Chapter Text
Reid opened his eyes a little, then groaned in pain and closed his eyes again, not wanting to face the pain. Then again, his entire face hurt, so what difference would it make if his eyes were open or closed.
The young agent opened his eyes all the way and noticed the lights and ceiling fan hanging above him. The next thing he noticed was that his hands and feet were bound to a chair. The last thing he noticed, which really should of been the first, was the man leaning against the wall in front of him.
"Evening, Fed," Barton stated, with a smug smile.
"What ever it is you want, I don't have," Reid said, with fear evident in his voice.
"I just want you to listen to me first and foremost," Barton stated. "If you just listened earlier you wouldn't be here. Now on to business. What do you know?"
"About you? Not much," Reid replied, hoping that if he played stupid, the unsub would either let him go or go easy on him.
"Tell me what do you know," Barton ordered as he took out a twenty-two revolver.
"I know that your grandmother is Mellisa Milton. I know that ten years ago, you were arrested for nearly beating your cousin, Matthew, to death, and that you filmed it. You got out two months ago," Reid said, the information spilling out. So much for playing stupid.
"Why did you show up at my house?" Barton asked as he loaded the gun.
"You missed your last parole hearing, and you fit the profile of the Unsub we're looking for," Reid explained, as he struggled against the ropes keeping him place.
Barton noticed what Reid was doing, picked up the nearby TV tray, unfolded and set it down in front of his hostage. He then kneeled down, coming face-to-face with him while he untied the rope around Reid's left hand.
"You shouldn't struggle," Barton said, placing his hand on the tray. Reid gulped, fearing what he was about to do.
Barton held the barrel of his gun, raised it above his head and brought the butt of the weapon down on to the agent's hand. Reid bit back the urge to scream as pain shot up the entirety of his arm. The unsub raised the gun again and brought down with more force than the last blow. This time Reid screamed as he felt bones in his hand break.
Satisfied with the punishment, Barton retied Reid's wrist to the chair. "Don't make me have to punish you again. Keep talking. Tell me the profile."
Reid swallowed thickly, trying his best to block the pain out and said, "We're looking for a man in his early to mid-twenties who has the ability to film and commit the crime. He has some connection to the play Marry Me Death, which was written in the 1940's. He is well educated and very socially confident. Most likely, did time. Something triggered him to start killing. He is probably related to one or more of his victims. He likes to film his murders so he can relive the experience over and over again. Him sending a copy to the police is his way of saying 'Catch me if you can.' You're the perfect fit."
"How am I the perfect fit?" Barton asked.
"One of the victims was related to you. You're very well educated. You've been able to convince seven men to act out a scene with you, due to your social skills. And last month, when your grandmother died, you snapped and started killing," Reid explained.
"How do you know that my grandmother was in that play?" Barton asked.
"My grandfather was the leading actor," Reid stated, forcing himself to make eye contact with the bastard.
Barton yelled in rage as pistol whipped Reid upside the head, knocking him unconscious again.
Morgan and Bolton decided to join the search team instead of going back to the police station feeling useless.
Since the beginning of the search, Morgan has been beating himself up about letting the son of bitch get away.
"Cut yourself some slack, dude," Bolton said after about an hour of searching. "For all we know Reid probably confused the guy with a bunch of statistics and is trying to find his way through the woods."
Morgan stopped in his tracks and said, "Why do you undermine him?"
"Who?" Bolton asked.
"Reid. Why do you have to make him feel miserable all the time," Morgan asked again.
"He's a kid fresh out of the academy, and was placed in the BAU right away. He can't even stand looking at a dead body. He has no place to be in the Bureau period," Bolton explained.
"Someone who's not used to looking at dead bodies usually can't hold their stomach. I bet you threw up at the sight of the first body you saw and were sick the rest the day," Morgan profiled.
Bolton opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
"That's what I thought," Morgan said as he started walking again.
When Reid came to again, he was more aware of his surroundings. In the far right corner, there was a cot with radio on the floor next to it. On the floor by the door was a small bowl with something in it. He couldn't quite make out what it was, but he didn't care.
