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Chapter Eleven: An Appropriate Response

'It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.' –Philip K. Dick

"STOP! Please!" Reid begged as he felt the knife slide deeply along his skin once more in jagged, choppy cuts. Blood swam through the torn flesh and pooled, trickling over the curvature of his calves. The slashes burned as Andrew continued his assaults with the saw-toothed blade, making Reid twitch involuntarily and pull his legs into him, only to have a hand wrap around his ankle and pull it back.

"Just relax, Spencer," he said, too calmly as he took the knife and pressed it into the natural creases of the soles of his feet, tracing the lines and leaving behind a trail of blood.

He couldn't relax though, not with the searing pain occurring in such a sensitive area. But his ankle was still held in place, so all he could do was jerk his toes and legs around, gasping at the pain as he tried to pull his foot back, away from the knife. It wouldn't budge from its vice-like grip and he groaned in pain as he felt his foot become soaked with tacky blood.

After several minutes in which Andrew switched to the other foot and did the same, he retracted his knife and placed it with a clink on a small, metal table. Blood slid down the once silver blade and onto the surface of the table, creating small, thin layers of the bodily fluid which looked more copper than crimson when mixed with the metallic.

The heavy footfalls began again, walking around the bed until they approached Reid and he looked up at Andrew with a mixture of pain and anger. He was well aware of the routine by now, and knew what was coming next. Fortunately, it wouldn't be any more physical pain and he finally allowed his body to relax as he rolled his head lazily to the side, watching as Andrew sat down in a chair beside him.

"Now, what is your name?"

"Spencer Reid."

"Age?"

"Twenty-six."

"What do you do for a living?"

A long pause followed before he answered.

"I am a special agent for the BAU in Quantico. I specialize in geographical profiling and pattern solving."

He was aware of how flat and monotone his voice sounded, and the cynical part of his brain returned once more as he thought 'Inappropriate affect, ambivalence...Why Spencer, I do believe you're experiencing two of Bleuler's four A's of Schizophrenia.'

He bit his lip. No, he couldn't think like that. It was just a coincidence. Of course he was ambivalent- he was being tortured psychologically by a serial killer. Of course he had an inappropriate affect- there is only so much pain and torture one can bear before they become incapable of adding emotion to conversations. He was taken away from his self-assurances by Andrew, who had begun speaking once more.

"When will you accept this, Spencer?" he asked.

Reid looked at him, his lip twitching slightly. "Please...just let me go," he begged.

"I can't. Not until you're healthy," Andrew said, standing up to leave but was stopped by Reid shakily grasping the sleeve of his coat, his fingers entwining in the white fabric. Andrew looked back at him, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Please..." Reid asked again.

Before Reid even had a second to register what was happening, Andrew ripped his hand back, forcefully knocking Reid's fingers away before colliding his fist hard into the left side of his side. Reid's head whipped back, and he gasped at the sudden throb of pain, his eyes squeezing shut. He vaguely heard footsteps walk away from him, Andrew leaving the room, as he squeezed his body as far in as he could and turned to the side, a high-pitched hum filling his head.

His entire skull felt fuzzy, like it was filled cotton, and the dizziness caused by losing blood to so many wounds was settling in. As his body, though relatively stagnant, seemed to rock and be tossed around, he heard a voice, cold and hoarse from misuse. His body stilled instantly and his breath got caught in his throat. A voice? But Andrew had left. So who was it who spoke?

"Spencer, turn around."

There it was again. It was so clear in the annunciation despite the chorus of echoes that followed it and he was beginning to wonder when the Doctor had returned and why he didn't hear the door open. Regardless, he wasn't going to listen. He didn't want to have to face him so soon and if he had to pretend to be unconscious, so be it.

He remained unmoving, and for several long moments, he thought that Andrew had left. But then another voice, one so familiar it caused of flood of memories to overcome him, filled the room.

"Spencer!" It shouted, and Reid jumped up, his heart pounding and his ears ringing. He knew that voice. He also knew it was impossible to hear that voice from his current situation. His father wasn't even in the same state as him- so how did he hear his trademark yell?

Looking around the room, hazel eyes wide with fear, he saw it was completely empty. His heartbeat thumped erratically, his pupils became dilated and his throat closed as his face lost any colored it still had. The realization that he was grasping the bed sheets so forcefully that his knuckles shook did nothing to make him loosen his grip and he swallowed harshly. His blood was boiling as understanding coursed through him.

He had heard a noise that had no outward source.

