FIC: But a Shadow
Title: But a Shadow
Author: nebula99
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: FRT
Type: Gen
Summary: “A dream itself is but a shadow” Hamlet
Prompt: For the 2007 spook_me Ficathon : Ghost, The Devil’s Partner and Cast a Dark Shadow and for all_hallows_fic Ficathon: Haunted. For 2x5obsessions Wrong Face. And, erm, that’s it!
Warning: It’s Halloween fic, dude.
Author's Note: A very big thank you to the ever generous greenwich who went above and beyond when beta reading this. :beer: Very mild spoilers up to In Birth and Death
But a Shadow
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream:
Ay, there’s the rub.
William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Dr. Spencer Reid did not believe in ghosts. He was a scientist and had been raised in a tradition that sought objectivity and valued empiricism. He liked data. He liked its logic. Numbers, answers, results, statistical significance - all of these things mattered. Proof mattered.
Like most scientists, Reid was fairly sceptical. He had long been interested in James Randi and his, still unclaimed, offer of $1 million to anybody who could prove the existence of paranormal phenomena. Randi’s site was bookmarked in his laptop and he checked on the challengers on a fairly regular basis. He was particularly amused by the woman who claimed to induce paranormal urination in participants and was eagerly awaiting the actual challenge.
Reid was not troubled by fear of ghosts. The dead were gone and he knew, only too well, that we have much more to fear from the living.
------------------------------------------------------
It was only a nightmare.
Only a nightmare. When had he begun to dismiss them like that? Reid shook his head, tossing the sweat soaked strands of hair out of his eyes.
Only a nightmare.
He still jerked awake, heart pounding, skin clammy, gasping for breath with the bed sheets twisted in his fists. The dreams were still as horrific as before, leaving him incapable of returning to sleep. But he could dismiss them because they were just dreams. When you have actually lived this stuff, you can feel superior to the horrors your mind plays for you. He really had been there, done that. How could the dreams even begin to touch it?
It was only a nightmare and it would melt into the thin night air. He was here, in his own bed and he was safe.
Reid rubbed his eyes and peered at the luminous display on his alarm clock; 3.29 am. Not the earliest he had ever gotten up but he’d at least had a few hours sleep, restless as they were. He shivered, the sweat drying on his skin and cooling him. He switched on his bedside lamp and wrapped his arms around his chest, closing his eyes and letting the images of being buried alive flash in his memory and then fade. He was okay, he was here and he would stop shaking in a minute.
He sniffed and swung his legs around to get out of bed. Grabbing his glasses from the nightstand, he quickly took the few steps to pull his robe from the back of the door. As he knotted the belt, he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Reid looked down, scanning the circle of light cast by his lamp on the bland wallpaper. There was nothing there. He shook his head and turned away, only to be halted by another flicker of movement.
Reid sighed and turned back to look more closely. It was probably a spider and if he could catch it and dispose of it gently out of the window, all the better. He wasn’t particularly scared of them, but it was hard to rest easily knowing that a long legged beastie was roaming your walls. He reached a hand behind him to flick on the overhead light and in the split second that it took for the darkness to flit away, he thought he saw a shape move across the wall to join it.
Reid shuddered and felt a sudden chill. It was cold here at night and he pulled his robe tighter. He peered at the wall behind his bed. If there was a spider, it was hiding and he didn’t have the energy to start pulling out furniture.
Yawning, he made his way to the kitchen and lit the stove. He switched on his laptop while the kettle boiled and settled down to play online Peggle until it was time to get ready for work.
-------------------------------------------
The nightmare was quickly put to the back of Reid’s mind. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have plenty of them and getting through the day with regular caffeine boosts when he felt his eyelids dropping had become a way of life. Black coffee contains nothing of nutritional value, apart from a couple of calories; however Spencer Reid still considered caffeine to be a major food group.
He yawned his way through the next case, grabbing catnaps on the plane and wondering if the spider would have gotten bored with the lack of food or entertainment in his lonely apartment while he was away and moved on. It was only a spider; it was nothing to worry about.
---------------------------------------------
A few days later, Reid was dozing on his couch, having fully intended to immerse himself in Quantum Leap re-runs. He didn’t want to go to bed just yet and he hadn’t watched this show for ages. But his eyes kept closing and he finally gave in, vaguely aware of the hum of the TV as he drifted off.
Reid awoke suddenly, his eyes snapping open. He was lying on the couch but he couldn’t move. On the TV, Sam was arguing with Al but the sound seemed muted. He could see their lips moving but he couldn’t hear any of the dialogue. Reid stared at the TV, unable to move any of his limbs, starting to panic in the silence.
The standard lamp behind his couch cast a pale circle of light on the floor. Reid glanced downwards, his eyes drawn by movement at the dark edges of the brightness. Something moved across the light and into the shadows. It looked like footsteps. There was a sound, coming from outside his visual field; a hissing, shushing sound. There was someone - something - in his apartment; something bad. He closed his eyes and heard the sound getting louder and closer until it was right above him. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and felt his heart pounding.
