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Let's play a game

Summary:

An inconspicuous homicide turns into something much darker when the team arrives for further investigations. Suddenly the crime scene isn't only the little shop anymore, but expands itself into each of their private lives. The killer isn't after the kills. He is after Gil Arroyo's team.
He calls himself the Game Master.
And he wants to play a game.
You will lose.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Light at the end of the tunnel.

It sends out motivation, traveling in jolts of voltage on the synapses, colliding in the brain like an explosion. Nevertheless, the brain will register the new information, process the new data, and send it out. Back to his muscles, to his legs, pushing further. Run little human. Run for how long your legs will carry you.

Light at the end of the tunnel.

In the end nothing more than an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Yet the hope that builds up effortlessly can function as a pair of rose-colored glasses. Cloud the reality in a wonderful rainbow. Place a barrier between your imagination and brutal reality.

So that's how Bright found himself, running through the dark alley with a pair of rose-colored glasses on his nose. His lungs were burning in protest, his legs shaking. Nothing that could stop Malcolm from running further.

To the light at the end of the tunnel.

He craved it. For weeks he begged for an end. He was never yet granted a chance, a gap between all the disasters happening.

Until now. He'd rather die than let this chance slip from his fingers. That's why he needed to keep running. The footsteps behind him were permanently growing louder. And steadier. Fortunately, Malcolm had a good head start, although he worried it wouldn't be enough.

The light at the end of the tunnel came nearer.

It was no lie, it really existed. Only in his case, the tunnel was blocked. A door obstructed his access to freedom. The light escaping from the little gap between door and ground was enough to threaten tears in his eyes. To make his body shake in pleasant anticipation. To create energy and make it surge through his body. He was starting to think, with every new step he was elevating. Growing wings, bursting through the ceiling and flying into heaven.

He bumped against the door sooner than expected. He stumbled away in shock, his hands throbbing from the harsh impact. He never felt so much joy in such pain.

He fished out the tiny lockpicker, his trembling hands traveling to the locked door. Oh how he hated his tremor right now. If that was the reason he would fail he would cut off those useless limbs. Earlier when he had all the time in the world it had been so much easier. After that run and the footsteps gradually becoming louder, it became an impossible task.

Malcolm fumbled desperately with the lock, control slowly gliding from his grasp. As if it just fell to the ground his head glanced down.

To the light at the end of the tunnel.

The faint rays of sunshine crawling into this dark tunnel.

The moment you lose complete control of your doing, everything's lost. Bright knew that which is why he tried very hard not to lose his lockpicking mechanism, which obviously refused to work.

The footsteps grew louder.

Bright refused to accept he had long lost control. He was merely fumbling around with the tiny scrap, like a rookie breaking his first lock.

Click!

He heard it. He heard the first sign of breaking. Did he imagine that or was his luck actually allowing him to open this door?

The footsteps grew louder. Malcolm flinched, almost suspecting them to be next to his ear.

Fine by him. This lock was going down if it wanted or not. He ignored the self-inflicted slashes on his hand, the burning it conjured.

The lock revealed another clicking sound. This time Malcolm was sure he hadn't imagined the first sound. It worked. He was as good as out of this hell.

Despite the footsteps gradually becoming louder, Bright wasn't distracted. His sole attention was on the lock, breaking under his hands further. It didn't take much. He already tasted freedom. The warm tickling sunbeams on his pale skin. Fresh air brushing past his split-up lips into his lungs and system. Wind dancing through his messy and greasy hair.

He was outside, that he forgot he wasn't.

He was still in the tunnel while his mind was in the light.

And that changed everything. His whole vision broke when the rose-colored glasses fell down. The scales dropping from his eyes, the darkness of the tunnel engulfing him.

"Freeze!"

The footsteps came to a halt, directly behind him. He blinked confused at the lock. It still remained intact. Tears welled up in his eyes. He opened it, didn't he? He escaped this hell, he must escape it! He won't be able to survive another day- How could he allow this to happen? After all his efforts?

He had been free when he never was.

So close and yet miles away.

He dropped to his knees weakly. Where was hope? Motivation? His head fell down, searching for the little sun rays. Where was the light?

"Hands where I can see them!" The steady voice demanded firmly. A little out of breath from the chase, yet still in control. The gun was aimed at an already deceased human. Without hope, Malcolm was nothing more than a living corpse. Given up on life.

"I said hands up!" The man barked enraged. That disgusting voice Malcolm had gotten used to hating. Loathing burned through his every fiber. His muscles tensing up, his fists clenching and teeth crunching.

Malcolm raised to his feet, the person behind his back spitting out further threatening demands. Like a rookie, panicking without his partner. Pathetic.

Bright turned around. He raised his arms wordlessly. His face remained neutral, internally he was going crazy in homicidal fury. He glared the man deep into his eyes.

If he was going down, he'd drag him all along.

They would both go to hell.

"Good, now on your knees!" The man demanded rightfully. Did he think he was serving justice only because he said those words? Malcolm couldn't believe the world he was living in. The stupidity that didn't even spare at least one human being. His belief in the human race was long lost, but never so broken.

As he lowered himself down on his knees, he genuinely wondered. How he, Malcolm Bright, managed to get himself into such a situation.

Yet here he was.

Another Whitley being on the verge of getting cuffed by a wannabe cop.

Maybe it was his fate everyone kept extending to unnecessary lengths. Maybe he was indeed like his father. Maybe these murderous talents would be more of a help than what the law demanded.

Malcolm smirked, studying the other man with feral eyes. Even if he would go down. But not without a bang.

Nostalgically Malcolm remembered the last moments he spent as Bright. The moments that led him up to this miserable fate. He remembered them so he could say his last farewell.

 

He would definitely die as a Whitley.

Notes:

Welcome on board to my story!
I wanted to give you a warning that this story is one big fish. Like, it's the book no one ever wanted.
Therefore I promise to update the story every second day since it's already finished. All it needs is one last proofreading.
A friendly reminder to where we are in the timeline: before the finale, but pretty much after everything else (I don't want to clean up what Ainsley did, that isn't my job)
If you have further questions or feedback feel free to make use of the comment section below.
Now that that's said...
Enjoy :)

Chapter 2: Chapter 1

Notes:

Like I promised, here goes Chapter 1 ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Gil Arroyo slammed the door of his car shut and sighed exhaustedly. His gaze wandered off to the opposite side of the street, to the little store, which was way too crowded for its capacity. It looked violated by all the police officers. Ironically this place had been violated even before the mass of people and restrictions appeared.

"Morning Gil!" A cheerful voice next to his ear chirped, startling the older lieutenant. Gil glared down at the least person he'd hoped to see, but to be honest, most expected to see. He sighed tiredly, having played that game several times already.

"Bright, didn't I tell you to take some time off?" He grumbled and refused to move to the crime scene, which glued the profiler next to him.

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders and blew raspberries. "Honestly, I don't really recall. You say stuff like that pretty often, you know?" Bright responded, looking up to his boss with puppy eyes. Gil frowned and mechanically set on moving into the direction of his work. "Maybe I never even stopped saying it because you always ignore it." He mused more to himself, trying to remember when the last time was Malcolm took a break.

"Ha, well then it's already settled I guess!" Malcolm snorted amused. His smile dropped immediately when Gil glared angrily at him. "Right, not funny." He squeaked guiltily.

"So, what are we dealing with?" He changed the topic, not really to his favor. Gil looked for the information in his head he had been already given. "Regular homicide, middle-aged man." He delivered briefly. Bright clapped his hands in motivation. "Great, then let's do that." He exclaimed weirdly joyful.

Gil turned around his heel towards Bright, so the kid had to stop abruptly in order he wouldn't run into his boss. "It's an unspectacular murder and I definitely do not need a profiler." He stated clearly, eager to get rid of the kid. For Bright's own sake of course.

His severity brushed unattended at Bright away, who didn't look impressed, not even in the slightest. "Come on Gil, I'm always needed." Gil was about to object when Bright raised one finger. "Not always wanted." He added with his signature smartass smile. "Besides, I'm already here, you know better than anyone else I'm not going to leave." Confidently he stalked past Arroyo and made his way towards the little store. Gil stood perplexed at the same place, which tempted Bright in calling for him. "Hurry up Gil, we have a murder to solve, no time to waste!" He bellowed into the dark of the night before he disappeared inside the lightened store. Gil blinked perplexed at the spot his protégé had been standing seconds ago. "What just happened...?"

