Disclaimer:Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Branches of Evil
'There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root' -Henry David Thoreau
Hotch entered the small hall in front of the interrogation room, his team there and already discussing their plan of action. Everyone except Morgan. He didn't want to suspend him- he fought with Strauss on it for as long and as hard as he could. Reid was in danger. It seemed so justified. And if Hotch was being honest with himself, he would admit that he was surprised Morgan was the only one to respond that way. He had been standing right by him when Reid screamed, and even then it didn't seem close enough.
But Strauss had been insistent. He had let his emotions put his team at risk. Two federal agents were harmed because of it. He sighed and rubbed his eyes as he thought back to their initial argument.
"But everything worked out. No one got seriously injured and we caught the UnSubs," Hotch had said, knowing even before he finished his sentence that it was a poor excuse. He didn't even believe the words himself- so why should Strauss?
"Imagine if it didn't, Agent Hotchner. Imagine if Varney shot Rossi in the head and he died. And if Andrew shot Emily and she died. And then the two got away. Agent Morgan would have been responsible for not only the death of two federal agents, but the escape of two violent criminals," she said, her voice stern and clipped. Hotch winced at the scenario, not wanting to think of it playing out like that. Morgan would never do that intentionally.
"The fact that no one got seriously injured and the UnSubs were caught is truly a miracle to me," she added.
Hotch bit his lip, shaking his head as he added, "We knew that they wouldn't though. Their profiles-"
"You mean to tell me that Morgan did it purposefully then?" she interrupted.
"No, of course not. But the profiles-"
Strauss scoffed. "Agent Hotchner, if it truly was an impulsive action on his part, then the profiles were not considered. And if they were considered, than it was not an impulsive action, in which case he should be placed in a lot more trouble. So which is it?" she asked, and he could just see her face, despite being on the phone. An eyebrow would be raised, and her lips would be pulled into a small condescending smile.
Hotch sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You have to understand. The profile, we knew Andrew wouldn't leave Spence-"
"Which is it, Agent?" she demanded in a no nonsense tone.
"It was an accident. Morgan heard Reid scream and reacted," he said quietly.
There was a moment of silence where all he could hear on the other line was the sound of someone typing fiercely on a computer keypad. Then, Strauss spoke again, "He'll be suspended."
"What?" he said, before he could even stop himself.
"Suspended, Agent Hotchner. He put his team at risk, the case at risk, caused two agents to get hurt and very nearly let two criminals escape- despite what the profiles said. He will be suspended. I will let you know when I determine the duration of this suspension."
His phone beeped. She hung up.
He sighed and slammed his phone closed, resisting the urge to throw it. First Reid, now Morgan. What was happening to his team?Would they all be picked off, one by one, until no one was left? How would he be picked off? After everything he'd gone through- everything he lost for this job- would it all be taken away?
He didn't want to tell Morgan he was going to be suspended. He knew it would upset him. But, there was some good from this, and he hoped that the unaware agent would see it as well...
"Where's Morgan?" JJ asked, having spent the last twenty minutes wondering what on earth Hotch needed to speak to him about.
"He's been suspended," Hotch said, turning to face the glass window closest to him. Varney sat behind the desk, his arms folded across his chest and looking around with all the manners of someone very bored instead of frightened for their fate. His stomach twisted and his fists involuntarily clenched. How dare he sit there, looking so casual, so unperturbed. After what he did to Reid. To all the victims. After he lied time after time to the team.
Why didn't he see it? Why didn't he see the monster that laid in wait? The monster that sat in the station with him?
"Suspended? What for?" JJ asked.
Rossi looked up, raising an eyebrow as he said, "Is it safe to assume it was because he ran after Reid and all the actions that followed it?"
Hotch nodded. "And the possible actions that could've occurred. He'll be gone for a year." Before the team could ask anymore questions or say anything in response, he turned to the windows once more and said, "So, how are we going to do this?"
"Whoever interviews Wright has to be careful about it. Their temper will have to stay in check since he'll only open up to people who he thinks will value his work instead of deplore it," Emily said, regarding the room where Wright was placed with a look of contempt.
