The Absence of Light 1/1
Title: The Absence of Light 1/1
Author: buffyaddict13
Rating: RFT/R, R for dark subject matter
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing/Characters: Gen, Reid, Hotch, Morgan, Garcia, Diana Reid, William Reid
Summary: Spencer Reid is afraid of the dark.
A/N 1: WARNING: TRIGGERY SUBJECT MATTER AND CHARACTER DEATH. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.
A/N 2: Massive thanks to riverbella for the fast beta (and constant encouragement) and luckinfovely for the awesome prompt. Only this probably isn't what you meant. I'm a horrible person for writing this, plus Reid is probably OOC. Endless sorries!
"You might try then, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you again. Only no sky can blind you now. Even with all that iridescent magic up there, your eye will no longer trace constellations. You’ll care only about the darkness and you’ll watch it for hours, for days, maybe even for years, trying in vain to believe you’re some kind of indispensable universe-appointed sentinel, as if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay.” ~ Mark Danielewski
The strip of darkness watches him like a rectangular eye. A blacker, deeper darkness than the rest of the room, the closet waits for him to fall asleep.
Spencer pulls the blanket up to his chin, trembling. He is five. He sits in the dark, still wearing his glasses. He needs to see if the closet door opens wider. He knows as soon as he takes them off, as soon as he shuts his eyes, the closet will yawn open and the monster inside will be on him, all slobbering breath and needle teeth and snapping jaws.
He tries to project his voice just the right amount. Loud enough to wake Mommy, but soft enough to let Daddy sleep. "Mom."
Nothing.
The closet looks at him.
"Mommy!"
Now there is muttering from his parents' bedroom and footsteps in the hall. Spencer cringes beneath the covers. He knows who the footsteps belong to.
His bedroom door opens and light floods the room. He blinks rapidly, spots dancing in the air.
"What is it Spencer?"
The boy risks a look at Daddy's face. It's not red and veiny like it gets when he's mad, so maybe everything's okay after all. "There's something in the closet," Spencer whispers.
Daddy looks at him for a very long time, his mouth set in a tight line. Finally he reaches for Spencer's arm and drags him out of the bed. Toward the closet. "No!" Spencer shrieks. "Daddy, no!"
"Listen to me, Spencer. The only thing in your closet is clothes. And toys. That’s all." He propels Spencer toward the closet and yanks the door open. Spencer flinches and squeezes his eyes shut. He can't look. He can't.
"Look," Daddy commands. "Just look. There's nothing there." Daddy's voice softens. "Spencer, if there was something bad in your closet, do you really think I'd drag you over here?"
Spencer thinks about this. He doesn't know. Sometimes Daddy loves him and sometimes he doesn't. He thought this was one of the not-love times, but now that Daddy's loosened his grip and using his nice voice, maybe it's a love time after all. Spencer takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. The closet door is wide open. It is filled with his clothes. And shoes. He can see his Little League outfit hanging in the back. Boxes of Legos and Lincoln Logs are on the floor. Spencer reaches out to touch the sleeve of his favorite striped shirt. It feels real.
"There are no such thing as monsters," Daddy says, and guides Spencer back to bed.
"Do you promise?" Spencer asks. His voice warbles, high and thin.
"I promise," Daddy says.
Daddy kisses him on the forehead (love time for sure!), turns off the light, and shuts Spencer's door. Mommy must have been waiting in the hallway because her voice says "What the hell were you doing? You think forcing him into the closet is going to assuage his fears?"
"It's better than pandering to him, Diana. He's not a baby," Daddy says and now his voice sounds full of thunder. "Aren't you the one who's always going on about how smart he is? If he's such a genius, wouldn't he know there aren't any monsters in his goddamn closet?"
"Keep your voice down," Mommy says, and her voice has lightning.
Spencer stares up at the ceiling, listening. He's no longer thinking about the closet.
---
The first time Spencer realizes his father lied is when his mother wakes up screaming. She insists there's someone in the house, an intruder. Reid turns on all the lights, checks the locks and windows.
There's no one. But Diana rocks back and forth, crying, and no amount of soothing words will make her stop. Reid is twelve. His mother has been on a new medication for two months.
There are monsters. They're inside his mother's head.
---
When Reid is fifteen his college roommate comes home drunk. With two of his burly quarterback buddies. Reid works on a term paper while they call him Doogie Howser, brain boy, and freak.
By the time they graduate to throwing empty beer cans at this head, Reid knows it's time to go. He can sleep in the library stacks. He's done it before. They trip him when he gets up to leave. Reid's first black eye is from the doorknob. His second black eye is from Scott, the roommate. Scott is 19 and a sophomore. Reid is a senior.
Reid lies on the floor and waits for the kicking to stop. It's easier this way. He's learned that if he tries to fight back, the beating takes twice as long. Strong arms grip him and drag him into the hallway. One of Scott's friends has a key to the Janitor's closet at the end of the hall. Laughing, they open the door and throw Reid in. He lands half on the floor, half on something metallic and solid--a large pail. His head connects with the wall. Through the pain in his head, his back, his side, he can still hear their laughter fade away.
The darkness presses against his face like hands. The hot biting panic comes next. It shunts the pain aside, the shame, until there is nothing but fear. It roars in his head, thrums in his chest. It twists his stomach. It's just the dark. There's nothing in the dark.
(Except monsters.)
Which is the problem.
There's no one else in the closet. Which should be a comfort, but isn't. (He's alone with himself.)
Reid grits his teeth and slides a trembling hand into his pocket. The paperclip is there. He holds it in a sweaty palm. He feels against the stone wall with his other hand, moves over broom handles, a shelf of tinkling bottles (he's okay, no monsters here, none in his head) but there's no light switch. Cautiously, Reid pushes himself to his feet. A nova of pain flares in his head but he stays on his feet. Something brushes against his hair. Teeth grinding, he lifts his hand and finds a string. He pulls it.
Soft light fills the small room. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling. It swings back and forth, sending shadows racing from wall to wall. Reid exhales and finds he's been holding his breath.
