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Martin lay on the ground, clutching his belly and Malcolm focused on the wound. Shallow, from the front, didn't hit an artery, there wasn't enough blood. With emergency services on the way, he would survive. Malcolm didn’t kill his own father.
Everything went hazy around the edges and Dani's voice became distant. She touched his face gently, which usually would be enough, but not this time. The allure of disassociation was too strong. To be able to leave all of this behind and distance himself was too strong a feeling.
"No, no, Bright!"
But Malcolm had already slipped beneath the surface of his mind's defense mechanism. For a while everything was distant. The people rushing in, loading his father onto a gurney. He saw it happen but barely took the information in.
He was brought back to himself somewhat when Gil placed a heavy, warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed. It hurt, especially considering he'd been hanging by his arms only an hour ago. Which did a solid job of bringing him back out.
"Kid, I really need you to come back so I can take you to the hospital."
"No hospital," Malcolm whispered hoarsely.
"Damn it, kid, Vivian Capshaw confessed she gave you an embolism two days ago. You can't go without being checked."
"He saved me. And then he tried to kill me. He told me he'd never be able to hurt me, but he was going to. After I did so much for him." Disassociation was luring him back in. He could resist, but he didn't want to.
Gil placed his hands on either side of Malcolm's neck and stared at him. "You know the pathology better than anyone. You're an extension of him and if you don't do what he wants you to do."
"He'll dispose of me," Malcolm finished.
"That's right, it's not your fault. It's never been your fault. And I really need you present so you can tell the doctors everything that went wrong."
"Okay," Malcolm conceded.
"Good, good," and then Gil was guiding him away from the pool of his father's blood and back toward civilization.
Three months later
Malcolm entered the police station for the first time since everything had happened and headed towards Gil's office. Along the way several officers said hello, several gave friendly waves and one chanced a light clap on his shoulder.
Malcolm would've been surprised by this show of comradery if his entire hospital room and later apartment hadn't been filled with eclectic bunches of get well flowers. Everything from expensive curated bouquets, to a sunflower from an officer's garden.
He'd told JT once that police were his people. Until he'd been laid up in the hospital surrounded by well wishes from officers, it had never occurred to him that the same might be true of him. That he was their people. It had also never occurred to him after two years in that precinct that the officers wouldn't just believe that he and his father were in league together.
Malcolm slipped into Gil's office and part of him felt like he was coming home. He'd needed the break from serial killers, but this place would always be where he belonged.
"Hey kid," Gil said. He looked particularly soft today. A thin brown cardigan over his white shirt.
Malcolm knew the same couldn't be said of him. The dark blue windowpane plaid suit he had on was an old one. One he hadn't worn since college because he'd finally managed to outgrow something. But every other one he had tried on had hung off him and made him look more gaunt than he was.
He only had two suits from that era so he'd ordered some more. Until then, he'd have to put up with his twenty year old's sense of fashion.
"Hey Gil," Malcolm said. He didn't know if he wanted to be back at work. All he knew was that he needed to be back in this precinct.
"You actually ready to be back?" Gil asked, carefully. In the past Malcolm had always insisted that a case made things better. The last few months Malcolm hadn't looked at a single one.
"As ready as I'm ever going to be."
Gil nodded, "Good enough for me."
Malcolm inspected the body carefully, noting the lack of chatter around the crime scene. It felt like everyone was holding their breath. Even Edrisa wasn't doing her normal routine of jokes and flirting. Considering she was wearing an engagement ring, she should've been bouncing off the walls.
Malcolm wondered if this was the new normal when he came to investigate. He couldn't stand it. "Will you guys knock it off? I'm not going to shatter just because there was some noise."
Gil held up his hands in mock surrender and the chatter started up. "We just want your first day back to be good."
Malcolm chanced a small smile. These were still his people, even after everything. "Okay, the victims looked like they've been posed. Whoever did this likely knew them. There's passion here, but also frustration. Someone that wasn't part of their group but wanted to be."
The bodies were interesting. It was clear they had been engaged in a dinner party of some sort. Malcolm shuddered as he thought about the parties he'd attended as a teenager full of stuffy adults and boring talk.
Each of them was arranged at the table where they'd been eating dinner, but in a complex and grotesque manner. Each throat had been slit, while tape had been put over their mouths. One of the women had her legs spread wide, with a heeled shoe up on the table in a lewd manner. As though she was inviting someone in. The other woman had her breasts bared, hands placed in suggestive positions. The men were posed differently.
"There's a lot of anger directed toward the men in particular. The killer desired the women, but he wanted to hurt the men. Look at the stiffness of the one at the head of the table, placed in a position of rigidity. Completely upright with his hands pinned to the table with the knives. The other is posed away, looking away from the sight intentionally. He's been placed in a tight, curled position. The tape looks like it doesn't have any blood. Added post-mortem?"
Edrisa jumped in. "Probably. With their throats slit it was either reapplied or applied after. There's too much blood spray when you cut a throat like that."
Malcolm nodded. "Rage, impotence and derision for them, their lives and their marriage. He was deeply envious while still disgusted by them."
"They belonged to one of those socialite country clubs," Dani pointed out. "Could be someone on the fringes."
Malcolm nodded. "That's a good place to start. With some of those places having enough money for a membership isn't enough when you aren't part of the group. The killer we’re looking for is a man between thirty and fifty. Established in his career, likely married or with a long term girlfriend. He came from middle class and now has a job that pushes him into a higher class. He's deeply envious of the people around him and came from a strict upbringing."
They broke up and Malcolm caught Edrisa before she left with the bodies. "Hey, congrats," he said pointing out her ring.
She laughed a little, her smile lighting up her entire face. "Yeah, Blaze popped the question a few weeks ago."