Suddenly, the volume on the TV returned to normal and Reid gave a start. He opened and closed his eyes a few times and then pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked around the room, twisting his body to see behind him. There was nobody there. The only noise was from the TV.
Reid hurried to the bathroom to wash his face. It was nothing - just a dream. He had probably experienced a false awakening - dreamed that he had awoken. He rationalised that he had been in a hypnopompic state, experiencing sleep paralysis and a faint hallucination. It was perfectly normal, especially when someone has experienced a lack of sleep. There was literature about it, evidence. It was really nothing to worry about.
Over the next few days, Reid spent his free time online, searching for journal articles and information on hypnopompia and hypnagogia. He sought reassurance in analysis and scientific study. It was a common enough phenomenon and, like most sleep disorders, exacerbated by stress and tiredness; he was stressed and tired.
------------------------------------
Despite the attempts to comfort himself, Reid retained a sense of unease, especially in his home at night. He told himself he was being childish. He lived alone and had done for a long time. Developing a fear of being on his own in his apartment was not only foolish but completely impractical.
“Anyway,” he muttered to himself, “I’m not on my own. Somewhere in my bedroom is an enormous spider.”
But the joking didn’t really ease any of the tension he felt in the oppressive darkness. Reid even dug out his childhood teddy bear and sat it, like a one-eyed sentry, on his pillow. He didn’t clutch it to him at night, but he left it on the bed, almost as a talisman. Teddy bears were good things and its saggy half-stuffed body seemed to radiate benevolence.
It worked for a few days at least.
A few nights later Reid was getting ready for bed. He brushed his teeth and after drying his face, looked up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
But the image was not what he was expecting to see.
Staring back at him in the brightly lit bathroom, was the face of Philip Dowd, eyes wide with surprise and a tell-tale circle of blood where Reid’s bullet had pierced his forehead. Startled, the young man yelped and stumbled backwards, slipping on a towel and landing heavily on his backside. Pain shot up his spine from his coccyx, causing sharp tears to scratch at the back of his eyes.
Reid sat for a moment, shocked, before getting gingerly to his feet. Breathing heavily, he took slow, awkward steps towards the sink. He kept his gaze towards the floor, too fearful to look in mirror. Reaching the sink, Reid gripped the cold porcelain with both hands and steeled himself to lift his eyes.
This time, the face that looked back at him was his own. His skin was pale, highlighting the shadows that hung under his eyes. But it was definitely his own face. Reid stared at his reflection, scanning the image of the bathroom behind him. There was nobody there.
“Get a grip, Spencer,” he told himself. He moved one hand to rub at his bruised tailbone and with the other, opened his cabinet. Some Vicodin would soothe the injury and it would also help him to sleep. The mirrored door swung smoothly open, catching and bouncing the light around the tiny bathroom. Reid bent to fill his palm with water to wash down the pills and then replaced the bottle.
As he pushed the glass door closed, he watched his reflection slide back into view. It was still his face. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, closing his eyes. It had been a trick of the light, nothing more; one of the games played by an exhausted mind.
He opened his eyes and looked again at the reflected bathroom. There was probably a pattern on the tiles that resembled a face and his brain had worked overtime to accentuate the image; stored knowledge combining with sensory data to create something that wasn’t actually there, like a classic optical illusion. He peered at the wall behind him in the mirror.
The shower curtain cast a shadow over the white tub. As he studied the reflected tile pattern, he saw something that made him gasp. The shadow seemed to start to grow, pushing out of the tub and up the wall. He froze, unable to turn round or to stop watching.
The blackness moved slowly over the tiles, stretching out long fingers of shadow and growing until it was almost the same size as him. Reid’s mouth dropped open and he stared, horrified, as the shape stepped away from the wall, moving from two to three dimensions. There was no definition, he couldn’t make out any features, but it looked like a hooded figure. Reid felt his heart knocking against his chest and a rushing sound filled his ears. The . . . thing was coming towards him. He forced himself to move a hand and reached for his razor - the closest thing he had to a weapon.
The shadowy shape came closer, pulling the darkness along with it. Reid counted silently to three and then spun round, grabbing at the shower curtain and yanking it down from the hooks. He made to throw it over the figure, buying himself a moment while it couldn’t see him, but as he moved, the figure seemed to dissolve back into the wall.
Shower curtain bundled in his arms, Reid stared at the tub. There was no shadow now and the . . . thing was nowhere to be seen. There was nobody there.
Relief rushed through him and he laughed nervously. He must have been more tired than he realised. Psycho is just a movie, he reminded himself, and they used chocolate syrup for the blood.
He shoved the shower curtain into the tub and hurried to his bedroom, leaving the bathroom and the hallway lights on this time. Reid settled into his bed, tucking the teddy bear under the blankets next to him.
Just so the smell would relax him.
----------------------------------------------
The sense of unease remained with him. He became very conscious of his isolation when he was in his apartment, despite the occasional sense of being watched. Reid took to playing music almost constantly to rid the place of silence. He forced himself to sing along or to tap out basslines as he waited for his dinner to cook, just to add to the sounds. If he was concentrating on the music, he wasn’t thinking about the shadows.
