Bach's Cello Suites
After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
- Aldous Huxley
- Aldous Huxley
The rain poured down heavily down in West Long Branch, for no surprise of its inhabitants. During the winter, periods of heavy rain were usual. Emily felt sick. She cursed herself for being sick on a weekend. Good, when I can actually do something for myself, I get sick! Fuck my life...!
Grandma Beth had fallen asleep on the couch, yet again. She woke up really early, muttering some angry words that Emily didn't quite understand. She figured it was Italian. Nana was partly Italian on her mother's side, so she sometimes started speaking that language, which Emily did not understand. The only foreign language she knew was Spanish, and she could barely understand it, because she hadn't payed enough attention in class.
Emily was sitting on a swing chair, next to the window, watching the rain fall, completely ignoring her favorite show on TV, Heroes. She would often wish she had the characters' super superpowers, especially Hiro Nakamura, the Japanese boy who could manipulate space and time. If she could manipulate time, she'd rewind five years and stop that horrid day from happening: the day when she found her mother's dead body on the kitchen floor.
Either way, the episode that was airing was one that Emily had already seen, so she wasn't very interested in it. She was more interested in watching the rain fall from the dark sky, so dark it almost looked like it was midnight rather than nine AM. Emily couldn't sleep, otherwise she wouldn't have left her comfortable bed so early in a Saturday morning. She couldn't sleep because, regardless of who committed the murder, her mother was not coming back. Finding out who truly did it should be a good thing, but it wasn't. It was only torturing Emily further on. For five years, she had lived like nothing ever happened, but now she was forced to relive the past all over again, every minute of the day, every day of her miserable existence. She wondered why, five years later, the FBI would show up and tell her that everything she had believed in for the past five years was a lie.
Emily looked over at the cello carefully placed on a stand next to the wooden furnishing where the television was resting. She looked over at it and thought she should pick it up and practice a little bit. She turned the TV off, to keep it from distracting her and then
she carefully grabbed it and sat behind it, on a small chair built especially for those purposes only. She embraced the cello and played a song that was familiar to her, Bach's Suite No. 5 Prelude. She had never seen the sheet music to it, but she remembered her Uncle playing it during her cello lessons with him. She could play it by ear.
The sound of the cello woke Nana up, and she smiled. She gazed at her granddaughter and smiled, touched by the beautiful music and by the kid's born talent. Never had she seen such a gifted child, playing Bach's suites by ear. Emily looked like an angel and, in that moment, Nana felt more alive than ever before.
Spencer Reid was, yet again, gazing at his cell-phone, wondering whether he should or should not give Emily Bronson a call. After all, he was going through the files and interviews and every lead he had on her mother's case and he had reached an important conclusion, partly thanks to Hotch's theory about the murderer being a smart ass who left those two particular bodies on display so publicly, for everyone to see.
Reid knew those women had to have more in common than the fact that they both had a sexual relation with the personal trainer, Kayan Gomes. The whole BAU team had it clear that Kayan Gomes, although an expert on being a buff asshole, was not a murderer. He was merely an arrogant bastard who used women for sex and then discarded them, still in a very gentle way, leaving them to sigh about how generous he was for not causing a scene when breaking up with them. Truth is, the man had his charm. He was a disgusting human being, but he did it with charm.
Spencer Reid attentively examined the photos of the women's dead bodies. He placed the pictures on the wall with the help of scotch tape, and then took a couple of steps back and examined them, one by one, then the overall picture formed by those twenty horrid images, ten for each woman. They had been stabbed o combined total of one hundred and seven times. One both cases, the deadly blow was the one that hit a vital organ, in the first case being the liver and in the second, a lung. The killer was an impulsive person, someone who didn't know anything about Human Anatomy, most likely had a not so respectful job, something that wouldn't give him a lot of money or social status, and that made him feel insecure. He was also someone incredibly angry and revolted, probably someone who had been through tough situations in his life, likely to have been abandoned or mistreated as a child. Stabbing those women like that, with their own kitchen knife, he had been building up colossal amounts of anger deep within himself.
What are you angry at, stabber?
They had been stabbed approximately the same amount of times; Mrs. Bronson had been stabbed fifty-two times and Mrs. Wisener, fifty-five. That meant he felt equal amounts of anger towards both of them. Reid also noticed most of the injuries were focused on the lower abdomen area. They were pregnant. Both of them were carrying babies, but the DNA test regarding those fetuses' father's identity was inconclusive: the tissue had been far too damaged to get a clear result.
