Title: Little Boy Lost
By: Eligent
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The team is called out to find a serial kidnapper and murderer who targets young boys. But how far will the unsub go to find out what the team knows about him? And how far will one agent go to save a lost boy?
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, just borrowing.
Author's notes: I am not American (and English is not my first language, for that matter), so all my knowledge of American culture, law-enforcement work, practical government etc. is gained from television, movies and other pop-culture media. Any inaccuracies are because of this. The town of Fairmount is like Simpson's Springfield; completely fictional and at an undisclosed location.***
Wednesday
"Hold the elevator, please!"
Spencer Reid sped towards the elevator where the doors stopped closing at the last possible second and were once again sliding open, as someone inside pushed the open button. Slightly breathless Reid slid into the elevator, coming face to face with his coworker Derek Morgan. "Are you late too? Good."
"And good morning to you too, Reid," Morgan smirked.
"Sorry. Good morning." Reid ran a hand over his head, flattening the ruffle left by the wind and straightened his tie.
"So," Morgan said conspiratorially, "I'm blaming traffic, what's your excuse?"
"Neighbors."
"Neighbors?" Morgan raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Yeah," Reid sighed. "My next-door neighbors, the Allens, they are starting a neighborhood watch group of sorts, and they figured, since I'm working with the FBI and everything…"
Morgan threw his head back, laughing. "Oh yeah, I can just see you with a little cap and a flashlight, running around peoples backyards."
"I live in an apartment building, Morgan. No backyards to run in. Besides, they only wanted to know if I could get some sort of professional discount on pepper spray and nightsticks and stuff."
"Seriously? They said that?"
Reid shrugged. "Well, they wanted pepper spray for something anyway. I'm thinking it's best not to be too curious."
The elevator doors opened, and the agents got off on the floor where the Behavioral Analysis Unit was located, just as both their cell phones started ringing, almost simultaneously.
Morgan went to answer his, but Reid ignored his and walked into the bullpen, waving at Elle Greenaway, who was sitting on the edge of her desk. She had her phone pressed to her ear, and was tapping her fingernails on the desk in annoyance. Seeing Reid she hung up, which also quieted his cell phone. "There you are, finally! Where have you been?"
Behind Reid, Morgan hung up his phone, having gotten a similar reaction from JJ, who was glaring at them from her office.
"What's the rush? We're ten minutes late, tops." Morgan defended himself, at the same time as Hotchner came out of his office.
"Round-table room people, now!" he called without stopping.
Reid and Morgan looked at Elle.
"We've got it," she said.
"Got it? You mean the Fairmount kidnapper?" Reid's eyes grew big. "Finally!"
The Fairmount kidnapper had started making nationwide headlines several months ago. Someone kidnapped young boys from their homes, their beds even, on Sunday nights, and early Saturday morning the unfortunate boy's body was discovered on a playground or a schoolyard. The unsub's pace had also escalated. In the beginning, the boys had disappeared up to six weeks apart, but now a child went missing each and every week. This case had dominated the media for several weeks now, and ever since the Fairmount sheriff's department had signed the case over to the local FBI office Hotchner had fought tooth and nail to get the case signed over to them, but interdepartmental hubris had thwarted his every attempt as a very strong-minded and reluctant lead agent had been convinced her team would solve the case in record time. That was six weeks and four dead boys ago.
The BAU team filed into the round-table room, where Gideon was pinning up photos on bulletin boards. Happy before pictures. Boys water combed for their first school picture. Missing front teeth, baseball uniforms, Halloween costumes, birthday parties.
Then the after pictures. The pale little bodies, with eyes forever closed, smiles forever erased. All in all, eleven little boys would never come home again.
Reid swallowed around an uncharacteristic lump in his throat. The cases involving children always got to him, much more than any others. He focused on the one before picture that stood alone. Bailey Sanders, five-and-a-half years old, currently missing. Today was Wednesday. Bailey had less than three days to live.
Reid caught Gideon looking at him, eyes slightly narrowed, a calculated, worried look. Reid flashed him a quick smile, before looking down, absentmindedly scratching an eyebrow, avoiding looking at anybody else. He would be fine, he could do this. It was just another case. But these poor little boys got to him, made him sad and angry.
"All right team, take your seats," Hotchner said. "We're only doing a short briefing here, we'll do most of the work on the plane." He nodded to JJ, who started handing out thick pre-copied files.
"You are all acquainted with the case from the news, but this morning all police-reports and other materials were made available to us," she said. "Here we have synopses of what the agents on the case consider are the most important information to be dealt with. You will also find several CDs and DVDs, so don't forget to bring your laptops. These CD's contain witness reports, interviews with suspects and their background checks, backgrounds on the victims and their families, forensic reports, etcetera. There is a lot of information here. They've made over 700 interviews so far. The forensic evidence is very slim. Get to know this material."
Hotchner took over, "This unsub has a very set pattern. All victims have disappeared from their own beds, sometime between nine p.m. Sunday night and six a.m. Monday morning. They are found again the following Saturday morning, in public places. They have then been dead between six and ten hours. Their deaths have all been estimated to have taken place around midnight. They are found in the pajamas or other sleepwear that they were wearing when they disappeared. The victims are between five and eight years old. They are all Caucasian. They go to different schools, play on different teams. Two of the boys were cousins, but that might have been a coincidence. There is no other such connection between any victims or any other obvious connection either."
"There are no signs of sexual abuse," Elle interrupted, turning the papers in front of her. "There are no other injuries either. No bruises, no cuts, no blood. Just irritated, red skin. Where does that come from?"
"The coroners believe that the bodies have been cleaned with the rough side of a kitchen sponge, or a similar material," Hotchner informed them.
"Pre- or post mortem?" Morgan asked.
"They can't tell," Hotchner said. "Maybe both. This is one of the reasons the forensic evidence is so slim, everything that might have been have been washed away. Also, cause of death in all cases has been drowning. Probably in a bathtub, since all the water analyzed has been local tap water."
"What about the tip lines?" Morgan asked.
"They have several," JJ informed them, "And they are being flooded with calls. Everything from worried parents to the usual nut jobs."
"This unsub won't call." Gideon spoke for the first time, from where he was standing, slightly apart from the rest of the team, arms crossed over his chest. "This is very private for him, he doesn't want all this attention."
"What makes you think that?" Elle frowned. "Aren't serial killers usually attention seeking? Wanting to show off their superior intelligence and all that?"
"Typically yes," Gideon agreed, "But this unsub doesn't fit that profile. There has been no contact with either the media or the families of the victims. There have been no ransom notes or messages at the crime scenes. The unsub wants to remain anonymous. He is fighting a private battle with himself."
"But where do the victims fit in in this battle?" Elle asked.
"I don't know;" Gideon said. "Maybe it's their innocence that's important, maybe they are some sort of companions. Maybe he just wants a shot at a normal family life."
"Or a replacement." The team turned to Reid, who nervously pushed a strand of hair behind his hair. "Maybe the unsub has lost a child, a son, and is trying to get him back, but somehow the illusion just doesn't hold up."
Gideon nodded. "That's a good thought."
Hotchner's phone beeped and he looked at the text message. "Okay, the plane is ready. Elle, look into the victims' backgrounds, and check all their families and other adults in their lives. Morgan and JJ, the crime scenes and the evidence. JJ, also get us rental cars and hotel rooms. Gideon and I will look into the witness reports. Reid, take the suspects, check backgrounds, see if anybody has lost a child, especially by drowning. By that profile our unsub would also be Caucasian, but don't get blind-sided by that, check everything out. I want us to have a viable profile by tonight. Now, let's get to the airport."
The team quickly assembled their material and went to fetch their ever ready travel packs and made their way to the airport.
The plane ride was mostly quiet as everybody got started on their assignments. All that was heard was the clicking of keyboards, the rasps of pens on paper and an occasional discussion. Upon landing JJ took them to the airport's car rental service and checked out two SUVs. Hotchner and Morgan both grabbed a set of keys. Fairmount was a two hour drive from the airport. The town currently had 10 872 residents, 227 of those were Caucasian boys, ages five to eight. '227 possible victims,' Reid thought in the backseat of Morgan's SUV as they entered Fairmount. The team navigated themselves through the town to the sheriff's office where the case command center had been set up.
"I don't get it," said Reid, looking out the window at the parking lot of the sheriff's office, which was teeming with reporters and news vans.
"Don't get what?" Gideon asked from the front seat.
"How he can dump the bodies without getting caught. Look at this media circus! Between the reporters and the police, every playground and schoolyard in town must be well covered on Friday nights and Saturday mornings."
"Maybe he's a reporter," Morgan theorized.
"Maybe," Gideon agreed. "But the unsub is definitely a resident of this town, he knows the layout, and he can locate his victims easily enough. But we'll look into the people who found the bodies."
They exited the car and joined up with the rest of the team, letting JJ professionally lead the way through the media horde, while the rest of the team put on their best poker faces.
The sheriff's office was a two-story building. When they walked in they were greeted by a lobby area, with a reception desk and chairs spread out in the waiting area, all surrounded by green plants and vending machines. By the right wall was the stair up to the second floor, which contained a few offices, the bullpen and locker room. The Fairmount sheriff's department currently had 18 employees, including Mrs. Dann, the grandmotherly receptionist, and Lionel Green, janitor and handyman. Those numbers had now gone up as several state troopers, and of course FBI agents had temporarily joined the ranks.
Between the reception and the stair was a locked door that led to the holding cells, evidence storage and armory, all the non-public areas. On the right side of the reception, double glass-doors led into a large conference/press room, which was now the home of the Fairmount kidnapper command center.
JJ had called ahead, so the BAU team was met in the lobby by Sheriff Daniel Johnson, and the FBI-agent in charge, Marilyn Dammers. Hotchner quickly stepped forward to shake their hands and introduce the team.
"Welcome to Fairmount, people," Sheriff Johnson said, tipping his head. "Sorry it's not during better times. This is usually a very nice place to stay."
"You get many tourists?" Gideon asked, as the team was being led into the conference room.
"We get our share, fishers and hikers mostly," the Sherriff said. "There's some great outdoors around here."
"Yeah, what kind of fishing?"
"Trout and salmon mostly, and they are mighty big too. You a fisher, agent Gideon?"
"When I get the chance," he admitted.
