Haunted Minds 3/?
Title: Haunted Minds 3/?
Author: buffyaddict13
Rating: RFT/R for violent images
Fandom: Supernatural, Criminal Minds
Pairing/Characters: Gen, Sam and Dean Winchester, Andy Gallagher, Bobby Singer, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Jennifer "JJ" Jereau
Summary: A shocking discovery sends the BAU to Cold Oak, South Dakota.
A/N 1: Betaed by
riverbella who is the super awesome towniest. And many thanks to kroki_refur for the encouragement.
A/N 2: Spoilers up to Seven Seconds for Criminal Minds and spoilers for Supernatural up to Fresh Blood.
A/N 3: Link to pictures of Criminal Minds characters.
There is no great genius without some touch of madness.
~Seneca
"Any word on who the vic is?"
Hotch shakes his head. "Not yet. But he was wearing dog tags so Garcia should have something for us soon."
Morgan rests his forearms on the table. "And we still don't know if there's a connection?"
Hotch's lips compress into a thin frown. "I wouldn't rule it out entirely. We found a second body hidden behind a large crypt. Middle aged man, no identification, shot in the head execution style."
JJ shakes her head in frustration. "Doesn't anybody in this state carry ID?"
Hotch, JJ and Morgan sit around a large conference room table at the Hot Springs Sheriff Station. One wall is covered in note cards bearing the names of the known victims. The cards are arranged in columns, identifying which victims were killed when. Another wall is covered by a large map of the United States.
Reid stands in front of the map drawing careful, deliberate lines. He draws a line from each victim's city of origin to Cold Oak, looking for connections, intersections, and points of commonality. A second, smaller map of Fall River County is tacked below the United States. The small map is covered in red and black shading. Reid has spent the last two hours creating a topographical map geocoding the key locations where the UnSub may be hiding around Cold Oak. He holds the pen in a white-knuckled grip and throws himself into his work. Tracking down the UnSub provides a brief respite from thoughts of Andy.
"There were definite signs of a struggle, various footprints and drag marks. I'd say there were at least four, maybe five people in that cemetery." Hotch lifts an eyebrow. "Locals say they saw-and I quote-'flashing lights and funnel clouds like the end of days was at hand.'"
"Local meteorology reports don't show any signs of recent tornado activity," Reid points out, twirling the marker between his fingers.
"For now I think we need to leave the cemetery deaths to local authorities and concentrate on Cold Oak. We need to work on the profile."
Hotch reaches for Ava Wilson's journal, his face grim. "The first two entries reveal Ava's terror, her revulsion at what the UnSub is asking her to do. The third is a kind of turning point." He reads aloud to the team: "'I killed them. I used a pipe. I think I'm dead and this is hell. He won't let me go until I'm a better soldier. Until I win.'"
"Win what?" JJ asks, tacking another index card to the wall.
"Until she's killed enough to fulfill the UnSub's fantasy," Morgan says. He looks at Hotch. "What's next?"
"The fourth entry reads 'He hasn't brought food in three days.'" Hotch's voice is level, but a muscle tics in his jaw.
Reid stops drawing. "The UnSub is reinforcing her dependence on him. If she doesn't follow his instructions implicitly he withholds food. He leaves her trapped and alone." In the dark.
"There's more." Hotch turns a page. "'He showed me how to call him. I made the mark on the wall. He said I'm his favorite. He needs me. More are coming.'" Aaron looks up. "We can only assume this means she knew the UnSub would be procuring more victims. The last three entries are very brief. She says 'All they do is whine. I hate them all.' Then, 'I'll make him proud. I can control the demons.' And-"
"Demons?" Morgan lifts an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean? Are we talking metaphorically? Or did she literally believe in demons?"
"Judging from the salt and sigils on the wall I'd say the UnSub and Ava both believed in demons." Reid rolls the pen between his palms. "And what was that she said? 'He showed me how to call him. I made the mark on the wall.' So the sigils weren't necessarily protection from anything, inasmuch as a…a kind of rudimentary communication with the UnSub. And it's not as uncommon for people to believe in the devil or demons as you might think. Did you know that a 2003 Harris Poll found that 68% of the public believes in the devil, and 69% believe in hell?"
JJ's blond eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. "Okay, that's not at all disturbing. But what I want to know is, how would the UnSub even know Ava was trying to contact him?" She pulls a print-out from a file folder. "Unless he was staying in the hotel with her, and we have no evidence of that."
Hotch rubs his chin thoughtfully. He reaches for his mug of coffee. "What do we have evidence of?"
JJ taps the print-out. "First of all-"
A knock on the door cuts JJ's response short. Jacoby pokes his head into the room. "SSA Hotchner? There's a Penelope Garcia on line one for you."
"Thank you Deputy." Hotch flashes Hank a polite smile and presses the blinking light. To Penelope he says, "Garcia, you're on speaker."
"Greetings, prolific profilers."
A second voice floats tinnily from the speaker. "Hey guys."
Reid taps the pen against his thigh. "Hi Emily," he says softly. He imagines her seated next to Garcia, one blond head and one brunette inclined slightly toward the phone. The others exchange hellos as well.
Hotch leans forward. "What do you have for us?"
"Okay you guys, here's the scoop," Garcia tells him. "We have nineteen of the victims identified so far. And of those nineteen, all of their vehicles have been accounted for. And by 'accounted for' I mean at their home or apartment or the impound lot. Not on the side of the road or in a ditch or parked outside Cold Oak. And that's not all. I've been tracing credit card use and there are no credit card charges between the time the victim went missing and when they were found."
Hotch frowns. "Which victims are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about all of them, sir. And I've checked multiple times. No airline tickets, no train tickets, no bus tickets, no car rentals, nothing."
"Not even the purchase of a pair of roller blades," Emily adds.
"So…you're saying the UnSub kidnapped all of these people and brought them to Cold Oak himself?" JJ asks, incredulous. "Without leaving any trace behind?"
Reid leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest. "Maybe the UnSub contacted the victims and drew them in via an internet chat room or message board. The local authorities should check all personal computer usage. It's possible he had a believable enough cover story to bring dozens of educated people from all walks of life straight to him."
Morgan's skeptical. "You really think twenty-nine people just…came to this guy?"
Reid looks down at the pen in his hand. There's no accounting for why people do the things they do. He shrugs. "I don't know."
"There's more," Prentiss says. "You know how Ava's fiancé was found dead and Andy Gallagher's brother and mother died shortly before his disappearance? There are fifteen more cases of suspicious deaths surrounding these victims. And that's not counting heart attacks or so-called 'natural' deaths."
Hotch stares at the phone as if it's personally offended him. "Fifteen?"
"Yup," Garcia says, taking up the recitation. "Tom Wilkin's father was electrocuted. Lena Janson's sister was hit by a car. Jane Dobson's mother committed suicide by drowning herself." Garcia pauses for effect. "In the kitchen sink."
"What. The. Hell is going on?" Morgan demands, tossing a sheaf of papers onto the table. They slide across the fake oak veneer, fanning outward.
"Maybe the UnSub targeted these people for exactly this reason," Reid suggests slowly. "He believes these people died under suspicious circumstances and now he's carrying out some kind of personal vendetta. He's collecting injustices, not against himself, but others." Charles Hankel's voice whispers in his ear Sinners. Reid stuffs his hands into his pockets and taps his heel against the floor. It's a mistake because pain flares in the sole of his foot and he shifts his weight to relieve the ache. He needs to stop thinking about Tobias. And Andy. Maybe Hotch and Morgan were right. Gallagher is nothing more than a PTSD related manifestation triggered by Cold Oak, a consequence of his ordeal at Hankel's hands and Reid's subsequent survivor's guilt (shame).