Hotch nodded. "Rossi, you'll interview Wright. I'm sure you know which questions to ask. Emily, you and I will get Varney," he said.
Emily snorted ungracefully. "I'll keep you from going to jail on homicide if you keep me from the same thing," she mumbled, walking over to the room as Hotch followed. He said nothing as they opened the door and walked through, leaving Rossi to stare through the window.
"It doesn't matter how many times you do a case. It's always amazing to see what people are capable of. That a doctor could do something so harmful," he said, turning somewhat to JJ.
"Who was it who said that the belief in the supernatural source of evil is not necessary, as men are quite capable of every wickedness?" she asked with a fleeting, wry smile.
Rossi opened the door to the interrogation room, poking his head out into the hall to say, "Joseph Conrad," before disappearing fully into the room, reappearing in the window as he took the seat in front of Andrew.
xXx
"A year? What are you going to do for a year?" Garcia asked, chewing on the inside of her cheeks in rage. How dare they suspend him for that! He was doing his job. What did they expect him to do? Ignore Reid screaming?
Morgan shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee before saying, "I don't know. It will take some getting used to, that much is definite."
Garcia shrugged her shoulders and said with a playful smile, "You can start working on some hobbies, I guess."
He chuckled, leaning back in the slightly cushioned chair. They were sitting outside Reid's room, as per usual, and were waiting for Dr. Ostheim to emerge. He had gone in nearly thirty minutes ago and had promised that when he was done, he would tell them the specifics of Reid's transfer as well as update them. And so they sat for another twenty minutes, Garcia naming possible hobbies and Morgan shooting them down.
"Stamp collecting?"
"No."
"Model car building?"
"Hmm...possibly."
"Poetry?"
"Really, Baby Girl?"
"Alright, alright. Learn a new language?"
"So I'm in school now?"
"Fine, just do nothing then!"
Morgan chuckled.
"Agent Morgan, Agent Garcia," Dr. Ostheim said as he left Reid's room, smiling at them. They stood, their nerves too frayed to sit and remain still as they prepared to hear about his fate. "Well, I have some good news and some not so good news," he started and Garcia felt her stomach fall. Did something happen to Reid? Was he hurt too badly? Was he wrong about his initial diagnosis?
"The not so good news is that the nearest hospital with an opening is in Pennsylvania," he said, shrugging his shoulders sadly. "We tried to get him closer to Quantico, but it isn't possible right now. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."
"Pennsylvania? That seems so far," Garcia said, slumping her shoulders. She couldn't imagine living that way, having to make it a mini-vacation every so often to visit him, instead of part of her daily routine.
"What's the good news?" Morgan asked, biting his lip nervously.
Dr. Ostheim smiled here as he said, "He's healing wonderfully, his physical wounds are at least. It will take a couple of weeks before the stitches can be removed, and another couple of weeks before his leg should be fixed but he's doing very well. He might limp for a long while afterwards though, do to the damage that occurred from it not being reset after it was broken again. But other than that he'll be good."
Morgan sighed in relief. He knew Reid was strong. He knew he would pull through this. It would just take a little longer for his mind to catch up with his body. But it would. It had to.
"Also," Dr. Ostheim said, shooting a look to the room before turning back and leaning in, smiling as he whispered, "I know I said you can't visit him. But I just gave him a pretty heavy sedative because he was having some difficulties. He should be sleeping, so if you want and if you promise to be quiet and not disturb him, you can go on in and visit."
Wide, dazzling smiles dominated both Morgan and Garcia's face as they shared a quick, blissful expression. It felt so secretive, like a child sneaking a cookie before dinner. But as they both began slinking forward, walking on the balls of their feet in an attempt to create less noise, they were stopped by Dr. Ostheim calling Garcia back.
"Yes?" she asked, frightened that maybe only Morgan would be allowed.
"You haven't seen Spencer yet, have you?" he asked, knitting his eyebrows as he looked at her.
