Monsters & Men • A Spencer Reid Fanfiction •

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven."

Henry Ward Beecher

"Yeah that's what you're good at! You and those drugs. You think your kids don't know about it?" a loud voice shouted from downstairs.

The sound alerted Phoebe, who was half-asleep in her bed. With eyes flying wide open, she flung the covers off of herself. Light footsteps pattered across the floor before Phoebe's door creaked open. In ran a little girl, not much older than eight. "Fifi, they're fighting again," the little girl sobbed.

Phoebe opened her arms and her younger sister ran right to her, burying her tear-streaked face in Phoebe's chest. "It's gonna be okay, Katie. I'm gonna call grandpa, and he's going to pick us up," Phoebe whispered, reaching for the phone on her bedside table with her other hand while she held her sister with the other.

She was only ten, but she knew she needed to be strong for the both of them. After she called up her grandparents, she locked the doors to her room and went to sit with Katie in bed. Her little sister's loud sobs had turned into hushed sniffles, but the shouting was still loud downstairs. Phoebe crawled onto bed, counting down the minutes to when their grandpa would arrive. "Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember," Phoebe sang in a low voice as she held her sister, trying to calm the little one down. It was a lullaby she'd heard from a movie, and it always seemed to work in relaxing the both of them.

That didn't last for very long as Phoebe heard footsteps climbing up the stairs.

Thud.

Each step made her heart skip a bit, but she didn't let her sister go.

Thud.

Phoebe closed her eyes, wishing she could drown everything out, too.

"This is all your fault," a female screech brought Phoebe back to the present, and she rushed downstairs to see what was happening.

It seemed the cognitive interview was over, because both Mr. and Mrs. Holloway were in the living room. Derek was holding Mr. Holloway back as he pointed an accusing finger at his wife. "Don't you dare pin this on me," he shouted back at Mrs. Holloway. Clearly, the fragile composure he'd been holding onto as he answered Phoebe's questions had finally crumbled.

"You son of a bitch," the wife sneered while Reid was busy blocking her path to her husband. "Of course it's everyone's fault but your own. You think you're such a saint."

"Oh trust me, a lesser man would've left you a long time ago," Mr. Holloway bit back.

Once again, Phoebe froze. They were different words, but they sounded so familiar. They were said with the same kind of venom. The same kind of hatred that brought out the ugliness inside of people. And Phoebe thought, well maybe, this is the kind of language they respond to. Maybe, even though it was against protocol and would most likely hurt them in the long-run, Phoebe had to say something that was just as venomous. "Hey!" She shouted, getting everyone's attention. "Maybe if you two weren't so busy hating each other and pretending otherwise, you would've noticed that the person who kidnapped your son was already in the house when you got home. He was watching Michael from the closet."

This effectively halted all screaming matches. The fight seemed to leave both Mr. and Mrs. Holloway as they processed this new piece of information. Mr. Holloway headed out the door while his wife shuffled towards the kitchen, leaving Morgan and Reid in the living room. Phoebe sighed, feeling guilty about what she'd said. She didn't want to blame the parents, but it was the only way she saw how to diffuse the situation. Sadly, it had worked. Meaning her theory was right. Sometimes, it's only the hurtful kind of words that get through to people.