Now that he's done with Cold Oak, he's done with hallucinations. The knot in his stomach loosens slightly. He'll get through this. He's not going to let his own demons get in the way of the-- Spencer blinks. Demons. Demon. "Azazel," he blurts.
Hotch glances at Reid, brows drawn. "What?"
"Azazel," Reid repeats. "That's who the triangular sigil represents on Ava's wall." He rolls his eyes. "I can't believe I didn't remember earlier. According to Enoch 1-a book of the Apocrypha-Azazel, which is disputed to mean either 'God is strong' or possibly 'angel of death' was one of the chief Grigori. The Grigori were a group of fallen angels who married women. A similar story without directly mentioning Azazel's name is located in Genesis 6: 2-4. Azazel was cast out of heaven for teaching people to make weapons. Basically, the use of weapons created a-a time of godlessness and the people became corrupt."
"Okay," Hotch says slowly. "What does-"
Reid's got momentum; he barrels over Hotch's acknowledgment and keeps going. "The four archangels, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel and Raphael--" He says the name without blinking, but his chest constricts (God's will) and sweat beads along his back, beneath his arms "--saw the corruption that Azazel-and the Grigori--brought about and God has Raphael 'bind Azazel hand and foot and cast him into the darkness.' In the extracanonical text of the Apocalypse of Abraham, Azazel is described as an unclean bird. He's also associated with the serpent-that is, Satan--and hell. In Chapter 23, verse 7, he is described as having seven heads, 14 faces, 'hands and feet like a man's and on his back six wings on the right and six on the left.'"
Garcia is the first to speak. "Reid, it's a good thing you're handsome because you? Are a walking encyclopedia of weirdness."
"A weird but really useful encyclopedia," Prentiss amends, a smile in her voice.
Reid smiles back. He's been called worse. Much worse. And the fact that Emily is making an effort, trying to reach out to him, is not lost on Reid.
"Fourteen faces and six wings?" Morgan shoots Reid a look that clearly says, dude, what the fuck?. "A line of salt is supposed to protect against that?"
"Not Azazel per se," Reid clarifies. "I think Ava used the salt to protect herself against lesser demons, possibly Acheri or Pithius. Based on what she wrote in the journal I think she believed Azazel was holding her captive; he was the one instructing her to kill, and he taught her the sigil necessary to summon him." Reid flips the pen in the air and catches it one handed. He stares at his hand in shock, then at the rest of the team. Hotch and Morgan are facing away from Reid, but JJ gives him a surreptitious thumb's up.
Hotch rubs a hand across his forehead. "This is all very interesting, Reid," he says mildly, "but I'd like to get back to the victims. Specifically, how would the UnSub even know about all the peripheral deaths? If we were dealing with one county or even a single state, I could understand. But we're talking about more than twenty cities spread all across the United States."
"Hey, don't shoot the messenger, Boss." Garcia's tone is conciliatory. "Sorry I don't have anything more useful."
"Wait a second," Emily says. They all listen to the sound of murmuring and then Prentiss is back on the line. "I just got confirmation that the soldier found in the cemetery is named Jake Talley. He's been serving in Afghanistan for the past ten months. And maybe that's a connection, remember what Ava said? 'He won't let me go until I'm a better solider.'"
Reid speaks up so Prentiss can hear him. "Nice work, Emily."
"Thanks."
"Find out how long Talley's been on leave," Hotch instructs. "And Garcia, let me know as soon as you get the fingerprint results. Good work, guys."
"Thanks, Boss. When I know, you'll know."
"You sure you don't want me to catch a flight, sir?"
"Not right now." Hotch hesitates, makes his voice gentle. "It makes things easier on our end for you to work with Penelope."
"I live to serve," Emily says.
In the background Garcia's voice drops. "You live to steal my pens. That's totally uncool, dude."
"Garcia, I swear I didn't-"
"Then where's the pink fluffy one, huh?"
Hotch rolls his eyes. "Goodbye you two."
"Later, Alligators," Garcia calls and the line disconnects.
The group sits in silence for a long minute. Then Hotch sighs. "JJ, would you please let Sheriff Townsend know we'll be ready to present a preliminary profile in another hour? You can go ahead and coordinate the press conference."
JJ nods and crosses to the door. "Yes, sir."
"Thank you." Hotch stares into his coffee mug as if the UnSub's name is floating inside. He frowns magnificently and motions for Reid to join him at the table. "Morgan, Reid, I need you to focus. We've got work to do."
ooooo
A dozen state troopers watch SSA Aaron Hotchner expectantly. Sheriff Townsend leans against his desk, arms folded. Deputy Jacoby stands to his left, JJ on his right.
Hotch regards the room calmly. Morgan and Reid wait next to a large dry erase board. Reid's eyes dart around the room. He observes the looks of unease and nervousness, the restless feet, the tapping fingers. Several troopers have notebooks open, pens poised to write.
"I'd like to stress that this profile is only a guide, a tool to assist you in locating the Unknown Subject, or UnSub," Hotch clarifies. "The UnSub we're looking for is a white male, 25 to 35 years old. Although he kills most of his victims with blitz attacks, this does not mean he's disorganized. He is extremely organized to orchestrate killings on this scale. He's friendly and internet savvy. He's handsome and doesn't appear suspicious or out of the ordinary to either men or women."
Hotch paces slowly, maintaining eye contact with the officers. "He's extremely familiar with this area and probably lives or works in Fall River County. He knew about the ghost town long before he began killing there. And now that Cold Oak has been compromised, he's going to begin looking for a new location where he can kill and bury his victims."
Reid steps forward and seamlessly picks up the thread Hotch started. "This UnSub is unusual because he doesn't have a specific," Spencer makes finger quotes as he says, "'type.' He kills both men and women of different ethnic and socioeconomic groups, and different levels of education. The only similarity among his victims is age. Each victim is 23 years old. This number has a special significance to the UnSub. Something may have happened to him at this age and now he's symbolically trying to kill himself along with his victim each time he kills," Reid's hands move as he talks, as if he's painting an image of the UnSub in the air. "Also, the UnSub has a detailed knowledge of occult symbology and suffers from the delusion he's possessed by a demon called Azazel. In the UnSub's mind, he's not committing murder, he's…he's answering a call. He's fulfilling his destiny."
Several of the officers frown or mutter at this revelation, a handful of others roll their eyes. Townsend and Jacoby take notes. Reid rubs his palms together and moves an equal distance between Morgan and Hotch. "The UnSub kills because the act gives him a sense of meaning, a sense of power and control. But even though he's looking to gain power of his victims, these crimes are not sexually motivated. None of the victims display signs of sexual assault."
All eyes are on Reid, but this-profiling--is one of the few situations where he doesn't mind the attention. This is his element: guiding authorities toward the UnSub, preventing the deaths of future victims, looking for the connections no one else sees (except Gideon). He's learned to use his fear of the dark, to use logic and science and language as a light to expose those who hide in shadow. He speaks quietly but without a trace of stutter or uncertainty. "The UnSub doesn't kill for recognition; this is not someone who is going to insert himself into the investigation. Most of his victims were not only left at a remote location, they were buried." Spencer casts a quick look at Morgan, signaling it's nearly Derek's turn to speak. "You'll want to keep Cold Oak under surveillance. The UnSub may visit the scene to assess the extent of the police investigation, or in an attempt to relive his fantasies."
