The Louvre | Spencer Reid ✓

t w e l v e - "three words"

⚠️warning⚠️- this chapter contains violence and the talk of past trauma. Please read with caution.

———————

I slowly come to and open my eyes, remembering what happened. I look down and see that my arms are tied to a pole. There are drops of blood surrounding me and my head hurts, i most likely have a mild concussion. I feel slightly shaky and sick, probably side effects from whatever drug was injected in me.

I try to figure out where I am, looking around I'm surrounded by concrete walls and floors, no windows, and random construction tools- I'm most likely in a basement somewhere.

All of a sudden I hear voices upstairs, I can't quite make out what they are saying but they are obviously arguing about something.

I can't figure out who took me. The person who took me had a ski mask on and I passed out before I could see the other. There is no one I have a serious problem with, except Dr. Kiehler, but he's in jail.

Out of nowhere I hear someone coming down the stairs. Even though I am clearly shaking, I try to lay down to make it look like I'm still passed out.

"I know you are up," I hear the man say. I don't open my eyes. Footsteps come near me, he then grabs me by the hair, pulling my head back.

I open my eyes trying not to show fear, but it's probably not working, "what do you want?"

He pulls a knife out of his pocket, "he told me you were a pretty one," he says as he drags the knife by my collarbone causing a small cut to form.

I wince at the pain, "who are you and what are you talking about?"

He smiles sinisterly, "you don't need to know who I am, all you need to know is I know that you are a snitch... and what do snitches get?"

I furrow my eyebrows, "What do you mean I'm a snitch?"

He chuckles and brings the knife to the collar of my scrubs, "Snitches get stitches," he says and forcefully drags the knife down, cutting my scrub top open.

I feel the panic set in, this can't be happening to me again, "Please," I plead.

"What?"

What I'm about to say next will either help me or hurt me, "You won't get away with this."

He brings the knife down to the waistband of my scrub pants, "funny, I already have." He starts to cut my pants.

"My boyfriend is in the FBI!" I say.

The color from his face slowly fades. He then brings his other hand up and smacks me across the face, hard.

"You bitch!" He yells and makes his way back upstairs.

My head is buzzing, my hands are loosing circulation, and I feel so, so exposed. I feel a heaviness come about me and I slowly loose consciousness again.

———————

When I finally wake up again, I am face to face with the guy in the ski mask.

I jump out of shock and nervousness, "who are you?"

He chuckles, "oh you know who I am stop playing dumb."

I'm still confused as to how these two men think I know them, "I swear you guys have me mistaken for someone else, please."

"Pffttt, no we have the right one," he stops and thinks for a minute, "well since my partner will take good care of you after I am done, I guess I can take off the mask and then you will know who I am."