Close | A Spencer Reid Story

46. 911

Spencer's POV

Less than twenty minutes later, I was jogging up to Y/N's apartment. I knocked on the door impatiently, but I couldn't hear anything inside. I knocked again. Still there was no response. I dialled Y/N's number, and on the other side of the door I could hear the ringing. I rattled the door handles and the door latch clicked, and the door creaked open.

My mouth went dry. Y/N was a stickler for locking the door. She had lived in New York as teenager and knew the importance of safety. For years it had been drummed into her head. It was instinctive for her to lock her door as soon as she got inside her apartment. Then my mind started tracing back. Faye had said the Y/N wasn't staying here anymore. I shook of the strange feeling that was creeping up on me and buried the pit in my stomach.

I pushed open the door. But it just bounced back again. I pushed open with more force the next time, but there was a resistance behind the door. I shimmied through the space. "Y/N?" I called but there was no response. The hallow gaping inside my chest cavity opened back up. The apartment was in the opposite state to what I expect. Instead of the neat, cosy ambience, I trudged through disarray. Beneath my feet, broken glass crackled. The furniture was askew. The photo frames that lined the mantle and the cabinet behind the couch were now scattered on the floor along with a half-broken 3D model of Y/N's new project.

My faltered feet as I tiptoed towards Y/N's bedroom. The covers were pulled back and the lamp on her bedside table shone dimly. I could see that the bathroom door, that was left ajar, that the mirror was still fogged up. But all in all, the room was very much how its normally would be. Nothing out of the ordinary, a stark contrast from living room.

I tried to call Y/N again. But that was stupid. I already knew her phone was here. I was dialling Emily when I saw the blood on the corner of the table and the droplets that were pooling on the ground.

I abruptly ended the call to Emily.

I keyed in 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Someone...I think someone's attacked my girlfriend and taken her. I think she's hurt. No, No. I know she's hurt." My voice grew in panic. I was supposed to know what to do in these situations, but I was beside myself. I had seen so many horrific crime scenes, but the scene I found tonight topped them all, because I knew Y/N and I could feel her pain right now and I didn't know where and how seriously she was hurt.

I was staring in horror at the sight of the living room again when Faye hesitantly appeared at the door, softly calling Y/N's name. She went silent when she saw the state of the apartment and me on the phone.

"Where are you, sir?"

"It's Apartment 25 Bishops gate, Rooks Garden on 21st street."

"Your girlfriend's name?"

"Y/F/N Y/L/N." I responded urgently.

"Okay, sir I have dispatched a unit to the apartment. In the meantime, please provide me with as much detail as possible."

Faye was signalling to me in alarm.

"I got a message from her around 10. I left work and came straight here. But when I got here the door was unlocked, and her apartment is a... mess. Like some type of struggle had ensued. And... and... there's blood. Her phone is here. Her friend doesn't know where she is. Look something is wrong here. Please..."

"Sir, stay on the line until the unit arrives. Can I get your name please?"

"Spencer Reid."

"Are you alone?"