Morgan moves forward and Reid steps closer to Hotch. Hotch tips his head in an almost imperceptible nod that signals well done.
Derek stands in the center of the room, hands in his pockets. He looks relaxed, but Reid knows better. "There's a real possibility we're dealing with two UnSubs, here. One, who's the dominant or master personality who chooses the victims and orchestrates the killings. And a second, submissive personality who brings the victims to Cold Oak.
"We think it's possible the UnSub contacts his victims over the internet and lures them here. He's manufactured an elaborate cover story with strict instructions to his intended victim not to let friends or relatives know what's going on. The UnSub may pass himself off as someone looking for a relationship." Derek pulls his hands from his pockets and taps his right fist against his open palm. "The UnSub or his partner may have initiated contact with victims by posing as a police officer or other authority figure. However, I want to be clear: the word 'partner' in no way implies an equal relationship between the UnSubs.
Morgan glances toward Jacoby and Townsend. "The person who committed these murders is a large man, at least six feet tall and in good physical condition. He needs to appear threatening in order to control three or four people at one time, and back that threat with strength. He's comfortable being out of doors, so it's likely he's a fisherman or a hunter. The vehicle used to transport the victims to Cold Oak is an older model van, something that can fit several people. It's not well maintained, but he drives conservatively." Morgan sweeps a gaze across the room. "And lastly. The UnSub is likely to kill until apprehended, incapacitated, or otherwise inhibited from acting. He will not stop on his own."
"You're wrong."
Reid flinches and nearly bumps into Hotch. Hotch raises an eyebrow and shoots Reid a quizzical glance but Reid doesn't see it, he doesn't see anything except Andy Gallagher. Andy's right there. Right there.
Reid takes a step backward. This isn't happening.
"That all sounds really good," Andy says, "but I was there, and it was Ava. She summoned a freaky demon and killed me. She probably killed everybody else too." Andy threads his fingers through his hair and swallows. "What I need to know is, did she kill Sam Winchester?" His voice trembles and so do his hands. He grips his hair tighter. Gallagher's on the brink of tears and Reid's first instinct is to help, to listen, but that instinct is wrong, because there's no one there to help.
"Reid?" Hotch is looking at him now, and Reid needs to get away from Hotch, from this room, from Andy.
Reid meets Hotch's gaze but he doesn't see him, doesn't hear him say What's wrong?. All he sees is his mother muttering to empty chairs, holding lectures with herself day after day at the sanitarium. He sees her fill her journals with meaningless scribbles and bile rises in Reid's throat. He already has journals filled with scribbles and he didn't know what he wrote was meaningless at the time, but he does now. If he's schizophrenic, everything is meaningless. He forces his lips into a wooden smile and nods in an effort to indicate he's fine. He scrambles blindly for something to say, for some obscure fact or figure to buy him time, but his mind is empty, blank.
Ever since he was a child he's used statistics and quotes to prove himself as one of the grownups. Teachers don't believe a six year old can read A Tale of Two Cities. But they will if you recite it paragraph by paragraph. School administrators don't want to enroll a nine year old into the public high school curriculum. They'll change their minds if you're ready with the correct statistics on test scores and intelligence and it helps that your mother glares at them and says the only reason you're hesitant to enroll him is you know he's more intelligent than everyone else in this room and the entire School Board combined. The staff at Bennington Sanitarium doesn't believe Professor Diane Reid needs to be committed. But they will if he has the facts and figures from eight years spent being her (terrified, ashamed, weak) caregiver.
Reid is finally considered to be an adult-at least in age--but he still carries his statistics like crutches and leans on them whenever he feels the need to prove he belongs, that he is meant to be here.
But now his crutches fail because he has no statistics, nothing he's willing to share with Hotch and certainly nothing he wants to tell himself (the treatment success rate for the first episode of schizophrenia is 60 percent). Reid is peripherally aware that Morgan is talking to him but all Reid can hear is Andy.
Andy's hand is on his arm (on his arm) and he can feel Andy's hand, the way his fingers dig into his skin. Andy's hand is cold. Reid finds it hard to breathe. The bile is gone, instead a thin bubble of laughter pushes its way into his throat. "Leave me alone." His voice is glass.
"What's wrong?" Hotch is still there, looking, looking and Reid's chest hitches tighter still.
Reid waves his hands in what he hopes Hotch takes as no problem here, Sir and not I'm having a mental breakdown and rushes past JJ. His elbow catches her arm and her water bottle flies out of her hand and against the wall. Water arcs like a fountain over Reid's chest and JJ's shoulder. He freezes, not by the water, but by his embarrassment, his constant clumsiness, and turns his eyes on the stain blooming across her collar (not her face) and mutters "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He bends down to pick up the now empty bottle. It takes forever. He's moving in slow motion. Everyone's watching. Whispering. The laughter moves another notch closer to his lips and he clamps his teeth together. He thrusts the bottle in JJ's direction and then mercifully, it's gone.
There's a hand on his shoulder and he jerks away from it as if it burns. It might be Hotch, but it could also be Andy, so he can't risk it. He rushes down the hallway, and there, at the end, is the sign for the men's restroom. He runs toward it, oblivious to everything but escape.
He shoves the door open and then he's inside. Safe. Alone. There are two stalls and both are empty. Reid locks the door behind him and collapses against it, eyes shut, knees weak. He keeps his palms flat against the door as if this will keep Hotch or Morgan from knocking.
"I'm begging you, Spencer. Please. I don't know what else to do."
Reid's eyes snap open. Andy's in front of him, his face chalky, expression pleading. "I feel like…like I'm being pulled apart, man." Andy's voice is bottomless desperation and his hands clench and unclench spasmodically. "I'm telling you right now I’m not fucking around here, Spence. I'm sorry this is freaking you out, but you know what?" Andy thumps his chest. "I’m freaked out more."
"You're not real," Reid says. It's his mantra. As if he can reason with his own brain.
Andy throws his arms in the air and bares his teeth. "You're not real, okay? You. You're a fucking liar, man. You promised me you'd help but all you do is run away and hyperventilate and fuck that." Andy jabs a finger at Reid. "Fuck. That. I'm the one that's dead. I've earned a break, okay?. I'm a…a fucking ghost and you better do what I say or I'm gonna fucking haunt you until forever." Andy's face is scrunched up in an effort at control but Reid can see the wild panic in his eyes, it's an act. It isn't real. None of this is.
"What do I have to do?" Andy demands, chest heaving.
Reid watches in horrified fascination because the details are amazing. Andy looks real. Andy feels real. The mind is an amazing thing. Too bad Reid's is clearly defective.
"You're dead," Reid whispers. He's careful to keep his voice low because who knows who's outside the door, listening, waiting. (Paranoid delusions.) "Why are you breathing?"
"Jesus Christ!" Andy shrieks. "Why are you such a fucking tool?" Andy pulls the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands and scrubs his eyes. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry," he cries, cringing away from Reid. "I didn't mean that. I'm just…I'm freaking out. And it feels like I've been freaking out for a really long time now, and I…I don't know how to stop. Like, what if it never stops? What if this is all there is? Constant, mind numbing terror." Andy's voice fragments, Reid can almost see the pieces. "I thought it would be better after dying, you know? Shit."
Reid jerks his eyes to the mirror. He avoids his own reflection. He's only checking to see if Andy's there as well. He is. Huh. Fascinating. (Terrifying.)
