Look, I have spent most of last couple weeks of quarantine sleeping and feeling like a swear word. I tried updating a story and literally started to fall asleep. This is best I can do right now in terms of keeping my writing muscles moving.

Sixteen-year-old Artemisia Reid's father has been presumed dead for the last ten years. Artemisia is determined to prove everyone wrong, even at the risk of her own life. Reid has been in isolation for ten years, and feels a glimmer of a hope.

Artemisia and the Death of Spencer Reid

One day while visiting at the library at the age of five, my eyes latched onto a series of books with yellow spines. My mom thought I was too young to read them, but my father pointed out my advanced reading level, and offered to read them to me. Every night we'd read a chapter together. Three months in, I started to solve stories on my own. Six months later, I was reading them alone. I had become obsessed with Nancy Drew.

We were supposed to discuss the Sky Phantom the night my father never came home. I slept with the book in my arms when my mom woke me up to say dad was in heaven. I knew that meant he was dead. My mom and I cried to together as the book sat on my bed.

My name is Artemisia Reid. My name comes from a fearless painter during the Baroque period. My friends call me Artemis. I am proud to say I am as smart as my father and as bold as my mother. Over ten years later, I never gave up on my obsession with Nancy Drew.

My father's murder was never solved, and certain facts don't add up. The combination of being the daughter of a profiler and growing up obsessed with murder mysteries has led me to believe I am capable of finding his killer, if there is one. I know my age makes my susceptible to delusions of thinking I know everything, and having a certain disregard for my own safety. I hope my self-awareness will keep me safe.

I keep my investigation secret from my mom. She doesn't like to talk about his death. She's terrified of my aspirations to join the BAU like my father one day, as she fears a similar fate for me. Something broke in my mom when my father died, and I don't know how to fix it. My only hope is to seek answers she refuses to believe exist.

My "Bess" and "George" know of my investigation. "Bess" is actually Amaryllis, Amy for short is my hacker extraordinaire. "George" is Alexandra, Alex for short, is what some call a jock but I prefer the term physical combat expert. We attend a ritzy private school on scholarship, all of our names are weird. My friends support me completely in my quest for justice, and will risk everything for me, if it ever comes to it.

So, who is my "Ned Nickerson?" He is Alonzo "Al" and actually our gay best friend who specializes is in blending dated tech for new uses. He's an inventor, and also the son of a current FBI agent who steals the passwords Amy needs.

I don't have a car yet. I depend on the metro. It is good for thinking and practicing observational skills. Especially now that someone is following me.

It started last month. I feel eyes on me frequently. In the school, on the metro, at the shopping mall. Al helped plant a bug in my locker and Amy hacked the surveillance on the subway. He is man with sandy blond hair. Our school database lists him as parent of a student who doesn't exist. If I can trap him, I believe I will find the answers I am looking for.

I am Artemisia Diana Reid. I have so many theories as to what happened to my father. I am certain in my heart and in my gut, he is alive and that one of my theories will lead me to him.

Spencer:

I have been in this cell for ten years. I think of all the birthdays I have missed. Wedding anniversaries. Moments of love with my family and friends.

They think I am dead. There is footage of them stabbing my body until at least a pint of blood was spilled on the subway platform before I am dragged away. Part of me want to believe that since they didn't recover my body, there'd be hope, but I have my doubts.

Three years after Artemisia was born, some of my former cellmates escaped. I thought enough time had passed. That they had forgotten me. But when I woke up from my stabbing, they were there to gloat. Apparently, they found a financier. They sentenced me to solitary confinement for the rest of my life.

Some days I think I have gone mad, but then I think of my daughter. I wonder is she has read all the Nancy Drew books. I wonder if the hints of a future profiler I saw at the young age of five are still there. I dream of what she looks like. I scratch stories into the ground of the adventures we'd have.

I think of Max. My beautiful Max. I want her to move on and find love again, even as a selfish part of me doesn't. These women are my main conviction that I will find my way into their arms again.

I have gone through periods of hopelessness. I tried to commit suicide a couple times. But something feels different right now. I can't pinpoint what, but at this moment, I feel hope.