The After

Chapter 3

Spencer sat in silence on the subway. He relished the fact that it was relatively quiet. He sat alone, his head pressed against the cold glass of the window. His tan leather satchel rested on his lap and he cradled a take out cup of coffee in his numb hands. He felt no better about his new assignment after his meeting with the director of Counter Intelligence than he did before. The manila envelope containing his new identity, passport and flight tickets was tucked away in his satchel. He would leave Washington DC the next morning for New York, leaving behind Dr Spencer Walter Reid, and becoming Dr Christopher Whitfield, a former microbiology professor. He was grateful for the rudimentary knowledge he had in microbiology. The sound of ringing attracted Spencer's attention. He leaned towards the window slightly as he fished his phone out of his trouser pocket, one hand still tightly clasped around his cup. He held the phone to his ear and resumed his position with his head against the window.

"Hey, JJ."

"Hey, Spence. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess." Spencer silently cursed himself. He was forgetting that he was talking to a profiler who would be able to tell from his voice that he was far from okay.

"Aren't you teaching today? Anderson could have sworn he saw you leaving-"

"I'm okay. Really. It's just... I'm being reassigned, Jayje. I don't know how long, but I can't say where I'm going and I won't be allowed to contact any of you." He heard JJ gasp on the other end of the phone. He could visualise her standing there, phone to her ear, blonde tresses hanging around her angular face and tears in her shining blue eyes.

"Spence... They can't just take you away from us. We need you. I need you."

"JJ, you guys manage fine when I'm teaching."

"Yes, but when you're teaching we can still call you and meet up."

"We wouldn't be able to meet up with current restrictions..."

"Spencer! How am I supposed to go about each day not knowing if you're okay? We've been through a lot. You've been through a lot."

"I know, Jayje. I don't have any choice. The order is coming from Deputy Director Bailey. I need you to do something for me."

"Sure, anything."

"I need you to keep checking in on my mom. I know she doesn't recognise me anymore, but I need to know that someone's looking out for her."

"Of course, Spence." Spencer's shoulders slumped. He could hear the lump in JJ's throat that she was desperately trying to swallow, "How are your seizures?"

"Um, okay, I think. I think I had one last night. I don't really remember. I was looking for Tylenol for a headache and then I woke up on the bathroom floor."

"Are you taking your medication? What about sleep?" Spencer rolled his eyes. JJ was entering 'mom mode'.

"Yes, I'm taking my medication. Sleep, not so much." He could almost hear JJ rolling her eyes in response.

"You need sleep! What about your caffeine? Are you cutting back on the coffee?"

"Absolutely not!" responded Spencer indignantly.

"Spencer Reid! The doctor told you-"

"I'm well aware, thank you. There are just some things that can't come between a man and his coffee. Epilepsy is one of those things." A voice sounded over the subway intercom to announce the next stop, "I've got to go, mom."

"Okay, well be safe. And if you 'mom' me one more time, Spencer Reid, I will swat your backside like I do with the boys if they misbehave." Spencer's cheeks burned crimson as he hung up the phone and pushed it back into his pocket. He now had an image carved into his brain that he would never be able to forget.

Spencer paced the lounge of his apartment, his left arm hugging his torso and his right elbow resting on top. He nibbled the tips of his fingers, eyes fixed and unblinking to the floor. His mind raced with thoughts when normally he could organise and prioritise in his head.

"From tomorrow you will no longer be Dr Spencer Reid. You will be Dr Christopher Whitfield. You are a former professor of microbiology at Caltech. You specialise in the use of microorganisms as bioweapons. You have an interest in using the SARS-CoV-2 as a weapon to eradicate the elderly and the sick to free up resources on our healthcare system. You were forced to stand down from your position because of your political and socio-economic beliefs. You will fly to New York tomorrow morning under your new identity. You will meet at these coordinates. Do not carry a weapon, Dr Reid. You cannot risk it. Each evening, you will check in and share any intel with us. You will have no contact with your BAU team members whilst on this case."

Spencer's stomach knotted. The prospect of having to take on the persona of a man who wanted to wipe out half of humanity with a virus that was already proving deadly was sickening to him. A wave of nausea washed over Spencer. The fingers that had just moments ago danced on his bottom lip, moved and his entire palm was pressed over his mouth to try and contain the acid that was creeping up his gullet. He raced to the bathroom, his fingertips digging into the flesh of his cheeks as he desperately tried to quell his sickness. When he reached the toilet, he threw back the lid with a clatter and dropped heavily to his knees. Within seconds, Spencer's stomach emptied itself of its caffeinated contents. He gasped, saliva and vomit dripping from his bottom lip and chin into the toilet bowl. His chest heaved and the band around his lungs tightened. Blood rushed in his ears and pounded noisily in his veins. He had to do some things in prison that he was not proud of, but this was different. He had to become a genocidal maniac of an unsub.