Demons of the Mind
folder
1 through F › Criminal Minds
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,951
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Criminal Minds
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,951
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Criminal Minds, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Hunted Despair
Chapter Two
Hunted Despair
Evanescent like the scent of decay
I was fading from the race
When in despair, my darkest days
Ran amok and forged her face
-----------------------------------------------------
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
With a graceful sweep of his hand, Reid swiped the alarm clock off of his bedside table and onto the floor. The force of its descent and the crashing impact were not enough to murder its incessant beeping, and in fact slid the clock far enough under the bed that he had to get out from beneath his warm covers to smash a fist down onto the blasted thing. He’d just managed to get to sleep, finally, after being plagued with visions of that brutalized, broken child…. And then Gideon had called, told him about the new case, and had left him an open invitation. He could come, help the team, or hide under the covers and try to forget.
“Why? Why now?” He tried to haul himself out of bed, but tripped when he found his blankets wrapped around his legs. He hit the floor with a resounding thud and a grunt of pain. He could practically see his pulse throbbing in the corner of his right eye. He had learned recently that fury tasted like blood and pepper, and smelled like burning plastic. Just how fucking bad could the day turn out, if this was the beginning of it?
Well, part of him murmured, not so bad. Not so bad as some days. Not like some days. Not like yesterday. Not like yesterday, when that girl died in his arms, her ruby blood soaking into his pristine white shirt, her breath rattling in her chest, her hand so slim and clutching his so tightly. Despite her grip, she was like a wraith in his arms, a ghost, and her life’s blood had poured from her body like water and wine with only the vicious fear in her eyes and the soft sigh of fading spark. Remembering that girl’s face, that girl only twelve years old, that evanescent wisp of a thing that even now rotted beneath the ground, marinating in embalming fluid and the reek of her own decaying corpse, he wondered briefly if he wasn't going mad, and then remembered that crazy people actually believed they were the sane ones. But the girl... only twelve, and reduced to that thing, that maggot-ridden thing by the lightning quick lead fangs of a gun-toting demon.
“Wake up, Reid,” he muttered to himself, yanking on the power cord to reveal the source of that hideous noise, and brutally silencing the shrieking clock. “Forget about it. Just forget about it.” Hauling himself to his feet, ripping the blankets from around his legs, he staggered almost drunkenly to the bathroom. He needed his medicine, that’s what he needed. The sweetness of being numb, the absence of pain… because these days everything hurt. Everything, physical or mental. It hurt to think, because thinking reminded him… reminded him of everything. Gideon’s shrewd looks, JJ’s bitterness masked behind her cheerfulness and willingness to work, her ability to pretend that he hadn’t ripped her heart out when he’d refused to go out on that second date because she wasn't the kind of girl he needed…. Thinking reminded him that Elle was gone, that the guys were starting to notice that something was different about him. Thinking reminded him of that little girl bleeding to death in his arms.
Quickly, he unscrewed the cap off the pill bottle and tossed back four white tablets. Almost instantly, he felt better. Much better. He was so glad today was his day off. He could sleep, and maybe, with the drug in his system, he wouldn’t dream of the child, that little girl, her hair tacky with sticky red, her lips blue, her face turning that hideous corpse grey, her blood fucking everywhere….
Bile rose in his throat, and he barely made it to the toilet before everything he’d eaten the night before gushed out of him with almost violent force.
When he was finished, he carefully put the toilet seat down and laid his cheek against the cool porcelain. His face felt hot, his cheeks burning, and he was having trouble focusing. He’d also probably thrown up the pills, damn it. He should just go to bed, really. He ought to, ought to just go back and collapse onto his bed, and just let sleep kiss him back into oblivion. He was fading, he knew that. Fading into nothing, a nothing man, unable to function beyond the memory of that child, and he couldn’t do that, because without being able to function, without being able to break past the memory of that little girl, and all the other innocents, he would be nothing, and mean nothing. He’d cease to exist, somehow, he knew that.
He longed for that shadow at the edge of his consciousness, the black panther he sometimes saw in his nightmares, the black panther that snarled at demons and night terrors, baring her ivory teeth and biting back his fear. She was an angel, that black panther like a sleek winter night hunting down fear. He wished that panther were real, because only she could tear out the throats of his memories and make him no longer some inconsequential, faded, shade-thing. But she wasn’t real, that midnight jungle cat with eyes like emeralds. He'd forged her face when the despair and darkness in him had run amok, threatening to rip him to shreds. She didn't exist. Not real.
He wished she were.
He got up, flushed the toilet, and went to the sink. He gargled to clean out his mouth, and then splashed icy water on his face. With that done, he staggered back to bed and collapsed onto the almost bare mattress- his covers were tumbled onto the floor.
His phone rang, and he grabbed a pillow and pressed it over his head. He didn’t take it away until Gideon’s voice came over his answering machine.
“Reid? Reid, pick up the damn phone. I know you’re there, I need you to answer the phone! You’re in serious trouble, answer the phone! We just got a tip, you’re in danger! Reid, answer the phone!!”
-----------------------------------------
Well, that's the second chapter. What do you think?
Please feel free to leave a comment!
Anything at all: If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny or poignant or interesting, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.
You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), though if you want me to respond to it, signed is best, OR send me a private message, though I do prefer comments and reviews.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Disclaimers: I do not own Spencer Reid, Criminal Minds, or anything else you recognize.
