Chapter Three
24/06/2019. 07:33 hours. Golden Leaf Motel, California.
Unsurprisingly, Spencer had been unable to return to sleep after his nightmare. The thunderstorm had cleared and the air was still and peaceful. He had laid in the bed staring at the ceiling and reciting The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde in his head. Unease continued to swirl around his stomach and creep up his chest to wrap around his lungs. Realising that he was delaying the inevitable, Spencer sat up on the side of the bed, his bare feet pressed into the ivory carpet, and brushed his wild curls out of his face. He pushed against the bed to his feet, his left knee clicking and twinging as he straightened. With a small groan and his walk favouring his throbbing knee, he made his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The pellets crashed against the basin as he unzipped his go bag and retrieved his toothbrush and off-brand toothpaste, carrying them back to the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Spencer quickly brushed his teeth and spat the remaining foam into the wash basin. Steam clouded the small bathroom. He cast off his white t-shirt and navy sweatpants and stepped into the cascade of water.
After he scrubbed the entire previous night from his raw and reddened skin, Spencer turned off the stream of water and stepped out of the shower cubicle. The water from his feet soaked into the mat on the tiled floor as he reached for one of the towels and wrapped it around his waist. Another towel ruffled his locks and was draped around his neck. He made his way into the bedroom and tugged his clothing out of his go bag, placing them neatly on the bed. He quickly dried his genitals and legs with the towel around his waist, then stepped into his boxers and pulled them up. He donned his black dress trousers, leaving them unfastened and pulled on his aubergine-coloured button up shirt. His slender fingers felt lifeless as buttoned his shirt. He tucked the bottom of the shirt into his trousers and fastened them, then buckled his leather belt. Spencer gave a long sigh and slipped up his collar and wrapped his matching silk tie around his neck and knotted it, straightening his collar afterwards. The shrill sound of his cell phone ringing brought Spencer back to the present tense. Emily's name flashed up on the screen. He tapped to answer the call and held the phone to his ear, damp curls hanging against his wrist.
"Hey, Emily," said Spencer with a fond smile dancing on his lips.
"Spence? Are you okay? I tried to call last night but couldn't get through!" came Emily's panicked voice.
"Sorry about that. There was a big storm here from around eight and all cell signals was lost."
"Oh, thank God. How was your flight?"
"It reminded me why I hate commercial flights," chuckled Spencer.
"That bad, huh?"
"Yup." Spencer accentuated the 'p' with a pop of his lips. "I had a crying baby behind the whole time and commercial flights aren't built to accommodate six-foot tall individuals. The motel is pretty nice, though the owner may be a cougar." Spencer's top lip quirked upwards at the musical sound of Emily's laughter.
"How so? Perhaps our little genius might get some lovin' after all!" Spencer snorted.
"Emily! The woman's about seventy who dresses like she's twenty! She could easily pass for my mother!"
"Age is only a number, Reid."
"I am not going to date a seventy-year old woman!"
"Okay, okay. How are you feeling about interviewing Melnick today?" Spencer cleared his throat and glanced out of the window.
"Uncomfortable. Anxious. Scared. It's not Melnick I'm worried about, Em. I've put away a lot of men incarcerated there over the years, and if they see or recognise me, I'm in trouble." Silence befell the pair as Emily contemplated Spencer's words.
"Please, just complete the interview, stay out of the way and get back to us ASAP. I hate you going in there, but you're stronger than you give yourself credit for." Spencer pursed his lips.
"Thank you. Look, I need to finish getting ready to get over to the prison. I'll call when I get back to the motel. There's no thunderstorms forecast for tonight so cell signal should be okay."
"No worries, Spence. Please, be careful. Talk to you later."
"I will do. Bye." Spencer hung up and dropped his phone onto the bed. He stuffed his credentials into his trouser pocket and clipped his ID card to his belt. He fastened the brown leather holster to the belt at his right hip and tucked his Smith and Wesson into it. His handcuffs were tucked into his pocket next to his credentials. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and slipped his stainless steel watch over his left hand. With a sigh, he boiled the kettle and prepared himself a mug of coffee.
...
24/06/2019. 09:28 hours. San Quentin State Prison, California.
The steel gates of San Quentin State Prison slowly creaked open. The SUV trundled through the gates into the parking complex. Stones flicked up and crunched beneath the tyres. Spencer glanced up at the looming large white-washed building up ahead. The parking complex had started to fill with visitors for the day. Spencer pulled the SUV into a space and put it into park. With a sigh, he climbed out and grabbed his satchel from the back seat.
