This is my Last Resort (Chapter Eighteen) by Lexikal

Spoilers: None.

Warnings: Dark themes; violence; missing children/implied child abuse, lots of Reid angst...

Summary: Spencer Reid, third season-ish (2008-ish), is kidnapped/taken hostage and abused/terrorized along with a host of other "unwanted" children. Please see chapter one for more info.

Author's Note: 4 reviews for the last chapter as of 11:23 p.m. P.S.T. on Saturday, March 2, 2013. That's 20 paragraphs I promised to write or 100 sentences (plus whatever else sneaks in there, paragraph wise), and I am loosely defining a paragraph as 5 sentences (or more). I checked the American greyhound website and apparently there is a stop in Fredericksburg, VA. The closest stop to Tappahannock is Richmond, Virginia, where Elle is supposed to have escaped from, I believe. (I am pretty sure I dropped at least one hint that the hospital was in Richmond). So going up to Fredericksburg only to come right back down is a very convoluted way to get where she is going, but it's so complicated nobody would think she'd do it... so there is that. I think she is just in a hurry to escape and feels threatened. The kid is six and a half, after all. I don't actually know if you can catch a greyhound in Fredericksburg that goes to Richmond: I don't live in the US, have never been to Virginia (actually, maybe I have...) and do not work for greyhound. ;) While there are aspects of this fic that bug me, I do like the idea of a woman going into a violent, psychotic rage out of guilt after losing her baby and killing a couple to steal their young child as a proxy, only to kidnap an exceptionally intelligent child with an attachment disorder and a violent streak herself. It's the perfect clusterfuck. The general information about the small town of Tappahannock, VA is accurate, near as I can tell. Oh, and the cockroach detail in this chapter? Heh. Read the author's note at the end if you want to know more...

By 4 p.m. EST (Eastern Standard Time), about the same time Reid was falling into a headachy, distracted sleep, Elle was boarding a bus in Fredericksburg, Virginia and heading back to Richmond, Virginia. She had escaped a small hospital just outside of Richmond less than 18 hours ago, but the journey north had allowed her to work on her plan. She'd go to the Richmond Greyhound and then use two quarters to call Uncle Bucky (she had only seen him twice since Mommy and Daddy had "saved" her all those years ago, and he wasn't even Mommy's real brother, but none of that mattered) and, if he couldn't come get her, she'd steal some lousy brat's bicycle and bike there. It was about 45 miles from Richmond to Tappahannock, as the crow flies, which meant that with the nearly 60 bucks she had from the cookie jar robbery, she might get there in about a week. She'd bike as much as possible, keep to back roads and behind trees. Elle had seen people on TV "hitchhike", and it looked like fun, but as far as the world was concerned she was a child, and children had no rights and could not be outside without their owners. Most people referred to these owners as "parents" or "guardians", but a sugar-coated name was just that, and legally, what those parents and guardians were was owners. Kids had no rights, so if one was seen trying to hitch a ride, that was seen as suspicious (sort of like a slave trying to run away from a cotton picking plantation back in the olden days), and one of the drivers would no doubt pull out his or her ugly, dumb cell phone and call the police and then that would be that. Police were the worst of the worst, fucking fascist Nazis. So hitchhiking was out. Buying stuff in stores was okay- as long as the store wasn't too far from a sidewalk and other kids were around and it wasn't too late at night and the kid in question didn't buy too much food all at once or attempt to buy certain "adult" items like alcohol or strike anywhere matches or lighter fluid- but most other adult-enjoyed liberties were denied to children, because adults were evil, nasty pieces of shit that liked to dominate everyone and everything in their paths. It was one of the main reasons they had invented technologically advanced weapons like the nuclear bomb. If they couldn't make people do what they wanted with words alone, then they killed them with powerful, amazingly sophisticated weapons. That was what the world called maturity, and it was a world Elle wanted no part of, thank you very fucking much.

