Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Martin never thought of himself as an inherently unreasonable person. All of his murders were cold and calculated, his interactions with nearly everyone were perfectly professional. There were only a handful of people who could get under his skin, and nearly all of them were his family. The one exception was the cop. The man quite literally removed Martin from his family, and was single-handedly the reason behind the tension with him and Malcolm.

The cop hadn’t made it a point to speak to Martin once the trial was over, even though they saw each other quite frequently. Jessica insisted on Young Malcolm having a police escort at least for the first few years of visitation. As if he would ever hurt his boy-the notion was ridiculous.

The cop never addressed him directly, instead he would speak to Malcolm, laying what most would read as a reassuring hand on his shoulder and letting him know when it was time to leave. Martin wanted to rip that hand off, wanted to completely eviscerate the man who would try and take his place in his own son’s life.

Due to the overwhelming tension between the two, Martin never expected to see The Cop- Malcolm called him Gil- again, let alone have him show up at his cell. He looked tired and exhausted, and Martin reveled in the fact that he didn’t appear to have aged well. As the cop approached, an overwhelming sense of rage filled Martin’s veins as he examined him. Unwilling to be the first to break the silence, he continued with his paperwork, knowing that the longer he looked at the man the higher the chance he would physically attack him, something that just would not do.

“I’m here to talk about Malcolm.” The cop said. Martin rolled his eyes,

“Obviously. There is nothing else that you and I would ever talk about, with the exception of whether or not you would like your entrails on the inside or the outside ” he scoffed.

“I’m not here for a pissing contest Whitly, I need to talk to you about Malcolm’s safety and his mental health-“ the cop started but Martin cut him off.

“What do you presume to know about my son's mental health? You don’t know him like I do, regardless of how many cases you put him on.”

The blue clad wannabe gritted his teeth,

“Look I’m trying to have a civil conversation here because I’m concerned about him.”

“Civil went out the door in handcuffs when I did, officer.”

“Clearly.” He grunted, “but regardless, I know you care for him in your own messed up way, so I know you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

“Of course I care for him, my blood runs through his veins, his mind is my mind. You, on the other hand will never know or understand him” Martin growled. The cop sighed.

“ All I am asking is that whatever information it is Malcolm wants from you, give it to him and let him go. Give him closure, stop hurting him. “

“ I have never hurt him,” Martin bristled, “I am his father, I would never do anything to cause him pain!”

“I know you believe that, and I know that unless you believe otherwise you won’t heed my advice and that’s why I brought evidence.” He pulled out a slim DVD case and wordlessly set it on the floor, “I’ve watched this too many times so I’ll let you watch it alone, but as the man who had to help raise your son, let me tell you that both of us failed in protecting him.”

The door clicked as he left and Martin stared wordlessly down at the innocent looking case. His guard came in shortly after in rolled a TV into the cell. Mind reeling, Martin slipped the small disc into the player and turned it on.

A 12-year-old Malcolm popped up on the screen -God he looks so small- it appeared that he was in an interrogation room. His small face was red and covered in tears,

“I already told you everything I know, I don’t know what else you want from me, I’m the one who called you guys”

The video cut out there and was immediately replaced with another one, this time a much younger looking version of the man who just left was looking him in the eyes,

“Case number 247-098, drug raid. Evidence locker number 49, 20 kg confisca-” behind the camera a door opened and a shuffling sound could be heard, “Kid? Malcolm! Are you okay? Sit down! “ The cop stood immediately and ran behind the camera, a few seconds later he reappeared, with a slightly older Malcolm in tow, whom he immediately deposited on the recently vacated couch. Martin leaned in intently, his chest tightening as he realized his son was sprouting a black eye and holding his arm awkwardly. Who had done this?! They would pay dearly. The cop disappeared and came back with an ice pack and handed it to Malcolm who gingerly held it to his face.

“Kid what the hell happened to you?” He asked. Malcolm sniffled, eyes tearing up, ripping apart Martins heart.

“Do- do you remember Amy Smith?” He asked, The cop nodded, “well, she- she asked me to meet her after school. I-I thought she wanted to talk about the dance but- but it was a trap. Her brother and a bunch of high schoolers were waiting instead and- and they,” Malcolm’s hands began trembling uncontrollably, “they said I’d never be more than the son of a monster and they called me Malcolm the Murderer and kept kicking me and kicking me until a car backfired and I was able to run away” his lip trembled and Martin saw red. How dare these insolent brats hurt his son. The cop sighed and sat down next to the boy, and Malcolm lunged and wrapped his arms around him, sobbing into his chest. A pang of jealousy reared its head in Martin’s chest at the sight.

He leaned up to fast forward through to the next clip when he heard a muffled voice whisper,

“Why did he like hurting people more than he loved me?” Martin’s eyes widened and he scrambled back in shock. Was that really how Malcolm felt? Before he could contemplate it, the next clip started.

This time the camera was in the foyer of the house and Jessica and the cop were waiting at the foot of the stairs.

“Malcolm Darling, you’re going to be late for your own graduation!” Jessica shouted up the stairs. A strapping 18 year old Malcolm slumped down the steps, gown in hand, eyes downcast. Wordlessly he handed it to his mother who held it up. Martin gasped, written in white spray paint were the words Surgeon’s Son. Jessica squared her shoulders and ducked into the hall closet.

“Never you mind those fools Malcolm, your mother always thinks ahead and bought a spare!” The camera cut out again and when it refocused they were all at what was clearly the graduation later that day.

A tall man stood and gave a boring speech about empowerment and intelligence and then he said

“It is now my pleasure to announce our valedictorian and hear him speak, Mr. Malcolm Whitly!” A hush fell over the crowd and then simultaneously a round of Boos started as Malcolm stood up and walked to the podium.

“Eat shit you son of a murderer!” Someone shouted and a teenager in the crowd stood up and threw a literal bag of feces at his boy. Martin bristled, these people would all pay.

The video then cut to bodycam footage from an officer. The date in the corner was only a few days old and Malcolm looked...deranged to say the least. His eyes were wide with enormous bags under them and the cop, the damn cop was there too and Malcolm was saying something but Martin only caught the tail end of it.

“-you showed me what it means to be a good man.” And then the cop spoke.

“He’s high as a kite.”

The video cut out and then something almost more horrifying began to pop up- things that Martin missed.

There was a photo of a teenage Malcolm in a soccer uniform and covered in mud grinning from ear to ear with the cop’s arm around him.

Malcolm at a table clearly doing a debate.

Malcolm at prom with a pretty blonde girl.

Malcolm in Egypt on holiday with Jess and Ains.

Malcolm on Christmas morning.

Malcolm at the quantico commencement.

Martin hit the eject button and ripped the cursed disk out and threw it across the room.

How dare the cop insult him this way. Malcolm was his. Not that damn cop’s. Malcolm and him were the same. How dare that cop poison his boy that way.

A plan began to form and a manic smile graced Martin’s face. The cop’s intention was to get Martin to leave Malcolm alone but all that cursed disk proved was that his son needed him now more than ever, Martin needed to step up as a father; but he couldn’t do that from this cell.

Malcolm my boy. I’ll have you back soon.

Chapter Text

It was absurdly easy to escape the institution; partially because Martin had been planning an escape for years and partially because the security was terrible and the guards were easily bought off. He would have at least 12 hours before his normal guard would come back and notice that he was gone. Once he was out, he made his way to a storage locker he set up ages ago for this exact scenario; an unregistered car, enormous amounts of money, drugs, etc. 

Handling the Malcolm situation would require finesse, a delicate hand. A surgeon’s hand . Martin packed everything he needed into the van and drove to a gas station to pick up a burner phone, the first thing he needed to do was get Malcolm out of his apartment. He called a few contacts and made his way out of the city to his hunting cabin, which he kept under the table from Jessica, which was surprisingly easy considering how many times he had brought Malcolm up there for the weekend. Martin hoped that eventually the familiarity of the place would bring Malcolm comfort. Before that though - there was going to be a rough road to get Malcolm in a suitable mindset to be open to Martin’s influence.

Martin sighed and made another call, he’d have to set up a place in the cabin to hold Malcolm until he was ready to listen. An idea began to form, a terrible idea, a wonderful idea that caused him to pick the phone back up and immediately call a contractor that owed him a favor; after all, Malcolm put him in a cell, maybe it was time to return the favor. 

-—————-—————-—————-—————

Malcolm was at a crime scene. A crime scene set up by an old friend of Martin, a friend who had a penchant for removing eyes from his victims before killing them. Good guy though, terrible at poker. He knew Malcolm would be preoccupied for at least a few hours, which would allow him time to sneak into his boy’s apartment and enact the next step of his plan.

With a chloroformed covered cloth in his pocket, Martin set up a small camera and hid in the guest room. Pulling out the phone, Martin activated the camera and watched the stream. Malcolm should be home any minute. A half hour passed. Then another hour passed. After two hours Martin finally heard the click of the lock and footsteps. Excited, he sat up and glanced down at the phone, ready to spring into action, only to stop in his tracks.

The cop, that damn cop, had his son’s arm around him and he was helping him limp into the kitchen. Martin bristled, what the hell happened?  

“Gil, seriously, I’m fine; it’s just a sprained ankle.” Malcolm said.

“Look Kid, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” The cop said. Martin rolled his eyes, too bad they weren’t alone together in his hobby room, he would take great pleasure in running a knife down the man’s stupid face. Malcolm sighed,

“I will be alright, I’m home. I’ll eat some food and go to bed.” The cop nodded and they said their goodbyes. Malcolm limped over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Knowing this was his chance, Martin eased out of the guest room and snuck up behind him. Clearly he was sleep deprived, normally Malcolm was much more aware of his surroundings. Quickly Martin covered his face in the cloth, Malcolm struggled for a second but succumbed quickly.

