Now, it was just Spencer and his thoughts.

His thoughts, yes, and his heartbreak, too.

But that was okay. He wanted to be alone.

Just him.

Without (Y/N).

Out of pure hurt and regret, Spencer started crying.

At first, the tears slipped down his cheeks slowly, but he was so heartbroken over losing (Y/N) that the tears started falling at a quicker rate. Crying weakened Spencer as he fell to his knees in front of the door, his hands clenched into fists. He cried so much that his eyes turned a bright red from not being used to the amount of teardrops. The rain falling from the sky almost seemed like the universe weeping with Spencer.

Soon enough, that heartbreak that resided in him turned into a depressed fury. He was mad at the Whisperer for targeting the BAU, he was mad at his team for not keeping tabs on (Y/N)'s whereabouts, but this anger was more directed at himself for not being there to protect (Y/N) from the Whisperer. Spencer could've done something. He could've saved (Y/N). But he wasn't there.

Tears were still falling down his cheeks as Spencer jumped to his feet and shoved an entire shelf of books onto the floor, the thud of the books ringing in his ears. His hands were clutching his head, his mind racing with anger and everything else. More books went tumbling to the ground as Spencer pushed them off of the shelf. Spencer had no intention of stopping until his eyes met the cover of the book And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, (Y/N)'s favorite book. Spencer dropped to his knees and picked up the book, his hands shaking with a million emotions. Just looking at the cover brought back so many memories of (Y/N) happily talking about Christie's craft and her diction and syntax and whatever (Y/N) found interesting about that book.

The thought of (Y/N) calmed Spencer for just a second before being reminded that her life was on the line. The cloud of emotions that lurked over him caused him to crumble to the ground in defeat, hugging the book close to his heart. He had cried so much that his body grew tired of producing tears. The silence choked him as his weeps calmed down.

Soon enough, Spencer's emotions blurred as he cried himself to sleep.

Thank God the Whisperer had a clock down there. You were able to keep track of time, although staring at the second hand go around and around and around was enough to make anyone go insane. Luckily, you kept your beloved sanity while being trapped in a metal cage that was so cold that it hurt your ten thousand cuts when they touched.

Oh, yeah, the Whisperer cut people. Including you.

It was late: almost nine at night, if that clock was correct. Upstairs, people were laughing and cheering and you could even hear the sound of wine glasses clinking together.

What you wouldn't give for a glass of that.

Out of nowhere, you heard a jolt, followed by a "Help me!" and a lot of crying. Your eyes follow the sound to see another young woman, trapped in a cage. The Whisperer must've had a type, because your (H/C) hair and (E/C) eyes looked pretty much identical to hers.

"It's okay," you shouted, trying to calm her down. "There are people looking for us, but you have to stay calm." She nods frantically as you hear footsteps in the distance.

Guys... you said in your head, secretly hoping that someone from your team could hear you. Please hurry.

Although he did get some sleep, three hours was still not enough for Spencer to pull himself out of the hole he dug. He just sat there, the words from that poem ringing in his head:

"Do accept this incredible loss

for I know it's causing trouble

but I look at it as a lucky toss

or that cards that were given a good shuffle."

Spencer tried to shove the words out, but it was a gruesome task. And Then There Were None was still wrapped in his arms, since it was practically the only thing in his possession that was directly linked to (Y/N). Sure, he had a few things that reminded him of you, but he didn't want to look at those since it made him think of the possibility of never finding you, and Spencer couldn't afford to throw more books on the floor.

Impulsively, Spencer opened the book, only to find a little handwritten note on the inside cover of the book. In (Y/N)'s pristine script, it read:

"It definitely was an internal gamble to let go of this book, but then I realized that I have a million copies at home to read, anyway.

Happy birthday, Spencer!

Your best friend, (Y/N)"

In such a bleak time, Spencer thought it would be impossible to smile, but reading (Y/N)'s choice of words was enough to make him smile just a little. Of course (Y/N) would be the type of person to call gifting a book a 'gamble,' and she -

Wait.

Gambling.

The poems.

The Whisperer.

"... but I look at it as a lucky toss

or cards that were given a good shuffle."

At this revelation, Spencer sprung up from the ground and immediately picked up the phone and pressed the buttons faster than ever before.

"Reid, you should be -"

"Hotch, I know where he's keeping them."