Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.
WARNING: I had some people complain about how gross the torture scenes were, so I feel I must warn you all that this chapter contains even worse torture. Prepare yourselves.
Chapter Sixteen: The Majority
'He appears mad indeed but to a few, because the majority is infected with the same disease.' –Horace
Reid barely had time to wake up that morning, the grogginess still there when he felt a sharp, heated blade slide along his thigh. He hissed in pain, lifting his body up from the mattress, the restraints wrapped even tighter than he could ever remember around his wrists. He opened his eyes slowly, turning his head to see Andrew standing above him, a red hot knife in his hand.
He watched as the tip of the burning blade sunk into the skin of his thigh and he yelled out, the simultaneous burn and cut too much. He tried to pull his leg towards him, but found that, to his horror, his ankles were once more shackled down so tightly that his legs wouldn't budge. His throat constricted in terror and panic as the knife made hot, lazy lines up and down his legs, a trail of blood following.
"Stop," he whimpered, clenching his teeth around his lip and tasting metal. Andrew looked at him, the knife held in place before he continued moving it, bringing it closer and closer to his hip in agonizingly slow drags. Reid gasped as it reached the sensitive dip that connected his hip bone and groin, thankful when he felt the blade rise up from his skin instead of continuing further.
Blood dripped from the tip of the still-hot knife as Andrew placed it down on a small, wheeled table, turning to Reid with a stern yet unreadable expression. He swallowed, his thigh burning and searing as blood pooled from the cut and fell down the curves of his leg. He could tell by the hard, cold glint in Andrew's dark brown eyes that he was in trouble.
A lot of trouble.
"I...I'm sorry," he choked, trying to move away from the doctor but with nowhere to go. Fear flooded through him at what his fate would be and he regretted his escape attempt. He should have just stayed and trusted his team to find him.
"You're in a lot of trouble, Spencer," Andrew said as he grabbed a black briefcase and put it on the table. Unlocking it, he revealed a series of instruments that glinted menacingly in the fluorescent lighting. Unnerved, Reid watched as Andrew scrutinized each one before selecting a set of pliers, and swallowed, clenching his eyes as he prepared for the torture to come.
"This is for your own good," Andrew said, as he grabbed Reid's left hand and tightened his grip around the knuckles to separate his fingers. Reid's eyes widened, his hand instinctively pulling back. But the grip was too strong and Andrew had placed the teeth of the pliers around the nail of his pinky finger. The restraints rattled as he struggled to get away, to prevent even more pain from happening. He whimpered as the teeth clamped down securely, closing his eyes tight just as he felt a tug and a rip.
A scream tore through his lungs, the tender skin below his nail exposed, pulsing and covered in blood. His hand shook involuntarily as the pliers went to the next nail, the teeth encasing the tip of his nail once more.
"No, no, no," Reid begged as he tried to pull back, but just as he jerked his hand away, the teeth clamped shut and ripped a second nail out, pulling out another scream. He gasped, his breath taken away with the shout as the bloody tip of his finger curled into his palm, hissing when pressure was applied to the sensitive flesh.
When he felt the bottom tooth cool the skin of his middle finger, he flinched away, shaking his head furiously. "No! Please! Stop!" he growled, twisting and raising his body as he fought against the pliers that threatened to tear away another nail.
Andrew looked at him for only a moment before he quickly ripped the middle nail off as well, putting the pliers down as he stood over Reid and waited for him to stop his fresh round of screams.
His throat was raw and hoarse when he finished, and tears peeled hot and wet in his eyes as he looked at the doctor, his three bloody fingers trembling. He hurt so much! Everywhere! His body was throbbing in pain! His leg, his thigh, his fingers, his chest- his chest was on fire! Right below the curve in his collar bone, slightly to the right, there was a sharp, burning pain. Sutures pulled the red, irritated skin taut and he suddenly became aware of the fact that that was where he had been shot.
By Varney.
He whimpered, the betrayal eliciting renewed feelings of hurt, anger, self-hate and regret. He had been so stupid! He had ignored the obvious. He allowed this to happen. He deserved what he got. Chains rattled lightly as he shook with tears, trying not to voice the sobs aloud for Andrew to hear.
Screaming because of pain was logical- it was a response to stimuli.
Trying to get away was logical- it was the self-preservation mechanism of the human psyche.
Shaking and flinching was logical- it was a learned response from the effects of stimuli.