She bit her lip. "No, but-"
He raised a hand, silencing her as he snickered. "I'm not going to not let you in, I just want you to be prepared. I know you heard the report, but I just want to make sure you know that he doesn't look good. It'll be easier because he's asleep and won't display any of his psychoses, but it can still be startling. I just want you to know what you're going to see so you're aware," he said, and Garcia nodded slowly. She hadn't even thought of that. Would she be able to handle it, seeing him like that when just hearing what happened to him set her over edge?
She wrung her hands together, twisting the many rings on her finger as she chewed her lips and slowly followed Morgan into the room, peaking out from behind him when they finally entered.
She took a sharp intake of air and then let it out in a small, quiet sob when Reid came into view. He seemed so frail, so touch-me-not. His face, so hollow and pointed, and his body, covered in bandages. His broken leg was propped up by two pillows, and his arms, placed above the thin blanket, were scraped, long, red scratches running up and down the length. She could see even more bandages on his chest that ran to where the hospital gown covered it, wires and pulse monitors attached to him.
"Oh, Reid," she said, approaching his bed and kneeling on the floor, placing her hands on the mattress. Her fingers twitched, wanting to move closer and grab his hand but afraid to. Afraid it would break the fallacy of peace he had. Afraid it would wake him up. Make him scream. Make him hate her. So instead, she kept her hands twitching beside him, ignoring the tears that fell down her cheeks.
Morgan stood behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and slowly kneading them with his fingers, his eyes not leaving Reid's face. He looked almost serene, sleeping like that. Almost. But he looked too unhealthy to be serene.
"I'm so sorry, Reid," Garcia said softly, pulling her rings off and putting them back on to keep her hands busy. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
Biting her lip, she hesitantly reached out and touched her shaking fingertips to his long curls, brushing aside the light brown strands. His hair felt soft, freshly washed by a nurse- most likely while unconscious as he would have reacted violently to their touch. She brushed some curls back, lightly, letting her index finger very gently stroke his face, grimacing at the feel of his pointed bones. The doctor never said anything about malnourishment in his report...
"He'll get through it, Baby Girl. Don't worry," Morgan whispered into her ear, and she sniffled.
"I know. But...he shouldn't have to. He shouldn't have gotten into this mess in the first place," she responded, pulling her hand back unwillingly.
They sat like that for some time, and eventually Morgan squatted down, wrapping his arms around her and leaning his head against hers. She gripped his arm, unknowingly digging her nails into his skin as she cried. But he never said anything- it didn't hurt. Besides, she needed an outlet.
An hour had passed when Dr. Ostheim reentered the room, frowning at the two. He couldn't imagine what any of them were feeling- their partner who they felt they needed to protect, lying in a bed, beaten and psychologically damaged. He could tell that they all shouldered the blame, all felt responsible.
He didn't want to disrupt the two- didn't want to fracture their moment- but knew he had to. He had some more reports to give them and he had very little time to do so. Timidly, he cleared his throat, drawing their attention away from the patient.
"May I speak to you? Out in the hall?" he asked.
They shot each other a look before standing, turning to the doctor.
"Will we be able to come back in?" Garcia asked.
The doctor frowned and shook his head. "I'm afraid not. The nurses need to take vitals and perform some minor wound care while Spencer is asleep and the sedative will only give them three more hours to do so," he said sadly.
Garcia looked back down to Spencer and laid her hand on top of his own hand, squeezing very, very lightly. "You can get through this, Spencer. I know you can. And the moment you do, we'll all be there for you. We love you. I love you," she said, before bending down and placing a chaste kiss on his forehead, sniffling as she pulled away and removed her hand. "Good bye."
She stood back as Morgan moved forward, leaning against the head railings as he whispered in a voice so low, Garcia barely heard him, "I know I tease you a lot, man. But I promise you, if you get through this, I won't do it again. Not if you don't want. Hell, I'd do anything if it meant getting you back." He paused, taking a moment to stop and study his face. "You know, I got suspended from the team. For a year because of the way I reacted when I heard you scream. Is it wrong that I wouldn't change it, even if I could?" Reid didn't answer, though of course he couldn't. He was too deep in sleep.
