Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.
Chapter Seventeen: Suffer with the Body
'We are not ourselves when nature, being oppressed, commands the mind to suffer with the body.' –William Shakespeare
"You disgust me," Hotch sneered and Reid glared at the form. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, having insults slung at him by his hallucinations. But it was irritating him, the words becoming less hurtful and more of a nuisance.
"You are weak," Morgan said again and Reid huffed in anger.
"Shut up," he growled to them as he turned his head into his pillow, closing his eyes tight.
"You're such a wimp."
"You're only good for statistics."
"Can you even do anything other than read?"
"You're pathetic!"
"I said SHUT UP!" he shouted once more, louder as his blood boiled with rage. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? Couldn't they just let him be? He slammed his head down into his pillow angrily as he he squeezed his shoulders, trying to cover his ears with the soft cushion and block out the noise. But it didn't help. The cruel words and taunts just kept getting thrown at him.
"You're such a loser."
"We can't stand you."
The voices kept gathering and collecting, growing stronger and more prevalent than he ever thought possible. They talked over one another- and even so, each phrase was heard in perfectly clarity. Hotch was leaning over him, shouting in his face, and Morgan grabbed onto the rails of his bed, shaking him. Rossi was at the foot of his bed, pointing to each and every wound and declaring them a sign of weakness while JJ, Garcia and Emily hurled nasty comments over Hotch and Morgan's shoulders.
He looked up at them, bags deep and purple under his eyes. He just wanted sleep- just wanted them all to go away. Forever.
"Leave me alone," he demanded, but they didn't.
They're faces moved in closer, their words grew louder and the bed shook harder and faster. They breathed on him, making his skin crawl and him shiver with the sensation. They were surrounding him, getting too close for his comfort and sanity. Couldn't they understand that he just wanted them to leave? Just wanted them to go away?
His thigh ached, the gauze that wrapped around it already bled through; deep red circles, blooming out like roses, blotched the white surface. His skin itched, the mangled slice that ran all the way up from his knee to his hip felt like it was being torn apart, despite the sutures that held it in place. The searing soreness was only a constant reminder of what he really was. But not even the pain provided a decent enough distraction from the hallucinations.
The voices filled his room, echoing in his ear and disturbing his thoughts. He couldn't even think! Couldn't even concentrate on the pain that swallowed him up.
Arching his back, he yelled, "YOU'RE NOT REAL!"
The voices stopped as the six people pulled back, regarding him with a look of hurt and shock at his claim. JJ covered her mouth and Emily narrowed her eyes sternly at him as Garcia sniffed.
"How...how could you say such a thing, Reid?" Garcia asked, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah, man. We're your family?" Morgan added, a look of shame etched into his futures.
But Reid simply raised his chin, never breaking eye contact with Hotch as he said, "You're not my family. You're not real." He looked around at the rest of his team as he said, in a shaking voice, "And you never have been."
One by one, the ghosts disappeared.
xXx
"How are you feeling, Spencer?" Andrew asked as he walked into the room, the pill and bottle of water in his hand as he approached the bed. Reid looked up at him blearily, blinking sleep from his eyes as he shrugged.
"My thigh and chest hurt," he said after a second of consideration and Andrew nodded as he gave him the medication, which he readily took.
Andrew narrowed his eyes at him, pursing his lips together. He was being oddly...compliant. "Why do they hurt, Spencer?" he asked, waiting for his answer as the young patient looked at the wounds, his eyebrows furrowed as though he himself wasn't really sure.
"I...I don't know. I think I was trying to escape and an orderly stopped me," he whispered.
Andrew's brows raised instantaneously, unsettled by the answer he received. "Orderly? What do you mean an orderly?" he asked, moving the chair up against his bed and sitting down, immersed in what was occurring. Had he...had he really done it? Had he really broken Spencer Reid?
"Yeah...he was outside. I got there and he stopped me," he said slowly, as though speaking to a child. "Three days ago right?" Andrew nodded here and he continued. "I don't remember why I did. I think I was still delusional at the time. Trying to get back to my team or something stupid like that."
"Ugh yes, your ugh...team. Tell me about this team of yours again," Andrew prompted. Could this really be it? Had he succeeded? Or was this just another escape attempt? Propping his elbows up on the metal railing of the bed and leaning forward, he patiently waited for Reid to explain.
Reid bit his lip for a second as he said, "Ugh...what do you want to know?"
Andrew shrugged. "Do you miss them?" he asked.
