Alone
Author'sNote: Some Reid whump and Reid-centric (of course, because it's Reid and he's so delicious). So Spencer is taken by the unsub that the team are chasing who's desperate to make someone suffer for their family's deaths.
Chapter 1
Footsteps echoed around the deserted remains of the warehouse. Dr Spencer Reid swallowed thickly, his revolver tightly grasped in his right hand, propped up by his left hand that had a white knuckle grip on his flashlight. Dust swirled in the beam of light that stretched across the grey, cement floor. The hairs on his bare forearms crept up as he edged forward. The footsteps had disappeared, which meant that Spencer was alone. The team had four floors of the abandoned warehouse to search for their unsub and Spencer had bravely elected to search the fourth floor on his own. His breaths came slow and ragged as he swept the beam of light across the room. There were a few broken desks at the far side of the room. Voices crackled in the earpiece tucked behind Spencer's left ear, hidden behind his dark brown curls that hung to his collar. He was unable to decipher what was being said to him.
"Prentiss? JJ? Alvez? Anyone there? Come in," spoke Spencer quickly into the microphone attached to his black Kevlar vest. The earpiece crackled once more before falling silent. Pursing his lips, Spencer quietly made his way over to the desks. The windows had long been boarded up, blocking out any hope for natural light to filter inside. Shattered glass glittered under the flash light beam sweeping over them. Spencer coughed, pressing the back of his flashlight hand to his mouth, ensuring he kept the light on the desk before him. The desk had a thick layer of dust that had been undisturbed. His chest felt tight and restricted. Spencer coughed again, the air expelled from his lungs disturbing the dust floating in front of him. He peered questioningly at some papers hidden under the dust on the desk. Spencer holstered his revolver and used the palm of his hand to brush some of the dust away. They appeared to be newspapers. The paper was yellow and most of the writing had faded, save for the headline- Four die in warehouse fire.Spencer furrowed his brow. The paper was dated to the 1980's. Why is this here? pondered Spencer as he lifted his flashlight to look at the walls.
A sense of foreboding crept through every fibre of Spencer's being. His hand reached to his hip for his revolver. His long fingers closed around the handle and withdrew his piece. He could feel the hairs on his neck standing on end with fear. His index finger danced lightly over the trigger. His breath caught in his throat.
"Prentiss? Rossi? Dammit! Is anyone there?" asked Spencer into his microphone, his voice trembling slightly. There was no response. Something cold pressed to the back of Spencer's head, grazing his scalp. The sound of a safety clicking was deafening. Spencer stilled and raised his hands. The revolver was snatched out of his grip. The flashlight landed hard on the ground and blinked twice before going out completely. The sound reverberated around the bare walls.
"Callum? You don't need to do this," said Spencer as he tried to steady his voice. His hazel eyes were fixed to the wall. He tried to concentrate on the peeling grey wallpaper instead of the cold steel jammed into the back of his skull.
"I should have known it would be you to come searching up here all alone, Dr Reid. A little reckless, don't you think?"
"No. I found you, so what's your next move? Killing a federal officer isn't in your MO."
"No? Perhaps I just haven't refined that yet."
"What are you going to do?"
"I need someone to feel what I did that day when my family were destroyed in that fire. You're the one that figured it out, so you're the one who's going to suffer." An arm slinked around Spencer's neck and pinned him to the body behind him. Spencer gasped as he tried to regain his breath. The barrel of the gun moved around and pressed into his cheekbone.
"Don't hurt them... Please..." Spencer hated the sound of begging in his voice. The handle of the gun was slammed into his cheekbone, sending the agent crumpling to the ground. He gingerly touched the laceration on his cheek and winced. Blood glistened on his finger tips. He turned and partially sat himself up, using his left hand to prop himself up. He looked up at Callum to see the gun trained on his forehead. The man had tucked Spencer's revolver into the back of his belt.
"Lose the vest." With shaking hands, Spencer started to undo the straps holding the vest flush to his torso. He unhooked the earpiece from behind his ear and set it down on the cold concrete floor next to him, then lay his vest down. With one hand pointing the gun at Spencer's forehead, Callum reached down and tugged Spencer's black trouser leg up and slipped the second revolver from the ankle holster.