He dragged him across the floor and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, not that Martin thought he would wake up anytime soon, but with how many prescriptions his boy took, it would be nearly impossible to calculate the exact time he would wake up. Martin fished Malcolm’s phone out of his pocket and tossed it to the floor. He wouldn’t be needing it anymore. He pulled a crumpled letter out of his pocket and laid it on the counter gingerly. A concerned Jessica would end up finding it a mere 12 hours later and then her world would collapse, an unfortunate side effect but it’s not like she was his concern anymore. The target of the letter, a certain cop, would end up carrying it in his pocket for ages before giving up, before acknowledging that Malcolm was not his son, that Malcolm belonged to Martin. 

Cop,

Malcolm Bright is and never was your son. Thank you for showing me he needs me more than ever. Malcolm Bright no longer exists. The sooner you accept it the better all of our lives will be.

-The Surgeon

——————————————————————

Malcolm’s head was pounding, his mouth was dry and the sweet stench of chloroform permeated his senses. He blearily blinked his eyes open, a bright light shined directly down on him. He must have forgotten to turn the lights out . He leaned over to remove his restraints and was shocked to see his wrists encased in handcuffs instead. He sat up and glanced around,

No. No, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. 

Malcolm stood up and ran or tried to run to the door of the very familiar cell. He looked behind him to see a chain around his waist connected to the wall. 

“Malcolm my boy!” The voice that haunted his nightmares sounded on the other side of the door, “I hope you don’t mind, I took some creative liberties and tried to make this more familiar for the both of us.”

Malcolm was in an exact replica of the cell his father previously occupied less than a day earlier.

This was not going to end well.

Chapter Text

“What-What the hell is this?!” Malcolm shouted, scrambling away from Martin as he opened the door. Martin sighed, no one ever said parenthood is easy.

“Malcolm, please, calm down, you’re going to injure yourself further. This is a temporary situation-“

“So let me out!” He shouted, cowering in the corner. Martin sighed again, rubbing his forehead,

“Malcolm, stop acting like a caged animal, I’m your father, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.” Malcolm’s eyes widened as he approached. Eventually he would learn, all of this was temporary until he realized his true potential, until he realized that he belonged at Martin’s side. His prodigy, his progeny, the center of his universe, and together the two of them would own the earth.

Martin raised his hands in mock surrender and sat down on the bed. Damn his contractor was good, even the bed felt authentic . Vanishing the distracting thought he refocused on his son, who’s entire body seemed to have broke out in tremors.

“H-how did you escape? W-why did you escape?”

“Well my boy, it was brought to my attention that you are not taking care of yourself….which prompted a more hands on parenting technique.” Malcolm stared stonily at him,

“Well, Dr. Whitly , let me be the first to assure you that all of this-“ he gestured vaguely to the room, “is unnecessary and I am completely capable of handling myself.” Martin laughed, was he serious?

“Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm; you look like you haven’t slept in weeks, your cabinets were bare of food, and you could probably break a bone just by tripping. My boy, you need to get better, need to be healthy, I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.” Malcolm remained incredulous.

“Thank you for the concern,” he snarked, “can I go now?” Martin chuckled, 

“That’s not an option right now, you will remain here until I’m satisfied that you’re in proper health.”

“And then?”

“And then if you want to leave you can. If you want to stay then you will be more than welcome to.”

“Want to stay? Here? With you? Sure, that’ll happen.” Malcolm retorted sarcastically.

Oh dear boy, that’s what you think.

“Well, we’ll see. In the meantime, I will be bringing you some food. Please eat it, the sooner you cooperate my boy, the sooner you’ll get out of here.”

Martin stood, and Malcolm watched every movement like a hawk, flinching if he moved too fast. He walked out and sighed, Phase 1 was complete and Phase 2 should be taking place any moment.

——————————————————————————

Dr. Edrisa Tanaka was in the morgue, as per usual, examining the latest victim that had been rolled in here. It’s was pretty gruesome, but fairly open and shut; the murder weapon was found on site with both fingerprints and DNA. 

The man had been stabbed a dozen times, requiring quite a bit of concentration on Edrisa’s part to ensure she didn’t damage any of the organs as she removed them, unfortunately, Edrisa’s mind was elsewhere. It had been three days since Malcolm had gone missing. No, not missing- abducted. The entire department was in an uproar, Mrs. Whitly came running in a crying mess clutching a letter and screaming that her murdering ex husband had stolen her son.

Detective Arroyo had been a mess, he took the whole week off to scour the city and ask anyone who had ever been in contact with the Surgeon. Edrisa wished she could do more to help. A beep sounded behind her indicating an email from the lab. The fingerprint or DNA from the knife must be in.  

She removed her gloves and walked over to the computer. It looked like both were in. She gasped and ran out of the morgue, already calling Detective Arroyo. Blinking innocently on the screen;

DNA MATCH: NYPD DATABASE: MALCOLM BRIGHT (WHITLY)

FINGERPRINT MATCH: NYPD DATABASE: MALCOLM BRIGHT (WHITLY)

Chapter Text

Malcolm shivered in the corner of his cell. All of his nightmares had come true and he was imprisoned in the exact cell that haunted his dreams by the very father who caused said nightmares. A tray of soup and a sandwich sat rapidly cooling on the desk, as if he could eat while his stomach was churning so much. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but eventually his non sprained foot fell asleep and he hoisted himself up to look around, if he was going to escape he needed to get his bearings and find out exactly where his father- no Dr. Whitly had brought him. He limped over to a window covered in bars and peeked outside. He appeared to be in the middle of some forest, and from his limited line of sight there didn’t appear to be a road anywhere close. Which meant that whatever escape he planned he’d have to take a vehicle of sorts, he wasn’t getting anywhere fast with his limp. His hands shook as an idea formed.

The Surgeon’s fatal flaw has always been his fear of his son leaving him, of rejecting him; which meant that if Malcolm could get his fathe- Dr. Whitly to trust him then perhaps he could make a get away, get to Gil, and have Gil arrest him. 

Gil would protect him, he always did. If he could just get to him then everything would work out. Squaring his shoulders as he made up his mind, he walked over to the desk, trying to ignore the sound of the chain dragging behind him. He sat down and picked up the sandwich and examined the soup. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. At one point in his life it was all Malcolm would eat, clearly Dr. Whitly remembered that fact. Weighing the risks before deciding that poisoning his son would be the exact opposite of what Dr. Whitly wanted, Malcolm cautiously took a bite.

Oh God. Even cold it was easily one of the most delicious sandwiches ever. His father had never told him the secret behind his infamous grilled cheese and no matter how many times he had tried to recreate it as a teenager he always failed. For the first time in months Malcolm inhaled his food. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t used to eating so much so nearly immediately after he felt nauseous and too full.

 Wincing, he limped back over to the bed and laid on his side, and despite himself, he began to wonder when his fa- Dr. Whitly would be back. He never did well when he was forced to be idle. Glancing around the room he noticed a line of books on the shelves and picked one up and began to read. 

A few hours later Malcolm heard a low mechanical groaning like a garage door opening, then he heard footsteps above his head. So he was in a basement of sorts . That helped a little. Soon after Martin walked down the stairs with a tray with a couple of mugs and a plate of cookies.

“You know I never pegged The Surgeon as someone who would take plays out of the witches handbook from Hansel and Gretel, and yet here we are” Malcolm joked before he could stop himself. Martin froze for a minute and began to laugh, the first real laugh from him he’d heard in 10 years. He set the tray down and pulled the chair out of the corner,

“Except I’ve never had the taste for human flesh, my boy. I’m no Dahmer.” Involuntarily, Malcolm began to relax, it almost felt like when he was in college and they would debate serial killers for hours. He leaned over and grabbed one of the mugs, hot chocolate- his favorite, of course, and they began discussing what separated a cannibal from a typical killer. It felt...almost normal, safe even . As odd as it sounded, talking about murderers and psychopaths distracted him from his own situation. Was that how his father felt when he came to visit?

As he began to contemplate the new thought his father sat up and said, 

“Well it’s getting late, you should get some sleep, Malcolm, we’ll talk more tomorrow” As Martin Whitly walked out the door and locked it behind him Malcolm moved from the chair to the bed, wondering at what point in the conversation his brain stopped thinking Dr. Whitly and changed to his father.

Chapter Text

Gil sat in his car, doing something he hadn’t done since his wife died-crying. He knew it was pathetic and weak but he felt helpless, an APB and an arrest warrant were out for Malcolm, the only person he had left. He tried to stop it, tried to make them give him more time to find him and prove somehow that all of this was set up by the Surgeon and not the handiwork of Malcolm, poor innocent Malcolm who trusted him completely. Malcolm who would still be here if it wasn’t for his big stupid mouth and trying to make things better.

Even slightly unhinged, having Malcolm safe and present would have been better for everyone. He tried to stop the intensive investigation, tried to explain that this was all The Surgeon and not Malcolm- but he was removed from the case for being too close to it. As he stormed out of the precinct Dani whispered to him that she’d keep him updated as much as she could. Which brought him to his current predicament of being alone in his car in a very questionable alley. A few minutes passed and a knock sounded on his window. He unlocked the car and his heart sank at the expression on Dani’s face.

“It’s not good is it?” She winced at his words and pulled a file out.

“A second body was found...and this time there was a note.” Gil tore the file away and pulled the picture out. Written in blood on the wall behind another gruesome murder in blood were the words “ The Profiler says hello”.

