"The defects and faults of the mind are like wounds in the body. After all imaginable care has been taken to heal them up, still there will be a scar left behind."

French writer François de la Rochefoucauld.

The coffee machine made a small beep and the young profiler reached for their mug.

It was Parker's favorite mug. It was rainbow colored– Garcia gave it to Parker on their last birthday.

With the fresh coffee, Parker reentered the meeting room, where Spencer, Derek and Hotch were still trying to figure out which book the guy wanted them to use.

"Reid, how many books do you think are published in a year?" asked Hotch.

"In the whole world? Thousands."

"About 1,793,000," Parker gave a more specific answer. "And we don't even know what year the book was published."

The others looked at them and Parker simply explained that they used the internet, because they asked themselves the same question.

They sighed and sat down at the table next to Derek.

"Great, and all we got to do is find one. You know, I can see this UnSub getting our phone numbers and addresses from the Bureau personnel files, but, come on, man. It really says in there that Gideon digs Nellie Fox ?"

"Or that JJ collects butterflies?"

"I didn't even know these things about us."

"'Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight'", Spencer muttered to himself again.

"Reid, not again with the poem from the music box, please."

"There's something familiar about it. I think I've heard it somewhere before," explained Spencer.

"I thought you had a photographic memory."

"Eidetic memory," Spencer corrected. "And that's primarily related to things I read. Like I said, this is something I think I've heard."

"Which leaves us..."

"Nowhere, that's where it leaves us."

"Not necessarily," Gideon entered the room. "How would we proceed if we didn't have all these clues? What's the first thing we'd look at?"

"Victimology," Parker said.

"Why this particular victim in this particular place at this particular time?"

"We have a victim, don't we?"

"Rebecca Bryant."

Gideon took Rebecca's picture from the evidence board and placed it on the table.

"She's missing out of South Boston, Virginia. You can get there in a few hours if you hurry. Take JJ. Find out everything there is to know about this girl."

"You got it," Derek said, got up and left the room.

"Been letting him lead us around like he's something more than he is."

"He's just another UnSub," Hotch said. "I'll start putting together a profile."

He also got up and probably went to his office.

"What do you want us to do?" Spencer wanted to know from Gideon.