Reid chuckled at this, his smile almost disturbing on his pale and bruised face. "How can I? They're not real. You know that," he said with a laugh and Andrew smiled as he snickered.
"Yes, yes I do," he conceded, eyeing Reid carefully. Something about all of this- his eyes, his tone- it all seemed too genuine.
"When's my next treatment team meeting?" Reid asked suddenly and Andrew looked at him for a moment before the words fully registered.
"Oh, um yes. Yes, the treatment team," he started, darting his eyes around the room as he thought fast. Was this really another trick? Part of him, a large part of him, didn't believe it was. But that didn't mean he would let himself be fooled twice. So instead, he decided to play the safe route and get straight to where he wanted to be. "You missed the meeting. Weren't lucid enough for it. But we've come to the agreement that we will perform electroshock therapy on you. Rewire some of what's going on in there. How do you feel about that?"
Reid looked away for a second as he considered the idea, chewing on his bottom lip. "Will it...help?" he asked after a moment, an eyebrow raised as Andrew nodded. "Really? Will I...will I be sane after?" he asked slowly and hesitantly, as though he didn't quite yet want to believe it. Sanity seemed so far off. He didn't think he would ever become sane after how in depth his world had become. Was sanity even an option now?
"Yes, Spencer. It will hopefully produce results."
"Hopefully?" he questioned sadly, as though it wasn't enough of a guarantee.
"It's one of our best options," Andrew said and Reid nodded.
"Okay then. I'll try it. I...I just want to be sane," he said with a slight, awkward laugh.
Andrew stared at him for a second, examining him with narrowed and confused eyes before whispering, "Don't we all."
He stood suddenly, clapping a hand on Reid's bandaged thigh softly as he smiled at him warmly, a look of pride hidden deep within his slightly wrinkled face. "I'll set it up now. I'll be back in about half an hour to prepare you for the procedure," he said and Reid smiled timidly, a little frightened by the idea but the nonetheless willing to give it a chance.
Anything to stop the voices.
xXx
"This better be it, Hotch," Morgan said as he sped down the road, his eyes not once looking away from the distance as he pressed even more on the accelerator. It seemed he couldn't go fast enough no matter how close to the floor the pedal became. He couldn't help but think that every second he spent in the car was another second that Reid spent with those monsters. And the thought only fueled him to press down even harder on the gas, causing Hotch to look over in mild concerned.
While he knew he needed to get to Reid as soon as possible, he also knew that getting into a car accident would not help him in the slightest. But he couldn't tell Morgan to slow down, not when a large part of him still urged him to go faster, yell that he was going to slow even though the speedometer had claimed triple digits.
He shot a look at the GPS, finding that, to his delight, they were only two miles from this doctor's home. Two miles from Reid...
His eyes returned to the street ahead that flashed by too quickly to even see. But when he heard the ding of the GPS, alerting them to the approaching destination, he shouted at Morgan to slow down- to prepare to stop. His heart was racing and his hands, shaking as he held his gun, were solid white. Did his entire body look like that? That unhealthy?
Regardless, he turned to the right and held his breath.
"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
They passed through the living room, clutter free with overstuffed furniture, and passed the dining room, filled with worn down, country style dining sets. It was on the way to the kitchen, in the hall, that he saw the tucked in door, hidden in an alcove underneath the stairs.
"The basement," he breathed, turning to look at JJ as Emily rushed outside.
"We found it!" she called to the second group. Not before long, the team of five filled the tiny kitchen, Morgan standing in front of the door, prepared to break it in as the others stood with their guns readied. Raising his leg, he kicked the door in as well, too hard as it cracked from the hinges. But it didn't deter him in the slightest, he simply stepped onto the landing and walked carefully down the stairs, wanting to run and barge in. But he knew that wasn't a good idea, knew he needed to maintain the element of surprise.
xXx
Reid sat patiently in his bed, idly rubbing his wrists that were bruised from the cuffs. He had been grateful when Andrew untied him after performing a basic check up, happy when he was told he didn't need to be restrained again. He really did hate that the most- not being able to move or get comfortable.
With a sigh, he pushed himself to the edge of the bed and slowly lowered himself, wiggling his toes as they chilled with the cold linoleum. He hurt so much- he didn't even know why. He was pretty sure it had been during his escape but he couldn't remember the event exactly, not without it being tainted by the effects of a distorted reality. His mind had told him that the only injury he got from his escape was a shot wound from a police officer, but he snorted the idea away. He hated not being able to trust his mind, but really sometimes it was almost laughable what he thought up.
A police officer shooting him? How ridiculous! That was nearly as absurd as his imagined a persona.