“Bright wouldn’t do this.” Gil said, no doubt in his mind at Malcolm’s innocence. Dani bit her lip,

“Are you sure? We called in another profiler and he said-“

“Yes I’m sure. Malcolm is one of us.”

“But this profiler-“

“Is wrong. Period. The Surgeon did this.” She gritted her teeth,

“The profiler said that there is no way the Surgeon did this. He said that this killer exhibited signs of a fragmented reality and fractured psyche, someone suffering a psychotic break- all of the Surgeon’s kills were accurate and precise and he said its nearly impossible for a killer so set in his own mindset to deviate from that path.”

Gil scoffed,

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

“I’m not so sure...they found more of Malcolm’s DNA and fingerprints on the scene, it’s pretty damning. Even if we found him this is a pretty open and shut case, the profiler said that the news of his fathers escape was probably too much for him to handle and it broke him. I don’t like it anymore than you but you have to admit that he’s been becoming… unhinged. Maybe this just took him over the edge?” Gil shook his head, the boy he knew, the boy so concerned over a fractured memory of a girl suffering in a box that he’d have nightmares for years would never do something like this.

“Thank you Dani. I’m going to keep looking for him, and I’m going to prove that all of this is wrong.”

As she got out of the car he recalled fondly the memory of Malcolm’s 13th birthday party and him racing towards Gil for a hug because no one from his class had showed up, no one wanted to go to the house where all those women had been murdered. Malcolm was so sad, but he and Gil spent the day together eating cake and playing with the RC cars Gil had got him. That boy wouldn’t do the horrific things in that file, but despite himself, he recalled a more recent memory of a deranged looking, sleep deprived, manic Malcolm shouting “ Homicide is the only thing keeping me sane!”

No, he reassured himself, Malcolm wouldn’t do this.

Would he?

Chapter Text

The next two days soared by in a blur for Malcolm. In the morning his father would bring down a tray of breakfast foods and some sandwiches for lunch with a promise to be back in time for dinner and then he’d just...go. He expected more psychological manipulation, more “help me kill people” propaganda, but it was all very… normal, except for the fact he was chained to a wall, that was certainly not normal. 

Then he’d usually just read or sketch, he thought is was endearing, but borderline creepy just how much his father remembered about him. After a while Martin would come back, dressed in different clothes and they’d sit and talk about murderers. Every once in a while his father would ask about him, about his school, first girlfriend, menial stuff, but he seemed just as fascinated with Malcolm’s history as he was discussing killers.

After a while, Martin would declare it was time they both got sleep and walked out, Malcolm would lay down and read again, occasionally drifting off, only to be woken up by yet another nightmare. He’d blame it on his situation if it wasn’t for the fact that he never slept normally anyway. 

————————————————————————

Shit. Shit. Shit. Ainsley was running late, her producer had texted her over an hour ago saying a second body had been found and the NYPD was releasing a statement. Her and her mother had been so preoccupied with looking for Malcolm that she hadn’t even noticed the missed call until 15 minutes before the statement was supposed to start. She almost said no but her mother insisted, until Malcolm was found things needed to stay as normal as possible.

She still couldn’t believe it, the past few days had passed in a whirlwind-her brother abducted by their father, who was doing God knows what to him. Still, despite herself, in a small, dark, decrepit corner of her mind, Ainsley felt a slight pang of rejection. All her life she had been rejected because she was the daughter of The Surgeon, and she never really wanted to know him or to have him know her, but to be so callously overlooked? She shook her head at the thought, Damn she must be going crazy, no one is jealous over their brother being kidnapped . Maybe she did need therapy, their whole family was broken in one way or another. 

Gathering her thoughts, she pushed the doors open to the police station, finding her cameraman instantly in the crowd. He waved her over and indicated a seat he saved for her. Everyone in the city was on edge. The Surgeon escapes and the next day brutal murders start? Ainsley would feel a lot calmer if Arroyo hadn’t gone AWOL immediately after finding out about it either. Both Ainsley and her mother had been calling around the clock for updates with no response. A few moments passed and the police chief entered the room and walked up to the podium.

“Thank you for joining me today. For the respect of the families and due to the nature of the ongoing investigation, we will not be answering any questions at the end. Earlier today we encountered a second body brutally murdered in an undisclosed location. We have encountered both DNA and fingerprint evidence at both scenes and feel confident in our department’s ability to catch the killer. Both matches conclusively prove that former profiler Malcolm Bright was present at the scene of both crimes. He is currently missing and an arrest warrant has been issued. If anyone has any information pertaining to his whereabouts, please call our department hotline.” Ainsley’s stomach dropped. Oh no. An instant uproar began as soon as the chief finished speaking.

“Are you telling us this isn’t the work of The Surgeon?”

“Has the NYPD taken any responsibility for hiring a monster?”

“Is this the same Malcolm Bright who threw a man off a roof?”

“Has the NYPD found the Surgeon yet?”

“First it was the cop who stole heroin and now this? How is the department vetting the people they hire?”

“Do you plan to resign?”

“Is this the same Malcolm Bright who’s the son of the Surgeon?”

Everyone fell silent and stared at the little whisp of a woman in the front row who had asked the question. Ainsley gritted her teeth, it was Veronica Vanderbilt of all people . The police chief hesitated and began to speak again.

“As I have stated before, we will not be accepting any questions at this time. Thank you.” Chaos erupted, people started yelling and rushing towards the podium. Ainsley felt sick; what had happened? Her cameraman turned towards her,

“Let’s go outside and get a good shot of you reporting on this.” He said and started moving towards the door. Her mouth felt dry, what was she supposed to say?

————————————————————————

Martin sat on the couch in the cabin with a laptop, compiling all of the information he could gather on the murders “his son” committed. A new video popped up: Ainsley Whitly live: NYPD Profiler turned Killer.

Oh, this will be fascinating. Everything was working out better than he could have imagined. Ainsley looked tired, like she hadn’t slept in a few days. He felt a pang of guilt, hurting Jessica and the Cop was planned, but hurting her was unintentional. She’ll be better off without our psychosis weighing her down. Still, if her situation continued to deteriorate, he might need to take a hands on parenting approach with her as well; clearly Jessica wasn’t doing her job caring for them, and besides, it was time he stepped up as a father. Regardless, Ainsley wasn’t his priority at the moment, if he did decide to take her too, he’d need Malcolm’s help. Malcolm knew so much more about her than he did, and Ainsley trusted him. 

“We’re here live at the NYPD where Chief Adams released a statement earlier today on the two bodies discovered mutilated over the past two days. The city has been on edge, is this the work of a new serial killer? Chief Adams informed us that the DNA and fingerprints found at both scenes were that of former FBI profiler and NYPD consultant, Malcolm Bright, the son of Martin Whitly, the escaped serial killer known as The Surgeon. An arrest warrant has been issued but both Dr. Whitly and Mr. Bright are missing. What happened? Where are they? What-“ Martin jerked and dropped the laptop as a scream downstairs sounded. Malcolm. 

He sprinted down, taking two steps at a time, mind racing What happened? He flung the door open and saw Malcolm in a fitful sleep tangled up in his chains muttering about a girl in a box. Martin sighed, maybe the chains were a bit overkill but he was terrified of losing his son again. The worst day of his life wasn’t when he got arrested, no it was the day Malcolm left 10 years ago, the day he watched his son walk away, for what he thought at the time was forever, and being utterly helpless to do anything to change it. 

He leaned down and deftly removes the cuffs, gingerly unwinding the chain from where it had wrapped around his son like a snake. Malcolm tossed and turned, making it quite difficult, but eventually he was able to get it off and set them on the ground. Malcolm groaned and rolled over on his side, whimpering. His heart broke at the sight, look at what’s become of my boy.  

Martin kneeled by the side of the bed and ran a hand through Malcolm’s hair like he did when he was a kid. Instantly his demeanor changed, the crinkles in his sweat soaked forehead eased and he leaned into Martin’s hand. His heart swelled and all doubts about his plan went away, this, this is why he was doing it. His son needed him. Martin made to move away and A tear escaped Malcolm’s closed eye as he did and he whimpered something unintelligible. Martin leaned in a little closer and heard,

“ Please don’t leave again Dad.” Martin’s heart soared as he pulled the chair next to the bed so he could continue to watch over his boy. In a few hours he’d wake up and not recall any of this, but at least he would have slept for more than a couple hour increments every few days. Martin sighed, he missed out on so many moments, poor Malcolm had to fight his demons alone.

“ Don’t worry my boy” he whispered, “I’m never leaving you again.”

Chapter Text

Malcolm woke up the next day feeling... refreshed? Confused, he sat up and noticed that the now familiar weight of his cuffs were gone. He glanced around the cell and saw them on the ground, and the door was open. A snore jolted him from his confused stupor. Seated in a chair behind the bed, sound asleep, was his father. 

This has to be some kind of trick.

Still...the wide open door called to him, his mother, Ainsley, Gil, they were all probably worried and tearing the city apart looking for him. A pang of guilt settled in his stomach. Didn’t he owe it to them to take every opportunity he could to escape. But then another thought creeped in, if this was a trap or a test, his father might take action and find a way to keep him even more under lock and key.

 Mind made up, Malcolm grabbed the book he was reading the night before and settled in the other empty chair. Ironically, the book he was reading was about the psychology of Stockholm Syndrome. A few minutes passed and he looked up at his father, who looked cold. Shaking his head at the thought, he stood up and grabbed the blanket off the bed, knowing exactly how freezing this basement could be, he gingerly draped the blanket over his father. 

