Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.
Chapter Thirteen: Locked in a Cage
'Insanity is relative; it all depends on who has who locked in a cage.' –Ray Bradbury
"How are you feeling today, Spencer?" Andrew asked, undoing Reid's restraints. Thick layers of gauze were wound over his wrists from where the metal had dug into his skin the other day and he did his best to avoid the man's eyes. Sitting up gingerly, wincing at the soreness in his backside, Andrew tried to help Reid up from the bed, but the agent jerked away from his touch.
"Don't," he said sharply, sliding further away from him. He tried to raise himself on his shaking arms, grimacing at the pain, but he still felt like jelly- his muscles virtually useless. Andrew reached over to help him once more but he moved, jumping down at the same time as if to prove he could do it himself. When the soles of his still cut up feet landed on the hard, cold floor, he hissed in pain and fell to his knees, clenching his fists tightly.
The pain- shooting up from the nerves in his feet and the muscles of his rectum- became so overwhelming and intense that he barely registered hands grabbing onto his shoulder. But when awareness settled into his mind and he noticed the heavy weight on him, he lurched, kicking and squirming weakly as Andrew only tightened his grip and continued to pull him up.
After several minutes, Reid was standing on wobbly legs, quivering at the touch that kept him standing. His shoulders felt like they were being burned and his stomach tightened as the incident from the previous day returned.
'Deep breaths, Spencer,' he told himself, trying to quell the flaring nausea inside him. He felt like he was covered in millions of tiny little bugs, invisible to eyes yet still there as their dirty legs climbed up him. His skin tingled as the invisible bugs burrowed underneath, irritating every individual nerve ending, and he wanted to shower.
No, he needed to shower.
Reaching up a shaking hand, he scratched his bare arms, trying to rake away the mites, uncaring of how his nails turned the pale appendage red and raw. The crawling sensation felt so wrong, so dirty. He needed to get rid of it, even if it meant digging down to his bone to do so. Thick, wet liquid coated his fingers, yet he continued to scratch himself despite the blood.
The bugs were growing.
Millions upon millions.
No, billions...
Trillions...
So many legs climbing and pinching his skin, digging under the layers. Yet no matter how hard he scratched the bugs would not reveal themselves- the disgusting sensation remained.
Increasing.
Increasing.
Increasing.
"SPENCER!"
He looked up, startled, to the worried face of Andrew, only inches from his. A tight grip was around his bicep and his knees were dug into the...floor? When had he fallen? He couldn't remember. He had been too focused on getting rid of the grimy feeling to be aware of his surroundings, or even his own actions. Yet now he knelt down, Andrew by his side as he eyed him with concern, self-inflicted cuts stinging his arms.
His lip trembled as he swallowed, unnerved by the close proximity. Had Andrew been the one to abuse him? There had been two voices in the room, and he was fairly certain that the person who sodomized him was the owner of the voice his addled brain didn't recognize. But it was just as likely that Andrew had been the one to do it.
Feeling a burn of betrayal ache his chest, he shuffled away from the man before him, his entire body shaking and stinging as the cold air licked at his freshly made injuries. The nausea returned and he quickly thrust his head between his knees, gripping the joints with a painful grip as he breathed deeply. Don't vomit, don't vomit...
"Spencer, you're filthy. Why don't you come take a shower?"
Slowly, he looked up at him, biting his lower lip in thought. The legs of the bugs still flitted over his skin and the idea of washing it away- drowning the imaginary insects- seemed wonderful. Not to mention how soothing the warm water would feel on his aching muscles. But it would also sting his wounds- old and new- and he was sure that the shower would be supervised; the last thing he wanted to do was be naked and vulnerable in a room with someone who took part in his attack.
As if reading his thoughts through his clouded hazel eyes, Andrew said, "You'll be alone to shower, of course. I'll only stand by the door to make sure nothing happens, as procedure calls for."
Procedure? With a snort, Reid realized he was referring to the procedures taken in psychiatric wards. 'You should be locked in a psych ward,' he thought bitterly, shivering at the memory of his hallucination. He had heard and seen what wasn't there...he had hallucinated.
