Chapter Four
24/06/2019. 10:00 hours. San Quentin State Prison, California.
Spencer's face flushed with embarrassment at the questioning eyes from working inmates drinking him in as he was marched through the back corridors towards cell block A. His breath caught in his throat at the black block lettering on the off-white wall indicating that they had reached their destination. The heavy door slid open with a buzz. With a hard shove, Spencer stumbled into the cell block. His eyes widened, betraying his stoic exterior at the sight of several men at their barred doors staring hungrily at him. He had arrested at least four of them. These men were the most dangerous and had been imprisoned for serial murder and rape.
Spencer struggled against the officers, twisting in their grip. He kicked out in an attempt to dislodge their hold. Michaels turned at the commotion to find his officers struggling to restrain the agent. He flicked out his baton and brought it down hard against the side of Spencer's left knee. Spencer gnashed the cloth between his teeth to stifle a groan of pain. The air whistled as the baton swung around, colliding with the genius' abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. Spencer dropped to his knees, his chest heaving. He was dragged by his shoulders to a steel support pole situated in the centre of the cell block and rested with his back against it, arms pinning him in place. He threw out a foot, nailing a male officer in the groin.
"Restrain him, dammit!" ordered Michaels.
"We're trying!" responded one of the exasperated officers, narrowly avoiding a well-aimed kick to the leg. .
"Matthews?! Bring out the leg straps!" demanded Michaels. Spencer doubled his fighting efforts, all dignity left at the door. He knew the inmates were having a field day. He was yanked away from the pole and thrown face down to the ground. Spencer's cheek was pressed to the cold linoleum floor as he was held down. Two more officers descended on the chaos with thick black belts in their hands. Spencer squirmed in an effort to escape. A pair of hands gripped his ankles firmly. He felt one of the belts wrap several times around his ankles and buckled tightly in place. Another was wrapped around his knees. A tazer was pressed to the handcuffs binding his wrists, eliciting a muffled scream from the young doctor. Spencer felt dizzy, the world spinning as he was pulled from the floor and rested back against the pole once more, all fight in him having dissipated and every nerve ending prickling with the shock from the tazer. Michaels crept up behind him and tightened the cuffs to ensure maximum discomfort. Spencer glared at the warden. Michaels pulled the cloth out of Spencer's mouth, his coarse fingers brushing against his cheek, and allowed it to hang around his slender neck.
"I bet you recognise a few of these guys, huh?"
"Fuck you," snapped Spencer. "This is completely unnecessary. You know nothing good can come of this." Michaels shook his head and chuckled.
"Oh, Dr Reid. You have no idea what these men want to do to you. You have no idea what prison does to a man." Spencer snorted derisively.
"Actually, warden, I do." Michaels quirked an eyebrow.
"You do? Pray, tell." Spencer traced the tip of his tongue over his dry bottom lip, his saliva stinging in the cut that streaked through his flesh.
"I was framed for the murder of a woman in Mexico and spent three months in Milburn Correctional Facility awaiting trial. I was exonerated when my team found the person responsible."
"Ah, so you know what these men are itching for?" Spencer nodded cautiously. "Well, doctor, that threw me a little. I wonder how a pretty boy like you coped in prison."
"Better than you think," growled Spencer. Michaels smirked.
"I bet you spent a lot of time on your hands and knees." Spencer grimaced in disgust.
"No!"
"Well, then. I know Mr Morton in cell A5 has wanted to get his hands on you for a long time. You did put him away after all. He brutally raped seven men before killing them."
"I'm well aware."
"Good. That means this will be a lot less of a surprise for you." Michaels stuffed the cloth back into Spencer's mouth and tightened the knot so that it dug harshly into the corners of his mouth once more. Michael turned to Morton. Spencer's eyes fell upon the large, greasy-haired man who licked his lips, eyes blackened with lust. Spencer shook his head frantically and trembled as Michaels unfastened the knot in Spencer's silk tie and slid the fabric out from under his collar. He buttoned the genius' collar, his fingers dancing over his Adam's apple. Spencer swallowed hard, his brow furrowed.
He was dragged down into a supine position by his bound ankles and the back of his head connected hard with the floor, momentarily dazing him. His arms were trapped behind his back. Spencer lifted his swimming head slightly at the sound of a door hissing open. Morton sauntered towards him, the crotch of his orange jumpsuit tenting over his bulging erection. The officers backed away, leaving the pair alone with their audience. Spencer's pleas were muffled by the gag as Morton straddled his hips and started to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his trousers.
"So pretty. Such a pretty little thing. I'm going to make you feel so good," mumbled Morton. Morton slipped his fingers into the waistband of Spencer's boxers, dragging both them and his trousers down at the same time. Spencer bucked his hips in an attempt to remove the man whose erection prodded him below his navel. Morton's face contorted in rage and he slammed a meaty fist down into Spencer's cheekbone. Another fist connected with his nose with a sickening crunch. Blood seeped from Spencer's nose and trickled across his cheek. Spencer panted into the cloth. Morton smiled to himself at Spencer's flaccid member as he gently caressed the sensitive flesh and kissed the genius on the gagged mouth.
24/06/2019. 11:48 hours. San Quentin State Prison, California.
Spencer had lost track of how long Morton had beaten and raped him for. All he knew was the pain radiating up his spine and down his legs. Blood had dried to his inner thighs and his tears along with the blood from his nose, had long since dried to his face. He lay unmoving, almost catatonic, his cheek pressed against the cold floor. His throat and neck burned from the repeated strangulations. His entire body was aching. After Morton had had his fill, another two inmates were released and had their turn at his abused entrance. He was unsure he would be able to recover from this. He barely held it together after the train crash. Cat Adams and her brother had left him with a degree of brain damage and a seizure disorder. His eyes widened slightly in realisation- he had not taken his medication that day or the night before. In his haze, he was unsure how long he could go without his medication before a seizure kicked in. It had been weeks since he last had one, and luckily, he had been at home on his days off. At least he had been alone then. If he were to have one right there and then, he would have a sick and depraved audience. The same audience that had thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of watching him being sexually assaulted. A pair of hands slipped his boxers and trousers back up and buckled his belt.
Electric felt like it was shorting throughout every synapse of his body and bright, coloured lights danced and flickered before his weary eyes. Knowing what was about to happen, he adjusted his position slightly so that he lay on his side. No... This can't be happening... Not now... His jaw clenched around the gag and his eyes rolled back into his head which tilted back slightly. He moaned softly into the cloth as his face began to twitch, wet-sounding snorts leaving his nose and throat from the blood clogging his nasal passages. His limbs jerked uncontrollably within the restraints, cuffs rattling against the floor.
"Shit, man. He's havin' a fit or somethin'!" came the voice of one of the rapists. A pair of officers descended on the convulsing agent.
"No one said he was epileptic!" snarled the female officer.
"We didn't fucking know!" responded the other officer. They both knelt by him, unsure of what to do. The female officer pressed a button on the side of her radio. It crackled to life before a voice answered.
"What is it, Roberts?"
"Warden? The agent's fitting. How do you want to deal with this?"
"Let him come out of it and move him to one of the cells to recover. I have some footage to send to the FBI. Once I know it's been seen, then we'll move him to the chamber."
"Understood. Roberts out." The radio silenced just as Spencer's seizing slowed. His eyes drifted shut and his breaths evened out. The male officer bundled the unconscious agent up into a bridal carry. Spencer's bruised and bloody face fell limply against the officer's chest as he was carried over to the empty cell and laid somewhat gently on his side on the unmade cot.
