Chapter Text
“911 what’s your emergency?”
“Uh, I just found a body in the dumpster outside where I work. You need to get people down here, now.”
“Sir, you found a body in a dumpster?”
“He’s dead, if that’s what you’re asking and I’m not touching him. For god sakes, man, it’s just a kid. Just get people down here.”
“What’s your location, sir?”
“I work at the beauty parlor off of Hazelwood and Main Street. The dumpster is in the alley next door.”
“Okay, sir, I’m dispatching officers now.”
— — —
Deep down, Spencer knew Layne was dead.
Spencer knew he wouldn’t fight, he wouldn’t play whatever game the Unsub had them play and so he knew that Layne would be his quickest kill. He just hoped that his quickest kill was merciful.
Spencer couldn’t focus on school. All he did was scribble down the answers on worksheets and then stare off into space. He knew he’d be getting a call soon from Professor Karrington because the FBI would be calling him about some kid named Spencer Reid.
It was only a matter of time before they called him or found him in person to tell him that Layne Simon, age seventeen, was dead.
Spencer looked at the necklace in his hands. Layne didn’t share much about his life. All Spencer knew is that his dad had kicked him out after thinking he was eighteen and no amount of convincing seemed to change his dad’s mind. He didn’t like his dad much anyway.
His mom had left when he was seven and gave him that necklace, customized with a silver star pendant. Layne never told Spencer why, but Spencer supposed it was none of his business.
Aside from his parents, Spencer knew that Layne’s favorite color was green. Layne was never a reader, but Spencer suggested he pick up graphic novels and told him where to find the Superman comics in the school library. From then on, Layne always seemed to have one on him. Layne was more of a gamer, which he was able to do at the public library.
Layne tried his best to want to live, Reid could see that as plain as day. But when it feels like the world is against you, when even the little things become too much trouble, it’s easy to feel like death is the best option. No one to bother, no one to hurt you. No more pain.
“Hey, Spencer. The bell rang a minute ago.” Spencer looked up to see his AP biology teacher looking down at him concerned. Spencer bit out an apology and started putting his things in his satchel. Mr. Holloway grabbed a paper off of Spencer’s desk and his worry only increased. “Spencer, you okay? Your other teachers said you didn’t make it after lunch. Is…is it your mom again?”
Spencer barely shook his head. “No, she’s fine. I’m fine, promise.”
“Then, why does your paper look like this?”
He placed the paper back on Spencer’s desk and saw just what Mr. Holloway had meant.
In every answer blank, Spencer had written Layne.
— — —
The team stood at the dump site of Layne Simon. He was positioned just like all the others, as if he had been sleeping, but there were a few things that were different about this kill.
“He wasn’t stabbed, his neck was broken. If it was done right, our victim wouldn’t have felt anything.” Prentiss said.
“No defensive wounds. He didn’t fight back.” Gideon said.
“So are we going to ignore the elephant in the room? The kid was right. He knew that Layne would die, he knew that Layne was his next victim.” Morgan said.
“So, what? You think Spencer Reid is responsible for killing his friend? Come on, Morgan, he’s like, ten.” Prentiss said.
“No, I’m saying the kid was right. How many ten year olds do you know that can accurately profile a serial killer?” Morgan asked, looking pointedly at Prentiss.
“The MO changed. He went from stabbing his other victims to breaking this one’s neck. A mercy killing and remorseful dump site. Reid said something about them having to play a game?” Hotch asked.
“He theorized it. Said that the inconsistent times they’re kept could lie in the victims hands. How long can they play the game before they lose and the Unsub kills them?He said Layne wouldn’t have played, he was planning on killing himself.” Prentiss said.
“So let’s assume the kid’s right. Our victim refused to play, but even after refusing, the rage we’ve seen in the other seven kills isn’t present. You’d think if he refused to play, our Unsub would be enraged.” Morgan said.
“The rage doesn’t come from playing the game. It comes from losing.” Gideon said.
