Second Childhood
Part 18
7-8 December 2011
By Wednesday morning, they were starting to suspect there might be two Unsubs, and one of them might be a member of local law enforcement, but Garcia was still researching and trying to find the information that would allow them to narrow down their search. When it was break time, Spencer went outside unwillingly to wander around the empty parking lot of the motel for a breath of fresh, cold air. When he came back, he took off his boots and climbed up onto the bed, then started to jump.
“Spencer, do you have to do that?” Garcia asked, her usual cheerful self sounding close to being annoyed.
“Yes,” he said. “There isn’t much else I can do in here for exercise, unless you want me to take another member of the team away from the investigation so we can go for a walk.”
“Can’t you jump on the floor, then?”
“This is more fun. And I’ll be done in a minute.”
Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Garcia got up, but the door opened from the outside. “Hey, can I come in?”
“Deputy Wagoner,” Garcia exclaimed. “Hi!”
“Hi. Agent Morgan asked me to bring this over? Background files,” the deputy announced, holding out a large box.
“I thought we already got those?” Garcia asked. Spencer continued to bounce on the mattress, watching the exchange.
“There were more. Maybe there’s something here that you can use.”
“Yeah. Can you just put it over there on the floor? Thanks.”
The deputy put the box between the beds where she’d indicated, because there was no other room, and said, “Hi, munchkin, looks like you’ve run out of books already. I can take you to the library if you want.”
“I’ve still got some,” Spencer said. “I’m just taking a quick break from reading, but thanks for the offer.”
Thinking that the deputy surely had better things to do in the middle of a kidnapping case than to take a kid to the library, and that he should get back to work himself, Spencer bounced over to the far side of the bed and made a final jump to the floor. When he turned back, he saw Garcia slumping in the deputy’s arm and the deputy pulling a syringe out of her neck.
“Garcia!” he cried, running not to her, but to the array of laptops to call for help. He wasn’t quick enough to make a connection, however, before the deputy had grabbed him and pushed him onto the bed. Spencer screamed as the man duct-taped his hands together behind his back, flipped him over and slapped a strip of tape over his mouth, then bound his legs together as well. Once he was secure, Wagoner picked him up and carried him out to the police cruiser. Spencer tried to wiggle and kick as much as he could, but was unable to escape, or even slow the deputy down. And of course there was nobody in the motel parking lot to notice such a blatant kidnapping. Wagoner stuffed him facedown onto the floor between the seats, then got in the front and drove off.
Spencer forced himself to calm down and keep track of the drive, noting any turns, and trying to estimate how long they drove straight ahead. Although he had done similar exercises in FBI training, this time was much harder because it was real and not a simulation, and he was truly scared. He’d seen what the Unsub had done to the children, and it wasn’t pretty. Thinking that he might end up dead reminded him of a case he’d read about, where a girl had managed to leave her DNA on the inside of the trunk of a car by licking as much of it as she could reach. With the tape on his mouth, Spencer couldn’t lick, but he could rub his head against the back of the seat, and the floor mats, and try to leave hairs for forensic evidence.
When they stopped, Wagoner plucked him out of the car and hurried him into a barn. Spencer only got a quick look at the surroundings, but it was bleak, only snow-covered fields and a few trees near a mobile tower. If there was a house nearby, he couldn’t see it, but the mobile tower gave him hope. In the barn, Wagoner knelt down and pulled up a trap door, letting it bang noisily on the floor as he dropped it open, then took Spencer down a set of wooden steps. The space below was cold and unlit, and even before Wagoner dropped him on an old, smelly and scratchy blanket, Spencer started to scream behind the tape at the thought of being trapped in the dark.
“I’ll give you something to scream about, oh, yeah,” Wagoner said, sounding much too eager. Spencer heard the jingle of keys, then the click of a lock and the squeak of a metal door. A moment later, light flooded the room and Wagoner hung a battery-operated lamp from a hook on the ceiling. He was standing next to a metal cabinet, and inside, Spencer saw shelves holding various implements of torture. The sight made him feel sick, especially when Wagoner reached for something on the top shelf and brought down a riding crop, then closed the door again.
“No!” Spencer tried to shout. To his surprise, Wagoner ripped the tape from his mouth, then flipped him over onto his front.
“No, please don’t hurt me, I won’t scream anymore, I’ll be good!” Spencer cried.
“I want to hear you scream. I like it when you scream,” Wagoner said. He put the crop down briefly in oder to open the zipper of his trousers, then picked the crop up again. Burying his free hand in Spencer’s hair and holding his head in place with it, he lifted the crop and brought it down hard on Spencer’s legs.