"Tell me what to do, Spencer. Because I'm begging you, here. I'm begging you." Andy drops to his knees in front of Reid and Reid doesn't know where to look. The room is full of chrome and metal and even if he doesn't look at Andy, he still sees him. "Just help me find Sam. Once I find Sam I'll leave you alone. That's a pretty good deal, right?"
"I want you to leave me alone now," Reid says. His voice is high and thin and he hates it (himself). "Please. Please." He's aware that he's begging too, (he's begging himself) but he can't stop.
Andy shakes his head. "I can't, man. Sam saved my life." His shoulders slump and he sighs. "Okay, well. Not this last time, but with my crazy evil twin. So I owe him. I might be a pothead and a loser, but that doesn't mean I'm not-I'm not a good person." Andy lifts his chin, as if he's daring Reid to contradict him.
Reid closes his eyes and counts to ten. It's worked before. It might again. Just to be safe he counts to twenty. When he opens them Andy's still there. Reid slams the back of his head against the door and thinks, absurdly maybe I can knock the crazy out. The bubble of laughter finally bursts and he laughs, the sound echoing off the walls like gunfire. He claps a hand over his mouth but he can't stop so he presses his curled fist to his mouth. Reid accidentally catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and the hand pressed against lips is a gesture he knows well. He's seen his mother do it for years. It's how she hides (they're watching, Spencer, all the time, you need to be on your guard, don't let them see, shut the blinds, Spencer) when the lights are on.
The laugher splinters in his chest and then his throat and suddenly he's crying. Reid covers his face with his hands and thinks this is how the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper and hits his head again.
"Spencer. Stop. I'm sorry." Andy's hand is on his arm again, tentative, his eyes wide. "I get it. I really do. It's hard to believe. It's crazy. This is completely fucked up."
Reid's face twists into a bitter smile because yes, that's exactly what it is. "Why did I come back?" he whispers. "Why did I come back if this was all that's waiting?"
Andy pulls at the sleeve of his sweatshirt again. There's a hole in the cuff, he slips his thumb through it. "Come back from where?"
He was free. Done. But Tobias brought him back, and for what? Reid shakes his head. He wants to scream. He wants to forget. He wants to bury a needle in his arm down to the bone so he can escape this tiled, cramped hell.
"You're not crazy," Andy whispers back, his face close to Reid's. "I told you that before. And it's true. You've got to ask yourself, man, which is better? A hallucination or a ghost?"
"I…I don't like either option." Reid wipes an arm across his face. His head aches. He feels broken.
"I don't want to mess up your life, dude. But you can see me for a reason. That's got to matter, right? I think you're supposed to help me."
"I can see you because…" Reid stops. He looks down at the floor. The square of tile next to his right foot is cracked. Because I'm hallucinating and possibly delusional.
"You can seem me because I'm here. That's all," Andy insists. "That's the only reason. I'm here just like you. We're the same," is what Andy says. What Reid hears is an echo of his own frenzied voice I've got a mother and father just like you and the laughter wells up again because now he's actually trying to personalize himself…to himself. Oh God. Oh God.
Andy's still talking. "Because dude, if you were really hallucinating you'd come up with something a hell of a lot more interesting than me. I mean, come on."
Reid bites his lips. 51% of the public, including 58% of women, and 65% of those aged 25 to 29 believe in ghosts. About 1.1% of the population age 18 and older in a given year have schizophrenia. Both involve seeing things in the dark.
The knock on the door propels Reid across the room. He hovers near the first stall, arms wound tightly around himself. "Reid? Are you okay?" The handle rattles and Reid thinks Elle could pick the lock. But Elle's gone and his ineptitude helped her go. He wants to fold himself away. He is a magician. He needs to make himself disappear. Along with Andy.
"You help me and I'll help you," Andy whispers. "We'll be like a…a team. I won't fuck up your job. I can totally help you fight crime while we track down Sam. It'll be cool."
Reid watches the knob turn.
"Reid, dammit. Open the door." Maybe Morgan thinks he's trying to kill himself. Maybe he thinks he's shooting up. Reid wants to put Morgan's mind at ease, tell him he's doing neither (but thinking about both).
Reid presses his hands to his face. He tells himself he's not weak but it feels like a lie. He's been lying his whole life (my mom isn't feeling well, I walked into a door, Elle will be okay, I won't choose a name, I'm fine) and he can't stop now, not even when the only one he's lying to is himself.
He's never been strong and he knows now Gideon was lying on that webcam. Hankel did break him. It just took a few months for the cracks to go all the way through. Reid lost his father and his mother and Elle. He's lost Gideon too, and the word rings false in his head. As if they're all simply misplaced, waiting for him behind the sofa or in an overlooked drawer. As if he didn't (fail them) drive them away, either in spirit or body, or both.
Reid lifts his head and stares at himself in the mirror. His eyes look like Andy's. Like Nathan's. The pale face framed by too-long unkempt hair looks like his face, but it isn't. He's lost himself as well. Spencer blinks and rubs his nose. That's when he realizes Andy is gone. He glances into each stall and checks the mirror again because he no longer believes what his eyes tell him. But the result is the same. He's alone.
For now.
Reid bows his head and blows out a tense breath. He can't stay in here forever, as much as he'd like to. He can feel Morgan on the other side of the door and his palms sweat. He wipes them on the front of his still-damp shirt. Then he shouts "Jeez, could you make more noise? Chill out, man." He unlocks the door and swings it open.
Morgan stands there and it's morning all over again, Reid in a doorway, Derek in the hall.
"I'm sorry," Reid says and lets his voice dip with embarrassment. He doesn't even have to act. His expression is sheepish and he licks his lips. "I, uh, felt sick and had to get out of there, man. I didn't mean to…to freak everyone out." He makes a face. "I think I've got food poisoning."
The worry on Morgan's face dials back. "Aw kid, that sucks. You want a lift back to the hotel? Maybe lie down for a while?" He peers at Reid. "You do look pretty lousy."
Reid smiles wanly. "Thanks." Then, "What about you guys? Are you feeling okay?"
"So far so good." Morgan reaches out and knocks the fake wood paneling twice. "You sure it's not the flu?"
"I don't think so," Reid says. "76,000,000 people suffer from food poisoning per year. That breaks down to 6,333,333 per month, 1,461,538 per week, 208,219 per day, 8,675 per hour, 144 per minute, 2 per second. I guess I'm one of them."
Hotch and JJ are at the end of the hall. "Everything okay?" Hotch asks. What he means is Do I need to send you home now?
The answer is a resounding yes, but Reid keeps that to himself. "I'll be fine," Reid says, and puts a hand to his stomach. "I just don't…I'm not feeling very well." Again, it's not a lie.
"I’m gonna drop him off at the hotel, let him grab a nap."
"And some ginger ale," Reid mutters.
Hotch is looking at him, but it's not that look. This look is sympathetic, it says feel better. It doesn't threaten to crush Reid beneath its weight, not like the other one.
"I'm sorry again," Reid tells JJ and she rolls her eyes at him.
"I was about to fall asleep listening to you guys drone on like that," she says, waiving her hand. "You did me a favor, Reid. I hate falling asleep in the middle of police stations. It's so awkward, you know?" She grins at him.
He smiles back but it's only a token effort, the look comes nowhere near his eyes. JJ deserves better.
"Come on, kid," Morgan says and gives Reid a friendly nudge. Reid keeps his gaze on the floor as they head toward the parking lot. That way he can't see who's walking beside him.
