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

WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of rape. The section of the story that features this will be separated with a:

-M-

Feel free to skip over this section as the story will still continue smoothly.

Chapter Twelve: The Edge

'The Edge; there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.' –Hunter S. Thompson

The air in the room was thick and heavy with Matthews's confession, and Morgan was the one to react first. He pulled out his gun, aiming it expertly as he cocked his head to the side, preparing to pull the trigger if necessary.

"Where is he?" he asked, overcome with fury that only continued to grow when Matthews remained smiling, still leisurely sitting on the couch.

"And why should I tell you?"

"Because if you tell us where he is we can make sure you get life without parole instead of the death sentence," Rossi said, his own gun aimed as he spoke coldly and with obvious contempt.

Matthews snorted. "If I never told you where Spencer was- only that he has someone to make sure he stays alive- you'll never give me the death sentence. No one would want to lose the only person who has information regarding a kidnapped FBI agent. Unless," he paused, and his smile fell as he looked at the group before him, three guns pointed his way. "Unless, you really don't care about Spencer and only want me captured. Then I suppose I could be given the death sentence. Do you care about Spencer?"

"Where is he?" Morgan asked again.

"Do you care about him?"

"Where. Is. He?"

"Do you. Care. About. Him?"

Morgan pointed his gun towards the floor and fired, sending a bullet into the old, scuffed up wood before aiming it back at Matthews, who barely even flinched. "Tell me where he is?"

Matthews sighed and took on a look of heavy consideration. Then, after much internal debate, said, "I will tell you where he is if you answer my question. Now, do you care about Spencer?"

The team hesitated a moment, but the concession had to be made in order to get him to speak.

"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.

"Stand up, Mr. Matthews. We're taking you into custody," Rossi said, letting go of Morgan and motioning to him to cuff Matthews. With a nod, Morgan approached the man, silver cuff dangling from his finger as he told him to turn around.

Smiling, he obliged, even pulling his hands behind his back as Morgan roughly began placing the cuffs on him.

"You have the right to remain silent," Rossi began reciting, but he sneered.

"Please, Agent. I know my Miranda Rights," he answered as he was suddenly pushed along by Morgan. The agent dragged the man out the door and across the lawn, practically throwing him in the car as Rossi called Hotch.

He said only one sentence to him before closing his phone and getting in the car with his team and the UnSub, preparing to drive back to the station. The phrase "He's our guy," was never said as triumphantly as it was then.

Xxx

"Did he say anything?" Hotch asked, running into the small room that sat behind the one-way window of the interrogation room, Varney and Emily close behind him.

Rossi frowned and shook his head. "Other than admitting that he did know where Reid was and that he captured him, nothing. We've been trying to get him to speak since we got him here," he said, shrugging his shoulders dejectedly. Hotch looked through the window, eyeing the man who had his youngest subordinate hidden away.

Dark auburn hair, thinning on the top, framed his round face and blue eyes were set under his sloped brow. His lips were thin and his nose was long and pointed, with large, oversized nostrils flanking it. Something about the man made him uneasy, though he wasn't sure if it was the man himself or the knowledge of what he had done and who he had taken. Still, he turned to Rossi and said, "I'll try speaking to him."

"Good luck," Rossi said with a small smile.

Hotch opened the door, drawing the attention of the handcuffed man, who smiled at his presence. Ignoring the taunting grin, he closed the door and sat in front of him, his hands folded and placed on the table between them.

"Do you care about Spencer Reid, too?" he asked.

"Where is he?"

Matthews frowned. "What is with you FBI agents and ignoring questions the moment they focus on that little brat? First the press conference and then now," he muttered. When Hotch said nothing, he continued. "You know, there is something very special about him though, I won't deny that. I especially like the way he screams." Suddenly, Matthews threw himself back in the chair, opening his mouth wide as he feigned an ear-splittingly high scream that cracked and broke every so often as he flailed his cuffed hands around. The scream faded into deep chuckles, which then turned into a full-belly laugh.

When he finally settled down, he looked at Hotch, an eyebrow quirked. "That's how he screams, you know. All high and girly, like he hasn't even hit puberty yet." He waited for a response- for the agent before him to begin yelling at him, threatening him like the others had. But he was the picture of calm. Not even his lip twitched as he listened to Matthews. It was frustrating that he was so stoic and so, taking it as a challenge, he tried again.

"But the best- better even than his screams- is the way he squirms." He leaned forward now, as though he were sharing with the FBI agent a secret of great worth as he added, "Did you know, he hates knives the most. When you try to fight him- physically, with your own hands and feet- he fights back. If he sees a gun, he gets frightened but remains calm. But if you take a knife, and trail it just so over his skin, he screams the loudest. You can see all the fear he has and he doesn't even try to seem strong when he struggles to get away from it. He begs, too, just like this."

