencer, you need this treatment! Don't you want to be sane?" he asked.
Reid's body was wracked with tears as he shook his head. "I already am."
"No, you're not!" Andrew barked, grabbing onto the railings of his bed and shaking it, causing the man inside it to be jostled around the thin mattress, moaning as the movement irritated his wounds. "You're not, Spencer! When are you going to realize that?"
"Please…stop this. I…I can't…" Reid whispered.
Andrew pulled back and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he sighed. "I'll let this go for now, Spencer. But I hope you realize soon just how dangerously unstable you are so that we can treat you," he said tiredly, pulling the keys from around his waist as he left the room.
With a breath of relief, Reid closed his eyes and thought back to the memory he had recalled only moments before. It was one of his favorite memories, even though it may have seemed so simple. It wasn't a memory of his first kiss, or solving his first case or earning a degree of achievement, as is typical for most peoples' favorite memories. But it was his most treasured because it was the day he started to feel accepted- the day he finally felt like he belonged. Being the prodigal boy he was, he never got to be around kids his own age, and never connected with the ones he was with. He always felt awkward and unsure of himself and everyone easily dismissed him as weird, quirky and nerdy.
But when he came to the team, they accepted him- not only did they accept him for who he was, but they loved him for who he was. The day he became part of the team was the day he found his home, his friends and his family. It was one of the happiest days of his life, though, at the time, he didn't know it.
And now all of it was being ripped out from under him, the existence of his family for the last several years being questioned.
He twisted in the bed, trying to get into a more comfortable position, though he could find none. His entire body was too sore for comfort to be a possibility and a single question floated through his mind: What if he's right? What if the team is fake, a fantasy? What if I'm crazy?
He shivered at the thought as he bit back a sob. No, he refused to believe it. A psychiatric doctor would not beat his patients if they did not accept reality. A psychiatric doctor would not deny his patients food, comfort or proper hygiene. This man wasn't a psychiatric doctor, he was an insane killer who wanted Reid to think that he was the sick one.
But that damned question wouldn't go away, lurking in the recesses of his mind.
'I'm not crazy,' he thought to himself, over and over again hoping that the more he thought it, the more valid it would become. He wasn't crazy- his logic was too sound. This man was a contradiction to real doctors and was only trying to mess with Reid's mind.
'Of course,' the cynical voice thought again, 'When people are truly delusional, don't they twist their logic to justify their actions? Couldn't it be possible that I'm just distorting facts and logistics so as to hold on to the world I've created?'
His eyes widened.
He didn't create any world.
He was perfectly sane.
But part of him was still playing those two words over and over again, like a broken record:
What if?
xXx
"If you don't mind me asking, Agent Hotchner, could you tell me a little more about Dr. Reid," Varney asked from his seat, filling out some paperwork regarding the case. He had been aware that the young man was a genius, but aside from that, he didn't know much else. He was curious about this FBI agent whose disappearance had single-handedly destroyed the entire team's functioning capability, and wondered if they were all simply overprotective of the youngest member, or if they all treated each other with the same amount of worry.
Hotch looked up at him, a stern look on his face- but that, as Varney was realizing, did not mean that he was angry or upset. It simply meant he saw no reason to smile. The group really was a bizarre conglomerate of the most diverse minds he had ever seen, that was for sure.
As the FBI agent remained silent, Varney quickly added, "It's just…I still feel really guilty about it all. I told him to go there. My wife…she loves to read out there and so I just thought he might like it, too."
"You didn't know, Varney. You couldn't have," he answered.
Varney shrugged. "I know, but still…I feel like I should've, you know? Like I should have been able to see through time and know that he was in danger," he mumbled, but Hotch still heard it.
"You're not the only one who feels that way," he said, his voice not indicating exactly who else shared similar feelings. Then, Hotch added, "Reid, as you know, is an absolute genius. Our expert on…well, everything. But a lot of people forgot that sometimes- they started only seeing him as an encyclopedia."
Varney raised an eyebrow. "And what did you see him as?" he asked quietly.
A moment of hesitancy followed before he was given an answer. "I saw him as a kid, who knew more than I ever could. A kid who, at first, relied too heavily on statistics and facts. But more importantly, I saw a magician. I saw someone who wanted to make a difference in the world before they even knew how much they'd need to sacrifice. I saw someone who, believe it or not, can be really funny and can really make you laugh, while at the same time making you shake your head at how…absolutely socially inept he was. I saw someone who wanted desperately to belong but didn't know how to." He paused for a second, as if debating on whether or not to say something. Then, with a sigh, he added, "And I saw someone who gave so much, and expected very little in return. Someone who I wish was here, so I could at least remind him how much he means to the team and…" he trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he looked down at the paperwork in front of him.
Varney understand nonetheless and nodded, a small smile on his lips. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be able to tell him soon enough once we get to interview this Philip Matthews." Hotch nodded, but it didn't quite seem like he fully registered what was said.
"And besides," the police officer added as he stood to leave, giving Hotch a strong smile. "He has six people working nonstop to find him. I'm sure the last thing he needs is reminding of how much he means to you."