Spencer gritted his teeth together and tried not to give Wagoner the satisfaction, but the second blow was too painful, and the third one landed, either by accident or design, across the sides of his hands, and he screeched, and kept on screeching and sobbing until Wagoner was finally finished.
“I knew you’d be a good screamer,” Wagoner sighed, cleaning himself on a corner of the blanket before zipping his trousers up again. “That was so good, even for a quickie. I have to go now, but we’ll do it again soon. Just me and you. I won’t let him have you just yet.”
He put the crop back where it belonged, unhooked the lantern and turned it off, put it back as well, then locked the cabinet and went back up the steps. Afraid, in pain, surrounded by darkness, Spencer lay there and howled. He wanted the light and comfort and hugs. He wanted Hotch!
Even as he cried, however, part of his mind was telling him to pull himself together. Hotch was in a completely different state and couldn’t come anyway. Nobody knew where he was, and it might be hours or even days before the team narrowed their suspect pool down to Wagoner, so if he was going to survive this, it would all be up to him, and nobody else. Eventually, he forced himself to stop crying and concentrate on the first step. If he could just get his hands free, he could try to get his phone out.
It took a lot of wiggling and stretching, and grimacing with the pain of the bruises from the crop, but Spencer managed to wriggle around so that he was on his back, then lift his legs up so that his feet went over his head. Pulling his arms apart as far as the duct tape would allow, he worked them over his buttocks and upper thighs. There was one terrible moment when he thought he might get stuck like that and die of slow asphyxiation, but he wiggled, pushed, pulled and contorted some more. It was one of the few times that he was happy for his five-year-old body, knowing he wouldn’t have been half as limber as an adult. Finally, he was able to slide his legs back through so that his arms were in front. Breathing hard, Spencer then set to work chewing on the duct tape around his wrists, and although he lost a tooth in the process, he eventually managed to bite through.
With his hands free, he peeled the tape from his jeans, hissing at the pain in his hands, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and switched it on. It produced a welcome green light that made him blink away fresh tears. He remembered how the SHIELD agent had frisked him and taken his phone, but Wagoner hadn’t done any such thing. The deputy probably hadn’t expected someone as young as five to even know how a cell phone worked, let alone carry one. But Spencer’s relief was short-lived when he discovered that there was no signal. He moved around the room, checking and hoping, and finally went up the steps to crouch at the top. One bar appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again when he moved the phone slightly. He used the finger that hurt the least to call Morgan, watching the bar intently and urging it not to disappear a second time.
“Reid? Spencer?” Morgan’s voice was faint, but audible, and Spencer called out desperately. “Morgan! There are two Unsubs and one of them is Deputy Wagoner!”
“Deputy?” Morgan asked. “Say again?”
“Wagoner!” Spencer shouted. “Wagoner is one of the Unsubs!”
“Wagoner is one of the Unsubs?” Morgan repeated, and Spencer wanted to start crying all over again from sheer relief.
“He’s the submissive partner! There’s also a dominant Unsub, but I don’t know who! Morgan, I’m in a barn! In a cellar room underneath a barn! There’s a cell phone tower nearby!”
“Are you –“ but then the signal failed and the rest of Morgan’s question did not get through. The bar disappeared and did not come back, no matter how Spencer moved the phone around. Eventually, he put it on the step and tried to lift the trap door, but it was secured from the outside. He slumped a little in defeat, but recognised that the next step was staying alive long enough for the team to find him Using the phone to light his way, he moved stiffly down the steps and got onto the wooden shelf again. Folding one end of the blanket around his stocking feet in an attempt to warm them up, Spencer curled up and pulled the other end of the blanket up over his head. He kept the phone in his hand, staring down at the light, and wishing he could call Hotch while he waited.
After two hours of shivering without rescue, Spencer got out from under the blanket and went up the steps to try calling again. No matter how he moved the phone, however, no signal appeared, and he finally gave up. He’d try again later, he told himself as he wrapped up in the blanket again. It was very cold. He flexed his feet back and forth, back and forth to keep the blood moving, and wished he were in his bed in Hotch’s apartment, nice and warm, with Boney to keep him company, and maybe even the teddy bear that Jack had given him when he was sick. But mostly, he wished for warm, human arms to hold him close and tell him everything was going to be all right.
He checked cell phone coverage every hour, and was rewarded once with a single bar, but it disappeared halfway through the ring tone, and did not come back. The disappointment made him cry again, and he wondered if he were starting to develop a kind of dissociative identity disorder between Dr Reid, thirty-year-old FBI agent, and Spencer, five-year-old crybaby. Except that he wasn’t dissociating between the two identities; he was still clear and present in both of them. It would make a fascinating scientific study – if only it were happening to someone else.