The ache in his chest subsides. He opens his fist slowly, careful not to drop the paperclip.
He tries the doorknob.
It's locked.
There's no lock mechanism on this side, just a keyhole. Reid bends the paperclip into a length of wire and inserts it into the lock. Gently, he feels for the tumblers. He's been picking locks for over a year now. Mostly just the library after hours. Once, his dorm room when he forgot his key. There's a telltale click and he tries the door again. It opens.
The hallway is deserted. The door to his room is closed. Reid inserts the lock pick a second time and relocks the door. Then he goes to the bottom of the stairs and waits.
It takes five hours. Reid doesn't mind waiting. He's patient. Waiting is a learned skill like everything else. He's become an expert. He waits for his mother to come out of one of her episodes. He waits for his father to pick up the phone. He waits for his fellow students to see him as a person. He waits for the professors to see him as something more than a novelty. He waits for Scott Matthews to come out of their room.
A few people pass Reid on the stairs. Reid sits on the penultimate step. He rolls a Walking Liberty quarter over his knuckles, right to left, left to right. An underclassmen stops and gawks at Reid's face. "Are you okay?"
Reid smiles thinly. "Never better."
The freshman hurries away.
Eventually Reid hears the footsteps he's been waiting for. Scott flies down the hall and pounds on the closet door. "Spencer? Spencer? Are you in there?" This is followed by more pounding and a steady stream of oh Jesus fuck fuck fuckity shit.
Reid listens to the sound of a key in the lock and Scott's loud whisper: "Spencer? Spence? You in here?"
Reid stands and moves toward Scott. "Right here."
Scott whirls, eyes wide, face pasty. If Reid could see out of his right eye he might feel sorry for him. If Reid didn't feel like killing himself--and Scott--he might be able to conjure up some sympathy.
Scott takes a hesitant step toward Reid, stops. "Jesus Spence, I'm sorry. I was drunk off my ass, I didn't mean--" He swallows, stares miserably at Reid's face.
Reid thinks he might feel forgiveness someday. But not now. "You can make fun of me all you want," Reid says. His voice is cold and sharp. It's an unfamiliar tone, both to Reid and to Scott.
Scott flinches backwards.
"But what you should realize is, I am a genius. That isn't hyperbole, Scott. It's a fact. Here's another fact: I'm quite adept at chemistry. From now on, you might want to be careful where you leave your beer. Actually, just to be on the safe side, you might want to quit drinking around me altogether."
They look at each other for a long moment. Scott blinks first. "Spence, I--"
"Don't call me Spence," Reid snaps. "No one calls me that. From now on you can call me Reid. I think you gave up the right to be my BFF when you threw me in the closet."
"But...but you got out."
"I did. And I'll get out every time. So why don't you save us both the trouble and not do it again."
Reid stalks past the older student and into their room. He doesn't slam the door. He makes it to the bathroom just in time to vomit.
---
Gideon points him toward his car. His voice is soft. It wraps around Reid like a blanket. "This way. It's okay. You did the right thing, Spencer. He'll be all right."
Reid is vaguely aware of Gideon's arm around his shoulders. He can barely feel it. He can't feel anything but the heat on his hands. The blood. So much blood. He wipes at his hands with the towel. The cloth turns pink, but his hands remain red.
He should have known what Nathan Harris planned to do. He should have known. What good is his psychology degree? How could he have failed the boy so badly? Or has he failed Nathan by keeping him alive? Reid doesn't know.
Gideon puts a hand on top of Reid's head, guides him into the car. Gideon drives in silence. Reid is thankful. Spencer manages a muted thank you when his superior pulls up in front of Reid's apartment building. He starts slowly through the lobby door. He takes the steps two at a time. By the time he reaches his floor he is running; his breath comes in gasps.
He kicks his shoes off once he's inside his apartment, heads straight for the bathroom. Reid steps into the shower and turns the faucet all the way to hot, until the handle won't turn any further. He stands under the scalding water fully dressed. His socks soak through in seconds. He thrusts his fingers in the hot spray, watches Nathan's blood wash off his hands.
As a novice magician, Reid knows an illusion when he sees one. Nathan's blood will always be there.
---
Nathan's voice shrills through the keyhole, under the door. "Dr. Reid! Help me! Help me! Please! Help me!" Frenzied pounding punctuates Nathan's cries.
Reid stumbles out of bed and runs to the closet, pulls it open.
Nathan stands there, arms at his sides, wrists open. Blood pools beside each shoe. Blood leaks from his mouth, his eyes, his nose.
Behind Nathan stands Diana in her pink bathrobe. Her face is cracked porcelain. "I wish you could have helped me, Spencer. Did you really try?"
Reid's own screams wake him.
---
The first time Tobias leaves Reid alone, he pulls desperately at the handcuffs. He doesn't have a paperclip. Or a staple. He has nothing. The full realization of his predicament leaves him dizzy and bile rises in his throat. Or maybe it's the concussion. He's never felt pain like this before.
Of course later, when Charles gets hold of his foot, that will change.
Now, Reid tries vainly to pull his wrist through the metal bracelet. He can't. He scrapes the skin raw until his nerves scream, until he loses feeling in his hands. But he's no closer to getting them off.
Once, he let Elle Greenaway believe he didn't know how to pick a lock. Now he wants to go back in time and tell her. Because if he had told her, maybe those words, that small truth, would have been enough to change what was waiting for them. Maybe Elle wouldn't have been shot. Maybe she'd still be at the BAU. Maybe she'd be looking for Reid right now. Maybe Reid wouldn't be in this chair. Maybe he'd carry a lock pick with him everywhere he went, ready and willing to show off his skill.
But he can't undo what's been done. There's no sleight-of-hand for regret. There's only the smell of burning fish and a cold that seeps into his ribs. There's only the feel of metal around his wrists and the knowledge he is going to die in this cabin.
A light bulb shines above him. It hangs in the dark like a small, waning moon.
---
When Reid's finally released from the hospital, he doesn't leave his apartment for three weeks.
