Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: REVELATIONS

"There is not a righteous man on earth who does what is right and never sins."

     — Ecclesiastes, 7:20.

—

Morning comes and Reid is still gone. My self-hating mind runs through every possibility of what could be happening to him right now, all of the tortures he could be subject to. If he's even alive still. No, I have to remind myself over and over again. I can't think like that. I can't give up. He's out there, he has to be, and I will do whatever it takes to bring him back.

We set up a base in Hankel's house, profiling everything we can. It's almost 6 am when Hotch returns from the airport with Garcia. She enters the kitchen, timidly staring around at the cluttered, musty space. Sat with me at the table with a set of Hankel's journals, JJ looks up at her. She still wears her bloodstained shirt from the night before. "Welcome to our nightmare."

Garcia goes to say something to her but no sound comes. Gideon catches her eye, speaking kindly in consideration of the shock she must also be feeling, "His computer's an extension of his brain. I need you to dissect it."

She just nods. "I'll get you set up. Come on," Morgan says. He leads her through to a back room, in which a dozen computers were found arranged on various levels, all stuck on a screen saver.

Hotch takes a second to look around, seeing our lack of progress. His jaw tightens. "So, nothing new since I left?"

"Well, the good thing is the guy documented practically every second of his life," Prentiss explains. "Bad news is we're still unpiling."

"From the looks of it, he hasn't left this place in years."

I say nothing, just grabbing another journal and opening it up. My eyes are bloodshot and sore but I don't allow myself a second of respite. At the other end of the table, Prentiss continues to sort through another pile of books. "He knew he could pretend to be looking for a motel and throw us off his trail."

"No, no, no. It's more than that," Gideon grumbles. "The sheriff's office, 911 calls... Every time he engages the police, he gets away with it, reassures himself God's on his side, not ours."

I can't believe that's true. I don't even know if there's a God out there, but I refuse to believe that they would let a good man suffer. If I'm wrong, however, it changes nothing. I will go against anyone who keeps me from saving Reid. Even God.

Growing restless, I start to pace. I only stop at the sound of Prentiss's voice. "Hey, I've got a list of Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Someone's name and number's written on it, but this looks to be about 12 years old."

"Try it. There are no bad leads," Gideon tells her. His eyes scan over the wallpaper. He pauses, running a finger over the line between the sheets. Something has caught his interest. I approach, watching as he peels the paper back to reveal the plaster beneath. Neat lines of writing span the damp surface.

Having also noticed, she squints. "Wait, is that Latin?"

I read aloud, "'Honora patrem tuum.'"

"'Honour thy father.'"

"They look like lines," she remarks, her head tilting slightly as she reads them. "And they're old. Maybe his father forced him to do this as a kid.

I give a grunt of interest. "Not surprising. Religious abuse is often inflicted or enforced by parents."

She glances at the paper in her hand. "I guess that could explain the NA meetings. Many people abuse drugs as a coping mechanism." Taking out her phone, she dials the number on the back and waits. "Hello, this is Special Agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI. My team's investigating a local man, a Tobias Hankel? You know him?" A pause. "Yeah, I found your number on the back of an old list of NA meetings at his residence. Would it be possible to speak to you about Hankel at your soonest convenience? Okay, thank you."