On a small table, no more than five feet to the left of him, were his gun, credentials, and bulletproof vest.
Reid felt a throbbing pain in his left hand, but once again, he could care less right now. All he wanted to do was get out of this place alive.
"Good, you're awake, now we can continue our little chat without anymore interruptions, hopefully," Barton said, from somewhere behind him. "From what I recall, you said that your grandfather was the leading actor in Marry Me Death. How do I know your not lying?"
"My grandfather was Tony Thomson. The play was all he could talk about," Reid stated.
"How can he be your grandfather if you two have different last names," Barton asked, as he came around from behind and faced Reid.
"He's my mother's father," Reid stated.
"Sure, he is," Barton said sarcastically. "What was the last line in the play?"
Reid searched his memory for the line and then said, "The last line is, 'I have killed the woman I called My Beloved. I must pay for my sins before I am dealt the conviction. I shall die and go to Hell for what I have done.'"
"Bravo. You have proved nothing to me," Barton stated. "How did he die?"
"He hung himself," Reid said, reluctantly.
"I meant your grandfather, how did he die?" Barton rephrased.
"I don't know. Old age, probably," Reid stated.
"Did you know that shortly after the play was done, your grandfather took my grandmother to Vegas and raped her?" Barton asked.
Reid was silent to the count of ten before speaking. "That's not true. My grandfather was a kind man."
"Oh, but he did. My grandmother told me all about it. She ended up pregnant with my mother. Your son of a bitch grandfather raped my own grandmother. And now you're going to pay for his sins," Barton said as he leaned in real close to Reid's personal space.
"If he had raped her, I would never have met her when I was eight years old," Reid explained.
Barton froze for a moment in shock. Which gave Reid the time he needed to talk.
"Our grandparents were very close, but not close enough for him to do what you're claiming. All they were, were co-stars in a play. Believe me, if he had raped her, she wouldn't want to be anywhere near him, let alone meet his only grandson," Reid explained in a rush of words.
Barton pointed the twenty-two revolver at Reid and said, "You're lying."
"No I'm not," Reid stated, doing his best to stare the unsub down.
"If your grandfather didn't rape her, then who did?" Barton demanded, pulling himself away from Reid by a few feet.
"The director did. My grandfather tried to stop it," Reid said, with an even tone. "Your grandmother probably confused you."
Barton's hands started to shake, and he lost the grip he had on the gun. The gun fell to the floor and landed next to Reid's feet.
Reid looked down at the gun and thought; Only if my hands were free, then I could get the gun and hold him here until help arrives.
Morgan and Bolton came to a clearing in the woods and noticed what appeared to be signs of a struggle.
Morgan kneeled down next to a couple of leaves and picked up what looked like an earpiece with a couple drops of blood on it.
"Reid's probably," Morgan said, showing it to Bolton. "If he and Barton fought, that means he probably wasn't taken until he reached this spot. Reid must've went after the bastard in hopes of catching him, but got lost. Barton was probably already here, laying in wait."
"How hard did that door hit you," Bolton asked sarcastically. "Barton could have planted that, for all we know. The twerp isn't capable of fighting."
"Either way, we're probably getting closer to finding him," Morgan said, standing up again. "Barton doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who could carry a body, dead or alive, very far."
"Well, if we come across a piece of fabric from Reid's shirt, I'll believe you," Bolton said.
"You know what Bolton, if you were the one who was missing, you'd want everyone out there looking for you, including Reid," Morgan snapped back.
"Having spoiled, rich, genius of a brat looking for me. I think I'd rather die first," Bolton stated.
Morgan got up, stepped into Bolton's personal space and leaned in real close to his face, and said, "The longer you delay this search, the longer Reid is with that twisted psycho. And for your information, just because he's from Vegas doesn't mean he's rich or spoiled. Besides, the only brat on this team is you, so quit whining every five minutes and help us find Reid before it's to late."
Just then, there was a rustling from behind them.