After several hours of captivity, Spencer finally heard footsteps from above. His first thought was that it was Morgan, here to rescue him at last, but then he realised it might still be Wagoner. He got up from the wooden shelf, stifling a groan at the pain and another at the thought of leaving the meager warmth of the blanket, and made his way stiffly to the space below the steps just as the trapdoor opened. If Wagoner came down, Spencer could reach through the open space between the steps and grab his ankle, hopefully making him fall. It might give him a chance to escape.
The beam of a flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating the empty shelf, and Morgan called out, “Reid! Reid, you in here?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m here!”
He came out from behind the steps and Morgan came down, holstering his gun and sticking his flashlight into his belt so that he had both hands free for a hug. “Hey, Pretty Boy, sorry it took so long. You okay?”
“Ye—ahhh!” Spencer cried out as Morgan lifted him up by his bruised backside.
“Whoa, what hurts?”
“Just a few bruises,” Spencer said, trying to hug Morgan’s warmth into his own body. His teeth chattered as he said, “G-G-Get me out of here, please, Morgan.”
“I’ll get you to the hospital right away,” Morgan shouted as he carried Spencer back up the steps and out of the barn. It was dark outside and the only illumination came from the headlights of police cruiser parked nearby.
“You found him? Is he okay?”
It was a strange voice, a man that Spencer hadn’t seen before, and he wrapped his arms and legs tightly around Morgan in panic. “Who’s that?”
“It’s all right, it’s just the sheriff,” Morgan said.
“Wagoner has a d-d-dominant p-p-partner, d-d-did you find him?” Spencer asked, stuttering a little because he was shivering. “Because it c-c-could be anybody Wagoner worked with, even the sheriff.”
“We found Wagoner’s partner, that’s what took us so long to find you. I’ll tell you the whole story later, but you remember the lady who came with Wagoner to pick us up at the airfield? It was her brother. The sheriff had nothing to do with the crime. Now, you gonna let go of me so we can get you in the car and get you to the hospital?”
“I d-d-don’t need a hospital. I’m n-n-not hurt, just a bit c-c-cold.”
“Hey, Sheriff, you got a blanket or something?” Morgan asked. “This kid’s freezing!”
The sheriff got a blanket out of the trunk, and Spencer couldn’t help flinching away as he approached. The blanket looked suspiciously like the one from the cellar room, even if it smelled better.
“Hotch’ll have my head on a plate if you come home with one single bruise or scratch, and he finds out I didn’t take you to the hospital to have it checked out,” Morgan said, helping to tuck the blanket around Spencer. “And he’ll kill me even more if all your toes fall off from frostbite.”
The sheriff opened the back door to the police car and Morgan set Spencer in the seat. The pressure on his bruises hurt, but he only grimaced and clenched his teeth to avoid making a sound.
“Speaking of t-t-toes, c-c-can you wrap my feet up?” he asked. “They’re really c-c-cold.”
Morgan bundled the blanket around his feet and buckled the seatbelt over the blanket. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Spencer watched as Morgan went around the front of the car, but got into the backseat with him.
“There’s a medical clinic in the next town,” the sheriff said as they drove off. “It’ll take us about forty minutes to get there.”
The police car was warm, and despite the tingling of returning circulation in his arms and legs, Spencer dozed off before they arrived at the clinic. After diagnosing mild hypothermia, the doctor also took a closer look at Spencer’s bruises, which ran in stripes from his buttocks to the backs of his knees, and on the sides of his hands, but decided that x-rays could wait until the next day, when he would be properly warmed up. Morgan helped Spencer dress in hospital-issue pyjamas, and tucked him into a hospital bed with a cup of warm chocolate, a bowl of warm soup, and a hot water bottle at his feet. The nurse, obviously thinking he was an ordinary five-year-old, even brought in a well-worn stuffed dog for Spencer to cuddle overnight.
“Tell me how you caught the Unsubs,” Spencer said. His hands were no longer shaking and though they hurt, he could feed himself, so he ate while Morgan described how Spencer’s phone call had alerted them to Wagoner. He had apparently come back to work, acting as though everything was fine, but had then gone off to investigate a “tip,” which meant the BAU team had spent precious time and resources trying to find him. Garcia had also slept several hours after her sedative, but had finally woken up at about the time Wagoner had led them right to his dominant partner. Still a big groggy, but determined to do her best, Garcia had researched property on the internet and found some in the name of the partner which matched Spencer’s description of a barn near a cell phone tower. The sheriff, who knew the place well enough, had led Morgan there while the others were out making the arrests.