As he did so, he caught a whiff of himself, and realized he smelled. He supposed a few days of just using the sink in the corner of the room for sponge baths would do that. As his father snored again he supposed that a little exploration couldn’t hurt, after all if he wasn’t trying to escape, it probably wouldn’t do any harm. 

He walked towards the door, and with one last glance behind, he hesitantly stepped outside of the cell and went up the stairs. As he did so a flood of memories assaulted him. They were at the hunting cabin . The cabin that was his favorite place, his safe place as a child. Shaking his head, he made his way down the hall to the bathroom so he could take a shower. As he let the scalding water ease his sore muscles, he grabbed the shampoo and was assaulted with the familiar smell.

As he stepped out, he realized he didn’t have clean clothes to change into, and as he picked up his old ones and smelled them he realized putting them back on wasn’t an option. He peeked out the door and made his way down the hall to his fathers room and grabbed a T-shirt and sweatpants. As he made his way back into the familiar living room his stomach growled, he scoffed a bit, he had spent 10 years eating maybe one meal a day and now he’s hungry after 12 hours? A few days of sleeping and eating shouldn’t have been enough to get him this comfortable. He berated himself for the thought, his father was a murderer, a psychopath, an all around bad person ...but still...he was his father. As much as he wanted to think of him as Dr. Whitly, he couldn’t help but think of all of the times he spent in this very kitchen learning to cook, or skinning a rabbit. 

He opened the fridge and fixed himself a sandwich and made his way back downstairs to the cell . He stepped in and noticed his father was awake and reading his book.

“ Malcolm! I’m so glad you are starting to get settled in, sorry I dozed off there, I need to head out, but I will be back in a few hours!”

He locked the cell on his way out, but Malcolm was grateful the chains remained in a crumpled pile on the ground.

————————————————————————————-

Martin rushed away from the cabin in a panic, that was too close . Malcolm could have ran off or chained him up or took off in the woods and gotten hurt . He shook himself, he had gotten comfortable, too comfortable, and until he knew he had Malcolm’s trust he couldn’t open himself up to such vulnerability again...but Malcolm hadn’t ran. He had just taken a shower and made some food, like he was comfortable here. 

Then again, maybe he just thought it was a test, maybe Malcolm wasn’t comfortable there and just didn’t think he needed to run? What if he had tried to contact someone? What if he had contacted the cop? Martin’s stomach turned at the thought, but his gut told him better, he knew his son, knew his mannerisms as well as his own, and if Malcolm had called someone he would have known. No, Malcolm was relaxing, becoming more trusting; his plan was moving along nicely. Now for the nail in the coffin on destroying his son’s relationships and chances of ever re-entering normal society...a triple homicide ought to do it. 

Chapter Text

Jessica and Ainsley sat in stony silence in the drawing room. Ainsley rolled her eyes and huffed,

“Just say it already Mom, I know you want to.” 

Jessica pursed her lips,

“And what, pray tell am I dying to say?”

“That I screwed up! That I should have refused the story, that I should have proclaimed Malcolm’s innocence from the rooftops, something! Just say anything!” Jessica shook her head, heart heavy as she looked at her broken down daughter. Was she this terrible of a mother? Unable to comfort her daughter, son missing . Shaking herself at the thought she squared her shoulders.

“Ainsley, you were doing your job. We will worry about proving your brother’s innocence after we find him.” 

She had been worried sick the past few days, her poor, innocent Malcolm was once again in the clutches of his father. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes as she thought of what terrible things Martin could be doing to him. Not that he had ever tried to hurt his family, but that temper could melt steel. Ainsley began looking at her phone, trying to forget about the conversation. Jessica was wracking her brain, there had to be something, somewhere she was overlooking. 

She called the staff in and asked them to tear apart the house, looking for anything relating to Martin or Malcolm. Maybe she could unearth something. Luckily for her, a small shoebox was under Malcolm’s childhood bed and would be located a few hours later.  In the meantime though she continued to spitball ideas with the increasingly detached Ainsley, who’s phone still seemed more important than her mother, but Jessica would seal with that another day. Ainsley gasped and sat upright,

“They found three more bodies! ” Jessica’s heart stopped, damn Martin was making this impossible. She rushed over and grabbed her daughters phone to read the article herself, three more bodies brutally murdered . But those names, the victims, they sounded familiar.

“They went to school with us,” Ainsley said, voice cracking a bit, “They bullied Malcolm, but they’re still people” she whispered. Jessica shook her head, of course Martin would start going after people that Malcolm would logically go after, but what was more concerning was how Martin knew about those three. As a child Malcolm made it very clear that he didn’t want his father to know, and no one else besides her had visited him. Was Malcolm becoming susceptible to his father’s influence again? Ainsley continued, her voice getting higher, “They’ve put me on leave, they’re saying I’m too close to the case to objectively report on it anymore.” Jessica sighed, 

“Well that is a troubling development.”

“Mom….”

“Yes?”

“What if he isn’t Malcolm anymore when we get him back? What if dad is hurting him? What if he’s already dead and we’re just wasting our time? What if he did commit these murders-“ Jessica broke Ainsley out of her rant with a sharp slap.

“Don’t ever say things like that again! Your brother needs our help, and that’s exactly what Martin wants us to think. He wants to completely isolate Malcolm so that he has nowhere to turn but him. Even if we can’t prove his innocence, if we have to make him a new identity or whisk him away we will, once we find him. Having a mentality like that will get your brother killed or arrested, is that what you want?” Ainsley shook her head, “Good, then leave those nonsense thoughts behind you.”

A knock on the front door interrupted them. A few moments later, Gil came bursting through the door,

“Detective Arroyo, so nice of you to join us finally. Have you re-emerged from whatever hole you disappeared to the last few days, because if you haven’t noticed, my son is missing !” Gil rolled his eyes at her, probably thinking she was being overdramatic,

“And I’ve spent the last three days calling in every favor I have trying to find him.”

“So have you? Or are you just here to waste my time” she hissed,

“No, but I think I might know someone who knows where he’s at; you see I started tracking down everything we ever had on the Surgeon, and while he was in jail awaiting trial, he called a number and then hung up after two rings, we all assumed he typed it in wrong since he immediately made a call to a similar number afterwards.” Jessica rolled her eyes,

“Get to the point.”

“Well, I’ve always thought that maybe that call was intentional, and I have a friend at the phone company who said he’d call me if anyone called that number again. I had forgotten about it because in nearly 20 years that number has been inactive. Then I got a call yesterday from my friend, someone has been calling that number 3-4 times a day from a burner phone since he escaped. I have a tracker on it and should be able to pinpoint the location next time he makes a call.” Jessica breathed a sigh of relief, hopefully that meant she’d have her son back soon.

“Thank you. I know we haven’t always gotten along but I know you care for him.” She said, tears once again threatening to spill, it was hard needing someone- ever since Martin was arrested she had relied only upon herself; financially, emotionally, physically, she depended on no one, but in this case she needed Gil, she needed someone who loved her son almost as much as she did to help find him.

A few moments passed and she invited him to sit and have some tea. They sat in amiable silence for a while, neither wanting or able to get out of their own thoughts. An hour or so passed and their silence was broken by someone clearing their throat.

“Ms. Whitly? I- I think we found something.” A tiny maid peeped up and brought a shoebox forward. Frowning, Jessica grabbed it.

“Thank you Maria, that will be all.” At Gil’s questioning glance she explained. She opened it and found an assortment of odds and ends, small toys, ticket stubs, and a stack of photos. On top was a photo of young Malcolm and Martin, in front of a cabin of some sort and a ghastly station wagon. She glanced up at Gil and knew the same question was on both of their minds where the hell were they?

Chapter Text

Martin returned to the cabin feeling both relieved and exhausted. Killing those people who had hurt his son really put him at ease, but he was still perturbed by Malcolm’s actions that morning. He could have ran, could have been free, but he stayed. 

The next step of his plan required more finesse and would require Malcolm to think he trusted him, however that could take a while. Maybe he could grant his son a bit more freedom, trust for trust. Mind made up, he walked down the steps with his keys in hand. His boy was sketching, something Martin knew he used to love as a kid but dropped as he grew older. He looked up as Martin unlocked the door.

“You were gone for a while.” Malcolm stated, voice neutral, but Martin knew his boy, and no matter what he did his eyes betrayed him. He looked at Martin like he always did-  with a mixture of fear and affection- but Martin liked to think the past couple of days the affection started to grow and the fear shrink.

“I know, I’m sorry my boy, but the next couple of days I’ll be here all day.” Malcolm nodded, looking a little relieved which filled Martin with pride, his son wanted him. “But I wanted to talk to you about this morning.” Malcolm’s eyes widened, and his hand began to shake, “Look...I know you don’t exactly want to be here, but you had an opportunity to leave today and you didn’t, so I wanted to reward you.” Malcolm tilted his head,

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I would give you unlimited access to the house during the day while I’m here, provided there are no escape attempts we can start discussing leaving the house sometimes. You and I both know locking you up forever isn’t sustainable long term.” Malcolm flinched at the reminder that he was still essentially captive and Martin sighed. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, but he decided to power through. Malcolm nodded and in a very uncharacteristic move he asked cautiously,

“Could we go fishing sometime?” Martin tilted his head back and laughed, his boy was full of surprises. 

“Of course we can my boy, now come upstairs and tell me what you want for dinner, I’m afraid my cooking skills are very limited to grilled cheese and tomato soup.” Malcolm smiled a bit,

“Mother made sure Ains and I knew how to cook.” 