This greyhound was nice, Elle had to admit. Much nicer than the ugly city transit bus she'd been on all day. Bright blue, padded seats with little grey squiggles on them. No pull cords, because the bus stopped at certain, set destinations. There was even a bathroom at the back of the bus, so you could poop or pee if you had to even while the bus was in motion. Nice touch. Elle mounted the stairs and proceeded through the aisles, to the seats at the back. Luckily they were open. People were crazy for not wanting seats at the back, right next to the portable bathroom. Elle sank into the seat, pulled the Dora the Explorer backpack off, pulled one of the cans of Pepsi out of her bag, and then zipped the backpack up. She lay with her back up against the wall, small feet dangling over three seats, staring gloomily out the window. She popped the thumb tap on the Pepsi and took a sip. The pepsi was warm by now, and usually Elle hated warm soda pop, but warm pepsi was better than no pepsi, and besides, she was dizzy. She'd felt dizzy and a little cold all day. Everything felt like it was spinning, and it wasn't fun, and even though she was pretty sure her gunshot wound had stopped bleeding she knew that the stupid t-shirt she'd stolen was covered with blood underneat the rain slicker. The doctors had removed the bullet and stitched her up, but she was pretty sure she'd torn something jumping in and out of bed like that, jumping into the back of the truck bed and then back out, all that creeping around. She'd been told after the surgery that she'd lost a lot of blood and that her insides needed her to stay still and get lots of sleep in order to heal.

Too late for following doctors orders on that one.

Elle had defied the stupid doctors, and her stupid parents. She smiled, despite the ache in her abdomen and the dizzy, vertiginous feeling of movement and silently willed the bus to start moving. People were still getting on, sitting down, storing small bags in overhead compartments, talking to one another... Not many people, though. Elle counted nine. Only nine. She closed her eyes and daydreamed the engine inside of the bus. Saw the internal combustion engine begin a series of tiny explosions. Saw the bus wheels start to turn. As she was imagining the black exhaust coughing out through the exhaust pipes, the bus, indeed, began to move. Elle heard a phrase from a television commercial run through her mind- "rack and pinion steering"- and tried to visualize the rack, tried to visualize the pinion. She had no idea what either of these parts of the car or bus were, though, except that if they were related to steering they were probably connected to the steering wheel in some way. But out of context, they were nothing. She took another sip of her pepsi and leaned over to look out the window at the trees flashing by.

After 20 minutes of the greyhound's easy, rhythmic coasting over the macadam and the slightly hushed sounds of other people's stupid conversations, Elle fell asleep, half-full can of pepsi still in her hand.

Spencer Reid had finally drifted off. The combination of fresh air, a dark (or at least dimmed) room, freedom from prying eyes and the excedrin had helped calm him enough to spin away into la la land, as had Morgan's somewhat forceful assurance that the hiccups in his sense of "realness" were just that- hiccups. The case had more or less flatlined, though. There were police out looking for Dolores White and the missing kids (Julie and Connor and Mark and any other kid currently escaping his memory) but so far, nothing. The team was trying to profile Dolores White more "completely", were playing phone tag with the hospital she had lost her baby at- the real Elle- the one who had died. There were images of all the kids and Elle and Dolores on all the local and national news stations, almost hourly. So far, nothing. They were in that horrible span of time where all leads seem to take the journeyer back to the beginning of his journey.

"You realize that this child is not the devil of the devils nor the angel of the angels, but just a child, just a creature that is scared of your tactics." The voice that told Reid this was very old, and very confident and very calm. Reid blinked and opened his eyes, and the room rippled. On one of the walls there was movement, something two inches long and red-brown. It scuttled out of his field of vision, then popped up even closer in his visual range. Running towards him at quite a decent clip for such a small animal.

"I am a waterbug and I know the way the minds of the left-behind think," The insect told him. It was at his feet on the linoleum in front of the couch. Reid squinted at it. He knew he had to be dreaming, but everything felt so incredibly real that, if he had been forced to admit to his Higher Self, his soul, that he was dreaming, he wouldn't have been able to say it with any assurance or confidence.