“And I guess that’s your bedtime story,” Morgan finished.
“And the BAU caught the Unsubs and then they all went back to work happily ever after,” Spencer said with a smile. “That’s the best ending.”
“Kid, you got a strange idea of a happy ending,” Morgan said. “Working happily ever after?”
“I know, I’m weird,” Spencer said, then yawned. “Are you going to stay with me, Morgan?”
“All night long,” Morgan reassured him with a fond smile. “Now get some sleep.”
But as glad as Spencer was that Morgan was there, he still wished it were Hotch, especially when he woke from a nightmare.
The next morning, x-rays showed that nothing was broken, not even in Spencer’s hands, and he was released from the clinic. They went for lunch at a family restaurant nearby, and when he was finished eating but the others were lingering over their meal, Spencer pulled out his phone and dialled Hotch.
It rang three times and then Hotch answered. “Spencer? Where are you?”
“We’re still in Oklahoma, but we’re flying back this afternoon,” Spencer replied.
“Oklahoma?” Hotch repeated, as though he’d never heard of the state.
“Yeah, we had a case, but it’s over now and we should be back in Quantico by supper time. How are you doing? Should I still stay with Emily?”
“Did you tell me you were staying with Emily?”
“Yes, at the hospital, before your MRI scan. You might not remember; you were kind of groggy. Jessica was there, though, she can confirm it,” Spencer said. A little worried now, he asked, “Hotch, are you all right? Are you out of the hospital yet? What did they say?”
“I’ve been out of the hospital since Monday,” Hotch said. “It was a mild concussion.”
“So, you’re home?”
“Yes, I’m home, and Jessica is staying over, just as a precaution, until I’m cleared for work again.”
Spencer felt his heart sink a little at the thought that Jessica was there, and wondered where she was sleeping. Had she taken over his part of the bunk bed, right under Jack? But instead, he asked, “How are you feeling? Do you have any headaches? Is your vision blurry? Do you ever feel off-balance?”
“Spencer, slow down, you’re not my doctor,” Hotch said with a little laugh. “I’m fine and I’m not having any post-concussion symptoms. I’ve got a follow-up appointment on Monday and I expect to be back at work on Tuesday.”
“Okay. That’s good. So, um, Hotch, can I come home?” As soon as he’d said it, he wondered when he’d started thinking of Hotch’s apartment as home.
“Yes, Spencer, you can come home,” Hotch said, and in the same loving tone of voice he used for Jack, he added, “It’s been strange not having you around. I’ve missed you, buddy.”
“I missed you, too, Hotch,” Spencer replied. “I’ll see you then!”
Feeling much better, Spencer ended the call, and glanced around the large table where they were all sitting. “Hotch says he’s fine and he expects to be back at work on Tuesday. JJ, you live closest to him, can you drive me there when we get home, and pick me up for work to-morrow? “
“Sure,” JJ said.
“Whoa, whoa, not happening, kid,” Morgan put in. “You can go home to-night, but you’re definitely not coming in to work to-morrow.”
Spencer looked at him in confusion. “What? Why?”
“Do you really think I don’t see you wiggling around because you can’t sit properly on those bruises?” Morgan asked.
“Yes, but my office chair is much softer than this one,” Spencer pointed out. It was true; the chair he was currently sitting on was made of hard wood, but his office chair was nicely padded.
“Well, you and your office chair will just have to wait until you’ve been cleared for work by one of the Bureau’s psychologists. Or did you forget that a psych eval is regulation for an agent who’s been abducted and tortured?”
“I didn’t forget,” Spencer said, but he felt himself slump slightly as he admitted, “I just wasn’t thinking of it at the moment.”
“Actually, I’m amazed Hotch didn’t send you to a psychologist after what happened with SHIELD,” Morgan went on.
“Because I wasn’t abducted and tortured by SHIELD!” Spencer cried. Realising that everybody in the restaurant was suddenly staring at their table, he lowered his voice. “They just took me into custody and questioned me, they didn’t hit me.”
“You had a nightmare last night about –“
“Derek, don’t.” Spencer deliberately used his first name as a warning for Morgan not to spill the details about his nightmare to the entire team.
“Just sayin’ that you’ve been through a lot lately, what with this abduction, SHIELD, and the whole de-aging thing,” Morgan went on. “I’d have nightmares, too.”
“I might have the occasional bad dream, but I can still do my job,” Spencer stated.
“I wasn’t suggesting you couldn’t, man,” Morgan said, but he looked contemplatively at Spencer for a long time before finally glancing away.