“Oh so you do know how to take care of yourself, you just choose not to” Martin joked, enjoying the familiarity even if they both knew it was false. 

Malcolm laughed and shook his head almost fondly. 

“Something like that.”

————————————————————————-

Malcolm quickly familiarized himself with the layout of the house as his plan began to form.  The next few days passed in a sense of normality; he’d wake up, the cell would already be unlocked and he’d go upstairs to find his father writing in his medical journals. They’d talk for a bit, Malcolm would make breakfast and then they'd both sit in their respective armchairs and read for a while. 

Malcolm knew in order for his plan to work that His father needed to trust him, and as painful as it was that meant he needed to be vulnerable with him, and give him what he wanted; companionship.  On the third day of their shaky truce His father asked him something he wasn’t prepared for;

“What’s your favorite color?” Flabbergasted, Malcolm looked up from his book.

“My- my what?”

“Your favorite color?” At his confused look He continued. “When you were a kid it was blue but I came to the realization that I don’t really know you. I love you, don’t get me wrong, but in my head you’ll always be this little 8 year old who came to me with a scraped knee and cried. I just want to know you.” Malcolm was a little shocked at the ingenuity, was his father trying to pull something or was he legitimately trying to build a relationship with him?

“It’s still blue on most days but sometimes it’s green.” He answered curtly, turning back to his book. Martin nodded and did the same.  An hour or so passed and Martin stood up and made some sandwiches for lunch. 

“Before I forget, I’ll be out for a couple hours tomorrow and I figured that maybe I could bring home some take out.” Suppressing a wince at how causally his father referred to this place as home, like they were a normal family, he nodded.

“Are you going into the city? There’s a really good Thai place in Brooklyn if you’re close to it.” Martin perked up,

“Actually, I will be in Brooklyn, what’s the place called?”

After giving his father the information Malcolm inwardly cheered, hopefully he’d be able to gauge how far outside of the city they were by how long it took his father to leave and come back, which meant his plan was right on track.

  I’ll be home soon. 

An hour or so later as he was reading Malcolm’s vision went blurry and an instant migraine wracked his head. He winced and rubbed his temple.

“Malcolm, are you alright?”

“I’ve just got a migraine, do you have any medication?” His father laughed,

“I have pretty much everything in the book, go into my room and there’s an end table with a bunch of medicine in it, take whatever you need.”

Malcolm nodded and nearly ran over there, needing something heavy to take care of it.  As he searched through the drawer he noticed a Few bottles of chloroform, thinking quickly he grabbed one and shoved it in his pocket, knowing he would need it later. He grabbed a few pain pills and downed them quickly.

As he settled back into his arm chair, the weight of the small bottle rested on his mind. He knew what he had to do, but part of him, a bigger part of him then he would like to admit, enjoyed the time that he was getting to spend with his father.

The next day started out the same, except after lunch Martin escorted him back down to the cell and left. He returned exactly 2 hours and 30 minutes later with Thai food and a grin. Considering the city traffic and Malcolm not knowing what sort of errands his father was running he had to assume that they were less than 40 minutes outside of the city.

As they sat down to eat his father began to talk,

“I picked up a fishing pole for you today while I was in town. I did a lot of thinking about the past couple of days, and I think we should go fishing; there’s a little lake not too far from here so I figured we could go tomorrow.“

“ I think that would be great.“ Malcolm said, his plan was coming together a lot quicker than he figured it would, but at this point he didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The chloroform under under his mattress burning at the forefront of his mind, could he really drug his father?

Chapter Text

Malcolm woke up the next morning feeling refreshed again, that was one thing he would miss about this place when he escaped, for some reason he felt safe. He hadn’t used restraints in days and had no adverse effects. For the first time in over a decade he wasn’t taking daily medicine and he felt... good.  

He supposed some of that had to do with the fact that the root cause of his anxiety was in the same house with him at all times. He glanced around his cell and noted the - once again open door, and saw a pile of fishing clothes and some waders on the ground with a note. 

I’ve got donuts waiting in the truck outside, these are my old fishing clothes so I hope they fit. I’ll be in the garage getting everything ready for today so take your time and come out when you’re ready.

-Dad

Malcolm felt a pang of guilt as he got ready and second guessed his whole plan. He could just go fishing with his father, a completely normal activity that fathers and sons did, and come back to this home his father tried so hard to make. He could do that; he could relax into this place and become the person his father wanted, someone his father could be proud of, not someone who would chloroform his father. Then again- maybe that made him more like his father; devious, cunning.

He stripped and pulled out the clothes, just a flannel shirt and jeans, not thinking they would fit, after all, Malcolm spent the better part of a decade consuming one meal a day and was by all accounts extremely skinny, and his father had always been, well more average in his weight. He was surprised to find they fit rather well, and glanced at himself in the mirror, he hadn’t been here that long but he already seemed to be filling out some. Like most things here in this odd limbo cabin he wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing.

Mind made up, he ripped his sheet and doused the torn off portion in the chloroform, sticking it in his pocket before the fumes got to him. Hopefully his father didn’t still have his killer sense of smell. He walked up stairs calmly, the waders draped over on arm. He made his way over to the door that led to the garage and saw his father lifting a cooler into the back of a green truck.

“Malcolm my boy! I wasn’t sure if those would fit, I know they aren’t exactly your normal style but you look great!” His father chirped in his cheery voice. Once again he felt a pang of guilt and hesitated, was this really necessary? A conversation he had with Gil 10 years ago came to the forefront of his mind,

“I’m going to Quantico”

“That’s great kid! I’m so proud of you, you’re going to help so many people!”

“That’s not how my father reacted.”

“Kid. You’re mature enough I can tell you this without hurting you. You’re being an idiot”

“What?”

“You knew exactly what Martin Whitly would do when you walked in there, but you still did it because you still think of him as your father.”

“Because he is”

“Fathers don’t put themselves or their urges above their children. You don’t need his love to validate you Malcolm. Your mother, Ainsley, and I, and anyone who has ever gotten to know you love you. Will we ever be enough for you?”

Steeling himself, Malcolm knee what he had to do. Yes . They were enough and they were hurting without him. As his father looked back up at him Malcolm put on a fake smile,

“I’m going to have to start working out again or pretty soon I won’t be able to fit in them for another reason.” Martin chuckled and turned around, reaching for the fishing poles. Now was his chance . He lunged forward and smacked the cloth over his father’s face. His eyes widened and he fought Malcolm for a few moments before his eyes rolled back and closed, his body becoming limp. Malcolm winced at the sight, never having seen his father so vulnerable. He put his arms under him and dragged him back inside onto the couch. Feeling another wave of guilt, Malcolm picked up the same pad and paper his Dad has wrote him a note on earlier and penned a quick response.

I’m sorry Dad. I have to do this, don’t come after me; I won’t tell anyone where you are.

Malcolm

Rushing to the door he grabbed the keys on the table and looked back at His Father, Dr Whitly, one more time.

“I’m sorry Dad.” He whispered and ran to the truck, zooming away from the cabin moments later.

———————————-———————————-———————————-

Once the sounds of the truck dissipated Martin sat up from the couch. He walked over and read the note with a smile on his face. Oh his boy was so conflicted . Martin was pleasantly surprised how hard it was for Malcolm to drug him, or at least he thought he drugged him. The fake chloroform was a recipe he perfected years earlier, smelled almost identical but no side effects. 

He turned on his phone and activated the GPS beacon. Grinning to himself he made a call and put it on speaker. 

“He’s heading into the city, check the app and find him, rough him up but make sure you don’t kill him or you won’t get paid.” He hung up the phone before the person on the other end could respond. He turned on his laptop and pulled up several live feeds, one was of The Cop’s house, another was a street cam in an alley outside of Malcolm’s building- the place he would obviously visit first. Not that he’d make it inside of course. 

Yes this was all according to plan. 

Chapter Text

Malcolm rushed down the driveway and onto the main road, not knowing exactly where he was going, he picked a direction and stuck with it, knowing he’d come to a main road eventually. Luckily his father, ever prepared, had a full tank in the truck. Looking down he noticed a box of donuts and saw they were from his favorite place when he was a kid. Swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat, Malcolm picked the box up and threw it out the window. It wasn’t his fault his father was a murderer. His father had a chance to be a dad and he blew it, trying to make up for it now just cheapened it.

Yeah, a voice inside his head that surprisingly sounded like his father said, but all you’ve ever wanted was for him to love you. He won’t love you now; not ever.

He shook his head. That didn’t matter, he didn’t need his father to love him. He had his mother, and Gil. Needing to distract himself he turned on the radio as he found a highway that would lead him into the city.

“Life is a highway-“ next station.

“My name’s blurryface and I-“ next station.

“Search is underway for the new serial killer” oh this was promising, “known as ‘The Profiler’ “ how unoriginal, who came up with that? “He’s officially been determined to have killed at least 5 people and brutally mutilated their bodies. Something he probably learned from his father, as the Profiler has been positively identified as Malcolm Whitly- alias Bright.”

Malcolm’s blood ran cold. This had to be a prank or a joke or something. He wasn’t a murderer. He was abducted for goodness sake, he spent the better part of a week in a cell in the woods, how could Gil have let it get this far?

His hands started to shake as he recalled the first day he went back to school after his father was arrested. 

“Freak!”

“Murderer!”

“Monster!”

The taunts were relentless and followed him for years. He pulled over to the side of the road and opened the door so he could vomit. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. He just needed to get home. He could get everything sorted out but first he needed to go to his apartment, then he needed to go see Gil and see what the hell happened while he was gone. 