"Just keep working on this. If anyone can put it together, you two can."

~~~~

"Thousands of books published every year. This is impossible. Year. Every year," Spencer muttered.

He and Parker had been trying to find a connection between the evidence for what seemed like forever.

The young genius turned away from the board, stood at the table and searched through the evidence until he found the baseball card.

"1963."

"I think I have something," Spencer said and motioned for his partner to follow him.

They followed Spencer to Gideon's office, which Spencer simply stormed into.

"The book has to be the right volume and the right publication date or the code won't work, right?"

"Okay," Gideon replied, looking at the couple slightly irritated.

"Now, when you talk about Nellie Fox, it's in regards to the 1959 White Sox. That's the year that's important to you, but, for some reason, this is a 1963 card."

"Well, maybe he couldn't find a '59," the older profiler pointed out.

"You think a pale clouded yellow butterfly was easy to find, or a music box that specifically plays the Trout Quintet?" Parker pointed out.

"Such a book published in 1963."

"It has to be," assured Spencer, before adding, a little more uncertainly, "Maybe."

"The guy who delivered that puzzle to my house just turned himself in," Hotch explained, als he walked past the room.

He stood in the doorway for a moment before moving on.

Gideon stood up from his desk chair and followed his colleague to the interrogation rooms.

~~

"This guy is infuriatingly good. He routed his IP through major corporations, crisscrossed it through countries, bounced it off satellites–"

Parker didn't know much about technology, so they just nodded.

"I thought you already tracked the hacker," said Spencer.

"No, I only found what he wanted me to find, the apartment where Giles was dead," explained Garcia.

"Guys, a hacker capable of getting into my systems is going to have amazingly sophisticated equipment. Did Giles' apartment have that?"

"He didn't have a couch."

"Exactly."

"Giles was a smoke screen I should have seen through, but now I have this glorious program I wrote tracking the hacker through his other identity."

A small window popped up on the screen with the correct IP address.

"Sir Kneighf," Garcia murmured, unimpressed.

Spencer leaned over Garcia's shoulder.

"'K-N-E-I-G-H-F?' "That's an odd spelling."

"Do you need something?" asked the technical analyst.

"Yeah, is there a database which lists all the books published in a given year?"

"Individual publishers have lists, but I don't think there's anything like a master one. Plus, it would depend upon the year because the further back you go, the less likely there'll be any database at all."

"1963."

"Yeah, okay, that would be an example of extremely less likely."

"But you can work one of your miracles and help us?" Parker asked sure Garcia could do it.

"Sorry."

"Could you do me a favor? Type something into a search engine for me. 'Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight.'"

"Okay, that's from a poem. The Parliament of–"

"Fowls! Yeah, yeah, yeah! Chaucer. My mom used to read me that. It's widely considered as the first Valentine's poem."

"Your mom read you Valentine's poems? Hello, therapy."

Parker chuckled and nudged Garcia.

Spencer didn't respond to the comment, he was already lost in his thoughts and muttering to himself a third or fourth time today.

"Chaucer. Chaucer. Parliament of Fowls. Fowls. Parliament of Fowls. Chaucer. It has to be at least 283 pages long. The poem has to be long. Something published in 1963. A butterfly indigenous to Great Britain. Why? Something born ... Something from Great Britain. Medieval. Chaucer. Chaucer was Middle English. Middle English spelling of the word "fowls." F-O-W-L-E-S – Guys. there was a contemporary British author, Fowles. John Fowles. Garica, will you type it into a search engine?"

Garcia typed the name into the search engine and soon a list of books appeared on the screen.

"He wrote 'The Magus'. He wrote 'The French Lieutenant's Woman'."

"Anything published in Great Britain in 1963?", asked Parker.

"The Collector."

"Collector. Baseball cards, skeleton keys, music boxes. These are things that are collected."

She clicked on the small field where the title was and a picture of the front page popped up. And on the original edition there was a key, a butterfly and a lock of blonde hair.

"Guys."

~~

"We know what the book is. The Collector by John Fowles," Spencer said to Gideon and Hotch as they emerged from the interrogation room.

"Are you sure?"

"Not absolutely," Parker explained. "Not until we see if the code works, but we have four separate libraries searching for the 1963 edition published in Great Britain."

"Good job, you two."

"Agent Gideon, there's a call for you on line two," an agent spoke to the profiler. "He says it's extremely urgent."

"Is there a name?"

"Sort of. He calls himself the Fisher King," she reported, looking at the note she was holding in her hand.

Spencer took the note.

"This could be the UnSub, guys."

"Why?"

"In mythology, the Fisher King is the Grail King. 'Sir Kneighf,' it's an anagram for 'Fisher King.'"

"Fisher King's at the end of all Grail quests."

Parker, Spencer, Garcia, Hotch and Gideon gathered around the phone at Elle's desk (he was closest to the door) and Gideon answered the phone.

"Gideon."

"What I had to do was not my fault!"

"Excuse me?"

"It was distasteful and barbaric!"

"Who is this?" Gideon asked directly.

"No one else had to be hurt!"

"You call yourself the Fisher King?"

"I told you there were rules!"

"I'm actually more interested in exactly how you got all those burns."

"Remember this next time you decide to step outside my instructions. Agent Greenaway did not have to die like that," said the guy and hung up without another word.

~~

Luckily, Elle wasn't dead. She was on the way to the hospital, where Hotch and Gideon went immediately.

Parker, Spencer and Garcia tried to concentrate on deciphering the message. It was an advantage that one of the libraries had the edition the group was looking for.

"Mrs. Valez, are you there?"

"Yes, Dr. Reid, I am," said the woman on the phone. "I have a first edition of The Collector published in Great Britain in 1963."

"Wonderful. Mrs. Valez, I'm going to read you a set of three numbers. The first is going to be a page number, the second, a line number on that page, and the third, a word number in that line. Do you understand me?" explained Spencer.