Part 19
Part 17
Return to Criminal Minds Page
By Wednesday morning, they were starting to suspect there might be two Unsubs, and one of them might be a member of local law enforcement, but Garcia was still researching and trying to find the information that would allow them to narrow down their search. When it was break time, Spencer went outside unwillingly to wander around the empty parking lot of the motel for a breath of fresh, cold air. When he came back, he took off his boots and climbed up onto the bed, then started to jump.
“Spencer, do you have to do that?” Garcia asked, her usual cheerful self sounding close to being annoyed.
“Yes,” he said. “There isn’t much else I can do in here for exercise, unless you want me to take another member of the team away from the investigation so we can go for a walk.”
“Can’t you jump on the floor, then?”
“This is more fun. And I’ll be done in a minute.”
Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Garcia got up, but the door opened from the outside. “Hey, can I come in?”
“Deputy Wagoner,” Garcia exclaimed. “Hi!”
“Hi. Agent Morgan asked me to bring this over? Background files,” the deputy announced, holding out a large box.
“I thought we already got those?” Garcia asked. Spencer continued to bounce on the mattress, watching the exchange.
“There were more. Maybe there’s something here that you can use.”
“Yeah. Can you just put it over there on the floor? Thanks.”
The deputy put the box between the beds where she’d indicated, because there was no other room, and said, “Hi, munchkin, looks like you’ve run out of books already. I can take you to the library if you want.”
“I’ve still got some,” Spencer said. “I’m just taking a quick break from reading, but thanks for the offer.”
Thinking that the deputy surely had better things to do in the middle of a kidnapping case than to take a kid to the library, and that he should get back to work himself, Spencer bounced over to the far side of the bed and made a final jump to the floor. When he turned back, he saw Garcia slumping in the deputy’s arm and the deputy pulling a syringe out of her neck.
“Garcia!” he cried, running not to her, but to the array of laptops to call for help. He wasn’t quick enough to make a connection, however, before the deputy had grabbed him and pushed him onto the bed. Spencer screamed as the man duct-taped his hands together behind his back, flipped him over and slapped a strip of tape over his mouth, then bound his legs together as well. Once he was secure, Wagoner picked him up and carried him out to the police cruiser. Spencer tried to wiggle and kick as much as he could, but was unable to escape, or even slow the deputy down. And of course there was nobody in the motel parking lot to notice such a blatant kidnapping. Wagoner stuffed him facedown onto the floor between the seats, then got in the front and drove off.
Spencer forced himself to calm down and keep track of the drive, noting any turns, and trying to estimate how long they drove straight ahead. Although he had done similar exercises in FBI training, this time was much harder because it was real and not a simulation, and he was truly scared. He’d seen what the Unsub had done to the children, and it wasn’t pretty. Thinking that he might end up dead reminded him of a case he’d read about, where a girl had managed to leave her DNA on the inside of the trunk of a car by licking as much of it as she could reach. With the tape on his mouth, Spencer couldn’t lick, but he could rub his head against the back of the seat, and the floor mats, and try to leave hairs for forensic evidence.
When they stopped, Wagoner plucked him out of the car and hurried him into a barn. Spencer only got a quick look at the surroundings, but it was bleak, only snow-covered fields and a few trees near a mobile tower. If there was a house nearby, he couldn’t see it, but the mobile tower gave him hope. In the barn, Wagoner knelt down and pulled up a trap door, letting it bang noisily on the floor as he dropped it open, then took Spencer down a set of wooden steps. The space below was cold and unlit, and even before Wagoner dropped him on an old, smelly and scratchy blanket, Spencer started to scream behind the tape at the thought of being trapped in the dark.
“I’ll give you something to scream about, oh, yeah,” Wagoner said, sounding much too eager. Spencer heard the jingle of keys, then the click of a lock and the squeak of a metal door. A moment later, light flooded the room and Wagoner hung a battery-operated lamp from a hook on the ceiling. He was standing next to a metal cabinet, and inside, Spencer saw shelves holding various implements of torture. The sight made him feel sick, especially when Wagoner reached for something on the top shelf and brought down a riding crop, then closed the door again.
“No!” Spencer tried to shout. To his surprise, Wagoner ripped the tape from his mouth, then flipped him over onto his front.
“No, please don’t hurt me, I won’t scream anymore, I’ll be good!” Spencer cried.
“I want to hear you scream. I like it when you scream,” Wagoner said. He put the crop down briefly in oder to open the zipper of his trousers, then picked the crop up again. Burying his free hand in Spencer’s hair and holding his head in place with it, he lifted the crop and brought it down hard on Spencer’s legs.