He fell back again in his chair as he began imitating Reid, fighting helplessly against invisible restraints as he screamed in a pitiful, whiny voice, "No! Stop! Please! Just stop! No!" The chuckling started again, but ended when he noticed that Hotch finally began to speak.

"You need to tell us where Reid is," he said, causing Matthews to smile wryly.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because we can try to get you a less severe sentence."

"No thanks. Your partner already offered me that and I decided that dying is better than living in a prison."

"We'll find out anyway. We will search your house and everything with your name attached to it and we will find him. You could spare us the trouble and yourself the punishment if you tell us where he is right now."

"Let's make it a game then. Let's see how long it takes for you to find out. If Spencer is still alive by the time you find him, you win. If not…" He trailed off, letting another smile pull his lips upward. Still no reaction from his interrogation officer, and he was starting to get angry.

Before he could begin taunting him even more, Hotch asked, "What are you trying to do?"

Matthews blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Your experiments. What are you trying to do anyway?"

He considered the question for a moment before asking, "You want me to tell you what I plan on doing to Spencer?"

Hotch nodded. "Yes, exactly."

Matthews leaned forward, smiling as he whispered to Hotch, "I plan on breaking him."

xXx

The haze caused by whatever drug Reid had been given quickly disappeared as he felt a hot, burning sensation underneath his feet. With a yelp, he opened his eyes and tried to pull his foot back, but his ankles were held tightly in silver restraints that matched the ones around his wrists. Andrew stood by his feet, holding a small blowtorch up against the heel of his right foot, the tip of the inner blue flame licking his skin. Despite knowing that his legs were hopelessly shackled down, he still struggled to pull them away from the fire, screaming in anguish as Andrew looked up at him, as if surprised that he was awake.

"Stop!" he begged and much to his shock, Andrew listened and turned off the blowtorch, setting it aside. He walked over to him then, scrutinizing him quietly as Reid shook from the lingering pain.

"What happened last night?"

Reid furrowed his brow. Last night? He bit his lip in thought as piece by piece he recalled what exactly had happened before he fell asleep. The knife…he was being cut by a knife all over the place. And then…then Andrew left after punching him and…he heard something…

He gasped as realization flooded him. He had hallucinated. He had heard voices and seen an image of his father, yelling at him. His lip quivered as the tears started anew.

This wasn't happening.

This couldn't be happening.

He wasn't insane.

It was just a psychotic break, nothing more.

He was forced from his thoughts when he heard Andrew, voice firm and angry, as he asked, "What happened last night?" After a second of recollection, he remembered how he felt the pinch of a needle and saw the doctor standing over him just before he fell asleep. He must've heard him screaming and now that he was awake, he wanted answers. But he couldn't tell him. He was almost positive that Andrew disposed of his patients once he 'broke' them and he would not give in. He would not tell Andrew that he had been screaming and struggling because his fear was slowly coming true and because his mind was reaching the breaking point.

"I had a nightmare," he lied, averting eye contact.

"A nightmare?"

"Yes."

"What happened in it?"

Reid swallowed, as he thought for a moment on a plausible lie. "I…had a nightmare that I was working a case and had to watch all my teammates…had to watch them die." The instant Andrew's eyes narrowed and turned harshly to him he realized his mistake.

"There are no teammates, Spencer. You are not an FBI agent. You do not work cases. You are a psychiatric patient suffering from paranoid schizophrenia," he said slowly as if speaking to a child and Reid began shaking, his body rocking back and forth.

"No, you're lying," he whispered. He barely flinched when he felt a hard punch come to his mid-section, so used to the abuse by not that it was predictable.

"Spencer…" he started, but Reid cut him off.

"Just…just leave me alone…" his voice sounded so soft, so defeated that Andrew stepped back, a fretful look passing his features. Whenever Reid spoke, it was always with the same emotion. Fear, anger and determination. It was never this…never this hopeless. He cocked his head to the side, wondering if perhaps he had taken his patient too far and that if he continued, his results would only be the same as all the others. Deciding that perhaps he should back of on young Spencer Reid, just this once, he produced a foil wrapped pill- the Clozaril- and a small water bottle from his pocket once more.

He left the items beside Reid before sighing heavily and walking off, closing the door behind him.

Reid lay motionless for minutes after that, his body sore and throbbing as he sunk into the mattress, greasy curls covering his face as he stared blankly at the pill. He had refused to take it before, not wanting treatment for a condition he didn't possess. But now…now he wasn't so sure.

Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold bottle as he thought his options over. If he took the pill, nothing bad would happen. It would just help alleviate his…his symptoms. And even though he didn't want to take it and admit that he needed it, he wasn't sure if he could suffer through another hallucination.