He keeps the lights off, the blinds closed. He can't stand the TV. He panics when the phone rings and finally unplugs it. That brings Morgan and Garcia to his door, which is even worse.
They want him to feel better, to be fixed. To "be himself" again. But Reid no longer knows who that is. They think his broken parts will heal, but they're wrong. His head and foot and wrists will mend. But the rest of him, the part that lies awake sweating, the part that sits cross-legged in the tub clutching glass vials, the part that betrayed his mother, his weakness will never heal.
He was born with hairline fractures. Not in his bones, but in his soul. The cracks became fissures and then canyons and now he has split apart into a thousand pieces. He has become glass, all ragged edges. Darkness spills out of him. He can feel it. He can see it fill his kitchen, his living room. His bedroom.
Garcia brings him cookies. Morgan brings him a book called "World's Hardest Crossword Puzzles." They both hug him and smile.
Reid's mouth says thank you but his eyes watch the shadows cross the wall.
---
His mattress hurts his back. He tosses and turns, but there's no way to get comfortable.
He finds if he sleeps on the floor, there are fewer nightmares.
One morning he wakes up on the floor of his bedroom closet. His head is on a cream pair of Chucks. He looks up to see a dozen sweaters, vests, and dress shirts hanging above him. He squints through the forest of clothes at the light fixture on the ceiling.
By the end of the day he's transferred his clothes into clear plastic storage boxes. One box for sweaters, one for vests, one for shoes. Two for shirts. Dark shirts in one, light in another. His scarves are in the front hall closet. He's removed the decorative globe from the light fixture as well.
The bare bulb smiles down at him.
---
He returns to work after a month. Everyone is nice. Too nice. Their faces are full of pity and worry in equal measure. Reid can't meet their eyes. They have all seen him broken. Defeated. Weak. It's hard to pretend he's something more, that he's still Spencer Reid, super genius. But it's not that hard. Reid's always been good at pretending.
He's pretty good at craving dilaudid too.
---
When Garcia is shot Reid sits by himself. He tries to pray, but his thoughts are muddied, thick and slippery. He wants to believe in God. It would make things easier.
---
Garcia's sleeping. Reid flits around Garcia's hospital room like a bird. Or a ghost. He can't sit still. He can't stop thinking of the last time he was in a room like this one. But he loves Penelope; he won't leave her. He'll string himself back together as best he can. He only has to look together, after all. It’s all smoke and mirrors. He'll do anything to help catch her shooter.
Eventually Reid forces himself into a chair. "Do you believe in God?" he asks Morgan.
Morgan's on the other side of Garcia. He holds her hand.
"I dunno, kid. I thought I didn't. But I think...I think I do."
"Do you believe in angels?" It's something Reid's wanted to ask him a long time. It's a trick question really. He doesn't care about Morgan's answer. He wants to see if Morgan knows why he asked.
"I believe in guardian angels," Morgan says. "This pretty lady sure had one lookin' out for her, I'll tell you that."
"I believe in archangels," Reid says.
Morgan nods absently, eyes on Garcia.
Reid blinks rapidly, looks away. He keeps his gaze on the floor. There's a crack in the tile beside his shoe. It looks like a crooked line of pencil. Graphite. Number 2 pencil. Dixon Ticonderoga. Mason-Dixon. North and South. Heaven and Hell. Angels. And demons. An angel held a gun to his head once. And he's got plenty of demons.
Reid watches Morgan watch Gargia. Morgan is a good friend. He's like a brother. But Spencer knows now Derek will never really understand him. Morgan thinks Reid is over what happened in Georgia. He thinks six months is plenty of time to heal. He thinks Reid is able to feel emotions beyond fear or despair.
Morgan is wrong.
---
Reid lies awake thinking of Johnny McHale. What made Johnny break? Reid is broken too, but routine and work keep him in a semblance of order. But how long does he have? He should have asked Johnny. Talked to him.
Said he was sorry.
But he'd been too afraid he'd look in Johnny's face and see himself.
He still has his copy of Johnny's graphic novel. He's got it memorized of course, but he likes the art. He wishes he could draw. This sparks a memory of a sketch. He'll look for it tomorrow.
Now he'll read. It's better than lying awake. It's 3:00 a.m. This is the eye of night, the silent center. True night. When the dark loneliness outside--and within--is at its heaviest. When the absence of light is at its peak.
He sits on the couch. Too soft.
He sits at the kitchen table. Too bright.
He turns off the light, holds a match to a candle. The fire blooms but he can barely see the page.
Exasperated, Reid tucks the book under his arm and carries a kitchen chair into the bedroom. He places it in the closet. Who cares where the chair is, as long as he's comfortable. Some people read in the bathroom. Some people read in the tub. (It doesn't mean anything.)
The light bulb glows above, friendly. The walls are bare. He opens the book.
The chair is just right.
---
The next day he finds the sketch he made of Nathan Harris. It's still in the file. He makes a photocopy--which is strictly forbidden--and brings it home. He tacks it to the closet wall. Now, when he reads Nathan watches.
---
Lindsey says Do it Daddy, do it, do it and Jack Vaughan pulls the trigger.
Reid turns his head, eyes squeezed shut, but it's not enough. He can still hear.
When he opens his eyes Ryan is dead, blood and brains sprayed across the wall. Reid's gun hangs useless in his hand. Jack and Lindsey shoulder past him as if he isn't there. Maybe he isn't.
---
Every time Reid closes his eyes, Ryan's shattered skull looms. Nathan's bloody wrists wait. Tobias's scared eyes watch. He can't sleep in bed, on the couch, or the floor. The closet doesn't even help. He feels drugged, even though the dilaudid is long gone. He's hollow now, cobbled together from bird bones, string and guilt. He can feel the darkness fill the empty places inside him. His mind is a black hole. It sucks in every bad feeling, negative thought, unwanted memory. It lets nothing back out.
He is so desperate he goes to an NA meeting.
He's not even there a half hour before Hotch pages him.
