NEW STORY . UPDATED REGULARLY
"What do you think it was, Agent Hotchner? Abuse. Trauma. Parental influence."
"No. I think you're just a cruel, evil, stone-cold bitch."
"And what about you Doctor Reid?"
"I think...you just wa...
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𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐲𝐬 felt her blood run cold as her eyes fell upon his heavy, still body waiting for her in the centre of the room.
"So...what's he like?"
Achlys hadn't even come into his line of sight before the questions started. She swallowed the ball of fear that had started to form in her throat, but it clung to the sides like ash to hot coals. Her breath felt tight in her chest, and the lump of coal only seemed to move further down, but never cleared.
"He's...nice."
The guilt that permeated her chest was numbingly painful.
She was used to her 'clientele' being arrogant, desperate, evil men who deserved every second of the hell that she ensued upon them. But Spencer Reid was none of those things, he was kind; he was gentle. And he deserved none of it. For the first time in three years, Achlys was almost considering her options. Not that there were any viable ones, of course; none that didn't involve the death of someone she cared about.
She laid her coat gently down on the back of the chair, procrastinating having to look at him. Drawing a deep breath in, mostly to postpone having to inhale the sickly stench of his scent, Achlys finally took a seat opposite him.
"And..."
Achlys laughed slightly. For a split second, there was an air of normality to her laughter - almost like she was telling a friend about the chance encounter with the handsome stranger. But, of course, it was no more than just that: a fleeting feeling.
"And I'm waiting for him to call me, you and I both know how this goes." Her accent was thick, the need for the façade gone, "This is risky - beyond risky, it's insanity -"
"Thirteen is dead."
Whatever words Achlys was muttering, were swallowed up quicker than she could think the next. She felt her chest burn and her stomach come alight as the hot coal finally reached it. She felt sick. She felt alone, she was alone. For the first time, she was truly alone.
"What did you do?" It took everything in her to stop the tears from releasing. Everything.
Now it was his turn to laugh.
"Dmitry, what did you do!" She knew her tone was no more threatening than a mouse was to a cat. She belonged to him; he was (to anyone that asked) her 'mentor', which in America would loosely translate to 'pimp'. Achlys, however, preferred captor.
"I did nothing." Achlys tried to believe him. "The truth is we don't know who did it but she's the fourth of our girls to die in this way."
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the more she tried to ignore the images the more they seemed to infiltrate every corner of her brain until she couldn't picture anything else. Achlys had seen the bodies of the other girls, how their faces had been disfigured until they were unrecognizable, not that they would've had anyone to identify their corpses anyway.
