A Voice Cries Out
Chapter 7
"How did he seem?"
Hotch and Morgan were walking a little behind the others, on the way back from dinner.
Morgan shrugged. "He did his job. I wasn't so sure he'd be able to, when we left the florist. He was pretty thrown at the idea of his dad having married again. Said he'd always wondered about it, but it sounded like he'd convinced himself otherwise. Anyway, by the time we got to the site, he was back on the case."
Hotch was still concerned, and he valued Morgan's opinion.
"Do you think he's repressing?" If so, the genuine emotion might surface at a most unfortunate….and potentially dangerous….time.
"I think he's compartmentalizing. Intellectually, he knows we haven't tied the two cases together. That, actually, we aren't even sure his father is the victim of a crime. So I think he's able to separate his feelings about his dad from the work on the case. At least for now."
Unsaid was the concern that they would learn that William Reid was, indeed, a crime victim. And then his son would no longer be able to maintain the emotional separation.
Morgan continued, "I don't know how he is who he is, Hotch. I mean, every time we learn something new about his father, it points to a guy who ran out on his family, who chose not to stand by a sick woman and a young son. And lived not ten miles away from his son, without ever letting the boy know. Damn it, Hotch. My dad was my hero. He was the person I couldn't wait to tell about my day, about what had gone right, and what had gone wrong. He gave me advice. He played ball with me. He took me fishing. I was devastated when I lost him. But he died a hero. Someone I looked up to. Someone I look up to even to this day. What did Reid have? Nothing! I've never told him this, but I'm amazed that he became the person he did, with his background. I may tease him, but the Kid's pretty damn strong."
Aaron Hotchner had grown up with a love/hate relationship with his own father. He'd admired the man, and craved his approval. But that approval had been hard to win from the stern, sometimes emotionally abusive, Thomas Hotchner. And yet, his sons had both idolized him.
"Sometimes we see who we want to see….and sometimes we see them as they are. At least Reid has a realistic image of his father."
They'd caught up to Rossi and Emily, who had heard the latter end of the conversation.
"My father had a hard time being in the shadows. The spotlight was always on my mother, as the ambassador. People seemed to think that Dad should have loved it, being able to travel, and live in all these interesting places, without any real responsibility. But he didn't. He had a career before Mother got involved in politics. And he gave it up, so she could follow her dream."
"Is that what drove them apart?" asked Rossi. He knew Emily's parents had divorced when she was in her teens.
"No. It was me."
"You?" Hotch couldn't imagine Emily Prentiss coming between her parents.
"He thought I needed a more normal life. And Mother didn't. She thought it was better to live in an 'extraordinary' way. And then…"
She stopped. The only person she'd ever told about her teen pregnancy was David Rossi. She wasn't quite ready to share it with anyone else yet.
Rossi picked up on it. "And then he took you back to the States, to have an idyllic high school experience, right?"
They all laughed, knowing that high school was anything but idyllic for most of its participants.
Emily was still smiling as she continued. "Well, not exactly idyllic. But normal. I made friendships that seemed like they could last beyond the next short term State Department assignment. I went to parties, and the prom. Believe me, as tough as high school can be, it was still better than what I'd had."
"But it hurt your parents' relationship?" Morgan was curious.
"Their dreams were too different. That's what hurt them. They loved each other, I'm sure of that. That's why my dad made the sacrifices he did. But, in the end, they saw different futures, and they couldn't reconcile them with the present."
"What happened to him, Princess?" Morgan said it softly, somehow already sure he knew the answer. After all, she'd never mentioned going to visit him.
"He died when I was twenty-three. I was just out of college, and I'd gone back to Europe, to see it through a 'commoner's eyes'. And he had a heart attack."
"I'm sorry," said Rossi, as though it had just happened.
She gave a sad smile. "It was a long time ago, Rossi. But thanks."
They'd reached the hotel elevator bank, and would soon separate. Hotch went back into unit chief mode.