---
They're all pissed at him. They think he's reckless. Unreasonable. Stubborn. Angry. His teammates are right. Reid doesn't care. He got through to Owen Savage, that's the only thing that matters. He saved Owen's life. He kept Owen from killing anyone else. When Reid stood in the street, face to face with Owen, he saw himself. He saw a boy ridiculed by his father. A boy who'd been tied to a goalpost. Mocked. Beaten. Thrown in a closet. Owen stood on one side of a gun, Reid on the other.
Reid didn't just save Owen. He saved himself.
---
Sleep returns. So does his appetite. Sometimes he finds himself smiling. He sketches now, mostly on weekends. He fills page after page, his pencil spilling shadows across each sheet. After work he goes for Thai with Morgan and Prentiss. He will never fit together the right away again, but maybe that's okay. Maybe he's meant to be someone new.
Someone better.
One Tuesday he wakes up feeling strange. He stretches, yawns, shuffles to the bathroom. He places the unfamiliar feeling while he's brushing his teeth: hope.
---
Working for the BAU has shown him just how wrong his father was.
There are monsters in closets. In basements. In idling vans.
Reid's own father helped cover up the murder of a pedophile. William Reid had firsthand knowledge of monsters, and still he lied to his son.
Reid wants to hate his father for exposing his mother to such uncertainty and terror. Reid wants to tell his mother how sorry he is and how much he loves her.
He manages to do both.
---
First Morgan demands Reid stop. Then he begs. Hotch calls Reid into his office. He talks about personalization and over-identification and mandatory psyche evaluations. None of it stops Reid from visiting Amanda Jackson every weekend he can get away.
She doesn't talk much.
Reid does. He asks the same thing, every time, all the time: Where is Adam?
Amanda just smiles her crooked smile and checks her nails.
Reid is consumed by frustration (failure.) Adam Jackson is on the couch. He is wearing a wig. He is wearing lipstick. His eyes, mouth, nose, hands, all there. He is close enough to touch. But proximity means nothing because only Adam's body is there. The rest of him is buried so deep (so dark) Reid could come every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn't find him.
The psychiatrist thinks Reid's visits are pointless.
They probably are.
But the thought of stopping these visits is akin to stopping breathing. Reid can't. Adam is his second chance. If he saves Adam, he saves Tobias. If he saves Tobias, he saves himself.
Saving Owen was good. Saving Adam is better.
Hotch tells Reid he is merely exchanging one addiction for another another. Reid sits across from Hotch and arranges his face into a look of docility. He forces his lips to thank Hotch for his concern. He leaves a handful of carefully polished lies on the corner of Hotch’s desk. I probably could use some time off and I'll go to the next NA meeting and Actually, this talk is just what I needed.
Reid smiles at Hotch. He smiles at Morgan, at Emily, at Rossi. At JJ. Inside, he seethes.
The next time he visits Amanda, he pays for the flight in cash. Let Garcia trace that.
---
It's late when they get back to the BAU. Another unsub caught, another victory. If three dead teenagers can be called a victory. Reid is asleep on his feet. Morgan offers him a lift home, and Reid accepts. But first he'll check his messages.
He has two. The first is a message from his dentist's office. He is overdue for his sixth month checkup. Reid deletes it. The second message is an unfamiliar voice. He listens, rewinds, listens again. He drops into his chair, boneless.
No.
He dials a number. "Yes, this is Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid. I just wanted to confirm the message Lt. Watts left for me this afternoon. Right." Reid listens. "And...and when was that?" His voice wobbles. He clears his throat. "I see. Okay. Thank you very much."
Reid hangs up the phone. He stares down at the surface of his desk. There's a stray red M&M next to his keyboard.
Morgan pulls his chair over to Reid, looks him in the face. "What's wrong? Is it your mom?"
Reid licks his lips. "No. No, she's fine." Is she fine? When's the last time they talked? He can't remember.
"Tell me," Morgan prompts.
Reid doesn't want to. He likes to keep things to himself, he always has. His childhood, his adolescence, his life has always felt out of his control. Control over his words is the one thing Reid has. He shares words freely. But not the ones that matter. The words that show his feelings, his thoughts, his fears? Those are hard to part with.
"Owen Savage just killed himself." Reid can see Morgan try to place the name.
Derek frowns, then snaps his fingers. "Texas."
A whisper: "Yes."
"That time you acted like a crazy hotdog."
"I just wanted to save him."
"You did, Reid."
Reid looks at his hands. "I think I finally believe, Morgan.”
“Believe what?”
“That there's a God."
---
It's been a while since he wrote his mother. He tends to send e-mails now. Or call. But now is the time to put pen to paper.
Dear Mom he writes. I just want you to know I love you. I always have. I always will. I'm so proud of you. I wish I had the words to tell you just how much.
He signs the letter, puts it in an envelope. He pulls on his coat and walks the five blocks to the mailbox. The stars are out, the wind stabs icy fingers through his coat. Reid can see the stars, but they're not real. They offer no light. Faced with his darkness, they're nothing but yellow construction paper cut-outs. Reid puts a hand to his head. He can feel the blackness rippling inside. There’s no room for anything else now. No thoughts. No sorrow. No hope. No fear.
When he gets back home, it's time to pray.
---
Reid's God is not a loving God. Reid's God is not a jealous God. Reid's God is cold and hard and fits in the palm of his hand. Reid's God has a deadly voice.
Reid sits in a chair. A small moon shines above. Hundreds of sketches paper the walls of the closet. They are all there: Nathan, Tobias, Johnny, Owen, Adam. Their eyes watch Reid. They approve of Reid's God. And like Reid's God, they don't forgive.
Reid puts the gun to his head. It feels like a hand, a blessing. He is sorry for everything. For everything. He thinks of the boy who used to lie awake, afraid there were monsters in the closet. He laughs, a jagged ripping sound. He is the monster.
Raphael stands in the doorway. "I've been waiting."
Reid is relieved.
"God's will be done on earth, as it is in heaven." Raphael's voice is solemn.
Reid lowers the gun, inserts the bullet in the chamber. He spins the cylinder. "God's will be done," Reid repeats.