"Yes, I understand."

Garcia grabbed a marker and walked over to the board so she could write the words down.

"All right, the first is page 222."

"Page 222. Got it."

"Line 23."

"Line 23. Got it."

"What is the 16th word on that line, Ms. Valez?"

"'The.'"

"'The.' Great. Page 91, line 11, word 13."

"'Path.' Does that make sense?"

"'The path.' No, yeah, yeah, that absolutely makes sense. All right, please go to page 31."

After a quarter of an hour they had deciphered the message– now all they had to do was figure out what it meant.

'THE PATH TO THE END

BEGAN AT HIS START

TO FIND HER FIRST CALM

HER LONG BROKEN HEART

SHE SITS IN A WINDOW

WITH SECRETS FROM HER KNIGHT

IS ADVENTURE THAT KEEPS

HIM OUT OF HER SIGHT'

"It's a riddle. That's clear. But what does it mean? Hey, Spence–"

Parker stopped when the young agent noticed their boyfriend deep in his thoughts.

"It's never night in Las Vegas," he said clearly.

"Excuse me?" Garcia asked.

The young genius grabbed the phone and dialed a number.

"I need to be connected to the field office closest to Las Vegas, Nevada, immediately– Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid with the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. Look, I need my mother picked up and brought to Virginia in protective custody as soon as possible. – We're searching for an UnSub who shot one of our agents today, and I think he might know my mother, and I believe she may be in danger. – Yes. She's at... the Bennington Sanitarium in Las Vegas. Her name's Diana Reid. She's a patient there."

Garcia looked at Parker in surprise as they worriedly watched Spencer leave the room.

~~

Spencer filled both cups of coffee as his mother walked through the glass door accompanied by two agents.

"That's why you're so skinny, you know. Too much coffee," she said and pointed to the two coffee cups.

"The second one is for Parker," the young genius explained.

He thanked the other agents and explained that he would take over from here.

"You know I'm terrified of flying," Diana complained to her son.

"I know, Mom. I'm sorry."

"Well, then why did you have those fascists arrest me?"

"Mom, they're not fascists, and you weren't arrested. I'm trying to protect you."

"By forcing me to do the one thing that frightens me more than anything else?" Diana continues.

Unfortunately, yes, thought Spencer.

"I need to show you something. Follow me."

~~

The door opened and Parker turned away from the board.

"Diana, it's so nice seeing you."

The young agent walked up to Spencer's mother and hugged her. Diana hugged them back.

"I'm happy to see you too", Diana said and then looked around the room.

"The table's round," she noticed.

"Yeah, just like I wrote you in my letters."

"Yes, just like you wrote in your letters", Diana commented. "Dr. Jessen gave me the book you brought. Margery Kempe."

"She's your favorite."

"That particular book is one of her minor works," commented Spencer's mother.

"I told him that too," Parker said. "I advised him to take the other one, but he wouldn't listen."

The corners of Diana's mouth twitched upwards and she placed her hand on Parker's shoulder for a moment. Then she turned to her son.

"You should listen to Parker more."

"I'm trying," Spencer assured. "Mom, listen, the UnSub that we're looking for... The bad guy knows things about my colleagues' personal lives, things that only you would know. Do you write about them in your journals?"

"My journals are none of the government's business," Diana replied a little louder.

"I'm not the government, Mom. And neither is Parker."

"Well, this certainly looks like a government office."

"Mother, do you write about my colleagues' personal lives?" Spencer repeated the question.

"Why did you bring me here, Spencer?"

"I need to ask you some things about a man I think you might know, a bad man. He's killed some people, and he's holding a girl hostage."

"You think I know someone like that?"

"Will you just watch the tape and see if he sounds familiar?"

Diana nodded. She and Parker sat down at the table while Spencer started the video on the screen.

"I had to make sure I had your complete attention. I assure you that you will all understand in the end why it must be this way. You might even thank me."

When Spencer's mother heard the man's voice, she sat up a little, as if she recognized the voice.

"You do know him?", Parker wanted to know.

"I'm sure it's Randall Garner."

"Randall Garner?"

"He was with me at the hospital. He's a very emotionally disturbed man," Diana explained.

She had just finished the sentence before Garia stormed into the room.

"Reid, Parker, I got to the end of the IP string. Sir Kneighf, the Fisher King, his name is Randall Garner. He's Rebecca Bryant's biological father."

~~

"I can't believe she's real," Diana murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever he talked about Rebecca, he never said she was his daughter. He said all his children died in the fire. He spoke of a Rebecca more in the abstract. I really thought she was a metaphor and not an actual human being. An ideal."

"A Grail?" Spencer helped his mother. "He thinks he's the Fisher King."

"Who does?" Derek asked as he and JJ entered the meeting room.

"Randall Garner, our UnSub," Parker reported.

"He believes you're all modern-day Knights of the Round Table," said Diana, pointing to each of the agents.

Derek, who didn't know Diana and therefore couldn't identify her, looked at her confused.

"Derek Morgan, this is my mother, Diana Reid", the young profiler introduced his mother.

"That's your mother? Ma'am, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"So where are we on finding this son of a bitch?" Hotch asked as he also entered the room.

He and his colleagues sat down at the table and Diana took a step back.

"I rechecked all the clues. There's nothing that points to an address," explained Spencer.

"The adoption records for Rebecca list an address of the fire, so I made a call to Nevada, and it's vacant. No one ever rebuilt."

"Nevada? So we don't even know what state he's in?"

"I'll search tax records, see if he owns any property."

"Excuse me?", Diana said to the profilers.

"Mom, do you want to wait at my–"

"Just before the agents got me from the hospital, a man delivered this to me. It's a photo of a house with an address on the back."

1024 WINSTON DR.

SHILOH, VA 22485

"Shiloh, Virginia? That's only 10 miles from here."