Malcolm smiled genuinely, "I'm sorry I missed it."
Edrisa waved a hand. "No, you were off dealing with everything. Besides, you'll be at the most important thing, the wedding."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Malcolm caught up with Dani and followed her out to her car.
She shot him a sideways glanced laced with just a little more affection than usual. They hadn't had a chance to speak about when he'd kissed her. Full on kissed her on the lips. First he'd turned himself over to a crazy woman and then his father had abducted him. Then he'd been away from work. And now...wasn't the time to talk about it.
Dani led the way into the expensive country club and Malcolm followed closely. It felt strange to be away from his team like this, chasing down leads and doing real police work again.
Over the three months he'd been called in several times for his opinion on difficult cases. However, that was limited to him standing in their murder room in the precinct. Looking at photos and videos of interrogations. His time had been limited and his actions minimal.
Part of him was nervous after so long away. Scared to get back up on that horse. Part of him was happy to be back on a case. The precinct was his safe space and the cases were his coping mechanism. His focus on his work was something he shared with his father, but it had never bothered Malcolm. The harder he worked, the more killers they caught, the more victims could be saved.
The attendant at the concierge desk looked down on them. Dani flashed her badge.
"NYPD, we need to talk to some of your members about a murder early this morning."
The attendant, who's name tag read, Andy, blinked in shock. "A murder?"
Malcolm nodded, picking up where Dani left off. "Yes, four people, all of whom were a member of this club."
"I'm Detective Powell, this is Bright. Is there a supervisor we can speak to?"
Andy sputtered but acquiesced. The followed him back into the office where they found another man.
"These are NYPD detectives. They need to ask you some questions."
The manager nodded and gestured to the seats. "I'm Jamie London, how can I help you?"
Dani started on their questions while Malcolm observed the office. Clean, tidy, without a lot of personal items. Just enough to make it feel homy.
"We're looking into the murders of the Leonard and Sadie Johnson and Loretta and Mark Ryan."
"The Johnsons and the Ryans?" Jamie asked, stunned. His shock and dismay were genuine, likely with a little more upset than was due. There was something else there.
Dani nodded, and Malcolm watched his reactions carefully. A manger could be an ideal candidate for his profile. Always on the edge of the group but never really a member.
"We're looking into anyone who might have had a grudge against them. People they knew who could shed some light on their social lives."
Jamie London was a small nervous man with dark hair and blue eyes that cast about for something to look at. He picked up a pad of paper and jotted down a few names. "I wasn't very close with them, but I can tell you who they spend time with when they were in the club."
Malcolm observed the fact that he was attractive in a sweet, slender way. The kind of man that women would pick for an affair. Or men would choose to help them feel more masculine.
"Anything else you can give us?" Dani asked.
Jamie licked his lips in a nervous gesture but shook his head. He definitely knew something more. There was something else there behind his eyes.
As they got into the car Dani commented, "He definitely knew something, right?"
"Oh, yeah, absolutely. He's a fit for part of the profile but not enough of it. He's also a little on the small side to be our killer. I think that our killer is probably very physically imposing. Also, the manager is very firmly enmeshed in that world."
Dani cocked her head curiously, "How do you mean?"
"I can assure you he's had offers or affairs from multiple women and perhaps even some men, at that club. Possibly even a common partner for people stepping outside of their marriages. It's probably an open secret in the club."
Dani made a face. "Rich people are so gross."
Malcolm shrugged. "No arguments here."
"What exactly makes him the right candidate for an affair?"
Malcolm wondered if he was being led into info dumping but decided it didn't matter. "Well, he's on the edge of the world, but not quite a member of it. He holds a valuable position, but not one that would ruin anyone's lives. He's pretty for the women and small for the men. Feeds into their wants that they're not getting from their marriage."
Dani sent him a slight sideways glance. "You do realize you just described yourself right?"
Malcolm stopped short. He turned to her slightly wide-eyed.
Dani snorted lightly.
Malcolm added the observations about the manager as well as the list of people from the club they spent time with. It was strange after so long away, but his body still knew all of the motions to do it properly.
Gil and JT joined them in their murder room and showed off a couple of things.
"According to the people that knew them they didn't have any real enemies, they never quarreled with anyone and they were saints to work with and for."
Malcolm turned to him confused. "You didn't find a single complaint at all? Not even from someone who felt wronged or shortchanged or cheated?"
Gil nodded. "Yeah, and isn't that the most suspicious thing you've ever heard in your life? Not a single person had a single bad thing to say about them?"
"So there was something about them, an open secret, that they're still all keeping?" Malcom guessed.
"How the hell do we find something like that out?" JT asked.
Malcolm hummed a little. "Well, if it's an open secret, we have to have someone talk to us about what goes on in that world. There's only one person I know that would help us offhand," Malcolm trailed of a little. He wasn't sure about involving his mother in yet another case, but it looked like that's what was going to happen. Malcolm glanced at his watch and frowned. "Damn, I'm late for an appointment."
A specialist, that's what Gabrielle had called them. Someone with a stronger background in children who'd grown up in families with criminal parents. If it didn't work out, Malcolm could always go back to seeing her. She wanted him to try though.
The office wasn't like the ones that Malcolm was accustomed to. The walls were painted in various shades of neutral soothing colors, but there was nothing bright. No plushies to hold and nothing to distract him from the fears that filled his waking moments.
The person that greeted Malcolm was shorter than him, with fair skin. Their hair was dyed an unnatural shade of violet. Their face was serious and they held out a small hand for Malcolm to shake.
Something about them relieved him. They were smaller than him and his brain automatically registered that as less of a threat. All of his attackers so far had been men larger than him. There was something reassuring about their neutral expression.
"Corey Silvers, nice to meet you Malcolm."