A genius profiler? A child prodigy?
His mind had quite the imagination.
But then again, he supposed most schizophrenic minds were very imaginative in general.
He walked slowly over to the bathroom, wincing in pain. What did he do during his escape that beat him up so badly? Get mauled by a bear?
Laughing slightly at the image of a cartoon bear jumping out at him, he turned on the light and limped over to the sink, running the water as he looked at his reflection. Damn, he looked horrible. His face was pale and thin, large bags sitting beneath his hollow looking eyes. His hair was damp with grease and the curls were straightened into lanky, dark sections. He grimaced at this, running a hand through his damp locks and cringing at the gross, slimy feeling that lingered. If he did become sane permanently, he hoped his hygiene habits would improve.
Pulling his hand away, he dipped it under the running water and poured some soap into his cup palmed, rubbing away the remaining grease from his skin. Once that was done, he splashed some water onto his face, massaging the warm liquid in with a sigh.
Once he felt thoroughly cleaned- or as clean as he could without a shower- he looked up, yelling at what he saw reflected in the mirror. A gray face, long since dead, replaced his. The eyes and mouth sewed crudely with thick black thread, which stretched and separated as the eyelids fluttered apart, revealing pure whiteness beneath it. The grayish blue lips struggled for a moment before splitting open, the thread stretching even after the mouth opened as wide as it could.
"Spencer," the thing said and Reid whimpered in response, falling backwards on his already sore-bottom as he shuffled along the tile.
"Please just go away," he begged.
Gray hands reached out and grabbed the frame of the mirror, providing leverage for the corpse to pull himself up and out the reflective glass. Slender gray shoulders slipped through and then a skinny gray torso, scarred and burned from frequent abuse. The thing was terrifying and Reid could barely find his voice as he choked with fear. This illusion was far more disturbing- far creepier- than any of his others. This was down right scary.
"Please leave me alone," he tried again, watching as it stepped onto the sink and and then slid down, gray, burned feet settling on the tile. The light began to flicker, and he found himself gasping for air. "Nononono," he whimpered, watching as the lights quivered between on and off.
On.
Off.
On.
Off.
On...
The room lit up and Reid screamed. The corpses surrounded him- five of them standing around his trembling frame. They were all gray and tall- the shortest being just shy of six feet- and skinny, dead skin stretched over barely visible bones. Scars- stitched together- burns and other injuries covered the bodies as if they were a grotesque tattoo. Light brown hair fell into there entirely white eyes, black thread pulling loose from the lids.
Ten eyes looking down at him.
Ten feet moving closer to him.
Ten arms reaching out to him.
Ten hands grabbing at him.
The fingers brushed up his exposed skin, and he gasped at the chill. They were freezing, colder than ice but burning more than any fire ever could. He wanted to pull back, wanted to get up and run, but he couldn't. He was frozen in place- paralyzed. And they just kept moving closer, closing in on him and turning the air cold and dry with their breaths. He wrinkled his nose. They smelt like dirt and soil, as if they had just managed to pull themselves from the grave to torment him.
The light flickered off again.
And when it didn't turn back on, Reid screamed.
xXx
When the team came to the bottom of the steps, they saw that the basement was made out of two rooms, locked away behind closed doors, and a long corridor. Morgan turned back and made a motion that he would head to the door that was farthest down before cautiously stepping forward, walking on the balls of his feet to minimize his noise. He was followed by Rossi and Emily, who mimicked his motions and flanked either side of the door, backs pressed to the white walls as Morgan stood in front of it.
Ramming his shoulder into it, the door fell back with a crack and the three jumped into the room, guns aimed at eye level as they examined the scene.
A startled Andrew turned to them, his tray of medical instruments falling to the floor in a thundering crash. His eyes were wide, and his mouth slack open as he looked between the three agents, his thoughts immediately jumping to Spencer. No! They couldn't find him! He was perfect! They couldn't take him away- not when he got so close!
"Hands where we can see them!" Rossi shouted, and slowly, Andrew obeyed, swallowing hard.
"What's the meaning of this, officers? You better hope you have a warrant," he said, not nearly as confident as he would've liked. He couldn't let them take Spencer...
"Where's your partner?" Morgan hissed angrily, ignoring the man. He wasn't sure which man he wanted to hurt most, but if his profiling instincts were correct, than Varney was the one who deserved the most pain.
Andrew opened his mouth in response but was interrupted by the very man in question.
"Hello, Agent Morgan," he said cheerily, a vindictive smile in place as he stood out in the hall, his own gun raised at the tall man.