“So, he wasn’t angry at Layne because you can’t lose a game you never play. He just needed to get rid of Layne and at some level, our Unsub felt bad for him.” Prentiss said.
“Was Garcia able to get that info on Spencer Reid?” Hotch asked.
“Oh, yeah, she did.” Prentiss confirmed.
— — —
“Hello Knights of the Round Table, let me bless your ears.” Garcia said in her usually hopped-up-on-sugar tone.
“Our Spencer Reid was born October 12th 1993, making our boy genius 12. He attends Las Vegas High School with a 4.0 GPA and is on track to graduate with honors this May. He also attends Las Vegas Community College where he’s taking courses in criminal justice, criminal psychology, calculus and chemistry.”
“Anything about his parents?” Prentiss asked.
“That’s when it gets sad. William Reid, his father, left a little over two years ago but it looks like he still lives in the area. His mother, Diana Reid, was diagnosed with Schizophrenia when she was in her early twenties.”
“Well that explains why he didn’t want us calling home.” Morgan said.
“Okay, thanks, Garcia. Can you get addresses of Layne Simon’s parents?”
“You got it, Boss Man, toodles!”
“We should tell Spencer. He deserves to know.” Prentiss said.
But the team had a feeling that he wouldn’t be surprised.
— — —
Spencer was the first one inside the lecture hall, not that it was surprising. He took out his books and sat in the back, like he always did. A few minutes later his peers started filing in the room and taking their seats. Most of them had study guides out reviewing for the test. Spencer thought he could stay a little after class to talk to Professor Karrington.
The door opened and Professor Karrington came in with a couple of students trailing behind. “So, test day. How are we feeling?” There were a couple of groans, but most everyone seemed ready. He smiled and pulled out a packet of papers. “Do your best. The questions are worded just like the ones I ask in class. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll do great.”
Spencer found himself sinking into the test. Maybe it was Professor Karrington being there, one of the only people who understood Spencer, or maybe it was the subject matter. Biology was easy, but criminal psychology was interesting.
He handed his test off to Professor Karrington and then headed back to his chair, earning an eyebrow raise from Professor Karrington. It wasn’t like high school testing, you could leave once you completed the test in college, but Spencer wasn’t looking to leave. Spencer was expecting a call.
The class is an hour and twenty five minutes, at around the hour mark everyone’s tests had been turned in. Only a couple of them had left the lecture hall, taking the free forty five minutes finishing early had given them. Professor Karrington looked up at his twenty or so students that had stayed and sighed.
“Okay, what is this about?” The students looked around at each other, then pointedly at Spencer. “Spencer stayed. Spencer never stays.” It was a fact that Spencer never stayed after class late. In fact, on a normal day, Spencer would have been on the bus back home before most of them were done with the first few questions. But this was not a normal day, Spencer was expecting a call.
“So, Spencer. Why did you stay?” Spencer looked up from the book he had been pretending to read and fixed his eyes on Professor Karrington. “I’m expecting a call from the BAU. I told them to call you if they needed to reach me.”
Professor Karrington stood there staring, trying to find the words he wanted to use. “The BAU is calling for you? Why?” A student in the class asked, completely bewildered that the twelve year old had the BAU calling him.
“I knew a boy named Layne Simon. He’s dead now. That’s what the call is about. In a couple minutes, they’re going to call and tell me Layne is dead.”
The lecture hall went silent as everyone in the room stared at Spencer in confusion, horror and suspicion. Their gaze snapped away from Spencer when the phone rang. Professor Karrington picked up the phone like usual, perhaps with a little waver in his voice.
“John Karrington. Yes…yes he’s here. Hold on a minute.” Professor Karrington drops the phone and looks at Spencer. “Jason Gideon wants to speak with you.” Everyone in the room gasped. Jason Gideon is a god in the criminal justice world. The fact that Spencer Reid was getting a call from the man was nothing short of a miracle.
Spencer walked down the professor’s desk and took the phone. “Yes?”
“Spencer. Layne Simon is dead.”
“I know. How did he die?”
