north//spencer reid

chapter seventeen

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I've heard stories about solitary confinement throughout my years at the BAU. It's common practice to throw inmates in solitary to see how long it'll take them to crack and give us the information we need. I've seen countless prisons and jails and cells and solitary cells. But being in solitary confinement is completely different than being a federal agent on the outside. I thought it would be silent. I expected my thoughts to echo off the walls. But the only thing echoing is the cries and screams and moans of the other inmates around me. They're shouting for help, for attention from the guards, for common human decency. It's agonizing. This endless noise is more agonizing than silence.

I lay down on the bench and close my eyes. I figure that since it's relatively dark in here, I might as well try to sleep. Maybe, I think, solitary will miraculously make my nightmares disappear and I'll be able to sleep without reliving someone's death. But every time I close my eyes, I just hear the other inmates crying out for attention from a guard. But the guards don't come. They never do. They never will. I consider shouting to offer my help, but that won't work. I don't have the energy anyway.

You'll never see it coming.

He's right. If he wanted to hurt me, I'd never know. I didn't see it the first time. Calvin has so much power in here. It's scary how much he does. It's scary how many strings he pulls. He could snap his fingers and have the other inmates on their knees in front of him, begging for their lives before he even says anything at all. If he wanted me dead, he could have it done within an hour.

I roll onto my side and cup my hands over my ears, trying to block out the sounds around me. I try to think of something better. I try to remember my favorite Mozart composition, but the notes aren't making sense in my brain and the song sounds horrible. I try to hear Henry and Michael's giggles, or hear Amelia's quick talking, or a story from my mother about my childhood, but nothing works. Nothing can drown out the screams and cries.

I quickly lose track of the time. It's not hard to. There's no window in here and the only way to tell the time is when food shows up. So I eventually get lunch and then dinner, and then I don't get anything else. Not until a vaguely threatening note from Calvin is slipped under the door. I crumple it up and throw it under the bench. I read Amelia's letter seven times to cleanse myself.

I'm left to another restless night. I curl up again but the screams are deafening. Why won't someone just help them? These men are in agony. They shouldn't be in solitary confinement, they should be in a hospital or a mental hospital. They shouldn't be locked up and screaming for help to officers who don't give a shit about them.

I keep pulling out Amelia's letter in my pocket but as the day goes by, it gets too dark in here and I can't make out her handwriting. Of course, I've read it once and I can recite it already but I want to see her handwriting. I want to see the tear stains and the pen smudges and the mistakes. I want to have her comfort. But I can't. So I keep it tucked away in my breast pocket, directly against my heart.

I manage to drift off at some point, but it's one of the least satisfying periods of sleep I've ever had. I'm woken up every half hour or so by screaming and screaming and screaming. My head is pounding and my neck is sore from this awkward position and I'm starting to think this is worse than being in general population. Much worse.

It's suddenly morning. There's food being thrown through the slot in the door and an officer clunking along the hallway, ignoring every single inmate he passes. I grab the lame tray of food and let out a yawn, rubbing my eyes and sitting on the bench again. I eat quickly, in just two minutes and twenty seconds, and then balance the tray in the slot so the officer can take it away again.