edenwander // LYDIA MARTIN
The shackle removed, revealing a bloody and bruised ankle from all of her attempts at breaking free, of metal cutting her skin to the point of becoming RAW. But it was a relief to not feel that cold iron around her skin, the first sign of being truly FREE of the nightmare. Lydia had experienced near death before. Flesh clawed at, shot, experimentation, but each one came with its own price as this one would. At least there was nothing supernatural this time, only the darkest parts of humanity that had stepped into her own little world, a world she had tried to craft outside of what she had known in the past where werewolves and werecoyotes and all sorts of creatures lived. But she was free now, she wouldn’t be another victim to that man, another STATISTIC in the books of violent death.
LIAR, she wanted to say though Lydia understood the reasoning deep down. Police, FBI, all of them, they had to rely on evidence and the instinct of a BANSHEE was hardly that to a world that was unaware of things that went bump in the dark. So she bit her tongue until metaphorical blood would spill. Given how many times she had tried to warn people only to be ignored, it should have come as no SURPRISE that the police would do the same. And still she tried, tried to HELP people rather than find their corpses later on as she did so often even after leaving Beacon Hills.
Her hands trembled as they reached out to grasp his, bloodied and cold as ice where she found his to be far warmer. Freedom. Up those steps and out of here, it was actually within her grasp at last. Much like all the other times before, Lydia was adament that this time would not DESTROY her and rather give her something to build upon. Assurances the team would catch him found her way to her ears but it was a distant mumble, MUFFLED by the static built up in her ears. Whispers, voices, cries, back again as she pulled herself up and leaned on the man for support. Telling her, telling her what the DEAD already knew. They weren’t going to catch him, not like they had planned, not like they probably hoped anyways but there would be no more victims at his hand.
❝ You aren’t going to catch him, ❞ The words were said in a daze, hazel eyes trailing away from him to the camera mounted in the corner. He knew. He already knew his game was up. He had known the moment the agent, this Spencer Reid, had entered the basement, maybe when they had first entered the building if there were other cameras. But there were those whispers, communicating what Lydia shouldn’t know yet. Shotgun, twenty gauge bullet, right in his chair in his living room. ❝ ——— He’s already DEAD. ❞ A man who took the life of so many and yet when faced with his own crimes, couldn’t even handle it. When she was in a bitter state, she’d realise how COWARDLY it was.
He gripped her cold, bloodied hands. His eyes were focused on her and trying to help her stand. He couldn’t exactly understand what she’d been through, he could relate though. That wasn’t the time, now, to relate to one’s current trauma as it was still unfolding before his eyes. He kept every case separate from one another, but continued to see eye to eye with every victim so that they were human and not the word victim. He didn’t feel like a victim, so why should they?
One arm slipped around to hold her while the other pulled her arm over his shoulder. He wanted her to lean on him as much as she could, he might’ve offered to carry her if he had more upper body strength. If it came down to it, he would carry her, and then ask Morgan if he could help with Spencer’s lack of strength if multiple areas. Spencer wasn’t much of a climber, nor was he one that went one on one with the unsubs when they felt cornered. That was always Morgan’s or Hotchner’s or JJ’s or literally anyone else on his team except for Garcia. He never felt the need for the sake of strength while his mind was more powerful than his arms.
The moment she said those words, he looked at her. His confusion overcame him as he heard over the intercoms of what Lydia had already confirmed. The unsub was dead, far above the basement floor. They were by the stairs when it happened and he exhaled, glancing away and toward their destination. ❝ You’re right, they just found his body, ❞ he tried to keep his voice as soothing as he could. They reached the first step and he looked at her again. ❝ Do you want me to carry you? Although I don’t have much arm strength, I can attempt to carry you up the stairs. Or I can call one of the other agents to come or we can wait until the paramedics come down and they can escort you up on the gurney. ❞ The thought of him offering to carry her counted, right?
For a moment, he wondered how she had known that. From what he could tell over the radios, their unsub had just killed himself by the act of hanging himself. Suicide. So how could she have known? Spencer wondered if the unsub had told her after he heard the sirens and voices coming from outside. That was it, that was most likely it. There wasn’t another explanation other than the unsub flat out telling her that he was taking the easy way out. Or maybe she had inferred? Questions upon questions.