Morgan licked his lips and added, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you go there alone. Please, just...just don't hate me. I couldn't stand it if you hated me. I know you're in there, Kid. And I'll keep digging until I find you."
He straightened himself, quickly turning away from him. He knew that if he lingered, if even for only a second, he wouldn't want to leave his side. But now, he was being forced to leave his side. And it felt even worse than when he did it voluntarily.
xXx
"Spencer's hallucinations are worse than I initially thought," Dr. Ostheim said slowly, hating the look of immediate worry and fear that settled over the two agents' faces. "While you were with him, I went back to some of our conversations, to create a file for the transfer hospital. And I've discovered some things that I overlooked at the moment of the interview, having focused on the more stand-out snippets.
"From what I've gathered, he's hallucinated more than just his father that one time. He's hallucinated him before, while in Andrew's care, and he's hallucinated your team."
Morgan gave him a look of confusion. "We know he thinks we're a delusion-"
"He told me he saw you all in his room, when he was still held captive. That you were all taunting him." Morgan paled as he fell back in his seat, digesting this new information. Dr. Ostheim frowned as he added, "Taking this into account, his prognosis is even...shakier to predict. And it gets even shakier still."
"How?" Garcia asked, dumbfounded. Wasn't it bad enough?
Dr. Ostheim swallowed. "While re-analyzing our sessions, I've discovered just how engraved Andrew's words were. Spencer has created an entirely new life, one that fit in with the life Andrew tried to create for him. This will make his treatment more difficult. It's no longer a matter of getting him to stop his hallucinations and realize the truth about Andrew, but it's now about making him erase the life he's convinced is his." He paused, watching as they shared a horrified, desperate look. "The psychological confusion this can create could be, well, irreparable. We may get him to stop hallucinating, but we may never get him to believe the life he's already written off as a delusion."
xXx
"Hello, Andrew," Rossi began, folding his legs as he sat down. Andrew looked to him, quirking an eyebrow at the familiar greeting.
"Andrew? You're the only one to address me so personally," he said and Rossi feigned a smile.
As he leaned in, he said to Andrew in a low voice, "That's because I get you. I know that you were only trying to help Reid, and all the other patients before him. My team- they don't have an appreciation for these sort of things. Very ugh..." he waved his hands in the air, trying to find the right words, "black and white. They can't see the end product on it's own. But I," he said, pointing to himself, "I can."
Andrew's smile grew, very slowly, and he couldn't help but say, in the same confidential voice, "You can?"
Rossi nodded. "I can. But I'm confused Andrew. I'm fuzzy about these experiments- what you were trying to do, how you were trying to do it and why. Would you mind answering these questions for me?"
Andrew's eyes narrowed and he seemed to be dissecting Rossi with his vision alone, trying to see if he could trust the man with such precious information. The rest of his team were so harsh to him, so reprimanding. They saw him like a criminal, just as he knew they would. But Rossi...he seemed almost genuine. Besides, he was going to go to jail- he might as well share all his knowledge while he could.
Shooting his tongue out to lick his lips, he said, "What do you want to know?"
"What were you trying to achieve?" Rossi asked, watching as Wright leaned back in his chair, and then leaned forward, his hands fidgeting as he spun the cuffs around his wrists, chewing his lip thoughtfully.
"I was trying to achieve...a cure," he said after a moment, his eyes flitting up to Rossi's dark, shadowed face and then turning back down to the table. "Can't you imagine what it's like? To be insane? To question everything? To think everyone else around you is out to get you? That the devil was really whispering into your ear?" He sat back, folding his arms over his stomach as he regarded Rossi with a scrutinizing look, his eyes narrowed.
"I wanted to help them. I wanted to give them hope. You know, there isn't a cure for schizophrenia. Just it's symptoms," he said, shrugging his broad shoulders, the metal of the cuffs clinking against the table.
"No one knows what causes it. Can't treat it if you don't know what to treat," Rossi said, rolling his shoulder nonchalantly.
