Chapter Two
23/06/2019. 09:00 hours. FBI Offices, Quantico, Virginia.
JJ was unable to hold the pit of unease in her stomach as she entered the bullpen, both hands firmly gripping the strap of her navy leather purse, when her cerulean eyes scanned the desks to find Spencer's desk empty. She knew he was due back at work and yet he was not there. He had a stack of incomplete files in his tray which she knew would bother him greatly. JJ approached her desk and set her purse down on top. She could smell his cologne, indicating that he had been there. She furrowed her brow and ran her fingers through her golden tresses in thought. She glanced up at Emily's office to find the lights on and the door open ajar. JJ slow climbed the few steps up to the platform to Emily's office and gently rapped on the door with the back of her knuckles. Emily's head shot up from where she had been nose deep in files.
"Hey, JJ. You okay?"
"Yeah, uhm. Have you seen Spence? He's normally here by now." JJ folded her arms across her chest, her fingertips mindlessly fiddling with the silver locket around her neck that sat daintily below the curve between her collarbones.
"Oh, yeah. He was here earlier. The director has sent him to interview a death row inmate in San Quentin. He should be due to board his flight soon." JJ's mouth gaped in horror.
"He's being sent to a prison? Alone?! Em, doesn't he realise what that's going to do to Spence? What if he loses it? What if he has a panic attack? I can't see him incarcerated again." Emily slumped back into her seat with a sigh.
"I tried to stop it but the director threatened Reid's job if he didn't go. I can't lose him from this team. I just have to have faith that Reid can hold it together." Tears threatened JJ's lower lashes.
"Emily, I'm scared for him. I saw what happened last time he was in a prison." Emily came to her feet and moved over to JJ, wrapping her arms around the blonde agent. Her chin rested on top of JJ's head.
"I know. I am too." JJ's heart clenched in her chest. She could not see her best friend lose control and get locked up again. The last time he was in prison, it almost killed him. It brought out a feral rage within him. It made him dangerous.
...
23/06/2019. 15:35 hours. Oakland Airport, California.
Spencer was immensely grateful to escape the hive of activity that was Oakland Airport. The crowds of people, sounds and overpowering scents were over stimulating, increasing the genius' dull throb in his temples. He had desperately tried to clear his mind on the plane but had been unable to do so courtesy of the crying infant in the row behind him and the cramped space in which he had been unable to stretch out his lanky legs. Spencer wrenched himself out of the automatic sliding doors and breathed in a sigh of relief as he stepped outside. The California air was humid. A petite, suited woman wearing sunglasses and her copper hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck was stood rigidly near the door with a sign reading Dr Reid. She glanced up at the tall agent approaching her.
"Dr Spencer Reid? I am Agent Marks from the California office. I was directed to give you the keys to an SUV. You'll find it parked in the red zone, bay C," said Agent Marks, her face showing no expression. Spencer raised his eyebrows at the no nonsense approach of the diminutive agent who held out a key fob in front of her.
"Oh, uh, thank you. Do you need a ride back to the office, Agent Marks?" asked Spencer.
"No thank you, sir. One of my colleagues followed me here to take me back."
"Oh, okay." Agent Marks turned quickly on her heel and trotted away to an SUV parked a few vehicles along. The keys glinted in the light as Spencer held them in his palm, the keyring looped around his trigger finger. He pursed his lips and allowed his eyes to trace the expansive parking lot. He groaned outwardly when he realised that the red zone was the furthest away.
Spencer was suddenly grateful for his long legs that carried him in wide strides, meaning that he reached the parking zone and his allocated vehicle in a matter of minutes. The inside of the car was even more stifling than outside, the scent of hot plastic an assault on Spencer's nasal passages. He slung his satchel and go bag on the back seat and clambered into the driver's side. He leaned his head back against the headrest of the seat and gave a long, exasperated sigh. He took a moment to adjust his seat and the mirrors, then fished his cell phone out of his trouser pocket. He quickly typed out a text to Emily to tell her he had landed, then pushed it back into his pocket. Spencer buckled his seatbelt and started the ignition. He normally relished having the heaters on, however the humid atmosphere forced him to switch on the air conditioning.
...
23/06/2019. 17:05 hours. Golden Leaf Motel, California.
Stones crunched beneath the SUV wheels as Spencer steered the vehicle into a parking space outside of a relatively welcoming motel with a few ground level rooms, slightly shaded by the aged trees surrounding them. Blooming flower boxes were nestled beneath the windows of the rooms. There were no other cars parked, indicating that there were either no, or very few guests staying there. Spencer slid out of the driver's seat and gathered his belongings from the back seat. The air felt stuffier than it had when he left the airport. Spencer squinted and looked up at the clouds rolling in. Perhaps a thunderstorm would clear the air. He quickly locked the car and made his way to the office. A large fan was blowing cool air around the office as he stepped inside. It felt like heaven on his fiery skin. He was greeted by an older woman with a head of perfectly coiffed silver curls. Her thin lips had been lined to make them look fuller and were of a scarlet colour. Her long, pointed nails matched her lips and rapped against the desk as she eyed her customer from behind cat-eye shaped spectacles. Spencer smiled stiffly and grasped his satchel strap in anxiety.
"Well, hello there, darl'. I'm Margie. What brings you to the Golden Leaf Motel today?" came Margie's Southern drawl. Spencer cleared his throat and slipped his black leather bifold wallet from the inner pocket of his similarly-coloured blazer. He held it up to her.