Still the nightmares continued, building in frequency until he was surprised when morning came and he hadn’t awoken trembling in the early hours. When he had had problems with them before, Morgan and Hotch had told him to speak to Gideon. But now Gideon was gone and these dreams were much more disturbing than those that had troubled him previously.
In his sleep, Reid would watch Mike and Pam Hayes die, over and over again. He would sit helpless as their throats were slit, one after another and when he looked down at his hands, they were covered in blood. Then he would lift his eyes to the screen and the murders would play out again.
Other times in his dreams, he would lie bound and helpless in the grave he had dug, while Tobias Hankel shovelled earth onto his face. He tried to twist away from it, but the grave was too narrow and the soil was raining down too fast.
Spencer Reid knew plenty of explanations for nightmares.
But he didn’t know how to stop them.
---------------------------------------
After a few days in the office, battling the mountains of paperwork, everyone was restless. Reid was trying to finish an article Emily had found for him, but his attention kept being drawn by a conversation between the rest of the team members. Morgan was going on about some horror movie he had seen.
“So, Emily,” Morgan said with a feline grin, “Do you believe in ghosts? JJ and Hotch say no - what about you?”
Emily smiled and then nodded thoughtfully before answering. “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “But I’ve had some strange experiences and maybe there are some things that we just can’t explain.”
Morgan looked at her. “Emily Prentiss - do you see dead people?” he asked in a high-pitched voice before breaking out into laughter.
Emily leaned over and punched him lightly on the arm. “No,” she replied with a grin. “But as I said, there are some phenomena that we cannot explain.” She paused and then said, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth . . . ”
“Than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” finished Reid almost inaudibly.
Morgan shook his head and then turned to him. “C’mon Reid, man,” he said, “You must know - are there such thing as ghosts?” He lifted his arms above his head, uttering “Wooooooh,” in his spookiest voice.
Reid cleared his throat and then spoke quietly. “There has never actually been a proven incidence of a haunting.”
“So you don’t believe in ghosts,” stated Morgan.
“For every claim of a ghost or ghostly presence, there is usually a mechanical or biochemical explanation for the phenomenon or sighting,” Reid replied with a nod. “There’s also a phenomenon called pareidolia which is where we apply significance to what are actually random stimuli, such as sounds or a collection of images.”
“What about that house?” asked Morgan. “The one that looks like a pumpkin face?”
“The Amityville hauntings have been pretty much dismissed as a hoax,” replied Reid with a shrug.
Emily looked at him, amused. “But you didn’t answer Morgan’s question,” she said with a twinkle. “What do you think?”
“I . . . . um . . . I think our minds are very creative,” mumbled Reid, turning back to his desk.
---------------------------------------------
Back at Reid’s apartment, his discomfort grew. He thought he saw Dowd’s face reflected in his mirror on a few more occasions, and each time he glanced around nervously at the shadows. Then he forced himself to look again in the mirror and see his own face blinking timidly back.
His lack of sleep was taking its toll. The tiredness dragged at him, making him nauseated at times and so he started to skip lunch at work. Trying to find some peace and quiet, he headed for the restrooms one lunch time, locking himself in the furthest stall.
He closed the toilet lid and sat down, leaning his head on the wall and shutting his eyes. He was going to breathe in and out slowly and let the nausea subside. He breathed the cold air in through his nose and held it for a moment, then let it flow out of his mouth. It was supposed to be relaxing.
Reid kept his breathing slow and felt his tense muscles start to relax. He thought he should try to visualise somewhere happy. He drifted back through his memories to when he was very young - before his father left, before his mother was sick.
He was three years old and playing hide and seek with his parents in the back yard. His dad had been throwing him in the air until they were both laughing so much that he had had to put the little boy down and choose a different game. Reid hid with his mom and his dad was making a huge show of looking for them, pretending to search earnestly under rocks and over turned toys.
When the giggling got too loud to ignore, they were found behind a bush. Reid then insisted on being the one to search, so he closed his eyes and counted slowly to fifty.
“Coming, ready or not,” he shouted and began to walk slowly down the lawn, looking from side to side. He knew that the hiding places would be limited and that his parents would be almost certainly behind the trees at the bottom. He tried to fool them with a few glances behind low bushes but he knew where he was headed.
Reid got to the bottom of the back yard and waited a moment, before jumping behind the tree, shouting “Boo!”
Instead of the laughter that should have greeted his success, there was nothing. There was nobody there. Puzzled, the little boy turned back to see where else they could be hiding. He started to walk faster around the yard, searching for where his parents could be. There was nothing else large enough for them to hide behind.
Reid stood in the middle of the lawn and looked around. There was nobody there. He ran up to the back door but it was locked. The house looked different - deserted, torn curtains flapping at broken windows. He turned back to the yard and ran down to the trees. His parents had to be there.
Panting, he reached the trees and placing his hands on the trunk, peered around them. His fingers dug into the harsh bark as a hooded figure looked back at him. For a moment he couldn’t move, then as the figure loomed towards him, he turned to run back to the house.