The command center was dominated by a large table in the middle that could easily hold 20 people. Along the back wall computer stations had been set up. All windows were covered, both by blinds and drapes, darkening the room and shutting out curious eyes. Fluorescent lights beamed and buzzed in the ceiling. A door led into a soundproof, glassed-in cubicle where the tip lines were being monitored. Plenty of whiteboards covered the area, playing host to pictures, documents and notes. The room was rather empty though, just a dispatch controller and two FBI agents conferring in a corner. Reid walked over to a map that was all but dominating the right wall, where he was joined by Hotchner and Sheriff Johnson.
"Fairmount is a big little town," Hotchner remarked.
"That it is," the Sheriff agreed. Using his fingers to draw up imaginary lines he explained, "The town center here holds maybe 6000 people, outside that we have plenty of farms and saw mills and such, lots of small family businesses. We have a national park that starts up here, which also falls into our jurisdiction, though we've got ourselves a pair of park rangers that handles most business up there."
"And the dots are where the victims were found?" Hotchner questioned.
"Yes, the red dots are where they lived, and were taken. The green dots are where they were found. You see they are numbered, to show which victim was found where."
"What's the connection between the locations?" Reid asked.
"None that we can see, other than that the dumpsites are all places that young children often go to."
"There has to be more," Reid persisted. "Look." He drew a line with his finger in a jagged diagonal over the map. "All locations are on the furthest north, northwest and west side of the town, but within these perimeters there are no obvious pattern between the victims. So this must be the part of town the unsub's most familiar with. Either he lives there, or works there. Is there anything that you can think of that would make distinguish this part of town?"
Sheriff Johnson shrugged, bewildered, "Such as…?"
"Such as zip codes, area codes, postal routes, patrol beats, school districts, voting districts, church parishes…"
"Wait," the sheriff interrupted Reid. "My god, boy, you're right!"
"What?"
"School districts! We don't much think about the school districts here, because we only have one high school, but for the elementary schools and junior highs, the town is parted in two districts. Mostly because we have so many students being bussed in from the countryside. All the disappearances have been in the West Fairmount school district. I can't believe we haven't spotted it before." He gave Reid a hard slap on the back and went off, calling "Yo, Dammers, got something new for you!"
Hotchner smiled at Reid, who was rubbing his back. "Good job," he said. "Now, we've got at least one of the locals on our side."
Reid looked at him. "You think the local FBI office feels like we're stepping on their toes?"
"Well, Dammers was none to happy to have us, anyway. You finished your notes?"
Reid nodded.
"All right then, let's regroup."
The BAU team gathered at one end of the large table, beginning the difficult task of assembling their individual findings so far into an accurate profile.
By 8.30 p.m. all the law-enforcement personnel involved in the investigation gathered in the command center to hear the profile.
Hotchner took the floor. "Our unsub is male, Caucasian, middle-aged. He lives alone, and he is a resident of Fairmount, but has probably only lived here for a few years, at the most. He has always kept a low profile. He most likely works in a public office, but on a low level. Chances are you have already interviewed him, but most likely as a witness, not a suspect."
"He will have had a family once," Reid said, standing next to Hotchner. "He will have had a child, a son, who died by drowning several years ago. It would have been accidental, but most likely due to negligence. His wife is either dead, or they are divorced. Marriages seldom survive the death of a child, especially if it has been an only child and if there is guilt in the picture. He moved here to get a new start, but without success. A few months ago, something happened, a stressor that spurred him into this behavior. The finalization of his divorce maybe, or something else that was emotionally difficult for him to handle. He is driven by guilt and the need for redemption. He uses his victims as a chance for a do-over, but it's never enough. He's looking for forgiveness from his son, which is why the victims have no injuries, but nothing he does can change what happened, and it frustrates him, so he keeps repeating the events, looking for something he could have done different."
Morgan took over. "He's a loner, but not overly so. He has a normal 9 to 5 job. As Hotch said, it's most likely a low-level desk job. He is well liked by his colleagues, and well trusted by his boss, but he has no career ambitions. He's not overly concerned with fitting in, but he doesn't want to stand out either. He's the guy who brings store-bought potato salad to the company picnic, and doesn't mind working extra when someone is sick. During the weeks of the kidnappings he won't have missed a single day of work. He is very organized and methodical."
Gideon stood up and faced the crowd. "He's looking for something that he can't possibly get, and therefore he will not stop until he's caught. Right now he's very stressed, and scared that he will be caught before he's finished. The media coverage scares him. He doesn't want the attention, he feels that this is a very private matter that concerns only him and his son. The media is the reason he has escalated to one child a week. But that also means that he starts planning his next kidnapping before the last one is over, which means that even in the kidnapping moment, he knows this boy is not who he is looking for. But he's pathological, he can't quit, not until he has found forgiveness."
"As I'm sure you all understand," JJ said, "This profile cannot leave this room. Leaking this to the press could be catastrophic. The unsub must not be stressed anymore than he already is, or he can become unpredictable. We want him to feel as safe as possible, if we want to find Bailey Sanders before it's too late."
"This quiet life he leads now will not match his life before the accident," Reid said, "He will have had a much more high-profile life where he used to live. He probably worked long hours, which now feeds his guilt of not being there for his son. Considering the way he is able to sneak into the victim's houses without leaving any traces, he probably had a job that trained him in evaluating houses in a short time. He would have been in home security, or sold home insurance. Maybe he was an architect or a realtor. He's used to moving around in other people's houses."
Elle walked over to the large map on the wall, directing everybody's direction to it. "Since the unsub is relatively new to the town, this area he's focusing on is the part of town he's most familiar with, either from work or as a residential area. You should look for him in the city hall administration, or city planning, the company that directs the garbage trucks, or as this is a school district, the company that drives school buses, places like that."
The room fell quiet. One of the younger deputies looked skeptical. "You don't happen to know his favorite color and a shoe size as well?"
Sheriff Johnson shushed him, annoyed with the disrespect. "All right, people," he said, "Now we have a fresh angle. I will see you all back here tomorrow morning, bright and early. And wear comfortable shoes, I foresee much legwork in your future."
The attempt at comedy was met by smiles and a few groans as the room cleared, leaving only the BAU team, Dammers and Johnson.
"Any possible suspects must be reported to us before interrogation," Hotchner informed the Sheriff.
"He knows that," Dammers said surly. "We've had the same policy."
Hotchner ignored her comment. "Reid, Elle and I will spend tomorrow talking to the victims' families. Gideon and Morgan will go over the witness list again, to see if they can flush out a suspect from it. JJ, the media is killing us here, can you do something?"
"I'll look into it, try some moves," she promised.
"Good," Hotchner said. "Now, dinner and then let's get some sleep."
When they filed out of the room, Reid turned around and looked at the photo of Bailey Sanders again. The lump in his throat was back. Gideon came to stand beside him.
"Gideon… what if we don't get him?" Reid asked.
"Then we don't get him," Gideon said gently. "We can only do our best. We don't always win, you know that."
"I know. But these kids… In 51 hours he will kill Bailey Sanders."
"Then we have 50 hours to find him," Gideon said simply.
"And now we're going to the hotel to sleep away six of those hours." There was a hint of bitterness in Reid's voice.
"Humans need sleep, Reid. We've made real progress today, Bailey has a better chance now than he had this morning. Let's be glad for that. Now, come on." He slung a friendly arm over Reid's shoulders, guiding him out of the room, "I'm thinking Italian for dinner. How about you?"
Thursday
Reid folded his arms on the table and laid his head down with a groan. He had a killer headache. Today had been futile and heart wrecking. Despite all the new information, none of the devastated parents had been able to help them further. Bailey's parents had been the hardest to interview. They still had a sliver of hope, fragile as it might be. Mrs. Sanders kept glancing at the clock every few minutes, saying that she couldn't stop herself from counting down her son's last hours in life. Bailey was the twelfth child to disappear, and his parents had watched the news just like everybody else.
"Are you okay?" Elle asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.
"I'm fine." It came out rather muffled, as he hadn't bothered to lift his head.
"Come on, the Sheriff wants to see us."
Reid reluctantly stood and they walked over to where the rest of the BAU team, Dammers and Johnson were waiting.
It turned out the day hadn't been much better at the command center either. Four new suspects had been brought in and questioned, but without any luck. Dammers' people had done background checks on all city employees and the Sheriff's people had gone through dozens of private companies without finding anything. JJ however had worked wonders with the media, keeping them calm without giving them any real information. It was 8 p.m. and their deadline was down to 28 hours. Johnson and Dammers had sent most of their people home, but the BAU had no intention of calling it a night.
"Let's get some food and go over everything again," Gideon suggested.
"You okay with Chinese?" Johnson asked, "There's a really good restaurant not far from here, we order from them all the time."
No one objected so the sheriff placed the call. "Hi Mikey, it's Danny Johnson… Yeah, another long night, had a lot of those lately. How about you?... uh-huh… so, do you think you can put together enough for twelve?" he said, including the shift at the tip line. "Oh, well that's all right, I'll send someone down to get it, don't worry about it… just put it on our tab. Yeah, sure… twenty minutes, okay."
He disconnected the call. "Their delivery van has broken down, so I promised someone would go down and fetch the food."
"Don't worry about it," Morgan said. "Well send Junior."
It took Reid a couple of seconds to recognize that Morgan was referring to him. "What, me?"
"Yes, you, genius boy," Morgan tossed the keys to the SUV over the table to him.
"Well, technically," Reid began, "I wasn't the last person to join the team, therefore I am not the junior member."
"Don't kid yourself," Gideon said, "No matter how many new team members we get, you'll always be junior, Junior."
Reid looked at his team, everyone was grinning at him.
"Fine." He stood up. Feigning a hurt expression, he said with his best martyr voice, "It seems like such a waste of my talents, though."
Morgan's laugh came out as a snort. "Right, okay… just leave us an obscure fact or two and I'm sure we'll survive until you get back."
"The restaurant is called The Red Dragon and it's…"
Reid interrupted the Sheriff. "I know where it is, we drove past it earlier today. And Morgan, the banana isn't a fruit, it's a berry, and the banana tree isn't a tree, it's an herb. Also, it's physically impossible to lick your own elbow."