"You are a water bug?" Reid asked dumbly. The cockroach gazed at him with shiny, black compound eyes. Eyes that had seen the big bang, the unfolding of the universe and the atrocities of the millennia, and probably not in that order. Eyes of the Godhead, if not God, Himself.

"I am a water bug from the planet of hydrogen and oxygen, which you call Earth and which I call home. I am an American cockroach, your friend in this life, and my name is Periplaneta americana. You can trust me not to tell you bogus bullshit, genius gentleman. I know where the child with the old soul you are seeking is going. She is going to the trees and the water, where the tide of the river ebbs and flows and where the children can scream but not be heard by the trees."

Reid squinted again at the cockroach, at the tiny thing with a voice as loud and commanding as a strong, healthy man's. The cockroach had a pleasant, lilting voice, maybe a little British. The voice of a British scholar. The voice of William S. Burroughs, if William S. Burroughs had been raised in England and had done fewer drugs.

"She is going to the water and the trees? Where the river tide ebbs and flows? You have to give me more than that!" Reid pressed.

The cockroach stared at him with its unknowable, mysterious eyes. Its antennae twittered in what appeared to be a light breeze, and at the moment, Reid heard the venetian blinds hanging over the windows rustle and bang lightly against the wall.

"The one you call Elle is scared of monsters. She will become a monster if no action is taken. She will also become a monster if too much action is taken. Your type scare her. Your needles and your drugs and what you call medicine. To her, you are dangerous and like any animal that has been hurt by others, she has become vicious and deeply angry. Inside she is a child, but in her mind she is a lone soldier. She is heading towards the trees and the water. Where the river tide ebbs and flows."

"The trees and the water, I know, you told me that... trees and the water, where? River, where?"

"I am a water bug, and I come from the river. Don't wait long, scholarly Samaritan of the System. The child never meant to harm you. Not really. Not in the place where the soul learns and makes plans for each precious human life. She merely deigned to show you. I was once an Algonquian but now I need to be a water bug."

"Show me what?" Reid said with exasperation, vaguely aware that if he wasn't sleeping he was full-out hallucinating, and not caring one whit.

"Her reality. Take that as you will. For I am the cockroach, the bringer of truths, but not the bringer of interpretations." That said, the animal stared at Reid a second longer, before turning and scuttling away. Half way across the room it hit some quantum interdimensional portal and disappeared, leaving a ripple in the air that waved like a heat mirage.

"I don't know what any of that means!" Reid called after the roach reproachfully -reproach for the roach- but it was gone.

Reid felt a sharp pain pierce his left temple then, and suddenly, louder, but entirely inside his head, came the roach's almost-playful voice: Where the River ebbs and flows, where the trees can't hear the screams, genius gentleman.

Reid let out a gaspy hiss of pain, scrunched his eyes shut and sat up on the couch. Wincing, body rocking ever so slightly. His heart was hammering hard against his sternum, like a furious animal that wants to break out of its cage. The door opened then.

"Kid?"

Reid knew without looking that it was Morgan. He could hear Morgan approaching. "Reid? You okay, man?" He felt a warm, callused hand on his shoulder. Even through the fabric of his cardigan, he knew that hand. The hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"Headache," Reid moaned, and licked his lips. "Where the river ebbs and flows, where the trees can't hear the screams... genius gentleman."

"Reid?" Morgan queried again, and this time the concern was ratcheted up a few notches. Reid licked his lips once more, blinked rapidly. Rubbed at his eyes. The pain in his head was gone.

"Uh... nothing. I was just dreaming," Reid stood, stared around the lounge groggily, eyes narrowed into slits, checking out each corner and shadowy place. Morgan followed the darting trail of Reid's eyes but couldn't see what the kid was seeing.

"You were dreaming. Or... something else?" Morgan questioned gently. "Kid? Look at me."

Reid met the warm, brown eyes of his friend. So much compassion and strength in those eyes, and he knew Morgan loved him the way a good big brother loves a devoted little brother, but Morgan wouldn't understand quantum cockroaches. Reid wasn't sure he understood them, himself.