The lawn sloped upwards and running was hard work. Reid looked back over his shoulder as the hooded figure approached and then tripped and fell. Sitting up, he saw that he had fallen over the body of Tobias Hankel, his glassy eyes staring reproachfully at him. Suddenly the dead man reached out a hand and grabbed the small boy’s ankle . . .
The stall door burst open as Morgan’s foot kicked hard.
“Reid!” he shouted, grabbing hold of the young man’s shoulders. “REID!”
Reid jolted in Morgan’s grip and whimpered. He felt Morgan shake him slightly and blinked a few times to try and re-focus his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked hoarsely. He could see Hotch standing at the stall door, hands on hips and a look of concern on his face.
Morgan was frowning at him. “You were screaming in here. Reid - what’s going on?”
Reid pulled his arms free from Morgan’s grasp. “I . . . must have been dreaming,” he muttered. “Sorry.” He made to stand up. “I’m fine.”
“You fell asleep on the can?” asked Morgan in disbelief. “Reid - you were screaming. And I mean loud.”
Reid sidled past him and went to the sinks to wash his hands. He heard Hotch’s voice, low and soft with concern. “Reid - is everything OK?”
Bending to splash water onto his face, Reid nodded. “I’m just tired,” he replied.
He heard Hotch speak. “Morgan - why don’t you go and report a broken stall door to janitor services?”
There was a moment’s hesitation and Reid continued to rub at his wet face. He heard Morgan sigh and then turn and walk out of the restroom.
Hotch handed him some paper towels and Reid patted his skin dry, still looking down into the sink.
“Reid - if something is wrong, I need to know,” said Hotch, gently but insistently.
Reid looked up at him. “I’m not sleeping too well. I get nightmares and they’ve gotten worse since . . . . since . . . recently.” He shrugged. “I used to . . . um . . . talk to Gideon about them.”
Hotch patted him on the shoulder. “Do you have a counselling appointment coming up?”
Reid nodded. “Next Tuesday. But really, I’m fine.”
“You can always talk to me,” said Hotch. “And you have a lot of vacation time left. If you need a break - please take it.” He kept eye contact with Reid for a few moments. “There is no shame in asking for help.”
Reid could see the expectant look in Hotch’s eyes but he couldn’t tell him what he had seen in his apartment. Hotch would think he was crazy. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” He smiled weakly. “I just need a few early nights.”
Hotch turned away, but as he did, Reid noticed an expression flicker across his face. He wasn’t sure - Hotch hid his emotions so well - but for a moment Hotch’s expression was troubling. Rather than being angry or irritated, Hotch just looked saddened.
----------------------------------------
There was no time for anybody to dwell on this as JJ called them all to the conference room to brief them on a new case. There had been a series of rapes near the Russian River area, north of San Francisco and the team were heading out to help with the profile. Reid sat with his head down, avoiding eye contact with Hotch and Morgan.
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On the flight back to Virginia when it was all over, Reid noticed that nearly everyone else was sound asleep. The cabin lights were low and there was a gentle background soundtrack of rhythmic breathing. He yawned; he was tired too and if he slept on the plane, then he wouldn’t have to worry about going to bed in his apartment. But if he slept, there was every chance of another nightmare and if they all heard him screaming . . . there was no way Hotch would let it go this time.
Reid shifted in his seat. Maybe he could just try to rest. He leaned his chin on his fist and gazed out at the black night sky.
He tried hard not to drift off to sleep, jerking back to wakefulness every time his eyes glazed over. He recited formulae and algorithms in his head, including his party piece of listing pi to one hundred places, but it was hard to stop the memories of that shadowy figure from intruding. He was also finding the lure of sleep more and more difficult to ignore.
A tap on the shoulder pulled him back to wakefulness. Hotch sat down and handed him a cup of coffee. “Still awake?” he asked quietly. “You should be making the most of paid sleeping time.”
Reid took a slurp of the scalding bitter liquid. “Like you are?” he said with a smile.
Hotch gave a shrug. “There’s nothing much else for me to do at home other than sleep,” he acknowledged. “And it’s hard to get comfortable on these seats.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking coffee and listening to the hum of the plane’s engines. Then Hotch spoke. “You can talk to me,” he said, “Last time I checked, nightmares are not enough to get you fired from the FBI.” He looked hard at Reid. “I hope I’m not just your boss - I hope I’m also a friend?”
Reid blinked nervously at Hotch and cleared his throat. “You’ve had to shoot people, right?” Hotch nodded and Reid continued, “Do you ever stop feeling bad about it?”
Hotch considered for a moment before answering. “You never feel good about it,” he replied, “But after a while, you accept that it is part of your history.” He put a hand on Reid’s shoulder. “You did what you had to do. You are not to blame for somebody else’s choices.”
Reid worried at his bottom lip for a moment. “But Tobias Hankel - you guys were coming,” he said, “You would have been there in a moment. I didn’t need to . . . you could have . . . “
“Reid,” said Hotch gently, “He would have killed you. You had one chance and you had to take it. Same as with Philip Dowd.”