"On your knees, Dr Reid." With his hands raised to his chest, palms facing outwards, Spencer awkwardly shifted onto his knees. A clatter startled Spencer. A pair of handcuffs had been thrown to the floor in front of him, "Cuff yourself behind your back." Spencer's hands trembled as he fumbled for the cuffs, "Hurry up." The gun jammed into the crook of his neck. Spencer closed the first loop around his left wrist and brought his hands behind his back. He tensed as the second loop clicked around his other wrist, rendering him incapacitated. He felt the cuffs tighten, pinching into his skin.
"What now?" asked Spencer warily.
"Get up." Spencer eased himself up onto one knee, with his other foot flat to the floor and pushed up. Standing from a kneeling position was not easy with his hands cuffed behind his back, "Walk. We're taking the fire escape down."
"Won't my team hear us?"
"No. Move." The barrel of the gun jabbed Spencer in the top of the back. A cold wind whipped around Spencer as the steel fire door swung open. He shivered involuntarily. It had turned dark outside and he could barely see the steps in front of him. He knew he had to take them carefully, otherwise he would risk significant head or facial injury if he were to fall.
As the pair reached the foot of the stairs, Spencer noted a van parked into the shadows. It was on the opposite side of the building that the team had entered through. Given the sheer size of the warehouse, it was no wonder that it had not been seen. Callum pressed Spencer up to the side of the van and bound his wrists with a plastic cable tie just above the handcuffs. Spencer felt the cuffs come undone. The plastic bit into his skin. As an extra measure, tape was wound several times tightly over the plastic tie. Spencer's cheek was flat against the door. Callum knelt down and curled a plastic tie around Spencer's ankles. Spencer let out a gasp of pain as it was tightened, binding his ankles together. More tape was wound several times around his ankles. Spencer struggled slightly. Callum grasped the back of Spencer's collar and yanked him back. Spencer stumbled, his bound feet unable to hold him upright. He was shoved roughly backwards into the door. The back of his head thudded against the door with a metallic clunk. Spencer groaned, waves of pain spreading throughout his skull and bowed his head.
"Open your mouth, Dr Reid." Spencer raised his head, pain-filled eyes glaring at the blonde-haired man in front of him.
"Why?" Callum simply grasped the agent's jaw tightly, forcing his mouth open and his head back. A balled up piece of material was stuffed into Spencer's open maw. Spencer struggled, desperately trying to keep the material from clogging his throat. A strip of thick black tape was stretched taut and held up to Spencer's face. He remained still and unblinking as the tape was pressed firmly over his lips to keep the material inside, and wrapped several times tightly around his head, trapping his curls underneath. Spencer shivered again as another gust of wind picked up and curled around his bound body. Callum pocketed his gun in his jeans and drew a thin plastic case out of his jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal a large hypodermic syringe filled with a cloudy white substance. Spencer's eyes darted between the needle and the man in front of him, silently pleading for him not to do what he knew was about to happen. His pleas were muffled, lost into the folds of material and layers of tape as the needle was jabbed into his upper arm. His eyes widened in horror as he immediately felt a cold sensation crawling through his veins and making his fingertips tingle. Darkness quickly crept over his mind and he slumped against the side of the van. Callum slid open the side door and roughly pulled Spencer up by his navy button down shirt and shoved him inside.
Emily Prentiss was the last to exit the warehouse. She shook her head, her raven-coloured ponytail swaying. Her hand rested on her holstered glock. Her dark eyes scanned the group gathered at the two government issue SUVs parked up. Red and blue lights flickered against the battered bricks of the warehouse. Emily mentally counted her team mates. Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau was in the process of removing her vest. David Rossi glanced around, his brow furrowed in concern. Matt Simmons sighed and leaned back against the SUV. Luke Alvez rubbed his palm against his short, dark hair, ruffling it. Dr Tara Lewis stared into the doorway from which they had exited as though she sensed something was wrong. Emily's brow crinkled in concern.
"Where's Reid?" asked Emily. Suddenly there was a beat. No one had realised that Spencer had not joined them. JJ refastened her vest, "Which floor was he searching?"
"Fourth," answered Tara. The group wasted no time in drawing their firearms and making their way back into the building. As they reached the fourth floor, they noticed the cold draft in the room. The fire door hung open, swinging back and forth with the wind. The beams from their flashlights fell upon a small pile on the floor- it was Spencer's FBI vest, revolver and earpiece. Next to it was a few small droplets of blood.
"Shit," muttered Emily. Spencer had been taken from them, and right under their noses.