Spencer gritted his teeth together and tried not to give Wagoner the satisfaction, but the second blow was too painful, and the third one landed, either by accident or design, across the sides of his hands, and he screeched, and kept on screeching and sobbing until Wagoner was finally finished.
“I knew you’d be a good screamer,” Wagoner sighed, cleaning himself on a corner of the blanket before zipping his trousers up again. “That was so good, even for a quickie. I have to go now, but we’ll do it again soon. Just me and you. I won’t let him have you just yet.”
He put the crop back where it belonged, unhooked the lantern and turned it off, put it back as well, then locked the cabinet and went back up the steps. Afraid, in pain, surrounded by darkness, Spencer lay there and howled. He wanted the light and comfort and hugs. He wanted Hotch!
Even as he cried, however, part of his mind was telling him to pull himself together. Hotch was in a completely different state and couldn’t come anyway. Nobody knew where he was, and it might be hours or even days before the team narrowed their suspect pool down to Wagoner, so if he was going to survive this, it would all be up to him, and nobody else. Eventually, he forced himself to stop crying and concentrate on the first step. If he could just get his hands free, he could try to get his phone out.
It took a lot of wiggling and stretching, and grimacing with the pain of the bruises from the crop, but Spencer managed to wriggle around so that he was on his back, then lift his legs up so that his feet went over his head. Pulling his arms apart as far as the duct tape would allow, he worked them over his buttocks and upper thighs. There was one terrible moment when he thought he might get stuck like that and die of slow asphyxiation, but he wiggled, pushed, pulled and contorted some more. It was one of the few times that he was happy for his five-year-old body, knowing he wouldn’t have been half as limber as an adult. Finally, he was able to slide his legs back through so that his arms were in front. Breathing hard, Spencer then set to work chewing on the duct tape around his wrists, and although he lost a tooth in the process, he eventually managed to bite through.
With his hands free, he peeled the tape from his jeans, hissing at the pain in his hands, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and switched it on. It produced a welcome green light that made him blink away fresh tears. He remembered how the SHIELD agent had frisked him and taken his phone, but Wagoner hadn’t done any such thing. The deputy probably hadn’t expected someone as young as five to even know how a cell phone worked, let alone carry one. But Spencer’s relief was short-lived when he discovered that there was no signal. He moved around the room, checking and hoping, and finally went up the steps to crouch at the top. One bar appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again when he moved the phone slightly. He used the finger that hurt the least to call Morgan, watching the bar intently and urging it not to disappear a second time.
“Reid? Spencer?” Morgan’s voice was faint, but audible, and Spencer called out desperately. “Morgan! There are two Unsubs and one of them is Deputy Wagoner!”
“Deputy?” Morgan asked. “Say again?”
“Wagoner!” Spencer shouted. “Wagoner is one of the Unsubs!”
“Wagoner is one of the Unsubs?” Morgan repeated, and Spencer wanted to start crying all over again from sheer relief.
“He’s the submissive partner! There’s also a dominant Unsub, but I don’t know who! Morgan, I’m in a barn! In a cellar room underneath a barn! There’s a cell phone tower nearby!”
“Are you –“ but then the signal failed and the rest of Morgan’s question did not get through. The bar disappeared and did not come back, no matter how Spencer moved the phone around. Eventually, he put it on the step and tried to lift the trap door, but it was secured from the outside. He slumped a little in defeat, but recognised that the next step was staying alive long enough for the team to find him Using the phone to light his way, he moved stiffly down the steps and got onto the wooden shelf again. Folding one end of the blanket around his stocking feet in an attempt to warm them up, Spencer curled up and pulled the other end of the blanket up over his head. He kept the phone in his hand, staring down at the light, and wishing he could call Hotch while he waited.
After two hours of shivering without rescue, Spencer got out from under the blanket and went up the steps to try calling again. No matter how he moved the phone, however, no signal appeared, and he finally gave up. He’d try again later, he told himself as he wrapped up in the blanket again. It was very cold. He flexed his feet back and forth, back and forth to keep the blood moving, and wished he were in his bed in Hotch’s apartment, nice and warm, with Boney to keep him company, and maybe even the teddy bear that Jack had given him when he was sick. But mostly, he wished for warm, human arms to hold him close and tell him everything was going to be all right.
He checked cell phone coverage every hour, and was rewarded once with a single bar, but it disappeared halfway through the ring tone, and did not come back. The disappointment made him cry again, and he wondered if he were starting to develop a kind of dissociative identity disorder between Dr Reid, thirty-year-old FBI agent, and Spencer, five-year-old crybaby. Except that he wasn’t dissociating between the two identities; he was still clear and present in both of them. It would make a fascinating scientific study – if only it were happening to someone else.
