The After

Chapter 8

Spencer had spent the best part of two weeks separating RNA, mixing and matching genetic sequences on the computer, but was coming up empty each time. He had tried thousands of combinations but none were creating the desired effect in the mice and Mr Renholdt was becoming impatient. Spencer sighed and ran his hands through his hair. His respirator sat on the desk next to his elbow. His skull throbbed with the early stages of a migraine. Spencer had been meticulous with his hand hygiene and his respirator use when he was forced to start testing to ensure he was not on the receiving end of the virus. His headaches had been bad enough, and the seizures had increased in frequency. What he wouldn't give to be curled up on his battered leather sofa with a stack of books. Spencer turned back to the computer, combinations of sequences dancing before his eyes. He was so deep in concentration at the computer, ear buds in place blaring the soothing sounds of Mozart, that Spencer had failed to hear either of the doors opening, the footsteps behind him or the hand that clamped tightly over his mouth. Spencer struggled as his body slid from the swivel chair. He twisted and turned in a bid to escape the leather gloved grip but his efforts were fruitless against the much stronger man. A familiar sensation pricked Spencer in the side of the neck, causing him to slump. Everything around him was a haze as he was thrown onto his stomach on the cold tiled floor and his arms wrenched behind him and bound tightly at the wrists with flexi-cuffs. One knee held his aching head down to the floor while the other pressed into his upper back. His spectacles snapped underneath his face, causing the sharp end of the frame to pierce above his eyebrow.

Spencer bucked as he came to. The cut above his eye stung mercilessly. He was seated upright in an uncomfortable wooden chair. His cuffed wrists were hooked to a slat in the back of the chair by another set of flexi-cuffs. His ankles were bound to the chair legs. Spencer slowly lifted his head to see Mr Renholdt stood in front of him, hands pushed into his waistcoat pockets and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. Mr Renholdt slid a hand out of his pocket, steel knuckles flashing in the light. Before Spencer could speak or even acknowledge existence, the steel knuckles connected with his jaw, sending blood splashing in an arc from a split in his bottom lip. Spencer groaned and sat back upright, eyes glaring at Mr Renholdt. Mr Renholdt simply smiled and wiped the blood from the knuckles on Spencer's t-shirt.

"Welcome back, Dr Whitfield. Or should I say, SSA Dr Spencer Reid?" Spencer swallowed hard. Something black flew at him, hitting him square in the chest before falling open at his feet- his FBI credentials. Spencer sniffed and spat some blood out onto the floor to his left. The steel knuckles connected with his face once again. He felt his cheekbone crack. Spencer gritted his teeth against the pain, trying his best to keep up his stoic appearance.

"So, the FBI is meddling in my business? Let me guess which division you are. Counter Terrorism?" Spencer laughed, his usually white teeth coated in blood.

"Not even close." Another punch to the face sent Spencer teetering to the side. Mr Renholdt stopped midway through another punch, a look of realisation on his face as he took in the face of the bound and beaten man in front of him.

"Wait. You're one of those profilers! Behavioural Analysis Unit?" Spencer spat again, this time on Mr Renholdt's perfectly polished shoes. Mr Renholdt backhanded him, splitting the other side of his lip. A smile danced on Mr Renholdt's lips, "I think it's time to start human trials of our virus. Let's start with Dr Reid here." Spencer's eyes widened as a mask came into his view and pressed over his nose and mouth. He struggled against the mask but a beefy arm was keeping him pinned to the back of the chair. Silently, he prayed that his body would be able to fight off the virus. It will likely start with a fever, sore throat or dry cough... There may be nasal congestion and a headache... It'll feel somewhat like the flu, but the fatigue will be intense... Spencer gulped large amounts of air as the mask was removed from his face.

"Symptoms should appear within the next two days, and here is exactly where you'll stay, nice and uncomfortable, until we can observe the clinical trial."

"They already know where to find you, jackass," smirked Spencer. Another punch connected with his nose, cracking the bone and splitting the delicate skin. Blood streamed over his lips and down the crevice at the side of his nose. Spencer's eyes locked with Mr Renholdt's in a battle of wills. Mr Renholdt's top lip curled into a sneer at the presence of Arthur creeping up behind Spencer with a strip of thick black cloth held taut between his balled up fists. Spencer knitted his brow in confusion. The strip of cloth came into his peripheral vision.

"What the fu-?" was all he could press out before the cloth was jammed into his bloodied mouth and tied tightly in the crook of his neck, pressing hard against the corners of his mouth. Spencer struggled against the offending item. Arthur clamped a hand over Spencer's gagged mouth and wrapped the fingers of his other hand around Spencer's unruly curls.

"Shh. Quiet time now, Dr Reid." The familiar pain blossomed in his temple and coloured lights danced before Spencer's vision. He knew what was about to happen but was in no position to warn anyone. His eyes rolled back to reveal the bloodshot whites of his eyes. His jaw tightened around the gag and his muscles stiffened. His head dropped against the top of the chair and his back arched as the convulsions took hold. The veins protruded in his neck. Choking noises sounded from Spencer's exposed throat. Arthur stepped forward but was ushered back.

"He'll come out of it on his own." Arthur nodded and shuffled back into the shadows. Spencer's seizures never normally lasted for more than a minute. This particular one was showing no signs of relenting, even after five minutes. Blood had begun to trickle out of the corner of Spencer's mouth from under the cloth gag. Arthur handed a thin orange case to Mr Renholdt that he had taken from Spencer's go bag. Mr Renholdt considered the oral syringe in his hand, then the convulsing man in front of him. He needed to test his experiment. Removing the cap of the syringe with his teeth, Mr Renholdt peeled back Spencer's top lip and squeezed half of the contents into his cheek. He then repeated the action on the other side. Around thirty seconds later, Spencer's body began to slacken. His breaths came hard and heavy. His eyes were closed and his head fell forward, chin colliding with his chest.

"He'll be out of it for quite a while. Leave him," instructed Mr Renholdt as he pocketed his steel knuckles and rolled down his sleeves, securing the cuffs with his gold cufflinks. Blood dripped from Spencer's nose and mouth down his t-shirt. The other two men quietly walked away and left the unconscious genius to his darkness.