Several snickers followed him out, but the team quickly sobered up again. Gideon, however, was glad to see that Reid was getting a little break from the case. The high body count and the victims' ages had gotten to him. In many ways, he was still very new to this occupation. Gideon looked over at Morgan, and quickly hid a smile as he saw his co-worker stare suspiciously at his own elbow.
Reid walked into The Red Dragon, which was almost empty. There was only one other customer, who was just breaking open his fortune cookie. Reid paid him no heed and walked up to the counter.
"Can I help you?" A pleasant-looking elder man came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on his apron.
"Yes, Sheriff Johnson called in an order."
"Yes, of course. It's going to be a few minutes yet."
Just then Reid's stomach growled loudly. The man, Mikey, laughed. "A few minutes too many, huh?" he said, pushing a basket of shrimp chips in Reid's direction.
"I kind of forgot about lunch today," he admitted, taking a chip.
"You are one of those new FBI agents, right? A profiler?" Mikey asked.
"Yeah, that's us," Reid admitted.
"Are you getting any closer to catching this monster?"
Reid grimaced. "I can't really talk about it."
"I understand," Mikey said. "I hope you do though. My granddaughter has already lost one classmate, I would hate for there to be more."
Reid agreed with him whole-heartedly. "It's almost empty in here, slow night?"
"Slow weeks," Mikey said dejectedly. "The social life in this town has taken a real beating. Had it not been for the police and the reporters, I might as well close down. Ah, here's the food now."
A younger man came out of the kitchen, carrying three paper bags filled with food containers. "Do you need any help getting it out into the car?"
"No, I'll manage," Reid said, hefting a bag higher up on his hip. "Thank you."
"Drive safely, and good luck with the case!" Mikey called after him.
Reid left the restaurant, just as the other customer walked up to the register. A half minute later Reid heard the door slam behind him, while he was walking towards the SUV. He also heard the steps behind him, but didn't really listen to them. Juggling the bags, he got the car key out of his pocket and hit the button on the remote to unlock the car. He was just reaching for the backdoor when someone slammed into him from behind. Slightly stunned, he dropped the bags of food and reached for his gun, but someone else's hand was already there. The assailant's foot swept out and took out Reid's legs and he ended up on the ground next to the car, crushing one of the food bags. He felt the cold metal of a gun barrel press in to his neck, and a beefy hand closed over his mouth.
"Not a peep, you understand?"
Reid nodded. The barrel of the gun shifted and a second later Reid could feel the hand pawing for the handcuffs at his belt. Knowing that the gun wasn't pointing at him at the moment, Reid put his hands on the ground and pushed upwards. This dislodged the hand over his mouth, and Reid used his upward motion to aim a punch at his assailant's face. His arm was stopped though, as the assailant's reflexes kicked in. He seized Reid's arm by the wrist, and with the other he brought the gun butt down full force on Reid. Reid cursed as he felt the skin split open just above his eye, and for a moment he saw only black spots. His arm was twisted behind his back as his legs were once again kicked out from underneath him.
"Bad move, partner," the man growled. This time he kept the arm twisted and planted a foot on Reid's neck while he fished for the handcuffs. Reid twisted and turned as best as he could, but to no avail. His arms were cuffed securely together behind his back. The man pulled him up and pushed him up against the car as he raided his pockets.
"Stop this," Reid said. "I'm an FBI agent, let me go."
"I know who you are…" the man said, pulling Reid's badge from his pocket and locking at the ID "…Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid. And I want a word with you."
He threw the badge on the ground, where it was soon joined by Reid's wallet, cell phone and keys. The only things the assailant pocketed were the keys to the handcuffs and to the SUV. He then opened the backdoor and with a steady pressure of the gun against Reid's neck he forced him into the car. He secured him with the seatbelt, leaving Reid immobilized in the backseat. Closing the door, he crossed over to the driver's side, whistling as he went.
"What about your car?" Reid asked when the man started the SUV and eased it out of the parking lot.
"Oh, it's back at work. I'll just take the bus in tomorrow morning. No one will notice. I'm always there first anyway."
Reid slumped back in his seat. Blood was running down his face from the cut on his forehead, and it was sticky and itched where it pooled at his neck. He kept his eyes on the window, trying to keep track of where he was being taken, and tried to look inconspicuous while his hands were moving behind his back, trying to find something that would help him.
Hotchner looked at his watch. "How far away is this restaurant? Shouldn't Reid be back by now?"
Sheriff Johnson looked at the watch as well. "Yes, he should, it's only ten minutes away."
"Maybe the food was late," Morgan said, but he was already punching a speed dial on his cell phone. Reid's phone rang six times before going to voicemail. Here Morgan left the message he would deeply regret over the next couple of days.
"Hey Reid, where'd you go? You get kidnapped on the way or something? Not a valid excuse! Hurry back, Elle has started gnawing on her pencil."
***
The car had left the center of the town and was driving north. The man was slowing down, his left turning signal blinking. 'It's now or never' thought Reid, who had spent much of the trip shifting around. This was one of the times long arms came in handy. He leaned forward and with a twist of the back his hands actually reached the release button for the seatbelt. He then twisted again and scrabbled for the door handle, popping the door open. It went beautifully, and within seconds he had thrown himself out of the car. He rolled a couple of times, before gaining his feet. Behind him he heard the brakes slam and loud cursing.
Reid took off running. He heard the gun fire and a shot whizzed by over his head. He slouched down and kept running in a zigzag pattern. 'It is dark,' he thought, 'He can't see me. If I can only get past the curve in the road I can run into the woods, and he won't even know which side of the road I'm on.'
That was when he was tackled. Their combined speed made them crash down and slide on the asphalt. Reid had fallen headfirst, and could feel gravel biting into the side of his face, scratching him as he slid along the road.
For a moment they just lay there, panting. Then the assailant sat up, sitting on Reid's back, keeping his hands on Reid's shoulder. "Why did you have to do that?"
Reid didn't answer. Instead he said, "What's your name?"
"What?"
"What's your name?"
After a short silence, the man said, "You can call me Tom."
Then he pulled Reid back up in his feet and pushed him back to the car. Once again he secured him with the seatbelt. This time, however, he also locked the door.
"He's been gone for more than an hour," Elle said.
"He's still not answering his phone," Morgan replied.
"I'll call Mikey, see if he's left the restaurant." Sheriff Johnson picked up the phone again.
"Hey Mikey, it's Danny again. The agent who came for the food, is he still there?…No, when… okay, I'll hold." He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Mikey says Dr. Reid left at least 40 minutes ago. He's going out to the parking lot, to see if he's having car trouble or something.
They waited for a minute or so, not really believing that Mikey would find anything. When he came back on the phone though, they could all hear him; he was talking fast and excitedly. Sheriff Johnson listened intently, and then said, "All right Mikey, don't touch anything, we'll be there in ten minutes."
Hanging up, he turned to the BAU team, talking as he gathered his jacket and double-checked his service revolver. "Mikey found the food on the ground, together with an FBI badge and a cell phone. The car is gone, and…" He sighed, a look of pity crossing his eyes. "He says there's blood on the ground."
The BAU, sans their walking encyclopedia, stood looking at the meager evidence, showing them that Reid had once been here. They had immediately identified all his belongings, but did not touch anything. The forensic team was on the way.
"At least there isn't a lot of blood," JJ said, not knowing who she was really trying to comfort.
"Yeah," said Morgan. "And we can't even be sure it's his. Maybe he clobbered the other guy."
Elle looked at her teammates. "Uh, guys. What are the chances that this is unrelated to the kidnappings?"
The SUV came up the driveway of a small farm. Tom drove into a garage adjacent to the main house and turned off the engine. He carefully closed the garage doors before turning on the lights and unlocking the backdoor. The gun was once again pressed up against Reid's neck as Tom leaned over him to undo the seatbelt. Reid was pulled out of the car and frog-marched through a door and into a living room/kitchen area. He heard Tom put the car keys on a small table by the door. Across the room was a bathroom. Tom took him there, and unlocked one of his cuffs.
"You have five minutes," he said, as he went out and closed the door behind him.
Reid quickly looked around for something he could use as a weapon, but there was nothing. Just toothbrushes, soap, towels and toilet paper. No razor or nail clippers, not even a shower curtain. He briefly entertained the idea of breaking the mirror, but that would be heard.
"Three minutes."
Reid hastily used the toilet, and then he took a good look at his face in the mirror. Both sides were bloodied now, one from the cut on the forehead, and the other from his close encounter with the road top. The left side of his face he could wash clean, as the cut now only bled sluggishly. Then he tried his best to get all the dirt and grime out of the abrasions on his right cheek. When the bathroom door was wrenched open he quickly washed his hands, then put them behind his back and let Tom cuff them together again. Tom put him in a red sofa, placing himself on a back-turned kitchen chair, crossing his arms over the backrest, idly playing with the gun.
"So," he said, taking in Reid's bloodied face, "What do you know about me?"
"About you? Nothing really," Reid said, feigning ignorance.
"Come on now," Tom sounded irritated. "You're a big shot FBI profiler, and a doctor nonetheless. Tell me what you know."
Reid swallowed. He figured he had to stall for time. "Well, okay, your name may or may not be Tom. You like Chinese food and you drive to work."
Suddenly Tom had moved. His fist curled around the front of Reid's shirt, pulling it, forcing Reid's head up until they were locked eye-to-eye. "Sarcasm doesn't amuse me. I know that you have figured out who I am by now. So, What Do You Know About Me?"
Reid breathed heavily, and words from the profile flew through his head. Unpredictable, stressed, frustrated. He was speechless. He couldn't tell him about the profile, he couldn't give him any warning or any advantage over his team.
"I… We… we are nowhere near finding you," he finally said. "All we have is a general idea, age, sex, M.O., you know, the usual characteristics. We've only been at it since yesterday. Give us some time!"
Tom looked at him. "Are you lying?"
"No, I'm not!" Reid said shrilly. "We're profilers, not miracle workers. No one is going to find you anytime soon—"
Tom interrupted him. "What would take precedence? Looking for me or for you?"
Reid hesitated, but said, "Looking for you."
Tom looked at him with an calculated look. "We'll see about that."
"Where is Bailey?" Reid suddenly asked, turning the conversation around.
"Bailey?"
"The boy you took."
A strange look came over Tom's face, it softened and he smiled. "His name isn't Bailey, it's Mattie. It's always been Mattie. Do you want to meet him?"