His face shook and fell inward as an entirely new fear overcame him. Air seemed impossible to find and he felt his chest heave, trying to consume all the oxygen he could before it completely disappeared.

A small, strangled cry escaped his throat before he buried his face in his hands, digging his nails painfully into the skin as his shoulders shook. He had an auditory hallucination…he was hearing things…

Without his knowledge, his body began to rock almost of its own accord as the panic kept rising. This couldn't be happening…this wasn't real…

'I'm not insane. I'm not. It's just a minor psychotic break caused from stress. Nothing permanent. Just an episode…an episode means it will end at some point,' he thought to himself, biting his cheeks with such ferocity that his mouth was immediately filled with blood. But he didn't care. What was one more injury when he was already suffering from a thousand others? If anything, the new pain was welcomed- if he focused on the stinging sensation of his cheeks, he couldn't focus on the noise he had heard.

'Just a small, temporary incident,' he reminded himself.

"Spencer, look at me!"

Whipping his head upward to the source of the noise, he found that the room was no longer empty. A scream got caught in his throat as he had a disturbing thought- he wanted nothing more than for Andrew to be the one in the room, calling out to him. But instead, the figure of his father, not aged at all since he last saw him sixteen years ago, stood in the center, directly before him.

Short, brown hair, receding backwards and thinning in some places, sat on the top of his head as hard, green eyes, cold and flat, glared at him. Frown lines framed his mouth, which was pulled into a tight, angry sneer as he cracked his knuckles in a show of intimidation. William Reid wore a clean, white pressed collared shirt below a red and black tie, with tan slacks and black, polished shoes.

Had Reid not been so frightened by this effigy, he would've noticed that this outfit was the last outfit he had seen his father in, complete with the scratched silver tie clip. But his mind was too startled by this creation- this creation that was blurred around the edges and seemed to glow with a dark golden hue- that could not possibly be there.

"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.

He couldn't lie there and accept the fact that his reality- whether through genetics or torture- was crashing down around him, dissolving into a pile of schizophrenic rubble. He needed out. He couldn't breathe. Desperate screams and yells filled the room, bouncing around the walls as he felt his chest heave with what was a full-blown panic attack.

He needed out.

He needed out.

Out.

Out.

Out.

The bed thrashed against the wall with his almost deranged motions, scuffing the floor as it made painful shrieks of protest. His actions only stopped when the image of his father took life again and began screaming along with Reid, his voice deep and filled with loathing as opposed to Spencer's high and desperate cries of fears-come-true.

"Shut up! You whiny little bitch!"

He stiffened at the words and the voice saying them, his lower lip trembling as he sobbed quietly. No…

"Do you ever shut up?"

Reid shook his head, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. "You're not real…you're not real…" he murmured to himself, but that didn't do him any comfort. While he was glad that the man standing before him was not his real father, whom he had had a tumultuous childhood with, he was fearful of the same fact, as it meant only one thing.

He looked up just in time to see his father approach him, his feet barely moving as he seemed to glide across the floor, and rear a hand back, swinging it down as he punched him. But the instant his fist came into contact with skin, he vanished, and the room was just as dark, cold and empty as it was before his presence.

"NO!" Reid shouted, slumping forward as he hung his head, knotted tendrils of brown curls curtaining off his face. His entire body was trembling and he began screaming once more, stopping only when he felt the sting of a needle in his upper arm. The last thing he saw before falling into a deep sleep was Andrew's concerned face looming above him.

xXx

The room that the Doctor had Reid locked in was in the basement, with soundproofing so excellent that nothing could be heard- from inside or outside- unless one was five feet away from the door. And so it wasn't until Andrew was on his way to bandage Reid up that he heard it- terrifying screams that made his own throat feel scratchy and sore. He frantically began searching for his key, wondering what in the world could've riled him up so much.

'I don't think I hurt him enough for this…and he was screaming less when I was actually torturing him,' he thought, finding the proper key and jamming it into the padlock, throwing the door open and gasping at what he saw.

Reid, pale and smeared with so much of his own blood his skin looked more red than white, was throwing his body off of the bed, snapping back to the mattress with the restraints. His legs kicked and pedaled in the air as his chest flew up again, his wrists pulling against the metal cuffs which had caused a cut in the sensitive area and were now covered in blood as well. His mouth was open wide in and glistening tears fell down his cheeks in rapid succession. A scream- an awful scream that seemed more fitting for a wounded animal- was forced through his diaphragm and out of his mouth, bouncing off the walls.

"NO! NO! NO! NO!" he shouted, flinging his body in every direction he could only to flop back down and start all over again.