Malcolm Bright almost stepped into the crime scene with a joyful jump in his walk. He was in a surprisingly good mood, and he wasn't actually scared a little murder could change that. Even the profiler wasn't always right.

He acknowledged the several TVs in the store with rising adrenaline. "Tz, and Gil said normal murder." He recaptured in a mocking tone. Every screen showed something different, but they all had something in common. They portrayed the same thing. The murder victim, just from so many different angles. Some from far away to show the whole body, some were pretty detailed to the face. Those weren't actual video records, but photos taken at a precise time, or else he could see the two detectives standing next to the corpse on screen as well.

He pushed a premature profile to the side and walked up to his teammates. They shared a concentrated look as they observed Edrisa Tanaka in her work, examining the corpse. "Is he the owner?" Bright skipped all formalities and went straight to work, he was a bit late after all. JT and Dani both lifted their heads, Edrisa was too engrossed in her work.

"The shop owner received an anonymous call from his store. He went to check, found this corpse." Dani filled him in. JT nodded behind Bright. "He's outside, still in shock." He added. Bright looked behind him, to the play of blue and red lights reflecting in the window glasses.

A big hand squeezed his shoulder affectionally and Gil appeared in his view. "So, we have a random stranger killed in someone else's store?" He recaptured for all of them. JT spared a glance at the corpse. "By the looks of it, yeah." He shrugged. Gil huffed a bit frustrated. "Not really open to a lot of leads." He realized and even Bright would've thought so for a second. Though people didn't call him resourceful for nothing. "Let's see if we can change that." He mused optimistically and crouched down to Edrisa Tanaka.

"Good evening Edrisa." He greeted softly, still the doctor was startled. "Oh, Mr. Bright! I didn't hear you coming!" She chirped happily. She repositioned her glasses and tried to suppress a big wide grin. Bright smiled a little uncomfortably at her shameless crush, but either way was glad to see her.

"Can you already confirm the cause of his death?" He jumped straight to work and summoned work Edrisa, who could finally talk freely without getting nervous.

"Yes! Till now it clearly looks like death due to a gunshot, a very handy 9mm, through the head." She explained confidently, totally in her element. Bright stretched himself to look at the corpse's head. A red flower blossomed on his forehead between his eyes, a very clear shot. His lifeless eyes were filled with rest amounts of fear and disbelief.

"What's the distance we're talking about?" He asked meanwhile. Edrisa mused just for a second. "It wasn't too far away, but definitely not directly placed on his head. My first but not final claim is about 1,5 to 2 meters." A small 'Aha'- sound escaped Bright's lips as he slowly backed away from the corpse and straightened himself again.

"So the act of killing was impersonal to the killer." Bright concluded and interlaced his fingers. JT raised one eyebrow, he looked unimpressed. "That's all you got? Impersonal?"

Bright noticed Gil grinning victoriously in the back, proving Bright wasn't needed for once and could take some time off. Malcolm tried his best to smile over that fact, but he really just fought the urge to glare at them sulkily. They wanted a full profile, then he would give them one.

He pulled blue gloves out of his jacket, which to his defense really wasn't as weird as it sounded. He doesn't receive any gloves from work, in order he can’t touch the evidence. Well, let’s just say he found his ways of legally disobeying orders.

"This man, probably around 44 or 45, is no tramp or junkie from the streets at all. His clothing shows of a classic middle class, not rich, but definitely comfortable." He started explaining while putting his gloves on and dodging Gil's glares. "He must've been on his way home. From work?" Bright kneeled down to the victim and observed him with keen eyes. "No. Probably after celebrating the Afterhours with some colleagues." Bright concluded after seeing a few harmless stains on his white chemise. "Beer o'clock, I get it," JT interjected, Bright ignored him.

"He was attacked out of the blue. A little bit too drunk, a little bit too dark, a little bit too slow. Our Killer waited for a person to overwhelm and he found an easy victim in him. He made a violent approach. We can see scratches and red stains on his body, so the person definitely put up a fight."

Bright could see the vague sequence of the fight. His eyes darted towards the wounds at the man's wrists. He could visibly imagine how the killer tried to secure his hands behind his back. The small scratches on his left cheek. The killer, right-handed, trying to cover his mouth to avoid attention.

"Our Killer was nervous. Maybe he never did this before, only operated in the shadows, because he is definitely experienced. Just not at the front. He struggled to keep a straight plan, must've had a blackout. The right-handed killer tried to shut the victim, but therefore lost control of his arms and legs."

Malcolm moved the man's head to the left side to have a look at the back of his head. A dried dark liquid was sticking to his greasy hair. "The killer must've remembered he had a gun and made quick progress." Malcolm finished, a little bit sad at the end since he had a clear image of the moment the poor man lost the battle and had to accept his fate.

"A killer in his diapers, easy catch." Dani threw in. Malcolm jumped up, unwillingly startling most of his teammates. He looked especially at Dani, the train of disagreement taking on full speed. "Actually no. This killer is no starter. He has the experience, but with him-" He pointed to the corpse, "-he chose someone bigger than him as if he was trying to impress someone."

Bright began to muse at the end. He set moving, pointing at the several screens. "Our killer is advanced in the technical field. Still, all of this looks planned. Are there any signs of breaking in?" Bright interrupted his own monologue. Dani looked into her notes. "No, there are no signs of forced breaking in-"
"You should definitely check on that with the shop owner," Bright advised rapidly with a nod towards Gil.

"Anyways. This murder, this act was perfectly planned into the tiniest detail. It has a bigger purpose for the killer. A meaning. But what?" Malcolm muttered the last part and looked for answers inside the screen showing the dead face of the victim. What was the killer thinking? What were his intentions?

"Wait you said act? Do you expect he's a new serial killer?" Malcolm ignored Gil for now. Something more important was bugging him.

"The murder didn't matter to him. He killed the person because it was a necessity to achieve his actual goals. A gunshot is very impersonal. He was probably not even waiting for the man to wake up. He placed him next to the counter and pulled the trigger." Bright mimed a gunshot towards the counter, where blood was covering the wall. A hella lot of blood. "Then he carried him to the open place to execute his photo shooting. He installed the photos into the screen and called the owner. These two tasks were more important than the killing in general."

"Why?" It was Dani's voice that caught Bright momentarily out of his profiling. They all had their problems trying to follow him, to understand why in the world someone would murder in such a paradoxical way.

Bright smiled warmly, ready to give them a hand to enter the horrifying world of these psychopath's minds, that seemed so easy for him to enter. "I guess what the killer really wants is our attention. Right away, or else he could've waited for the morning, so the corpse could be discovered without his help." Gil suppressed the urge to show his frustration visible. He despised it when they had to dance how the killer wanted it.

Gil started to give his instructions on their next moves, but Bright wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he preferred to over analyze the pictures again. God knows why. There should be nothing to find anymore. The corpse was irrelevant. Its only purpose was to create a disturbance, by getting greeted by a corpse from every angle possible. Personally, Bright could assure the killer that it definitely worked on him.

The next time Bright looked at the TV, he wasn't greeted by the face of the deceased victim. There was a man. A man, just standing there and watching. A motion traveled through the other screens. The man was portrayed, just like the victim earlier, from every angle possible. Even his face was on it, shocked bright eyes staring into nothing.

Malcolm was watching himself.

Though that wasn't the scariest thing. A black silhouette was behind him. And it was creeping closer.

Bright didn't react immediately. But when he did, he couldn't.

Notes:

In retrospect that sure escalated quickly

Chapter 3: Chapter 2

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As much as Gil hated to admit it, he really needed his consultant on this one. As always Bright proved himself to be several steps ahead of them. And this murder seemed to be something of its own kind. A killer that gave a damn about the kills but craved for attention? He must admit, not his favorite type of cases. Now he had to deal with it and pray it would be over soon. No one knew it hadn't even really started yet.

Something caught Gil's interest. Carefully he sneaked to the window, the thing beside illuminated by the streetlights.

"Bright? Come here." He called for his profiler. A black top hat slept next to the glass. Playing cards were attached to the hat. The ace of clubs was more present in Gil's eyes than the other few cards. Why was this here and how had no one yet noticed it?

"Bright?" Gil repeated more urgently, still made no attempts to check on his muted profiler. He was captivated by the ace of clubs.

It was strange, Malcolm was an eager kid and normally motivated to help. Though after seconds there were still no signs of that brat.

"Bright?" Gil broached the subject again, this time more frustrated, especially since the outcome remained the same. Concern bubbled in his stomach. Maybe the profiler was just engrossed with some thoughts. His heart dropped deep into his pants when an unfamiliar voice answered instead of Bright's.