Reid nodded and turned back to look through the window. He wished he could explain the rest of it to Hotch, but it was just too hard to articulate.
Part Two
Author: nebula99
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: FRT
Type: Gen
Summary: “A dream itself is but a shadow” Hamlet
Prompt: For the 2007 spook_me Ficathon : Ghost, The Devil’s Partner and Cast a Dark Shadow and for all_hallows_fic Ficathon: Haunted. For 2x5obsessions Wrong Face. And, erm, that’s it!
Warning: It’s Halloween fic, dude.
Author's Note: A very big thank you to the ever generous greenwich who went above and beyond when beta reading this. :beer: Very mild spoilers up to In Birth and Death
But a Shadow
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream:
Ay, there’s the rub.
William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Dr. Spencer Reid did not believe in ghosts. He was a scientist and had been raised in a tradition that sought objectivity and valued empiricism. He liked data. He liked its logic. Numbers, answers, results, statistical significance - all of these things mattered. Proof mattered.
Like most scientists, Reid was fairly sceptical. He had long been interested in James Randi and his, still unclaimed, offer of $1 million to anybody who could prove the existence of paranormal phenomena. Randi’s site was bookmarked in his laptop and he checked on the challengers on a fairly regular basis. He was particularly amused by the woman who claimed to induce paranormal urination in participants and was eagerly awaiting the actual challenge.
Reid was not troubled by fear of ghosts. The dead were gone and he knew, only too well, that we have much more to fear from the living.
------------------------------------------------------
It was only a nightmare.
Only a nightmare. When had he begun to dismiss them like that? Reid shook his head, tossing the sweat soaked strands of hair out of his eyes.
Only a nightmare.
He still jerked awake, heart pounding, skin clammy, gasping for breath with the bed sheets twisted in his fists. The dreams were still as horrific as before, leaving him incapable of returning to sleep. But he could dismiss them because they were just dreams. When you have actually lived this stuff, you can feel superior to the horrors your mind plays for you. He really had been there, done that. How could the dreams even begin to touch it?
It was only a nightmare and it would melt into the thin night air. He was here, in his own bed and he was safe.
Reid rubbed his eyes and peered at the luminous display on his alarm clock; 3.29 am. Not the earliest he had ever gotten up but he’d at least had a few hours sleep, restless as they were. He shivered, the sweat drying on his skin and cooling him. He switched on his bedside lamp and wrapped his arms around his chest, closing his eyes and letting the images of being buried alive flash in his memory and then fade. He was okay, he was here and he would stop shaking in a minute.
He sniffed and swung his legs around to get out of bed. Grabbing his glasses from the nightstand, he quickly took the few steps to pull his robe from the back of the door. As he knotted the belt, he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Reid looked down, scanning the circle of light cast by his lamp on the bland wallpaper. There was nothing there. He shook his head and turned away, only to be halted by another flicker of movement.
Reid sighed and turned back to look more closely. It was probably a spider and if he could catch it and dispose of it gently out of the window, all the better. He wasn’t particularly scared of them, but it was hard to rest easily knowing that a long legged beastie was roaming your walls. He reached a hand behind him to flick on the overhead light and in the split second that it took for the darkness to flit away, he thought he saw a shape move across the wall to join it.
Reid shuddered and felt a sudden chill. It was cold here at night and he pulled his robe tighter. He peered at the wall behind his bed. If there was a spider, it was hiding and he didn’t have the energy to start pulling out furniture.
Yawning, he made his way to the kitchen and lit the stove. He switched on his laptop while the kettle boiled and settled down to play online Peggle until it was time to get ready for work.
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The nightmare was quickly put to the back of Reid’s mind. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have plenty of them and getting through the day with regular caffeine boosts when he felt his eyelids dropping had become a way of life. Black coffee contains nothing of nutritional value, apart from a couple of calories; however Spencer Reid still considered caffeine to be a major food group.
He yawned his way through the next case, grabbing catnaps on the plane and wondering if the spider would have gotten bored with the lack of food or entertainment in his lonely apartment while he was away and moved on. It was only a spider; it was nothing to worry about.
---------------------------------------------
A few days later, Reid was dozing on his couch, having fully intended to immerse himself in Quantum Leap re-runs. He didn’t want to go to bed just yet and he hadn’t watched this show for ages. But his eyes kept closing and he finally gave in, vaguely aware of the hum of the TV as he drifted off.
Reid awoke suddenly, his eyes snapping open. He was lying on the couch but he couldn’t move. On the TV, Sam was arguing with Al but the sound seemed muted. He could see their lips moving but he couldn’t hear any of the dialogue. Reid stared at the TV, unable to move any of his limbs, starting to panic in the silence.
The standard lamp behind his couch cast a pale circle of light on the floor. Reid glanced downwards, his eyes drawn by movement at the dark edges of the brightness. Something moved across the light and into the shadows. It looked like footsteps. There was a sound, coming from outside his visual field; a hissing, shushing sound. There was someone - something - in his apartment; something bad. He closed his eyes and heard the sound getting louder and closer until it was right above him. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and felt his heart pounding.