After several hours of captivity, Spencer finally heard footsteps from above. His first thought was that it was Morgan, here to rescue him at last, but then he realised it might still be Wagoner. He got up from the wooden shelf, stifling a groan at the pain and another at the thought of leaving the meager warmth of the blanket, and made his way stiffly to the space below the steps just as the trapdoor opened. If Wagoner came down, Spencer could reach through the open space between the steps and grab his ankle, hopefully making him fall. It might give him a chance to escape.
The beam of a flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating the empty shelf, and Morgan called out, “Reid! Reid, you in here?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m here!”
He came out from behind the steps and Morgan came down, holstering his gun and sticking his flashlight into his belt so that he had both hands free for a hug. “Hey, Pretty Boy, sorry it took so long. You okay?”
“Ye—ahhh!” Spencer cried out as Morgan lifted him up by his bruised backside.
“Whoa, what hurts?”
“Just a few bruises,” Spencer said, trying to hug Morgan’s warmth into his own body. His teeth chattered as he said, “G-G-Get me out of here, please, Morgan.”
“I’ll get you to the hospital right away,” Morgan shouted as he carried Spencer back up the steps and out of the barn. It was dark outside and the only illumination came from the headlights of police cruiser parked nearby.
“You found him? Is he okay?”
It was a strange voice, a man that Spencer hadn’t seen before, and he wrapped his arms and legs tightly around Morgan in panic. “Who’s that?”
“It’s all right, it’s just the sheriff,” Morgan said.
“Wagoner has a d-d-dominant p-p-partner, d-d-did you find him?” Spencer asked, stuttering a little because he was shivering. “Because it c-c-could be anybody Wagoner worked with, even the sheriff.”
“We found Wagoner’s partner, that’s what took us so long to find you. I’ll tell you the whole story later, but you remember the lady who came with Wagoner to pick us up at the airfield? It was her brother. The sheriff had nothing to do with the crime. Now, you gonna let go of me so we can get you in the car and get you to the hospital?”
“I d-d-don’t need a hospital. I’m n-n-not hurt, just a bit c-c-cold.”
“Hey, Sheriff, you got a blanket or something?” Morgan asked. “This kid’s freezing!”
The sheriff got a blanket out of the trunk, and Spencer couldn’t help flinching away as he approached. The blanket looked suspiciously like the one from the cellar room, even if it smelled better.
“Hotch’ll have my head on a plate if you come home with one single bruise or scratch, and he finds out I didn’t take you to the hospital to have it checked out,” Morgan said, helping to tuck the blanket around Spencer. “And he’ll kill me even more if all your toes fall off from frostbite.”
The sheriff opened the back door to the police car and Morgan set Spencer in the seat. The pressure on his bruises hurt, but he only grimaced and clenched his teeth to avoid making a sound.
“Speaking of t-t-toes, c-c-can you wrap my feet up?” he asked. “They’re really c-c-cold.”
Morgan bundled the blanket around his feet and buckled the seatbelt over the blanket. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Spencer watched as Morgan went around the front of the car, but got into the backseat with him.
“There’s a medical clinic in the next town,” the sheriff said as they drove off. “It’ll take us about forty minutes to get there.”
The police car was warm, and despite the tingling of returning circulation in his arms and legs, Spencer dozed off before they arrived at the clinic. After diagnosing mild hypothermia, the doctor also took a closer look at Spencer’s bruises, which ran in stripes from his buttocks to the backs of his knees, and on the sides of his hands, but decided that x-rays could wait until the next day, when he would be properly warmed up. Morgan helped Spencer dress in hospital-issue pyjamas, and tucked him into a hospital bed with a cup of warm chocolate, a bowl of warm soup, and a hot water bottle at his feet. The nurse, obviously thinking he was an ordinary five-year-old, even brought in a well-worn stuffed dog for Spencer to cuddle overnight.
“Tell me how you caught the Unsubs,” Spencer said. His hands were no longer shaking and though they hurt, he could feed himself, so he ate while Morgan described how Spencer’s phone call had alerted them to Wagoner. He had apparently come back to work, acting as though everything was fine, but had then gone off to investigate a “tip,” which meant the BAU team had spent precious time and resources trying to find him. Garcia had also slept several hours after her sedative, but had finally woken up at about the time Wagoner had led them right to his dominant partner. Still a big groggy, but determined to do her best, Garcia had researched property on the internet and found some in the name of the partner which matched Spencer’s description of a barn near a cell phone tower. The sheriff, who knew the place well enough, had led Morgan there while the others were out making the arrests.