Panic swelled through him once more, but before it could progress any further, he was lifted from his sitting position by Andrew, who nearly dragged him over to the door opposite the wall his bed sat against. The door was pushed open to reveal a small bathroom- a one person shower in the far corner with walls made of sea-foam green tiles was behind a sandy colored curtain, a toilet next to it. A tiny pedestal sink was place against the adjacent wall, half covered in the same tiles, with a plastic mirror above it. On the lid of the closed toilet sat several large towels, the same color as the shower curtains, and two washcloths.
A hand nudged the middle of his back and Reid stumbled onto the cold tile, hard compared to the linoleum his feet had become accustomed to. As he straightened himself up, hissing at the stab of pain from his older injuries, Andrew strode past him and started the shower, testing the water with his hand and adjusting it so that the lever practically sat in the middle.
Turning towards Reid, he said, "Not too, but not too cold. Shampoo, conditioner and body wash are in the corner shelf." He grabbed a washcloth and handed it to the young man, nearly out the door before a small voice stopped him.
"Andrew," Reid said softly, quivering as the water droplets pelted against the tiles and echoed in the small space available, ringing through the room. When the doctor turned to him, an eyebrow raised, he licked his lips and asked, "Who...who was it...last...last night?"
Silence was thick between them, Andrew cocking his head to the side. "What do you mean?"
Reid looked into the running shower, his resolve nearly gone before adding, "Who was it who...who did that to me?" When he received a blank look, he mumbled, "Who was it who r...raped me?"
"No one did, Spencer," Andrew said softly, his tone almost sympathetic.
Reid's head shot up, causing a quick instance of vertigo to overcome him. No one did? He was lying! Of course someone did! He was sure of it! That wasn't a hallucination- the pain was too real, and his bottom still seared with soreness. How dare he insinuate that nothing happened to him.
"You're getting worse. The paranoia is getting out of control," Andrew muttered, more to himself than to Reid. But before Reid could even argue this statement, he snapped his attention back to the agent and said, "I'm sorry, Spencer, but we're running out of options. I'm afraid I will have to perform electroshock therapy on you. Now get in the shower- you haven't bathed in five days since I returned you and you are filthy."
The door slammed shut with a deafening click and all Reid could hear was the water hitting the tiles and blood rushing to his head, buzzing in his eardrums. Electroshock therapy? No, he couldn't really do that could he? He swallowed hard and shook at the thought, imagining what it would feel like to be struck by volts upon volts of electricity.
He squeezed the washcloth in his hand as he absentmindedly began peeling the hospital gown off of his body, grimacing as it stuck to his cut arms. When he had thrown the gown onto the floor and stood naked, shivering in the cold, he looked at the mirror in his vision's periphery, unsure of whether or not he really wanted to see his reflection.
Andrew had said five days...So he had been imprisoned for five days- what changes to his appearance could have occurred in such a short span of time? His curiosity getting the better of him- as it often did- he turned fully to face the mirror, gasping audibly at the image that stared back at him.
His skin was white with a sickly sheen of yellow, pulled gaunt over his bones, stretching over the curves of his structure. His cheeks looked shallow and pitted, sunken inward as his cheekbones jutted outward. His hazel eyes were dull and listless with exhaustion and defeat, held far back in his skull in bruising eye sockets. Deep circles sat beneath his eyes and his dark curls were lank with grease and blood, shining crudely in the fluorescent light. His temple was bruised badly, shades of plum and yellow sticking out against his skin and his forehead had been split open, blood caked to the wound acting as a bandage. Various gashes and bruises littered his form, but the mirror showed no lower than his collarbone and he sighed in relief. He wasn't quite sure if he could handle seeing his body so broken- his leg set in a bulky cast, stitched wounds pulling his skin even taunter together, burns and bruises marring his skin.
Swallowing painfully, he ducked his head and limped over to the shower, tentatively placing a hand under the pelting droplets. He moaned softly at the warmth of it, his eyes fluttering shut as the water gently massaged his open palm, warming his bones and muscles. It seemed like he couldn't get inside fast enough, lumbering into the sectioned off area and sighing contentedly at the comfort it provided. He could practically feel tension leaving his body as it was worked away by invisible hands, ceasing the shiver that crept through him.
Grease from his unwashed hair trickled down his chest and back, his curls hanging in limp, wet divisions and sticking to his face. Watered down blood slid over his arms and fell to the tiled floor with a resounding drip that shook his ears. But he didn't care how loud the noise was- the heat felt too wonderful for him to mind.