He pulls the trigger. God speaks.
Author: buffyaddict13
Rating: RFT/R, R for dark subject matter
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing/Characters: Gen, Reid, Hotch, Morgan, Garcia, Diana Reid, William Reid
Summary: Spencer Reid is afraid of the dark.
A/N 1: WARNING: TRIGGERY SUBJECT MATTER AND CHARACTER DEATH. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.
A/N 2: Massive thanks to riverbella for the fast beta (and constant encouragement) and luckinfovely for the awesome prompt. Only this probably isn't what you meant. I'm a horrible person for writing this, plus Reid is probably OOC. Endless sorries!
"You might try then, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you again. Only no sky can blind you now. Even with all that iridescent magic up there, your eye will no longer trace constellations. You’ll care only about the darkness and you’ll watch it for hours, for days, maybe even for years, trying in vain to believe you’re some kind of indispensable universe-appointed sentinel, as if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay.” ~ Mark Danielewski
The strip of darkness watches him like a rectangular eye. A blacker, deeper darkness than the rest of the room, the closet waits for him to fall asleep.
Spencer pulls the blanket up to his chin, trembling. He is five. He sits in the dark, still wearing his glasses. He needs to see if the closet door opens wider. He knows as soon as he takes them off, as soon as he shuts his eyes, the closet will yawn open and the monster inside will be on him, all slobbering breath and needle teeth and snapping jaws.
He tries to project his voice just the right amount. Loud enough to wake Mommy, but soft enough to let Daddy sleep. "Mom."
Nothing.
The closet looks at him.
"Mommy!"
Now there is muttering from his parents' bedroom and footsteps in the hall. Spencer cringes beneath the covers. He knows who the footsteps belong to.
His bedroom door opens and light floods the room. He blinks rapidly, spots dancing in the air.
"What is it Spencer?"
The boy risks a look at Daddy's face. It's not red and veiny like it gets when he's mad, so maybe everything's okay after all. "There's something in the closet," Spencer whispers.
Daddy looks at him for a very long time, his mouth set in a tight line. Finally he reaches for Spencer's arm and drags him out of the bed. Toward the closet. "No!" Spencer shrieks. "Daddy, no!"
"Listen to me, Spencer. The only thing in your closet is clothes. And toys. That’s all." He propels Spencer toward the closet and yanks the door open. Spencer flinches and squeezes his eyes shut. He can't look. He can't.
"Look," Daddy commands. "Just look. There's nothing there." Daddy's voice softens. "Spencer, if there was something bad in your closet, do you really think I'd drag you over here?"
Spencer thinks about this. He doesn't know. Sometimes Daddy loves him and sometimes he doesn't. He thought this was one of the not-love times, but now that Daddy's loosened his grip and using his nice voice, maybe it's a love time after all. Spencer takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. The closet door is wide open. It is filled with his clothes. And shoes. He can see his Little League outfit hanging in the back. Boxes of Legos and Lincoln Logs are on the floor. Spencer reaches out to touch the sleeve of his favorite striped shirt. It feels real.
"There are no such thing as monsters," Daddy says, and guides Spencer back to bed.
"Do you promise?" Spencer asks. His voice warbles, high and thin.
"I promise," Daddy says.
Daddy kisses him on the forehead (love time for sure!), turns off the light, and shuts Spencer's door. Mommy must have been waiting in the hallway because her voice says "What the hell were you doing? You think forcing him into the closet is going to assuage his fears?"
"It's better than pandering to him, Diana. He's not a baby," Daddy says and now his voice sounds full of thunder. "Aren't you the one who's always going on about how smart he is? If he's such a genius, wouldn't he know there aren't any monsters in his goddamn closet?"
"Keep your voice down," Mommy says, and her voice has lightning.
Spencer stares up at the ceiling, listening. He's no longer thinking about the closet.
---
The first time Spencer realizes his father lied is when his mother wakes up screaming. She insists there's someone in the house, an intruder. Reid turns on all the lights, checks the locks and windows.
There's no one. But Diana rocks back and forth, crying, and no amount of soothing words will make her stop. Reid is twelve. His mother has been on a new medication for two months.
There are monsters. They're inside his mother's head.
---
When Reid is fifteen his college roommate comes home drunk. With two of his burly quarterback buddies. Reid works on a term paper while they call him Doogie Howser, brain boy, and freak.
By the time they graduate to throwing empty beer cans at this head, Reid knows it's time to go. He can sleep in the library stacks. He's done it before. They trip him when he gets up to leave. Reid's first black eye is from the doorknob. His second black eye is from Scott, the roommate. Scott is 19 and a sophomore. Reid is a senior.
Reid lies on the floor and waits for the kicking to stop. It's easier this way. He's learned that if he tries to fight back, the beating takes twice as long. Strong arms grip him and drag him into the hallway. One of Scott's friends has a key to the Janitor's closet at the end of the hall. Laughing, they open the door and throw Reid in. He lands half on the floor, half on something metallic and solid--a large pail. His head connects with the wall. Through the pain in his head, his back, his side, he can still hear their laughter fade away.
The darkness presses against his face like hands. The hot biting panic comes next. It shunts the pain aside, the shame, until there is nothing but fear. It roars in his head, thrums in his chest. It twists his stomach. It's just the dark. There's nothing in the dark.
(Except monsters.)
Which is the problem.
There's no one else in the closet. Which should be a comfort, but isn't. (He's alone with himself.)
Reid grits his teeth and slides a trembling hand into his pocket. The paperclip is there. He holds it in a sweaty palm. He feels against the stone wall with his other hand, moves over broom handles, a shelf of tinkling bottles (he's okay, no monsters here, none in his head) but there's no light switch. Cautiously, Reid pushes himself to his feet. A nova of pain flares in his head but he stays on his feet. Something brushes against his hair. Teeth grinding, he lifts his hand and finds a string. He pulls it.
Soft light fills the small room. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling. It swings back and forth, sending shadows racing from wall to wall. Reid exhales and finds he's been holding his breath.
