From the Shadows

Chapter One

Author's note: So I was inspired by the unit of my criminal law I'm currently studying around harassment and stalking to create this one. I don't own the rights to Criminal Mind or the characters.

"I've been watching, I've been waiting, in the shadows…" The Rasmus- 'In the Shadows

The mahogany door to the apartment swung open with a crash, colliding with the coat stand behind it. A jacket slipped from a hook and landed at the foot of the stand with a soft thud. Dr Spencer Reid darted inside and slammed the door shut behind him. He pressed his back to the door, his chest heaving for breath. He had felt like he had been watched for several days. Everywhere he went, every movement he made, eyes seemed to follow him. Spencer forced himself to slow his breathing. No one was there. No one followed you. Spencer tried to tell himself that it was the hypervigilance he learned in Millburn Correctional Facility that was causing his paranoia. He had no evidence to suggest that he was being stalked. Perhaps he was finally succumbing to his fate of developing paranoid schizophrenia like his mother? Spencer shook the thoughts from his head, his brown, collar-length curls swaying. Spencer closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose, allowing it to fill him up, and let it back out slowly. His heart hammered a hole into his ribs. Opening his eyes, he spotted a slightly creased envelope at his feet. His brows knotted quizzically. His mail had already been delivered for the day before he headed to the convenience store, and he knew that he had collected all of it. With the brown paper bag filled with groceries tucked under his left arm, Spencer bent down to pick up the envelope. The agent in him knew he should wear disposable gloves before touching the item, but curiosity was winning over logic. He flipped the envelope over. It simply read Spencer in a scrawl that made Spencer's handwriting look tidy.

Spencer carried the envelope and the bag of groceries through to the kitchen and set the bag down on the counter. He rested his back against the counter as he flipped the envelope over and over in his hands. He held it up and squinted at the envelope, his hazel eyes searching for anything that could potentially cause him harm. There was no sign of any powdery residue indicating anthrax. Spencer tugged open his top drawer and retrieved a knife. He placed the envelope down on the counter and carefully slid the knife under the flap, his eyes narrowed in concentration and his hair hanging around his unshaven face. The envelope sprung open, revealing a single polaroid and a small, rough piece of lined paper. He set the knife gently down onto the counter and slid the items out of the envelope. The polaroid was of him, taken the day before in his khakis and t-shirt as he sat alone at a chess table in the park, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he played against himself. Spencer's stomach lurched. He slowly unfolded the note. It read: "next time, Spencer" with a heart drawn next to it. Anxiety wrapped itself around his throat and lungs and his pulse pounded in his ears. Spencer felt himself hyperventilating. He knew someone was following him. He stepped back away from the counter, his eyes wide and fixed to the envelope as though it were a diseased creature. He had to tell someone, anyone, but then he wondered who would believe him.

Lost in a blur of thoughts, Spencer made his way to the lounge and dropped heavily onto the sofa. He tugged his cell phone from his trouser pocket and pressed a number to speed dial. He held the phone to his ear, his hair hanging down his wrist as he tried to compose himself. After three rings, a female voice answered.

"Spence? Is everything okay?"

"JJ. I... I think someone is following me." The sound of Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau's throat clearing echoed through the speaker of the phone.

"What do you mean? Is this to do with those paranoid thoughts you've been having?"

"This isn't paranoia, JJ. I ran home from the convenience store as I could feel eyes on me. I got back from the store and there was a letter under my door. I opened it..." Spencer's voice trailed off as he tried to steady the shuddering his chest, "There was a polaroid. It was of me yesterday playing myself at chess in the park. And there was a note. It said 'next time' with a heart next to it. 1.3% of people over 16 years are victims of stalking, Jennifer. I'm not crazy."

"Spence, I think you're over thinking this." Spencer pursed his lips. He knew no one would believe him. He had hoped at least JJ would believe him. Spencer hung up the call without saying goodbye. He flipped his cell phone over several times in his hand, his eyes fixed to a coffee ring on the wooden table in front of him. He was being stalked. That much was true. But how many photographs and letters would it take before anyone believed him? One thought flashed through Spencer's racing thoughts, thoughts that he could normally organise in lightning speed into folders- personal and professional. Will it take for me to be injured, kidnapped or dead before anyone believes me? Spencer desperately tried to push his thoughts to one side. He glanced through to the kitchen. He could still see the slightly raised edge of the envelope as though it were taunting him.

He set his jaw and pushed against his knees to his feet. He tossed his phone onto the sofa with a thud. His left knee protested against the sudden stop following the barrage of movement from his run. His gait favoured his knee as he made his way back to the kitchen. He pushed the note and polaroid back inside the envelope and carried it through to his bedroom. He tugged open his closet door and fiddled with the dial on his cold, steel safe. The door sprung open, taking the anxious doctor by surprise. He carefully tucked the envelope into the side of the safe and retrieved his revolver. Using his fingertips to push the safe door shut with a click, Spencer carried his firearm back to the lounge and set it gently on the coffee table. He stared thoughtfully at the weapon, his chin cupped in his palm, his elbow resting on his knee as it bounced rhythmically.

A brown manila envelope was pushed into the food tray slot in the cell door. Spencer rose up from his cot and picked up the envelope. He unravelled the elastic holding it shut and slid out the letter.

"I can get you anywhere. I own this place. You really think you can get away with it? Not in here. Not on my watch." Spencer knew the letter was from Calvin Shaw. Only a short time before, he had stabbed himself in the leg, cutting his forearm in the process, framing Shaw for it, and allowing himself to be thrown into solitary confinement.

Spencer felt the pinch of the steel handcuffs being fastened more tightly than was necessary around his wrists in front of him. His injured arm twinged. Pain shot up his thigh as he was forced to walk forward, Officer Wilkins' hand tightly grasping his upper arm. Shaw's voice echoed in Spencer's head.

"You're gonna need to grow eyes in the back of your head." As he was led to that empty room and released from the cuffs, Spencer felt the acute fear that he was about to be surrounded by several of Shaw's men and beaten to within an inch of his life. He swallowed hard, listening for sounds of another presence in the room. He jumped when the door clicked open behind him. He whirled around to find JJ entering, tears sparkling in her blue eyes.

"We're here to take you home."

Something was wrong and Spencer could feel it in every fibre of his being.