Chapter Fourteen
01/07/2019. 12:22 hours. North Virginia Psychiatric Facility, Falls Church, Virginia.
"Dr. Reid? Spencer? It's time to wake up. It's lunchtime."
Spencer softly moaned at the gentle hand squeezing his shoulder. He sluggishly opened his eyes and blinked to clear his vision.
"There we are. It's time for lunch, Dr. Reid."
"Please. Spencer is fine." Spencer furrowed his brow, his head throbbing and closed his eyes again.
"Okay, Spencer. I'm Laura and I'm going to be your nurse for the day. Are you having any side effects from your treatment?" Spencer stretched out his aching jaw and nodded slightly.
"My head hurts." Spencer attempted to move and groaned at the pains throughout his body. "Scratch that. Everything hurts."
"That's to be expected. Let's get you sat up first." Spencer swung his lanky legs over the side of the bed, the tiled floor cold against his feet. Laura placed a hand on Spencer's upper back and guided him upright. Spencer peeled his eyes open to take in his situation. He was wearing a white t-shirt and blue scrubs trousers. The pale green strap around his ankles remained fashioned into a set of shackles. His wrists were still wrapped in tight cuffs that were strapped to the belt around his waist. He glanced up at Laura, dishevelled hair falling into his eyes. Laura's hair was of a dark copper colour and she had caramel coloured eyes that complimented her hair and her pale skin. She had a fine dusting of freckles across her nose. She smiled softly at him.
"Can you take these off? Please? I'm not going to do anything right now." Laura grimaced.
"I don't have that authority until Dr. Sharma sees you to assess your mental state. Let's sit you in the chair and I'll get you some lunch." Spencer shook his head. Nausea bubbled in his stomach.
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to try. How about a sandwich? Start you off light?" The sigh that Spencer released whistled through his still healing nose. He nodded softly. With her left hand in the small of Spencer's back, and her right hand on his right forearm, Laura carefully guided the doctor to the armchair beside the bed. Once he was seated, Laura quickly exited to the room in search of food.
Spencer took a moment to look around the room. The walls were white and clinical, save for the apple tree painting on the wall above the small wooden desk to his right. The sheets were rumpled from where he had been lying on the hospital bed. There was an open door to the right of the door revealing a small bathroom. The door to the room was sturdy, with a square window in it. It was sparse of any personality. He stared morosely at the straps binding the cuffs around his wrists. How had he let it get to this? He was no better than his mother. Surely the FBI would fire him now? He had expected to have memory loss after the ECT, but it remained as intact as ever. It was the one treatment he feared above all else. His intellect was his shield, his life. If the treatment erased that, he did not know who he was.
Spencer was running through Riemann's hypothesis in his head for something to ground himself when Laura returned with a small plastic plate in one hand and a plastic mug in the other. She smiled softly at him as she set the mug down on the floor beside Spencer's anxiously bobbing foot and dragged over the simple wooden chair from the desk. She seated herself in front of the genius and rested the plate on her knees. Spencer quirked an eyebrow at her.
"You looked like you were in a world of thought," said Laura with a chuckle.
"I was running through Riemann's hypothesis." Laura tilted her head in confusion. "It's a mathematical conjecture from the nineteenth century that states that the Riemann zeta function zeroes all lie on the critical line."
"Yep. That cleared that up." Laura gave a soft laugh. "Are you some kind of genius or something?"
"I don't believe that intelligence can truly be quantified, but given that I have an IQ of 187 and can read twenty-thousand words per minute, I am a certified genius." Laura's eyes widened. She pushed a rogue lock of hair behind her ear.
"So, a doctor, huh?"
"Not a medical doctor. I have three PhDs in mathematics, chemistry and engineering, as well as BAs in psychology and sociology. I'm working on one in philosophy too. Well... Was." Spencer dipped his head, staring glumly at his hands.
"Wow..." was all Laura could say. She took one of the simple ham sandwiches from the plate and held it out. Spencer caught sight of the snack in front of his face. His eyes filled with tears at the prospect that he was about to be assisted to eat like a helpless child. He pressed his lips together and averted his gaze away from the nurse. He felt the tears escape his eyes and trickle down his face. Laura set the plate down on the floor and reached for his hand.
"Spencer?" asked Laura in a gentle voice, her fingers carefully lifting his bruised chin so that he could meet her eyes. His bottom lip quivered.
"Why did I have to be so stupid? I just wanted it all to go away, and now I'm here in restraints, unable to feed myself and getting electric shock therapy to rewire my brain. Fuck! How can anyone even look at me anymore? Why did I have to be found?" Spencer gave a choked sob and wrenched his face away from Laura's touch, bowing his head in shame and despair. He desperately wanted to hide his face behind his hands but he was unable to move them. Laura rested her hand on his bouncing knee.
"I don't know what you've been through to feel like this, but you're allowed to feel hurt. Sad even. Having these thoughts makes you human. You can talk to me about what happened whenever you're ready." Spencer gave a dark chuckle.
"You mean to tell me that you haven't already read my file?"