But crying out loud wasn't logical. He would not give Andrew the satisfaction of knowing that he broke him, reduced him to tears. He would not let him hear his sobs- seeing them was one thing. But hearing them made them real and he couldn't give him that right. Andrew didn't deserve to see and hear Reid so vulnerable. He wouldn't let him.
His chest trembled with the sobs he held in- but still, he refused to let them loose. Andrew's voice entered his mind and he took a moment to still himself before looking up, defiance clear in his hazel eyes despite the tears that sat at the bottom.
Oh yes, he was far from broken.
"Let's try this again," Andrew said, flat and cold as he pulled his seat up next to the bed. He reached into the black briefcase and pulled out a different instrument- one that resembled a corkscrew. The tip of it was pointed more and the overall width of it was skinny, but it still had a sharp ridge that curled around it, twirling over the straight, pointed metal. A small lever sat on top of it, just below the wooden handle, and Reid watched with morbid curiosity as he placed the device directly over one of the long, bleeding slits from where the knife had ran down his thigh. The spiked tip poked at the sliver dividing his skin and he winced.
"What do you do for a living?"
Reid took a deep, steadying breath.
"I'm a special agent for the BAU," he said finally.
Andrew grabbed the lever and turned it, twisting the metal piece as it dug deeper into the wound, pointed tip going further down as the twisted blade sliced the surrounding skin. Reid howled, trying to pull his leg back only to remember it was securely tied down. After what felt like hours, the lever stopped and so did the screw, the cut now deeper and choppier in that specific area of his leg.
He panted heavily, sweat clinging to his hairline as drips slid down to his temple. His chest rose and fell in long, exasperated breaths, tension released as the pain stopped.
"What do you do for a living?"
He hesitated.
"I'm a special agent for the BAU," he said through gritted teeth, not willing to give up even if just in words.
The lever started again. The needle dipped down even further and the screwed edge ripped into his skin, peeling it back. He gasped and groaned, pain-induced nausea tightening his stomach as the amount of sweat increased, sliding down tendrils of brown curls and slipping down his neck. The lever stopped and he sighed in relief, the area surrounding the needle torn and bloodied with skin pulled away from the original slice.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I...I'm a...special agent...for the B...BAU..." he panted out as he struggled to regain his breath, his heart beating hard and quickly against his ribs. Stomach and intestines rolled over each other as bile rose in his throat and bells rang off in his ear, a sheen of sweat covering his face and neck.
The lever moved.
The curved edge scissored the skin even more so, disconnecting small pieces from his thigh as the needle dug down even further. And when it hit something solid and chiseled against his bone, the bile rose in his throat but stopped, the throat muscles too constricted too push it forward. He coughed and sputtered, his air passage blocked off as his chest heaved, trying to give the bile the momentum it needed. But it wouldn't move and he continued to choke on it, tears filling his eyes again as dizziness from the asphyxiation clouded his brain.
He barely registered his wrist coming free from it's restraint as he was rolled onto his side and lifted slightly, the bile pushing upward and coming out in sputtering coughs over his mattress. The dark, putrid smelling substance slid down his chin and burned his throat as he tried to breathe deeply, recovering from the momentary lack of oxygen.
But just as quickly as he was released and moved to his side, he was pushed back down and tied in once more. The pointed metal of the corkscrew-like device settling over the slit, two inches up from where it burrowed a deep hole only minutes before. Andrew had every intention of repeating this process again.
"What do you do for a living?"
His throat inflamed and raw from the vomit, he could only wheeze out a weak, "BAU."
Lever turned.
Curved edge sliced.
And Needle dug.
Reid's mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to force any noise. His back arched off the mattress and tears and sweat mixed together. He felt so sick, so pained. Every part of him was shaking from the blood loss and he was sure his body was almost blue with the poor circulation. His lips and teeth chattered together and his thigh...his thigh was burning. Cut off pieces of his skin sat in the pools of blood that slicked his thighs and he wasn't sure how much longer he could go before he passed out.
"What do you do for a living?"
He didn't even know he stopped working the screw down. He couldn't tell which pain was ongoing and which was old anymore, he was so overstimulated.
"I work..." he stopped himself. The pain needed to stop. The blood loss needed to stop. He wasn't doing this because he believed it- he was doing it because he needed it. "I'm a mental patient at a psychiatric ward," he breathed, relieved when he felt the cool metal pull away from his wound. Knowing the pain was finally over, he fell into a deep, deep sleep.
xXx
Reid groaned as the blindfold was removed and the cuffs undone so that he could be rolled onto his back. He growled as his sore backside was pushed roughly down on the mattress, tears prickling his eyes as he looked up at Andrew.