"It's the control factor, they don't know. It's trial and error. Make someone insane, treat a specific part of the brain. Fail. Start over. It's just like a science experiment," Wright said, staring up to the ceiling almost dreamily, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.
Rossi folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. "Why though? Why are you so intent on finding a cure?"
Andrew stared at him, chewing the inside of his cheeks as he shrugged. "Spencer was perfect," he mumbled, looking down at his hands, folded on the table. "He had everything I needed for my experiments to work. Why'd you take him away?" He looked up to the man, his voice quiet and filled with sorrow, yet accusing as though he fully blamed Rossi for removing Reid from his care.
Rossi shook his head. "I didn't want to- I trusted your experiments. But my team wanted him. I needed to help." He sat in silence for a couple seconds before asking, "Why was Spencer perfect?" It felt weird, using Reid's first name. They had always referred to each other by their last names or nicknames. But he needed to place himself on the same level as this man. And if Andrew called Reid Spencer, than so would he.
"Spencer had just what I was looking for," he answered, a faint smile appearing on his lips. "He had schizophrenia in his family. It would be easier to manipulate him. Plus..." he stopped, licking his lips as his eyes flitted up to Rossi and back down to the table.
When he didn't continue, Rossi asked, " 'Plus' what?"
"Plus," Andrew began again, shifting in his seat. "He was just like me."
Rossi sat still for what seemed like an eternity. Andrew made no motion, and neither did he. It made sense now. All of it. He wasn't so attached to Reid because he was a good patient, he was so attached to Reid because he related to him. "You're mother...she's a paranoid schizophrenic?" Rossi asked.
Without looking up from the table, Andrew said, "I was always afraid I'd get the disease. Become just like her. I didn't want to live like that. I didn't like thinking of her like that- so sick- because I was afraid I was looking at myself, my future."
"You wanted to make sure that if you ever became like her, you'd have a cure to get you out of it," Rossi said. Andrew nodded slowly, and the agent continued to sit still, his mind consuming the new knowledge and working through it. He wanted to find a cure as a back up, should he ever develop his mother's disease. He didn't pick his victims because they seemed like a good subject to experiment on. He picked them because they reminded him of himself.
He didn't know why he didn't see it before.
His hair was dark brown, but he realized it must have darkened with age and was lighter when he was younger.
A small ring around his pupils suggested he wore contacts, and he realized they were colored. His real eye color was hazel.
He was over six feet. Maybe three inches above.
He was muscular, but his face was thin and his house was loaded with exercise equipment. He had worked hard for the body build.
Rossi didn't need Garcia to know that his mother was probably diagnosed with Schizophrenia when he was in his early twenties. And he didn't need Garcia to find school records that would claim him as being an intelligent, yet quiet and reserved students.
He tried to hide it. Tried to disguise himself to throw off suspicion.
But now that Rossi knew what to look for, he saw it all.
His patients weren't picked because they were his ideal type.
They were picked because he saw them as himself, when his fear of insanity was realized.
And Spencer...Spencer was him.
xXx
"Well, hello there, Agents," Varney said snidely, his lips pulled back into a fierce snarl that only grew fiercer when he saw Hotch. "You practically castrated me," he growled at the man, making it difficult for Emily to hide her smirk.
"Upset that now you'll have to be the bottom?" she asked, raising one slender eyebrow. "Don't worry, I'm sure your cellmates won't laugh too much."
He frowned at her taunts, not finding it the least bit amusing. But before he could hurl his own insult, Hotch asked the first question of the interview.
"I'm curious, Varney. How is it that you came to work with Dr. Wright?" he asked.
Varney snorted. "And why should I tell you?"
"Because," Emily began, crossing her legs and smirking. "We can control your fate. You tell us, we can keep you from Capital Punishment. But if not...Well, we wouldn't hesitate to suggest it. So, which would you prefer? Telling us a simple story and being able to at least see your kids grow up. Or dying, leaving them behind, just because you wouldn't let us know something we'd find out anyway?"
