nina cried power [SPENCER REID]

seven.

warning: disturbing scenes ahead, discussion of child abuse and pedophilia

CHAPTER SEVEN:
HEREDITARY

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"You sure you can do this, Reid?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Spencer leans upward, planting a foot on the step to the caravan, and raps his knuckles on the tin door.

The rock music inside, so loud it had been floating to them as they pulled up at the edge of the lot, shuts off abruptly, dropping Reid and Hotch into the cool morning silence. Despite it being almost June, the previous evening had been hit by rain, and now there's a thin layer of frost over the weeds sprouting through the concrete blocks that complete the floor. The windows of the small tin caravan are fogged up and shine with yellow heat, contrasting to the soothing, cool silvery atmosphere of the early morning.

"Reid," Hotch says, his tone mostly blank aside from the slight pull in his voice, the unnoticeable twinge — unnoticeable to anyone except his team, because Reid has long since learned what that tone means: Are you sure?

The door to the caravan swings open, and Mr Scott looks down at them. He's a tall man -- taller than both Hotch and Spencer by a few inches at least -- but he's slim, as if skin has been twisted around shallow bone and left to rot in this indistinct van. Where any hair remains on his mostly bald scalp, it's silvery white and wispy, and his eyes are sunken into their darkened sockets. The flick rapidly -- coke addict, most certainly. Spencer notes the bandages peeking down his right arm (visible only because he's wearing a stained grey vest a few sizes too big for him) and guesses heroin's involved too.

Spencer tries not to grimace at the sight of the man -- manages to limit it to a purse of his lips. "Mr Scott?"

The man scowls. "Who's asking?"

Simultaneously, they flash their badges.

That's what makes Mr Scott blanch and hurriedly nod, his pale face shaking on his frail neck like an unbalanced bobble-head. Sweeping his arms with jerky gesticulations, he invites them inside quickly, and Spencer follows Hotch into the caravan.

It's a small space; they step directly into an open lounge area, with a kitchenette and two doors, one to a bathroom and one to a bedroom most likely. Not too shabby -- and certainly not the smallest van on the lot -- but it's cluttered. Not just cluttered -- it's almost filthy. There's empty beer cans and bottles, old take-packages, the trash can is overflowing and the sink is in a similar state of disarray.