The Keeping of Words | Spencer Reid

11 |The Space Between

"Between hello and goodbye is I love you." – Jarod Kintz

"Is there a particular reason you're wearing sunglasses in a library?" she asked him, glancing away from the shelf. Usually Bianca could turn, her finger holding her place on the shelf, and find him standing nearby as he rapidly turned the pages of various volumes. Today though, he was hunched over with his hands pressed to his forehead and sunglasses on. She thought he'd taken those off when they came inside.

"It's... hey, did you know that light? Visible light, travels at different wavelengths? The... spectrum of visible light is usually? 400 to 700 nanometers? But light also has... a luminous efficacy the source? Produces light? Fluorescent lights... typically use short-wave ultraviolet light? And have usually 50-100 lumens per watt? Making them more efficient... and brighter? But they also flicker at an undetectable frequency? Which can cause vertigo, headaches and other health problems?" His usual rapid rambling was now sluggish and strained, like it was painful to speak each word. Every pause came out sounding like a question as he tried to speak in an even tone.

Bianca looked up at the ceiling lights. They were bright, though she didn't think they were strong enough to produce a headache, at least not so quickly. They'd only arrived ten minutes ago. "Spencer? Do you want to go outside?" she tried.

He shook his head carefully. "No. No, I just... can we go?" Reid, wanting to leave without checking out any books? Something was definitely up. But Bianca agreed, and they made their way back to his apartment. He didn't bother to turn on the lights, and she watched as he pulled the curtains over his windows before collapsing onto the couch. She tried to move as quietly as possible, and sat beside him gingerly as he was shrugging out of his cardigan and rolling his shirtsleeves up.

"What's going on? You don't look okay."

"It's fine, he mumbled, yanking off the sunglasses and pressing the heels of his hands over his eyes.

"Spencer," she said firmly.

"It's just a headache, it's fine."

"It looks like a lot more than just a headache. You couldn't stand to be in that library at all, any light is driving you crazy, and I haven't seen you touch a book in a few days!"

He groaned, leaning into the couch. "It's just a headache. I've been getting them for weeks. They usually only last a few days."

"A few days?" she repeated, incredulous. When it came to pain, only was something you followed with words like minutes and hours, but never daysand certainly not weeks.

"It started just before I left for Miami. I went to see someone though."

"Is that when you got the bracelet?" she asked, gesturing to the yellow beads he'd been wearing around his wrist.

"I got in from a faith healer."

Bianca tilted her head. This was Reid, who believed in logic and reason above all else, who had more PhDs than most people had children. "You went to see a faith healer about your headaches? You didn't tell me that when you got home." With every exchange, things seemed more and more out of place.

"I don't have to tell you everything that happens when I'm away!" he snapped. Bianca tensed, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I- I didn't mean that. My head just hurts a lot, okay? The healer was the guy who ran the soup kitchen. He gave it to me, said that it was the spirits of the dead that were bothering me. Ghosts that I carried around from my job."

She didn't believe in psychics and superstitions, but that sounded eerily possible. He always felt things so deeply, and she knew his work made that difficult. It wasn't hard to imagine victims and unsubs haunting his mind, robbing him of both sleep and sanity. "Do you believe that?"