"I must say, I'm impressed."

Gil's head snapped abruptly into the direction. He ignored the growing pain in his neck. There he stood. His Malcolm. With a sharp knife pressed against his bare throat. With actual fear marked in his eyes while a hand clamped his mouth shut.

"Drop the weapon!" JT and Dani rushed back into the scene with raised weapons. Gil was struck by the reminder and fumbled to his gun himself. His arms though were shaking too much for him to properly fixate.

The stranger feared no boundaries, he presented his identity carefreely. Black hair combed strictly back, and a short and decent beard embraced his face. He wore an extravagant suit where playing cards were sticking out of his breast pocket. The ace of clubs, Gil realized mortified.
He lifted his head and was greeted by a cocky grin. The ambusher glanced down to the frozen man against his body. Malcolm stared into nothing and was in general unresponsive. Not that he had a choice with his mouth shut by the stranger.

"Here's what you gonna do." The killer, Gil assumed freely, had a beautiful clear voice. He showed no signs of nervousness and bathed in utter control. You could even say the stranger enjoyed the situation and favored every passing second.

"You will put down your weapons and we'll have a civilized conversation. See? Doesn't that sound pleasant?" The criminal hummed peacefully. His smile showed actual kindness, still he was able to slice Malcolm's throat with one small move. The irony of the situation produced confused frustration inside the group.

"We ain't doing shit! Drop the fucking weapon!" JT snapped, his finger tensing up to pull the trigger. Gil knew he wouldn't do it, but the criminal wouldn't need to know that.

Gil furrowed his brows when the killer, out of all possible reactions, laughed. Malcolm's eyes shifted up to his captor. He flinched mildly when the killer responded also with eye contact.

"Did you hear that? He really thinks he's in control." He spoke to Malcolm, his words laced with amusement. He grinned for a moment at the cops, then continued talking to Malcolm as if they didn't exist. "Do you wanna fill them in on their position or should I do?" He asked casually, Malcolm frowning in distress. Dani glanced back to Gil and forth to the killer, waiting for something to happen. As Gil seemed paralyzed, she couldn't hold back anymore. "Quit the play and let him go-"

"Drop your weapons."

Dani took a deep breath, her wide-opened eyes wandering to Bright. The man took several strong breaths the moment his mouth was released. Gil's upper body leaned forward in missing understanding. Sure, he could understand why the killer would say that. But not why Bright would.

The profiler pointed with his eyes up to his captor, who was almost a head taller. "Unless you are willing to shoot me to catch him, you are not in any position to hold your guns up." He explained soothingly, luring out an affectional smile out of the killer. It was hard for the trained police cops to follow the instructions but let alone the imagination of a Malcolm bleeding out on the floor forced them to rid themselves of their safety.

"Good, very good." The killer praised them as they put away their guns. "Don't worry, soon you get to have them back. Don't think the hunt is over yet, we haven't even started."

Now there were 5 people standing in a circle, most of them unarmed. They shared glances at each other, the anticipation of what was about to happen killing them from the inside.

"With what?" JT grumbled curiously. The killer spared him an attentive look. "I beg your pardon?" He acted as if he didn't understand the most important question nagging the cops. Malcolm rolled his eyes annoyed. This one had a very dramatic flair, just like his old man.

"With playing, right?" Malcolm huffed. He earned a pat on his head. "Precisely." Purred the stranger. Malcolm squirmed hopelessly away from the unwanted touch.
He grinned maliciously.

"I am the Game Master. And I am going to play with you."

The group swallowed the news, a very bad feeling settling in their stomach. How did this fit into all of it? Wasn't this supposed to be a regular homicide? How was this becoming a game of their own lives and deaths?

The killer leaned down to Malcolm, to whisper something in his ear, though it was audible to everyone. "Spoiler alert! You will lose..." Malcolm swallowed down the bile, his only wish to have distance again.

"But enough talking! We have to talk all day long..." The killer whined like a small child that didn't get the lollipop he wanted while waiting at the counter. His next words didn't help to make him look like the grown man he really was. "I wanna play!" He grinned, a feral spark in his eyes. "And now that we have finally all gathered-" He squeezed Malcolm's chest with one arm and lured out a strangled gasp. "We can start with our first game!" He announced excitedly, unlike the other players, how he loved to call them. "Hol' up-" The killer didn't let JT finish, neither did he give the others a chance to express their shock.

His eyes pierced into the ones of Gil. "Player 1, are you familiar with the concept of Simon says...?" Of course Gil knew this game. He had never played it as a kid himself. The first time he heard about it, was from Jackie.

It had been a cold and rainy day, that was finally reaching its end.

"Where are you driving Gil? You missed our turn." Gil didn't answer, instead he concentrated on the streets of this city he patrolled every day. His wife realized their destination even without him telling it.

"Oh Gil, I know you're concerned, but I still have groceries in the back of the car. Can't we surprise them some other time?" Jackie proposed with a sweet voice, looking at her husband's concentrated face. "Talk to me hon'." She said, not harsh, but still in a demanding demeanor.

Finally, the man melted away and he spared a look at his wife mid driving. Every time he saw her perfect face, he remembered why she was the love of his life.

"He still hasn't said one word." Gil opened his concerns for her, frowning sadly. Jackie leaned back into her seat. She started staring into nothing, losing herself in thoughts. Still, Gil kept rambling. "And Ainsley's starting to make her own friends now, since no one wants to play with her. She calls him Mr. Boots." Gil filled her in with the latest information Jessica had given him during their phone call.

"I know you told me to stop losing myself in other family's business, but I'm worried. I can't seem to let go." Gil confessed, the panic leading to a rise of his voice.

Jackie positioned her head to look out of the window. "Sometimes I think you don't want to let go." She muttered in response.

Gil looked at her and immediately back to the road because of the red light. "What?" He stammered in disbelief. Jackie closed her eyes.

"He is the son to you I could never give you." She whimpered.

Gil opened his eyes in distress and stopped the car. "Don't be silly, honey. This isn't about this. It's about my stupid son, er I mean job, that I just can't shut down to think about anything else than my work, I mean... Wait, yes, I mean work in fact." Gil stammered in distress, his cheeks all red.

Jackie finally looked back at him and chuckled. At least her husband was embarrassingly obvious when he tried to lie. She took his big hand and he squeezed hers reassuringly. She opened her mouth. "You should... it's green..." She mumbled instead and pulled her hand back and left it to rest on her lap. Gil sighed and set his car back into action.

"Gil, Jackie, what a surprise!" Jessica Whitley greeted them excitedly like she always did. It was a wonder to them how she always managed to pull that cheerful mask on. She kept saying that a constant sad mood was bad for your skin and left it to age quicker. Still, this act was definitely the wrong way to cope with this extraordinary situation. She seemed cold and heartless. Gil would bet that was one of the reasons Malcolm kept his distance from her and refused to open up. The kid was bright, not only for his age but in general. He was only coping very hard with the arrest of his father and the isolation. The drastic change of his mother's demeanor couldn't be considered as helping, rather reminding.

"Come in, we were about to dine, and we have enough for everyone." She immediately left them standing at the entrance and moved back inside, the glass of Bourbon dancing in her free hand. Jackie shot Gil a look, realizing that Jessica knew they would come for the evening and he still didn't tell her. Gil shrugged innocently and removed his jacket, his wife following lead.

Gil observed Malcolm while eating, so did Jackie. Surely the food was delicious. Such things are assured when you can afford yourself a cook like Jessica Whitley. Malcolm didn't even touch the fork. He stared at his food, but at the same time not. His mind was somewhere else. Gil was actually afraid to guess what was going on in the boy's head.

Jessica stopped in her carefree conversation with them and caught them eyeing her son with concern instead of listening to her. She sighed heavily. Feeling caught both Arroyos turned their head down to their own food. Jessica leaned to her son and urged him to eat. "Come on Malcolm, you need to eat at least a little bit." She took his fork and placed it in his hand. He didn't drop it, but he also eyed it with confusion. As if he didn't know what he should do with it in the first place. After a little while he dug the fork in his food, only using it to push the food from one side to another. Ainsley glanced confused at her mother, not understanding her brother's weird behavior. Gil didn't miss the wet shimmer in Jessica's eyes, as being a mother took again a great toll on her mental stability.

"So, I heard you got promoted." Jessica yet again placed the mask over her face and changed the subject. Gil couldn't bring himself to fake a smile as well. He watched her tiredly and sighed, realizing how he had lost the appetite as well.