"Yes, hello," Malcolm fumbled for words. He'd tried several new therapists over the years, but without that layer of trust, he'd had a hard time opening up. After a few sessions, either he'd give up, or they would.
But Gabrielle swore that they were an expert and he still trusted her with most of his secrets.
Corey offered him a seat and took the one across from him. Unlike most therapists they didn't have a pen and pad.
"You're not going to write anything down," he asked. The note taking most therapists did had always made him nervous. Let him know which things they thought were significant enough to write about.
"No, I don't really need to. If I have anything to make a note of, I'll do it after you leave. It impedes the natural flow of conversation. Gabrielle told me a few things about you. Your father's a serial killer. You were nearly killed by him a few months ago along with another killer. You've been out of therapy for almost a year after decades in it."
Malcolm blinked at their shockingly direct approach. "Yes, that's all true. Not sure you missed much."
Corey nodded slowly. "Do you have something you'd like to talk about?"
His nightmare flashed in front of his eyes again. "You could say that."
"You've always been a bad son!"
A knife sliding into his body. The perspective changing, becoming his father while his father became him. The saved girl's desperate face. The woodsman staring them down. Images of his past. An old story, the girl in the box, the victims he couldn't save, the ones that he did and it still wasn't enough. The ones he did but they'll never be the same.
His father, again. "We're the same." Malcolm, cutting up a body so his sister isn't hurt. The look on her face as she slit Endicott's throat. The look when she calls him gaslighter, uncaring as the pieces of him he clung so tightly to shatter in his hands.
"So, that's about it. I dreamed Dr. Whitly finally had enough of me as a kid, and did away with me. Just like he had planned to do when I was young."
Corey nodded for a moment and then thought. "You told me your father had said he could never hurt you. That you took that to believe that he would never try to hurt you in a way he believed was hurting. Do you honestly think he didn't know he was harming you with his actions when you were a child?"
Malcolm hesitated. "Before, I would've said that he didn't know. That his sense of self is so narcissistic that he never gave it any thought at all. Now...I'm not sure."
Corey nodded. "I can imagine that's confusing. Especially since your revelation recently that he's switched to hating you. I'd like you to do a thought exercise in-between now and our next session. It's a variation on parts work. Traditionally it's used as a way to help people work on various aspects of themselves. I want you to imagine younger you as a separate part. Three different aspects. Childhood you, harmed by Dr. Whitly, teenage you, who made an intentional choice to step away from Dr. Whitly and the you from three months ago."
"Alright, why?"
Corey smiled wryly and Malcolm realized that it was the first time he'd seen them give anything besides a neutral expression. "I want you to think of them as separate people so you can give each of them the credit and empathy they deserve."
Malcolm stared at them. "I don't understand."
Corey leaned forward. "You talk about impact and intentions from the people around you, but at no point do you discuss the feelings and actions of yourself. Younger you survived a horrific situation, saved a life, and managed to put a killer behind bars. Teenage you recognized the best choice at the time was to step away from Dr. Whitly. A challenging decision considering your close relationship. The you from three months ago survived being abducted by a woman, tortured and nearly killed, kidnapped by a man you're afraid of, saved a woman, recaptured Martin Whitly and fought to stay alive. I want you to think of each of them as separate people, so you can recognize their actions for the power they have. They deserve empathy for their hurts and praise for their actions. If you can see them as separate people, maybe that will be easier."
"I guess, I'll try."
It was easy after all of his hallucinations, to imagine the child version of him. In pajamas, always in pajamas. The boy looked at him, eyes seeing right through him.
"You are," Malcolm's voice broke off. "You're so brave. You've been so badly hurt, you're so scared of him, and I'm so proud of you. For doing the right thing. For saving Gil and who knows how many lives. You don't think so, and you don't agree with Gil, but you are a hero."
Malcolm closed his eyes and when he reopened them his image of the boy had faded but there was something in those words that Malcolm realized he'd needed to hear. He heard them from dozens of people, but only now was he realizing he'd never heard them from the one person he needed them most from. Himself.
JT, Dani and Gil all looked very serious when Malcolm entered their meeting room. Officially vacated of FBI agents, they finally had their space back, which should've been a sharp relief for the whole team.
"Hey man, sit down," JT suggested.
Malcolm slowly took a seat. "What is it that JT is trying to break it to me easily?"
"Kid, do you remember when your mother found that key and she wasn't sure what it went to?" Gil asked.
"Yeah, it was for a safety deposit box under a pseudonym of Dr. Whitly's."
Dani hesitated and then plowed forward. "We figured out what it goes to. The only thing in it were picture of victims."
"A trophy box? That's not out of the realm of possibility. A lot of serial killers keep them," Malcolm said, his stomach sinking. This wasn't a discovery of old cases. Not more evidence for what they had already convicted him of. This was something....
"They're pictures of victims we've never seen before."
Malcolm's world went gray around the edges.
He came back to himself when Dani put a cool hand on his arm and squeezed. Just the right amount of sensation to bring him back without the pain that could send him spiraling. "Breath, Bright."
"Can I see the photos?" Malcolm asked.
Gil sighed. "Later, I think right now you need a moment more than you need to see these."
Malcolm hummed lightly, breathing in deeply. “Okay, okay, I can do that. Let’s talk about the case.”
The strange tone of the room shifted and Dani jumped in.
“I checked with everyone they knew, and I think I finally found what the open secret was that no one was talking about. They were swingers?”
JT’s brow furrowed, “What, all four of them?”
Dani nodded along with his surprise. “Yup, as it turns out the four of them were all regular partners. They had people outside of their little group that they occasionally would be with, but most of the time, it really was only just the four of them.”