Varney looked down at the table, his expression slipping into a more worried, thoughtful look as he debated the two situations. Hotch noted this, storing it into his mental file of Varney. He wasn't a sociopath- he cared about his kids, if not at least his wife.
It seemed like hours before Varney sighed in defeat and told the story...
30 MONTHS EARLIER...
"Daddy!" Lilly squealed, leaning over in her seat just as her father, Officer Heath Varney, settled in the driver's side of their modest Honda, about to turn the key in the ignition. He turned around in his seat, smiling at his daughter.
"Yes, Princess?" he asked, his smile fading when he saw he tearful eyes and her pouted lip. What was wrong? Why was she so upset?
She hiccuped with her cries as she said, "I..f-f-forgot L-Lu...L-Lucy!"
He tried not to roll his eyes. Really, he loved his daughter, but he hated how dramatic she- and most kids- were. But, to a four year old, leaving a stuffed turtle behind could be rather upsetting, he knew. And if he didn't go back to get it, the tantrum would be horrendous.
So sighing, he sat back up from his seat, turning to look at Linda. "I'll be right back. Hopefully, Angelo saw it and took it so it didn't get swept into the water," he said, rolling his shoulders as he straightened himself and closed the door, walking down the road to get to the bend in the guardrail. But after the short, three minute walk, he discovered a car that hadn't been there before, idling on the side of the road. He furrowed his brow, dismissing it as suspicious quickly. Maybe someone from Angelo's family had needed to get him for something and his cell phone carrier didn't provide reception up here.
He rose one leg, stepping onto the ground on the other side of the rail and then swung his other leg over, grunting as he precariously balanced. He always hated the climb over. Really, a more distinguishable pathway should have been made ages ago. But finally settled on the proper side, he began to descend down the sloping hill, watching his feet carefully to avoid stumbling.
But when a gold, furry object ran next to him, he gasped as he fell into the tree, watching as the Golden Retriever cocked his head at him.
"Gizmo?" he asked, quirking both brows. What was Angelo's dog doing over here? Wasn't he fishing?
A low growl emitted from the dog's throat before it barked, loud and resounding.
"What are you doing up here, Boy?" he asked, trying to reach out for the dog before it got away. But at the sound of a harsh, frightful scream, he stopped himself, his head quickly turning down to the creek. His hair was on edge, his blood was rushing, and his hand was now resting on the smooth handle of his gun. What was going on?
Forgetting about the animal behind him, he slowly stepped down the path, now more for secrecy than for caution. Something was happening, something bad...
When he finally stepped down to the rock, the branches of low-hanging trees now out of his way, his eyes widened at what he saw. A tall, strong looking man in a white lab coat stood over the jerking body of Angelo, who sluggishly swung his hand in the air in an attempt to push the man away. But Andrew just stepped back, letting the arm fall limp to his side. When Angelo moved no more, succumbing to some sort of toxin, he reached under him, one arm under his neck and the other under his knees as he hoisted him up. And suddenly, Varney jumped to life.
"Hold it!" he roared, his gun held out before him.
The man jumped, gasping as he pulled Angelo closer to him, turning to Varney with a look of horror. His skin was pasty with fear at having been caught. 'But what,' Varney wondered, 'did I catch him doing?'
"Please, don't shoot!" he stammered , but Varney made no move to lower his gun.
"Put him down!" he demanded, and slowly, the abductor shook his head.
"I can't...please! I'll do anything!" the man screeched, breathing shallowly.
Varney lowered his gun slightly. This wasn't the way someone acted when they were caught in the middle of a crime. This was too hysterical, too deprived. What was going on?
Before he could ask another question, or even ponder the situation further, the man added, "I'll give you as much money as you want! I'm from a wealthy family! I could pay you well!"
It took everything Varney had to not let his jaw drop. He wanted to pay him off? What was so important about Angelo that he was willing to give him as much money as he could? Instinctively, he knew that this was no ordinary criminal. This...this was so much more.
Whether it was fate, or whether it was curiosity, Varney lowered his gun more and furrowed his brow as he asked, "What are you going to do with him?"