"We'll meet at the LVFBI office at 0800 tomorrow. Everyone, get some sleep. It promises to be another long day."
On the fourth floor, they fanned out into separate rooms, where each would spend time thinking about the men who'd given them life, and the complicated relationships among human beings. Two of them would remember the moment they'd assumed the awesome responsibility of fatherhood, even if only for a day.
"Hey, how long have you been up?" JJ rolled to her back and stretched her arms wide.
"For a while, I guess." Reid was running his fingers rapidly down the pages of a thick volume. JJ recognized the attempt at distraction.
"Did you sleep?" He'd seemed relaxed enough last night, after her ministrations.
"For a few hours. You were right…you do know how to put me out." He grinned at her, remembering it.
She returned the expression. "But it didn't last? Spence, you must be exhausted."
He dismissed her concern. "I'm okay. And besides, it's nine AM at home. My body clock tells me I should be at work already."
"Ugh. Not mine. I think I need a run to wake me up."
Her husband just looked at her and laughed. Running for fun had always been, and would always be, anathema to him, and yet his wife craved it.
"Go ahead. I've got this." He held up a mug of steaming coffee. "We don't have to be there until 8 anyway."
JJ slipped from the bed and into her running clothes and shoes. She peeked over Reid's shoulder at the book he was reading. "Anthropology." It was his latest field of study.
"It's actually pretty fascinating. I'm reading about cultural relativism."
"Uh-huh." She weighed the decision of whether to tie her shoes now, or wait until she got outside the door. She could tell Spence was about to expound on something, and she wanted to make sure she'd have time to fit in the run. Decision made, she waited until she saw him take in a breath, and grabbed her shoes.
"See you in a little bit. Happy reading!"
Hotch had decided to accompany Reid today. He wanted to gauge the young agent's ability to handle the case emotionally. And, in truth, he was curious about William Reid. Like the others, he tended not to hold the runaway father in particularly high esteem. But the senior profiler had simply been in the job too long to ignore the fact that there were at least three sides to every story. He would try to withhold his judgment on the potential victim until he'd allowed William's voice to be heard, by whatever means it would be expressed.
JJ had been disappointed not to go along, wanting to be supportive of her husband. But Hotch's wisdom told him that Reid might process the scene more openly if he wasn't worried about triggering the concern of his wife.
Although he might be just as likely to try to hide his reaction from me, as well.
As much as Reid respected his unit chief, he didn't like to look vulnerable in front of him, despite the senior agent's constant demonstrations of support, and even after having proven himself to Hotch so many times in the past. But this case presented a whole new depth of possible emotional involvement, and Hotch wasn't sure Reid would be able to rein it in, even if he wanted to.
As he drove them over to the condo, Hotch glanced across at his passenger, who was staring out the side window.
"How far is this from where you lived as a boy?"
Reid shrugged. "Miles...and worlds. When my father was with us, we actually lived in a neighborhood, with individual houses, and yards. Remem...oh, that's right. Only Morgan and Rossi saw it when we looked into the Riley Jenkins case. He'd lived only a block or two away. Anyway, after my dad left, we moved to an apartment. It wasn't in the best area, and it was pretty small, but that made it easier to keep up."
Hotch chanced another sideways glance before turning his eyes back to the road.
"You took care of it? Was your mother that ill already?"
Reid nodded, slowly. "In spurts. She'd been ill for years, even before I was born. But it progressed, and I think...no, I know...that the stress of being left alone made it even worse. She did go on meds sometimes, and they helped a little. But then, you know, she would decide that she was better, and then she'd stop the meds, and then would come the spiral."
"She didn't realize it was the medication that was helping her." A statement, more than a question. It wasn't an unusual phenomenon.
"I think she knew. But she hated how the meds made her feel. She said she felt...blunted...like she wasn't really living her own life. As intelligent as she was, I think the medication may have clouded her judgment. So, she would take the first chance to decide she was cured, and go off the meds...and, when she did, there was no judgment at all."