“That might be what the killer wanted to be part of. My profile indicates that he’s in a long term relationship, but he’s very open to cheating. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. Very greedy. If he’d tried to join and they kept him out, it might’ve been enough to set him off.”
“So, where do we look next?” Gil asked him.
Malcolm tapped his fingers as he thought. “He must have a lover at the country club. Someone subservient who would make it worth going there on a regular basis. If we can identify who that is, it might lead us right to the killer.”
Gil hesitated, “If this guy kills the people he envies, does that mean that he’s likely to turn on his lover?”
Malcolm winced as he understood what Gil was getting at. “Yes, that’s another reason we should try to figure out who it is. They’ll likely go after their lover the same way as the people already dead. I would say it’s only a matter of time. He’s angry, and that isn’t going to change any time soon.”
“How do we do that?”
Malcolm hesitated. “I’m pretty sure this is going to be plain old police work. We work through the people at the club. Both the members and the people that work there. We just go through them until we find someone who matches the profile of the matching lover. Then we talk through it with them to see if they are involved in a relationship.”
“Everybody take some names,” Gil said.
The next few hours passed in the kind of police work they all hated. They took the lists of the names of the members and employees and divvied them up. Then they manually matched it against Malcolm’s thoughts on what the lover would be like. When they finished, they had managed to whittle the stack down to eleven names.
Malcolm scrubbed a hand across his tired eyes. He hated that feeling of soreness that sometimes occurred when he’d been working for too long. Felt a little bit like being punished for a long day.
Dani sighed in frustration. “Eleven is still so many. The lover could be anyone on this list. Is there anything more than we can try to narrow it down from?”
Malcolm shook his head. “No, we know the basics but we can’t guess at specifics. There are too many possible varieties. It gets worse. We’re presuming that the lover is a member of the club, but they very well could be outside of it. A coworker or old friend of the killer. All we can do is check each of them out.”
Gil nodded in agreement. “Everybody out. We all go home and we’ll deal with the rest of this tomorrow. It can wait until morning. Besides which, I know you have a dinner to get to.”
Malcolm resisted the urge to groan like a kid. He’d never particularly cared for family dinners before his recent actions, but now they were nearly intolerable. Everyone just trying to talk around the issues. Pretending like he hadn’t been kidnapped by two separate serial killers and nearly murdered twice in less than a week.
At least before both of them could stand to hear about his work. Now his mother’s lips tightened and her face became drawn. His sister went rigid and changed the subject. They wanted to do everything in their power to pretend like it just hadn’t happened. Since Malcolm was the one it had happened to, he felt awkward about it.
Ainsley headed into her mother's house, attention drawn away as her phone rang. It said "Claremont Psychiatric" and with the flick of a finger she hit ignore. It was the second time this week and one of dozens since Martin had been granted phone privileges again.
As if she couldn't see through his stupid plan. He'd given up on Malcolm and had turned his attention toward her.
Ainsley wasn't stupid though. She didn't want to end up in a cell and she didn't get any real pleasure from killing Endicott. She may have had some of those tendencies but to give into murdering was to lose everything she wanted. Her career, her family, her life. All of the pleasures she enjoyed. Malcolm.
There were a few things in Ainsley's life that were absolutes. Her mother was a drunk, her father was in prison and Malcolm was her brother. When Jessica slipped a little too heavily into her drinking and her father faded to memory, it was Malcolm who'd made childhood fun. Games and walks and snacks and hours together. She learned not to be mean to him even when it made her laugh because he got so fragile. Like a little bird. Smash him once he limps, smash him too many times and he never flies again.
Martin Whitly took him away. Martin Whitly took away her brother and tried to keep him. Tried to kill him.
It still made her so angry to even think about. Malcolm was hers, he always had been. Ainsley headed into her childhood home. So many memories filled the place. When she stepped into the dining room, she found that her brother had, for once in his life, beat her to family dinner.
"Wow, on time? I should mark the day."
Malcolm didn't even bother with a weak smile like he normally would. He didn't even look up from where his eyes were locked on his water glass.
"Yeah," he muttered.
Ainsley frowned. He'd been withdrawn ever since his unwilling fieldtrip with Vivian Capshaw had turned into a kidnapping by their serial killer father. This was something new though.
Dinner conversation was more stilted than usual. It could be difficult on a good day but now Malcolm was barely registering a word. And since Malcolm wasn't talking, neither was her mother.
Towards the end of the meal Ainsley began to get annoyed. "God, I hate when you two act like this. It's always the same damn thing. Malcolm doesn't want to talk about it, and Mom doesn't want to ask about it and nobody says anything. I swear sometimes the two of you act like clones. Same behaviors, different generations."
Malcolm and Jessica stared at her in silent shock.
"Whatever, I've got things to do." Ainsley stood from the table and marched toward the door, finding her groove in her huff. The two of them could sit in awkward silence for all she cared.
"No, wait, Ainsley come back, please. We're sorry." There was her mother, chasing after her, pleading to give in. Placating, turning off her discomfort and unhappiness to keep the peace.
"Yeah, Ains, we're sorry. It's just this thing today and I didn't know how to bring it up without making things weird." And there was Malcolm doing the exact same thing. But it was better than what they had been doing before.
"Do you think we're alike?" Malcolm asked Jessica. Ainsley had slipped out of the house, insisting she had an early meeting she absolutely couldn't miss. At the very least she had finished eating and stayed a few minutes past. Still, the early departure was undeniable.
Jessica looked up from her empty glass. It hadn't escaped Malcolm's notice that she'd done significantly less drinking than she normally did. Not cutting it out completely. Simply waiting longer between drinks and taking drinks of water between.
"When you were a teenager, I looked at you and saw your father. You look the most like him out of you and Ainsley. I worried so much for your mental and physical health before that, it was like I'd never even noticed. Never noticed the way your features look like his and your hair's the same color."