The sight was horrifying and caused Andrew to stand in the threshold, bag of medical supplies under his arm as his mouth hung open in paralyzed shock. What was going on? What had happened? As the shouts became more fevered and the blood flowed more profusely from his cut wrists, he leapt back into action, running towards his patient so fast it looked more like he teleported instead.

When he stood beside the bed, watching the man up close, he grabbed a needle and grabbed one of Reid's hands, pulling it close and tight. He pushed the syringe down into his upper arm, injecting a medicine that put Reid to sleep instantaneously, but not before he shot the doctor a look of pure and unadulterated fear.

xXx

Morgan raised a fist and rapped it against the oak door as he stood alongside Rossi and JJ, all three anxious about meeting the man who could potentially lead them to their friend. But after a second of receiving no answer, they shared a glance among them as Morgan knocked again, harder and longer than before.

"Mr. Matthews? Open up, we need to speak to you!" he bellowed and, seconds later, the door creaked open to reveal a short and rotund man in his early thirties, smiling nervously.

"Sorry about the wait. I was in the kitchen," he said with a shrug, his blue eyes watery as he looked all three agents up and down. "Is there ugh…anything I can help you with?" he asked, turning his focus to Morgan who was the first to speak.

"We're here with the FBI and we would like to ask you a couple of questions," he responded, his tone clipped and harsh.

Matthews opened his mouth, then closed it as he nodded and stepped aside, allowing the agents room to walk through. "Okay. But I don't know if there's much I can help you with, officers," he said, smiling sadly as he walked them to a simple living room. The room, small and cluttered, contained only one large couch and an equally large television set, forcing Rossi, Morgan and JJ to stand as they motioned for the man to sit down. Tentatively, he did so and he intertwined his fingers as he looked up expectantly.

"So, um…what exactly is this about?"

"We're the agents investigating the serial killings that have been occurring here for the last year," Rossi began and Matthews nodded in understanding.

"Oh yeah, I heard about that. Didn't he like…kidnap that one FBI agent?" he asked, but Rossi continued, ignoring him.

"Last night, we held a press conference where we released the profile of the killer and a concerned citizen had reported you." Matthews leaned back, his eyebrows raised as he digested what he was just told.

"I…I see," he said, looking down at his fingers.

"We just need to ask you a few simple questions, Mr. Matthews," JJ began, forcing a professional smile to grace her features.

But he frowned, shaking his head. "I'm afraid that won't be necessary."

Morgan raised a brow. "And why is that?"

Matthews looked up at him, and then stood, pacing around the small room, hands behind his back as he began to speak. "You know, we're a lot the same- you three and I. We all share a desire to help people. I've always wanted to help people- that's why I went to medical school. And you three want to help people too- that's why you risk your lives every day chasing down criminals." His voice sounded flat and distant, causing Morgan to slowly reach for his gun as Rossi take lead of the conversation.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Matthews, but we really need to return to the questions. I don't see how this is relevant-"

"Because we have one thing that's very different about us," Matthews said, turning to them with a leering smile. "And it's a big difference. It's not our uniforms, or our personalities or our intellects. That's all circumstantial- it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. No, you see, the difference, the big one that puts all of us into an entirely new playing field is that I…" He paused here, sitting back down on the couch as he reclined, his arms draped over the backboard. He smiled at the anticipatory looks he received as he said, "The difference is that I know where Spencer Reid is, and you don't."

xXx

Author's Note: I am just the worst type of person, what with that cliffhanger and all. Anyway, the plot thickens! Who is Matthews and why does he know? Will Reid survive his psychotic break? Will they find him in time? Will the readers kill me for doing this Reid? Review me your thoughts, opinions and suggestions. Thanks again to all you loyal reviewers, favoriters and alerters. You're the motivation that keeps this story going.

Chapter Twelve: The Edge (Preview)

"Yes, of course we care about him," Morgan answered tersely, wanting nothing more than to punch this man and hear a satisfying crack of bones.

"Then why did you let me capture him in the first place?"

"You son of a bitch!" Morgan shouted, dropping his gun as he went to jump on the man, only to be held back by Rossi. He placed a strong hand on his elbow and pulled him back, keeping his grip on him even as he was pulled by his side and an extra several feet away from Matthews. Morgan was shaking with rage and he nearly twitched with the want to attack, but this only made the man smile wider, chuckling slightly.

"We answered your question. Where is Spencer?" Rossi asked, loosening his grip on Morgan as he focused on aiming his gun.

"Hell," he answered with a knowing smirk.