"Mommy, I need to pee." Ainsley's soft little voice broke the silence. Visible panic rushed through Jessica, eventually getting overwhelmed with the situation.

"I can handle that." Jackie offered all of a sudden, the surprise even on her own face visible. She stood up, Ainsley immediately following lead. Jessica and Gil smiled gratefully at her. Jackie's look wandered down to Malcolm who still daggered into his food. She sighed, probably considering it was best to let her husband handle Miss Whitley alone.

"Come on Malcolm. You can wash your hands and then we can play something." She offered kindly and stretched her hand out to the boy. Ainsley started whooping excitedly and jumped towards the bathroom, always looking if Aunt Jackie really followed with her brother in tow.

Once the three were gone, Jessica's mask shattered to the ground. She hid her eyes temporarily in her palms and sighed shakily. "I can't do this anymore, Gil, I- I-" Gil took her by her wrists and looked into her wet eyes.

"You're doing great Jessica. You're a strong woman and you can do this. All you need to do is to be there for them. The rest will happen on its own." Gil reassured her in a calm voice. Jessica took fast and shallow breaths, which almost ended in a laugh.

"Things will never be normal again, Gil. He destroyed them. He destroyed my children and Malcolm will suffer as long as he lives." She gasped out enraged and pulled her arms away from Gil's soft grip.

She stood up and walked to the closet, which Gil already knew as the alcohol closet. He jumped up and blocked the path, Jessica almost walking into him. "He may have ruined Malcolm's childhood. But he didn't ruin him." Gil spoke and it really seemed to reach Jessica's stubborn brain. "Malcolm is made of tougher stuff. He has a lot to cope with right now, because he doesn't understand, but it will get better. I know it feels impossible because he has been like this for weeks, but as long as there are people who love and believe in him, I promise, he will come back." Gil laid his hands on her shoulders and debated in his brain if he should also hug her. Seeing Jessica's eyes, he knew the comfort had reached her and gave her the power to keep going.

She opened her mouth to get a thank you over her tongue but lost her breath at the sound. Gil's head snapped into the direction. The unknown noise was first considered as a possible threat in his work brain. That was nonsense. It was a child laughing. It wasn't Ainsley, who giggled shortly after. It was a boy. Gil and Jessica shared a glance, knowing there was only one boy in this household, where rarely true happiness was to find since the incident.

They both set moving and rushed to the living room. Jackie was sitting on the carpet and smiling at the two children next to her. Ainsley was giggling excitedly and couldn't contain her childish joy.

"Jump on one foot." Jackie hummed and immediately the little girl did as they were told. She hopped happily, let alone the physical action sending joy through her body. Malcolm remained glued to the floor, but that was normal. The weird thing was the shy laugh that burst out of him. Jackie joined with him. "Wha?" Ainsley slurred confused but looking upon her mischievous grinning brother she figured out herself. "Oh No!" She shouted out in played frustration and lured out a louder laugh from Malcolm.

Jessica looked at Gil in confusion, unable to contain her exploding happiness, the shyly quivering smile on her lips. Gil returned the grin and entered the living room, asking the question that both adults were craving to find out. "Uh, what's going on in here?" He asked calmly, a warm smile on his lips.

Jackie grinned at him, meanwhile Ainsley took the big responsibility in filling them in. "She didn't say Simon says." She pouted and glared at Jackie. "Again." Malcolm snickered into his open palm and earned a frustrated playish push from his little sister. Jessica smiled with a wide-open mouth at the unbelievable scene in front of her eyes.

"We're playing Simon says." Jackie explained and smirked at the kids. "And so far, Malcolm is pretty good at it." She added. The pride in the little boy's face was clearly visible to all of them.
"He's cheating." Ainsley claimed jealously and earned an annoyed glare from her older brother. Now it was her time to snicker maliciously while Malcolm found back a soft smile.

Gil smiled at the scene and looked back at his amazing wife. "Simon says?" He asked quietly, but Jackie was keen on presenting the fact Gil didn't know the famous child's play to all of them.

"You don't know the game as well?" She gasped loudly and stemmed her fists on her hips. The action caught Ainsley's attention. The energetic kid jumped on the spot, squirming she wanted to teach Gil how to play it. "Go on, sweetie." Jackie encouraged her, and the five-year-old girl hopped to the man.

"One person is Simon, and Simon says what the others have to do. And then the others do what Simon said." Jackie was about to throw something in, but there was no way Ainsley was going to lose her spotlight. "And if Jackie doesn't say Simon says, we don't have to do it." She added quickly with a lopsided grin. Gil nodded and unwillingly had to smile.

"What do you think kids? Should we let the old rabbits play with us?" Jackie joked and grinned challenging at both adults. Jessica widened her eyes and was about to pass the offer, but Gil was quicker. "Yes! Definitely!" He answered for both of them and dodged Jessica's glare.

Ainsley took her brother by her hand and produced a circle with Jackie, pretending to think about the matter. "What do you think?" She asked into the round. "Should we let them in?" She cast a suspicious glance behind her at Gil and Jessica and back to Malcolm. She nodded in affirmation after the silence Malcolm offered. "Yes, I think so, too." She answered and turned around.

"We are fine with you joining us, but Malcolm meant only when you say please." The girl crossed her arms and waited expectantly. Malcolm facepalmed behind her, pretty sure he hadn't said a damn thing. The scene brought all adults to laugh it away.

Gil shared a look with Jessica and readied himself for what they were forced to do. "Please." Both begged in a played whine. Ainsley assured herself that the others were okay with the offer and accepted their efforts.

Minutes later Gil found himself standing on one leg next to Jessica and Malcolm and one finger on his nose. It was a weird thing to do in his normal evenings and something he definitely wouldn't have expected. Jessica lost the balance on her high-heels and bumped into him. He swayed to the opposite side but was steadied by a small hand on his hip. He smiled down at Malcolm and the boy returned it.

It was the first time Gil had played Simon says, or at least Jackie's version of it, since no one had to lose or win. The idea was a stroke of genius to get the young Whitley to smile and laugh again. She didn't treat him like a problem. She included him in normal and fun activities. He got to forget his problems for an evening before he was plagued by night terrors again, the same night. Simon says was a game that awakened positive memories in Malcolm and Gil. When he looked this monster into his eyes, he feared he could never see the innocence of this game like he used to.

"What are you getting at?" Gil growled protectively, the memory of his beloved wife stabbing his already broken heart. The killer raised one eyebrow, not missing how he found a wound point within the lieutenant. The fact lured a malicious grin on his face, and he was looking forward to breaking them.

"You didn't answer my question." He hummed. Gil glared at him and looked for assistance from his detectives. Unfortunately, they couldn't provide him with a bit of better advice either.

"Yes, I know the game." He groaned. The killer gave him the look, that delivered a chastising 'See? Was that so hard?'. Gil hated this guy.

The killer shrugged his shoulders in relief. "Then I don't think I have to explain the rules of the game." He spoke into the round, looking at everyone once. He looked back to Gil and chuckled unwillingly. "Don't take my doubts on you personally. It's just, you're so old." He exaggerated mockingly. Gil's hand rushed to his gun, but before he could pull it out, he felt JT's hand on his arm, one look signaling him to 'chill'. Gil took a deep breath and did as he was advised to. This man called himself the Game Master, it was to be expected that he played with them, messed with them.

"But I have to warn you, my version is a little bit different. I customized it to the situation, you know." He pointed down to the knife on Bright's throat and shrugged a typical 'Well what can I do'. He waited for them to show some equal signs for understanding, but therefore he could wait long, if not forever. He shrugged it off easily.

"The thing is, this dude here-" He pointed with his head to Bright. "-is too smart for this." As much as some of them, okay maybe only JT, hated to admit it, these were no news to them. So they patiently waited for the man to continue his beloved monologue. He did, with pleasure. "This is a problem for me, for our whole quality time, and I really don't want him dead." The man laughed during his ramble. He let it seem casual and carefree, but everything dropped by the next sentence.

"So I want him off this case."

Bright widened his eyes. Gil was fully aware the kid didn't want to get off this case. Neither wanted the team that right now. They could really need their profiler now, especially since this wasn't just a regular homicide anymore. This was a declaration of war against them, the major crimes unit. And their criminal seemed to be armed with more than just weapons. He probably had an equally sharp mind like Bright's. Malcolm was their greatest weapon in this hunt and Gil really couldn’t afford to lose him. The problem is, he knew Malcolm since he was a kid. He was still his kid to him. There was nothing left in this world for which he cared so much since Jackie's death. He would do anything to protect his stupid son, even if it meant taking him off the case in which they were all going to die in the end.