Malcolm hunched inward. He'd heard that a lot as a kid. Before and after.
"Two days after I noticed, there was a gala. You were still going by Whitly at that point and a couple of your father's acquaintances had cornered you. Interrogating you about what had happened when you were a kid, and the choices you'd made. I was going to come rescue you, but as I walked over, I caught you absolutely eviscerating them with your sharp tongue. Malcolm," she pressed an affectionate hand to his knee, "my words have always been my weapon. And they've always been yours."
Malcolm smiled sadly. "I guess so, huh?"
"Not to mention, your father is no detective. He can't get information out of someone he speaks to on a daily basis, let alone someone he's never met. Only you and I have that skill. I've always seen the best parts of me in you. And anything you inherited from your father? Those are the best parts of him as well."
Malcolm gave her arm a squeeze back.
"Alright, now, let's talk about something else."
Malcolm nodded. "Do you remember the key you found that you didn't know what it went to? Before everything went completely crazy?"
"Yes, of course. JT said that it went to a safety deposit box." Her face changed, looking worried, then smoothing out to her favorite mask. "What was in that safety deposit box?"
Malcolm sighed, but knew that Jessica had always been the staunchest supporter of the victims. She deserved to know, and might even be able to shed some light on the situation.
"It was a trophy box. It had pictures of victims in it."
"Well, I'd always wondered if your father kept other trophies someplace that we wouldn't find."
"Yeah, the thing is," Malcolm's voice broke. He wondered when the surgeon would quit hurting him and his family. "They're of victims we've never seen before."
Silence filled the sitting room.
"What?"
"They're not of the ones we know about. It's a set of entirely new victims. Ones we have absolutely no information on."
Jessica sat in stunned silence and then stood. She started to pace, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors. Each step was well practiced. The actions of a woman who had done the same thing thousands of times.
"More victims?" She asked stunned.
"We don't," Malcolm winced, even to his ears it didn't sound believable, "We don't know for sure they were killed. They might have been future victims, or he might have had them for another reason. He might even had been holding them for someone. We're looking into them to see if we can find anything out about them."
Jessica gave him a scathing look. "I think we both are aware that your father wouldn't have idly kept photos of people without a very good reason."
"Yeah," Malcolm agreed.
"Why didn't you want Ainsley to hear about this?" Jessica asked and then held up a hand. "Wait, nevermind. You don't want this information released to the media until you're ready."
Malcolm nodded. "Until we have something more than photos, we don't want any press coverage. The last thing we want is everyone who had a person go missing twenty years ago showing up on our door step."
"Why did you tell me?"
"Because you're their advocate. Because you never forget where the attention should be and who the conversation should be about. Because I'm tired of keeping secrets from the people I love. I'm tired of the lying and deception."
Jessica hugged Malcolm gently, drawing him close to her.
Malcolm inspected the pictures of Jamie London’s body with an intense frustration.
“It’s a similar MO. Similar torture, similar bindings and the same way of being killed. Not sure why he picked the manager of all people, but that’s your job,” Edrisa said. She ducked out of the room and Malcolm rubbed his face in frustration.
“Bright?” Gil asked.
“Jamie must’ve been his lover. His affair. The person who drew him in closer to the society.”
“So why’d he kill his own lover?” JT asked.
“Because he found out. We talked to Jamie, told him what we were looking for and he put the pieces together. Maybe even confronted the killer with the accusation. The killer was forced to either deal with him or risk being exposed.”
Gil sighed, weary from the work they’d all been putting in. “So, what now? What’s his next move and how do we catch him?”
Malcolm jumped in, his mind spinning with plots and ideas. “Our killer is going to be on the hunt for another lover. He’s killed Jamie London, leaving him without that connection that he needs and so desperately wants. But, if things again don’t go the way he planned, he’ll kill them too. If we can figure out who he’s going to target, we might be able to figure out who it is before he kills someone else.”
Dani cleared her throat lightly and seemed in pain as she made the suggestion. “What about planting someone who’s his type to draw him in?”
“How the hell do we know if someone’s his type?” JT asked.
Dani looked back at Malcolm and he understood what she was suggesting.
“Ah. Someone small, in a position of slight power but nothing too intense, on the edges of society with the ability to bring him into more of it. Like me.”
“Ah Jesus, not this again,” JT muttered, turning to pour himself another cup of coffee.
Gil immediately went on the defensive. “No, we’re not using you as bait. You just got back from leave!”
“I can do it. Gil,” Malcolm gave him a pleading look. “I don’t want another person to die to this guy. He’ll kill again, probably his next lover. We can stop this all here.”
Gil gritted his teeth, clearly reluctant. “Fine, but you’re wired the entire time, you’re never alone with anyone and we always have someone on you.”
Malcolm tossed and turned, his arms pulled desperately at his restraints. Scared moans filled the loft. His eyes snapped open and he let out a scream, muffled by the mouth guard, arms yanking brutally on the restraints.
Malcolm sat up in bed, breathing heavily. A glance at his clock told him that he had a half an hour before he had to get out of bed. Somehow though, the night terror had only taken up part of his night. For the first time, possibly in decades, Malcolm had slept four hours without experiencing a night terror.
He spat out his mouth guard and started to undo the restraints. He felt...strange. Like everything was in focus.
Malcolm headed for the kitchen, starting on his morning routine. Couple of bites of breakfast, licorice and some fruit, and fed Sunshine. She chirped happily in her cage and Malcolm idly wondered at getting her a nicer habitat. When he was home with the door locked, he usually let her go where she liked. But maybe she needed something more.
He’d think about it after the first step of the plan.
Malcolm spent more time than strictly necessary to choose his outfit. He wanted to look like he belonged at the club but not one of the unattainable ones. It was a careful balance he was attempting to strike.