Minutes passed before Reid even begun to wash himself. The soaps were in plain bottles, with the only identifying information being the big bold words of 'SHAMPOO' 'CONDITIONER' and 'BODY WASH' that labeled each one. Reaching out, he grabbed the shampoo and opened it, squeezing a generous amount into his palm and then smoothing it into his hair. It felt so good to finally have clean hair, even if it did smell like coconuts. But his happiness at such a simple luxury was soon forgotten as he recalled Andrew's parting words.
Electroshock Therapy...
He couldn't let Andrew perform that on him. Torture was one thing. Torture he could live through. But having the chemistry of his brain permanently alter for no reason? He whimpered at the thought. This was going too far. He needed to leave now.
The water continue to beat against him, but his mind was far from focused on the shower now. The gears in his brain- long since silenced by pain and fear- were cranking back into use again, whirring into plans and thoughts.
He needed to act like the team wasn't searching for him- like he was on his own. He closed his eyes, thinking up an escape that was sure to work.
xXx
"Did you find anything, Garcia?" Morgan asked through his cellphone and the blonde huffed impatiently.
"No, I haven't," she said softly, growling in anger as a search revealed yet another dead end. "There's no other property in his name. The only property he would have connections to would be that of his friends and family."
Morgan sighed. "And we already searched all of those properties. Nothing there."
Garcia frowned as she leaned forward on her desk, resting her head in her hand. "What if we don't find him?" Her voice was choking over tears and she grimaced with the effort to hide them. The last thing they needed was for a team member to breakdown when they were so close to finding Reid.
"Hey, don't speak like that, Baby Girl. We'll find him, alright?" his soothing voice said to her through her headset and she nodded, knowing that he couldn't see her do so. He continued to speak and she could almost hear the smile in his voice as he said, "Work one of those famous Garcia Miracles of yours and find our boy. I know if anyone can, it's you, Sweetheart." She smiled wide at the praise, his encouragement just what she needed to begin her search once again.
"I'll start looking through his payment history and see if he gave money to someone else to purchase property for him. I'll let you know what I find," she said, hanging up the phone just after he said 'That's my girl.'
Even though she sounded confident, and even though Morgan treated her like a goddess of knowledge, she was terrified that she would find nothing. That she would be the reason they didn't find Reid- in time or at all. How would she live with herself, knowing that her computer prowess wasn't good enough to save him? That she was the only one whose skills weren't honed enough to provide them what little information they needed...
Shaking herself of the thoughts, she proceeded to find payment records, deciding that moping around was single-handedly the least effective action to help him. Her fingers pressed keys madly, her eyes scanning the screen quickly as she looked for any large transactions. For minutes she sat there, going through bank and account records, trying to find a lead. But her search ended when she saw something that made her eyes widen and her jaw drop.
Frantically, she began to call Hotch, unable to take her eyes from the newly discovered lead. The ring of the telephone began and her heart thumped wildly in her chest.
This was it...
xXx
"He isn't saying anything, Hotch," Rossi said quietly as they looked through the one-way window into the interrogation room, where Emily and Morgan were now questioning Matthews.
Hotch sighed and closed his eyes briefly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. They were getting nowhere. They had found the UnSub and were getting nowhere. God only knew what state Spencer was in, or if he was even still alive. He shuddered at the involuntary thought. Of course he was still alive- there was no evidence to prove otherwise and until there was, they would continue to search.
He was disrupted from his reply to Rossi by the vibration of his cellphone. He grabbed it and flipped it open, hearing Garcia's breathy hello.
"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.
"The cheque was given to Matthews by Heath Varney."
xXx
"Here, take your pill, Spencer," Andrew said, offering him the medication and another small water bottle to Reid, who sat on his bed, unchained, with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was still damp, water running down his shoulders, back and chest from the tips of his curls, his skin rubbed red and raw. He had been forcefully removed from the shower after Andrew discovered him scrubbing his skin hard enough to draw blood in the hottest setting and was now shivering as the cool air hit his burning skin.
He held his arm out, cupping his palm as the pill fell into it and then popping into his mouth, taking a swig from the water bottle to follow it down. Andrew regarded him slowly, his gaze one of contemplation.
"Why were you doing that?"