What if it was the very same father? Someone could be displaying their anger against these children rather than the women themselves... Like someone who thought these unborn children didn't deserve to live and killing their mothers would be killing the source of the sin. But who?
"I'm missing something..." Reid said, biting his bottom lip and sitting in his bed, looking out at the rain. "What can I be missing? What are you missing, Spencer Reid?"
Spencer decided to make the call. He decided to make the call and tell Emily he was one step closer to finding her mother's assassin. He wanted to hear Emily's voice. He wanted to make sure she was okay. They hadn't seen each other since that day when he and Morgan went to the Morgue to tell her the shocking news. And, ever since that day, neither Spencer not Emily could stop thinking about each other. Both of them felt uncomfortable with those thoughts, though, for a number of reasons. Emily, as an emotional person, wasn't prepared to give her heart out to someone she barely knew, especially after what her previous boyfriend had put her through. Spencer, on the other hand, as a rational scientist, couldn't believe he was being overwhelmed by feelings, that illogical thing.
"Love is merely a brain's response to such chemicals as monoamines, dopamines, norepinephrine and serotonin, it makes the heart beat faster because of the high blood pressure levels it provokes, there's nothing poetic about that..."
He recalled the incident in high school, where the entire football team stripped him naked and tied him to the goal post, because he had been tricked into thinking the girl he fancied wanted to meet with him. Ever since that day, he decided not to fall in love ever again.
He picked up his phone and made the call, realizing how stupid he felt deep inside. He was calling a girl he fancied, despite his attempts to convince himself that their relationship was merely professional. It should be. But that moment they had shared in the PD office wouldn't get off his head.
"Is this... is this Emily Bronson?" He timidly said when she picked up the phone, a little apprehensive when she didn't know the number.
"Yes... Who is this?" she asked.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. Reid. Spencer. Dr. Reid... you know... from the FBI..." he was stuttering yet again. He wasn't fond of talking on the phone, especially with women.
"Is there anything wrong? Did something happen?" She felt a little scared that something bad might have happened. After all, an FBI agent was calling on a Saturday morning, at nine thirty.
"No, actually... Actually it's good news, I... I think I'm one step closer to finding out who killed your mother." He cursed himself for saying it like that. He probably hurt her feelings a little bit. "And I will probably need your help, if that's -" He stopped himself from saying if that's okay, recalling the first time he met Emily.
"Well, yes, of course. But it has to be out of work hours, please." She surprised herself at how polite she was getting. "You see, I get paid by the hour..." She explained, a little sad about how lousy her job was.
"Of course, no problem." he said "We can meet, like, when you want, I don't have much free time, but since it's relevant to the case, I'll find an opening in my schedule whenever you need." He explained, trying not to sound like he wanted to see her more than he wanted to ask her about her past.
Truth is, he did want to see her, and the feeling was mutual.
It would have been a beautiful love story, did Spencer believe in love or did Emily not curse it. And the fact that Spencer was not supposed to have a romance with a witness of a federal crime. Also, they were both as awkward as it gets when it comes to romancing so, even if there was absolutely nothing stopping them from falling in each other's arms, they probably wouldn't make a move, neither of them would. But oh boy, did Emily want to taste his lips. And oh boy, did Spencer want to share with her the beautiful poetry he knew.
"Well, being an FBI agent, I guess you have your ways of finding out where I live." Emily joked "You can come over and I'll answer everything you need to know. About the crimes." She quickly added that last part, trying not to make him think she was implying he would ask about anything else.
They both awkwardly hung up the phone and Emily sighed. She didn't want to think of a date, because it wasn't, but well, she was going to spend time with the guy she secretly fancied. Yes, she fancied him. Like a horny teenager. She knew she couldn't let it escalate into love or worse, so she was content with fancying him. After all, and despite his skinny body, he did have a cute face and he was smart enough to be an FBI profiler, profession which requires a big amount of functional brain cells. And he was all shy and weird, she found it adorable. So Emily would be happy to fancy him in a teeny cute way, the same way she had fancied people like Johnny Depp or Leonardo DiCaprio.
And he decided he would only have a strictly professional relationship with her, although he found her somewhat easy on the eye. She was just a pretty federal crime witness, not any more than that.
So they both decided not to let it escalate.
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