Finally he settled on a suit, pale gray, but didn’t put on the jacket. Relaxed, that’s what he was going for.
There was a knock on the door and Malcolm walked to the door and opened it.
“Hey Bright,” Dani said. She was holding the equipment they were going to use to wire him.
“You know this could take several days. There might not be any need to be wired up today.”
Dani’s motions slowed a little. “Do you know what it felt like for you to go missing on a case and it turns out you went willingly with a woman you knew was killer?”
Malcolm winced a little.
“Do you know what it felt like bursting into that home and finding out you’d been abducted from your kidnapping? To listen as she detailed the embolism she gave you and know that somewhere out there, after a procedure that’s almost impossible to survive, you were with one of the most prolific killers New York has ever seen? Can you guess at the emotions that coursed through us knowing that you had moved from one mortal peril to another?”
“I can imagine,” Malcolm said softly, chastised. That had been a whirlwind of fear and emotions. He hadn’t had any time to stop and think about that from his friends’ perspectives.
“Great, so every time you enter that rich ass country club, you’re wearing a wire and we know exactly where you are. Clear?”
Malcolm nodded in agreement.
“Good, I’m glad we understand each other. We’ll be in a van in the parking lot with the listening equipment. You get into any trouble, all you have to do is shout.”
“Got it.”
Malcolm walked into the club, swallowing back irritation at being around these people again. His mother was a member, like with most of the high-end social clubs in New York, so all he had to do was introduce himself and he was let in.
Malcolm headed first to the place that he figured their killer would hang out. The bar and restaurant area wasn’t filled with people most of the time. If their killer was on the edges of this society, they wouldn’t be regularly interacting with most people.
He scanned the room quickly and then headed to the bar. Malcolm settled on a barstool and smiled at the bartender.
“Can I get Manhattan?” The certified drink of middle-aged men. A way to hopefully draw him in.
“Really? A Manhattan?” Dani asked from his earpiece.
Malcolm ignored her and accepted the cocktail. He actually preferred whiskey neat usually, but it was passable.
Malcolm glanced around the club, wondering where their killer would appear. He would be aggressive and forward. Would immediately make his move as a way to assure himself he belonged in this world.
“Come here often?” A voice asked him.
Malcolm glanced sideways and realized that he was facing a man that fit his profile perfectly.
“Careful here Bright. He might be our killer, might just be a weirdo chatting you up.”
“Actually, I’m sort of new to this place.” Malcolm said lightly. “My mother has a membership but I’m only recently back in New York. Thought I would give it a spin when it comes to seeing if I can make some new friends.” That was the story they had agreed on. Malcolm needed to be on the edge of their society, like the killer.
The man smiled charmingly. He was handsome, a little under fifty with attractive salt and pepper hair. He was smaller than Malcolm would’ve thought their killer would be, but not unusually so. With a little bit of effort he’d likely be able to kill their victims. Whether or not he was their killer, Malcolm would have to wait and see.
Martin scowled impressively as his call to his daughter was ignored once again. What privileges he’d originally had had mostly been lost after his escape. However, once the prognosis had come out, they’d restored a number of them. Including his phone access.
His prognosis being paralysis of the lower extremities that may or may not be permanent. The specialist who’d seen him had said it could go either way. The nerve damage wasn’t extensive, but the nerves that had been damaged were irreparably so.
Which mean he might never walk again. And he had his precious son to thank for that fact.
Malcolm didn’t even have the decency to puncture a kidney artery so he could bleed out in the freedom he’d finally found. Just a badly positioned stab wound that damaged the spinal cord and missed everything else.
Malcolm.
His precious, darling boy. So many years wasted on an opportunity that was never going to appear. His son was simply too fragile to become the person he wanted him to be. It was there, within him. The ability to kill that he’d seen glimpses of over the years. But Malcolm wasn’t able to endure what would bring it out.
Now his little girl on the other hand.
Ainsley had slit Endicott’s throat with zero hesitation. Had protected her family from the threat. That was a moldable gift. She was so much stronger than her older brother too. Sharp where he was soft, angry where he was sad and most importantly, ambitious where he was apathetic.
If only she would pick up the motherfucking phone.
“Thank you Mr. David.” He said after the third try went to voicemail. He'd just have to try again later. When she wasn’t quite busy.
In the mean time he could think about how to make Malcolm useful to himself again.
When Carl Lanford offered to take Malcolm back to his place, Dani immediately gave the okay.
“We’re right behind you. You’ll never be out of earshot. Just don’t get killed before we can help.”
Which was pretty much solid advice all the time. They’d gone back to an expensively decorated apartment, all of it nouveau riche. Which again fit his profile.
“So what drew you back to the city?” Carl asked him while sending him a flirty side eye. He poured Malcolm a glass of red wine and directed him to the ugly white couch.
“Ugh,” Dani muttered in his earpiece.
Malcolm had to agree. His pickup work was shoddy at best and he hadn’t seemed to think he could actually get Malcolm to go back with him.
“Ah, I got an opportunity to work a new job.” Malcolm accepted the wine. A merlot, not one of his favorites.
“Oh? Yeah, you like it?”
Malcolm sipped the wine. “Yes, quite a bit. Had a rough patch there for a while, but the people I work with are the best in the world. There’s no one better.”
Dani was quiet on the other end of the line and Malcolm wondered if she knew how much he meant it.
Malcolm was slightly worried about being expected to go further with someone who might be a killer but as it seemed, this guy had no game at all.
Instead of moving into a further seduction, Carl launched into a long winded and slightly boring conversation about his job. He worked as a real estate lawyer at a large firm. It seemed, from the way he spoke, real estate was his passion. He could talk about it at length until long after Malcolm had lost interest.