The ache in his chest subsides. He opens his fist slowly, careful not to drop the paperclip.
He tries the doorknob.
It's locked.
There's no lock mechanism on this side, just a keyhole. Reid bends the paperclip into a length of wire and inserts it into the lock. Gently, he feels for the tumblers. He's been picking locks for over a year now. Mostly just the library after hours. Once, his dorm room when he forgot his key. There's a telltale click and he tries the door again. It opens.
The hallway is deserted. The door to his room is closed. Reid inserts the lock pick a second time and relocks the door. Then he goes to the bottom of the stairs and waits.
It takes five hours. Reid doesn't mind waiting. He's patient. Waiting is a learned skill like everything else. He's become an expert. He waits for his mother to come out of one of her episodes. He waits for his father to pick up the phone. He waits for his fellow students to see him as a person. He waits for the professors to see him as something more than a novelty. He waits for Scott Matthews to come out of their room.
A few people pass Reid on the stairs. Reid sits on the penultimate step. He rolls a Walking Liberty quarter over his knuckles, right to left, left to right. An underclassmen stops and gawks at Reid's face. "Are you okay?"
Reid smiles thinly. "Never better."
The freshman hurries away.
Eventually Reid hears the footsteps he's been waiting for. Scott flies down the hall and pounds on the closet door. "Spencer? Spencer? Are you in there?" This is followed by more pounding and a steady stream of oh Jesus fuck fuck fuckity shit.
Reid listens to the sound of a key in the lock and Scott's loud whisper: "Spencer? Spence? You in here?"
Reid stands and moves toward Scott. "Right here."
Scott whirls, eyes wide, face pasty. If Reid could see out of his right eye he might feel sorry for him. If Reid didn't feel like killing himself--and Scott--he might be able to conjure up some sympathy.
Scott takes a hesitant step toward Reid, stops. "Jesus Spence, I'm sorry. I was drunk off my ass, I didn't mean--" He swallows, stares miserably at Reid's face.
Reid thinks he might feel forgiveness someday. But not now. "You can make fun of me all you want," Reid says. His voice is cold and sharp. It's an unfamiliar tone, both to Reid and to Scott.
Scott flinches backwards.
"But what you should realize is, I am a genius. That isn't hyperbole, Scott. It's a fact. Here's another fact: I'm quite adept at chemistry. From now on, you might want to be careful where you leave your beer. Actually, just to be on the safe side, you might want to quit drinking around me altogether."
They look at each other for a long moment. Scott blinks first. "Spence, I--"
"Don't call me Spence," Reid snaps. "No one calls me that. From now on you can call me Reid. I think you gave up the right to be my BFF when you threw me in the closet."
"But...but you got out."
"I did. And I'll get out every time. So why don't you save us both the trouble and not do it again."
Reid stalks past the older student and into their room. He doesn't slam the door. He makes it to the bathroom just in time to vomit.
---
Gideon points him toward his car. His voice is soft. It wraps around Reid like a blanket. "This way. It's okay. You did the right thing, Spencer. He'll be all right."
Reid is vaguely aware of Gideon's arm around his shoulders. He can barely feel it. He can't feel anything but the heat on his hands. The blood. So much blood. He wipes at his hands with the towel. The cloth turns pink, but his hands remain red.
He should have known what Nathan Harris planned to do. He should have known. What good is his psychology degree? How could he have failed the boy so badly? Or has he failed Nathan by keeping him alive? Reid doesn't know.
Gideon puts a hand on top of Reid's head, guides him into the car. Gideon drives in silence. Reid is thankful. Spencer manages a muted thank you when his superior pulls up in front of Reid's apartment building. He starts slowly through the lobby door. He takes the steps two at a time. By the time he reaches his floor he is running; his breath comes in gasps.
He kicks his shoes off once he's inside his apartment, heads straight for the bathroom. Reid steps into the shower and turns the faucet all the way to hot, until the handle won't turn any further. He stands under the scalding water fully dressed. His socks soak through in seconds. He thrusts his fingers in the hot spray, watches Nathan's blood wash off his hands.
As a novice magician, Reid knows an illusion when he sees one. Nathan's blood will always be there.
---
Nathan's voice shrills through the keyhole, under the door. "Dr. Reid! Help me! Help me! Please! Help me!" Frenzied pounding punctuates Nathan's cries.
Reid stumbles out of bed and runs to the closet, pulls it open.
Nathan stands there, arms at his sides, wrists open. Blood pools beside each shoe. Blood leaks from his mouth, his eyes, his nose.
Behind Nathan stands Diana in her pink bathrobe. Her face is cracked porcelain. "I wish you could have helped me, Spencer. Did you really try?"
Reid's own screams wake him.
---
The first time Tobias leaves Reid alone, he pulls desperately at the handcuffs. He doesn't have a paperclip. Or a staple. He has nothing. The full realization of his predicament leaves him dizzy and bile rises in his throat. Or maybe it's the concussion. He's never felt pain like this before.
Of course later, when Charles gets hold of his foot, that will change.
Now, Reid tries vainly to pull his wrist through the metal bracelet. He can't. He scrapes the skin raw until his nerves scream, until he loses feeling in his hands. But he's no closer to getting them off.
Once, he let Elle Greenaway believe he didn't know how to pick a lock. Now he wants to go back in time and tell her. Because if he had told her, maybe those words, that small truth, would have been enough to change what was waiting for them. Maybe Elle wouldn't have been shot. Maybe she'd still be at the BAU. Maybe she'd be looking for Reid right now. Maybe Reid wouldn't be in this chair. Maybe he'd carry a lock pick with him everywhere he went, ready and willing to show off his skill.
But he can't undo what's been done. There's no sleight-of-hand for regret. There's only the smell of burning fish and a cold that seeps into his ribs. There's only the feel of metal around his wrists and the knowledge he is going to die in this cabin.
A light bulb shines above him. It hangs in the dark like a small, waning moon.
---
When Reid's finally released from the hospital, he doesn't leave his apartment for three weeks.