Reid waited a second before replying, rolling his shoulders as he spoke. "I felt dirty."
"Why?"
He shook his head, slumping forward. But he didn't answer, letting the silence be reply enough. Andrew sighed, walking over to his medical bag and placing it on the desk where he began to look through it, pulling out a blowtorch, a knife and a blindfold.
The second the fabric fell onto the table, Reid's eyes widened in realization at what was to come and he jumped from the bed, gasping as his broken leg made a cracking sound. His entire body gave way and he held onto his calf, holding it close to his body as he whimpered in pain. Andrew sent a concerned look towards him, placing all the items down on the desk before he walked over to help Reid up. But when he approached the agent, he growled angrily and rolled his body away, shuffling towards the wall.
"Spencer-" he began, but was cut off.
"DON'T! Please...not again," he said, his words coming out between ragged breaths as he pressed himself as close to the wall as possible, as if trying to sink into it and disappear. His lungs were expanding and contracting at an inhuman rate, but air was still escaping him as adrenaline buzzed through his veins. Once was bad enough. He couldn't let it happen twice.
"Spencer, relax. This is for your own good."
"No! Don't! Please!"
Everything that occurred next happened so fast, it would seem more like a blur to an outside viewer. With epinephrine working into his body, Reid stood and ran to the door, grabbing the handle and pulling such ferocity that the bolts began to wiggle in the sockets, the padlock nearly breaking. In the mere seconds that he had been there, fighting against his only escape, he started losing hope, knowing that the door wouldn't budge any further.
Andrew was watching with an amused expression on his face, as if he knew as well Reid was fighting a losing battle. But when a snap filled their ears and Reid fell back with momentum, he gaped at what had happened. The door slid open, revealing a brightly lit corridor with bare, white walls.
The two men were motionless for a moment, but almost instantaneously Reid jumped back out and ran through the door, his face alighted with hope- actual hope- that he might get out. That he might return home. But no sooner had he stepped into the hall that he felt a hand grab his arm, and he jumped forward, trying to break free. The towel slipped from his waist, but he couldn't care about his state of undress- he was so close to getting out!
The grip slipped from his arm and he stumbled forward, his heartbeat accelerating to a dangerous pace as he picked himself and ran to the left, seeing the flight of stairs. Roaring blood filled his head and he felt lightweight, as if it was all a dream that was too good to be true. But the throb in his broken leg and everywhere else and the shooting pain in the soles of his feet proved otherwise. It proved that it was real- the pain was real, the rush was real and the escape was real.
He reached his hands out, using the walls to stabilize himself as he continued to run awkwardly to the stairs, wishing he could move faster. Meeting the landing, he started taking two steps at a time, hopping up the creaking boards to his destination. But when his foot connected with the sixth step, a hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled him down.
He cursed loudly as he fell back, tumbling down the stairs and onto the hard, unfinished concrete floor, gasping out in pain. Shoulders smacked down harshly, legs banged against the stairs, and his head whipped back and thwacked against the cement. Bright white stars blurred his vision and he moaned, trying to roll over to his side. A foot on his chest stopped him however, and he looked weakly up at Andrew, who frowned down at him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he saw the needle being pulled out from Andrew's lab cloak, along with the tranquilizer. He began squirming, trying to wriggle out from underneath him, ignoring the throbbing protest his head made at the jerky movements. But it was no use, the needle pinched his shoulder and he gasped as the fluid rushed into him, making him feel sleepy and weak.
"Now I'm going to have to punish you," Andrew said almost sadly before the world went black.
xXx
When Reid woke up, his body was on fire from fresh pain, the blindfold shielding his eyes. He was lying on his belly, his wrists cuffed to the headboard once more and his muscles and bones hurting more than ever before. Blood and semen covered his thighs once more and he was somewhat grateful that he had been unconscious during the act. But the ache in his lower region and the humiliated feeling that came with it still lingered, making him want to bury his face in the singular pillow and cry, giving way to all the emotions and hurt that he had lived through and with for the past five days.
Five days...
He had been here for five days and no one had found him yet, no one had come to rescue him. He choked on the thought, feeling his eyes burn as his shoulders quivered and then shook. Were they even looking for him? Would they just leave him here to be tortured and sodomized?