A half hour later he pulled into the alleyway next to his building, luckily it looked deserted and no officers were patrolling the area. As he stepped out of the car he heard something shuffling behind him. He ducked just in time as someone took a swig at him, falling on his ass. He looked up in confusion as the man pulled out a knife. Eyes widening, Malcolm kicked upward, knocking the knife out of his grasp and it clattered to the ground. The man dove on top of him and put his hands around Malcolm’s neck, trying to choke him. Malcolm flailed about, trying to land a solid punch and failing to do so. 

His hand brushed against the knife as spots started to descend on his vision. Instinctively he thrust it upwards, plunging it into the mans ribcage, killing him almost instantly. Malcolm’s eyes widened, as he rolled the man onto his back. He had just killed someone. Not that he hadn’t before, but that had been while he was on the job and as a last resort. He had killed this man in an alleyway while the whole city thought he was a murderer. He kneeled down next to the man and checked his pulse. Yeah he’s definitely dead . He stood up and noticed that he was covered in blood. He needed Gil’s help.

Damn it. 

———————————————————————————

Martin settled down in front of the computer with a bowl of popcorn, oh this was exciting . Everything was turning out perfectly. Now he just needed to sever his son’s connection with that damn cop and then everything would work out. Flying through the video of his son killing “poor innocent grad student; Charles Smith” he landed on a particularly gruesome shot of Malcolm pulling the knife from his corpse while kneeling next to it. That was the perfect shot. He took a screen cap of it and sent it from and anonymous email source to the cop, and every major news outlet of course. 

The cop was on his phone, waiting for information on another case when he got the email. Martin turned the volume up on the feed.

“Damn it kid, what the hell did you do?”

A few minutes later a knock sounded at the door. Oh this was perfect timing. His son raced in, covered in blood, face twisted in agony.

“Gil you need to help me.”

“What the hell, kid?”

“Please Gil I need your help”

“With this?!”  The cop shouted and showed Malcolm his phone. Malcolm paled.

“No that’s not what it looks like, he attacked me!”

“He’s a grad student, why would a grad student attack you?”

“No please Gil you have to believe me, I didn’t do any of this.” The cop sighed and placed his hands on Malcolm’s shoulders,

“Look kid, we all know you’ve been going through a lot lately, let me take you in and we can sort this out”

“What? Like arrest me?”

“Look I’m sure we can work something out with Claremont-“

“What?! What are you saying?! You think I did this?!” Malcolm jerked away and Martin sighed, he didn’t like that cop being so close to him.

“Kid just please let me handle this, we’ll take care of you.”

“N-n-no!” Malcolm shouted, his hands trembling, “you’re not locking me up, I’m not a monster, I didn’t do this!”

Malcolm turned and fled.

Good boy.  

Chapter Text

No, no, no, no, no.

Malcolm ran back to the truck, heart pounding, tears running down his face. 

No, no, no, no, no.

This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening. This was some horrible nightmare. He wasn’t a murderer. This couldn’t be happening. Gil’s disappointed face swam in his vision. 

“We can work something out with Claremont”

No, no, no, no, no. 

Gil wanted to put him in cuffs. Gil, the man who showed him what it meant to be a Good Man, thought he was a killer, thought that he murdered people. Oh God, he had killed someone today.

No, no, no, no, no.

It started to rain. Malcolm reached the truck moments later and stood for a few minutes, lost and alone. Where should he go? The man who he relied on more than anyone else in the world had wanted to arrest him, put him in chains, lock him up. 

He shook his head and reached for the handle, he needed to get out of here. 

“Malcolm! Malcolm come back!” Gil shouted. His eyes widened, no he couldn’t deal with this, couldn’t go to Claremont. He couldn’t. He wasn’t his father. The sting of betrayal hurt more than anything, Gil of all people knew how much Malcolm tried to distance himself from his fathers legacy and to have that so blatantly disregarded, to be completely isolated by the man who practically raised him made Malcolm physically sick. 

No, no, no, no, no

He couldn’t handle this. Not right now. Probably not ever. He needed to see his mother, Ainsley, someone who loved him unconditionally. Someone who wasn’t Gil. He started the truck and drove off, tires screeching as he fled, Gil running behind him, hopelessly lost moments later. He needed to ditch the truck, Gil had seen it now and would have an APB on it within minutes.

He drove a few miles down the road and pulled quickly into an alley. He desperately searched the truck for something to change into, a guy in bloodstained flannel wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. Under the seat he found a solid black T-shirt and he changed into it quickly, quickly ducking out of the truck and walking down the road. He passed a store with a wall of TVs, seeing his own face up on the screen he slowed down.

“Yet another body was discovered today linked to budding serial killer Malcolm Whitly, known as The Profiler, here’s a quick recap of our news coverage up until now. “ A few moments later Ainsley filled the screen,

“We’re here live at the NYPD where Chief Adams released a statement earlier today on the two bodies discovered mutilated over the past two days. The city has been on edge, is this the work of a new serial killer? Chief Adams informed us that….” The TV cut out for a second, 

“Malcolm Bright, the son of Martin Whitly-“ it cut out again,

“An arrest warrant has been issued, we will keep you informed as we find out more-“

Bile rising in his throat, Malcolm dashed down an alley to throw up. Ains too? He slid down the brick and sat down, tears coming back, rain soaking him. He didn’t care, what did it matter? His Mother probably felt the same way, if Gil and Ainsley thought he was a murderer, then Mother definitely did. 

He was alone, completely utterly alone, for the first time ever. He had felt alone before sure, but he had always known that he had his family, and Gil- worst case scenario he knew that he always could go see his father. Whenever he had issues in the past with his mother being too strict or Gil being disappointed in him, he could always go see his father and talk about murder or get dinner with his sister. Now? Now he had no one. 

He was alone.

No, no, no, no, no.

He had nowhere to go.

Standing up, he contemplated his options, he could go to jail, he could go to the loony bin, back in a cage, he could run, or he could go back? That wasn’t an option, was it? He drugged his father, stole his car, left him alone, but yet...his father was the only one who knew what he was going through. His father was on the run too, his father, who always said; 

“I love you no matter what” his father of all people would know he hadn’t done this, and even if he had, his father literally murdered dozens of people, if anything he would be thrilled that his son was like him.

No, no, no, no, no.

This was wrong on so many levels, but he didn’t see many other options. If he stayed he’d eventually get caught, and if he didn’t have anyone advocating for him, he’d spend the rest of his life in prison, or in a psychiatric facility. 

He had to go back. If his father would take him back.

Chapter Text

A stolen car and 2 hours later found Malcolm driving down the same road he had been on that morning. He had been a different person then; hopeful, a family waiting for him. That Malcolm wasn’t broken, hadn’t stabbed a man in an alley, hadn’t lost the only people who had cared about him. That Malcolm still had hope. That Malcolm wasn’t him anymore. 

He shut down; moved as if in a haze, robotic, anything that required thought or emotion would break him at that moment, so he was on autopilot, taking every action at face value. Once he was safe, he could begin to process his emotions, begin to piece together his new reality. 

He pulled up to the cabin, rain still pouring,half expecting to find it abandoned- empty like him - instead he found the light on and the door unlocked. His father was sitting in his armchair, reading as if nothing had happened.

He looked up as Malcolm entered, soaking wet and shaking. 

“Did you enjoy your little excursion today my boy? I have to admit, the chloroform was a rather unpleasant surprise but if you wanted to go somewhere you could have just-“ A sob interrupted his father. He couldn’t help it. The second he stepped foot in the cabin everything he had felt from the day came back and hit him full force. He sank to his knees on the wood floor and held himself, head bowed as another sob racked through him.

“Malcolm? What’s wrong?” His father asked, getting up from his chair.

“E-everything. I-I-I’ve lost everyone. They all think I killed people, which I didn’t, except for today, which I did, but that was self defense, I swear, I didn’t mean to, but they hate me and Gil, he was going to arrest me and I couldn’t, I can’t be locked up, I can’t do that. I can’t,” another sob was torn from him. “ I can’t. I can’t. I can’t”

His father frowned and knelt next to him, after a moment of hesitation, he pulled Malcolm to him in a hug. Despite himself, Malcolm began to relax into the warm embrace. Someone still cared for him. How could he doubt that? His father had always loved him unconditionally, always been the only one who understood.

“My boy you’re not making sense, let’s get you dried off and warmed up, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“W-w-wait, I s-stole a car, we n-need to get rid of it.” His father sighed.

“I suppose someone saw you in the truck then?” Malcolm nodded, knowing his father’s temper and not wanting to push him too far, the last thing he needed was for his father to decide that he didn’t want him either. Martin sighed, “Well, I was rather fond of that truck, luckily I have a few spare vehicles around so that’s not an issue. I have a colleague who can dispose of the car discreetly so don’t you worry about that. Go wash up and change, I’ll make some cocoa and then we can discuss what happened today.” Malcolm nodded, drifting back into autopilot to quiet the hiccuping from his crying. 

His father helped him stand up and grasped his shoulders, looking him in the eye.

“Malcolm, I want you to know that I will always love you, no matter what, no matter how many times you drug me or how many people you accidentally kill, or how many times you run away. You’re my son and I love you unconditionally.” Heart swelling at the words, Malcolm nodded past the lump in his throat, maybe things could work out.  

When he had taken a shower and changed into more clothes, he made his way back into the living room to find a steaming cup of cocoa and his father back in his armchair. Wordlessly, Malcolm perched on the edge of his own armchair, stiff as a board. 24 hours previously he had been sitting there plotting to escape this place, and now this cabin, his father were his only real options at a life. They sat in silence for a few minutes while his father finished the page he was on.