Malcolm feigned it anyway.
As Carl Lanford spoke Malcolm made a bracing realization. “Would you excuse me for just a moment? Where’s your bathroom?” Malcolm asked, voice a little strangled.
“Oh, right up over there.”
Malcolm slipped into the bathroom and hissed into his wire, “Dani!”
“Bright, what’s wrong?”
“He’s not our killer. I think he might actually be the next victim. He fits the profile of the killer’s victims, not the killer. He’s small, he’s on the edges of their society, but his position as a real estate lawyer grants him a lot of power over something very vulnerable.
Malcolm was interrupted by the sound of wood splintering and Carl crying out.
“Bright! Don’t you dare! Just wait where you are, We’re on our way up!”
“I can’t just let him get killed!” Malcolm took a breath and opened the bathroom door.
The man in front of him was a fit man in his mid 50s. He wore a tailored collared shirt without the jacket. He had Carl Lanford on his belly and looked to be in the middle of undressing him.
“Who the hell are you?” he spat.
Malcolm needed to stall for time without enraging him.
“I’m here to look at tile,” Malcolm winced. Amongst all of the stupid things on the planet, that had to be up there as the worst.
“What?”
“Well, I met Carl at the country club and he started telling me about his bathroom remodel. He mentioned the tiling in the bathroom and I thought it sounded pretty. I wanted to come see if for myself. Do you think sea green and blue is too much color for a bathroom?” This had been one of the things Carl had told him about. So at least there was that.
Their killer looked completely incredulous. He had stopped attempting to undress Carl who looked as surprised as their killer.
Malcolm attempted to look sincere. He had never in his life cared about tile. Not once. He couldn’t even tell you what the tile in his mother’s house was. Could barely remember his own bathroom. All he needed to do was make sure that their killer didn’t think that he was there to fuck Carl.
There was a long moment of silence.
“I don’t believe you,” their killer said softly. “I don’t believe you’re here to look at tile. I think you’re here to fuck my boyfriend.”
He got up from the floor and Malcolm realized that his profile had been spot on in every way. He was at least six inches and at least fifty pounds heavier than Malcolm. Maybe he should’ve just stayed in the bathroom. Still, with the attention away from Carl he figured he just needed to buy a little time.
“You’re right, I’m here because Carl picked me up. I let him even though he was not very good at it.”
“Hey!” Carl said from the floor.
“Sorry, but true. I’m with the NYPD we’re looking into those murders I’m pretty sure you committed.” If he could just get him talking. Just buy a little time, then Dani and JT should be on their way up.
He scowled and advanced on Malcolm who took a small step back. A bully, he wanted to see fear. Time, that’s all Malcolm needed. Just a few more minutes.
“So, why did you kill those people? What, they didn’t let you into their little club?”
“They got what they deserved. Acting like they were so much better for being born into money instead of earning it. Just because they had trust funds and I had a scholarship.”
Malcolm nodded in agreement. “They earned it. How? Tell me what they did? Who are you, and what did you do?”
“I’m Gerald Hopman. I’m a defense attorney for the rich and elite. I earned my money the hard way. Through work and determination. Just like their parents, and grandparents and great-grandparents.”
“That’s how you and Carl know each other. You’re both attorneys,” Malcolm volunteered.
Gerald’s face tightened and he glanced back at his bound lover. “Yes, the little weasel. I thought I’d found a kindred spirit. Thought I found someone who really understood me. And here he is picking up some little bitch.”
“You’re married, with another lover on the side, and I’m supposed to be loyal?” Carl demanded.
Malcolm nodded. “He’s kind of got a point.”
“I didn’t ask you!”
Malcolm held up his hands in a conciliatory manner. “You’re right. Why did they deserve to die specifically? There had to have been hundreds of people who thought the exact same way right?”
“Because they wouldn’t let me in that stupid fucking group. Degenerate swingers didn’t want one more fucking couple. Because I wasn’t good enough? Because I was from the wrong kind of people? So I showed them the man I really was. And now you’re both going to see it.”
Gerald advanced on Malcolm’s position. Malcolm winced and took a few more steps back, his eyes looking for a way out. Just as he was about to find a way to get out, the door burst open and his team rushed in. Malcolm breathed out the breath he had been holding as guns aimed at Gerald.
Gerald scowled in anger and Dani came to check on Malcolm.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, did you get all of that?”
“Yeah, we did.” Dani inspected him carefully the way she did when she believed he was lying to her. Despite his past behaviors, he actually was fine.
“I’m good, Dani, I promise. I’m not going to keel over or disappear into thin air.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Too soon, Bright.”
“Right, yeah, sorry.”
The wheelchair that had been provided to him wasn’t very comfortable. With a little help he could transfer from it to the bed or to his desk chair, his favored places to sit and think on his problem.
Martin tapped his pencil, inspecting the drawing of a human heart carefully. Ainsley was the stronger Whitly. She would be so much easier to tempt into becoming a killer. But Malcolm had had his uses too. The time they had spent together solving murders, both in the cell and out in the world, was wonderful.
His son had a keen detective’s mind and a way of looking at murder that was so unique. Those visits had wiled away the days, weeks, months and years of his imprisonment. His son could be useful again, if only as a distraction. A way to forget about his circumstances and interact with the outside world. All he had to do was come up with a viable reason for that to happen.
His daughter still wasn’t answering his calls, which was frustrating but understandable. He needed to be able to speak to her to explain everything. Martin had a feeling that the problem in their relationship lied more with what he had done to Malcolm, than any real animosity between them. And in her defense, he had kidnapped and nearly killed her brother. Anybody might be a little testy after that happened.