"Yes, please. Is he okay?"
"Of course he's okay. Come on, this way." Tom sounded almost eager.
Tom led Reid to a door that revealed a stair leading down to a basement. Reid carefully navigated down the steep stair, which was a little tricky without the use of his arms, but Tom's hand around this bicep helped him balance.
The basement was lit up by a single light bulb, covered by a dirty globe. On the far end of the basement was a bed, with a small body in. A small, unmoving body. Reid's heart skipped a beat. No, he couldn't be dead yet! There was still at least 24 hours left. He must be asleep. Tom pulled him over to the bed.
"Mattie," he called. "Mattie, Daddy's home. Everything is okay, Daddy's here now."
When they got near the bed, Reid could see that the small blond head was turned towards the wall. The boy's little green eyes were open, but they were dull and he didn't move them to acknowledge their presence. One of his hands was chained to a horizontal bar on the bed frame, giving the child a wide range of motion, but not letting him get off the bed. Reid's heart ached to take the boy in his arms and hug him safe again.
"Mattie, this is Spencer" Tom said, making introduction. "He's gonna be here for a while, but don't worry, he won't hurt you. I'm gonna put him over here, and he won't get near you."
Reid was pulled over to a radiator a few feet away from the bed. Tom unlocked the handcuff on his right arm, and then fastened it around the radiator pipe. He looked over at Bailey.
"Isn't he beautiful?" he asked. "My wonderful little boy."
The change that had come over Tom in the basement was astonishing. He had changed his body language and even the pitch of his voice. He wasn't at all the man that had brutally attacked Reid in the parking lot and used Reid's own gun on him and tried to interrogate him. Now he spoke much sweeter, and seemed less threatening, but he still felt highly unpredictable. Reid wondered if he had some kind of personality disorder.
Tom went back to Bailey and sat on the edge of the bed. He tenderly put his hand on the boy's head, stroking his hair. "Are you feeling better, son? Do you have a kiss for Daddy tonight? No? You can't go on sulking forever, Mattie. Can't I have a kiss, please?"
There was no response from the bed. Reid's stomach made somersaults. Sweet words, which would have fit in the mouth of any loving parent, were being perverted and twisted. He couldn't imagine being in Bailey's position, having this fatherly love declared by a stranger that had stolen you from your home in the middle of the night and was keeping you chained up in a basement.
Tom sighed. "Never mind then. You rest for a while, I'll be back soon with your dinner. I love you." He kissed the boy on the forehead and left the basement, closing the door behind him.
As soon as he was gone, Reid strained to get as close to the bed as possible. "Bailey, can you hear me? My name is Spencer and I'm with the FBI. Do you know what the FBI is? It's like the police. I'm part of a really big group of policemen who are all looking for you, day and night.
"I met your family today. They are really sad, and they miss you a lot. Your dad showed me your collection of baseball caps. You had quite a lot there, buddy. Your dad promised that he would take you to New York next season. Just you and him at a Yankees-game. He and your mom love you a lot. Your grandmother has baked oatmeal cookies that are waiting for you in the pantry at home. And your sister, Cassie, has been taping every episode of Pokémon for you. I saw Daisy too, your dog. She misses you too. Your mom said that she walks around the house all day with her red ball in her mouth, looking for you. So remember that, Bailey. Every time he is down here, talking to you, remember how much your family love you and miss you. And I'm going to do everything I can to help you get home. I promise, Bailey, everything I can."
'This ends here,' Reid thought. Now that he had actually met Bailey, he could not imagine this little boy dead. He would fight for him, to his dying breath. And he still had 24 hours.
When the door opened again Tome came down, carefully balancing a TV tray. He put it on the bed and fetched a key that hung on a nail on the wall just out of reach for a little boy. He unlocked the cuff around Bailey's arm and lifted him up into a sitting position.
"Are you gonna eat today, or am I gonna have to feed you again?"
Bailey looked up at him, and then he looked over at Reid. Their eyes met for the first time and Reid nodded at him and mouthed 'Go ahead'. Bailey carefully picked up the spoon and started eating the tomato soup, holding a piece of bread in his other hand.
"Good boy," Tom crooned, "I knew you could do it. I knew you were a big boy!"
When Bailey had finished his dinner, Tom put the tray on the floor and reached for the boy. "Come on, time to brush your teeth, then it's time for bed."
They disappeared up the stair and Reid hated to see them go, but he took comfort in the fact that it was only Thursday. He looked at his watch. It was 12.03. It was Friday.
Friday
Reid woke up with a start when he heard the basement door open. He glanced at his watch. It was 3.52 a.m. When Tom had brought Bailey back from the bathroom, he had chained him up again, and tucked him in. Reid had then talked to the boy, mostly nonsense, telling him stories, as he had listened to Bailey's breath even out until he was sure he was asleep. He had then spent quite some time examining the handcuffs and the radiator pipe he was cuffed to, but had found no weak spots. He didn't remember falling asleep, though.
Tom came down and walked right by Reid, not even acknowledging him. There was an aroma of whisky around him. He sat down on the bed and shook Bailey. "Mattie? Come on baby, time to wake up. There's a good boy."
Reid could see Bailey's body tense as he woke up, but he didn't move.
"Mattie?" Tom was crying now, sobbing in between words. "I'm so sorry, Daddy's so so sorry. Please Mattie, forgive me. I didn't mean it. Daddy loves you so much."
He was hugging Bailey around the waist, and had buried his face in the boy's pajama shirt. The boy was crying too. Silent, despairing tears.
"It's okay, Mattie, Daddy's gonna make it up to you. He's gonna give you a real bath, I'll show you that I can do it, that you can trust me. I'll take such good care of you."
Reid's heart stopped. Was this it? Had the timeframe changed? Why? Was it his fault? Don't upset the unsub's routine, it said so right in the profile he had helped create.
Tom was already reaching for the handcuff key. "A nice hot bath. Then we'll both feel better. You'll see."
Time was running out, and so were his options. Reid could only think of one. He stood up, going as close to the bed as he could. "Hey Tom, why did you do it, huh?"
Tom froze in mid-movement and turned his head towards Reid.
"Why did you kill your son? Huh? What did you do anyway? I bet you left him alone in the tub. To answer the phone maybe? Or check out the TV? Or yell at your wife? Or were you just drunk? Why did you do that? Any idiot knows you can't leave a kid alone in the bath tub."
Tom shook his head, frowning. "No, no, don't say that. Don't talk like that. Shut up! You hear me? Shut up!"
But Reid ignored him. "What did it feel like? Seeing him floating in the tub, knowing it was all your fault. What did your wife do? Did she hit you, did she scream at you, throw you out of the house? Did she hate your guts? I bet she did! Who could ever love the man that killed your child?"
Tom had put his hands over his ears and was rocking back and forth. "No, no, no... it wasn't like that. Not at all. It was an accident."
Bailey's eyes were wide as saucers as he looked between Tom and Reid, his fear clearly visible in his face.
"An accident? What about all the other boys, Tom. What about all the other Matties? Those weren't accidents. Those were murders. How many times does Mattie have to die, Tom? How many times are you going to kill him? How is he ever going to be able to forgive you, if you keep killing him over and over again? Why can't you just leave him alone? He's dead, Tom. He's dead, and nothing can change that."
"NOOOOOOO!" Tom flew up from the bed, with tear-streaked cheeks and fire in his eyes.
"You don't know anything!" he yelled as he attacked Reid. The first punch to his face was so fast he didn't have time to even try to block it. It also slammed him back into the wall and into the radiator. He gasped as the top of the radiator bit into his lower back. Reid stretched out his arms as far as he could to try and keep Tom away from his body, but Tom's next strike was at his legs, and as they were swept from underneath him, Reid spun around and fell. Unfortunately he fell directly onto his own outstretched arm, the one that was cuffed to the radiator. He could hear the sickening pop as his shoulder joint dislocated due to the stress of trying to catch his bodyweight at such a high velocity. The sudden pain blinded him. He could hear himself screaming, but it was as if the sound came from far away. More blows and kicks were raining down on his body, but his whole body, except for his arm and shoulder felt numb, so he couldn't tell where or how bad it was at first. Then, all of a sudden, dozens of little fires were popping up on his body, crying for his attention. He curled into a fetal position, and tried to protect his head by curling his good arm around it. The whole time he could hear Tom yelling incoherently at him, calling him names, telling him that he just didn't understand. Reid just hoped that this was enough to make Tom forget about what he had been about to do to Bailey.
After an immeasurable time the beating stopped, and over the ringing in his ears Reid heard Tom stomp up the stair and slam the door behind him. He desperately wanted to check on Bailey, to tell him everything would be okay, but he couldn't get his body to obey. A blackness started to creep into the corners of his eyes, and spread until he couldn't resist the alluring darkness and his body fell into unconsciousness.
The mood at the Fairmount Sheriff's department was very tense. Activity had picked up at the command center again, in spite of the late hour. Mikey and his son, who worked as a chef at The Red Dragon, had both worked together with a sketch artist. They said that though they recognized their customer, they didn't know anything about him, except his food preferences. He would come in every few weeks, always ate shrimps in sweet-and-sour sauce and he always paid cash. The sketches had been shown around to everybody on the team, and some of the deputies thought he might look familiar, but they couldn't place him. They were now waiting for the day to start so they could go out and show the sketches around. The BAU team had gathered together, frenetically going over every scrap of evidence they could find.
Hotchner's normally tidy appearance now looked rather dingy. He had taken of his jacket and even loosened his tie. His face was grim and he kept looking at his watch.
Gideon just looked tired. He kept rubbing his hands over his face and sighing. He knew all the statistics and the odds, but he had faith in Reid. If anybody could beat the odds, it was him. Gideon was counting on him to help himself, but that didn't stop him from worrying
Morgan was all over the place, he couldn't sit still and whenever he talked, it was louder than normal. He kept leafing through report after report, but had trouble focusing. He wanted to find the answer plainly written down in bold red letters somewhere.
JJ had spent most of the night with her phone glued to her ear. Her voice betrayed nothing, but she kept playing with her hair and gnawing her lower lip. She also kept running between the different groups in the room, putting together their meager findings.