Author: buffyaddict13
Rating: RFT/R for violent images
Fandom: Supernatural, Criminal Minds
Pairing/Characters: Gen, Sam and Dean Winchester, Andy Gallagher, Bobby Singer, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Jennifer "JJ" Jereau
Summary: A shocking discovery sends the BAU to Cold Oak, South Dakota.
A/N 1: Betaed by
riverbella who is the super awesome towniest. And many thanks to kroki_refur for the encouragement.
A/N 2: Spoilers up to Seven Seconds for Criminal Minds and spoilers for Supernatural up to Fresh Blood.
A/N 3: Link to pictures of Criminal Minds characters.
There is no great genius without some touch of madness.
~Seneca
"Any word on who the vic is?"
Hotch shakes his head. "Not yet. But he was wearing dog tags so Garcia should have something for us soon."
Morgan rests his forearms on the table. "And we still don't know if there's a connection?"
Hotch's lips compress into a thin frown. "I wouldn't rule it out entirely. We found a second body hidden behind a large crypt. Middle aged man, no identification, shot in the head execution style."
JJ shakes her head in frustration. "Doesn't anybody in this state carry ID?"
Hotch, JJ and Morgan sit around a large conference room table at the Hot Springs Sheriff Station. One wall is covered in note cards bearing the names of the known victims. The cards are arranged in columns, identifying which victims were killed when. Another wall is covered by a large map of the United States.
Reid stands in front of the map drawing careful, deliberate lines. He draws a line from each victim's city of origin to Cold Oak, looking for connections, intersections, and points of commonality. A second, smaller map of Fall River County is tacked below the United States. The small map is covered in red and black shading. Reid has spent the last two hours creating a topographical map geocoding the key locations where the UnSub may be hiding around Cold Oak. He holds the pen in a white-knuckled grip and throws himself into his work. Tracking down the UnSub provides a brief respite from thoughts of Andy.
"There were definite signs of a struggle, various footprints and drag marks. I'd say there were at least four, maybe five people in that cemetery." Hotch lifts an eyebrow. "Locals say they saw-and I quote-'flashing lights and funnel clouds like the end of days was at hand.'"
"Local meteorology reports don't show any signs of recent tornado activity," Reid points out, twirling the marker between his fingers.
"For now I think we need to leave the cemetery deaths to local authorities and concentrate on Cold Oak. We need to work on the profile."
Hotch reaches for Ava Wilson's journal, his face grim. "The first two entries reveal Ava's terror, her revulsion at what the UnSub is asking her to do. The third is a kind of turning point." He reads aloud to the team: "'I killed them. I used a pipe. I think I'm dead and this is hell. He won't let me go until I'm a better soldier. Until I win.'"
"Win what?" JJ asks, tacking another index card to the wall.
"Until she's killed enough to fulfill the UnSub's fantasy," Morgan says. He looks at Hotch. "What's next?"
"The fourth entry reads 'He hasn't brought food in three days.'" Hotch's voice is level, but a muscle tics in his jaw.
Reid stops drawing. "The UnSub is reinforcing her dependence on him. If she doesn't follow his instructions implicitly he withholds food. He leaves her trapped and alone." In the dark.
"There's more." Hotch turns a page. "'He showed me how to call him. I made the mark on the wall. He said I'm his favorite. He needs me. More are coming.'" Aaron looks up. "We can only assume this means she knew the UnSub would be procuring more victims. The last three entries are very brief. She says 'All they do is whine. I hate them all.' Then, 'I'll make him proud. I can control the demons.' And-"
"Demons?" Morgan lifts an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean? Are we talking metaphorically? Or did she literally believe in demons?"
"Judging from the salt and sigils on the wall I'd say the UnSub and Ava both believed in demons." Reid rolls the pen between his palms. "And what was that she said? 'He showed me how to call him. I made the mark on the wall.' So the sigils weren't necessarily protection from anything, inasmuch as a…a kind of rudimentary communication with the UnSub. And it's not as uncommon for people to believe in the devil or demons as you might think. Did you know that a 2003 Harris Poll found that 68% of the public believes in the devil, and 69% believe in hell?"
JJ's blond eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. "Okay, that's not at all disturbing. But what I want to know is, how would the UnSub even know Ava was trying to contact him?" She pulls a print-out from a file folder. "Unless he was staying in the hotel with her, and we have no evidence of that."
Hotch rubs his chin thoughtfully. He reaches for his mug of coffee. "What do we have evidence of?"
JJ taps the print-out. "First of all-"
A knock on the door cuts JJ's response short. Jacoby pokes his head into the room. "SSA Hotchner? There's a Penelope Garcia on line one for you."
"Thank you Deputy." Hotch flashes Hank a polite smile and presses the blinking light. To Penelope he says, "Garcia, you're on speaker."
"Greetings, prolific profilers."
A second voice floats tinnily from the speaker. "Hey guys."
Reid taps the pen against his thigh. "Hi Emily," he says softly. He imagines her seated next to Garcia, one blond head and one brunette inclined slightly toward the phone. The others exchange hellos as well.
Hotch leans forward. "What do you have for us?"
"Okay you guys, here's the scoop," Garcia tells him. "We have nineteen of the victims identified so far. And of those nineteen, all of their vehicles have been accounted for. And by 'accounted for' I mean at their home or apartment or the impound lot. Not on the side of the road or in a ditch or parked outside Cold Oak. And that's not all. I've been tracing credit card use and there are no credit card charges between the time the victim went missing and when they were found."
Hotch frowns. "Which victims are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about all of them, sir. And I've checked multiple times. No airline tickets, no train tickets, no bus tickets, no car rentals, nothing."
"Not even the purchase of a pair of roller blades," Emily adds.
"So…you're saying the UnSub kidnapped all of these people and brought them to Cold Oak himself?" JJ asks, incredulous. "Without leaving any trace behind?"
Reid leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest. "Maybe the UnSub contacted the victims and drew them in via an internet chat room or message board. The local authorities should check all personal computer usage. It's possible he had a believable enough cover story to bring dozens of educated people from all walks of life straight to him."
Morgan's skeptical. "You really think twenty-nine people just…came to this guy?"
Reid looks down at the pen in his hand. There's no accounting for why people do the things they do. He shrugs. "I don't know."
"There's more," Prentiss says. "You know how Ava's fiancé was found dead and Andy Gallagher's brother and mother died shortly before his disappearance? There are fifteen more cases of suspicious deaths surrounding these victims. And that's not counting heart attacks or so-called 'natural' deaths."
Hotch stares at the phone as if it's personally offended him. "Fifteen?"
"Yup," Garcia says, taking up the recitation. "Tom Wilkin's father was electrocuted. Lena Janson's sister was hit by a car. Jane Dobson's mother committed suicide by drowning herself." Garcia pauses for effect. "In the kitchen sink."
"What. The. Hell is going on?" Morgan demands, tossing a sheaf of papers onto the table. They slide across the fake oak veneer, fanning outward.
"Maybe the UnSub targeted these people for exactly this reason," Reid suggests slowly. "He believes these people died under suspicious circumstances and now he's carrying out some kind of personal vendetta. He's collecting injustices, not against himself, but others." Charles Hankel's voice whispers in his ear Sinners. Reid stuffs his hands into his pockets and taps his heel against the floor. It's a mistake because pain flares in the sole of his foot and he shifts his weight to relieve the ache. He needs to stop thinking about Tobias. And Andy. Maybe Hotch and Morgan were right. Gallagher is nothing more than a PTSD related manifestation triggered by Cold Oak, a consequence of his ordeal at Hankel's hands and Reid's subsequent survivor's guilt (shame).