The man hesitated, looking around uncomfortably. He had said anything, but really, he didn't want to give his entire plan away to some stranger! But he had to do something, had to comply. He was caught in the middle of a kidnapping. He needed to get on this man's good side- particularly the side that didn't wave a gun in his face. So, clearing his throat, he said, "I...I'm trying to find a cure. For schizophrenia. I'm going to test it out on him."
Varney's gun nearly fell from his hands. This was certainly not an ordinary criminal. Oh no.
"You're...you're what? How?" Was Angelo even a schizophrenic?
The man licked his lips. "If I can make him insane, I can make sane," he reasoned. And as Varney was about to ask him how he planned on making someone insane, he added, "I'm going to...I'm going to torture him."
Why was he so willing to admit to his premeditated crimes? Was he aware that torture was a not so acceptable thing? Varney wanted to shoot him right then and there. Wanted to cuff him and get Angelo to a hospital. Wanted to lock him away. But he couldn't bring himself to move. Some part of his mind, a part he hadn't even been aware of, piqued at the mention of torture. He's recent...games with Linda had been exciting at first, but had quickly lost its appeal when it got old. Less convincing. What if...what if he could recreate that excitement all over again? Regain that since of power? Part of him couldn't help the fantasies that rolled over in his mind, imagining the moment. Powerful, thrilling and...and real. He shivered at the concept. For it to be real...
"Officer?" the man asked timidly, and Varney lowered his gun completely, smirking slightly as he made his decision.
"I'll let you walk away with him, and not say anything, if you let me have my own sessions of torture," he said. The man's face paled even more as the understanding of his words overcame him.
"Absolutely not!" he shouted.
Varney shrugged, frowning as he raised his gun again. "Suit yourself then."
"NO!" he roared, before he even knew he was about to. "Please...anything but that. My patients-"
Varney shook his head. "My family would question me suddenly coming into money. That's the only thing I want. The only way I'll keep this secret."
They stared at each other, the man's heart beating fast and his breaths sounding strained. Finally, he said in a quiet, defeated tone, "Fine."
Varney smiled, his body on edge with the idea. It was frightening, the rush of anxiety and anticipation. It was overwhelming. But this could be the knew high he needed, the one that would work. So throwing his inhibitions from his mind, he and the man exchanged information and Varney let him drive off with Angelo, knowing he would receive a reward.
He was so excited by this turn of events, he had forgotten about Lucy, the stuffed turtle.
xXx
Hotch leaned back, his expression stoic after hearing the story. Well, that certainly explained a lot. They weren't working together because they wanted to, but because they needed to. 'A symbiotic relationship,' he mused. There was no other choice. In order for Andrew to stay out of jail, he needed to let Varney abuse his patients. And in order for Varney to get the rush of power he wanted, he needed to help Andrew with his crimes.
Emily was the first to speak at the end of the tale.
"We encounter guys like you all the time," she said nonchalantly, snorting out a strained laugh. "Guys who want power, but are too weak to work for it. Too weak to deserve it. You're sickening."
Hotch shook his head slowly, a sudden memory returning to him. "You asked me about him. You wanted to know more about him."
Varney managed a small smirk. "Destroying someone is only fun if you know just how much they could've amounted to before you got your hands on them." Suddenly, he turned back to Emily, leering. His smirk grew almost disturbingly wide as he formed a steeple with his fingers, leaning in as he said in a low, amused whisper, "Want to know what's really sickening, Emily? If you had gotten to Spencer one day sooner, just one day earlier than you did, he would've been sane."
Her dark brown eyes widened at his words. He didn't mean that did he? She hoped he didn't. Somehow, that hurt so much more. Somehow, knowing that they were just twenty-four hours away from saving Reid from another hell, but missed the deadline, made her heart and stomach jump into her throat.
"So close," Varney said in a voice filled with mocking. "So close, yet so far. And now Spencer has to pay because of your tardiness."