Elle had spent the entire night sitting in the same chair, tapping away on her computer; compiling a list of every suspect, witness and resident of Fairmount she could find who was within the right age, sex and race perimeters. She desperately needed to feel like she was doing something worthwhile, something that would help Reid and Bailey.
"We're getting nowhere," Morgan growled. "Reid's been missing for eight hours now."
"And Bailey Sanders has been missing for five days," Gideon reminded him. "They are equally important to find."
"But Bailey still has 20 hours to live," Morgan argued. "Reid could be lying dead on the side of the road for all we know! Why would the unsub have taken him?"
"Do you think Reid somehow identified him in the restaurant?" JJ theorized.
"I doubt it." Gideon said, idly running his finger back and forth over the rim of his coffee cup, eyes focused somewhere far away. "Not unless the unsub somehow identified himself, but I don't see why he would do that. This kidnapping is so far out of his pattern, it's impossible to map. I think it was a spur of the moment decision."
"The owner of the restaurant said that they talked about Reid being a profiler," Hotchner said, scratching his furrowed forehead. "He would have heard that. We know that the unsub is stressed about the investigation. Suddenly having a whole team of profilers on his tail must be terrifying for him. He must have seen Reid as a threat."
"No, I don't like that," Elle said. "If he's a threat, then there's no reason to keep him alive. He could have just killed him in the parking lot. Why leave all his things behind, and then drive off with him?"
"Maybe it's a diversion," JJ said. "Maybe he wants to redirect our attention, our focus, to give him time to finish his business with Bailey."
"No," Gideon said, "Then there would have been a ransom note or some contact by now. Otherwise we just keep looking for both of them in the same place. It must have been some sort of fear-based decision. He's probably trying to figure out what to do with him now that he has him."
"Well, that doesn't help us find him, does it?" Morgan was frustrated. He gestured to Elle's computer. "How can we not find someone who fits the profile?"
"I can actually find several here who might fit the current profile, but the background keeps sending me off-track. There's no one here with a drowned son."
Hotchner looked up. "What if his past history really is in the past?"
"What do you mean?" The team looked at him, confused.
"What if his past hurt so much that he's wiped it out completely. We know he has changed his life-style. Maybe he changed his name too."
They all looked at each other. All new leads were good news. Gideon took charge. "Elle, e-mail that list to Garcia, Morgan…"
"Already dialing, Gideon."
It rang three times before the phone on the other end was picked up.
"Pen…eh…eh…eh…lope" Most of the greeting was drowned in a giant yawn.
"That's how you answer your phone now, Garcia?"
"What? Morgan?" Garcia still sounded a bit out of it.
"The one and only, baby."
"It's 4.30 in the morning, Sweetcheeks, aren't you gonna say 'Sorry for waking you'?
"No," Morgan said curtly. "Are you awake now?"
"I suppose."
"Good," Morgan said. "Elle is e-mailing you a list of names. We need you to check if any of them has ever changed his name, and if so, his background under his old name. Got it?"
"Right. Fine." Rustling sounds through the phone told Morgan that Garcia was getting out of bed. "I'll get to the office as soon as I can... Is this the kidnapper?
"Yes."
"So you need it, what, like yesterday."
"More like last week." Morgan didn't really want to tell her what had happened, but he knew he had to. He took a deep breath. "Pen, he's taken Reid."
There was a short silence.
"Our Reid?"
"Yes."
"I'm so gone, I'm not even putting make-up on."
A buzzing noise informed Morgan that Garcia had hung up.
***
Waking up was never Reid's favorite part of the day, and today was no different. He thought that it took him an inexcusable amount of time to figure out where he was and what had happened. His entire body ached and he was incredibly thirsty. Had he let Morgan lure him out on a bar round last night? That was when the complete numbness of his left arm registered and everything came rushing back. Bailey!
It took some maneuvering to sit up, and when he finally had his back firmly planted against the radiator he was trembling and panting, and sweat was running down his back. He looked over to the bed, where Bailey was sitting up in bed, looking right at him.
"Hi, Bailey. Are you okay?"
The boy nodded.
"Has the man been down here again?"
Bailey shook his head.
"Good."
He heard the floorboards creak above him, and the sound of water running. He looked at his watch. The glass had broken, but it was still working. It was just after 7 a.m. Morgan's voice echoed in his head "He has a normal 9 to 5 job… During the weeks of the kidnappings he won't have missed a single day of work."
Tom had said that he had to take the bus to work today and that he was always the first one there in the morning. He should be leaving shortly. And then Reid had about ten hours to figure out a way to escape and get Bailey to safety. But at the moment, he didn't have a clue as to how that would come to be.
The basement door opened and Tom came down with the TV tray again. He completely ignored Reid, and went to place the tray on the bed. It contained a juice box and a plate with two pieces of toast.
"Good morning Mattie. I have to leave a little early today, but who knows? It's Friday, I might be able to sneak out a little early tonight. Then we'll spend some quality time together. Be good today!" He leaned over and kissed the boy's head.
On his way out he stopped by Reid and squatted in front of him. He smiled crookedly. "I have big plans for you too tonight. I have found a nice little place to stash you away in. I'm even going leave nice little clues for your friends. Then we'll see who they will look for first." He chuckled. "I wish I could see their faces when they find you. Too bad you'll be missing that grand finale."
"And just why is that?" Reid said, wanting to show the man that he wasn't afraid.
"Well, you know all those things the papers seem to think I'm doing to my boy? Well, since they have already condemned me for the crimes, I might as well commit them, right? Seems like a shame to let all that nice writing go to waste, no?"
Reid felt his stomach roll, but his face showed nothing.
Tom chuckled again, patted Reid patronizingly on the cheek and stood up. On the way up the stair he whistled a cheery little tune. "See you tonight boys," he called from the top of the stair.
When the door was closed Bailey sat up and jammed the straw into the juice box. Then he took one of the pieces of toast and held it out towards Reid.
"No thank you, Bailey. That's very sweet of you, but I can't reach it. It's better if you eat all of it."
Upstairs the front door slammed shut as Tom left the house. They were alone.
While Bailey ate, Reid did an inventory of himself. His left leg was left rather unscathed while his right knee was so swollen it was straining against the fabric of this pants. His back and stomach ached fiercely, having been repeatedly kicked. But his belly was soft, so he wasn't overly worried about any major internal bleedings. There was extensive bruising though, which was hot and throbbing. Pressing his hand over his ribs proved to be another unpleasant experience. Healthy ribs should not yield under pressure like his were doing. He hoped they were just cracked, but he suspected at least two broken ones. His face had no new injuries, except a soreness to the jaw from that first blow, but the skin on his right cheek felt warm and tender, proving that infection had set in. He probably hadn't been able to wash out all the dirt last night. His right arm was bruised, but otherwise unharmed. The pinkie and ring finger were probably broken, though, but he could live without them for the time being.
His biggest problem was his left arm. The shoulder had been dislocated for several hours, and he knew that without treatment he was in danger of permanently damaging the nerves and blood vessels around the shoulder. He had actually set a dislocated shoulder before. On a mandatory FBI survival training one of the other participants had fallen off a cliff, and the nearest help had been several hours away. At that time his knowledge about field medicine had been purely theoretic, a fact he had conveniently hid until the agent in question had been safely tucked away in a hospital room. He had never done it to himself though. And it was a procedure that took quite a lot of strength and proper leverage. But it had to be done. As it was now, his arm was completely useless, and he would most certainly need it for an escape attempt.
Glancing at Bailey, who seemed preoccupied examining the print on the juice box, Reid slowly turned around so that he was facing the wall. He had to use his right arm to help guide his left arm, but he managed to wrap the fingers of his bad arm around the sturdy radiator pipe. He hoped he would be able to hold on and he clamped his right hand around his wrist, just above the handcuff, to help hold it steady. He then lifted his feet up and planted them firmly with the soles up against the wall. His knees were bent as far as he could get them, making his right knee scream in agony. Taking several deep breaths to calm his shaking nerves he then pushed off with all his might. His body was pushed backwards, the recoil forcing his shoulder joint back into position. An excruciating pain flowed through Reid, wrenching an unwelcome scream from him, leaving him panting and sobbing. When the pain became bearable again, he carefully let his right hand seek out his shoulder, poking and prodding. Thankfully it seemed as if he had succeeded on the first try. He wasn't sure he would have been able to do it again, now knowing how much it hurt. He could already feel a tingling sensation in his fingers, as they started to come alive again. Pushing a sweaty strand of hair behind his ear with a trembling hand he looked up at Bailey. The boy looked at him with a pained and terrified expression, tears flowing down his face.
"I'm sorry, Bailey," he said, his voice still shaky with pain. "I didn't want to scare you. I'm okay now."
The boy did not look reassured; in fact he looked rather skeptical. Reid tried to explain.
"You know when you fall and skin your knee, it hurts a lot, right? And then you go to your mum or dad and they put a cream on it that stings really bad at first, but then it makes everything feel better?"
Bailey nodded warily.
"That's what I had to do. My arm was feeling bad, and I had to make it hurt a lot to make it feel better afterwards. It hurts very little now."
That last part was actually a lie, but Reid chose to think of it as obfuscation. Unfortunately, the hard part was nowhere near over. He still had to think of a way for them to escape.
At 8 a.m. the command center had v
irtually emptied, as all personnel went out to go door to door with the sketches. Morgan had spent the morning hounding Garcia every 15 minutes, but so far she hadn't found anything. There was still a lot of the list left to go through, and she was putting both her computers and her own skills to the test. It was now nearing lunch time and no positive reports had come in. The BAU team were all nervous and edgy, but none so much as Morgan. He was constantly lashing out at people, questioning whether they were working hard enough, or if they had the proper skill for their tasks. Both Gideon and Hotchner had taken him aside several times to ask him to calm down or to take a break. People had been patient with him all morning, but that patience was wearing thin. Beneath the extreme worry for his friend's life, Morgan was also overcome with guilt. He kept seeing his own hand tossing the car keys to Reid, pushing him out with his words, sending him out into harm's way. And then there was the phone message. Morgan had retrieved Reid's phone from evidence. It now lay in his pocket where he kept clutching it, as if it were a lifeline, his one connection to Reid. He had listened to the message several times and his own words kept ringing in his ears. "You get kidnapped on the way or something? Not a valid excuse!" Where were Reid, and why couldn't they find him?