Copyright Notice: Did it already.
Hunted Despair
Evanescent like the scent of decay
I was fading from the race
When in despair, my darkest days
Ran amok and forged her face
-----------------------------------------------------
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
With a graceful sweep of his hand, Reid swiped the alarm clock off of his bedside table and onto the floor. The force of its descent and the crashing impact were not enough to murder its incessant beeping, and in fact slid the clock far enough under the bed that he had to get out from beneath his warm covers to smash a fist down onto the blasted thing. He’d just managed to get to sleep, finally, after being plagued with visions of that brutalized, broken child…. And then Gideon had called, told him about the new case, and had left him an open invitation. He could come, help the team, or hide under the covers and try to forget.
“Why? Why now?” He tried to haul himself out of bed, but tripped when he found his blankets wrapped around his legs. He hit the floor with a resounding thud and a grunt of pain. He could practically see his pulse throbbing in the corner of his right eye. He had learned recently that fury tasted like blood and pepper, and smelled like burning plastic. Just how fucking bad could the day turn out, if this was the beginning of it?
Well, part of him murmured, not so bad. Not so bad as some days. Not like some days. Not like yesterday. Not like yesterday, when that girl died in his arms, her ruby blood soaking into his pristine white shirt, her breath rattling in her chest, her hand so slim and clutching his so tightly. Despite her grip, she was like a wraith in his arms, a ghost, and her life’s blood had poured from her body like water and wine with only the vicious fear in her eyes and the soft sigh of fading spark. Remembering that girl’s face, that girl only twelve years old, that evanescent wisp of a thing that even now rotted beneath the ground, marinating in embalming fluid and the reek of her own decaying corpse, he wondered briefly if he wasn't going mad, and then remembered that crazy people actually believed they were the sane ones. But the girl... only twelve, and reduced to that thing, that maggot-ridden thing by the lightning quick lead fangs of a gun-toting demon.
“Wake up, Reid,” he muttered to himself, yanking on the power cord to reveal the source of that hideous noise, and brutally silencing the shrieking clock. “Forget about it. Just forget about it.” Hauling himself to his feet, ripping the blankets from around his legs, he staggered almost drunkenly to the bathroom. He needed his medicine, that’s what he needed. The sweetness of being numb, the absence of pain… because these days everything hurt. Everything, physical or mental. It hurt to think, because thinking reminded him… reminded him of everything. Gideon’s shrewd looks, JJ’s bitterness masked behind her cheerfulness and willingness to work, her ability to pretend that he hadn’t ripped her heart out when he’d refused to go out on that second date because she wasn't the kind of girl he needed…. Thinking reminded him that Elle was gone, that the guys were starting to notice that something was different about him. Thinking reminded him of that little girl bleeding to death in his arms.
Quickly, he unscrewed the cap off the pill bottle and tossed back four white tablets. Almost instantly, he felt better. Much better. He was so glad today was his day off. He could sleep, and maybe, with the drug in his system, he wouldn’t dream of the child, that little girl, her hair tacky with sticky red, her lips blue, her face turning that hideous corpse grey, her blood fucking everywhere….
Bile rose in his throat, and he barely made it to the toilet before everything he’d eaten the night before gushed out of him with almost violent force.
When he was finished, he carefully put the toilet seat down and laid his cheek against the cool porcelain. His face felt hot, his cheeks burning, and he was having trouble focusing. He’d also probably thrown up the pills, damn it. He should just go to bed, really. He ought to, ought to just go back and collapse onto his bed, and just let sleep kiss him back into oblivion. He was fading, he knew that. Fading into nothing, a nothing man, unable to function beyond the memory of that child, and he couldn’t do that, because without being able to function, without being able to break past the memory of that little girl, and all the other innocents, he would be nothing, and mean nothing. He’d cease to exist, somehow, he knew that.
He longed for that shadow at the edge of his consciousness, the black panther he sometimes saw in his nightmares, the black panther that snarled at demons and night terrors, baring her ivory teeth and biting back his fear. She was an angel, that black panther like a sleek winter night hunting down fear. He wished that panther were real, because only she could tear out the throats of his memories and make him no longer some inconsequential, faded, shade-thing. But she wasn’t real, that midnight jungle cat with eyes like emeralds. He'd forged her face when the despair and darkness in him had run amok, threatening to rip him to shreds. She didn't exist. Not real.
He wished she were.
He got up, flushed the toilet, and went to the sink. He gargled to clean out his mouth, and then splashed icy water on his face. With that done, he staggered back to bed and collapsed onto the almost bare mattress- his covers were tumbled onto the floor.
His phone rang, and he grabbed a pillow and pressed it over his head. He didn’t take it away until Gideon’s voice came over his answering machine.
“Reid? Reid, pick up the damn phone. I know you’re there, I need you to answer the phone! You’re in serious trouble, answer the phone! We just got a tip, you’re in danger! Reid, answer the phone!!”
-----------------------------------------
Well, that's the second chapter. What do you think?
Please feel free to leave a comment!
Anything at all: If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny or poignant or interesting, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.
You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), though if you want me to respond to it, signed is best, OR send me a private message, though I do prefer comments and reviews.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Disclaimers: I do not own Spencer Reid, Criminal Minds, or anything else you recognize.
Copyright Notice: Did it already.