"Simon says Malcolm Bright is off this case." The psychopath sing sang his demand. He enjoyed the distraught faces of all players, especially Malcolm's. He looked at him a little bit too long, a little bit too intense. But he had formed his conclusion. He looked back up at his players.

"One of you is going to break my demand." He announced, the group visibly tensing up. He looked Gil into his eyes. "The responsible one will suffer the consequences." He growled dangerously, making Gil step backward, just a little.

His head crept down to Malcolm's ear, his beard scratching his skin. Was this already a nightmare? Or had it yet to begin? The Game Master chuckled warm breath into his ear. Malcolm had no idea, just how bad the situation was they were in.

"Let's see how Bright you really are, Whitley."

The lights exploded with a bang. Malcolm's scream echoed through the store, but it was pitch black. Where were the streetlights? The police cars? Where was everything all of a sudden? Where was Bright?

JT was the first to sprint towards the place the killer had kept Bright. Of course it was empty. He was so caught up in the stress, he barely felt Dani running into him when she had the same idea as him. She bumped back into another body. Unlike Gil she regained her balance and didn't meet the ground. Instead she fumbled for a phone to put on her flashlight.

Gil landed on something soft, yet he still cut his finger on something. He felt for it and felt cards. Playing cards? And so many of them. Where did they all come from?

He was temporarily blinded by a stray flashlight. He turned his head away and looked eye in eye with the corpse. Something took over him. He screamed. Backed away from the corpse, his hands catching new cuts from all the cards, again where did they come from?

He bumped against something, which was apparently Dani Powell. She dropped her mobile in shock, the flashlight disappearing with a crush. Sadly it didn't stay dark for very long. The TVs jumped back into life, all of them at the same time. So did the sound boxes at each corner, making sure they didn't miss the continuation of Bright's screams.

Until they did.

The screams disappeared, were exchanged with small strangled noises. Wherever they looked, Bright's face was on every screen. His head laid sprawled on the floor. His blue eyes were wide open in shock. His mouth slightly opened. The pair of hands squeezing his throat sure gave him a hard time.

"Nooo!" Gil screamed desperately, crashing against the nearest screen in irritation. He saw him die, wherever he looked he saw him dying! But where was the monster doing this to him? Where was his Malcolm? How was he supposed to protect him if he didn't know where he was?!

"JT! Is there a back door?!" Dani shouted to her reentering colleague. He had checked the manager's room. It only made sense the killer left this way. If he left at all because he was choking Bright live. He couldn't have gone this far-

It was over. As sudden as it had started it also ended. Suddenly every screen was black again. All noises were muted. Bright was gone. Was he also dead? Because they didn't save him in time?

Gil felt the power rush out of his body. Every little hope shattered. His only luck and happiness in his miserable life was gone. In a matter of seconds, he lost everything. Again.

His knees started burning when he fell on them with the full force of his body. "Gil..." Dani sobbed and crouched down to her mentor. There was nothing she could say or even wanted to say. The inevitable fact hurt her as much as Gil. But she swore to herself she wouldn't lose herself in that hole. No one would be there to pull her out of it.

"We're going to catch this guy." JT mumbled less confident than usual and placed one hand on Gil's shoulder. Gil formed the word no with his lips, but no sound escaped. There was nothing left worth fighting for. It was over. For him, it was over with no turning back.

Gil noticed the screens flaring back into life. He didn't want to see for what purpose they were awakened again. These TV screens were misused for the worst things. That concept didn't change all of a sudden.

"That sick bastard." JT growled near his tears himself. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the motionless Bright, trapped in what looked like a peaceful slumber. Dani lost it. She buried her eyes inside her palms. She couldn't see it anymore.

So naturally Gil was the only one left to notice one streetlight starting to shine again. He stared captivated at the illuminated place, drawn to it like a moth. Then it finally made click in his brain. The black mass on the ground wasn't just anything. It was a human body.

"Malcolm..." Gil murmured in realization. His detectives looked at him, then followed to where his eyes were captivated.

As if stung by an adder Gil jumped to his feet and stormed outside of the store. He nearly fell on his nose, but somehow he safely reached the other side of the street without getting hit by a car. The street was abandoned. It was only him and Malcolm. He scooped up the limp boy and embraced him tightly. He cried into his jacket on his smaller shoulder, the relief was just too overwhelming. Dani and JT reached them, immediately checking on Bright's pulse. Gil cursed himself how easily he had forgotten about this important procedure.

Dani let go and smiled relieved at the good sign. His kid, his kid was still alive. Spontaneously she hugged Gil for his and her own emotional support. The shock had hit them hard and merciless. They still weren't over it yet, and maybe they would never recover from this immense shock. For one moment Malcolm had been dead in their minds. Only a few seconds. It was enough to break something deep inside of them.

None of it mattered right now at this moment. He was here. He was in his arms and very much alive. His throat started to show the first signs of abuse that had been done to it. It was vulnerable to the touch, so fragile. His neck was beginning to swell and turn into a violent shade of red. Soon there would be visible bruises of their killer's hands, effusions of blood. He could temporarily lose the ability to speak normally due to a contusion on his laryngeal. But all these things, they were able to surpass them. Gil was happy about every consequence that followed for them, mostly concerning for Bright, only to know he was still alive.

JT crouched down to the three of them but didn't join the crying. It took a lot more to bring JT to tears and right now he knew he couldn't act weak. He had to be strong for his three friends. When he would arrive back home, to his wonderful wife Tally, he could finally drop the strong act and recover. Yet he was still here, armed with his gun and badge and had to act if the others didn't. "Ambulance is already on its way." He informed his crying boss, which was a weird situation for him to be in. "Thanks." Gil croaked, too occupied feeling his kid in his arms. JT granted him this.

Soon the familiar lightning of police cars and ambulances filled the abandoned alleyway. Dani moved to the side to wink them to the right place. Easily Bright was loaded into the bus.

Gil craved to be with him, to keep an eye on him. But he wasn't here as a civilian. He was here as lieutenant Arroyo and he had a damn job to do, for example questioning where all his officers had disappeared during their talk with the killer. He couldn't push this duty on his detectives. He didn't doubt they had the qualities to become a lieutenant themselves one day, of course not. But he was aware of how much work and responsibility this job carried along. He wanted them to enjoy their time as detectives.

So he sent Dani with Bright to the hospital, seeing how grateful she was for the task by the shimmer in her eyes. He told JT to go home and get some sleep, but JT insisted on staying with him and helping. Gil was glad for the team he had. They really were in this one together.

Which could be seen as positive as also terribly negative.

Notes:

So... I just realized that TODAY the new season airs. And it hurts so much because I do not live in the United States. Which means I probably have to wait for ANOTHER WHOLE YEAR!! (unless I find other options...)
I'm just going to leave this with *crying noises*
See you on Thursday...

Chapter 4: Chapter 3

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Drastically his eyelids jumped up, his head snapping back to its former place. He shook his head, trying to shake off the drowsiness. As if it could disappear into thin air. For a second it worked. Then his head gained back on weight. He focused his vision by blinking rapidly, meaningless tears swelling up in his eyes. They were trained onto the motionless body in the hospital bed. It was his boy, he could see that within one second, no matter how much of the respiratory mask covered his face.

He seemed to be trapped in a peaceful slumber. For now. It was a matter of time before his memories would catch up to him and would send him screaming and crying.

Gil wanted to be there for him when that happened. Although he knew damn well he had work to do. It was his responsibility they caught the man who did this to his kid. Also to prevent more victims of course.

He could still see him when he closed his eyes. His kid looking his tormentor into his eyes while he was gasping for air, slowly realizing he was gliding into his own death.

Again Gil Arroyo woke up from a short nap. He blinked the fogginess away and investigated the room for any changes. Or possible threats in worst-case scenarios. Although, if the killer wanted Malcolm dead he sure would be.

To his own surprise, he actually detected a change in this clinical room. She stared back at him with severity in her eyes. "You should go home and rest." She advised coldly. Or at least exhausted. Nothing had been the same after the encounter. Only hours had passed ever since, though in reality it felt like days.

Gil rubbed his eyes and sat back more straight on his uncomfortable hospital chair. "Did you contact Ms. Whitley or his sister?" He dodged Dani's question and got back to work.

