𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 ➵ 𝓼. 𝓻𝓮𝓲𝓭

Chapter 17: That's Where She Died

SPENCER GRIPS the laptop tight in his hands, eyes set on your figure and how it barely moves.

You can't move, and even if you could, your body hurts too much to try. The thought of getting back to your friends is the only thing keeping you conscious, but even the memories you once treasured are beginning to slip away.

Spencer can't see the full extent of your injuries due to the darkness of the room, but even through that he can see the lost look in your eyes.

"Hey kid," Morgan begins softly as he approaches Spencer's side and pats him on the back. He doesn't look at the screen, he had already seen enough to understand, "Maybe you shouldn't watch that, it's better if-"

"-if I try and forget about it?"

"That's not what I was gonna say..." Derek trails softly.

Spencer places the laptop down for the first time since seeing the video, looking around at the road they are still parked at the side of. They have been there for half an hour, Hotch calling medical to the location they plan to rescue you from.

Derek's phone begins to ring, and he hesitates before answering it, "Hey baby girl..."

"Hi."

Garcia's voice is quiet, and even through the phone they can hear her tears.

"I was just calling to um...Have you...?"

Derek sighs and Spencer turns back to watch the live feed, "No, not yet. We will soon. I promise."

Spencer doesn't hear the rest of the conversation as his attention is drawn away and to movement in the room that clearly isn't you. When the door flings open, his eyes focus on the new figure - your father.

"Hotch!" Morgan calls out as he ends the call with Penelope, also seeing what Reid sees.

Hotch joins them and looks at the screen, all three of them itching to see what will follow.

You raise your head despite the pain and don't even give your father the satisfaction of a second glance, letting your eyes settle on the cement floor.

"I don't-" you pause to spit out some blood that has accumulated in your mouth, "-plan on giving up any time soon."

Your father lets out a heavy laugh and shakes his head, "I don't expect you to."

"So what do you want from me!?" You raise your voice, straining it, yet you don't care.

You're fed up, you're in pain and you crave the warmth of a hug and to be in the arms of someone who makes you feel safe.

"I did want your team dead, but it looks like you won't give that up so..." he pulls out a gun from behind his back, "...I'll settle for your life."

Unbeknownst to you, this speeds up the three men who are watching and they gather the rest of the team and make a plan, just hoping that they could reach you in time.

As your father loads the gun, you swallow and stare down the barrel, knowing it won't be long before every memory will be too far to reach.

Being a profiler for the majority of your life comes in handy, even now in what you believe to be the final moments of your life.

"Tell me about my mother."

Also unknown to you, Spencer is still watching with the laptop positioned on his knees in the back of an SUV that races to your location. A proud smile upturns his lips at your words, though a pang of sadness hits his heart. He knows the words are hard for you to say, you don't remember your mother, you never got the chance to have a relationship with her before your father threw it away.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Spencer hoped he wouldn't be put in the position of holding a gun to your fathers head, because he wasn't sure he could prevent himself from pulling the trigger.

Your father eyes you wearily, like he had been affected by your words as much as you had, and that made you clench your teeth. He had no right - he had been the one to take her life away, not anybody else, him.

"What do you want to know?" He asks, lowering the gun and sitting in a chair he had dragged into the room.

"Anything..." you say quietly.

He pauses and takes a deep breath, if he were anyone else and not holding you hostage, you would've felt bad for the lonely man whose daughter never visited and whose wife had died. If only those were the circumstances.

"Have you ever had a...reoccurring dream of sorts?"

You had once been tapping your fingers against the rope you had been tied to the ceiling with, but now stop and perk your head at his question. Slowly, you nod and swallow.

"Every time I sleep. It's always the same," you brace yourself, "I'm young...six maybe? And I'm playing in a garden, but mom hasn't called me in yet...I get...curious and go to look for her. But it always ends when I push open the shed door."

He hesitates, "...That isn't a dream or even a nightmare, Y/n. That is a memory."

You now fully raise your head and don't process the pain it causes, "You're telling me..."

"That shed. That's where she died."

It feels as if your heart has stopped as you begin to dig your nails into the palm of your hands, clenching your jaw.

"She didn't die there!" You shout, shaking your body in an attempt to get out of the hell you can't escape, "You murdered her there, there's a damn difference!"

He raises from his seat and raises the gun once more, "I'm glad you'll get to see her again."

Word Count
971