All Martin had to do was convince her that he never would’ve hurt Malcolm. That Malcolm had been mistaken while up in those woods that Martin wasn’t planning on killing him. He wasn’t sure how well he could sell it considering he’d once planned to kill him as a kid. Still, he wouldn’t know unless he tried.
“Time for light’s out, Martin,” Mr. David said.
Martin sighed and knew he would have to think on it again later. There had to be something he could do to fix this mess.
“I’ve got physical therapy in the morning,” Martin said cheerfully. “Something to look forward to.”
“Uh huh,” Mr. David muttered while helping Martin back into bed.
Previously he hadn’t always been the best conversationalist, but now he was downright cold to Martin. Looks like attempting a permanent escape wasn't the best plan in terms of retaining friendships. Ah well, live and learn.
As Martin settled in for the night his mind drifted to his son. What parent wanted to admit that their child was a disappointment? Certainly not one who’d poured decades of work one only for him to be a monumental disappointment.
“Well, he’s always been fragile, you know that. It’s your own fault for thinking he could in the first place,” Martin quietly chastised himself. “Sometimes children just can’t live up to your dreams.”
Malcolm’s favorite times in the precinct was always right after a case was solved. There was always a sort of stillness to the air. A feeling of finality and like they had managed to write one of the wrongs in the world.
It never really lasted long. They always broke up pretty quickly after a case. Oftentimes they were putting in more hours based on the severity of the case. This one had been quick and not too complicated to solve. There hadn’t been any blistering late nights that left them all frayed.
Which was good, because as much as Malcolm had enjoyed being back at work, he wasn’t sure if he had it in him. Before something like this wouldn’t even have phased him. He wasn’t injured, he was able to just move on. Now, after everything that had happened, he was simply to thin to handle it. Like a rope that had been thick and supportive that someone had taken a knife to. Still technically doing its job, but you were never quire sure when it would fail, and everything would come crashing down.
However, the thought of spending even longer in his apartment not doing anything, waiting for his mind to conjure up new nightmares wasn’t good. The feeling of losing himself day after day and not quite knowing if he was going to be able to get it back.
“Come on kid, let’s go get something to eat,” Gil said, grabbing his keys and heading for the door.
Malcolm didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t really want to eat, but he did know that he didn’t want to spend another minute waiting for the next case. A little dinner he’d pick at and some company sounded like heaven in comparison.
They headed out to a little late night dinner that had passable food and bad coffee. Similar instances had dotted Malcolm’s childhood post father. His mother, unable to reach him had called on the one man Malcolm had made a connection with.
Gil had never been that great at getting Malcolm to open up, no one was. But there had been something comforting in him that had at least made Malcolm feel safe.
He’s once told JT that a man had taken the monster away and saved him. He hadn’t told him the million ways that Gil had continued to save him. The advice about his feelings and his father. A safe haven from the unending string of reporters hassling his mother. A place where Malcolm was free just to be himself. Just to be Malcolm, and not the Surgeon’s Son.
They didn’t talk. Despite what his mother had hoped for, most of the times they’d shared had been in silence or talking about anything except Malcolm’s feelings. Nothing substantial. Just the occasional commentary about school or his hobbies.
Now was no different. Since Gil had long since given up on getting him to talk, they mostly just enjoyed some quiet time without any bodies.
Malcolm put a few bites in his mouth, ignoring the way it tasted like nothing. The food itself was fine. The problem was with him. It always had been. Every time he tried to enjoy a meal he remembered something horrible enough to put him completely off his appetite. Two bites in and it went from a meal to just mush. Just something to try and handle.
He pushed through anyway.
His apartment was dark and quiet. Sunshine must’ve already gone to sleep on her perch because he didn’t even hear her chirps. The ever present anxiety wasn’t quite so bad. Since his apartment had been broken into, Malcolm had developed some nervousness. As though Friar Pete would show up at any minute and demand a weapon and a way out. It was ridiculous. All the people in the escape plan had either been recaptured or were dead. Something like that would almost never happen without a strong personality like his father.
Still, those feelings had remained with him through the past months. The case had eased some of that tension. He hadn’t managed to get every bad guy off the streets but he had managed to get at least one. That was something at least.
Malcolm got ready for bed and started doing up his restraints, his mind in a million places. The case, his father, his family, the other inmates and most recently, the words Corey Silvers had left him with.
Did he really not give his past selves enough credit? His youngest self for sure. He’d always admired that strength. But they’d said he hadn’t given himself enough credit ever. Put into plain terms like that, it was hard to ignore. Hadn’t he also spent most of his adult life trying to stop people from hurting other people? Shouldn’t that afford him some credit as well?
Did that mean he should be giving the current version of himself more credit? Malcolm startled as he realized that that had been their point all along. He didn’t give himself enough credit, past or present. Wasn’t gentle enough with himself considering everything he’d been through.
Malcolm wasn’t sure if he would continue with Silvers long term, but it was undeniable that they’d helped him some already. Maybe Gabrielle had been right and a specialist could be more helpful.
It was so hard to trust. So hard to trust new people in his life. So many people had hurt him in the past, but also had been hurt because they had been in his orbit. His team had all been put on probation due to his actions with his father. He had done that. All because he couldn’t just let the bastard be kidnapped by a crazy woman.
His relationship with his father had always been strong. He hadn’t believed it would be strong enough to pull him away from his morals and tempt him down that road. But Martin had tempted him. Had tricked him with offers of what he’d always wanted from his father. Morality and love without the concerns of his serial killer tendencies.
It was all just more evidence of something he’d been trying to deny his entire life. The fact that he’d been ignoring for so many years. No matter how much good he would do, or actions he would take, it wouldn’t change who he was. Wouldn’t alter what was written down into his very core. Wouldn’t change the truth of what he was. Because he was always going to be one thing....
His father’s prodigal son.