Now that he's done with Cold Oak, he's done with hallucinations. The knot in his stomach loosens slightly. He'll get through this. He's not going to let his own demons get in the way of the-- Spencer blinks. Demons. Demon. "Azazel," he blurts.
Hotch glances at Reid, brows drawn. "What?"
"Azazel," Reid repeats. "That's who the triangular sigil represents on Ava's wall." He rolls his eyes. "I can't believe I didn't remember earlier. According to Enoch 1-a book of the Apocrypha-Azazel, which is disputed to mean either 'God is strong' or possibly 'angel of death' was one of the chief Grigori. The Grigori were a group of fallen angels who married women. A similar story without directly mentioning Azazel's name is located in Genesis 6: 2-4. Azazel was cast out of heaven for teaching people to make weapons. Basically, the use of weapons created a-a time of godlessness and the people became corrupt."
"Okay," Hotch says slowly. "What does-"
Reid's got momentum; he barrels over Hotch's acknowledgment and keeps going. "The four archangels, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel and Raphael--" He says the name without blinking, but his chest constricts (God's will) and sweat beads along his back, beneath his arms "--saw the corruption that Azazel-and the Grigori--brought about and God has Raphael 'bind Azazel hand and foot and cast him into the darkness.' In the extracanonical text of the Apocalypse of Abraham, Azazel is described as an unclean bird. He's also associated with the serpent-that is, Satan--and hell. In Chapter 23, verse 7, he is described as having seven heads, 14 faces, 'hands and feet like a man's and on his back six wings on the right and six on the left.'"
Garcia is the first to speak. "Reid, it's a good thing you're handsome because you? Are a walking encyclopedia of weirdness."
"A weird but really useful encyclopedia," Prentiss amends, a smile in her voice.
Reid smiles back. He's been called worse. Much worse. And the fact that Emily is making an effort, trying to reach out to him, is not lost on Reid.
"Fourteen faces and six wings?" Morgan shoots Reid a look that clearly says, dude, what the fuck?. "A line of salt is supposed to protect against that?"
"Not Azazel per se," Reid clarifies. "I think Ava used the salt to protect herself against lesser demons, possibly Acheri or Pithius. Based on what she wrote in the journal I think she believed Azazel was holding her captive; he was the one instructing her to kill, and he taught her the sigil necessary to summon him." Reid flips the pen in the air and catches it one handed. He stares at his hand in shock, then at the rest of the team. Hotch and Morgan are facing away from Reid, but JJ gives him a surreptitious thumb's up.
Hotch rubs a hand across his forehead. "This is all very interesting, Reid," he says mildly, "but I'd like to get back to the victims. Specifically, how would the UnSub even know about all the peripheral deaths? If we were dealing with one county or even a single state, I could understand. But we're talking about more than twenty cities spread all across the United States."
"Hey, don't shoot the messenger, Boss." Garcia's tone is conciliatory. "Sorry I don't have anything more useful."
"Wait a second," Emily says. They all listen to the sound of murmuring and then Prentiss is back on the line. "I just got confirmation that the soldier found in the cemetery is named Jake Talley. He's been serving in Afghanistan for the past ten months. And maybe that's a connection, remember what Ava said? 'He won't let me go until I'm a better solider.'"
Reid speaks up so Prentiss can hear him. "Nice work, Emily."
"Thanks."
"Find out how long Talley's been on leave," Hotch instructs. "And Garcia, let me know as soon as you get the fingerprint results. Good work, guys."
"Thanks, Boss. When I know, you'll know."
"You sure you don't want me to catch a flight, sir?"
"Not right now." Hotch hesitates, makes his voice gentle. "It makes things easier on our end for you to work with Penelope."
"I live to serve," Emily says.
In the background Garcia's voice drops. "You live to steal my pens. That's totally uncool, dude."
"Garcia, I swear I didn't-"
"Then where's the pink fluffy one, huh?"
Hotch rolls his eyes. "Goodbye you two."
"Later, Alligators," Garcia calls and the line disconnects.
The group sits in silence for a long minute. Then Hotch sighs. "JJ, would you please let Sheriff Townsend know we'll be ready to present a preliminary profile in another hour? You can go ahead and coordinate the press conference."
JJ nods and crosses to the door. "Yes, sir."
"Thank you." Hotch stares into his coffee mug as if the UnSub's name is floating inside. He frowns magnificently and motions for Reid to join him at the table. "Morgan, Reid, I need you to focus. We've got work to do."
ooooo
A dozen state troopers watch SSA Aaron Hotchner expectantly. Sheriff Townsend leans against his desk, arms folded. Deputy Jacoby stands to his left, JJ on his right.
Hotch regards the room calmly. Morgan and Reid wait next to a large dry erase board. Reid's eyes dart around the room. He observes the looks of unease and nervousness, the restless feet, the tapping fingers. Several troopers have notebooks open, pens poised to write.
"I'd like to stress that this profile is only a guide, a tool to assist you in locating the Unknown Subject, or UnSub," Hotch clarifies. "The UnSub we're looking for is a white male, 25 to 35 years old. Although he kills most of his victims with blitz attacks, this does not mean he's disorganized. He is extremely organized to orchestrate killings on this scale. He's friendly and internet savvy. He's handsome and doesn't appear suspicious or out of the ordinary to either men or women."
Hotch paces slowly, maintaining eye contact with the officers. "He's extremely familiar with this area and probably lives or works in Fall River County. He knew about the ghost town long before he began killing there. And now that Cold Oak has been compromised, he's going to begin looking for a new location where he can kill and bury his victims."
Reid steps forward and seamlessly picks up the thread Hotch started. "This UnSub is unusual because he doesn't have a specific," Spencer makes finger quotes as he says, "'type.' He kills both men and women of different ethnic and socioeconomic groups, and different levels of education. The only similarity among his victims is age. Each victim is 23 years old. This number has a special significance to the UnSub. Something may have happened to him at this age and now he's symbolically trying to kill himself along with his victim each time he kills," Reid's hands move as he talks, as if he's painting an image of the UnSub in the air. "Also, the UnSub has a detailed knowledge of occult symbology and suffers from the delusion he's possessed by a demon called Azazel. In the UnSub's mind, he's not committing murder, he's…he's answering a call. He's fulfilling his destiny."
Several of the officers frown or mutter at this revelation, a handful of others roll their eyes. Townsend and Jacoby take notes. Reid rubs his palms together and moves an equal distance between Morgan and Hotch. "The UnSub kills because the act gives him a sense of meaning, a sense of power and control. But even though he's looking to gain power of his victims, these crimes are not sexually motivated. None of the victims display signs of sexual assault."
All eyes are on Reid, but this-profiling--is one of the few situations where he doesn't mind the attention. This is his element: guiding authorities toward the UnSub, preventing the deaths of future victims, looking for the connections no one else sees (except Gideon). He's learned to use his fear of the dark, to use logic and science and language as a light to expose those who hide in shadow. He speaks quietly but without a trace of stutter or uncertainty. "The UnSub doesn't kill for recognition; this is not someone who is going to insert himself into the investigation. Most of his victims were not only left at a remote location, they were buried." Spencer casts a quick look at Morgan, signaling it's nearly Derek's turn to speak. "You'll want to keep Cold Oak under surveillance. The UnSub may visit the scene to assess the extent of the police investigation, or in an attempt to relive his fantasies."