Slowly, he grabbed the pill and used his thumb to break through the foil, letting the pill fall into his cupped fingers. He turned it over slightly, examining it. Then he brought it to his lips, wetting them slightly. 'I'm not taking it because I'm insane. I'm taking it to make me feel more sane,' he reminded himself before placing it onto his tongue and swallowing it, washing it down with a large gulp of water.

xXx

There were voices surrounding him again and he groaned softly as he buried his face in the pillow, trying to fall back to sleep. The pill didn't work, it seemed, and tears pricked at his eyes. He wanted to scream, wanted to punch something, wanted to attack Andrew. But more importantly, he wanted to go back to his team. He wanted to be reminded that he was sane and that this was just a momentary, stress induced psychoses.

He tried to block the voices out, but they were too close, too solid…Wait…solid? The last time he had heard voices it sounded airy and unattached to anything. But these words- coming from two people he realized, were real and were truly surrounding him.

Straining to try to hear anything without alerting the visitors to his conscious state, he rolled over slightly so that the pillow couldn't muffle the sounds.

"Here, put this over his eyes first."

"Why? It's not like it will matter…"

"Just do it."

The second voice sighed. "Fine, fine."

He immediately recognized Andrew speaking, despite the fog of the Clozaril that still sat in his mind. The second voice however could not be distinguished. It sounded familiar, but not at the same time, as though the last time he had heard it was years and years ago.

As he wracked his brain to try and find the face that matched the voice, his head was pulled back by a tight fist grasping his hand and a blindfold was pulled tightly across his line of sight, shrouding the world in darkness. The fabric slipped down his nose slightly, but was then pulled back up as it was tied tightly- too tightly- around his head. He whimpered at the tightness it created as new fear settled into him.

Andrew had never blindfolded him- so why did he suddenly decide that now it was an appropriate action? And more importantly, he had never had anyone visit him aside from Andrew. So who was it who was with him now? Had there been two UnSubs all along, much like he had first speculated?

The restraints on his wrists were released but calloused hands continued to hold onto him, pulling his hands high above his head. He struggled against the hands, feeling even more vulnerable now that he could no longer see anything. But his battered form provided very little fight and soon, he was flipped over, lying down on his stomach for the first time sense he was taken hostage.

"What...what are you doing?" he asked, confused and frightened by this sudden change in routine. As much as he hated the the abuse and the beatings, he was at least predictable and something he could become settled in a pattern with. But this...this was just so different.

When no answer came, he asked again. "What are you doing?" His wrists were cuffed back into the restraints, which had been moved so as to have him stand on his hands and knees, sinking into the thin mattress. As he opened his mouth to ask the question once more, the answer became clear when he felt a dip in the mattress.

-M-

The coroner reports had said something that he had momentarily overlooked. Until now. All the victims were sodomized. Fear ran through him as he felt his heart beat faster than he had ever thought possible. Blood rushed through his body, muffling the sounds around him as all he became capable of hearing was its roar. He struggled against the restraints, unable to kick as it would throw off his balance.

His panic only continued to rise when he felt hands grip onto his hips, grabbing the fabric of his hospital gown and slowly starting to pull it up. "NO!" he screamed, pulling his pelvis downward, slipping down on the sheets as he fell, groaning in pain as he broken leg throbbed. The person behind him grunted in frustration and fell down on top of him, straddling his hips and Reid's struggles became more frantic.

"No! Please don't!" he cried, trying to slide out from underneath the man's weight. But his body was too weak, and the man was too heavy. He continued to fight though, becoming more frantic when he felt the tell-tale bulge against his lower back. The chains of his restraints clinked and clanked loudly as he grunted with the exertion of his struggle. The hands on his hips returned and he was pulled back into the same position, on his hands and knees, his legs spread. The hands gripped the thin material of his hospital gown and, before Reid could react, shoved it up to his chest, leaving his entire backside exposed.

He tried to move away but his hips were held in place by one hand, the man placing his entire weight into it to pin him down. He slowed in his attempt to break free, panting heavily and whimpering as his body whined in protest to his movements. He hurt so much...

It was sound of a zipper that sent him into action once more.

"No! No! No!" he started shouting, his throat quickly become raw as he tried to move forward, away from the man. But a second hand grabbed onto his hips and pulled him closer, holding him in place. The sound of the restraints against the metal headboard become painful now, ringing harshly around the room as Reid began pulling with such force he felt blood trickle down his wrists. And when he felt the soft, fleshy tip against his opening, he used all his strength to move away. But the hands on his hips just pushed him back, allowing the man to enter him at the same time in a painful thrust.

Reid tossed his head back as he screamed, his entire body feeling like it was being split in half. He tried to move away, tried to escape, but every time he did so he was just pushed back down in an agonizing thrust. Tears filled his lower lids and dampened the blindfold as he continued to yell, pulling on the restraints.

The room was filled with Reid shouting his protests, the man grunting behind him, and the cuffs colliding with the metal bars.