Dani didn't even try to hide her annoyance. She rolled her eyes and looked at Malcolm for a few seconds. "We meant to send two officers, but it's still deep in the night." She started and returned her gaze back to Gil. "He's not dying, so this isn't too urgent to wake both of them." Gil nodded in understanding. Maybe all of the Whitleys were meant to rest this night.

They must've talked a little while, Dani and Gil. Or not, because they both fell asleep minutes later. They were cramped uncomfortably in their seats, but their exhaustion demanded no luxury as a cure. Just a little bit of sleep in the night, like it was supposed to be. Both of them missed Malcolm's awakening. They didn't sleep too sound, they would've heard Malcolm if he would've produced a commotion. For once he didn't. He was woken by a pain in his throat. It reminded him of these days, you wake up and just know you're sick. And then you will be plagued by the typical symptoms of a cold or worse the entire day long.

So Malcolm was annoyed when he woke up. He didn't feel like coughing, but his throat hurt maniacally when he attempted to swallow. He needed a glass of water, but damn he was too tired to get out of his bed. Which was kind of concerning, since he always jumped out of his bed after a 'good' old nightmare.

Malcolm forced his eyes open, motivated by the fear of having his regular night terrors after all. His eyes wandered confused through the quiet and barely lightened room. Outside the door was a warm light, a woman in white clothes dashed past his room, which was mostly enlightened by the full moon outside. For a moment his gaze was fixed on that. If this moment took a few minutes, Malcolm wasn't so sure.

Somehow, all of it was still a blur. His head lolled to his side, his neck protesting dramatically. The clock on the nightstand showed the time 4:37am in aggressive red digital numbers. A move to the other side revealed a bunch of machines and whatever things that were too complicated for Bright's brain at the moment.

He groaned exhausted, slowly really feeling for a glass of water. With everything he got he worked himself to sit up straight. He leaned against the wall and sighed relieved. He searched for a glass of water on his nightstand. Sadly he didn't find one.

Eventually it dawned on him, that currently, he wasn't in his loft. That was definitely the hospital. Why he landed here yet again was still a mystery. Actually, it was fine with him. The pain in his throat minimized, and it was okay to live at the moment. Malcolm chuckled when he found the responsible IV in his wrist, pumping painkillers into his system.

Mechanically Malcolm's head wandered yet again to the bed table. Was there really no glass of water there? He lifted his eyebrows in disbelief, there it stood, a glass of water. How did he miss it before? What the heck were those nurses giving him again, he felt completely high. Not that he could remember a lot from when he really was high.

He stretched to grab that glass, careful not to drop it. It swayed dangerously in his trembling hand, but in the end arrived safely on his lap. He was a little bit proud of his little success, but at the same time he didn't care. He forgot what he was up to and stared into the moon outside the window until his eyes burned. Did he forget to blink as well? His chin dropped to his chest. He frowned. Why was he holding a glass?

Malcolm found a nightstand and put the glass of water there. He was wondering what time it was. He looked at the digital clock, but if you would ask him for the time, he would shrug in ignorance.

He discovered two people sleeping in chairs in front of him. They hadn't noticed him yet. He thought about making himself present, but for what use? He frowned at the man, seriously asking himself if this was Elvis Presley sleeping there. He couldn't get himself to care. The swaying closet was more interesting. He didn't have a closet like that. He put the issue aside. The wooden cabinet was just breathing.

He swallowed and it hurt. He could really use a glass of- Something seemed to repeat itself. Maybe it was only a feeling. Malcolm grinned in delight when he found a glass of water next to his bed on a small table. There even was a digital clock. He wondered what time it was.

He took the glass and forgot the time. He froze confused when he held the glass to his lips, but everything stayed dry. He blinked perplexedly. The glass in his hand was now empty. But his blanket was wet. Malcolm's hand wandered up to his mouth, but instead of feeling soft lips, he felt hard plastic.

His head bumped against the wall behind him and he groaned frustrated by his own stupidity. Now he was minus one glass of water and still had a raspy throat. He tried to rid himself of that stupid mask, but his hand-to-eye coordination really wasn't on point.

The dryness of his throat eventually provoked him to cough it away. Dani's eyes fluttered open. She left her dreamless slumber and was delighted to see Bright awake, but surprisingly calm.

She leaned to Gil and shook his arm to wake him up. He jerked awake as if he got caught snoring. They didn't feel much like talking, so she pointed with her head to Bright.

Gil jumped up from his chair, startling Bright who was staring into nothing. "You're awake." He croaked the dry statement, clearing his throat to get a stronger voice. He was exploding with happiness but tried to hide it. It was in the middle of the night and Bright still wasn't really there yet. His eyes were trained on Gil, but not really focused.

Gil's eyes wandered down to Bright's lap, where an empty glass rested between his hands. Dani made signs of standing up, Gil quickly grabbed the assignment. "I'll get you another one." He said and disappeared out of the room, where he could finally cheer in private.

Bright and Dani shared a glance. She guessed they were thinking the same thing. What a weird behavior for Gil. Apparently they weren't, as Malcolm looked her dead in the eyes and seriously asked.

"Was that just Elvis Presley?"

Notes:

I admit, this chapter is pretty short. So here, take this little story (that will turn out HUGE in this layout, but I don't care).
What happened with Malcolm was 90% me when I had my wisdom teeth pulled out. The only difference, I was super paranoid. The second I woke up I wanted to run away. I even went to lengths like tricking my mother. Pretending I'm asleep and then RUN. Yeah, I didn't even make it up. She put one hand over me as I lifted in slow motion, and I gave up so quickly.
To the water glass. I was really annoying, like one moment I wanted to drink, the other I refused. My poor mother went nuts.
The funniest part: There was a face on the clock. And I thought, I shit you not, I thought it was Elvis Presley. I don't remember if it was him, but I do remember asking my mother several times, until she snapped really frustrated.
...
And then I just asked again.
To this day I still don't remember the time, neither if Elvis Presley really was on the clock.

Chapter 5: Chapter 4

Notes:

I finally know how many chapters to go!!! 40 chapters, it's like a destiny!
...
so many...

Chapter Text

"Absolutely not! I didn't come to visit you to welcome you back into the case."

Gil raged furiously, walking from right to left in this tiny room. He had expected to find Malcolm still in his bed. Apparently his stupid profiler was already dressed in his signature suit and ready to leave the hospital.

Malcolm glared disappointed at his boss, but Gil told himself to be strong. He wouldn't let Malcolm back on board. Only when this ‘Game Master case’ would be closed and out of their lives. And he was very determined, even when Bright hid his red swollen neck in a ruffle. As if things never happened.

"He almost killed you already!" Gil pointed out. Malcolm just shrugged, there wasn't much he could do anyway. He was told not to talk for the following days, to spare his bruised laryngeal from further damage during its healing process. Neither way he wasn't eager to speak. He barely got a word with a decent volume out and on top of that it hurt. The killer ruined his voice temporarily and he was better off muted than trying it.

That's why he was given a notebook. He clicked the Biro open and started scribbling. Gil waited patiently. When he finished he held it up for Gil to read. Gil shook his head disapprovingly.

"No, the doctor released you so you could rest at home. He didn't clear you for work yet." He replied. Malcolm shrugged his shoulders, his mimic signalizing a 'tomayto tomato'.

Before Gil could even think of scolding him, Malcolm was back writing again. Gil took a deep breath. He could still talk to Malcolm, instead they waited in silence until Malcolm was done. Malcolm showed the words he couldn't say. Gil read them silently in his head.

'This killer's mind is very complex. You need me if you want to feel safe again someday.'

Malcolm's words hit him hard and he was debating to leave him now and then. But because he was right, wasn't he?

Gil stayed. He stemmed his fists on his hip, thinking of his next moves. A curse escaped his lips when Malcolm started writing again. He fought the urge to rip the book out of his hands and toss it out of the window, right into a dirty puddle.

"Bright, listen." Gil started. Malcolm stopped writing and looked up from his paper. Gil waited until he laid the book away. "I don't want to take you away either. Don't think your extraordinary mind isn't valued. But your safety is more important to me and if the killer says you're off the case..." Gil shrugged to signal his hands were tied as well. He left the end open, he knew Malcolm could piece it together himself.

Bright signaled him to wait and continued writing. Gil wasn't too surprised that Malcolm already knew what Gil was about to say and didn't have to throw away his former draft.

Gil leaned curiously forward when Malcolm finished. His writing was as always beautiful and elegant, but that wasn't the point right now. The message was more important, and surprising as always.