~~~~

They searched the first floor of the house, but only found Elle's badge and gun lying on a table in the dining room.

"There's someone upstairs," Spencer reported over the radio.

Parker took one last look into the kitchen before following the others to the large main staircase.

"Where?"

"I saw a shadow," Spencer explained.

Garner was in one of the rooms on the first floor. The door was slightly open and you could see him sitting at the large desk. The agents took cover in the corridor.

"He's in there."

"All right, cover me. I'm going to go in," said Derek.

"No, wait. Wait. Wait," Spencer stopped him.

"Mr. Garner? My name's Spencer Reid. You were in the hospital with my mother. I think she might have confused you. All we want to do is help Rebecca. That's exactly what you want, right? That's why you sent us the puzzles. That's why you said you'd hoped you'd be seeing us soon?"

"Ask the question."

"There is no magical question, Mr. Garner," Spencer explained before turning to his colleagues.

"He believes that if I ask him the right question, it'll heal all of his wounds."

"Do you know the question?" Hotch wanted to know.

"I know what he wants. I'm going to move to where he can see me."

"Reid, no!"

"Spence, don't!"

Spencer handed his gun to an agent from the SWAT unit and stepped into the middle of the hallway.

"Wait a minute, Reid. Wait!"

"Stay calm, Mr. Garner," Spencer said to the man.

"Ask the question, Sir Perceval."

"I told you, I'm not Perceval. My name is Dr. Spencer Reid from the FBI. You were in the hospital with my mother, Diana," the young genius tried to explain to the other man.

"If you want the Grail, you must ask the question!"

"She's not a Grail. She's your daughter. Her name's Rebecca."

Spencer slowly walked down the hallway towards the office.