“His neck was broken. Toxicology said he was heavily sedated. ME doesn’t think he felt anything.”
His grip on the phone tightened, then released. He had been hoping that this would be a mercy killing. It only made him a little sick to his stomach to know he was right.
“He’ll be looking for another victim. Layne couldn’t play, he’s going to be looking for someone who will play.”
“We know. We’d like you to come back to the precinct. You have information on this case that could prove useful.”
“I can’t tonight, my mom is expecting me home. After school tomorrow I’ll come.”
There was a pause and then Gideon’s voice became softer than Spencer had ever heard it. “I’ll see you then, Spencer.”
Spencer hung up the phone and then looked up at the class. “What did he say?” Asked one eager student. “Layne Simon is dead. I believe this Unsub is taking people to play a game. Layne was planning on killing himself, so he couldn’t play the game. Our Unsub killed him and it was a mercy killing. How does this Unsub usually kill his victims?”
“He stabs them, brutally.” Someone said.
“This time, he drugged him and broke his neck. Mercy, and a very important piece of our Unsub’s motive. We could say that the stabbings are overkill, full of rage, even though they played the game.”
He paused, trying to see if someone else came to the same conclusion he had. “Our Unsub isn’t upset that Layne didn’t play, he gets angry when they lose.”
The lecture hall was silent, eyes flicked upon their fellow peers before Martin asked a question Spencer still hadn’t figured out himself.
“So, Layne was his next victim. We know they’re all students in different levels of education, but what connects a suicidal seventeen year old and a ten year old?”
“I don’t know. But I have a feeling that the BAU will have information that I don’t when I go to see them tomorrow. They’re able to speak with the parents and the teachers of the victims. Maybe something personality wise connects them.”
Spencer walks up to grab his things and walks out of the lecture hall, his peers remaining seated behind him.
Spencer was pretending these past few days. Pretending this case wasn’t bothering him, pretending how Layne’s death affected him. Pretending like he didn’t care. But there was this feeling deep his gut, this foreboding feeling like something bad was going to happen.
— — —
Gideon and Prentiss stood on the doorstep of Desmond Simon, knocking on the door for the fifth time. It was noon, an hour where most people would be awake. Garcia told them Mr. Simon drove a truck for a medical shipping warehouse and he didn’t work the nightshift.
Prentiss raised her hand to knock again when the door was yanked open. “What?” He asked gruffly, his eyes still glazed over with sleep. His shirt had multiple mystery stains decorating it and wore no pants, just boxers.
“Desmond Simon, we’re here to talk about your son.” Gideon said.
“My son? You mean Layne?” He asked confused, like he was unsure that he had a son at all.
“Yes. We regret to inform you that Layne is dead.”
Desmond stood there staring at them for a few seconds. “You pullin’ my leg?”
“No, sir, we’re not. We found your son’s body this morning.”
“Well, there’s no way it could be Layne. What…what day is it?”
“Thursday.” Gideon said helpfully.
“Thursday, okay so he should be at school. Have you talked to his teachers?”
Gideon and Prentiss had a silent conversation between them before Prentiss said, “Mr. Simon. Is this your son?” She handed him a photo from the ME’s office. His neck is resting on a block, giving it the appearance that Layne was simply sleeping and that his neck wasn’t broken. That he wasn’t dead.
Desmond Simon took the photo and traced a finger over the face, emotions clouding his eyes. Suddenly his face contorted and he practically shoved the photo back in Prentiss’ hands.
“How? He…he was here a couple of days ago yellin’ at me for drinking again. He…he can’t be dead, he can’t be.” Desmond Simon broke down right there in his entry way, crying for a son he lost and would never get back.
In the car, Prentiss and Gideon sat in silence for a few seconds. “We need to talk to Spencer. He said Layne was homeless, right?”
“His class isn’t until four tonight. I’ll call him then, ask him to come back.”
“Let’s hope he knows Layne better than his father.”
— — —
This one is sad.
So sad and lonely.
He can help.
He can show them the game.
This one will play.