Tears fell hot onto his fevered cheeks, his teeth biting down on his lower lip as he struggled to contain a cry of despair. Of course they were still looking for him.
Unless...
Unless they weren't real. Unless they were a delusion.
The cry escaped as Reid crumpled down onto the mattress, drawing his body inward as he rocked himself back and forth, muttering one phrase over and over again.
"They are real...They are real..."
xXx
"Hotch?" Garcia asked after a moment of no response. "Are you still there?"
Blinking in surprise, as if he was just know aware of the fact that he was in a conversation, he looked to Rossi, licking his lips. "Yes, I am. Are you sure it's our Varney?"
"Yeah. It says he's a police officer and his current residence is in Phoenicia. It's our Varney," she said breathlessly, still in shock herself. "You need to get him, Hotch. He has to know where Reid is, I just know it!" Her voice was desperate now, reaching high octaves before she cleared her throat and apologized.
"He went on a plane," he answered softly, awareness rushing through him. He told him to go. He let him leave. He let the newest suspect walk away. He swallowed, looking back to Matthews for a second before pressing the intercom button, leaning forward to make an announcement.
"Come out here. We found something."
JJ and Morgan looked back to the window, blinking and sharing a look of subdued hope and confusion before saying some final words to Matthews and leaving, looking to Hotch as the door clicked into place.
"What happened?" JJ asked, her face flushed and her eyes wide. 'Please...lead us to Spencer,' she thought as Hotch raised his cell phone into their view.
"Garcia found something."
"That I did," she said, her voice cracking over the receiver. "It appears that Varney paid Matthews fifty thousand dollars a week before his arrest. I know I'm not a profiler or anything, but I don't think Matthews is our guy. I think Varney is."
"No, I think you're right, Garcia," Rossi said, walking forward to be closer to the phone. "Can you look up his flight information? When his plane departed, or if it even did?"
"Of course."
There was silence for a moment as she pulled up the data, the team waiting with bated breath for her answer. When they heard her mutter a solemn "No..." Morgan leapt forward, taking the phone and practically yelling into it.
"What did you find?"
They could hear her cry now as she said, "He crossed country line, we have no jurisdiction. He left fourteen hours ago."
xXx
Author's Note: There are a lot of smart people who reviewed last chapter, predicting that Varney paid Matthew off. Well, I guess there's still some mystery, eh? Thanks again to all reviewers, and anyone who alerted or favorited this story. It means a lot. Review me your thoughts and suggestions- improvement is only a click away!
IMPORTANT! There is now a poll on my profile (At least, it should be there. Fan Fiction has not been kind to me lately) The question is: Should I write a sequel to The Doctor's Patient? The answers are: Yes, but with no second capture. Just a glimpse into life after the incident. Yes, and with a second capture where Reid is kidnapped again (with plot changes, don't worry, it won't be a mindless rewrite) and No, I would not be interested in a sequel. I would greatly appreciate it if everyone took the time to answer, as I'm still on the fence about writing one and if so, what to do. I have multiple ideas going on, but still am not sure which the readers will enjoy more. So let me know. The one with the most votes will be given the most consideration.
Let me know on what you would like to see for a sequel, if there is one and hopefully I can satisfy all readers. Now, present time!
Chapter Fourteen: Between Angels and Demons (Preview)
"Spencer, I'm sorry I had to punish you. But you tried to escape. I just wanted to help," Andrew said, sighing sadly as he sat down in the chair he had pulled up to Reid's bed. Reid looked up at him, still lying on his belly as he tugged the blanket closer under his chin, his head nodding slowly.
"I understand," he said, licking his lips.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "You do?"
"Yes. I...I know now how delusional I was being. How...ridiculous I was. You were...you were right. I'm sorry," he said, swallowing as he gave the doctor a pitiful look, his hazel eyes wide and glistening. "I...I just want to be sane. I want...I need you to help me. I'm sorry I tried to escape. I'm sorry I argued with you. You were right."
Andrew's mouth fell open in shock, closing every so often before he straightened his back and said, "You believe me now, Spencer? You know just how dangerously unstable you are?"
Reid smiled weakly, his lips quivering. "Yes."
"You know that you're not an FBI agent? That there is no team you work with?"
He was unreadable for a moment, his eyes glazing over briefly before he nodded and said, "Yes. There is no team, and I'm not an agent. I never have been."