SPENCER - spencer reid

E L E V E N

CHAPTER 11: WITHOUT WARNING

Dr. Spencer Reid's POV

[January 26th, 2010]

My tiredness disappears instantly, a surge of adrenaline releasing through my body as I feel someone stop the door from closing all the way. As I begin to turn around, my hand flies towards my holster, but before I can grab my revolver, I feel a fistful of my hair being grabbed. My attempt to defend myself is in vain as I feel my temple being slammed against the doorframe, a loud cracking sound resounding throughout the area.

My body momentarily goes limp, my eyes seeing black spots and my ears being stung by a harsh ringing from the force. In this moment of stunned weakness, I feel the attacker's hand grab my revolver, throwing it into my living room. I hear it land with a clatter on the hardwood floor, the sound snapping me out of my dazed state.

A strong grip clamps around my biceps and over my chest, restricting my ability to fight back with my arms. As I am lifted from the ground, I begin to frantically kick my legs in hopes that the force from the momentum of my lower body would be enough to knock my assailant off-balance. I hear the man's baritone voice murmur some kind of comforting platitude, but I cannot make out his words through the thick, hot blood that seeps from the side of my head and into my ear. I grow light-headed from my struggling and loss of blood, but I know that head wounds bleed in excess even if the injury is minor.

I feel the cold night air bite at my skin again, indicating that my attacker had dragged me backwards out of my apartment and when I open my eyes, I can see that was the case. I continue to kick the whole way down the stairs, hitting my shins and ankles painfully against the grated metal of the outdoor staircase several times in the struggle.

As I look up at my still slightly-opened apartment door from the ground, I remind myself that 70% of all attacks come from behind and that I shouldn't have let my sleepiness take over my instincts. Despite my scolding myself, I do not give up in my retaliations. If anything, I fight harder than I had been to begin with.

Rather than just use my legs to propel my weight, I shove my shoulders forward as well, trying everything I can to break the man's vice-like grip around my torso. I even attempt to ram my shoulders up into his chin, but he has positioned himself behind me so that he is unharmed by any of my attempts to injure him as he hauls me along.

The acceleration of my heart rate makes the wound on my temple throb, more blood oozing from the laceration than before. My head begins to pound in synchronization with the man's footsteps, which are growing labored under my weight.

My vision grows black around the edges and I continue to half-heartedly fight my offender despite the weakness from the initial blow to my head. I hear a door click open, and before I can do anything, I am thrown harshly onto the rough floorboard of a vehicle, feeling the shocks sink under the force.

As I fully land, my the back of my head hits against the door opposite the one I was shoved through, and I succumb to the darkness, falling unconscious.