"Please, make him stop," he whispered hoarsely, his throat torn and raw from screaming. Andrew looked back at him, almost sadly, as he pulled the blanket up over Reid, covering his shaking form. Reid grimaced when the blanket stuck to his thighs, glued in place by the blood and semen.
Disgusting. He felt disgusting. Dirty. Humiliated. Ashamed. Used.
No matter how many times it happened- how many chances he had to get use to it, the feelings never changed. He felt just as bad as he did the first time, each time. The feelings didn't go away, didn't get better. He didn't get more accustomed to it.
And that was what he hated the most. He couldn't just let it go, or ignore it. He had to relive it over and over again.
"I'll let you get some sleep," Andrew said, standing to leave but was stopped by Reid gripping his wrist, pulling him back. He looked at his patient expectantly, a graying eyebrow raised in question.
"Please," Reid whispered again, just barely audible. "Please make him stop."
Andrew sighed as he shrugged his arm out of Reid's grasp. "Make who stop?" he asked.
Reid's eyes widened and he shook his head, tears spilling out his eyes and down his cheeks. "Varney. Make him stop," he whispered.
"There's no such man that I know of named Varney," Andrew said.
No. He was lying. He had to be. Varney was real- Varney had been in the room not even ten minutes before. Andrew was lying to him.
"Yes, there is," Reid argued, his lower lip quivering. "He was just in here."
"No one was just in here, Spencer. It's just you and me," Andrew said, turned and leaving before Reid could say anything else.
Reid's body shook with sobs as he squeezed his eyes shut, as if it would block out the whole situation. Varney was real, Varney was real...he was in too much pain for Varney to not be real. Andrew was lying. Andrew was just trying to make Reid doubt himself. Andrew wanted Reid to think he was hallucinating, think he was going to go insane. And this was just an endeavor to make it happen. But he wouldn't let it happen- he wouldn't.
Varney was real.
His team was real.
And they were going to find him.
This thought calmed him- thinking of his team working so hard to find him. He imagined that they were interviewing everyone and everything they could, searching everything they could get a warrant for, and knocking down any doors they had to. He imagined them sitting around the table in the Board Room, a white board in front of them as they worked at two in the morning, drinking coffee like it was water.
His body and mind relaxed, the thoughts soothing him and disassociating him from the bed he was cuffed to, the abuse he was subjected to. Thinking of the investigation brought some sort of facsimile of peace to him, and he thought about how they handled his disappearance, what they might've done.
Well, first they would have gone to the crime scene. They would have examined his bag and his destroyed gun, and then sent samples of the blood from where his leg shattered to forensics.
Then they would go over his case file, comparing it to the other victims to ensure that the victimology matched up. They would have found some discrepancies- after all, Andrew had told him that he was different from the other victims and surely, the team would've found why.
He lied like that for what had to have been an hour, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly- looking for all the world as if he were in a peaceful slumber. But his mind was working, creating scenarios about the case and imagining each step they took, and were taking. It was calming, and it worked to keep his mind away from the pain and the cause of the pain. It worked until he heard an all too familiar voice sneer at him.
"You disgust me."
His eyes shot open, looking around the dark room. It was an amazing thing really, that his fear of the dark could be pushed aside when his mind was so troubled by a million other things. But when the voice spoke, disturbing his serenity and alerting him to a second presence in the room, his fear came crashing into him. Shadows building in the corners, no light to guide him. He felt suffocated by the blackness all of a sudden, and his mind created monsters out of the innocent, darkened corners. Monsters that looked suspiciously like the two men who visited his room daily. He hated not knowing what was around him and the compromising feeling he felt of not being able to see.
But when the voice spoke again- a clear and cold curse of 'You disgust me'- Reid turned towards and found that Hotch stood only half a foot away from him, his tall, domineering frame hovering over the bed. His eyes were hardened, black instead of brown and his lips were pinched tightly together. But still, the flood of happiness swam through Reid and he broke out into a faltering smile, not really wanting to trust his eyes.
"H...Hotch?" Reid whimpered, staring disbelievingly at the man before. He reached out, his hand quivering as he tried to grab hold of anything tangible- anything real about his boss. But he stepped back, the fabric of his suit jacket now inches away from Reid's fingertips. "Hotch?" he asked again, looking up to see hard black eyes turned on him, a thin, tight-lipped scowl on his face.
