Hi everyone. I'm sorry for all the email notifications some of you are probably getting right now. I accidentally deleted a chapter and I had to reload the story. Chapter 15 and chapter 16 are the newest. I'm so sorry for being annoying.
I think I originally wrote here that I used to write SVU fanfiction and this is my first CM fanfiction. I've never really seen an entire season, but the episode "Revelations" peeked my interests. Enjoy :)
"Sometimes I just get so far from Georgia that I do not know the man behind my eyes."-The District "Georgia"
At a young age, Spencer Reid simply knew things. Why he knew them, no one was entirely sure, but Reid understood this penchant for facts had caused him to remain on the fringe, bordering real life and the understanding that he would always be different. When he was younger (and up until quite recently) it had been a taunting whisper of "outcast." But, after joining the BAU, his mind had been proven to be an asset.
That was, Reid surmised, until now.
The empty pews were lined in front of him in straight rows, with more edging backwards towards the two large double doors that led to the street. A mile or so down the road was the BAU headquarters. He'd be expected there soon, but, for now, Reid stared at the large crucifix hanging from the ceiling. Underneath the cross, an alter was bathed in a dim light that sent weak rays outward. The church smelled like burning candles and dust, and except for the occasional blare from a car horn or the chatter of people on the sidewalks outside, it was quite and serene. Reid found that he wished his mind would stay still like this. Maybe then, he could sort through the last few months.
Reid was not a religious person, although he could quote the Bible from memory. After all, his knowledge of Bible verses had prepared him for what was coming. He knew that sending his mother away, at least in the situation he had been in, would result in his death. What he couldn't comprehend now was how to live when death had seemed so imminent, so real, and so close.
Each night, Reid entered the cemetery in his dreams: the expansive country sky filled with stars; the orchestra of chirping crickets; graves of crumbling, ancient stone; the soft sway of tree branches in the wind; and the moon illuminating the hills, drawing long shadows of branches and leaves onto the grass. But when his dreams evolved, the backdrop all but disappeared. It then became a series of graves Reid was forced to dig and a muzzle of a gun against his forehead. Sometimes, he awoke, sweaty from an imagined game of cat and mouse. Other times, he was shot, causing him to jerk awake so violently that his sheets and pillows tumbled to the floor. More than once, he awoke peacefully, only to find that the dream had continued in his own apartment. The latter dreams seemed part of a much scarier reality for Reid. It was as if Tobias in all his forms had overcome death and entered Reid's waking life. And Reid saw him everywhere-on the subway, in the aisles at grocery store, even pushing a bucket and mop in the hallways of the BAU. It felt as though no place was sacred or safe.
All of these memories both assaulted and frustrated Reid. Was it enough to have to literally dig his own grave once, or would he be doomed to revisit the soft, dark soil every night and the feeling of his unworked and unmarked palms against the shovel's handle? And when he had tossed the earth aside, Reid had remembered the way the leaves smelled like the ash of burning pine. Las Vegas had never anything but hot and dry, and he thought that if this was any other situation, he'd like the smell and the crisp air.
Reid's cell phone vibrated against his leg, causing him to hit his protruding tail bone against the wooden pew. He knew it wasHotch, or Morgan, or any one of them. He also knew he was late. The confines of the church suddenly felt too small as the weight on his chest became unbearable. Reid looked at the stained glass depictions, and wondered how no one suspected anything. It had been months, and his jitteriness and agitation had seemed to be on the receiving end of an occasional stern or worrisome look, but that was it. Reid knew he was intelligent, but he never thought he would be smart enough to fool the other FBI profilers. Reaching into his bag to quell the rapidly rising anxiety, his fingers grazed the bottles he had taken off the still-warm body of Tobias. Over the past few months, Reid had carried the bottles with him, stealing his hand into his bag to calm himself when other means weren't available. They had become somewhat of a worry rock for him, and Reid wondered when he had become such a anxious person.
"Do you think I'll see my mom?" The dead man's eyes seemed to be in every window. Even the crucifix mocked Reid, transporting thoughts that he knew were self-deprecating: You could have helped him more. You should have fought harder. You're not as resilient as you think. You're weak. Reid wished that there was a practicing choir or organ player to remove him from his own mind. Lately, it seemed like nothing helped. When his phone vibrated again, Reid sighed, releasing his light grasp on the bottles .The effort to stand felt draining, but he knew his tardiness was bordering on insubordination.
The outside air was humid and Reid felt sweat immediately pool between his shoulder blades. That night in Georgia hadn't been warm, but he remembered he had been hot, lingering between a burning and a warmth that crept through him, starting from his heart and radiating outwards. The Dilaudid had caused the false sense of comfort, but he had remembered it had been momentary relief. Reid's watch told him he was more than ten minutes late and he broke into an odd gallop once the BAU was in site. Messed up or not, he still had a job to do. Once in the building and through security, Reid made his way around familiar corners without the slightest knowledge that he had been the topic of conversation in the conference room.