Suddenly, the volume on the TV returned to normal and Reid gave a start. He opened and closed his eyes a few times and then pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked around the room, twisting his body to see behind him. There was nobody there. The only noise was from the TV.
Reid hurried to the bathroom to wash his face. It was nothing - just a dream. He had probably experienced a false awakening - dreamed that he had awoken. He rationalised that he had been in a hypnopompic state, experiencing sleep paralysis and a faint hallucination. It was perfectly normal, especially when someone has experienced a lack of sleep. There was literature about it, evidence. It was really nothing to worry about.
Over the next few days, Reid spent his free time online, searching for journal articles and information on hypnopompia and hypnagogia. He sought reassurance in analysis and scientific study. It was a common enough phenomenon and, like most sleep disorders, exacerbated by stress and tiredness; he was stressed and tired.
------------------------------------
Despite the attempts to comfort himself, Reid retained a sense of unease, especially in his home at night. He told himself he was being childish. He lived alone and had done for a long time. Developing a fear of being on his own in his apartment was not only foolish but completely impractical.
“Anyway,” he muttered to himself, “I’m not on my own. Somewhere in my bedroom is an enormous spider.”
But the joking didn’t really ease any of the tension he felt in the oppressive darkness. Reid even dug out his childhood teddy bear and sat it, like a one-eyed sentry, on his pillow. He didn’t clutch it to him at night, but he left it on the bed, almost as a talisman. Teddy bears were good things and its saggy half-stuffed body seemed to radiate benevolence.
It worked for a few days at least.
A few nights later Reid was getting ready for bed. He brushed his teeth and after drying his face, looked up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
But the image was not what he was expecting to see.
Staring back at him in the brightly lit bathroom, was the face of Philip Dowd, eyes wide with surprise and a tell-tale circle of blood where Reid’s bullet had pierced his forehead. Startled, the young man yelped and stumbled backwards, slipping on a towel and landing heavily on his backside. Pain shot up his spine from his coccyx, causing sharp tears to scratch at the back of his eyes.
Reid sat for a moment, shocked, before getting gingerly to his feet. Breathing heavily, he took slow, awkward steps towards the sink. He kept his gaze towards the floor, too fearful to look in mirror. Reaching the sink, Reid gripped the cold porcelain with both hands and steeled himself to lift his eyes.
This time, the face that looked back at him was his own. His skin was pale, highlighting the shadows that hung under his eyes. But it was definitely his own face. Reid stared at his reflection, scanning the image of the bathroom behind him. There was nobody there.
“Get a grip, Spencer,” he told himself. He moved one hand to rub at his bruised tailbone and with the other, opened his cabinet. Some Vicodin would soothe the injury and it would also help him to sleep. The mirrored door swung smoothly open, catching and bouncing the light around the tiny bathroom. Reid bent to fill his palm with water to wash down the pills and then replaced the bottle.
As he pushed the glass door closed, he watched his reflection slide back into view. It was still his face. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, closing his eyes. It had been a trick of the light, nothing more; one of the games played by an exhausted mind.
He opened his eyes and looked again at the reflected bathroom. There was probably a pattern on the tiles that resembled a face and his brain had worked overtime to accentuate the image; stored knowledge combining with sensory data to create something that wasn’t actually there, like a classic optical illusion. He peered at the wall behind him in the mirror.
The shower curtain cast a shadow over the white tub. As he studied the reflected tile pattern, he saw something that made him gasp. The shadow seemed to start to grow, pushing out of the tub and up the wall. He froze, unable to turn round or to stop watching.
The blackness moved slowly over the tiles, stretching out long fingers of shadow and growing until it was almost the same size as him. Reid’s mouth dropped open and he stared, horrified, as the shape stepped away from the wall, moving from two to three dimensions. There was no definition, he couldn’t make out any features, but it looked like a hooded figure. Reid felt his heart knocking against his chest and a rushing sound filled his ears. The . . . thing was coming towards him. He forced himself to move a hand and reached for his razor - the closest thing he had to a weapon.
The shadowy shape came closer, pulling the darkness along with it. Reid counted silently to three and then spun round, grabbing at the shower curtain and yanking it down from the hooks. He made to throw it over the figure, buying himself a moment while it couldn’t see him, but as he moved, the figure seemed to dissolve back into the wall.
Shower curtain bundled in his arms, Reid stared at the tub. There was no shadow now and the . . . thing was nowhere to be seen. There was nobody there.
Relief rushed through him and he laughed nervously. He must have been more tired than he realised. Psycho is just a movie, he reminded himself, and they used chocolate syrup for the blood.
He shoved the shower curtain into the tub and hurried to his bedroom, leaving the bathroom and the hallway lights on this time. Reid settled into his bed, tucking the teddy bear under the blankets next to him.
Just so the smell would relax him.
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The sense of unease remained with him. He became very conscious of his isolation when he was in his apartment, despite the occasional sense of being watched. Reid took to playing music almost constantly to rid the place of silence. He forced himself to sing along or to tap out basslines as he waited for his dinner to cook, just to add to the sounds. If he was concentrating on the music, he wasn’t thinking about the shadows.
