the feelings that we hide | SPENCER REID

23. safe haven

She couldn't close her eyes. Every time they shut, it was a picture of her mom lying dead. Blood all over the place: on the floor, the furniture, Rowan's body, and her own hands. Like she was the one that did it, as if it was her fault that her mom was involved in this.

Getting up from her bed, Vanessa slipped on her slippers and went inside her bathroom to splash some warm water on her face to tire herself— it didn't work. She was still wide awake, but she was tired. All she wanted was to sleep in peace with no worries.

Since she wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon, Vanessa sat down at her desk and took out her notebook. Ever since middle school, she had kept 2 journals— one for her dreams, and one to write in daily. She hadn't picked either of them up in years and figured it was time to start again if she wasn't going to be sleeping. Obviously not having any dreams, she opened her daily one and sat for a moment to think. There was nothing on her mind to write. Besides the cases and someone out there trying to murder her, there was nothing.

I'm gonna die soon. She though to herself. Whoever is out there wants me dead. So if I die, I need to leave something behind right?

Picking up her pen, she started to write. She was writing letters. To each individual on the team—and her mom, in case she managed to make it out alive.

...

"Vanessa," cooed Rowan, tapping on her daughters shoulder. "You're late for work..." Vanessa slowly, but surely, woke up. She wasn't in a shock of being late; she didn't want to show up. "What are you working on?"

Picking up the journal, Rowan tried to sneak a peak at her writing before Vanessa snatched it out of her hands. Looking down at her work, she was in the middle of Spencer's letter before she fell asleep.

4 hours. That's the most she's gotten this week.

Vanessa left for work without breakfast, having been in a rush once Hotch called her to meet at the plane in 30. Tossing on her boots, and buttoning up the buttons of her black loose button up to the middle—a white tank top underneath— she left with her go bag and straight for the FBI.

"Sorry," she mumbled once she got on the airplane. Everyone gave her looks of concern seeing her run in late, something that was very rare. They all seemed to look very distressed at the same time.

Leaning against the plane to face JJ, Emily, Derek, and Spencer, Hotch started to brief her on the case.

"Mass grave in Portland with 3 bodies killed 6 months ago," he said "Another body found nearby... causes of death from burning alive to asphyxiation with no sexual assault." Vanessa nodded, chewing on her bottom lip anxiously.

"Well that's difficult," she said before yawning. "Different M.O., no sexual preference, could they be more of a mess?"

JJ handed her photos of the crime scenes before she said, "Only one of them were reported missing: Rick Holland, reported 9 months ago. But the search was off."

"He also sent an email to his family saying he needed some time to sort things out," Hotch added.

"So, the unsub is covering his tracks," said Vanessa. "Or maybe he feels remorse?"

"Psychopaths don't apologize for their behavior."

Vanessa nodded, and left to the back of the plane for a cup of coffee, Hotch following behind her.

"There's something else," he said quietly to make sure no one else heard. "Gideon's gone."

Letting out a small cough, her brows furrowed out of shock, "Like... he resigned?"