come down soon | s. reid

i ~ watch and learn

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one:
watch and learn

❝ To acquire knowledge, one must study;
but to acquire wisdom, one must observe. ❞
—Mary vos Savant

𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝟹, 𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝟷4

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     IN SCOUT'S DREAMS, she is fourteen. The summer sunlight is warm on her skin, a cool breeze stinging her sunburn. The air smells of barbecue and freshly mowed grass, and neighborhood laughter harmonizes with the hum of the cicadas.

     She runs through her neighborhood, ducking beneath bushes and clambering over fences. Her mother hates when she uses their neighbor's backyards as shortcuts, but no one's ever paid Scout any mind. Her brothers are somewhere behind her calling her name but she doesn't stop running. A laugh escapes her lips, her stomach bubbling with pure, liberating joy.

     She pushes aside a thorned bush and leaps onto the sidewalk. The block is milling with people from all over town. Scout weaves her way through the crowd, the call of her brothers growing fainter. She can see the Creek ahead of her—a slash of woods separating the neighborhood from a public park. She trips on her way down the hill, falls, and rolls into the small, dirty stream at the bottom.

     The dream shifts. Moonlight has replaced the sun's rays, and the Creek's water is painfully cold. The noise from the block party has dulled to a muted buzz, barely audible over the wind screaming through the trees.

     What are you celebrating? a voice whispers. The voice is distorted after years of the same recurring dream. Scout whips around to search for the owner instinctually. What is there to celebrate?

     She looks down to see the stream darken with blood—red splashes her bruised shins. It stains her skin.

     If you knew it was him, why didn't you stop him? The water is rising. Thick, monstrous, almost sentient blood reaches her knees, then her waist, advancing upwards. It tightens around her chest, inching up her neck like hands clawing for traction.

     Then the bodies appear. They lie pale and unmoving on the wooded bank of the creek. A dark-haired girl in jean shorts in a blue and yellow striped tank top; a blonde in a pink sundress; a brunette with two twin braids in light blue overalls. Her friends stare at her, dead eyes accusatory.

     You could've saved us, Scout. But you didn't.

     Scout tries to scream but her mouth fills with blood. She always tries, even when she knows no sound will ever come out.

     Scout.

     The bloodied water envelops her, filling her lungs and swallowing her vision. Deep down, she knows it's what she deserves.

     You didn't. You didn't. You didn't. You didn't. You–

     "Scout." She jolted awake, a firm hand shaking her shoulder. Early morning sunlight dappled her desk, her reports from last night laid out before her. For a moment, she forgot she was at work, but with a glance around the empty bullpen, she quickly regained her senses.

     "Scout, are you alright?" Aaron Hotchner stood above her, his eyes filled with worry.

     "Good morning, Hotch," she grumbled. She ran a hand through her hair and managed a tired smile up at her supervisor. "Just had to close my eyes for a few minutes."