Still the nightmares continued, building in frequency until he was surprised when morning came and he hadn’t awoken trembling in the early hours. When he had had problems with them before, Morgan and Hotch had told him to speak to Gideon. But now Gideon was gone and these dreams were much more disturbing than those that had troubled him previously.
In his sleep, Reid would watch Mike and Pam Hayes die, over and over again. He would sit helpless as their throats were slit, one after another and when he looked down at his hands, they were covered in blood. Then he would lift his eyes to the screen and the murders would play out again.
Other times in his dreams, he would lie bound and helpless in the grave he had dug, while Tobias Hankel shovelled earth onto his face. He tried to twist away from it, but the grave was too narrow and the soil was raining down too fast.
Spencer Reid knew plenty of explanations for nightmares.
But he didn’t know how to stop them.
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After a few days in the office, battling the mountains of paperwork, everyone was restless. Reid was trying to finish an article Emily had found for him, but his attention kept being drawn by a conversation between the rest of the team members. Morgan was going on about some horror movie he had seen.
“So, Emily,” Morgan said with a feline grin, “Do you believe in ghosts? JJ and Hotch say no - what about you?”
Emily smiled and then nodded thoughtfully before answering. “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “But I’ve had some strange experiences and maybe there are some things that we just can’t explain.”
Morgan looked at her. “Emily Prentiss - do you see dead people?” he asked in a high-pitched voice before breaking out into laughter.
Emily leaned over and punched him lightly on the arm. “No,” she replied with a grin. “But as I said, there are some phenomena that we cannot explain.” She paused and then said, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth . . . ”
“Than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” finished Reid almost inaudibly.
Morgan shook his head and then turned to him. “C’mon Reid, man,” he said, “You must know - are there such thing as ghosts?” He lifted his arms above his head, uttering “Wooooooh,” in his spookiest voice.
Reid cleared his throat and then spoke quietly. “There has never actually been a proven incidence of a haunting.”
“So you don’t believe in ghosts,” stated Morgan.
“For every claim of a ghost or ghostly presence, there is usually a mechanical or biochemical explanation for the phenomenon or sighting,” Reid replied with a nod. “There’s also a phenomenon called pareidolia which is where we apply significance to what are actually random stimuli, such as sounds or a collection of images.”
“What about that house?” asked Morgan. “The one that looks like a pumpkin face?”
“The Amityville hauntings have been pretty much dismissed as a hoax,” replied Reid with a shrug.
Emily looked at him, amused. “But you didn’t answer Morgan’s question,” she said with a twinkle. “What do you think?”
“I . . . . um . . . I think our minds are very creative,” mumbled Reid, turning back to his desk.
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Back at Reid’s apartment, his discomfort grew. He thought he saw Dowd’s face reflected in his mirror on a few more occasions, and each time he glanced around nervously at the shadows. Then he forced himself to look again in the mirror and see his own face blinking timidly back.
His lack of sleep was taking its toll. The tiredness dragged at him, making him nauseated at times and so he started to skip lunch at work. Trying to find some peace and quiet, he headed for the restrooms one lunch time, locking himself in the furthest stall.
He closed the toilet lid and sat down, leaning his head on the wall and shutting his eyes. He was going to breathe in and out slowly and let the nausea subside. He breathed the cold air in through his nose and held it for a moment, then let it flow out of his mouth. It was supposed to be relaxing.
Reid kept his breathing slow and felt his tense muscles start to relax. He thought he should try to visualise somewhere happy. He drifted back through his memories to when he was very young - before his father left, before his mother was sick.
He was three years old and playing hide and seek with his parents in the back yard. His dad had been throwing him in the air until they were both laughing so much that he had had to put the little boy down and choose a different game. Reid hid with his mom and his dad was making a huge show of looking for them, pretending to search earnestly under rocks and over turned toys.
When the giggling got too loud to ignore, they were found behind a bush. Reid then insisted on being the one to search, so he closed his eyes and counted slowly to fifty.
“Coming, ready or not,” he shouted and began to walk slowly down the lawn, looking from side to side. He knew that the hiding places would be limited and that his parents would be almost certainly behind the trees at the bottom. He tried to fool them with a few glances behind low bushes but he knew where he was headed.
Reid got to the bottom of the back yard and waited a moment, before jumping behind the tree, shouting “Boo!”
Instead of the laughter that should have greeted his success, there was nothing. There was nobody there. Puzzled, the little boy turned back to see where else they could be hiding. He started to walk faster around the yard, searching for where his parents could be. There was nothing else large enough for them to hide behind.
Reid stood in the middle of the lawn and looked around. There was nobody there. He ran up to the back door but it was locked. The house looked different - deserted, torn curtains flapping at broken windows. He turned back to the yard and ran down to the trees. His parents had to be there.
Panting, he reached the trees and placing his hands on the trunk, peered around them. His fingers dug into the harsh bark as a hooded figure looked back at him. For a moment he couldn’t move, then as the figure loomed towards him, he turned to run back to the house.