Her mouth opened and closed several times, blinking rapidly. He was lying. Wait, was she really hoping that Spencer had been broken, had been defeated, earlier than that, just because it made her feel less guilty? How wrong was that? How sick was that? She couldn't believe she actually wished that his sanity had been lost long before they got there. But she did. And she couldn't convince herself otherwise.
How selfish...
"Two days before you got there, he was curling into himself, muttering over and over again- 'They are real, they are real.' And then...snap!" he said, snapping his thumb and middle finger together for emphasis. "And after that, he was begging for Andrew to make him better."
Her lip twitched. No, Reid wouldn't beg.
But then again, she also always thought he would keep a clear head on his shoulders...
"You missed saving him, Emily. You got there too late. You let us have him."
She was out of her chair and throwing a punch before Hotch could even process what was happening.
xXx
"Agent Garcia?" Dr. Ostheim said, surprised to see the blonde tech analyst in his office. It had been nearly two hours ago since he had given his unfortunate revised prognosis, and when he had left she was crying into Agent Morgan's shoulder. Her eyes were red and puffy now, her cheeks blotchy and her nose dry from overuse of tissues. But still, she managed a wavering smile.
"Just Garcia is fine," she said quietly, looking down to her hands. And that was when he saw it. The small pink bag with purple tissue paper exploding from the top. A gift?
Noticing his gaze, she held it forward and said, "I got this for him. For Spencer. I thought it would come in handy. Could you...could you give it to him?"
His heart ached. In all his years as an Emergency psychologist, he had never encountered a case so tragic as the one he was working now. And it just seemed to become sadder and sadder. She couldn't even give him a gift...
He bit his lip, nodding as he said, "Yes, of course."
She smiled weakly, laying the bag down on his desk. "I know you can't say that I was the one who got it for him, so I don't mind if you take credit for it. In fact, I'd prefer it. I know he thinks Andrew is helping him...and it would kill me if he thinks it was from that bastard. So, could you please just say you got it for him?" she asked.
Could his heart hurt anymore? It felt like what he imagined a heart attack would, so much twisting and wrenching.
"I will, don't worry," he mumbled.
She opened her mouth, as if to say thanks, but for some reason thought better of it. So instead, she waved once in a weak good-bye and left the office, small sniffles following her. Dr. Ostheim's eyes fell back to the package on his desk.
He shouldn't open it.
It was for Spencer.
But if he was going to take credit for it, shouldn't he know what it was?
Putting aside his manners and the respect he had for this heartbroken crew, he slipped his hand in the bag, carefully avoiding the tissue paper. His fingers brushed against a box, and he slowly pulled it out, looking at the gift that he would be handing over to Spencer.
It was a plug-in nightlight.
xXx
Author's Note: Some people have said that a year long suspension is unrealistic and excessive. But I have to disagree. The real FBI (and by this I mean, not the television version presented in most shows, Criminal Minds included in this) are very strict with field behavior and punishments. I thought that, considering he could have led to the death of two agents and the escape of two criminals, the suspension period would be longer due to the possible outcome. The FBI is very strict when it comes to following protocol in the middle of action.
ALSO! Longest. Chapter. Yet. Almost seven thousand words...Yikes.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Two Thieves (Preview)
"I don't want to leave," Reid mumbled, looking at the doctor with wide, hazel eyes. Dr. Ostheim shivered with not only the intensity of his stare, but with the hollowness he saw in it. He never thought eyes could seem so flat, so devoid of shine. But he also never thought anyone could be so cruel to someone so innocent.
Shaking his gaze away from the listless eyes before him and looking to the floor, he said, "I'm sorry, Spencer. But this place can provide much better treatment for you than we can."
"But...what about Andrew?" Reid asked, shaking as he made his query. They couldn't take him away from him. Not twice.
Dr. Ostheim forced a smile onto his face. He hated lying to him, even though he needed to play along. He hated looking into the face of somebody so confused and so hurt, and just spouting out more lies and deceit. But regardless, he said, "Once Andrew is better, he will try to become your doctor there."
Reid sat in his bed, chewing his lip in thought. Finally, he turned to the man and said, "I won't go unless you let me say good-bye to Andrew."