The building felt even more intimidating as Spencer approached the visitor's entrance. He swallowed thickly and hitched the strap of his bag further onto his shoulder, making his way inside. He stepped up to the reception desk and cleared his throat. A stern-looking officer lifted his head to observe the genius stood in front of him, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
"Welcome to San Quentin, sir. How can I help you today?" Spencer retrieved his credentials from his pocket and held them up to the glass separating them.
"SSA Dr Spencer Reid from the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI. I'm here to interview Walter Melnick." The officer scrunched his face and leaned in closer to inspect the credentials.
"Ah, yes. We've been expecting you. Please hand over your credentials, firearm, cell phone and keys." Spencer slid open the drawer beneath the glass and dropped his credentials, phone and keys inside. He unfastened the holster from his belt and placed it carefully inside. The officer opened the drawer inside and removed the items. He dropped a visitor pass on a lanyard into the drawer. Spencer took the pass and looped the lanyard around his neck, tucking it neatly under his collar. He pulled the case file from his satchel and locked the bag into one of the lockers.
"Officer Carter will take you to the interview room." Spencer turned to face the officer stood rigidly at the locked gate. Officer Carter was far from what the agent expected of a federal corrections officer. She had pale pink hair pulled into a low bun at the nape of her neck. Her white uniform blouse was freshly pressed, black epaulettes with two stars on her shoulders indicating her rank. Her black trousers pinched in at her waist, accentuating her athletic figure. A long chain attached a bunch of keys to her belt. A baton hung at her hip and handcuffs were nestled at the back of her belt. Her bright green eyes twinkled as she turned her attention to Spencer. Spencer felt a sudden bout of electric at her presence and his breath caught in his throat. She reached out to shake Spencer's hand. He eyed her appendage cautiously, then offered her a small wave.
"Hello, Dr Reid. You can call me Mel," said Mel with a smile.
"Hi. Sorry, I don't shake hands. Did you know that there are more germs passed in a handshake than in saliva? It's actually safer to kiss." Spencer blushed and clamped his mouth shut. Mel chuckled.
"I didn't know that."
"Sorry, I have a tendency to ramble. You can call me Spencer." Mel nodded in affirmation and unlocked the gate.
"Follow me, Spencer."
The pair made their way down the winding corridors, stopping several times to open gates. They made comfortable conversation discussing their jobs. Mel had worked at San Quentin for five years and had managed climb the ranks relatively quickly. She was primarily based on Death Row, but occasionally worked on cell block C. Spencer made a point of simply listening, allowing Mel the freedom to talk to block out the welling anxiety in his chest. He presumed that she did not get a great deal of conversation from her colleagues. He watched her fondly, her hands waving animatedly as she spoke. She had a genuine love for her job. They eventually reached the designated interview room. A buzzing sounded and the heavy steel door clicked open.
"Here you go, Spencer. We'll bring Walter along in a minute. Please, make yourself comfortable." Spencer quirked an eyebrow at the metal table bolted to the floor and the uncomfortable chairs. He hummed in response and stepped inside, the door closing behind him. The room felt like it was shrinking around him. He gulped and berated himself internally. Jesus, Spencer. Pull yourself together. He set the case file down on the table and seated himself in one of the chairs, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. Only minutes later, there came the sound of rustling chains. Spencer glanced over his shoulder to see an older man with salt and pepper hair and a ragged beard enter the room. His wrists were cuffed to a chain around his waist. Another length of chain was linked to the shackles around his ankles. Spencer came to his feet to greet the prisoner.
"Mr Melnick? I'm Dr Spencer Reid from the BAU. Please, take a seat." Spencer indicated to the chair opposite him as he sat down. Walter cautiously eyed the agent as he took a seat. Spencer cleared his throat and opened the file.
"I understand you wanted to talk to the FBI about the five victims that have yet to be located?" asked Spencer, folding his hands on the table. Walter blinked.
"Mmhm."
"So? Who are they? Where are their bodies?" Walter smirked and leaned in closer, his chains rattling against the floor.
"Did the bureau send you in here by yourself?" asked Walter, his voice gravelly from years of smoking. Spencer frowned.
"I was the only one requested by the warden." Walter laughed and shook his head.
"Oh, dear boy. You have no idea what's in store for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, Dr Reid." Spencer pursed his lips in frustration.
"Enough playing around, Melnick. You wanted to tell us who your other five victims are, so start talking."
