Chapter 36- Holy Sh*t

I banged on the door to Reid's apartment, trying to keep tears from streaming down my face.  I almost hit him when the door suddenly swung open under my fist, revealing Reid standing there looking sleepy but confused.  His hair was a tousled mess on top of his head, and he was wearing his glasses and matching flannel pajamas. 

Upon seeing me, though, he asked, sounding fully awake, "McDowell, what's going on?  Are you okay?"

"I--I--" I stammered.  I don't think I could keep my stalker a secret from him any longer.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside and opening the door farther for me to get past.

I had just sprinted who-knew-how-many blocks in socks, and I hadn't even put a jacket on.  I was freezing despite the burning in my chest, though I'm not sure if I was shaking from the cold or the terror that had seized me. 

Reid must have noticed, he led me over to the couch and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders before sitting down next to me and commanding, "Tell me what's going on."

"Someone broke into my apartment.  He disabled the security system, and my dog wasn't there, and my gun was in the other room, and I didn't know what to do so I climbed out the window and started running," I spilled out all at once.  Not really what I wanted to say to him, but once I started talking I couldn't stop.

"There's been this person, I know who it is, but I can't go after him and I think he's trying to kill me," I spit out.  Why was I telling him this?  He'd definitely want to get the team involved, and maybe the police.

"What?  How do you--why haven't you said anything about this before?" he asked incredulously.

I heaved a shuddery sigh and stared at the floor, muttering, "I don't know," as I tried to get the pounding beat of that man repeatedly hitting my bedroom door out of my head.

"We need to go to the BAU, you're not safe," Reid said, getting up and returning a moment later with one of his button-up sweaters for me to wear cause I was still shaking.

"Tomorrow," I numbly replied.

He looked at me, concern etched onto his face.

"I can't, Spencer.  I can't, not now," I pleaded, my voice urgent but quiet.  I barely noticed how strange it was for his first name to fall from my lips.

"Charlie, you're in danger," he insisted.  "This man could kill you, he wants to kill you.  We have to get out of here, he could have followed you here," he tried to reason.

I shook my head, answering, "He didn't.  I just--" I trailed off but then repeated, "Tomorrow.  First thing tomorrow morning, I promise, but I just can't handle this right now.  Please, Spencer."

I can't believe I was begging him.

He must have realized that, though, because he gave in softly, "Okay, tomorrow."

My head dropped in relief and I relaxed slightly, the blanket slipping from where I had it clutched around my shoulders.

"Come here," Reid said, gesturing for me to get up and come over by him.

"Why?" I asked tiredly but I stood up and walked a step closer to him anyways. 

He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly, and for once in my entire life, I didn't resist.  I just sank into his chest, barely attempting to force back the tears that were already leaking down my cheeks.

Eventually we sat back down on the couch, and I fell asleep with his arms around me.

Reid woke me up at seven thirty, handing me a steaming mug of something that didn't smell anything like coffee.

"What's this?" I asked, taking it from him and glancing at the amber-y liquid inside.

"Tea.  I put a bunch of honey in so it shouldn't taste too horrible," he said.

I tried not to make a face as I took a sip, but it actually tasted good, nothing like the grass clippings steeped in muddy water when I had made tea once.

"Thanks," I said as I got up from the couch, fixing the sweater he had let me borrow that was falling off one of my shoulders as I looked around for my shoes, only to remember I hadn't worn any here.  And then everything from last night came rushing back in a blur of panic and I was wide awake again, tea or not.

Looks like I was going to work without shoes, a shower, or clothes that hadn't been slept in, but I also wasn't going to complain.  I was too terrified for that, and trying to rationalize it didn't work.

As we passed the street I usually turned onto to get to my apartment from the BAU, an insane idea popped into my head and, "Stop!" popped out of my mouth.

Reid hit the brakes and turned to stare at me, asking concernedly, "What?"

"He might still be at my apartment," I said, my voice flat.

"You can't know that," Reid argued.