"I haven't actually. All I know is that you're actively suicidal and were violent and hostile on admission to Bethesda General. The restraints were put in place for your safety, and the safety of everyone around you." Spencer lifted his head, wild curls clinging to the tears on his cheeks, and met Laura's kind gaze.
"Here's the short version. I have been kidnapped, tortured and drugged for three days. I have been held at gunpoint more times than I would like. I have been imprisoned for a crime I didn't commit. I was involved in a serious train crash last year in which I was the sole survivor which left me with multiple severe injuries. I was taken captive where I was staying by the person who caused my accident who left me with a traumatic brain injury. Taken hostage again by said person when on a case. Most recently, I was sent to a prison to complete a custodial. Instead, I was taken prisoner by the warden, brutally beaten and raped by three different inmates, and then given a lethal injection. I'm sure you can understand why I ultimately decided to start cutting myself for release. My team found me and put me into custody to take me to hospital..."
"Why did they put you in custody when you had already been through so much?"
"Because I fought them. They handcuffed me. I tried to hurt myself again in the car on the way there. The straps weren't fastened properly in the hospital so I decided that I was going to take my opportunity and put an end to it all. Look how that panned out..." Spencer groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Laura gave his knee a reassuring squeeze.
"Spencer? Please, tell me what's happening." His words were stuck in his throat.
"Auras..." was all he could say in response. His fingers flexed and his wrists twisted in the cuffs. Laura noted the thick bead of blood seeping out of his left nostril, and sliding down over his lips.
"Spencer?" Spencer gave a soft moan in response and his head tilted back against the backrest of the chair. His eyes rolled back into his head and the corner of his mouth twitched rhythmically. Laura glanced down to see his fingers clenched painfully into his thighs. Within moments, his limbs were jerking against the restraints, snorts leaving the back of his throat. Blood seeped through the bandages on his arms. Saliva dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin. Laura yelped and darted to her feet as Spencer's legs jerked in the shackles, his foot connecting with the cup on the floor, sending the hot liquid across the tiles. Laura quickly pulled the cord on the personal alarm clipped to her pale blue tunic pocket. A loud alarm sounded, followed by several staff racing into the room.
"He's been fitting now for about a minute and a half," said Laura, watching in horror as Spencer started to slide from the chair with the force of the convulsions. Bloody froth had formed at the corner of his mouth. Multiple hands slid the seizing man from the chair, with another pair supporting his head and neck, so that he was laid on the floor. His feet thumped irregularly against the ground. He was eased over onto his side to allow for the drainage of the blood and saliva.
"This can't be from the ECT," said one of the large male nurses who brushed Spencer's sweat-sodden hair out of his face.
"He said he had a traumatic brain injury," replied Laura, her eyes flicking between the fob watch pinned to her tunic and the convulsing man. The male nurse turned to look at her.
"Wait, a man with a traumatic brain injury was given ECT?" A nursing assistant ran into the room, tightly gripping his file between her hands.
"He has epilepsy. He's supposed to be taking Carbemazepine."
"Shit. We weren't made aware of that. How long has he been fitting now?"
"Three minutes," answered Laura. The male nurse turned to the nursing assistant.
"Paige? I need you to alert Dr. Sharma." The nursing assistant turned on her heel and darted out of the room. "Rob, I need you to call 911." A male nurse nodded and dug out his cell phone.
"911. What's your emergency?"
"Ambulance, please."
"Ambulance. Is the patient breathing?"
"Yeah."
"Are they awake and fully conscious?"
"No. He's fitting. Now ongoing for –" Rob glanced at Laura.
"Four minutes," said Laura, her voice trembling slightly. Spencer's lips greyed, the jerking not relenting. Blood continued to blossom through the bandages. Warm liquid soaked through the front of his trousers.
"He's been fitting for four minutes."
"Where are you calling from?"
"Male admissions unit at North Virginia Psychiatric Hospital, Falls Church."
"Thank you. Is the patient safe?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. An ambulance is on it's way on lights and sirens. We're two minutes out. Can I take the patient's details, please?"
"Dr Spencer Reid. Date of birth is the 12th of October 1981."
"Okay. We're almost there. I have to advise that you don't place anything in Dr Reid's mouth and do not restrain him."
"Uhm... He's already in restraints. He's jerking too hard for us to get close enough to cut them off."
Hurried footsteps thudded across the floor, followed by two paramedics who bustled urgently into the room. They glanced down in concern at the deathly pale man on the floor who continued to jerk uncontrollably. Spencer's face twitched, though the exhaustion was evident in his features. The paramedics shoved the staff out of the way and dropped to their knees. The young female EMT glanced to the older male paramedic.
"He's in status epilepticus," she stated, slipping the red backpack from her shoulder, allowing it to fall to the ground with a heavy thud. "Giving him ten milligrams buccal Midazolam." She unzipped the backpack and tugged out an orange case. She cracked open the case and retrieved the oral syringe. Uncapping the syringe, she peeled back Spencer's top lip and squeezed half of it into his cheek. She slid the syringe into the side closest to the floor and pushed the rest in. The male paramedic averted his gaze to the hospital staff.