“Well… it sounds like you had an eventful day.” He said. Malcolm winced, he knew they needed to talk about it, but talking about it made it real. If he could just pretend he was still captive here, still just normal Malcolm Bright, maybe he could get through this?

 He just had to convince them he hadn’t killed those people. But he had killed someone. A college student, a person whose life was removed by him, but damnit he was defending himself, didn’t that count for anything?

He shook himself out of his revere and realized his father was staring at him, watching his small semblance of control slip away. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back.

As if sensing his thoughts, his father continued,

“I’m glad you at least came to your senses enough to come back, my boy. I have to admit I wasn’t exactly thrilled with your exit although I am rather proud at your resourcefulness.” His father paused for a moment and sighed, Malcolm notes that he looked older than he’d ever seen him; the light highlighting the greying hair and more prominent wrinkles. “Look, I had this whole speech prepared but I don’t want to add to your stress today. We’ll work out something but I just want you to know that you’re not a prisoner here anymore. I was being selfish by keeping you locked up because I didn’t want to lose you, but that’s not what being a father is. You’re more than welcome to stay here and to come and go as you please, my only request is that you just give me a heads up if you’re going to be gone.”

Malcolm nodded, that was probably the most reasonable he’d seen his father in a long time. 

“I moved all of your stuff from the basement to your old room up here. “ he continued. Malcolm nodded again. He wanted to say ‘thank you’ or ‘I’m sorry’ or something, but he was drained, afraid of what would come out.  Instead he wordlessly stood up and walked down the hall into the bedroom he’d spent many summer nights in as a child and slipped into bed, praying sleep came quickly.

————————————————————————————

Martin watched his son disappear, heart heavy. Regardless of the fact that his plan went off without a hitch, that didn’t make seeing the heartbreak in his son’s eyes any easier. Poor Malcolm was broken, beaten down, abandoned by people who claimed to care for him. Of course, sending him to the cop’s house was a risk, he could have welcomed Malcolm with open arms, could have fought the charges, hidden his son; but he knew better. That cop didn’t love his son unconditionally, not like he did. That alone was his undoing, and now Malcolm would never doubt Martin again, now Malcolm knew who truly loved him. 

Malcolm seeing Ainsley’s report had been complete luck, he had anticipated another confrontation, maybe two, but it hadn’t even taken that. His poor son’s viewpoint on himself was so low anyway that it was so easy for him to believe that everyone would turn on him.

Poor boy. He’d learn soon though, learn that he deserved more, he deserved to have people care about him. First though, he needed to learn to care for himself. Martin sighed and grabbed a glass and the bottle of scotch, typically he refrained from indulging in such beverages, but seeing his boy so down nearly broke him.

Chapter Text

Gil sat in silence as Jessica yelled at him, teeth bared, hair flying everywhere- she looked like a force of nature hell bent on destroying him, which she should be- he had just cost her her son. He had screwed up so badly, had hurt Malcolm irreparably. He could still see the pain in the Kid’s eyes, hear the desperation in his voice as he plead for Gil to understand, to listen . The guilt plunged his soul into despair, was he wrong? Should he have listened to the boy, tried to help him? 

In his defense though, he had just seen a picture of the boy pulling a knife out of someone. It was easy to give the benefit of the doubt before, DNA evidence could be placed, but security footage? That was impossible to refute. Still, maybe there was another explanation, maybe something had happened and Malcolm had killed him in self defense. It was hard telling though, without the rest of the footage. 

Eventually Jessica’s shouting died off into broken sobs and he looked up at her. This formidable woman, completely broken, because of him. He felt another pang of guilt, all he seemed to be able to do was hurt people today. She had called her private investigator, tried to scour the city but they both knew what had happened- who Malcolm had gone back to.

“This had to be his plan all along right?” She whispered between sobs, he sighed, secretly agreeing with her, “Martin- He had to have known Malcolm would come to you, he had to have been orchestrating all of this. Malcolm couldn’t do all of that, and you,” her voice rose again, “You son of a bitch, he was here! He came to you because he trusted you, because you were the man he wanted to be his father and you threw that in his face and now my son is God knows where, probably back with his serial killer father because of you.” He stood, he had enough of this,

“Jessica, I know you’re upset, but what else should I have done?” He asked in desperation,

“Given him the benefit of the doubt, called me, tied him up so he couldn’t leave again, for God’s sake, anything would have been better than what you did.”

“He killed someone Jessica” 

“I don’t believe that, and if you do then you have no place in his life.”

“I care about him too Jessica.” She snorted, waving her hands,

“Clearly not, now get the hell out of my house, I never want to see you again and if you come near my children I will murder you myself.”

Gil backed away, and wordlessly walked out, she just needed time to cool off, she’d come to her senses eventually. There was one thing she was right about though, he had handled this terribly and now Malcolm was paying the price; he needed to find him.

—————————-—————————-—————————-

The second the door closed, Jessica threw herself to the ground in desperation, her son, her poor Malcolm was gone again. He probably hadn’t even tried to come to her, assuming she’d feel the same way as that damn cop . She never should have let him stay in Malcolm’s life. 

Her mother’s words echoed through her mind, a whisper of a memory long since past, ‘Now Jessie, no one will ever love your children as much as you. No one will ever know them the way you do.’ At the time she had been a young woman, barely an adult, pregnant with Malcolm. She had brushed those words off as meaningless drivel but over the years they became the one sense of truth in her life. Martin hadn’t loved them as much as she had or he wouldn’t have been a murderer, that cop hadn’t loved Malcolm enough, no she was the one person who loved her children perfectly, and even if they hated her for it, she always protected them-even from themselves. Malcolm needed her to be strong right now.

As a spark of inspiration hit, she began to form a plan. Contacting him wouldn’t be easy, not given how their last conversation had gone.

Steeling herself, she got off the ground and pulled out her phone. She dialed a number and it began to ring, a few moments later someone picked up.

“ Jessica. I told you not to call this number anymore.” A deep male voice said.

“Please, I need your help, my son is missing and this is my only clue to finding him.”

“ I really don’t have time to help you.”

“Please!” She begged, voice rising in desperation, “I will do anything, I can’t lose him, please!” The voice sighed,

“What do you need?”

“An email was sent to Detective Arroyo of the NYPD today, it has a picture of Malcolm, I need the location of the computer that sent it.”

“You can’t be serious,” the voice laughed, “ Hacking into the NYPD could take days and then finding this IP address and geotagging it could take weeks if it’s even traceable if this person used a VPN”

“I don’t have any other options, please, I’ll do whatever you want.” The man sighed again.

“This one’s on me Jessie. Let’s find my nephew.”

“Thank you Jacob! Oh Thank you! I knew I could count on you!”

“ What are brothers for?”  

A few moments later she hung up the phone and dropped into the sofa. A deal with her brother never ended well, not with him being one of the most notorious hackers in the world, but she didn’t have much choice anymore. If Malcolm really was back with Martin, it was only a matter of time before irreversible damage was done to him. Being around his father was always so 50/50 on whether it helped heal him or hurt him worse. She could only hope that it remained the former as long as possible. 

For the fourth time that day, she began to cry. 

Oh Malcolm, please be okay. We’ll take care of this.

Chapter Text

The next morning Martin made breakfast and sat down at the counter, deciding to wait for Malcolm. 15 minutes passed, then a half hour, at an hour, Martin stood up, having had enough, not that he had had a set wake up time or anything but Malcolm was always up before 7 and it was approaching 9. He walked down the hallway to Malcolm’s room, he knocked on the slightly ajar door and peeked his head in,

“Malcolm? Are you awake?” Malcolm was laying on his side facing him, eyes staring blankly through him. “Malcolm?” He asked again, starting to get concerned. He lifted his head slightly and focused his gaze on Martin. 

“M’fine” Then Malcolm rolled onto his back and resumed his far off staring. At a loss for words, Martin searched for something that would get him out of bed,

“I made some breakfast, it’s on the counter if you want some.” Malcolm’s eyes drifted to him and he gently shook his head. Swallowing the lump in his throat Martin nodded and slowly backed out of the room, “I’ll be taking care of the car situation today so I’ll be back this evening, if you need anything I left the number of my cell phone on the counter.” He continued to stare blankly ahead, with a dejected sigh Martin left the room.

His poor boy. He walked back into the living room, running his hands through his hair. What was he to do?   He put the meal in the fridge and continued to get ready for the day. Nearly an hour later he got a text from his associate letting him know where to bring the car. 

He walked out and hopped in the driver’s seat, still contemplating his son, maybe he had pushed too far, maybe it was too much for him to handle. A pang of guilt twisted in Martin’s chest, what if he broke him?  

Shaking himself of the thought, he started the car and headed to the meet up location. Malcolm would be fine, he had endured so much in his life and Martin hated adding to it, but the only way he could rebuild him, show him his true potential, was to break him first. Jessica and that cop had encouraged Malcolm to build walls around himself, intertwining his real personality with this facade they wanted people to think he was, which distorted him into something without a true identity; no one- not even Malcolm- knew where the facade ended and Malcolm Whitly truly began. Well, no one except Martin of course.

The facade- Malcolm Bright, (Martin still remembered the sharp pain of disappointment the first time he heard that name) was charming and enigmatic, intelligent but not arrogant. Malcolm Bright was a shield created for people to think he was disgusted by his father. 

Malcolm Whitly on the other hand, was someone only a scarce few had ever been able to meet. Martin was proud of the man Malcolm Whitly was, he was cunning and vicious, cold and calculating, but at the same time was ruthless in the defense of those he cared about. Malcolm Whitly was the same as Martin Whitly, and it was time for the world to know that, but in order to make that happen, Malcolm Bright had to die.