“And I guess that’s your bedtime story,” Morgan finished.
“And the BAU caught the Unsubs and then they all went back to work happily ever after,” Spencer said with a smile. “That’s the best ending.”
“Kid, you got a strange idea of a happy ending,” Morgan said. “Working happily ever after?”
“I know, I’m weird,” Spencer said, then yawned. “Are you going to stay with me, Morgan?”
“All night long,” Morgan reassured him with a fond smile. “Now get some sleep.”
But as glad as Spencer was that Morgan was there, he still wished it were Hotch, especially when he woke from a nightmare.
The next morning, x-rays showed that nothing was broken, not even in Spencer’s hands, and he was released from the clinic. They went for lunch at a family restaurant nearby, and when he was finished eating but the others were lingering over their meal, Spencer pulled out his phone and dialled Hotch.
It rang three times and then Hotch answered. “Spencer? Where are you?”
“We’re still in Oklahoma, but we’re flying back this afternoon,” Spencer replied.
“Oklahoma?” Hotch repeated, as though he’d never heard of the state.
“Yeah, we had a case, but it’s over now and we should be back in Quantico by supper time. How are you doing? Should I still stay with Emily?”
“Did you tell me you were staying with Emily?”
“Yes, at the hospital, before your MRI scan. You might not remember; you were kind of groggy. Jessica was there, though, she can confirm it,” Spencer said. A little worried now, he asked, “Hotch, are you all right? Are you out of the hospital yet? What did they say?”
“I’ve been out of the hospital since Monday,” Hotch said. “It was a mild concussion.”
“So, you’re home?”
“Yes, I’m home, and Jessica is staying over, just as a precaution, until I’m cleared for work again.”
Spencer felt his heart sink a little at the thought that Jessica was there, and wondered where she was sleeping. Had she taken over his part of the bunk bed, right under Jack? But instead, he asked, “How are you feeling? Do you have any headaches? Is your vision blurry? Do you ever feel off-balance?”
“Spencer, slow down, you’re not my doctor,” Hotch said with a little laugh. “I’m fine and I’m not having any post-concussion symptoms. I’ve got a follow-up appointment on Monday and I expect to be back at work on Tuesday.”
“Okay. That’s good. So, um, Hotch, can I come home?” As soon as he’d said it, he wondered when he’d started thinking of Hotch’s apartment as home.
“Yes, Spencer, you can come home,” Hotch said, and in the same loving tone of voice he used for Jack, he added, “It’s been strange not having you around. I’ve missed you, buddy.”
“I missed you, too, Hotch,” Spencer replied. “I’ll see you then!”
Feeling much better, Spencer ended the call, and glanced around the large table where they were all sitting. “Hotch says he’s fine and he expects to be back at work on Tuesday. JJ, you live closest to him, can you drive me there when we get home, and pick me up for work to-morrow? “
“Sure,” JJ said.
“Whoa, whoa, not happening, kid,” Morgan put in. “You can go home to-night, but you’re definitely not coming in to work to-morrow.”
Spencer looked at him in confusion. “What? Why?”
“Do you really think I don’t see you wiggling around because you can’t sit properly on those bruises?” Morgan asked.
“Yes, but my office chair is much softer than this one,” Spencer pointed out. It was true; the chair he was currently sitting on was made of hard wood, but his office chair was nicely padded.
“Well, you and your office chair will just have to wait until you’ve been cleared for work by one of the Bureau’s psychologists. Or did you forget that a psych eval is regulation for an agent who’s been abducted and tortured?”
“I didn’t forget,” Spencer said, but he felt himself slump slightly as he admitted, “I just wasn’t thinking of it at the moment.”
“Actually, I’m amazed Hotch didn’t send you to a psychologist after what happened with SHIELD,” Morgan went on.
“Because I wasn’t abducted and tortured by SHIELD!” Spencer cried. Realising that everybody in the restaurant was suddenly staring at their table, he lowered his voice. “They just took me into custody and questioned me, they didn’t hit me.”
“You had a nightmare last night about –“
“Derek, don’t.” Spencer deliberately used his first name as a warning for Morgan not to spill the details about his nightmare to the entire team.
“Just sayin’ that you’ve been through a lot lately, what with this abduction, SHIELD, and the whole de-aging thing,” Morgan went on. “I’d have nightmares, too.”
“I might have the occasional bad dream, but I can still do my job,” Spencer stated.
“I wasn’t suggesting you couldn’t, man,” Morgan said, but he looked contemplatively at Spencer for a long time before finally glancing away.
Part 19
Part 17
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