"He has been stalking me for two months!  He's been in my apartment before, and he came back last night.  I've profiled him, Reid, and he is an obsessional, idealistic stalker who is most likely still at my apartment right now just waiting for me to come back.  The least we can do is go check and, I don't know, have Hotch send a team there or something before he gets away again.  We have to do something," I demanded.

He stared at me, considering what I had just said, and then silently jerked the steering wheel around, pulling into traffic and heading back towards the street we had just passed.  He pulled to a stop in front of my apartment, pulling his gun out of his holster the minute he got out of the car.

"Stay behind me," Reid said in a low voice, and I recognized the tone as the one he used when speaking with victims when we were working on cases.  I hated that tone now that it was being used when he was speaking to me.

We went around the side of the building and spotted the window to my bedroom a few stories up, the curtains open but the window closed from when I had escaped through it last night.  There was no visible movement inside, but as much as I wanted to we couldn't exactly get a sniper in the building next door to make sure.

I followed Reid back to the front of the building and he went inside first, his gun held casually at his side to avoid any suspicious glances from the other people in the building as we went up two flights of stairs to my apartment.  We slowed as we neared the door, and once we were close enough I could tell it was slightly ajar.

Reid stepped a little further in front of me, an arm gesturing for me to stay back as he nudged the door open with his shoulder, gun in front of him.

I peered over his shoulder, following closely as he stepped inside.  I had seen rooms like this in dozens of crime scene photos, but the shock hit us both when we realized it was my home that now looked like a glossy picture tucked neatly inside a manila folder.

Books were tossed everywhere, one of my bookshelves had either tipped or been knocked over, and it hit my desk on the way down, sending the chair askew underneath it. The TV had been shoved to one side, the coffee table was entirely upside down and thrown against the TV stand, and one of my armchairs was tipped on it's side.  All the couch cushions had been pulled free, dangling onto the floor or thrown up against the back of the couch, and the morning sunlight coming in through the open doorway and the window in my bedroom glinted off of the shattered remains of a lamp decorating the carpet.  Half of my kitchen was torn apart, too; one of the stools and the table tipped over, drawers pulled out, and dishes displayed in a broken mess behind partially open cabinet doors.

"Holy shit," I muttered, and Reid exchanged a glance that meant he thought the same thing. 

It only took a second to take in my trashed apartment, and the whole while Reid had been sweeping the main room with his gun.  Now he took a step further inside, his shoes crunching over glass, but I carefully stepped over the shards and stuck close behind him.

He cleared the bathroom which was in just as much a state of disarray, and the large storage closet right across the hall from it.  That, apparently, hadn't been touched, but I suppose I never went in there either unless I was digging out or putting away the few seasonal clothes that wouldn't fit in my walk-in closet.

My bedroom door had been smashed open, though.  There was a few large dents, and the lock and doorframe were busted from when he had pounded on it and, most likely, kicked it in to try and get to me.  I barely noticed Reid glancing over his shoulder at me, instead I was focusing on trying to keep the terror tamped down and the all-too-recent memory of that pounding out of my head.

My sheets and pillows were still wrinkled and twisted from when I had jumped out of bed, all of the papers that I had recorded every single one of the messages my stalker had left me untouched from where I'd left them last night.  Nearly everything on the shelf by the window had been shattered on the ground, and the basket of laundry sitting on the ottoman by the chair in the corner was spilled on the floor.

Reid checked my closet, clothes were thrown off the hangers and drawers were ripped open, my shoes covering the floor, but my stalker was gone.  Aside from my ruined home and the dents on my bedroom door, he hadn't left a single trace.

"You can change quickly if you want.  I'll be right outside," Reid said, leaving and closing my bedroom door behind him.  It wouldn't close tightly, but I didn't care.

Numbly, I disappeared into my closet, throwing Reid's sweater on top of the low dresser and then stripping off everything but my underwear and bra, leaving it in a heap on the floor. 

I was pulling a black button-up on when Reid came running in, shouting, "We have to go!  Your stalker's here!"