Had anyone asked Derek Morgan to theorize over how his friend would chose to spend his free time, it would have involved large tomes filled with knowledge and big words, covering every known subject under the sun. Though Reid did have his fair share of those books in his bookshelves, they were also well filled with novels. Especially brick-size mystery and horror novels. And it was from one of them he devised his escape plan.
Reid had spent the last couple of hours going over their prison, trying to find something, anything, within his reach that could help them escape. Nothing had stood out, and of course, his pockets had been emptied last night. Besides, the simple truth was that they were going nowhere as long as he was chained to the radiator. Both the handcuffs and the radiator had been submitted to very thorough examinations, but without a hacksaw, neither would budge. His hand, however, was another matter. Though his wrists were as skinny as the rest of his body, there was no way to simply slip out of the cuff. Not without the aid of some sort of lubrication.
Reid had once read a Stephen King novel called Gerald's Game where a woman was in a similar situation. She had been handcuffed to a bed in a house in the middle of nowhere, with no one knowing where she was. She had broken a water glass and used the shards to cut her own wrist, and used the blood as lubrication, and so she escaped her prison.
As desperate a plan as it was, it was the only viable plan Reid had. It was already early afternoon and he only had three or four hours to get Bailey to safety before Tom came back. His foremost worry right now was how to explain to Bailey what he had to do without scaring him. But first he needed a tool. There were no windows, and he could not sacrifice their one source of light. Not only would it be too dark for him to find the shards, he would also not be able to see where to cut. Within his reach there was nothing that could be of use. On Bailey's bed, however, stood the TV tray, and on top of it stood the now empty porcelain plate.
"Bailey?" he said carefully, gaining the boy's attention. "I want you to do something for me, okay? See the plate?"
Bailey looked at object in question and tentatively picked it up. He looked over at Reid, questioningly. Reid nodded in encouragement.
"That's right. Now, I want you to throw it to me, or as close to me as you can."
Bailey still looked hesitant.
"It doesn't matter if it breaks. In fact, that's what I want it to do. Can you do that for me?"
Bailey nodded, and with a deep breath he tossed the plate, Frisbee-style, across the distance that separated them. It landed just a little beyond Reid's legs, shattering into three large pieces.
"Good," Reid praised. "You did really well. That was just what I needed."
Bailey gave him a shy smile as he let his eyes curiously follow Reid's hand as he put the shards in his lap to examine them. Though Reid had had his fair share of hardship and unhappiness in his life he had never been suicidal, so sitting here evaluating sharp objects with the intention of cutting his own wrist felt odd and very wrong. He would have to rely on his knowledge of the human anatomy not to cut in the wrong place, or too deep, but still deep enough to get what he needed. The wrist was a complicated part of human body. It had blood vessels and tendons lying so close to the skin that it was much too easy to cause irreparable damage.
None of the porcelain pieces quite lived up to his expectations though. Taking the largest piece he smashed it against the floor at an angle, hoping to make a sharper edge. It took him several tries to make a satisfactory mock-knife. He then loosened his tie, placing it in his lap for easy access. He would need it to make a pressure bandage once he was done.
He once again looked to Bailey, wracking his brain trying to figure out what to say next. "Bailey," he started. "I'm about to do something that you're never supposed to do. I'm only doing it because I really believe that it will help us get out of here and go home. That's the only reason. I would never do it otherwise. Do you understand?"
Bailey nodded.
Reid sighed. Bailey's refusal to talk was a real problem, but one that he was forced to let be for the time being.
"Okay, good," he said. "The thing is, it's too scary for you to watch. So I want you to turn around, and just close your eyes or keep looking at the wall, until I tell you that it's okay to look again. Okay? Can you do that for me?"
Bailey bit his lip and nodded again. Then he turned away.
Reid waited until all he saw was the back of the boy's blond head before picking up his chosen tool. "Good," he said. "Really good. Thank you for helping me with this."
Twisting around a little to get into a better position, he mentally prepared himself for what he would have to do. As much as he would have loved to just sit tight and wait to be rescued, the little blond head on the bed made the decision easy.
He placed the tip of his "knife" at what he deemed was the most strategic starting point and pressed it down a little, forming a dimple in his skin. Imagining his trajectory he closed his eyes and made the incision.
Opening his eyes again he stared in shock at his wrist. There was nothing. Just a thin white line, no more than if he had drawn his fingernails across the surface. Daring to breathe again he sighed. A healthy psyche was very reluctant to hurt itself, he knew that. He just had to overwrite his own safety codes.
'Alright,' he thought. 'Second try, here we go.'
This time he kept his eyes open, but quickly closed them when he saw blood beginning to well up. He had to fight with himself to keep going, but he knew he needed more if he were to succeed. He bit his lower lip fiercely, to keep his focus, but also to not scream and scare Bailey.
When he once again looked, blood was flowing freely from a gaping wound on his wrist. A strangled sob escaped his lips. He could not believe what he had just done. A quick peek at the bed showed that Bailey had not moved. He let his tool fall to the floor and tilted his wrist to get the blood flowing in the right direction and then used his hand to smear it around to the other side of the wrist. It hurt like hell. One thought kept repeating itself in his mind. 'Morgan's gonna kill me for this.'
His wrist was getting slippery as he kept smearing the blood on and around the handcuff. He figured it was time to try to get free before he lost too much blood. He had purposely laid the cut low enough so that he would be able to lift the cuff over it, instead of dragging it. He had concentrated his lubricating efforts where the wrist and the hand met, and over the thickest part of the hand. Still it was tough going. He kept sweating and swearing and jiggling and pulling and smearing and when the handcuff suddenly plopped off with a jerk, he was so surprised he didn't move for at least 30 seconds.
Shaking himself out of the momentary paralysis, he gathered up his tie and with the help of his sticky right hand and his teeth he wrapped his make-shift bandage around his wrist and tied it with a sloppy knot. He dried his hands as best as he could on his shirt before he stood up, with all the grace and mobility of a bedridden 85-year-old. His head spun and his vision kept swimming in and out of focus. He had to grab the top of the radiator to be able to keep standing. After a while he felt better, and he started to make his way over to the bed.
"Bailey," he called. "It's all right to look now. The bad part is all over."
The boy shifted over on his back. He took in the blood on Reid's hands and shirt and his lower lip immediately started to quiver.
Reid fetched the key for Bailey's handcuffs and sat on the bed. "It'll be okay now," he said. "We'll be out of here in no time."
The minute he unlocked the handcuff, Bailey threw his arms around Reid's waist, buried his face in his blood-smeared shirt and started crying. Reid held him as tightly as he could, ignoring his body's cries of pain. He rocked them slowly back and forth, stroking the boy's hair, trying not to look at his watch. There had to be time for this, if he wanted to save the boy's soul as well as his body.
Some time later the crying became sobbing, and soon they were ebbing out as well. Bailey lifted his head and looked at Reid, who smiled at him.
"Ready to get out of here?"
Bailey nodded and moved his arms so that they were now encircling Reid's neck.
"Don't want to walk by yourself, huh? Okay, we can do it this way. Just hold on a moment."
He carefully stood up, bringing Bailey with him, until the boy was standing on the bed. With some difficulty Reid managed to take off his jacket and carefully guided the boy's arms into the sleeves. It was October and rather chilly, and the boy was barefoot in his pajamas. He also checked him over for any hidden injuries, and was grateful when he found nothing. He then faced a dilemma. If he were to carry the child on his good leg, then he would have to hold him with his bad arm, and vice versa. He chose to place Bailey on his right hip, even though his ribs protested. He didn't trust his left arm to be able to hold him. Together they made it slowly up the stair.
"Do you need to use the bathroom?" Reid asked as the stood in the living room.
Bailey nodded, so he carried him over to the bathroom and put him down. "I'll be out here, okay?"
Bailey looked hesitant.
"I'm not leaving without you, I promise."
Bailey was apparently soothed by this, so he walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
Reid should probably also have used the bathroom, but he just couldn't face himself in the mirror right now. Instead he washed his hands as best as he could in the kitchen sink and tightened the knot on his wrist. He looked at his watch. 2.48. They would have an hour and a half at least before Tom even left work. He opened the fridge. Finding several bottles of water, he took one out and twisted the top off, gulping down the entire bottle. His stomach did a shocked roll, but thankfully he was able to keep it down. Going through the cabinets he found a pack of Animal Crackers, which he tore into while he waited for Bailey. Looking around the room, his eyes landed on the table next to the garage door. He couldn't be that lucky, could he? But there they were. The keys to the SUV lay exactly were Tom had left them last night.
The toilet flushed, and a moment later Bailey came out. He quickly padded over the floor, reaching his arms up to be picked up again. Reid complied stiffly and gave him the box of crackers to hold. Bailey gladly accepted it and started decapitating giraffes and monkeys with his teeth. Reid also took two more water bottles, meshing them in between their bodies for safe keeping. Bailey giggled when he felt the cold bottles against his stomach, and the sound made Reid's heart soar.
Limping heavily he made his way to the garage, stopping to successfully retrieve the car keys without dropping Bailey or the water bottles. He opened the door and asked Bailey to hit the light switch, which was at the perfect height for him, hanging off Reid's shoulder as he were.
The car wasn't even locked he discovered, as he opened the front passenger door and put Bailey down. He was a bit too short, but they had nothing to use as a booster seat. Reid helped him with the seatbelt and opened a water bottle for him before closing the door.
He hit the button for the automatic garage door opener, standing still as it opened. He carefully took in his surroundings, but everything seemed peaceful enough. He got into the car, started it with a shaky hand, smiled at Bailey and backed out of the garage. Once out, he left the engine running as he got out of the car and went to close the garage doors. There was no reason to inform Tom of their escape any earlier than necessary. He just hoped they wouldn't meet him on the road back into town. He didn't even know what his car looked like.
***
The call came at 3.52 p.m.
"Morgan."
"Bow down before your goddess, Hot Lips."
Suddenly Morgan's heart was soaring. "Garcia, you beautiful woman, I knew you could do it! Hold on, I'll put you on speaker phone."
He did just that, as his team and most of the other command center personnel gathered around him. "Okay, shoot," he said.
"The man's current name is Donald Mason," Garcia said.