'The Game Master doesn't want me off this case.' Gil read, immediately forming his own opinion. "But he clearly said Simon s-" Malcolm motioned him annoyed to continue reading. Gil considered it to be the most logical thing to do. data-p-id=66953558dfa85e96b4df24c65083426c,'If I really were an immediate danger, he would've killed me. But he didn't. He started this round with the first game Simon says. He punished the one to break what Simon said. I paid with my voice, he stole it temporarily. That's my punishment. He knew I wouldn't get off this case, even if he told me to. Now this round is over. His words carry no effect anymore and we have time to do our work before the next round begins.'

Gil read it silently. Wordlessly he ripped it out of the notebook and read it again. And another time. Was this the current situation they were in right now? Were they trapped in the middle of a game with a psychopath as the key player? He looked back to Malcolm, who showed him a new message in front of his pleading eyes.

'We are nowhere safe as long as that psychopath is running loose. Let me work on a profile with you guys. Let me help you catch this guy.'

Chapter 6: Chapter 5

Chapter Text

’He wants to toy with us.’

Silence swallowed the scarcely lightened room. Several pairs of eyes blinked perplexed at the white billboard. Taking in the thin black letters and the meaning it delivered. It was horrifying. It settled into their rational minds, filling it with sense. Still it felt so wrong. So unbelievable. Untrue. It didn't make sense to them. How could this be possible?

"He wants to play?" The lieutenant cleared his throat in order to recapture their latest gained information. Which was only speculation by the way, so it didn't have to mean anything yet. His detectives would agree with their whole heart, as detective Tarmel added a shocked "With us?!" into the room. He exchanged puzzled looks with his female colleague, trying to find a sign in her dark eyes. A sign for a prank. That their consultant was joking them. But Malcolm Bright doesn't do jokes. He's terrible at it.

The man next to the billboard nodded in confirmation, underlining the severity of this situation with a stern facial expression. First signs of panic traveled through the group, who normally weren't used to be in this position. They were instantly disposed of their occupational control.

"Wha- bu- what is- How is that-" Bright raised one eyebrow at JT's helpless stuttering. He could see the cop already sweating, even from the distance. The times his eyes wandered off to the door doubled itself. The distress was expectable, still surprising to the profiler, given he had never seen JT in such a mood.

He was startled out of his profiling when two open palms met violently with the table. "That doesn't make any sense!", Dani snapped frustrated. She usually didn't show the temper to jump off her seat and make such noise. She was a very composed woman, for which she was very proud. Losing this ability only showed the effects of stress on her individually.

Bright strictly reprimanded himself to stop over analyzing his team members again. He was once told people felt uncomfortable about it. Friends shouldn't profile their friends, and he dearly wanted to learn how to treat friends correctly. He especially didn't want to chase anyone away again, as he did with Eve on their first date.

Dani pulled the profiler back into reality. "What about the real victim, and-" She lost her breath mid-sentence when her look fell on her friend's neck. Malcolm observed the desperate shimmer in her dark eyes, that told more than words ever could. As she was trapped between what next to say or do, Malcolm took over the responsibility for her. He merely shrugged his shoulders, but it was his sad smile that delivered his message.

'Wrong place, wrong time'

His hand wandered unavoidably up to his bright white collar, covering fully his neck. He knew that he couldn't say the same for himself as he did for the victim. He was very well wanted at the crime scene. So were his teammates, only that they weren't able to see it as clearly as the profiler did.

Dani Powell opened her mouth, but Bright didn't need to hear her apologies. He really didn't. So he turned around and showed them his back to dismiss them. He wasn't sure how well they understood his unspoken messages. They weren't psychological experts like him. They were detectives, which gladly also spoke for a lot of intelligence.

Therefore, the room stayed quiet, except for the screaming writing noises the profiler caused with the black pen and his whiteboard. It was his only chance to explain his newest profile to his team. They needed to catch that guy. If not for the sake of innocent bystanders, then for their own lives. This killer wasn't one of the ordinary kind. And he wasn't shy to present it to the whole world.

What concerned Bright most, was that he oddly felt familiar profiling their newest killer. Of course, first might guess that he must've met him somewhere in his forgotten past, because, well, he has a serial killer for a father. Bright didn't know their murderer. At least not in person. But his first profiling attempts listed up some shocking news.

He was a dark mirror.

They were oddly alike if you ignored the sides both had chosen. So shouldn't it be easy to catch someone as smart as you? It definitely wasn't, especially not since their murderer had advantages. The event was planned, everything detailed into the tiniest point. As if the unknown man, probably even in Bright's age, wanted it to be fail-proof. Because he only had one chance. Because there was only one Gil Arroyo, one JT Tarmel, one Dani Powell and one Malcolm Bright. But why them?

Bright risked a glance back to his team, who observed him with utter trust in their eyes. The fear of disappointing them was scary. They became part of his family and he needed to protect them, at all cost. He looked back at his profile, which wasn't perfect. It didn't feel right yet. But it was a step forward. His hand went up to his neck brace, as he swallowed painfully, still feeling the pair of hands embracing his throat, nails digging in. He took a shaky breath, glad to feel the oxygen rush in.

They were moving forward. He didn't know yet it was hell they were moving to.

"Why would he choose us?"

Malcolm got thrown back by the question. The problem was, he didn't know the answer to Dani's question himself. Was it a coincidence? Hate for Major crimes? Or was it possible again because of Bright's family situation? Whatever it was, he didn't know. They didn't have enough information yet to give a safe statement. So he simply shrugged, not revealing all of his thoughts to his members yet.

"Alright." Gil sighed after the whole group had taken in the modified profile of their killer. Nothing much had changed since Bright's premature profile from the first day. It was good that he repeated all the information for them, there was no way they could remember everything.

In the end they didn't move a single step towards the killer. A middle-aged and unsuspicious man? That could be literally anybody in New York. A phantom picture was already created but brought no further help. Several people called in, claiming it was their suspicious neighbor, boss, colleague, or even janitor. So many calls arrived, but it was a dead-end in most cases. This man had an ‘everybody's’ face.

Malcolm trained his eyes onto the new speaker. He was open to criticism, not always happy, but at least open. Gil didn't want to, Bright saw it the way Gil took a breath and turned his head but forced himself back. Before Gil had even said anything Bright knew it was bad news.

"This is all good and interesting, but how does it help us catch that guy?" Gil eventually confessed. Bright took the hit without having something to counter back. Gil was right. And truth to be told, this situation right now had been inevitable. What were they going to do, without any clues? Where would they investigate? Where would they find the killer, not only on the billboard but in real life?

Bright lowered his head as much as his neck brace allowed it. He didn't know the answer. Panic rushed through his veins, like in school back in the old days, when he had to think of an answer spontaneously. His brain shut down and refused to think of any ideas in the first place. The only thing spooking through his brain was the multiplying demand to think of something and answer the question.

"We could look into the suspects we gained from the picture." Dani tried to help Malcolm out. JT mixed in. "You have any idea how many calls come in every day?" He was standing next to Dani with his arms crossed. "It's like half of New York is responsible for the murder."

Dani nodded with a forced facial expression. It was frustrating to be out of plans. It was frightening for Bright to be out of plans. But they had to do something. They couldn't just wait until the next round began. They needed to build up advantages to be even able to compete against the Game Master.

Bright struck a sudden idea that appeared out of nowhere. He hated it, but he knew that was the only option they got. They had too less information about everything that associated with the killer's private or public life. The hard thing would be to win over his team members if he himself wasn't even fully convinced. But that should be manageable, or at least he thought so.

He turned around to write his idea so he could present it afterward to them. He heard the relief washing over his colleagues behind him. If this situation wasn't so serious, he'd be utterly excited to observe the relief crashing into millions of shards.

Sheepishly he turned around and stepped aside to let them read. He prepared himself for the indignation. At least he could watch their expressions, as they dropped from relief to utter horror. JT was first to announce his disbelief at Bright.

"Are you nuts?!" He blurted out before Dani jumped out of her seat. She stammered for the right words. Gil had fewer problems finding them and actually saying it. "Are you out of your mind?" Bright rolled his eyes, still a smile on his lips. These words always sound so Dad on Gil. The next words kicked the smile out of his face.

"First you hand us a profile, then you suggest working against it?"

Most people in the FBI described his methods as unconventional. Alright, truth to be told, everyone he ever worked with carried that opinion. Bright never declined any accuses of that kind. He wasn't blind. He knew that he was different. That he didn't share the same values and beliefs. He never made himself friends by being different and not forcing himself to hide it. But something like ignoring his own profile was even preposterous for him. Yet it was the only idea for which he saw light at the end of the tunnel.

