Ghost of You ~ Spencer Reid

Ch. 15 | A Million Goodbyes,

"I got your letter. Yes, I'm doing better. I know that it's over."
- Closure, Taylor Swift

｡⋆｡˚ 𐀔˚｡⋆｡

August, 2019:

I've spent the past week trying to unpack his things. It doesn't feel real. It shouldn't be real, but it is. He was supposed to be helping me move into my new place, but instead I'm trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do with his.

I currently have around 4 piles. Donate, Give away, his mother, and me. It feels selfish almost to keep things of his, so that pile is relatively small. I didn't really know the Spencer that owned all of this, and yet I was the one who was tasked with figuring out what to do with it so I at least deserve something right?

I'd been through a majority of the living area at this point, the large wooden shelves now barren. The last thing for me to do in the room was his desk. I walked over and sat down in the chair then pulled out one of the bottom drawers. Inside was a small wooden box, that looked like it had once been used for chess, with my name written on it.

I reached in and pulled it out. The top was covered in dust and the lid creaked open as I lifted it. Looking inside, it was filled to the brim with envelopes. Each letter had my name and a date. As I went through and read each one, I began to realize what he'd done. He wrote me a letter almost each day I was gone. There were some gaps, as Emily would soon explain to me were because of his addiction I wasn't able to help him through, the death of his girlfriend I wasn't there for, or his time in prison that I couldn't help him get out of.

I don't know how long I sat reading, but I wish it was enough time to make up for all that he and I had lost.

He told me about his dad, and all his struggles with his mother. He told me about his addiction, after he was getting better and was in AA meetings. He detailed every birthday, Halloween, Christmas, and new Russian movie he'd gone to see. He told me about his headaches. He told me all about Maeve before she died. He raved on about Henry and Michael. The ink was smeared on the one about Gideons death. He wrote about his love for teaching. He wrote about how he felt different and broken after he got out of prison. He told me all about who put him in there, Cat Adams.

But the letters that caught my eye the most were the ones he wrote when I was already back. It said...

Dear Y/n

I don't know why I'm writing this. You're here. You're back.
But you aren't really.
We are two different people, ghosts of who we once were. I'm not angry with you for leaving. You had to. I know that would be irrational. Maybe I'm a little mad at you for using my vulnerability against me that night, knowing you did not feel the same, but I insisted on engaging in sexual activity so I am to blame as well. I guess I just feel as though it's too hard to be around you and not know you.
I don't want to have to get to know you again. I don't want to play the same chess games. I don't want to dance the same moves with a memory. I don't want to pine after you all over again and know you'll never feel as I do. I love you. Always have and always will.
This may be my last letter for awhile, all considering, but I will write again.

Love, Spencer

I was in tears reading most of the letters. But I couldn't help the sobs that left me as I read that page. As I reached into the box, I noted there was only one last letter left.

Dated July 27, 2019.

The day he died. I took my finger and gently peeled open the envelope. I pulled the rectangular piece of paper from where it'd been concealed. It was much less dusty than the others that had been closer to the top of the pile. I began unfolding it, expecting to be met with more than a few words. But it was just that. 7 words.

Dear Y/n,

I love you. Goodbye.

- Spencer.

It was so random, so meaningless, yet not all at once. I can't piece it together in my head why he'd write this unless he knew more then the rest of us about the unsub the day of his death.

His words haunt me.

｡⋆｡˚ 𐀔˚｡⋆｡