"I'm SSA Dr Spencer Reid. I understand a room has been arranged for me?"
"Oh, a doctor and an agent? Aren't you a little young?" Spencer frowned as he tucked his credentials away.
"I'm thirty-nine, ma'am."
"Oh, no need for formalities here, doctor. You've been set up in One A. We've put a fan in there to cool it down. There's a thunderstorm forecast for the night so I recommend you avoid plugging anything in until it passes. What brings a handsome young agent out here on his lonesome?" Spencer's cheeks flushed pink at the compliment.
"Oh, uh, I'm interviewing someone in San Quentin tomorrow." Margie whistled and scratched at a rogue hair she could feel sprouting out of her chin.
"That's mighty brave of you. Those are some dangerous men in there."
"I didn't really have a choice," grumbled Spencer in a low voice.
"Well, you just keep that pretty face of yours safe. I'll be here 'til eleven, then my son Marshall will be here. Anything you need, just ask." Margie turned to the full rack of keys to her left and reached up to the grab a bunch from the first hook at the top, her fingers narrowly missing them. She glanced at Spencer.
"Would you be a doll and grab the first bunch?" Spencer nodded and easily grabbed the bunch that the older woman had been trying to reach. Margie drank in the sight of the tall, suited man in front of her, his brown curls brushing the collar of his white button down shirt and thick growth of stubble across his sharp, angled jaw.
"Sleep well, Dr Reid."
"Please, just Spencer." Spencer smiled softly at Margie before turning to leave the office. Margie's green eyes were locked on to him as he walked away with the finesse of a supermodel, her chest flushed with desire. She wafted her hand in front of her face to cool herself down.
"My, my. It just got a little hotter in here." Spencer's keen hearing caught Margie's voice and his face turned crimson.
The room was inviting and much more pleasant than any cheap hotel room that he had been forced to stay in on cases. Spencer unlocked the door with ease and closed it behind him with the tips of his fingers. He quickly locked it again with the key and latched the chain for added security. The flowers outside of the window swayed with the building breeze, visible between the open wooden blinds. The walls were of a milky coffee colour. A double bed was nestled with the headboard against the right wall. It had been neatly made up with crisp, white linens. A TV was situated on the left hand wall but was unplugged. A oscillating fan was on top of the dark wood dresser, sweeping its cool air around the room. Spencer set his bags down on the bed and made his way into the small bathroom. Cream towels were folded over the rail above the radiator. There were the usual toilet, wash basin and walk in shower cubicle inside the bathroom. Complimentary bottles of hair and body wash were positioned on the shelf in the shower cubicle. Spencer did a quick sweep of the bathroom before returning to the bedroom and doing a further sweep of the room, ensuring all doors and windows were locked before dropping heavily onto the foot of the bed and reached down, untying the white laces of his well-worn Chucks. The headache he'd had started to worsen and it felt like a jackhammer to his skull. Spencer lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was grateful that no one else was staying at the motel. It meant that there were fewer people to be disturbed by his screams during the night.
He sat up again and noticed the kettle on the unit under the TV with a variety of coffee, tea, sugar sachets and small pots of creamer in bowls. His stomach gurgled happily at the thought of coffee. It had been several hours since he last had the beverage. Spencer happily filled the kettle with water from the basin in the bathroom and flicked it on. He tipped a sachet of coffee into one of the white mugs, followed closely by two sachets of sugar. He tossed the empty sachets into the small waste basket next to the unit. Once the kettle finished bubbling, steam escaping the spout, he poured the scalding water into the mug and stirred his mildly sweet concoction. Spencer seated himself in the plush armchair by the sofa and sipped his coffee. He averted his gaze to out of the window, watching as the sky began to darken with the looming storm. He could not help but wonder if this was an omen for the day ahead.
...
24/06/2019. 03:10 hours. Golden Leaf Motel, California.
Spencer tossed and turned fitfully in his sleep, his head thrown side to side and sweat beading his forehead. The comforter had wrapped itself around his thrashing legs.
His arms were wrenched behind his back and bound tightly with a torn up towel. A rolled up pair of socks was stuffed into his open maw to prevent his calls for help. Arms firmly gripped his own. All moisture in his mouth was sucked out by the scratchy material lodged between his teeth. A plastic toothbrush fashioned into a shiv was pressed to his cheekbone. His heart pounded into his ribs. The scene quickly changed, only he was no longer in prison, but was instead bound to a pole on a train. Duct tape stifled his cries instead of socks. Cat Adams' brother pressed the muzzle of a gun to his forehead.
A crack of lightning followed closely by a deep rumble of thunder startled Spencer, his body jerking against the bed. He remained trapped in his nightmare, eyes squeezed shut.
Shorting electricity flashed against stone walls, the high-pitched screeching of the brakes against the steel rails as the train tried to right itself. His breath caught in his throat as the rails rapidly approached the window he was seated at. The force of the side of the train smashing against the rails jolted his head into the glass...
Spencer launched upright from the bed into a seated position with a scream tearing from his throat. His heart beat a rapid tattoo into his heaving ribs and he gasped to try and regain his breath. The room lit up with more flashes of lightning, highlighting the deep shadows around Spencer's eyes. Rain and hail thudded hard against the window. The wind howled, whistling through the trees overhead. Spencer closed his eyes and planted his palms down on the mattress in a effort to ground himself. I'm in a motel. I'm not in prison or on a train. I'm not restrained. I'm safe. He slowed his breathing and peeled his eyes open.
He was safe. But for how long?