Caged
Part 3
“And Abel is her father?” JJ questioned, trying to inject levity into the question where she knew deep down there was none.
Y/N nodded softly, a small smile upon her face. That smile nearly broke Spencer as he stood outside and watched helplessly. “How did you meet him?”
“We met at church,” she said. Spencer’s mouth dropped. Y/N wasn’t religious at all. This was a planted story. He swallowed the bile that had formed in his throat. Only the house in which she’d lived for the past six years truly understood what had happened to Y/N to make her believe these things. He went numb as JJ and Y/N spoke - the image of his beloved wife being brutalized, forced to turn to a fabricated story for relief and survival, freezing him in place. “He approached me and said he thought I was pretty. That he didn’t normally go to church at that time so maybe God had pushed the two of us together. We fell in love quickly and had Ilaria.”
“But you’re not married?” JJ asked, trying to understand what religion if any the household subscribed to.
Y/N shook her head and smiled. “No. Abel has many lovers because we believe that the most important thing is bringing more children into the world - bring them to God as well.”
Spencer sunk in place, his eyes no longer peering into the window toward the woman he loved. His legs were too heavy, the myriad possibilities of what she went through weighing him down. He could hear the strain in JJ’s voice, trying so hard to choke back tears, as she continued to ask her questions. “How many lovers does Abel have? How many children?”
“He has three right now,” she said, the names of the other three women falling off her tongue, “But until you took us out of our home, we had another one joining us. But you didn’t give us a chance to get to know her.”
“Her name is Monica,” JJ said, turning her attention directly toward Y/N and looking into her eyes as much as Y/N would allow. “And she didn’t go willingly. She was taken off the streets by Abel and one of the other women…just like you were.”
Spencer pulled himself to see if Y/N was in there at all, but she didn’t seem to be. He swallowed a sob while Hotch patted him on the back.
Y/N’s head snapped up toward JJ’s. “I just told you, we met in church. Abel loves me.” The force with which she believed her own words was causing her lips to quiver, the tears behind her eyes to release themselves with or without the help of her own body. “He loves us. You’re trying to turn me against him. He said that you’d do that.”
Spencer turned around, ready to walk out of the room. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand here and listen to this. “Hotch, what am I going to do? She thinks he loves her. He got her pregnant. He told her to fear me, and he prepared her for law enforcement. How am I supposed to get her back?” The heated tears flowed freely, his hands over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the noise.
“It’s not going to be easy,” Hotch replied, “But people have come back from this before - Jaycee Lee Dugard, Elizabeth Smart. It sounds like Y/N has Stockholm syndrome too. The good thing is that we have Abel Mitchell for two counts of murder. He is not getting out, which means she’s free of him and can start to heal.”
Running his hands through his hair, he said nothing to Hotch and returned to the window. “Do you know what Abel did?” JJ asked, her voice moving from soft to stern, her eyes harder than before. “Do you remember these two women?” She pulled out two photos - one of a late-20s brunette with wavy hair down to her shoulders and a beautiful heart-shaped face, the other of another late-20s woman, this one with blond hair and blue eyes. Next to the pictures of the two beauties lay pictures of them on slabs, devoid of color, their skin pale and sunken, the life in their eyes snuffed out.
“That’s Eva and Bethany,” Y/N said, recognition flashing followed by a hint of fear. “What happened to them?”
“They were murdered. Neither of them could have children. They both miscarried twice and Abel killed them.” JJ was desperate to break through even just a little bit. She was Spencer’s wife, but she’d also been her friend. Seeing her like this, having to talk to her like this was making her heart ache.
“No!” Y/N screamed, getting up from the chair and hitting it back into the table. “No! He wouldn’t do that! Abel is a good man! You’re trying to frame him!”
JJ got up as well and glanced back toward where she knew Spencer was standing, her look conveying what she was feeling when her words could not. “We aren’t, Y/N,” JJ said. “We have proof. Abel’s DNA is underneath their fingernails. His prints are on their necks.” She placed her own hands around her neck. Something about that motion pushed Y/N over the brink.
“No! No! No! No! My name is Rebekah!” Over and over again, she smacked at her head to the point where JJ, Morgan and Hotch had to hold her arms to keep her from hurting herself further. “Abel wouldn’t do that! He loves me! He loves me! He loves me! Let go of me! Get your hands off me! I want to see Abel! Where is Abel?”
The screeching that came out of her mouth could be heard throughout the entire bullpen. She screamed his name repeatedly until she couldn’t anymore, until Spencer was certain she’d torn at her vocal cords. “I’m going to bring you back to me, I swear,” he said out loud to himself. “I promise.”
With the palms of his hands, Spencer wiped away his tears and turned from the window, unable to see her screaming and crying and pleading to see the man that took her away from him over and over again - the man who likely beat and raped her day in and day out until she turned to this fabricated story to survive with some semblance of sanity intact. Instead, he walked with purpose, the people before him parting like the Red Sea as he stormed across the bullpen to the room Abel was being kept in.
Spencer couldn’t talk to his wife for fear of breaking her further, but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to interrogate this bastard. Rossi realized where he was going and followed him. “Kid, I’m coming in with you. You can’t go in alone.”
“Fine,” he said hotly, his eyes never breaking their gaze from the door that shielded him from the man who’d taken his wife away. “But I’m going in.”
As he pulled open the door and walked inside, a skin-crawling grin was painted across his face. “She’s asking for me, huh? How does that feel, Agent?”
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Can a punch that bastard on Spencer’s behalf? He clearly knows exactly who he is and what he as done. Can Morgan beat him? The man deserves it!
Your reblogs are giving me lifeeee
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa WHY DO YOU DO THIS IT HURTS FIX IT LET SPENCER KILL HIM PLEASE