The lawn sloped upwards and running was hard work. Reid looked back over his shoulder as the hooded figure approached and then tripped and fell. Sitting up, he saw that he had fallen over the body of Tobias Hankel, his glassy eyes staring reproachfully at him. Suddenly the dead man reached out a hand and grabbed the small boy’s ankle . . .
The stall door burst open as Morgan’s foot kicked hard.
“Reid!” he shouted, grabbing hold of the young man’s shoulders. “REID!”
Reid jolted in Morgan’s grip and whimpered. He felt Morgan shake him slightly and blinked a few times to try and re-focus his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked hoarsely. He could see Hotch standing at the stall door, hands on hips and a look of concern on his face.
Morgan was frowning at him. “You were screaming in here. Reid - what’s going on?”
Reid pulled his arms free from Morgan’s grasp. “I . . . must have been dreaming,” he muttered. “Sorry.” He made to stand up. “I’m fine.”
“You fell asleep on the can?” asked Morgan in disbelief. “Reid - you were screaming. And I mean loud.”
Reid sidled past him and went to the sinks to wash his hands. He heard Hotch’s voice, low and soft with concern. “Reid - is everything OK?”
Bending to splash water onto his face, Reid nodded. “I’m just tired,” he replied.
He heard Hotch speak. “Morgan - why don’t you go and report a broken stall door to janitor services?”
There was a moment’s hesitation and Reid continued to rub at his wet face. He heard Morgan sigh and then turn and walk out of the restroom.
Hotch handed him some paper towels and Reid patted his skin dry, still looking down into the sink.
“Reid - if something is wrong, I need to know,” said Hotch, gently but insistently.
Reid looked up at him. “I’m not sleeping too well. I get nightmares and they’ve gotten worse since . . . . since . . . recently.” He shrugged. “I used to . . . um . . . talk to Gideon about them.”
Hotch patted him on the shoulder. “Do you have a counselling appointment coming up?”
Reid nodded. “Next Tuesday. But really, I’m fine.”
“You can always talk to me,” said Hotch. “And you have a lot of vacation time left. If you need a break - please take it.” He kept eye contact with Reid for a few moments. “There is no shame in asking for help.”
Reid could see the expectant look in Hotch’s eyes but he couldn’t tell him what he had seen in his apartment. Hotch would think he was crazy. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” He smiled weakly. “I just need a few early nights.”
Hotch turned away, but as he did, Reid noticed an expression flicker across his face. He wasn’t sure - Hotch hid his emotions so well - but for a moment Hotch’s expression was troubling. Rather than being angry or irritated, Hotch just looked saddened.
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There was no time for anybody to dwell on this as JJ called them all to the conference room to brief them on a new case. There had been a series of rapes near the Russian River area, north of San Francisco and the team were heading out to help with the profile. Reid sat with his head down, avoiding eye contact with Hotch and Morgan.
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On the flight back to Virginia when it was all over, Reid noticed that nearly everyone else was sound asleep. The cabin lights were low and there was a gentle background soundtrack of rhythmic breathing. He yawned; he was tired too and if he slept on the plane, then he wouldn’t have to worry about going to bed in his apartment. But if he slept, there was every chance of another nightmare and if they all heard him screaming . . . there was no way Hotch would let it go this time.
Reid shifted in his seat. Maybe he could just try to rest. He leaned his chin on his fist and gazed out at the black night sky.
He tried hard not to drift off to sleep, jerking back to wakefulness every time his eyes glazed over. He recited formulae and algorithms in his head, including his party piece of listing pi to one hundred places, but it was hard to stop the memories of that shadowy figure from intruding. He was also finding the lure of sleep more and more difficult to ignore.
A tap on the shoulder pulled him back to wakefulness. Hotch sat down and handed him a cup of coffee. “Still awake?” he asked quietly. “You should be making the most of paid sleeping time.”
Reid took a slurp of the scalding bitter liquid. “Like you are?” he said with a smile.
Hotch gave a shrug. “There’s nothing much else for me to do at home other than sleep,” he acknowledged. “And it’s hard to get comfortable on these seats.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking coffee and listening to the hum of the plane’s engines. Then Hotch spoke. “You can talk to me,” he said, “Last time I checked, nightmares are not enough to get you fired from the FBI.” He looked hard at Reid. “I hope I’m not just your boss - I hope I’m also a friend?”
Reid blinked nervously at Hotch and cleared his throat. “You’ve had to shoot people, right?” Hotch nodded and Reid continued, “Do you ever stop feeling bad about it?”
Hotch considered for a moment before answering. “You never feel good about it,” he replied, “But after a while, you accept that it is part of your history.” He put a hand on Reid’s shoulder. “You did what you had to do. You are not to blame for somebody else’s choices.”
Reid worried at his bottom lip for a moment. “But Tobias Hankel - you guys were coming,” he said, “You would have been there in a moment. I didn’t need to . . . you could have . . . “
“Reid,” said Hotch gently, “He would have killed you. You had one chance and you had to take it. Same as with Philip Dowd.”
Reid nodded and turned back to look through the window. He wished he could explain the rest of it to Hotch, but it was just too hard to articulate.
Part Two