Elle immediately pulled up the man's information from her list. Mason was an administrator in the part of the county's office that among many other duties was the liaison with the businesses that supplied the food for the school lunches in the West Fairmount School district. He had been interviewed as a witness by two deputies after the third victim had been found on the playground opposite his office. He had said nothing that was consequential for the investigation, and no one had spoken to him again.
"He changed his name two and a half years ago, right before he moved to Fairmount," Garcia continued. "He used to be Thomas Norwood. He lived in San Francisco where he was a partner in a large insurance company, specializing in home insurance. His wife's name was Marian, and they had one child, a son called Matthew, who died when he was six. Accidental drowning. According to the police report, Norwood was giving Matthew a bath when the doorbell rang. It was a delivery man, with documents concerning Norwood's work. But the delivery man's pen wasn't working, so Norwood had to find one before he could sign for them, which apparently took longer than one would expect. Once he got back up to the bathroom the boy was dead. The coroner thought that he had stood up in the tub and then slipped, knocking himself unconscious. Norwood called 911 and tried CPR, but the kid was dead. He and his wife separated a couple of months later, but they never got divorced. Norwood changed his name and moved. Mrs. Norwood is now dead. She committed suicide on May 23d this year."
"That's just three weeks before the kidnappings started," Sheriff Johnson noted.
"That would have been the stressor," Gideon said, "Loosing the only family he had left, his only living link to his son. His address?" The last was directed at Elle, who was already clicking on the print symbol on the computer screen.
"Right here. But shouldn't he be at work at this hour?"
"We'll send teams to both places," said Hotchner. "Thanks Garcia."
"Yeah," Morgan agreed. "You're a pearl. I'm taking you to dinner when we get back."
"I'll hold you to that, babe. Now go find Reid, will ya." She hung up.
"You heard the woman," Morgan said. "Let's go find Reid." Taking his jacket he turned towards the door, but stopped mid-stride.
"Reid?"
In the doorway stood Reid, pale and bloodied, clutching a child in his arms.
"Hi guys," he said.
The drive back to town had been arduous. Reid was glad that the SUV had automatic transmission, because he was basically down to one hand. His wrist wouldn't stop bleeding. He had hoped that he wouldn't have damaged his arteries, but it didn't look like he'd been that lucky. Also, the synthetic fabric in his tie had proven to be a rather inadequate material for a bandage. It was too glossy to stay knotted, so he had to keep tightening it with his teeth while he was driving. Mostly he kept the hand pressed against his stomach, where he could feel the blood seeping through, wetting his shirt. He was sweating and his vision kept blurring, so he didn't dare drive too fast. But Bailey was looking at him with so much trust in his eyes, encouraging him to continue.
When they entered the town Reid headed for the one place he knew he would feel safe; the Sheriff's department and his team. When he turned onto the right street, he slowed the car down and groaned. He had forgotten about the press. They stood behind barriers being upheld by several deputies. They were keeping a walk path to the stationhouse clear though, and there Reid saw his chance. Trying to look inconspicuous he drove slowly along the street, and then, at the last possible moment he turned, driving up the path. Luckily it was wide enough, since it was meant to be able to accommodate emergency vehicles, should the need arise. He parked the car with the passenger side towards the front door and got out. Several of the deputies were running towards him, guns half-drawn.
One of them was calling to him, "Hey, you can't stop there!" He skidded to a halt a few feet away from Reid, bewilderment clear in his eyes. "Dr. Reid?" His eyes moved to the car, where he saw Bailey. "Is that…?"
"Yes," Reid answered. "Just keep the press away from him, would you?"
"Yes, sir." The deputy's voice was trembling with respect as he turned and ushered his other colleagues back towards the barrier where the reporters' excitement had increased ten-fold.
Reid ignored them as best he could as he rounded the car. He opened the passenger side door. Bailey had already undone his seatbelt and was reaching his arms towards Reid again. Reid took a second to fold up the collar of his jacket to hide the boy's face as much as possible before picking the boy up and making his way towards the front door.
The reception area was empty, except for Mrs. Dann, who just stared at them as they walked by, heading straight for the command center. Over all other noises, Reid could hear Morgan's voice.
"You heard the woman. Let's go find Reid."
He stepped in through the open doors, stopping at the threshold, taking in all the surprised gazes.
"Reid?"
"Hi guys."
For a second Morgan wondered if he was hallucinating. Then Gideon and Hotchner rushed past him. Gideon went to take the child out of Reid's trembling grip, but Bailey whimpered and attached himself even harder to Reid, who grimaced at the added pressure to his bruised torso.
"It's okay," he soothed the boy, petting his head where it rested on his shoulder. "It's okay, these are my friends. No one will hurt you here. And Sheriff Johnson over there, he's gonna call your mom and dad and they'll be here really soon." He looked at the Sheriff, who nodded and went to place the phone call.
Gideon had pulled up a chair, and he and Hotchner carefully took Reid's elbows, guiding him down. Hotchner smiled affectionately at his youngest agent.
"So, no rescue needed, huh?"
"Not this time, but thanks anyway," Reid smiled back.
Gideon, however, took on a much more serious approach. Taking in Reid's appearance he said, "My god, Spencer, what happened to you?" He knelt down next to the chair and went to take Reid's bloodied left wrist, which was now staining the back of the jacket draped over Bailey's back. "Did someone call an ambulance?"
He got an affirmative response as Morgan approached them with a large first aid kit. He knelt down next to Gideon, opened it and handed Gideon a pair of surgical gloves.
"Hey Doc," he said softly, pulling on his own pair. "Good to see you."
"You too," Reid said, taking a firm grip on Bailey's neck so he wouldn't turn his head and look at Gideon tending to his wrist. He didn't particularly want to watch it himself either. Now that he was finally in the safe haven of his team, his adrenaline was plummeting, and he was starting to wilt.
Gideon carefully untied the make-shift bandage. He frowned at the gaping wound, immediately recognizing it as being self-inflicted.
"Why did you cut yourself?" he asked as he received a thick compress from Morgan and pressed it into the wound, making Reid hiss in pain.
"You did this to yourself?" Morgan asked incredulously, handing Gideon a new compress as the first one quickly saturated with blood.
"I had to. I was handcuffed to a pipe and needed to get loose. This was all I could think of." Reid explained.
Morgan just shook his head, not wanting to imagine the situation in which his friend had felt the need for such a desperate act. "I could just kill you for this," he said affectionately.
Reid gave him a weak smile. "I thought you might say that."
Gideon tied the compress in place with gauze. He took off his bloodied gloves and patted Reid on the knee as he stood up. "You did good, Reid," Gideon said. "You got back alive, that's what counts."
Out of respect for Bailey's frightened reactions the pair had been given a lot of room, so Gideon and Hotchner walked away, giving others a chance to come near. Morgan though, had no intention of leaving his friend. He had something to say first. "I'm really sorry this happened to you."
Reid sighed. "So am I. I really screwed up, didn't I, Morgan?"
"What?" This was not a turn Morgan had expected the conversation to take.
"I got taken by surprise, I wasn't watchful enough. And, I let him kidnap me with my own gun and take me away in my own car. You don't think the bureau will kick me out for this, do you?" he said, stroking Bailey's hair as the boy in his lap played with his shirt buttons.
"No, of course not. That was not what I meant. Reid…"
"Excuse me," agent Dammers interrupted them. "Dr. Reid, can you give me a threat assessment of the situation I'll be sending my team into?"
"Of course. Do you know where to go?"
Morgan stood up and left. Their conversation would have to wait. He would, however, inform his team about Reid's feeling. Together they would set him straight.
"Yes, the unsub's been identified and we have both his work address and residential address," Dammers said.
"You've ID's him?" Reid said with surprise. "I didn't know that… What time is it?"
"4.15."
"He might have left work already then, he said he would try to leave early tonight."
"Okay," Dammers said. "So we'll concentrate our actions on the farm."
"Can you give me a pen and paper?" Reid asked. "I can draw up the schematics of the house for you."
Dammers fetched the requested items. As Reid drew he explained where everything was. "I didn't see any weapons," he said as he handed the sketch over. "But he still has my gun."
"Bailey!" The voice's intensity carried over all other noises in the room, as did Bailey's answering cry.
"Mommy!"
He leapt out of Reid's lap, leaving behind an emptiness Reid hadn't quite expected. But watching Mrs. Sanders clutching her son tightly, and Mr. Sanders hugging them both with tears in his eyes, made him feel like it had been worth every drop of blood in his body.
The paramedics came in right after the Sanders, but by then Reid was no longer conscious. When he relinquished the responsibility for Bailey to the boy's parents, his body no longer faced any disturbances to keep it from shutting down as it had so long felt the need to do.
Gideon had expected this, so when he saw Reid slumping down in his chair he had been at his side in a second to keep him from ending up on the floor, and he held him there until the paramedics had the gurney set up. It had already been decided that Gideon would accompany Reid to the hospital, while Hotchner, Morgan and Elle went with Dammers' team to the farm. JJ would also stay behind to prepare the press conference she would have to give after the raid on the farm and to update Quantico of their progress. However, they all stayed long enough to see Reid safely loaded on the ambulance.
"FBI!" The cry was heard all over the farm as the front door was kicked open and agents spread out in the house.
Hotchner and his team went directly to the basement, where they knew Reid and all other victims had been held. They had to go single file down the stair, with Hotchner leading. They found Donald Mason aka Thomas Norwood sitting on the bed. He had Reid's gun in his hand, but wasn't pointing it at either them or himself. Instead he had his head down, watching the gun, running his fingers over it. He didn't even seem to notice the FBI-agents at first.
"FBI. Put the gun on the floor, sir," said Hotchner, as Elle and Morgan flanked him on either side, all with their weapons steadily trained on the man on the bed.
"I figured you'd be along," he said, locking up. "That Spencer really is a clever little bugger, isn't he?"
"Put your gun down, sir," Hotchner repeated, inching a little closer. In the corner of his eye he could see his teammate's blood on the floor, but his training forced him to ignore it as long as there was a threat present.
"What? Oh, yes, of course." Tom slowly bent down and put the gun on the floor, three other guns following his every move.
"Stand up, turn around and put your hands on your head." Elle stepped forward, having holstered her weapon and brought out her handcuffs, trusting her team to keep her covered.