He keeps the lights off, the blinds closed. He can't stand the TV. He panics when the phone rings and finally unplugs it. That brings Morgan and Garcia to his door, which is even worse.
They want him to feel better, to be fixed. To "be himself" again. But Reid no longer knows who that is. They think his broken parts will heal, but they're wrong. His head and foot and wrists will mend. But the rest of him, the part that lies awake sweating, the part that sits cross-legged in the tub clutching glass vials, the part that betrayed his mother, his weakness will never heal.
He was born with hairline fractures. Not in his bones, but in his soul. The cracks became fissures and then canyons and now he has split apart into a thousand pieces. He has become glass, all ragged edges. Darkness spills out of him. He can feel it. He can see it fill his kitchen, his living room. His bedroom.
Garcia brings him cookies. Morgan brings him a book called "World's Hardest Crossword Puzzles." They both hug him and smile.
Reid's mouth says thank you but his eyes watch the shadows cross the wall.
---
His mattress hurts his back. He tosses and turns, but there's no way to get comfortable.
He finds if he sleeps on the floor, there are fewer nightmares.
One morning he wakes up on the floor of his bedroom closet. His head is on a cream pair of Chucks. He looks up to see a dozen sweaters, vests, and dress shirts hanging above him. He squints through the forest of clothes at the light fixture on the ceiling.
By the end of the day he's transferred his clothes into clear plastic storage boxes. One box for sweaters, one for vests, one for shoes. Two for shirts. Dark shirts in one, light in another. His scarves are in the front hall closet. He's removed the decorative globe from the light fixture as well.
The bare bulb smiles down at him.
---
He returns to work after a month. Everyone is nice. Too nice. Their faces are full of pity and worry in equal measure. Reid can't meet their eyes. They have all seen him broken. Defeated. Weak. It's hard to pretend he's something more, that he's still Spencer Reid, super genius. But it's not that hard. Reid's always been good at pretending.
He's pretty good at craving dilaudid too.
---
When Garcia is shot Reid sits by himself. He tries to pray, but his thoughts are muddied, thick and slippery. He wants to believe in God. It would make things easier.
---
Garcia's sleeping. Reid flits around Garcia's hospital room like a bird. Or a ghost. He can't sit still. He can't stop thinking of the last time he was in a room like this one. But he loves Penelope; he won't leave her. He'll string himself back together as best he can. He only has to look together, after all. It’s all smoke and mirrors. He'll do anything to help catch her shooter.
Eventually Reid forces himself into a chair. "Do you believe in God?" he asks Morgan.
Morgan's on the other side of Garcia. He holds her hand.
"I dunno, kid. I thought I didn't. But I think...I think I do."
"Do you believe in angels?" It's something Reid's wanted to ask him a long time. It's a trick question really. He doesn't care about Morgan's answer. He wants to see if Morgan knows why he asked.
"I believe in guardian angels," Morgan says. "This pretty lady sure had one lookin' out for her, I'll tell you that."
"I believe in archangels," Reid says.
Morgan nods absently, eyes on Garcia.
Reid blinks rapidly, looks away. He keeps his gaze on the floor. There's a crack in the tile beside his shoe. It looks like a crooked line of pencil. Graphite. Number 2 pencil. Dixon Ticonderoga. Mason-Dixon. North and South. Heaven and Hell. Angels. And demons. An angel held a gun to his head once. And he's got plenty of demons.
Reid watches Morgan watch Gargia. Morgan is a good friend. He's like a brother. But Spencer knows now Derek will never really understand him. Morgan thinks Reid is over what happened in Georgia. He thinks six months is plenty of time to heal. He thinks Reid is able to feel emotions beyond fear or despair.
Morgan is wrong.
---
Reid lies awake thinking of Johnny McHale. What made Johnny break? Reid is broken too, but routine and work keep him in a semblance of order. But how long does he have? He should have asked Johnny. Talked to him.
Said he was sorry.
But he'd been too afraid he'd look in Johnny's face and see himself.
He still has his copy of Johnny's graphic novel. He's got it memorized of course, but he likes the art. He wishes he could draw. This sparks a memory of a sketch. He'll look for it tomorrow.
Now he'll read. It's better than lying awake. It's 3:00 a.m. This is the eye of night, the silent center. True night. When the dark loneliness outside--and within--is at its heaviest. When the absence of light is at its peak.
He sits on the couch. Too soft.
He sits at the kitchen table. Too bright.
He turns off the light, holds a match to a candle. The fire blooms but he can barely see the page.
Exasperated, Reid tucks the book under his arm and carries a kitchen chair into the bedroom. He places it in the closet. Who cares where the chair is, as long as he's comfortable. Some people read in the bathroom. Some people read in the tub. (It doesn't mean anything.)
The light bulb glows above, friendly. The walls are bare. He opens the book.
The chair is just right.
---
The next day he finds the sketch he made of Nathan Harris. It's still in the file. He makes a photocopy--which is strictly forbidden--and brings it home. He tacks it to the closet wall. Now, when he reads Nathan watches.
---
Lindsey says Do it Daddy, do it, do it and Jack Vaughan pulls the trigger.
Reid turns his head, eyes squeezed shut, but it's not enough. He can still hear.
When he opens his eyes Ryan is dead, blood and brains sprayed across the wall. Reid's gun hangs useless in his hand. Jack and Lindsey shoulder past him as if he isn't there. Maybe he isn't.
---
Every time Reid closes his eyes, Ryan's shattered skull looms. Nathan's bloody wrists wait. Tobias's scared eyes watch. He can't sleep in bed, on the couch, or the floor. The closet doesn't even help. He feels drugged, even though the dilaudid is long gone. He's hollow now, cobbled together from bird bones, string and guilt. He can feel the darkness fill the empty places inside him. His mind is a black hole. It sucks in every bad feeling, negative thought, unwanted memory. It lets nothing back out.
He is so desperate he goes to an NA meeting.
He's not even there a half hour before Hotch pages him.