"You disgust me," he spat out, and Reid shrunk back, his hand snapping closer to him as if the man had turned into an all-consuming flame. His eyes widened at the words and he felt his throat close up with tears.
"Wh...what? Hotch...it's me," he said, his voice small and filled with tears. Why was he being so mean? Wasn't he happy to see him?
"You disgust me," he spat again, harsher and slower as he folded his arms across his chest. Reid shook his head. This wasn't happening. He was his family. How could he do this to him?
His lip quivered as he whispered the name again, stopping when he heard another voice, coming from the foot of his bed, yell at him.
"You're so weak," Morgan hissed, and Reid jumped at the venom his normally deep, silky voice contained. He turned to the man- one of his closest friends- and swallowed, hating the way he stood with his hands balled into fists at his side, hatred etched into his dark face. He shook his head, tears prickling his eyes and stinging his lower lid.
"No, you're not real. You're a hallucination," he murmured, wanting desperately to close his eyes to the ghostly deceit that surrounded him. But he couldn't. He was too fascinated by his minds projected delusions and too happy to finally see his friends- if only an illusion of them- that he had to look, had to drink in their forms. It didn't matter the harsh things that they were saying- they were his family. And they weren't real. His family would never be this cruel to him.
"For a boy genius you sure are stupid," JJ sneered from behind Hotch, her lips curled in disgust and her nose turned up at him. He felt his throat close together as he swallowed, repeating the mantra over and over in his head.
"You're not real, you're not real..."
He closed his eyes now, their forms memorized behind his lid for safekeeping, and tried to block their words out. But the voices grew louder and more venomous, the voices of Emily, Rossi and Garcia jumping in, taunting him.
"You disgust me."
"You're so weak."
"For a boy genius you sure are stupid."
"No one even likes you- you're so irritating!"
"You can't do anything but recite facts!"
"You're useless to this team. We don't care if we even find you."
His ears burned, their insults like fire when said in their voices. His eyes squeezed shut tighter and sweat slicked his forehead as he murmured louder and louder, hoping to rise over their words. They weren't real, they weren't real, they weren't real...
'Wasn't it possible that they were never real to begin with, if they aren't real this time?' Reid thought before he could stop himself. And the second the idea entered his mind, the voices ceased and he was left alone.
xXx
"Morgan, what did you find out from Mrs. Varney?" Hotch asked as the group gathered outside the small house, a crew of local police officers taking over the search. Linda and Shawn sat outside as the youngest family member, Varney's seven year old daughter, Lilly, picked flowers for the 'kind lady'- the kind lady being JJ who had escorted the girl from school to her home shortly after they came to the family's home.
Morgan shrugged his broad shoulder as he crossed his arms. "Well, she told me some interesting facts about their sex life. I think it's safe to assume that Varney's the one raping the victims, as well as dumping the bodies. He doesn't hold the respect for them that his partner has," he said.
"So, why are they partners? There doesn't seem to be a dominant-submissive pattern to this partnership, so why are they even working together? The partner clearly sees the victims as patients while Varney sees them as objects," Rossi said, and Hotch turned back to Morgan, a new question on his mind.
"Did she say anything about a friend of his that might have had medical training?" he asked.
Morgan's eyes flew up to the top of his head as he thought for a second before saying, "No. She did mention though that she called him once when he was at a hospital. He never told her why he was there, and she thought that he was having an affair with a doctor or nurse."
"What if the partners a doctor?" Emily suggested, cocking her head to the side as she bit her lip.
"But Reid's profile-" JJ started, only to be interrupted by Rossi.
"A profile is based on precedent. So, it's possible that our UnSub is a doctor," he said.
Hotch nodded slowly, adding, "It's unusual, but possible. Likely even, considering the fact that we've gone through our list."
Emily's eyes widened with a new thought, extending her hand out as she pointed with emphasis. "That's how he knows that the victims he selects match his criteria! This is a small area- doctor's probably have shared files. Our UnSub- Varney's partner- must use his access to these records to pick his victims," she explained.
"And Reid's file was added after the car accident," Hotch said, realization dawning on him.
"So, our guys a doctor. That doesn't narrow it down much," Rossi said, shaking his head.
"Yeah, and anyway, how would he know they're personalities were his type? You don't put that in a medical file- it's irrelevant. And what doctor has time to stalk people long enough to get an in depth understanding of who they are," Morgan suggested, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head.
JJ gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as he blue eyes widened. That day- the day Reid was discharged- a doctor talked to her about him. Asked her questions. Asked about his personality.