"What did I just say? Something about a river?" Reid said tiredly, and palmed his eyes with his hands, rubbed at his face. "I gotta wake up. I need some coffee. I feel like I've been drugged..."

"You said: where the river ebbs and flows, where the trees can't hear the screams, genius gentleman. Why? What's going on?"

"I need some coffee. I need Garcia." Reid was finally standing. He crossed over to the lounge's little sink area, pulled a mug (it read "Niagara Falls, Canada" on it and featured a colourful illustration of water shooting over the falls) out from the cupboard over the sink and filled it with the dregs of the coffee pot. Morgan made a face.

"Reid, man, that coffee has to be three days old-"

Reid shrugged and downed it anyway, smacking his lips. After a delayed span of two seconds he made a face and spit what was left in his mouth back into the cup with a scowl.

"More like three weeks." Reid amended and returned the cup to the sink, rinsed it clean.

"Garcia, I need your help," Reid said, gently opening the door to Garcia's computer lab. Garcia looked up, smiled, nodded and looked over at Morgan who wore a "don't ask" expression.

"This is probably going to sound kind of weird but-" Reid began, not quite making eye contact with the tech.

"Oh, sugar, I specialize in weird," Garcia said tolerably. "And I doubt it is as weird as you think."

"I had a dream, and... I can't explain it, but my dream... in the dream, I was given clues to where Elle might be heading, but they were in code, I guess you could say." Reid paused, analyzed Garcia's facial expression. So far she didn't look dismayed or put or or annoyed. Reid nodded to himself and continued.

"I was told to look at rivers. My guess would be rivers on this side of the country, close to the original White residence. Small communities near rivers in Virginia. Can you bring those up?"

Garcia clicked some keys and a map of Virginia appeared on her screen. There were a few more clicks and large red dots stood out along the Eastern seaboard, small river communities not quite flush with the Atlantic. She looked over at Reid, waiting for directions.

"Um... the dream said something about the river tide. The ebb and flow of the tide, or the river tide..." Reid trailed, realized he sounded ridiculous. As if reading his mind, Garcia glanced up at him, smiling gently.

"I'm going to need a little more than that, cutie. That's a little too obscure, even for me."

Reid nodded, leaned closer to the screen and scanned the red dots and the names listed next to them.

"I was once an Algonquian but now I need to be a water bug," Reid mumbled to himself distractedly. Garcia looked at him again, a look of confusion but Reid was looking inwards and missed the questioning look. His right pointer finger tapped on her computer screen, on one of the glowing red circles.

"Tappahannock," Reid murmured to himself. "Garcia, what is the origin of that town's name? Tappahannock? Can you find that out?"

"Already on it, " Garcia shot back. "It says here the name Tappahannock is of Algonquian origin and means "town on the rise and fall of the water". The water being referred to is no doubt the Rappahannock river, which Tappahannock is situated almost directly on top of. Does that help you?"

"Where the river ebbs and flows," Reid muttered to himself, brow creasing. The dream- if that is what it had been- was sliding away in his head, scuttling away like cockroaches when hit with light. "Where the children can scream but not be heard by the trees... Garcia, that town? Tappahannock? Is it particularly... dense with trees? Or..."

Garcia nodded, knowing what he was asking, and hammered once more on the keyboard. A screen of images of Tappahannock, Virginia appeared.

"There are rural areas of Tappahannock, yes. The town is the oldest of Essex County, Virginia and was originally known as Hobbs Hole, after a long-time-dead, old-time-man named Jacob Hobbs who established a trading post way back when in... 1682. He did better than our friend, John Smith, of Pocahontas fame, who landed there in 1608 and was driven away by the local Native American tribes. Oh, and to answer your question? There appear to be some very tree-y spots, indeed."

"Can you..." Reid started, then realized he hadn't consciously worked out what he wanted to ask her yet. "Is there any way you can sort rural residences? The most rural? And closest to the river?"

"I am on it," Garcia said. With a few deft keystrokes the town of Tappahannock was enlarged and 10 blinking yellow lights stood out on the screen.