"Oh, we'll have more than enough time to talk about that, agent." The gleam in the inmate's eye was unnerving. Spencer's skin bristled. He launched himself to his feet, his stomach clenching. He turned and pounded on the door with the side of his fist. He needed some space. He needed to get away from the icy stare of Walter Melnick. Something was afoot. He slid himself out of the room before the door had fully swung open.
Spencer wandered aimlessly along the Death Row corridor, his fingers entwined in his hair. He zoned out the jeers from the other inmates in their cells. At least two of them had been unsubs that he had arrested. They were reaching out to grab at him between the bars of their cells.
"Well, if it isn't itty bitty Dr Reid!" sneered one of the inmates. Nausea bubbled in the back of his throat. This had been a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea. He glanced around to find that Mel was nowhere to be seen. In fact, there were no officers around. It was unnerving. He was alone on Death Row with inmates desperate to get to him. His breath picked up and his head whipped frantically side to side. A door hissed open and several officers rounded on him. Spencer stilled, eyeing each officer in turn.
"You came to the wrong place at the wrong time, Dr Reid." Spencer swallowed hard, his shoulders tense and his hands clenched into fists by his sides. He knew he would not be able to escape the group who were all equipped with batons.
"What is this?" asked Spencer in a low voice.
"Show time." The officers surrounded Spencer like a pride of lions circling their prey.
"Listen to me, I was mandated to come here by the director." He struggled as he felt a pair of hands grasping his wrists firmly and wrenching his arms behind his back. Two officers restrained him with their arms curled firmly around his, forcing his shoulders back painfully. The cold steel of handcuffs closed around his wrists, clicking as they tightened, and pinching into his skin. He winced at the nip against his flesh. He desperately tried to hide the fear building in his mind. It all felt too similar.
"Why are you doing this?" Spencer's eyes fell upon a tall, brooding man, his white shirt pulled taut over his bulging muscles. He had silver hair slicked back and a similarly greying five o'clock shadow. Spencer took note of the rank across his epaulettes- Warden. A badge on the right side of chest indicated that he had been approached by Warden Michaels. Spencer narrowed his eyes and pulled against the cuffs.
"You're the one that demanded the director send me here," said Spencer. Michaels gave a small laugh.
"You catch on quick, doc. Living up to your IQ."
"Why? You know the consequence of taking a federal agent hostage. Why throw your career away like that?"
"I do know the consequences, and I couldn't care less. You put away my brother. You put him on Death Row."
"Warden, I don't pass the sentences. I simply profile and arrest criminals. Your brother killed twenty people over five years without any remorse for his actions. He deserved the death penalty." A punch landed square on Spencer's jaw, twisting his head to the side and instantly splitting his lip. His mouth filled with the bitter, metallic taste of blood. Michaels stepped up to Spencer, his stale breath hot against the genius' cheek.
"Oh, I'm going to let the boys have some fun with you, and then when they've had their fill, I'm going to let you have a taste of the death chamber. I hear the lethal injection is fun."
"Michaels, you don't need to do this. I didn't pass the sentence-" Spencer was cut off by a punch to his abdomen, sending the air rushing out of his lungs. He groaned and doubled up. Two officers yanked him upright by his arms.
"Shut up."
"Listen, my team know I'm here. If I don't check in with my unit chief tonight, she'll know something's wrong. They'll come out here looking for me." Michaels grabbed Spencer's jaw, fingers pressing harshly into his cheeks.
"By the time you're due to check in, you'll be a corpse." Michaels released Spencer's face. The agent stretched his slowly bruising jaw to relieve the ache. Michaels turned back to his officers. "Keep him quiet until we get on to A block. I'm sure some of the boys there are itching for some fun." Spencer's mouth opened to speak, brows furrowed. He barely got to make a sound before a length of thick, black material was forced into his mouth, depressing his tongue and seated uncomfortably between his teeth. It was pulled tightly around his head, digging painfully into the corners of his mouth and double knotted into his hair at the back of his head. Spencer attempted to wrench his head away from the offending object and fought harder against the cuffs and the officers restraining him.
"Save your energy, Dr Reid. You're going to need it." Spencer's response was muffled by the stifling cloth in his mouth. He shivered at the realisation at how deep the corruption ran within the prison walls. The officers firmly grasping his upper arms forced him to walk forward with clumsy steps. They stopped directly at the door as they awaited it to reopen. Sweat beaded Spencer's forehead at the vivid memory of the last time he was in prison under false pretences. Two officers remained behind to escort Walter back to his cell. The door slid open and Spencer was harshly shoved through it, stumbling slightly but prevented from falling on his face by the hands gripping his arms.