"Oh my god," she muttered, all color draining from her face as she shook violently. It was her fault. She was the reason he knew Reid was his type- it was all because of her!
"JJ, what's wrong?" Emily asked, leaning over to place a hand on her shoulder.
"It's...it's my fault," she mumbled, tears sliding down her pale cheeks.
"What do you-" Emily began, but JJ looked up, her blue eyes filled with guilt, sorrow and pain. She did it. She sealed his fate.
"The doctor...at the hospital...his discharge...I..." she tried to explain, but her body was convulsing too much, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession with her breaths. She couldn't breathe. She felt dizzy. She felt sick. Everything was spinning. Why did she answer his questions?
Steadying hands reached out to her, and she heard Hotch give her a command. What did he say? Blood was rushing too fast in her ears- she couldn't hear him. He sounded muffled, like cotton covered her ears and he tried to tell her something from yards away. But he spoke again and she heard it, his voice a low, deep timbre as he said, "Breathe. JJ, relax, just breathe. Okay."
She nodded, trying to follow his instructions. Breathe in, breathe out. For several minutes she stood there, focusing on her breathing, trying to calm her heart which was beating too fast and her hands which were shaking too much. Relax. Breathe. She told herself over and over again that she needed to be calm, needed to find Reid. And in order to do that, she needed to tell them. Needed to be calm. Be calm.
Be calm.
"JJ? What were you trying to say?" Hotch asked, his hand holding onto her upper arm to support her.
She took a final, deep and gulping breath. "When...when Reid was discharged, this doctor talked to me. He...he asked me about him. Questions about how he responded to people. And I...oh God, I answered! I told him that he was awkward and reserved and an observer...I...I told him everything!" she yelled, crying heavily with the guilt. She practically handed Reid to him!
"What was his name? JJ, you need to tell us?" Rossi said.
Her head swam. What was his name? She couldn't remember! She gave Reid away on a silver platter and she couldn't even remember the doctor's name! Her mind cursed at her, telling her that Reid would remember it. He would even remember the exact outfit the doctor wore! But Reid wasn't here- because of her.
Suppressing her reprimanding thoughts, she thought back to that day. But as hard as she tried, she couldn't remember his name. It seemed so long ago, so insignificant. But she did remember one thing. Would it help?
"He was his discharge doctor," she said, turning her eyes to everyone. "I can't remember his name, but he was his discharge doctor. I...I am so sorry."
"I'll call Garcia, see if she can find it," Morgan said as he stepped away from the group, his cell phone out as he hit her speed dial.
Hotch turned to her, his brown eyes locking onto her blue ones as he continued to support her unsteady form. "Listen, it's not you fault, JJ. You didn't give him any information he wouldn't have found out anyway. Any one of us would have done the same. No one would have suspected him, alright," he told her and she nodded, not believing her words. 'Liar,' she thought, knowing that her boss was too suspicious of everyone to do what she did. But she let him lie, welcoming it almost as she pushed her guilt away. She needed a clear head. Needed to focus.
Morgan returned, saying the information before he even came to a full stop. "Dr. Andrew Wright. Home address was sent to the GPS," he said. Without even a word of instruction given, they divided into groups of two and ran to the cars, hoping that this would be where they found Reid.
xXx
Author's Note: It's a cliffhanger, but at least it's a good one! The team is so close now. But will they make it in time? Thank you all for you kind reviews and whatnot! Let me know your thoughts, opinions and suggestions. And don't forget to vote!
The next chapter won't be uploaded until Sunday or Monday, unfortunately, but hopefully the story would have been completed by then.
Chapter Seventeen: Suffer with the Body (Preview)
"This is it!" Hotch called to Morgan, who pulled to a screeching stop outside of the home, shrouded in large, evergreen trees. The two jumped out, vests tightened around their torsos as they aimed their guns parallel to the ground, inching forward carefully as they were joined by JJ, Emily and Rossi.
"Rossi and I will go out back. JJ, Emily, Morgan- go into the house. Reid's probably hidden in a basement or something- somewhere where the UnSub could set up a hospital room. Be careful. Move out," Hotch said as he and Rossi headed to the back of the home, shielded from view from the street by wide trees.
Morgan turned to his group, nodding as he approached the door, weapon raised. JJ and Emily stood behind him as he raised his leg and kicked in the door. He poked his head in and looked around before turning to them and nodding his head once. Entering with the two on his heels he looked for a door to a basement- a door to Reid.