Clink.

Clank.

Clink.

Clank.

The sound was rhythmic with the thrusts, and Reid wanted to stop fighting just to stop the sound. But he didn't. He kept going despite the painful, tearing feeling behind him. He kept screaming despite the obvious ignorance towards his pleas.

"STOP! Please! Stop!"

His cries became more desperate as the moaning behind him became more frequent, more guttural. He kicked, ignoring his broken leg as he continued to struggle against the cuffs, now slick with his blood.

"Stop! Please!" he cried out at the same time that the man moaned his release, a warm sensation coating the back of Reid's inner thighs. He grimaced at the feeling, choking on his sobs as the man fully pulled away from him and moved off the mattress. He was shaking, his knees too wobbly to keep him upright causing him to fall down on the mattress, and groan with the new pain. He was covered in blood and...He shuddered at the other substance that he knew was on him, feeling his stomach wretch violently. He raised himself on shaking arms, vomiting the moment he was propped up, his stomach churning with acid.

-M-

He felt sick- not just physically and not just because his stomach had deposited all its contents. He felt disgusting, dirty, humiliated, vulnerable...Emotions surged through him and he wanted to curl into himself, forgetting the world and the situation. Fortunately for him, he felt the combined dizziness from pain and blood loss fill his head once more and he passed out in a pile of vomit, blood and semen.

xXx

"Hey, did he say anything?" Varney asked, standing beside Hotch as he looked through the window where Morgan and Rossi now sat with Matthews.

Hotch shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "Nothing of use. He just keeps saying things about Reid to get a rise out of us," he said, the anger not evident in his voice. He was a calm, reserved man- but did not mean he was emotionless. And right now, anger, frustration and concern for his friend were slowly breaking away at his cold exterior.

Varney growled, voicing the FBI agents thoughts. "Well, that's just wonderful. What about the search of his house?"

"Ongoing. But Reid definitely isn't there. We had Garcia look for any other properties in his name, but she found none. She's still searching though to see if there's anyway he could have anything under a different name or owner," he answered.

A moment of silence passed where they watched Morgan slam his hand down on the table and get face-to-face with Matthews, snarling viciously. When Morgan walked behind him and then sat himself down, Varney turned to Hotch and said, "Hey...I just got a call from my sister. My mother, up in Quebec, got into a car accident." He cleared his throat awkwardly, shooting Hotch a quick, sad glance.

"Is she alright?"

He bit his lip and shook his head slowly. "No. She got beat up real bad. They...they're not sure if she's going to pull through..." he said, his voice fading out as he released a poorly concealed sob. His face fell and he tried to blink tears away. With a deep breath to collect himself, he said, "S-sorry. I just...I haven't seen her...years...s-she..." He started sobbing once more and Hotch awkwardly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Can you get a flight out there?" he asked.

Varney looked at him, his eyes shining with tears. "I...I'm working this case. I can't...Reid..."

"Reid has us," Hotch said, nodding towards the interrogation room where Rossi now took the lead. "Your mother needs to have you now."

"But-"

"Varney, go visit her. Besides, we've already got our UnSub. Now it's just a matter of finding Reid. You've helped us enough on this case, go see your mother," he said. Varney's face broke into a bright, adoring smile.

"I...I don't know what to say, Agent Hotchner. This...it means so much to me. Thank you," he said through his tears, gratitude obvious as Hotch offered him a small smile.

"Don't worry about it. Now, go try to catch the next flight," he said, turning back to the window.

"Okay," he said, starting to walk away before he looked back at Hotch. "Good luck with finding Reid. I hope you get to him in time."

Hotch nodded. "I hope your mother pulls through."

Varney gave a weak, tight-lipped smile in his direction and then walked away, letting Hotch turn his full attention to Matthews. He continued to watch the interview, knowing that he was not revealing any more information. Matthews turned and looked to him, as if seeing through the mirror to Hotch himself, and smiled eerily. A smile that clearly said, 'I won.'

xXx

Author's Note: This chapter was difficult to write, but I hope it didn't effect the quality too much. I tried to keep the flow there for anyone who didn't feel comfortable reading the material, so let me know how I did, please. Thanks again for all your wonderful reviews! Present!

Chapter Thirteen: Locked in a Cage (Preview)

"What's wrong, Garcia?" he asked, noticing the lack of a witty greeting.

"I...I think I found something, Hotch," she said and he looked at Rossi before putting his call on speakerphone.

"What did you find?"

"About a week before Matthews was taken into custody, he was given a cheque for fifty thousand dollars. And not a salary of any sort," she said and Rossi moved closer, sending a fleeting look to the handcuffed man.

"Who paid him?" he asked.

"That's where it gets confusing," she said after a pause.

"What do you mean? Who paid him?" Hotch asked.