"These ten residences are farthest from each other and from any man-made disturbances, like pesky paved roads with nosey tourists. This house- if you can call it that- is farthest from all the others, and as far as secluded in Tappahannock, Virginia goes, it is the most Overlook Hotel-y. It gets electricity, but not even any phone lines," Garcia was tapping the screen where she wanted Reid to look.

"Overlook Hotel?" Reid looked confused.

"Reference to the Kubrick masterpiece The Shining, my love, and not at all pertinent."

"Who owns it?" Reid asked, eyes glued to the screen.

"Already on it and..." Garcia went silent for a moment. "This is either a really weird coincidence or you, Spencer Reid, are developing into an uber precognitive dreamer. This marvelous little shack in the middle of nowhere is owned by a lucky gentleman by the name of Buckley White." Garcia made a few more keystrokes. "He is mentally challenged and works as a local tourist in town, where he spends most every day. Apparently Buckley is too hard to say, and everyone calls him Bucky or Buck. He has a tested IQ of 77 and... I am not getting anything on any family he may have. His family, if he has one, has been sealed, along with his juvenile records. Four years ago he made the front page of the local paper for catching a fish called a black drum which weighed in at a whopping 65.1 pounds and was an astonishing 50 inches long... caught in the Rappahannock river, on a 16 pound test line. For what it's worth."

"Can you unseal them? His records?" Reid asked, frowning.

"Not without a court order..." Garcia said, frowning back in sympathy.

Reid opened his mouth to say something. Shut it. Sighed with exasperation. "You say he is employed as a tourist? Are there any more details?"

"Buckley White appears to sell hand-made apple-head dolls on the side of the road, when he is not doing odd jobs- under the table, it looks like- for folks in town. Everything from weed whacking to cutting the grass to washing cars. Some light janitorial work in Tappahannock's downtown district... if you can call it a downtown district. Oh, and he sells smoked fish- black drum, croaker, spanish mackeral- to the local grocers. I would bet his smoked fish and fish jerky and other pescetarian delights bring in the majority of his income."

"The address?" Reid asked, but Garcia simply nodded her head.

"I am printing you out the address of his property, the addresses of the grocers and markets he sells fish jerky and all things fishy to and the driving directions, as well as any and all available information on Bucky White himself."

"Thanks, Garcia." Reid said, waiting for the printer to spew out his information.

When he had the papers in his hand, Reid glanced over at Morgan, who hadn't said a word during the entire exchange.

"Now I have to convince Hotch that this Bucky White is someone related to Dolores White and Elle is on her way there."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Morgan said after a moment. "Dream, hallucination or something else... something led you to this guy. It was actually kind of spooky to watch, kid."

"Thanks," Reid said, following Morgan out of Garcia's computer lab and toward the direction of Hotch's office. "I think."

Please review this chapter. Oh, I could have had any insect- indeed, any animal- be Reid's little spiritual messenger in this chapter, but a few weeks (months?) ago I was sick for an extended period of time and let some dishes pile up in the sink. Not long after, I started noticing that I had attracted the patronage of a multitude of German cockroaches (Blattella germanica) to my kitchen. Unbeknownst to me, these little buggers got into a rather fancy coffee machine I had, laid their eggs, and stayed there. I couldn't figure out where they kept coming from, until one day, I went to fill the back of the coffee maker up with water and a horde of them scattered out (much like the soot sprites in "My Neighbour Totoro")! Needless to say, that coffee maker was thrown away (I only drink a cup or two a week, anyway) but today, I noticed a straggler roach in the kitchen and bent to pick him (her?) up, to carry outside. I hate killing anything, even roaches. Anyway, the roach got loose and about 5, 10 minutes later I felt crawling on my chest and arm... and the roach ran out of the sleeve of my shirt and disappeared across my computer desk. And that is why the weird little messenger in this chapter is a roach and not a dung beetle or a sewer rat or lady bug or something else. I made it an American cockroach because they are bigger, and when it comes to spooky interdimensional insects telling you things, slightly bigger is always better. ;)