"Do you think," Hotch began, Varney stopping in the doorway to turn to him. "Do you think he knows that we see him as a personal Almanac?"
Varney swallowed as he looked down at the floor, his hands gripping the cold, metal framing. "I'm not sure. But once you find him, be sure to let him know." And he left.
xXx
"What do you got on our boy Philip, Garcia?" Morgan asked as everyone sat impatiently around the table, feet tapping and pens clicking.
"A lot of weird stuff," she responded and they could practically hear the exasperation in her voice. "I found his records from medical school and this guy is so far off the straight and narrow he's doing doughnuts like there's no tomorrow."
"What did you find?" Hotch asked, anticipation welling up inside him.
"Freaky experiments with a capital F. I want you to imagine Frankenstein, The Fly and Psycho all rolled into one unholy lovechild and you've got Matthews. Apparently, he was kicked out of his school from robbing local pet cemeteries and combining them- like a cat with the head of a rabbit and stuff like that- and then tried to regenerate them. He was discovered one night by his roommate who ratted him out. He was a semester away from his doctorate at the time of expulsion and had to be removed by campus police after responding violently to the news," she said and the team involuntarily gagged at the information.
"He was trying to create new animals from dead remains?" JJ asked, her nose crinkled as she thought of what a cat-rabbit would look like.
Garcia gave a dry laugh. "That's what it looks like. And he matches Reid's profile on all other accounts. I was looking over some newspaper articles about it and his classmates said the usual 'I never would have expected this.' 'He seemed like such a nice person.' You know the drill. No one ever suspects the person who actually does it." The team nearly snorted at the truthfulness of all this- rarely ever did they find someone whose neighbors and friends actually thought that they could be capable of such a thing. Yet his own mother did…
Morgan thanked Garcia and then hung up, with the promise to inform her of any new information as Rossi hummed in though, tapping his chin as he asked, "So, why does he seem suspicious now? If he was able to maintain a normal front before, why can't he now?"
"Maybe it's the stress of the situation. Robbing animal graves and performing tests on them isn't illegal," JJ suggested, shrugging her shoulders. "But now that he's doing something on a higher caliber of risk, he's more aware of the consequences and he can't keep his cool."
"Or," Hotch said, pausing briefly before expanding on his idea. "Or maybe there's something about Reid that's putting him over edge." When he received several questioning looks and confused expressions, he added, "Morgan said it himself. Reid had something about him that our UnSub couldn't resist, even if it brought him closer to us. Maybe Reid…" He stopped, swallowing slightly as he took a second to detach himself once more. "Maybe Reid's responding differently to these experiments, and he's becoming less careful now."
Rossi chewed on the inside of his cheeks. "He's too focused on the new path he's taken in his experiments. He's either…excited because it's working better and it's throwing him off, or he's frustrated because it's going worse and throwing him off."
"What were the differences Garcia found between Reid and the others?" JJ asked and Morgan snatched a printed list that topped a stack of papers.
He read them off slowly and clearly, and when he finished, Emily said, "Well, I think we can gross off the hobbies one. And blood type, as well as occupational interests- I can't imagine that that would change the outcome too much."
"So, that leaves his intelligence and his medical history," Morgan said with a nod, a smile appearing as he finally felt like they were going somewhere in the case.
Varney was the one who spoke up now, his voice small and shaking as he felt so inexperienced compared to these profilers, but nonetheless he said, "Well, it would be medical history right? Maybe Dr. Reid has a predisposition for a disease that's affecting the course it takes. Like…diabetes or a heart disease or…"
"Schizophrenia," Rossi muttered, his eyes set on the wood design of the table in front of him. The silence that followed was enough to voice the agreement of every person on the team.
Suddenly, Hotch stood up and addressed everyone. "Let's get started on our suspects. Rossi, JJ, Morgan," he said, nodding to each in turn. "You'll go to our primary suspect's house and interview him. Try to get a warrant before you do though- with his past and mother's testimony we might be able to get one for at least Reasonable Suspicion." They nodded and stood as well, leaving seconds later to do as they were told. Hotch then turned to the rest of the team. "We'll go visit the people on the list we had Garcia create before, the one she made using Reid's profile. We may be able to find something or find a new suspect if Matthews turns out to be the wrong guy."
With a chorus of agreements, they left as well, starting on their own manhunt.
xXx
Author's Note: Oh, the team is getting closer! Let me know what you think! IMPORTANT NOTE!- According to my outline, this story is half-way done! Yay! *opens a bottle of champagne*
Chapter Eleven: An Appropriate Response (Preview)
"No," Reid whispered in horror, feeling his entire body tense and quiver. "No! No! NONONONONO!"
He was screaming, his throat burning with the intensity of his shouts as he began pulling at his restraints, kicking everything he could with his damaged legs and bloody feet. If it hurt, he couldn't feel it. His mind was in overdrive as he continued screaming, lifting his body up as high off the mattress as he could before he felt the tug of the cuffs pulling him down.
He needed to get out.
He needed to escape.