Retribution, A Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 23. Patient Progress

When Rossi walked in the front door of Millie’s B&B, he was met by Prentiss’ eyes, signaling him from where she was trapped in the parlor.

Imploring him to interrupt.

Pleading for rescue.

As he approached, he could hear their hostess holding forth about the path her life might have taken had she been granted the opportunities with which Miss Princess had been so blessed.

“I always have seen myself as possessing the special talents that allow you to excel at your profession, my dear. So many people tell me I have a way of ‘getting right inside’ their heads…”

Rossi paused at the parlor entrance where the doorframe blocked him from Millie’s view, but he could enjoy the increasingly importunate expression in Prentiss’ eyes. The proprietress was preening before her audience. Rossi didn’t think she got the chance to do so often. He was quite willing to let her enjoy a few more minutes at Prentiss’ expense.

“…and then once I’m in their heads, they say it’s hard to get me out! Can you imagine the insight I must possess by nature? Just think what I could have done with the proper training, the suitable education.” She emitted a sigh redolent with regret for her lost career as an enforcer of law and justice. Closing her eyes and raising her nose toward the ceiling, she quoted a favored line that she felt did an admirable job expressing her own situation. “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ‘It might have been.’”

But it was her next statement that finally broke Emily.

“And I’ve always had a special place in my heart for stories about Mata Hari, you know…”

Prentiss’ brain was reduced to working in fits and starts as she tried to follow the connection this woman was intimating between an FBI profiler and the historical figure described as a lethal seductress, a courtesan, and an accused spy during World War  I. Although Prentiss had done undercover work and had suffered her share of injuries and danger in the process, she didn’t think she could ever be likened to an exotic dancer who had shocked society by posing for portraits wearing only jewelry and a bra in the early 1900s. Nor did she believe her duties would ever include seducing numerous lovers as a method of gaining information. And nor did she think she’d ever be likely to meet her end by firing squad.

It was too much.

“I…uh…we…profilers…uh….” She cast another desperate look at Rossi, loitering around the corner just out of Millie’s sight. “…we don’t…uh…”

Rossi cleared his throat and stepped into the room. He couldn’t repress his smile. Apparently the other guests had turned in for the night, leaving Prentiss alone, the sole focus of Millie’s hospitality. And he could tell that his advice about escape tactics had been taken, but, sadly, had failed to produce the desired results.

Millie nestled on her loveseat, discussing her romanticized take on career options. In one hand she held a delicate, porcelain teacup. In the other, no less than three of Prentiss’ cards.

With Rossi officially on hand and the possibility of rescue solidifying from vain hope to accessible goal, the synapses in Prentiss’ brain managed to resume firing.

“Rossi! You’re back! How’s Hotch?” She was on her feet, edging toward the doorway, putting the older agent between herself and the unassuming, sociable danger that was Millie.

“I think he’ll be fine. The doctor still has some work to do on him.” Recalling the unsettling sight of what had already been done to Hotch, Rossi decided to cut Prentiss free and let Millie’s naïve chatter dull the vision of watching his friend’s flesh knit itself together.

“Tomorrow I guess it’ll be Ana’s turn to be examined. Might be a long day. Maybe you should get some rest.”

The smile of genuine relief Prentiss beamed forth made Millie think her very first real talk with a real female FBI agent had gone very well indeed. Clearly, Miss Princess…Emily...had enjoyed herself.

But now it was time for tea with …Dave!...And all was just as it should be as the day drew to a close in Millie’s gentle world.

xxxxxxx

When the assignment came through, Carol Bescardi couldn’t believe her luck, nor could she contain her disgust.

In deference to her scientific background, a place had been found for her in a lab facility on the outskirts of Lake Placid.

The proximity appealed to her. She never had regained her memory of the span of time at the monastery between Ana downing her with a mean right hook, and waking up lying on one of the refectory tables. A suspicious cup of coffee had been close at hand. She did recall her special brew, laced with a designer drug that subjected those who ingested it to extreme vertigo, with a side effect of memory impairment. She assumed she’d been dosed with her own creation. And she did remember the devastation, the total destruction of her equipment and her data…her precious test results that could have rocketed her to the pinnacle of prominence in her chosen field.

Or in any other field for that matter! Mine would have been the discovery that defined humanity’s quest for knowledge and understanding. My work would have eclipsed all other endeavors in the entire scientific community! Mine would have been the yardstick by which to judge all other achievements!

 Her attorney had apprised her of the facts surrounding her alleged offenses. But what had been gleaned from the crime scene investigation and the sworn statements of the supposed victims didn’t account for the condition of her facilities, the loss of her data, nor for how she’d wound up drugged and alone. Vandalism had been the official scapegoat. But even impaired, Bescardi knew random vandals wouldn’t have simply happened upon such a remote, almost inaccessible, location.

She very much wanted to revisit the monastery and see if she could piece together what had happened. She knew who to blame, but she wanted to fill the gap in her memory anyway. Gaps and spaces and blanks were anathema to her strictly ordered, scientifically regimented brain.

So the location of her work release, in a town convenient to the Adirondacks, was an unexpectedly fortuitous stroke of luck. Still, it would take a long time to ingratiate herself to her supervisors, both those at the lab designating her duties, and those prison officials overseeing her progress. Only then would she be allowed the kind of autonomy that would let her engineer enough free time to conduct her own investigation.

What thoroughly disgusted her about the assignment was the capacity in which she would serve her employer.

Carol Bescardi, former almost-illuminati of the scientific world, would be cleaning beakers, emptying trash, and taking inventory of supplies. Such duties were beneath her. Always had been. Always would be.

But it was a means to an end.

In the meantime, she continued her cyber-surveillance of the names Reid, Ashcroft and Rossi. She still didn’t bother to dredge up the name of the stupid watchdog agent who had imbibed her coffee and gotten himself lost in the great northern woods.

That coffee was a work of pharmaceutical art in and of itself! Such a waste to pour it into a vessel like that ungifted drone. Whatever his name was.

The one thing of which Bescardi was absolutely sure, was that she would be a model work release subject. Just as she’d been a model prisoner.

And when the time came for her re-emergence into the world, she’d recognize the opportunity, seize it with both hands, and crush anyone who opposed her…or maybe anyone who just looked crushable…after all, she deserved to have some fun, too…