Hotch was shaking his head throughout Reid's speech. His own son, Jack, was approaching the age when William had left Reid alone with an incapacitated Diana. Like Diana, he was now single-parenting. But, unlike Diana, he was healthy. He simply couldn't imagine abandoning any child to a situation like that, let alone his own son. Couldn't imagine how any adult who'd become aware of it would have left a child essentially on his own.
"So you handled the household? Shopping, cleaning? Paying bills? How did you support yourselves?"
Reid gave a bitter snort. "I didn't realize it at the time, but that was the one thing my dad actually did for us. He made sure Mom was set up with disability. It wasn't a huge amount, but there was money deposited into an account every month, and I wrote checks on it." He smiled to himself. "I became pretty good at forging her signature. Of course, I had to do it for all those notes home from school as well. I had plenty of practice."
"Didn't anyone realize? Didn't the school realize?"
"Oh, yeah, they did. Mom actually went to a couple of parent-teacher meetings when she was taking her meds. And she reamed them out for not challenging me enough. So they kept pushing me up through grades until they ran out of grades. That was about the time she showed up to a meeting as she was coming off meds. When that happened, she didn't quite take care of herself, you know? Didn't shower much, or dress. Didn't even get out of bed for days at a time. So she showed up in her slippers and robe, and they thought she was drunk, and they called social services."
"And?"
"And I heard them gossiping about it in the hallway, so I ran home and cleaned up. And I told the social worker that Mom had gotten sick that day."
"And they believed you." Hotch was too schooled in human behavior to think otherwise. And disappointed that those who looked out for society's children weren't schooled enough.
"They did. Of course, maybe not entirely. There were a few more visits over the next couple of years, but I was always able to cover. And then, I guess they decided I was old enough to take care of myself, or ask for help if I couldn't."
Hotch shook his head again. "I'm sorry." For the child Reid should have been, but was not allowed to be.
Reid shrugged it off. "It was a long time ago, Hotch. If I've learned anything in this job, it's that we all have a story to tell." In a lower voice, he added. "I guess I'm about to find out more of mine."
Officer Guidry was apparently on chaperone duty again today, and met them once again in the parking lot, using William's not-so-hidden key to gain access to the condo. Reid followed Hotch through the doorway, a certain hesitation evident in his step.
Despite the brief personal contact with his father several years ago, Reid felt like he was entering some sort of chasm chiseled out of his own life. A solidity that should have been there, but wasn't. And now, he realized, he might come to learn if it was worthy of the importance he'd always given it. He was in the strange dilemma of wanting to believe he'd actually missed nothing through the abandonment of his father, while simultaneously still hoping to learn he'd come from better stock.
Hotch held back while his younger colleague wandered about the room, taking in the bookshelves and William's taste in literature, stopping every so often to pull out a volume.
Guidry remarked on it. "You people can really tell that much about a person by what they read? That blonde chick was looking at the books yesterday," he offered by way of explanation.
Hotch furrowed his brow as he saw Reid react to the LEO's comment about JJ. And then breathed more easily when Reid apparently decided not to allow himself the distraction. The young man was, indeed, learning about their subject through his books. And that was too dear a task to be lost to petty annoyances.
But not for Hotch. "I assume you are referring to Supervisory Special Agent Jareau." Making certain to use her full title. "She did report to me on your role in yesterday's assessment."
Sometimes it wasn't necessary to spell things out in words. Guidry could tell from Hotch's tone that no hint of interference or questioning would be brooked today. Another day had gone by with no contact from William Reid. By anyone's definition, he was now officially 'missing'. And what they were examining in his home, could officially be looked upon as 'evidence'.
Reid continued his journey around the three walls of shelves, ending at the area that was vacant of books. Here, he found the collection of photographs and memorabilia, and his eye immediately settled on the photo of his own baseball team, taken so many years ago. He was standing at the end of a row of teammates, in front of William, his coach. And both were smiling.