"Why does this man still have restraints on?"
"We hadn't had authorisation to remove them, then he started fitting. We haven't been able to get close enough," replied one of the male nurses. The male paramedic shook his head and turned back to his patient. Spencer's bucking slowed, his feet weakly sliding on the floor. His eyes fluttered before falling closed and his breaths evened out.
"Dr Reid? My name's Bill and I'm a paramedic. My colleague is Becky. You've had a prolonged seizure. I'm just going to roll you onto your back so I can do some checks." Becky and Bill eased Spencer over onto his back. His curls splayed out on the ground and his head fell to the side. "Can anyone tell me anything about this gentleman?" Laura nodded and grabbed the file that had been abandoned on Spencer's bed.
"Spencer was admitted this morning from Bethesda General Hospital for emergency ECT for active suicidal behaviour. He suffered a traumatic brain injury last year and has epilepsy as a result." Bill took in the sight of the man at his knees and shook his head.
"So a man with a known TBI and epilepsy was given ECT?" asked Bill accusatorily.
"We didn't know he was epileptic," responded one of the male nurses. Becky grabbed the suction kit from her bag and pulled on Spencer's chin to open his mouth. She slid the suction catheter into the side of his mouth, blood and saliva draining through the tubing. With one hand supporting Spencer's jaw, Becky reached into her bag and retrieved an unopened airway. She tore the clear packet open with her teeth and slid the airway into Spencer's mouth. The orange flange rested against his lips. A silicone bag was clicked into the end of the airway and squeezed to provide him with extra breaths.
Becky snatched the file from Laura and set it down next to her knee so that she could read through it. Bill tugged Spencer's t-shirt out from the restraint belt and lifted it up to reveal significant bruising across his chest. He applied EKG electrodes to Spencer's clammy skin and attached the coloured wires to the portable monitor beside him. He clipped an oxygen monitor on the end of his finger. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around Spencer's upper arm.
"Says here that he was recently in a coma after being dosed with sodium thiopental and went into respiratory arrest. He was self harming when he was found at his apartment three days after being released from hospital and was re-admitted as violent and suicidal. He somehow managed to get out of the restraints and attempted to end his life. He underwent surgery yesterday to have venous grafts to repair the damage. He had to have CPR after the sodium thiopental, and again yesterday prior to surgery." Bill nodded in response.
"He's tachy at 132. Hypoxic at 87. He's in sinus rhythm but BP is 92 systolic. How was Dr Reid's mental state before the seizure?" Laura cleared her throat.
"Subdued. He mentioned a headache and general aches as expected from ECT. I came back to assist him to eat and he broke down. He was embarrassed about being in restraints, being fed and having ECT."
"Was there any violent or suicidal behaviour?"
"Not violent, sir. Some suicidal ideation voiced."
"If he wasn't violent, why was he still in the restraints?"
"We are not authorised to remove them before the patient has been fully assessed by their psychiatrist. Given that he had presented as hostile, violent and suicidal, we were not permitted to remove them."
"And what exactly was he going to do after being given shock therapy? I would imagine he slept afterwards?"
"Yes, sir. It was unknown how he would react once he woke up..." Laura's voice trailed off as she noticed Spencer's eyes slowly opening. Bill glanced down. Spencer's eyes were glassy, his confusion and exhaustion palpable. Spencer sluggishly looked around to take stock of his surroundings.
"Welcome back, Dr Reid. My name is Bill. This is Becky. Do you know where you are?" Spencer shook his head weakly. "You're in North Virginia Psychiatric Facility. You had a prolonged tonic-clonic seizure." Spencer gagged around the airway in his mouth. Becky detached the bag and slid the plastic tube out. Spencer retched and coughed slightly, saliva tracing down his chin. An oxygen mask was placed gently over his face and hooked around his head. Spencer's eyes rolled beneath heavy lids.
"Dr Reid? We're going to have to take you into hospital, my friend. Your oxygen and blood pressure is very low and it looks like you've torn some of your stitches." Spencer attempted to lift his hand to observe the bandages but it was met with resistance.
"P-please... Get... 'em... off," croaked Spencer behind the mask. Bill tore open a pouch on his belt and retrieved his fish hook knife. He slipped the notch in the knife over the strap binding Spencer's ankles and quickly severed it. Satisfied that his patient was not about to kick him, he used the knife to cut the straps holding the cuffs to the belt. Spencer's wrists fell limply to his sides and his eyes drifted shut.
"Get the gurney, Becky, and let's get him loaded up." Bill glared at the hospital staff as Becky hurried out of the room. "I highly recommend that you contact his next of kin or medical proxy and inform them of what has happened. We're taking him to St Margaret's Hospital. If I feel he's a danger to anyone, I'll restrain him, but I highly doubt he's going to pose a risk to anyone like this." Becky soon returned with the gurney. They wasted no time in hoisting the young man onto it and securing the safety straps over his chest and legs. The equipment was bundled onto the gurney beside his legs. There was no reaction from the genius as the gurney was wheeled out of the room.