Lockdown

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

02/10/2019. 14:04 hours. David Rossi’s House, Virginia.

Spencer had his nose deep in the old pages of Chaucer, reliving ‘The Miller's Tale’ with an amused smile on his face as he made his way into the kitchen from the guest room. The musky scent tickled his nostrils and reminded him of the days that his mother would sit and read to him. David had returned to work, safe in the knowledge that the blades in the house had been locked away and that Spencer’s mood had begun to improve, so he felt safe enough in leaving the young man alone. Spencer laid the book down delicately on the kitchen counter and set about preparing a new pot of coffee. He drummed his fingers against the counter and closed his eyes, tilting his head back slightly. He had finally managed to sleep a whole eight hours without a nightmare, something he had not experienced for several months. He had been reluctant to take antidepressants, but he had to admit that the Mirtazapine he had been prescribed was starting to help with his mood and sleep.

The sound of his cell phone ringing disturbed his peaceful reverie. Spencer slipped his cell phone out of his trouser pocket and glanced at the number on the screen. He frowned, not recognising the number. He accepted the call and held the phone to his ear.
“Dr Reid,” introduced Spencer. There was a tense moment, heavy breathing on the line before a female voice answered.
“Hi, Spence.” Spencer’s eyes widened, his blood turning to ice in his veins. His fingers tightened around his phone.
“Melanie. Why are you calling me?”
“I missed you, silly.”
“Y-you can't be in contact with me.”
“Those pesky team mates and these bars can't keep me away from you forever.”
“I'm done with you! You kidnapped and sexually abused me!” He could almost hear the pout on Mel's lips.
“You can't tell me that you didn't enjoy a little BDSM.”
“No! I didn’t give my consent!”
“Oh, really? Your little soldier standing to attention said otherwise.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Don't you ever contact me again!” Spencer hung up the call with a harsh jab of his thumb. His heart pounded against his ribs and his lungs tightened. His chest swelled with rage and his vision tunnelled. With a raw scream, Spencer launched his cell phone with as much strength as he could muster at the wall. It thudded hard against the plaster before separating into pieces across the floor. His hands flew up to his head, fingers wrapping themselves painfully in his hair.

Spencer found himself stumbling aimlessly, his vision blurred by the red veil of fury. His head throbbed and streaks of colour pierced through the haze.
“Shit… Not now…” The ground tilted slightly for a moment before rushing upwards. Spencer fell against the wall near the library, his head connecting with the sharp corner with a sickening crack. Blood trailed down the ivory wall with him where he slid down from a gash in his hairline. He landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor, his injured arm folded awkwardly underneath his side, and his head propped up in a twisted position against the wall. His eyes blinked rhythmically, the corner of his mouth twitching, and a huffing noise sounded from the back of his throat. His free, uninjured arm tensed painfully straight out in front of him, every muscle and tendon in contraction.

As the convulsions set in, Spencer’s head thumped against the wall, his breaths coming as gasps and a loud keening sound emitting from his throat. A thick glob of blood seeped from his nose and down over his parted lips. His straightened arm jerked, hand clenched into a fist, and his feet scuffed the floor. His lips paled into an alarming shade of grey and his cheeks flushed purple from the lack of oxygen.

02/10/2019. 17:21 hours. David Rossi’s House, Virginia.

Spencer blinked several times to clear his foggy vision. His head pounded as though a jackhammer had been taken to his skull. Blood had dried his curls to his forehead and over his cracked lips. He had no idea how long he had been out. He groaned and feebly attempted to push his face away from the wall. His right hand and arm had gone numb from where he had laid on it. He winced as he gingerly traced his fingertips over the wound in his hairline. His mind felt fragmented. Spencer pressed his injured hand to his forehead, his other hand trembling as it propped him upright. He noticed the blood down the wall in his peripheral vision and gulped.