Hotch read the wistful look on Reid's face, and joined him. "That's you?" There was a definite resemblance between the young boy in the picture and the young man standing next to him.
Reid nodded. "And that's my dad. It's funny. I haven't seen this picture in over twenty years, but just looking at it now brings the day right back to me. We'd lost the playoff game, but the coaches….my dad was one of them….had just promised us ice cream. And that made everything good again. We were…..happy. We were happy."
His voice was filled with the regret of knowing what came after. The persistent incredulity that what had been so right had somehow gone so wrong. Wondering whether William had ever really been happy to be with his son, or whether it had all been for show.
Hotch heard Reid's words, and his tone, and all of the unstated questions that were too emotionally charged to be spoken. But he also realized something else.
"He kept the photograph, Reid. Framed. Displayed, where he could see it every day."
The young genius had been too reactive to notice the obvious. As the fact of William's attachment to the photograph penetrated, Reid squinted his lack of understanding.
"But why? Why would he treasure a memory when he could have had the real thing?"
That was the barb that would always hurt. No matter what signs of attachment they might find…..the photographs, the cyber-history of Reid's accomplishments on Williams' computer…..the fact was that he'd preferred a virtual son to the real one. And neither of the BAU men, their own lives so enriched through the love of their own sons, could fathom that.
Hotch could only shrug. "It's just an observation. But it means he still felt some kind of connection. Or wanted to."
He could have had it any time he asked, thought Reid. And then felt a pang of guilt when he realized that William had, essentially, asked, for several years now. And Reid had simply turned away. But he hadn't asked JJ to do the same. Was that my way of keeping the possibility alive?
He could feel the turmoil within, and knew he had to swallow it back down before it began to interfere with his ability to work the case. Acutely aware that Hotch was gauging his emotional state, Reid decided to move on.
"I want to see the bedroom. And the box that JJ found."
"Wait." Guidry spoke up. "Did you just say that the missing person is your father?"
The FBI agents exchanged glances before responding.
"Yes. He's my father." Deciding not to offer any further information.
Guidry had his hand on his radio, ready to call his superior. But he addressed a question to the senior FBI man first.
"How can you let him work this case, when he might be a suspect?" Knowing that domestic disputes were often at the root of missing persons cases, and even homicides.
Hotch gave the furrowed brow stare, fully intending any intimidation it might engender in Guidry.
"Call your Lieutenant, if you like. Agent Reid is not a suspect in this case. He was two thousand miles away when Mr. Reid went missing."
Guidry wasn't so sure now. Hand still on his radio, but having not triggered the call button, he said, simply, "Still…."
Reid was anxious to get at the journal he knew was in William's closet. "If it would make you feel better, you can come and watch me. You can even record my actions. But I'm going to the bedroom now."
He started down the hall, leaving Guidry no option but to follow. When the officer left the living room, Hotch pulled out his own phone and hit a button.
"JJ. Have our Vegas office run the paperwork. We'll need a warrant to take materials from William's condo...….No, nothing new. Not yet, anyway. But LVPD is aware of the relationship, and questioning whether Reid should be involved…...No, that's right. Technically, it's not a problem. But I don't want anyone second guessing down the road. So let's make it official...…He's all right…...Not yet, he just went to look at it now...….All right…...Yes...…and, let me know when the paperwork is ready."
He closed the call and moved down the hall. As he turned the corner into the bedroom, he first spotted Guidry, an astonished look on his face. And then followed the officer's eyes toward where Reid was sitting on the bed, holding a volume that appeared to be composed of handwritten script. The young genius was flipping pages at a mind-boggling pace.
When his peripheral vision caught the movement of his superior entering the room, Reid looked up at Hotch with troubled eyes.
"It's definitely one of her journals. And it's about Riley Jenkins."