Morgan moves forward and Reid steps closer to Hotch. Hotch tips his head in an almost imperceptible nod that signals well done.
Derek stands in the center of the room, hands in his pockets. He looks relaxed, but Reid knows better. "There's a real possibility we're dealing with two UnSubs, here. One, who's the dominant or master personality who chooses the victims and orchestrates the killings. And a second, submissive personality who brings the victims to Cold Oak.
"We think it's possible the UnSub contacts his victims over the internet and lures them here. He's manufactured an elaborate cover story with strict instructions to his intended victim not to let friends or relatives know what's going on. The UnSub may pass himself off as someone looking for a relationship." Derek pulls his hands from his pockets and taps his right fist against his open palm. "The UnSub or his partner may have initiated contact with victims by posing as a police officer or other authority figure. However, I want to be clear: the word 'partner' in no way implies an equal relationship between the UnSubs.
Morgan glances toward Jacoby and Townsend. "The person who committed these murders is a large man, at least six feet tall and in good physical condition. He needs to appear threatening in order to control three or four people at one time, and back that threat with strength. He's comfortable being out of doors, so it's likely he's a fisherman or a hunter. The vehicle used to transport the victims to Cold Oak is an older model van, something that can fit several people. It's not well maintained, but he drives conservatively." Morgan sweeps a gaze across the room. "And lastly. The UnSub is likely to kill until apprehended, incapacitated, or otherwise inhibited from acting. He will not stop on his own."
"You're wrong."
Reid flinches and nearly bumps into Hotch. Hotch raises an eyebrow and shoots Reid a quizzical glance but Reid doesn't see it, he doesn't see anything except Andy Gallagher. Andy's right there. Right there.
Reid takes a step backward. This isn't happening.
"That all sounds really good," Andy says, "but I was there, and it was Ava. She summoned a freaky demon and killed me. She probably killed everybody else too." Andy threads his fingers through his hair and swallows. "What I need to know is, did she kill Sam Winchester?" His voice trembles and so do his hands. He grips his hair tighter. Gallagher's on the brink of tears and Reid's first instinct is to help, to listen, but that instinct is wrong, because there's no one there to help.
"Reid?" Hotch is looking at him now, and Reid needs to get away from Hotch, from this room, from Andy.
Reid meets Hotch's gaze but he doesn't see him, doesn't hear him say What's wrong?. All he sees is his mother muttering to empty chairs, holding lectures with herself day after day at the sanitarium. He sees her fill her journals with meaningless scribbles and bile rises in Reid's throat. He already has journals filled with scribbles and he didn't know what he wrote was meaningless at the time, but he does now. If he's schizophrenic, everything is meaningless. He forces his lips into a wooden smile and nods in an effort to indicate he's fine. He scrambles blindly for something to say, for some obscure fact or figure to buy him time, but his mind is empty, blank.
Ever since he was a child he's used statistics and quotes to prove himself as one of the grownups. Teachers don't believe a six year old can read A Tale of Two Cities. But they will if you recite it paragraph by paragraph. School administrators don't want to enroll a nine year old into the public high school curriculum. They'll change their minds if you're ready with the correct statistics on test scores and intelligence and it helps that your mother glares at them and says the only reason you're hesitant to enroll him is you know he's more intelligent than everyone else in this room and the entire School Board combined. The staff at Bennington Sanitarium doesn't believe Professor Diane Reid needs to be committed. But they will if he has the facts and figures from eight years spent being her (terrified, ashamed, weak) caregiver.
Reid is finally considered to be an adult-at least in age--but he still carries his statistics like crutches and leans on them whenever he feels the need to prove he belongs, that he is meant to be here.
But now his crutches fail because he has no statistics, nothing he's willing to share with Hotch and certainly nothing he wants to tell himself (the treatment success rate for the first episode of schizophrenia is 60 percent). Reid is peripherally aware that Morgan is talking to him but all Reid can hear is Andy.
Andy's hand is on his arm (on his arm) and he can feel Andy's hand, the way his fingers dig into his skin. Andy's hand is cold. Reid finds it hard to breathe. The bile is gone, instead a thin bubble of laughter pushes its way into his throat. "Leave me alone." His voice is glass.
"What's wrong?" Hotch is still there, looking, looking and Reid's chest hitches tighter still.
Reid waves his hands in what he hopes Hotch takes as no problem here, Sir and not I'm having a mental breakdown and rushes past JJ. His elbow catches her arm and her water bottle flies out of her hand and against the wall. Water arcs like a fountain over Reid's chest and JJ's shoulder. He freezes, not by the water, but by his embarrassment, his constant clumsiness, and turns his eyes on the stain blooming across her collar (not her face) and mutters "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He bends down to pick up the now empty bottle. It takes forever. He's moving in slow motion. Everyone's watching. Whispering. The laughter moves another notch closer to his lips and he clamps his teeth together. He thrusts the bottle in JJ's direction and then mercifully, it's gone.
There's a hand on his shoulder and he jerks away from it as if it burns. It might be Hotch, but it could also be Andy, so he can't risk it. He rushes down the hallway, and there, at the end, is the sign for the men's restroom. He runs toward it, oblivious to everything but escape.
He shoves the door open and then he's inside. Safe. Alone. There are two stalls and both are empty. Reid locks the door behind him and collapses against it, eyes shut, knees weak. He keeps his palms flat against the door as if this will keep Hotch or Morgan from knocking.
"I'm begging you, Spencer. Please. I don't know what else to do."
Reid's eyes snap open. Andy's in front of him, his face chalky, expression pleading. "I feel like…like I'm being pulled apart, man." Andy's voice is bottomless desperation and his hands clench and unclench spasmodically. "I'm telling you right now I’m not fucking around here, Spence. I'm sorry this is freaking you out, but you know what?" Andy thumps his chest. "I’m freaked out more."
"You're not real," Reid says. It's his mantra. As if he can reason with his own brain.
Andy throws his arms in the air and bares his teeth. "You're not real, okay? You. You're a fucking liar, man. You promised me you'd help but all you do is run away and hyperventilate and fuck that." Andy jabs a finger at Reid. "Fuck. That. I'm the one that's dead. I've earned a break, okay?. I'm a…a fucking ghost and you better do what I say or I'm gonna fucking haunt you until forever." Andy's face is scrunched up in an effort at control but Reid can see the wild panic in his eyes, it's an act. It isn't real. None of this is.
"What do I have to do?" Andy demands, chest heaving.
Reid watches in horrified fascination because the details are amazing. Andy looks real. Andy feels real. The mind is an amazing thing. Too bad Reid's is clearly defective.
"You're dead," Reid whispers. He's careful to keep his voice low because who knows who's outside the door, listening, waiting. (Paranoid delusions.) "Why are you breathing?"
"Jesus Christ!" Andy shrieks. "Why are you such a fucking tool?" Andy pulls the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands and scrubs his eyes. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry," he cries, cringing away from Reid. "I didn't mean that. I'm just…I'm freaking out. And it feels like I've been freaking out for a really long time now, and I…I don't know how to stop. Like, what if it never stops? What if this is all there is? Constant, mind numbing terror." Andy's voice fragments, Reid can almost see the pieces. "I thought it would be better after dying, you know? Shit."
Reid jerks his eyes to the mirror. He avoids his own reflection. He's only checking to see if Andy's there as well. He is. Huh. Fascinating. (Terrifying.)