---
They're all pissed at him. They think he's reckless. Unreasonable. Stubborn. Angry. His teammates are right. Reid doesn't care. He got through to Owen Savage, that's the only thing that matters. He saved Owen's life. He kept Owen from killing anyone else. When Reid stood in the street, face to face with Owen, he saw himself. He saw a boy ridiculed by his father. A boy who'd been tied to a goalpost. Mocked. Beaten. Thrown in a closet. Owen stood on one side of a gun, Reid on the other.
Reid didn't just save Owen. He saved himself.
---
Sleep returns. So does his appetite. Sometimes he finds himself smiling. He sketches now, mostly on weekends. He fills page after page, his pencil spilling shadows across each sheet. After work he goes for Thai with Morgan and Prentiss. He will never fit together the right away again, but maybe that's okay. Maybe he's meant to be someone new.
Someone better.
One Tuesday he wakes up feeling strange. He stretches, yawns, shuffles to the bathroom. He places the unfamiliar feeling while he's brushing his teeth: hope.
---
Working for the BAU has shown him just how wrong his father was.
There are monsters in closets. In basements. In idling vans.
Reid's own father helped cover up the murder of a pedophile. William Reid had firsthand knowledge of monsters, and still he lied to his son.
Reid wants to hate his father for exposing his mother to such uncertainty and terror. Reid wants to tell his mother how sorry he is and how much he loves her.
He manages to do both.
---
First Morgan demands Reid stop. Then he begs. Hotch calls Reid into his office. He talks about personalization and over-identification and mandatory psyche evaluations. None of it stops Reid from visiting Amanda Jackson every weekend he can get away.
She doesn't talk much.
Reid does. He asks the same thing, every time, all the time: Where is Adam?
Amanda just smiles her crooked smile and checks her nails.
Reid is consumed by frustration (failure.) Adam Jackson is on the couch. He is wearing a wig. He is wearing lipstick. His eyes, mouth, nose, hands, all there. He is close enough to touch. But proximity means nothing because only Adam's body is there. The rest of him is buried so deep (so dark) Reid could come every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn't find him.
The psychiatrist thinks Reid's visits are pointless.
They probably are.
But the thought of stopping these visits is akin to stopping breathing. Reid can't. Adam is his second chance. If he saves Adam, he saves Tobias. If he saves Tobias, he saves himself.
Saving Owen was good. Saving Adam is better.
Hotch tells Reid he is merely exchanging one addiction for another another. Reid sits across from Hotch and arranges his face into a look of docility. He forces his lips to thank Hotch for his concern. He leaves a handful of carefully polished lies on the corner of Hotch’s desk. I probably could use some time off and I'll go to the next NA meeting and Actually, this talk is just what I needed.
Reid smiles at Hotch. He smiles at Morgan, at Emily, at Rossi. At JJ. Inside, he seethes.
The next time he visits Amanda, he pays for the flight in cash. Let Garcia trace that.
---
It's late when they get back to the BAU. Another unsub caught, another victory. If three dead teenagers can be called a victory. Reid is asleep on his feet. Morgan offers him a lift home, and Reid accepts. But first he'll check his messages.
He has two. The first is a message from his dentist's office. He is overdue for his sixth month checkup. Reid deletes it. The second message is an unfamiliar voice. He listens, rewinds, listens again. He drops into his chair, boneless.
No.
He dials a number. "Yes, this is Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid. I just wanted to confirm the message Lt. Watts left for me this afternoon. Right." Reid listens. "And...and when was that?" His voice wobbles. He clears his throat. "I see. Okay. Thank you very much."
Reid hangs up the phone. He stares down at the surface of his desk. There's a stray red M&M next to his keyboard.
Morgan pulls his chair over to Reid, looks him in the face. "What's wrong? Is it your mom?"
Reid licks his lips. "No. No, she's fine." Is she fine? When's the last time they talked? He can't remember.
"Tell me," Morgan prompts.
Reid doesn't want to. He likes to keep things to himself, he always has. His childhood, his adolescence, his life has always felt out of his control. Control over his words is the one thing Reid has. He shares words freely. But not the ones that matter. The words that show his feelings, his thoughts, his fears? Those are hard to part with.
"Owen Savage just killed himself." Reid can see Morgan try to place the name.
Derek frowns, then snaps his fingers. "Texas."
A whisper: "Yes."
"That time you acted like a crazy hotdog."
"I just wanted to save him."
"You did, Reid."
Reid looks at his hands. "I think I finally believe, Morgan.”
“Believe what?”
“That there's a God."
---
It's been a while since he wrote his mother. He tends to send e-mails now. Or call. But now is the time to put pen to paper.
Dear Mom he writes. I just want you to know I love you. I always have. I always will. I'm so proud of you. I wish I had the words to tell you just how much.
He signs the letter, puts it in an envelope. He pulls on his coat and walks the five blocks to the mailbox. The stars are out, the wind stabs icy fingers through his coat. Reid can see the stars, but they're not real. They offer no light. Faced with his darkness, they're nothing but yellow construction paper cut-outs. Reid puts a hand to his head. He can feel the blackness rippling inside. There’s no room for anything else now. No thoughts. No sorrow. No hope. No fear.
When he gets back home, it's time to pray.
---
Reid's God is not a loving God. Reid's God is not a jealous God. Reid's God is cold and hard and fits in the palm of his hand. Reid's God has a deadly voice.
Reid sits in a chair. A small moon shines above. Hundreds of sketches paper the walls of the closet. They are all there: Nathan, Tobias, Johnny, Owen, Adam. Their eyes watch Reid. They approve of Reid's God. And like Reid's God, they don't forgive.
Reid puts the gun to his head. It feels like a hand, a blessing. He is sorry for everything. For everything. He thinks of the boy who used to lie awake, afraid there were monsters in the closet. He laughs, a jagged ripping sound. He is the monster.
Raphael stands in the doorway. "I've been waiting."
Reid is relieved.
"God's will be done on earth, as it is in heaven." Raphael's voice is solemn.
Reid lowers the gun, inserts the bullet in the chamber. He spins the cylinder. "God's will be done," Reid repeats.
He pulls the trigger. God speaks.