Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER EIGHT: LOST CHANCE

"The bitterest tear shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."

     — Harriet Beecher Stowe

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By the time I return from my smoke break, somewhat rejuvenated, the station is mostly empty. Morgan and Elle went to the Mays' residence for a look around, Hotch is holed up in the locker room with a call to Quantico. Only Reid remains, sat alone at our desk with his nose buried in a file. He doesn't notice me at first. His eyes fly over the pages at astounding speed. Each one is turned after mere seconds.

"Are you actually reading that?"

The sound of my voice snaps him back to reality. Blinking rapidly, he looks up at me in confusion. "Pardon?"

I perch on the end of the desk and indicate to the file in his lap. "You were going through it so fast. Looked like you'd hit the fast-forward button."

"Oh, right." He smiles sheepishly. "I can read pretty fast — 20,000 words per minute to be exact."

"And you remember it? Like, you actually process all of it?"

"I have an eidetic memory."

I feel more intimidated than anything else. He says it so casually, as if this ability is perfectly normal. After a speechless moment, I brush off my surprise with a laugh. "Careful, man. You're gonna put the rest of us out of a job." A little flustered, he lowers his gaze again. Surely he's used to hearing such things, and with a mind like his praise must be common, so I can't understand why it makes him so awkward. I try to think of something else to shift the conversation onto. "What's your opinion on Mrs Mays?" I finally settle on asking.

He shrugs. "She seems genuinely concerned for both her son and the Brisbane kid. Why?"

"Well, that's the thing. She seems worried. She signed the consent form, she sympathised with Wally's parents... so why don't I feel right about it?"

At that, Reid sits forwards a little. Putting the file aside now, his undivided attention lands on me. His hands clasp in front of him. "What exactly do you mean, 'right'?"

"I don't know," I groan, wary to keep my voice low enough that only he can hear. "Something just seems... off, y'know?" When he only gives a slight raising of his eyebrow in response, I fumble for a better explanation, "Like, uh... she didn't ask to see him. Isn't that weird? She just learned that her son is experiencing a severe psychotic delusion and she never once asked for a moment with him."

"Maybe she was just scared and didn't want to see him like that."

"Maybe," I reluctantly concede. "But what about the consent form? She just signed it, no questions asked. Hotch never specified the kind of medication. Now, if someone was asking your permission for your kid to be medicated, wouldn't you want to know what exactly that would do? No matter how above-board the drugs are, they're still drugs. Not to mention, he was clearly asking for the purpose of the investigation, not Eddy's wellbeing. A little protectiveness would be normal, right?"

Still, he appears a little sceptical. His eyes narrow. "So what's your theory?"

"I don't know. I guess... maybe she knew something more, something her son couldn't say even if he was lucid."

The door to the locker room opens and Hotch walks right up to us, newly motivated. "I just got off the phone with Garcia. She spoke to one of Eddy Mays's college friends," he informs us.

We both sit up straight, anxious for more information. "And?"

"A history of hard drug abuse. Apparently his mother was vey overprotective. She would call multiple times a day and even drove down to Boston to break off his relationship with a girl she didn't approve of."