"Tell me what to do, Spencer. Because I'm begging you, here. I'm begging you." Andy drops to his knees in front of Reid and Reid doesn't know where to look. The room is full of chrome and metal and even if he doesn't look at Andy, he still sees him. "Just help me find Sam. Once I find Sam I'll leave you alone. That's a pretty good deal, right?"
"I want you to leave me alone now," Reid says. His voice is high and thin and he hates it (himself). "Please. Please." He's aware that he's begging too, (he's begging himself) but he can't stop.
Andy shakes his head. "I can't, man. Sam saved my life." His shoulders slump and he sighs. "Okay, well. Not this last time, but with my crazy evil twin. So I owe him. I might be a pothead and a loser, but that doesn't mean I'm not-I'm not a good person." Andy lifts his chin, as if he's daring Reid to contradict him.
Reid closes his eyes and counts to ten. It's worked before. It might again. Just to be safe he counts to twenty. When he opens them Andy's still there. Reid slams the back of his head against the door and thinks, absurdly maybe I can knock the crazy out. The bubble of laughter finally bursts and he laughs, the sound echoing off the walls like gunfire. He claps a hand over his mouth but he can't stop so he presses his curled fist to his mouth. Reid accidentally catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and the hand pressed against lips is a gesture he knows well. He's seen his mother do it for years. It's how she hides (they're watching, Spencer, all the time, you need to be on your guard, don't let them see, shut the blinds, Spencer) when the lights are on.
The laugher splinters in his chest and then his throat and suddenly he's crying. Reid covers his face with his hands and thinks this is how the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper and hits his head again.
"Spencer. Stop. I'm sorry." Andy's hand is on his arm again, tentative, his eyes wide. "I get it. I really do. It's hard to believe. It's crazy. This is completely fucked up."
Reid's face twists into a bitter smile because yes, that's exactly what it is. "Why did I come back?" he whispers. "Why did I come back if this was all that's waiting?"
Andy pulls at the sleeve of his sweatshirt again. There's a hole in the cuff, he slips his thumb through it. "Come back from where?"
He was free. Done. But Tobias brought him back, and for what? Reid shakes his head. He wants to scream. He wants to forget. He wants to bury a needle in his arm down to the bone so he can escape this tiled, cramped hell.
"You're not crazy," Andy whispers back, his face close to Reid's. "I told you that before. And it's true. You've got to ask yourself, man, which is better? A hallucination or a ghost?"
"I…I don't like either option." Reid wipes an arm across his face. His head aches. He feels broken.
"I don't want to mess up your life, dude. But you can see me for a reason. That's got to matter, right? I think you're supposed to help me."
"I can see you because…" Reid stops. He looks down at the floor. The square of tile next to his right foot is cracked. Because I'm hallucinating and possibly delusional.
"You can seem me because I'm here. That's all," Andy insists. "That's the only reason. I'm here just like you. We're the same," is what Andy says. What Reid hears is an echo of his own frenzied voice I've got a mother and father just like you and the laughter wells up again because now he's actually trying to personalize himself…to himself. Oh God. Oh God.
Andy's still talking. "Because dude, if you were really hallucinating you'd come up with something a hell of a lot more interesting than me. I mean, come on."
Reid bites his lips. 51% of the public, including 58% of women, and 65% of those aged 25 to 29 believe in ghosts. About 1.1% of the population age 18 and older in a given year have schizophrenia. Both involve seeing things in the dark.
The knock on the door propels Reid across the room. He hovers near the first stall, arms wound tightly around himself. "Reid? Are you okay?" The handle rattles and Reid thinks Elle could pick the lock. But Elle's gone and his ineptitude helped her go. He wants to fold himself away. He is a magician. He needs to make himself disappear. Along with Andy.
"You help me and I'll help you," Andy whispers. "We'll be like a…a team. I won't fuck up your job. I can totally help you fight crime while we track down Sam. It'll be cool."
Reid watches the knob turn.
"Reid, dammit. Open the door." Maybe Morgan thinks he's trying to kill himself. Maybe he thinks he's shooting up. Reid wants to put Morgan's mind at ease, tell him he's doing neither (but thinking about both).
Reid presses his hands to his face. He tells himself he's not weak but it feels like a lie. He's been lying his whole life (my mom isn't feeling well, I walked into a door, Elle will be okay, I won't choose a name, I'm fine) and he can't stop now, not even when the only one he's lying to is himself.
He's never been strong and he knows now Gideon was lying on that webcam. Hankel did break him. It just took a few months for the cracks to go all the way through. Reid lost his father and his mother and Elle. He's lost Gideon too, and the word rings false in his head. As if they're all simply misplaced, waiting for him behind the sofa or in an overlooked drawer. As if he didn't (fail them) drive them away, either in spirit or body, or both.
Reid lifts his head and stares at himself in the mirror. His eyes look like Andy's. Like Nathan's. The pale face framed by too-long unkempt hair looks like his face, but it isn't. He's lost himself as well. Spencer blinks and rubs his nose. That's when he realizes Andy is gone. He glances into each stall and checks the mirror again because he no longer believes what his eyes tell him. But the result is the same. He's alone.
For now.
Reid bows his head and blows out a tense breath. He can't stay in here forever, as much as he'd like to. He can feel Morgan on the other side of the door and his palms sweat. He wipes them on the front of his still-damp shirt. Then he shouts "Jeez, could you make more noise? Chill out, man." He unlocks the door and swings it open.
Morgan stands there and it's morning all over again, Reid in a doorway, Derek in the hall.
"I'm sorry," Reid says and lets his voice dip with embarrassment. He doesn't even have to act. His expression is sheepish and he licks his lips. "I, uh, felt sick and had to get out of there, man. I didn't mean to…to freak everyone out." He makes a face. "I think I've got food poisoning."
The worry on Morgan's face dials back. "Aw kid, that sucks. You want a lift back to the hotel? Maybe lie down for a while?" He peers at Reid. "You do look pretty lousy."
Reid smiles wanly. "Thanks." Then, "What about you guys? Are you feeling okay?"
"So far so good." Morgan reaches out and knocks the fake wood paneling twice. "You sure it's not the flu?"
"I don't think so," Reid says. "76,000,000 people suffer from food poisoning per year. That breaks down to 6,333,333 per month, 1,461,538 per week, 208,219 per day, 8,675 per hour, 144 per minute, 2 per second. I guess I'm one of them."
Hotch and JJ are at the end of the hall. "Everything okay?" Hotch asks. What he means is Do I need to send you home now?
The answer is a resounding yes, but Reid keeps that to himself. "I'll be fine," Reid says, and puts a hand to his stomach. "I just don't…I'm not feeling very well." Again, it's not a lie.
"I’m gonna drop him off at the hotel, let him grab a nap."
"And some ginger ale," Reid mutters.
Hotch is looking at him, but it's not that look. This look is sympathetic, it says feel better. It doesn't threaten to crush Reid beneath its weight, not like the other one.
"I'm sorry again," Reid tells JJ and she rolls her eyes at him.
"I was about to fall asleep listening to you guys drone on like that," she says, waiving her hand. "You did me a favor, Reid. I hate falling asleep in the middle of police stations. It's so awkward, you know?" She grins at him.
He smiles back but it's only a token effort, the look comes nowhere near his eyes. JJ deserves better.
"Come on, kid," Morgan says and gives Reid a friendly nudge. Reid keeps his gaze on the floor as they head toward the parking lot. That way he can't see who's walking beside him.