"Drop the gun," Morgan demanded as he turned around, staring down his co-worker.
Varney chuckled. "Now, why would I do that?"
"Drop the-"
Morgan was cut off by a high-pitched scream, breaking and cracking as though the owner of the voice had a hoarse throat from repeating the action. But not even the choppy, brokenness of the notes was enough to hide the familiarity of it, one that drew the attention of Emily and Morgan and made their hearts skip a beat.
"Reid!" Morgan called, forgetting himself as he turned in the direction of voice and let his gun fall. Varney took the opportunity and fired off his own weapon, the blast deafening as the bullet launched at its target. Reflexes sharpened, Morgan threw his body into the door frame, and the bullet lodged into his shoulder instead of his heart.
He gritted his teeth and grimaced in pain, seething slightly as he reached up and held the bleeding wound, blood slipping in between his fingers. As Varney's lips raised in a triumphant smile, another blast sounded, followed by a bullet embedding itself in Varney's knee, instantly crippling the man.
Howling in pain, he fell to the floor, his joint shattered and bloodied as he reached for the gun he let slip. But before his fingers could wrap around the black handle, two barrels looked down at him, a thin plume of smoke emitting from Rossi's as it cooled from the bullet. Morgan, shoulder still bleeding and pulsating with pain, held the gun to the best of his abilities as Emily kept an eye on Andrew, unable to turn her back on one enemy in order to stare down another.
But despite the flood of pain he felt, his kneecap laying in pieces underneath his bruised and bleeding skin, Varney managed a quivering smirk as he evened his breath, trying to work through the hurt.
"I'm sure Spencer is having a ball in that room with your two other agents. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself with that scream of his," he sneered, delighting in the way Morgan's eyes turned fiery with rage.
"Don't you dare talk about him!" he hissed, his lips pursing tightly as he shook furiously. His gun trembled with him, the pain and anger causing him to lose control over minor motion control.
But Varney made a look of mock hurt, scoffing as he said, "I can talk about him as much as I want! I know him far better than any of you do. At least, intimately."
As skilled as Varney liked to consider himself when it came to schooling his emotions, not even he could hide the look of pure shock that overcame him when such an injured man pounced at him. He grunted with pain as he was held in place against the wall, Morgan leaning all his weight painfully into him as he towered over the officer, his face inches away from him.
"You disgust me," he snarled, using his own knee to press into the broken knee of Varney. He hissed at the pressure, squinting his eyes as Morgan smirked, pressing his knee down even harder. "It feels completely different, doesn't it? Being on the other end of the power spectrum? I bet you don't like it do you?" He paused for a second to slam Varney into the wall again, knocking his damaged knee to the side as the man wheezed in pain. "Good."
"Morgan," Rossi said. Not turning around, he waited for him to continue. "Try not to beat him up too much. Don't get yourself in trouble for scum like him."
"I'm not making any promises," he mumbled, his thoughts not on the man he had pressed to the wall, but the one in the other room. The one who had screamed...
xXx
Author's Note: This chapter was originally going to have more in it, but it was too long, so I separated it into two chapters. Probably screwed with my outline royally, but eh. Anyway, let me know your thoughts and opinions and thanks again to all those who have reviewed, favorited and alerted this story. I also feel the need to say this again: NO CHARACTER DEATH OR IRREPARABLE REID!
ALSO! Guess who went swimming at the Flats and lived? This girl! Though I was disappointed that Matthew Gray Gubler wasn't there...
Chapter Eighteen: The Terror of Madness (Preview)
"Go away," Reid said sharply, turning away from JJ even as she reached out to him, her blue eyes filled with tears and shining with relief. But at his words her face fell and she felt a fresh round of tears sting her eyes as she looked up at Hotch and then back to Reid, trying to reach out once more. He shuffled away from her, folding his arms stubbornly across his chest. Did he really mean that? Was he mad at her? Mad at them, for not coming sooner?
No, that couldn't be it. Reid didn't hold grudges, and he especially wasn't so callous and spiteful. Biting her lip and stifling her tears, she leaned forward tried again, lowering her voice as she spoke.
"Spence, it's me-" she started, but he jumped up, standing suddenly- though wobbly- he balled his fists at his side as he growled ferociously, tears falling down his pale cheeks.
"Leave me alone!" His face struck a pained expression, and just as quickly as he stood, he dropped down to his bottom, curling his knees tight against his chest. He grabbed locks of hair tightly as he said in a voice broken by tears, "You're not real."