SPENCER - spencer reid

N I N E T E E N

CHAPTER 19: O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?

[January 30th, 2010]

"Hotch!" Penelope Garcia exclaims excitedly as she rushes into the conference room the next day. "I found someone who matches our profile! His name is Adam Greenwood and he has records of sporadic attendance at work since the murders began, but before that he was at work almost every single day without fail."

"Do we have an address?" Aaron Hotchner asks as she throws herself into a chair, opening the lid of her laptop.

"Yes, but here's the thing: he lives in a small apartment building. There's no way that he has the privacy to kill his victims there." Penelope huffs, her eyes scanning every detail on the screen.

"So there's a secondary location." Derek crosses his arms, his muscles tensing.

"Not one that I can find." Penelope admits, digging through every part of his life that is available to her.

"Well that's not much of a help." Aaron bites sharply before regretting his words and sending Penelope an apologetic glance.

"He was born and raised in the D.C. area," Penelope reads from the files, pushing her purple glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "He attended Calloway Preparatory Academy from the age of 14 until graduation and that's not cheap, so it seems like his parents definitely had some extra moolah lying around. After high school, he went to business school, but he ended up working as one of hundreds of salesmen at a paper company after a failed attempt of trying to start his own business."

"Is there anything in his file that could hint at a secondary location?" JJ asks, wondering if the school was still functional.

"The only place other than his childhood home and his current apartment is the academy, which was shut down in '93. With that said, the school is outside of the range that Reid canvassed on the map." Penelope admits.

"How far out?" Rossi asks.

"Around 17 miles." She responds, the gears in the agents heads turning.

"It's unlikely, but it's definitely worth checking out," Hotchner nods, standing up and the rest of the team follows his lead. "Garcia, will you send us the coordinates?"

"Done and done." She hits a few keys on her keyboard before slamming the lid closed and Aaron nods.

"Let's roll."

꧁꧁꧂꧂

Dr. Spencer Reid's POV

I weakly peel open my eyes, not remembering when I had lost consciousness. I do, however, remember that I had dreamt of my beautiful Rosemary. It felt so vivid, so real, so tangible... I try to think back to the way her soft hair felt when I ran it between my fingers and the way her hand felt against my cheek, but I can feel nothing but the cold floor against my side and the splitting headache forming behind my forehead.

I let my eyelids fall closed, my long lashes brushing against the dried tears that have hardened underneath my eyes. I attempt to lift my head in vain, not being able to hold it up for longer than an instant before it falls back against the planks. A shaky burst of air rushes past my lips at the realization of how weak I have become.

Judging by the way the light bursts through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, I assume that it is mid-morning, meaning that I slept almost the entire day yesterday, which startles me. I begin to wonder just how close I am to falling into the comforting embrace of death.

"O Death, where is thy sting?" I whisper, quoting from the Bible, a book that I had completely memorized years ago.

I lower my gaze, transfixing it upon the face that has been across from me for the entirety of my time here under the bleachers. His permanently-opened eyes have taken on a blue film which clouds the irises which once were brown. Flies cover the entire base of his throat, forming a wall over the open wound. His stench blends with the stench of the others, caressing my nose like an old and familiar friend.

I pinch my eyes closed once more, feeling myself grow faint yet again after the minuscule amount of energy being burned. Just as I am fading out again, I hear a sound that both startles me and brings me hope.

The sound of a gunshot.

Minutes afterward I hear yelling, but I cannot make out the words until a voice I recognize sounds just outside of the doorway.

"Reid?" I hear the voice belonging to Derek Morgan shout, echoed by Rossi's voice.

Shortly thereafter, the door of the gymnasium bursts open, footsteps pounding against the hollow floorboards. I hear Morgan groan and curse at the awful scent that clings in the room. He and Rossi walk to the middle of the room, looking up at the bodies on the ceiling.

Looking for me up there.

"Derek!" I cough weakly, barely able to whisper. "Rossi!"

They do not hear me, and I watch as Rossi grabs his cellphone and calls for the rest of the team to meet them in here.

"Come on, Kid," I hear Derek begin to cry as his eyes glance over the crowd of hanging corpses. "Please don't be up there!"

"Morgan!" I cry out, coughing so roughly that I nearly pass out again. "I'm here! Over here!"

Although my voice is barely over a whisper, Derek pauses, touching Rossi's shoulder.

"You hear that?" Derek asks, and Rossi nods.

"It sounded like it was coming from over there." He agrees, and I sigh with relief.

I see Derek grab his gun and his flashlight, aiming them both ahead of him as he approaches the open end of the bleachers.

"He's here!" Derek shouts when the beam from his light skims across my crumpled form, sprinting towards me and dodging around the metal support beams. "I've got you, Pretty Boy. Just stay with me!"

Although he is shouting, his voice sounds distant and warped, as if I'm listening from underwater. I vaguely feel a hand prop itself under my head and another fall across my chest, and I blink dizzily as I look up, seeing Morgan's concerned visage hovering over me the dark.

"Morgan?" I whisper, not even hearing my own voice.

"It's me. You're safe," his mouth moves, but I can't hear his voice. "Look at me, okay? Focus on me, you'll be fine."

I see him turn, shouting something about an ambulance to Rossi. He turns back to me just as I feel myself numbing, my eyes slipping shut. The last thing I remember is him beginning to yell my name as his tears drip into my hair.