Martin was shaken from his musings by a flash of blue lights coming on in his rear view mirror.

“ Dammit” he cursed under his breath, this was too close to the cabin, if he was discovered everything would fall apart. Plastering a smile on his face, he pulled over, typed a quick text to his associate, and rolled down the window as the officer- a balding man in his late 40s walked up.

“Hello Officer,” he greeted charmingly.

“License and registration please.”

“Can I ask why you pulled me over?”

“You were going 61 in a 55 zone.” His fake smile twitched a bit, wanting to literally rip the smug look of the officer’s face. He did not like cops.

“Oh I’m so sorry about that officer, I was just running late for work and I must have zoned out!” Martin exclaimed, acting sufficiently horrified. “One second, I’ll get my license and registration!”

He shuffled around for a few moments, waiting for his saving grace to come. Seconds later, a red sports car came flying down the road, easily going 80 or more. The officer staggered back for a second, weighing his options, and then decided to go with what he perceived to be the more dangerous person on the road.

“You have a good day sir, consider this a warning” He stumbled back to his car and took off after the speeder. As soon as the lights were out of sight Martin breathed a sigh of relief and spun around, driving quickly in the opposite direction. A few miles down the road his associate was waiting for him with an inconspicuous black sedan. 

“Thank you my friend for handling that.” He said, getting out of the stolen car and taking the keys from his associate.

“Thank you for giving me another vehicle to dispose of, I have a piece of trash that should go perfectly with this piece of trash.” He exclaimed, patting Martin on the shoulder. Inwardly he cringed, No one touched him, but he kept his comments to himself, after all, Paul had been an invaluable resource once he escaped.

“Just out of curiosity, how did you pull it off?”

Paul laughed and tossed his head back,

“Found that knucklehead and said I’d give him a grand if he hit a hundred, told him a grand would be worth a few times more than any ticket he’d get over it.” Martin chuckled, Paul really was more resourceful than anyone gave him credit for. 

After a few pleasantries Martin drove off, deciding to run a few errands in the small town a few miles away from the cabin. He went to the grocery store and stocked up on all of the essentials and a few of Malcolm’s favorites- Pop Tarts. The thought of his sophisticated son enjoying the surgary treat brought him an unorthodox amount of humor. Malcolm was so careful of what foods he ate most of the time but when he was around pop tarts he enjoyed them like a little kid banned from eating sugar. As he was checking out, the woman behind the register- an aging former pageant queen with grey hair named Betty, made small talk with him.

“Looks like the storm’s coming back again, ain’t it Mr. Grey?” Putting on a smile and the fake accent he used around here he replied,

“Sure does Betty! Suns gotta hide itself because it’s ashamed to be seen around you I reckon, cause you’re so pretty and all.” She blushed, red reaching the roots of her grey hair and Martin inwardly sighed, people were so simple it was boring.

“Well shoot, Mr. Grey, you got me blushing like a schoolgirl, you better watch that flirting mouth of yours, one of these days one of us ladies will snatch you up!”

“Aw you know me Betty, all I care about is fishin’ and my boy, ever since my Mary passed, flirtin’s the last thing on ma mind. You know I just speak the truth, and you’re a real daisy in the field miss.” She smiled and finished ringing him up,

“Now when am I gonna meet that boy of yours? He always seems to be in the city, tell him he needs to respect his elders and keep his old man from becoming a shut in!” Martin chuckled,

“He’ll be coming out real soon Betty, and I’ll be sure you’re the first one I introduce him to. Now you take care ya hear!” The second the doors closed behind him, his smile dropped. The simple woman drove him absolutely batty. 

He drove home and pulled up to find the house completely dark. Stomach dropping, he ran inside, what if Malcolm had left again? He turned on every light and began frantically searching each room. He wasn’t in the garage or the basement, he wasn’t in the living room or kitchen, bile rising in his throat he raced down the hall and burst into Malcolm’s room without knocking. He was in the exact same position he had been in when Martin left. Heart heavy, he sank to his knees next to the bed.

Malcolm’s eyes drifted over to him and then refocused on the ceiling.

“Malcolm?” He whispered, reaching a hand out to run it through Malcolm’s hair. He stiffened but didn’t move away from the touch. Taking that as a sign to continue he plowed on, “I know you’re going through a lot and I can’t comprehend what’s going through your head right now, but I’m here if you need someone to talk to.” Malcolm continued to stare blankly ahead. Sighing, Martin removes his hand and stood up. As soon as he reached the door he heard a hoarse whisper,

“Could you stay here for a little bit?” A lump forming in his throat, Martin turned around and nodded, he sounded so broken . As he returned to his spot on the floor Malcolm spoke again, “I don’t want to talk, but if you could talk to me that would be alright.” Martin nodded, and brushed a strand of hair out of Malcolm’s face,

“Of course my boy, anything you need.” 

He never thought it would be this hard watching the Malcolm Bright side die.

Chapter Text

Malcolm laid there, listening to his father talk aimlessly about the book he was reading. They both knew it was a hollow, albeit one sided conversation, but that was all he wanted right now, his father made a joke, and internally Malcolm smiled, but the idea of even lifting the corners of his mouth sounded exhausting . After a while his father ran out of things to talk about and an awkward silence descended upon them. He knew he should sit up. He knew he should talk. He knew he should eat, but doing any of those things felt entirely too overwhelming; so he continued to stare at his ceiling, hoping the answers to the universe existed there so he could turn back the clocks and make the day prior disappear. 

Gil’s unforgiving eyes and Ainsley’s passionless tone swam to the forefront of his mind, the only people who cared about him before no longer cared about him. What was the point in anything anymore? The previous day his fight or flight instinct kicked in and he desperately clung to any sense of normalcy he could, kicking and screaming to keep something . Now he wasn’t so sure what that something was. What was life without Ainsley nagging him, or his mother’s overbearing attitude, or Gil’s….well his non parenting parenting . 

He sighed, drawing the attention of his father, who had retreated into a book. His dad looked over at him helplessly, and Malcolm felt a pang of guilt- he really shouldn’t be pushing away the only person who still cared for him. He looked over to his dad and opened his mouth to talk, but a yawn came out instead. His dad smiled and stood to go, but at the thought of him leaving Malcolm’s heart started beating faster and breathing seemed harder, alone alone alone. No he couldn’t be alone, but his father was obviously getting uncomfortable just sitting in his room. weighing his options, he knew the only way to not be alone would be to give in a little.

“ Dad,” he whispered, voice hoarse. His father turned around, a startled look on his face, Malcolm sat up and pulled his blanket up with him, wrapping it around his shoulders; the weight comforting him. He paused, not really sure \here to go with his thought. A moment passed, then a few moments passed, after a minute he blurted out the first thing on his mind “Can we watch a movie?” The childish suggestion surprised him but the idea of mindlessly sitting on the couch with his dad for the first time in nearly two decades.His dad laughed, obviously taken aback,

“Of course, my boy. Are you hungry at all?” Malcolm thought for a moment, and his stomach clenched in response. He nodded,

“Could we have grilled cheese again?” He asked, feeling like a child again. His father smiled again.

“Definitely!” He exclaimed. Malcolm wordlessly followed him into the other room and sat on the previously undisturbed couch, pulling the blanket back around him. He reached for the remote and began searching through the movies. He finally settled on a cartoon from when he was a kid. Feeling weak, he tucked his legs underneath him and laid his head back. He was drained, everything felt heavy. Some time passed and his father brought him a plate and sat down next to him. With a word of thanks, Malcolm nibbled on the grilled cheese and they sat in amiable silence as the tv droned on.

“I haven’t seen this since you were 5.” His dad said, settling in himself. Halfway through the movie, Malcolm felt a wave of tiredness roll over him. He leaned his head back and a few moments later he was out, after a few minutes passed, his head lolled off to the side and landed on his father’s shoulder like when he was younger. 

He was running. He didn’t know why, but he was running. His feet pounded on the ground, kicking up dirt; the wind whistled past his ear, ruffling his hair and sending a chill down his spine. A shuffling sounded behind him, sending a wave of fear through him. 

He wasn’t alone.

Heart thudding in his chest he ran as fast as he could, lungs burning, he couldn’t be caught, they couldn’t catch him.  He tripped over a root, sending the world spinning, glancing down at his leg, he noticed his foot facing the wrong direction. He began to crawl, desperately evading who or whatever was pursuing him. As he crawled over the next root, he realized it felt soft, with a gasp he looked down and realized that it wasn’t a root, it was an arm, bloody and dismembered. Suppressing a gasp he continued, and realized that the forest floor was littered with body parts. He grasped a rock and pulled himself deeper into the forest, the sound of footsteps getting closer. As he grabbed it the rock turned into a severed hand, a hand with half a heart tattooed on the wrist.

He continued to crawl, and came to a lake and cursed, he needed to get around it. A hand grasped the back of his head and pulled him to face the water. Looking at his reflection, he saw the face of his pursuer; it was himself. 

“Remember her.” He snarled.

The other version of him smirked and shoved his head into the water.

 He woke with a gasp, bolting upright, but something held him back. The blanket was wrapped snugly around him, disoriented he looked around. He was still on the couch, the lights were off and the alarm clock read 3:45 AM. He must have dozed off. Running a hand through his hair he groaned, what did all of this mean?  He padded over to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. Why did the hand have a tattoo on the wrist?

Less than 10 miles from where Malcolm stood, alone and desperate in the kitchen, a years old corpse continued to rot, a gold bracelet laying on what was once her wrist.