The kidnapper complied, having given up his hopes the minute he had come down into the basement and found it empty. He had always known he would be caught some day. In an odd way, he was even relieved. He let them handcuff him and search him for hidden weapons.
Morgan took up his radio and contacted the rest of the team. "The subject has been secured in the basement. The location is clear. We're bringing him up now."
Morgan and Elle escorted the prisoner upstairs, leaving Hotchner standing in the middle of the room. He took in the still closed handcuffs hanging from the radiator pipe, the broken plate on the floor and the blood surrounding the area. He then looked at the open handcuffs, hanging on the bed, the key still in the lock. He was suddenly filled with an intense pride for his agent and he was awed with the courage Reid had shown in this room.
It took several hours before the BAU team could reconvene at the hospital. They found Gideon in the OR waiting room. On the TV behind him was JJ. It was a recap of the press conference she had given two hours ago, and it was being shown on every channel, nationwide. "We are happy to report that the man known as the Fairmount kidnapper has been apprehended and that his latest victim, Bailey Sanders, has been returned to his parents, alive and well." She had professionally avoided all questions regarding Reid, and instead praised the Sheriff's department for their dedicated work effort during the last difficult months.
Gideon was sitting with his arms resting on his thighs, hands clasped in front of him. He looked up as his team entered the room and forestalled their questions by saying, "He's in surgery, that's all I know right now."
It took another half-hour before a doctor came out to talk to them. "I'm Dr. Lindstrom," she said. "Are you here for Spencer Reid?" At their confirmation she continued, "First of all, he's going to be fine. It'll take a while though. We've repaired the damage to his wrist, it was a rather clean cut, but it did nick an artery. We're expecting him to regain full use of his hand. In surgery we also repaired a small tear in one of his kidneys, nothing too dangerous. Other than that we have set two fingers on his right hand and wrapped up his ribs, he had two broken and another two were cracked. His right knee might need surgery in the future, but we have to wait for the swelling to go down before we can make a proper evaluation. His dislocated shoulder has apparently been set without a professional present, but it seems to be doing fine. We will keep monitoring it though. We'll be giving him continuous blood transfusions for the next couple of hours, and we have set in a broad spectrum of antibiotics, as there seem to be a small infection in his body. He'll be on crutches for a while, which will be difficult considering he'll only have one arm, not to mention the strain it will put on his ribs, so you shouldn't expect much mobility from him. Are you his boss?"
"Yes." Hotchner said.
"I'm putting him on sick leave for at least two months, and after that we'll see."
"Can we see him?" Elle asked.
"He's in recovery now, but will be moved into the psychiatric ward in an hour or so."
The team exploded.
"What?"
"No!"
"Why?"
Doctor Lindstrom seemed surprised by their strong reactions. "It's standard procedure. When a patient presents with this type of self-inflicted wounds, he or she is always put under suicide watch."
"Doctor, have you been briefed about his history?" Gideon asked.
"Only that he was a kidnap victim that managed to escape."
"That's right. And that wound was his escape plan. He had to cut his own wrist to escape a pair of handcuffs, so that he could save the little boy that was being held captive with him."
The doctor paled. "The Fairmount kidnapper?" she asked.
Gideon nodded. "Please, doctor, you must change his orders. Letting Reid wake up in the psychiatric ward could be disastrous."
Doctor Lindstrom nodded. "I'll have him moved to a regular ward. Someone will be by to let you know when you can see him."
"Thank you doctor."
As the doctor left, Gideon turned to his team. "No one tells Reid about this."
They all agreed.
Saturday
Waking up was never Reid's favorite part of the day, and today was no different. His mouth was dry and his body felt stiff, as if he had lain in the same position too long. He heard sounds around him, and took a little time to identify them before opening his eyes. Pen strokes on paper, keystrokes on a computer, a muted TV, some other scraping sound he could not decipher. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking a little.
He was in a hospital room, and he was not alone. The rest of the BAU had apparently moved in too. He had a distant memory of seeing them all last night, but between painkillers and fatigue, he had no real memory of what had been said or done.
He was in a semi-private room, but the other bed held no patient. Instead Elle and JJ had made camp there. They sat opposite each other with their computers set up on a table between them. Hotchner sat in a chair by the other wall scribbling on a legal pad. Gideon sat next to him. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest, head leaned back and eyes closed, though Reid could not tell whether or not he was asleep. Morgan sat in a chair by Reid's bedside. He had his feet up on the bed and was watching a basketball match on TV. The unidentified sound came from the Jell-O jar he was scraping out with a plastic spoon.
"Isn't that supposed to be for me?" Reid asked, making Morgan jump and take his feet down.
"Oh, you're awake." He looked at the empty cup in his hand. "I could get you another."
Reid shook his head. "Water?"
"Sure."
Morgan raised the head of the bed up to get Reid into a sitting position. He then took a cup with a straw from the bedside table and filled it, and helped Reid hold the cup as he drank.
"What are you all doing here?" Reid asked.
"The case is pretty much wrapped up, and we've done all we can here. The rest is up to the sheriff and Dammers." Hotchner explained. "They want us back at Quantico, so we're flying back tonight, but Gideon will stay with you."
"You don't have to stay," Reid said immediately.
"I know," Gideon replied smiling. "But I'm staying,"
"So, what's going on with the case?" Reid asked, trying to hide his pleasure at Gideon's answer.
"Mason, or Norwood, whatever you want to call him, has clammed up completely," Elle said. "But we're hoping for a confession, to spare us all a long trial. Otherwise the physical evidence from the house is plentiful, they have found all the victims' fingerprints in the basement and in the bathroom."
"I'll testify if it's needed," Reid offered.
"We figured as much," Morgan replied.
"You should make sure he gets a psychiatric evaluation too, I think I saw some evidence of split personality disorder."
"I'll tell Dammers," Elle promised.
"You've become a bona fide hero," JJ said.
"I have?" Reid said in surprise.
"Absolutely," she smiled. "The Sanders are singing your praise world wide, and so is Dammers."
"Dammers? Really?"
"Yes, she is really impressed with you," Elle said. "She's been having a hard time with the press though. She's basically being crucified for not bringing us in sooner. Especially by the other victims' parents."
"But me being kidnapped was a coincidence," Reid said. "We might not have found the unsub otherwise."
"We know that, but it looks very different to those grieving," Gideon said. "This whole town has a very long healing process ahead of it."
"Reid, we need to talk to you about something," Hotchner said.
Reid hung his head and fiddled with the blanket beneath his hand, expecting a rebuke.
"On this case you have," Hotchner continued, "conducted yourself in a dignified and mature manner beyond your service years. You have gone above and beyond your duty and shown an awe-inspiring sense of responsibility, courage and compassion. The bureau is grateful to have you."
Reid was gaping, his cheeks burning hot. "But… but I thought…." he stammered
"We're all mighty proud of you, Reid," Gideon said.
"Yeah," Morgan chimed in, "Remember, you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."
Reid looked at him with his eyebrows raised. "Isn't that a quote from Winnie the Pooh?" he asked.
Morgan looked embarrassed. "It's still valid," he said as Elle cuffed him lightly on the head.
"Anyway," Hotchner said. "The important thing here is for all of us to remember that a crime can be blamed on nobody but the criminal. And that means that no one here is at fault. No one," he said a little sharper, looking at Morgan.
Reid looked between them, his eyes widening when he caught the implication. "No, no, no," he said, turning to Morgan. "If this isn't my fault, it cannot possibly be your fault, that's just illogical."
"But I sent…."
"You asked me to go get food, Morgan. That's all."
"But…"
"No buts, Morgan," Reid said harshly. "This isn't your fault. Live with it."
Morgan couldn't find any argument to contradict him, which made him slowly come to terms with the truth in his friends' words. He knew the feelings would live on, at least for a while, but he now knew how to deal with them and he was grateful.
There was a knock at the door and the team turned to see Bailey and Mrs. Sanders standing in the open door. Mrs. Sanders stayed at the door, but Bailey wasn't the slightest bit unsure of his welcome. He marched right into the room and clambered up on the chair Morgan had vacated and from there he climbed up on the bed, making Elle scramble to move all tubes and wires out of the way. Reid shifted to make room for the boy who sat crossed-legged at his side.
"Hi Spencer," he said.
"Hi Bailey." Reid was pleasantly surprised to hear Bailey talking.
The boy held a gray and white stuffed dog in his hand. He put it on Reid's stomach and let it walk up his chest until it hit Reid's chin.
"This is Pox," he informed Reid.
"Pox?"
"Yes, Daddy bought him for me when I had the chicken pox. You can kiss him if you want."
"Oh. Okay," Reid said and pressed a somewhat embarrassed kiss on the stuffed head.
Bailey looked around, clearly annoyed. "Where is your teddy bear?"
"I don't have one."
Bailey frowned. "But you have to have a teddy bear when you're in the hospital, to keep you company at night, my Daddy says so."
The adults in the room all hid their smiles, as Bailey himself was very serious.
"Don't worry, Bailey, I'll make sure he has a teddy bear before he goes to sleep tonight," Morgan said.
Bailey flinched a little when the man spoke and moved closer to Reid, but he seemed pleased with the offer.
Morgan signaled for the rest of the team to follow him out, to give Reid and Bailey time alone. The last thing they heard was Bailey saying, "Guess what, grandma is baking oatmeal cookies for you too, so I can come back and visit you tomorrow too."
Gideon and Mrs. Sanders stayed in the door to keep an eye on their charges as the rest of the team went to the gift shop to find the perfect teddy bear for Reid.
"How's he doing?" Gideon asked.
Mrs. Sanders sighed. "He's doing well, I suppose. It's still so fresh, though. We had our first meeting with a child psychologist today, and it went well. He won't go anywhere without keeping me or my husband in sight, and both he and his sister seem to have moved in permanently in our bedroom. And at the moment I'm glad to have them. You must know how very grateful we are to have our son back."
"Of course."
"What that young man did for our son, we can never repay him for that."
"He wouldn't expect you to even try." Gideon said. "Can I ask you for a favor?"
"Of course," Mrs. Sanders agreed. "Anything."
"I think it would be good for both Reid and Bailey if they were to keep in touch."
"Absolutely."
That night found Reid soundly asleep in his hospital bed, watched over by a panda teddy bear named Einstein and Gideon snoring in the next bed.
The End
Next story in series - What's In a Name?.
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