"My daughters died in a fire, and my son and my wife."

"Rebecca lived."

"No! Your mother, she explained it all to me."

"My mother's a paranoid schizophrenic who'd forget to eat if she wasn't properly medicated and supervised."

Derek, not knowing this, looked surprised at Parker, who was standing next to him, and then at Hotch, who had taken cover across the hall.

"She made me realize none of it was real," said Garner. "I didn't lose Rebecca. She never existed in the first place."

"She does exist, Mr. Garner, and we're here to help her."

Spencer reached the door and pushed it further open. Garner sat in the desk chair with a homemade bomb tied to the trigger in his hand.

"Parker, Hotch, Morgan, I think maybe it'd be better if you guys waited downstairs."

"What?"

"Mr. Garner and I are just going to talk alone up here."

"Go ahead and talk, Reid, but we're not going anywhere," said Derek.

"Ask the question, I'll be healed, and you may take the Grail," said Garner. "Just ask the question, Sir Knight."

"I can't."

"Heal me!"

"Mr. Garner, a Fisher King wound cannot be healed by anyone else. It's not a wound of the body. It's a wound of the memory, a wound of the mind. It's a wound that only you can find and a wound that only you can heal."

"Just ask the question."

"There's only one question that matters, Mr. Garner. There's only one really important question. Can you forgive yourself?"

"I couldn't get to them."

"If you tell me where she is, you can save Rebecca now. Tell me where Rebecca is."

"You already know. I sent your mother the map."

"What map?" Spencer asked, but Garner didn't answer.

"Can I forgive myself?" he repeated the question. "No, I can't."

"Run!" Spencer warned his colleagues and fled the room.

Not a blink of an eye later, the bomb exploded. The young profiler was knocked to the ground by the force of the explosion.

Parker and Derek helped Spencer back to his feet and together with the others they made their way to the stairs.

"Get him out."

"Let's go! Let's go!"

"What the hell was that?" Parker wanted to know.

"He had a bomb."

"You didn't think we needed to know that?"

"I told you to go downstairs," replied Spencer.

"But you didn't say bomb. You left that part out."

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" the young man suddenly said when they reached the stairs.

Parker, Derek and Hotch looked at Spencer confused. Why should they stop? The young adult tilted his head a little to the side and wondered if their boyfriend had hit his head somewhere while falling on the ground a few moments before.

"What do you mean, stop? The house is on fire, Reid. Let's go!"

"Just let me think. Let me think. He's the Fisher King. This is his castle. Rebecca has got to be here."

"Reid, there may not be time for a search," Hotch pointed out. "Let's go"

"Location's on the map that he gave to my mother."

"Reid, all she told us about was that photo. Let's go."

"Down... I think she's in the basement downstairs," Spencer explained and ran past the others into the basement.

"Spence, how do you know that?"

They found the girl in the basement. She was frightened, but didn't appear to have any obvious wounds– aside from the permanent ones to her psyche.

"It has been said, 'Time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."

Rose Kennedy.

~~~~

"Elle's out of surgery. She's going to be okay."

That was the first thing JJ said to her colleagues as they walked through the glass doors into the bullpen.

Thank God, Parker thought.

"Good. Is Gideon still at the hospital?" asked Hotch.

"Yeah. How's Rebecca?"

"She's in the hospital, but she should be all right."

"Physically maybe," said Garcia as she also joined the others.

Hotch walked past JJ towards his office but turned back after a few steps.

"Thank you, everyone. All of you."

"Well, we could've only gone so far without Mrs. Reid."

The others walked away too, leaving Parker and Spencer standing alone at the door.

"I should check on my mom," Spencer explained.

"Yes, you should," Parker confirmed, giving Spencer a kiss.

"I should call my mom too. We didn't have time to explain what was going on. She and Dad are probably worried."

The young adult sat down at their desk. Parker took their cell phone out of the jacket pocket and dialed a number.

"Hey, Mom, it's me–"