More or less confidently he marched back to the billboard to give them an explanation. He bit his lip. There were so many things bubbling in his head, but he needed to minimize all of it in a short text. Being silenced was one of the worst disabilities the killer could have chosen.

His eyes wandered up to his former sentence. 'Let's investigate the case as we always do. As if the murder was personal.' Bright shook his head. Even with the 'As if' he wasn't sure if he was about to embarrass himself or actually pose a real threat to the killer.

He sighed and started writing under the first statement. This was bad. His plan was less of an attempt to catch the killer, but more to accept to this sick game. Malcolm's stomach protested at the thought of that. 'Don't throw up', said the whispering mantra while he wrote on the billboard. As he was slowly signing up for all the horrible things that would happen to his team and innocent bystanders. The guilt weighed a ton on his shoulders, and that already in advance. How would he be able to move on if another one had to die for his decision? Or if even his friends would get hurt? All of it because he didn't find a better solution than to play their killer right into his hands. For what? For information the killer is allowing them to work with?

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He looked Gil into his eyes when he turned around. Had he been spacing out? If yes, for how long? Gil didn't say anything, just moved him slightly out of the way to have a look on Bright's thoughts. His head sunk in shame when his boss took in his train of thoughts. He barely noticed the calls JT made, something like Bright.exe or else.

The anticipation of Gil's opinion was taking all of his interest. It was killing him. Gil didn't look away, but Bright knew he had finished by the look of his face. He was debating on what to tell him. Or maybe kindly reject him. Whatever it was, it took time to think over it and shouldn't be spoken carelessly. Bright caught himself again spacing out when Gil's hand startled him another time.

'It's alright. I understand.'

Was Bright misinterpreting Gil's facial expression or was it the truth? Could a normal person even understand him, when he didn't understand himself what was going on? Probably not, but he could count for support from his friends, although they had trouble following his wrecked mind.

"It's alright, we'll do it." Gil decided. Dani and JT spared him a look full of disbelief. They had read it, too.

"You mean playing into the killer's hand now?" JT checked doubtingly. He exchanged stressful glances with Dani.

Gil nodded. "It doesn't sound promising, but it's better than to do nothing and wait for the next victim. Who knows, maybe the killer really wants us to find him, like Bright expects." He shrugged before turning back to Bright.

"The thing is, the killer is also human."

Malcolm took a shuddering breath and waged his head with a forced smile, delivering an 'Unfortunately'. Gil shook his head in disagreement.

"Fortunately. He is human, so he will make mistakes. That is when we will strike." Gil announced enthusiastically. Motivation flowed through his veins, which jumped over to Dani and JT.

Gil turned around and spread his orders as usual. The two detectives left the room to attend to their new assignments. Malcolm forced a smile and nodded when Gil addressed him about their own assignment. Gil left shortly after to do something in his office before he'd pick up Bright and drive to the victim's house. The young profiler exhaled heavily when he was left alone in their conference room.

'Wait until the killer makes a mistake, hu?', he thought pessimistically. He scooped up his coat and headed for the exit, one thought nagging on his mind nonstop.

What if there wasn't enough time for them to wait for a mistake on the killer's side?

Chapter 7: Chapter 6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Naturally they spent the ride in silence, which was understandable. One of them was muted and the other one had to drive. Even then there wasn't a lot of things lieutenant Arroyo wished to discuss. According to Bright's profile they were chasing a false lead, or worse, playing after the killer's plan. There wasn't much they could do about it.

Gil had tried to cheer up his kid. Maybe there really was something, a clue that could help them identify and catch the responsible criminal. Malcolm had given him a forced smile, it wasn't hard to read the 'sure', underlined with disbelief and insecurity. It was a solid reason for Gil to stop talking, in case he made everything worse than it already was.

They parked at the side of the street. Gil fumbled for his parking reservation, so a possible parking inspector could spare his car. His fingers only met the walls of his vehicle. He leaned back up to see his only passenger smugly waving up the very thing he was searching for. He snatched it with a soft chuckle and placed it on his dashboard. Meanwhile Bright left the car, Gil following close behind.

The cold wind nagged on their exposed skin. Subconsciously Malcolm cuddled further into his jacket, rather observing his visible breath on this brutal December day. Gil grabbed his arm softly. "You good?" Bright nodded briefly and sped up towards the building.

The group was parted. Dani and JT were investigating at their victim's workplace. Checking out his co-workers, his boss or any suspicious affairs. Gil and Malcolm were left with the family duty.

Usually Bright was more interested into these assignments. He had less trouble to see behind a happy family's charade. Today though his motivation lacked a little bit. What was the point in seeing through someone without informing them? Talking to his victims often expanded his profile and lured out even more information. He still had a notebook, neither way his communication skills were disabled in so many ways.

The door jumped open and startled both men. A Latina with curly black hair opened. She was beautiful, but had a distressed look printed on her face. She wasn't exactly thin, maybe she was still fighting against a few baby pounds.

"And you are?" The curvy woman asked right away, close to shutting the door again. Gil revealed his badge on his hip casually as he introduced themselves. "Lieutenant Gil Arroyo. This is the consulting profiler Malcolm Bright. We have a few questions considering your deceased husband." The woman's eyes widened with every new information Gil revealed. Malcolm only nodded politely, it was the least he could do.

"Uh yeah, sure... come in." The woman stammered and turned around her heel. She was quick, rapidly cleaning as necessary as possible. Malcolm detected several toys laying carelessly in the living room. The oak table next to the room was still messy from their last meal, by the looks of it spaghetti. One chair for an infant and five normal ones, although only at three seats plates were left. Or at least three dirty plates, because a fourth was still unused. Either a grumpy teenager spooked in this household, or the plate had been placed out of habit.

"You want coffee? Or water?" The woman glanced hectically between Bright and Arroyo. As much as Bright would have preferred a glass of water to soothe his burning throat, he wasn't willing to give the woman a possible distraction. Or as some might say an excuse to get away from the inevitable interview.

He looked up to Gil who read his mind. Malcolm had plans to avoid scribbling in his notebook as long as possible. He didn't want to scare the woman that the consultant was actually taking notes on their conversation, even if it was only for the simplest communication purposes.

"We're fine, Mrs. Moore-" She waved dismissively and walked over to her guests. "Just Vanessa. Dear, don't make this harder than it already is, Vanessa's just fine." She groaned and sat down on the couch after throwing away some toys. They joined her, opposite from her. The only merciful barrier, a small table.

"For how long have you and Thomas been engaged?" Gil started with a simple question, to get a feeling into this conversation. Bright almost had a full prediction of the following situation after the first reaction on her side. Vanessa blew raspberries, her eyes wandering up as she hopelessly grasped for the right answer. Maybe this lead was interesting after all.

"Oh, honestly I don't really know. Tom and I never really had a count on such things." She laughed awkwardly, her eyes shifting to a closet in the living room. The alcohol closet if Bright wasn't mistaken.

"Such things?" Gil repeated, Bright lifting an eyebrow at Vanessa.

She dodged their eyes. "Ah you know, life changes with kids. Suddenly there are more important things in your life than... some anniversary stuff." She explained.

Gil nodded in understanding, his eyes wandering off to Malcolm, who had right now different things rushing through his brain. If he interpreted this right, Vanessa wasn't going to talk about anniversaries earlier. She caught herself before mentioning her husband. The woman was clearly exhausted and tired, probably thanks to her newborn baby. This whole thing left her irritated. Her husband was dead all of a sudden. Of course she was agitated, troubled. But definitely not sad as far as Bright detected.

He fished out his notebook and starting writing. Expectantly Vanessa glanced shocked into his direction. Gil's facial expression showed mere fascination. He was impressed that Bright already had spotted something unusual in the first question. Bright finished his message and showed it to Gil who read it quickly. He lifted his gaze to meet an even more disturbed wife, her eyes shifting between Gil and Malcom in a matter of seconds.

"I'm sorry, maybe we should've explained first, that my profiler is currently unable to speak." Gil informed Vanessa briefly. She nodded shyly, distracted by Malcolm's calmness as he pointed on his uncomfortable neck brace.

Gil looked back into Bright's notes before forming his own sentence. He took a strong breath. He felt a bit sorry for Vanessa.

"When did your relationship with Thomas start to go downhills?" The silence that took over was heavy, crushing on their shoulders, suddenly making it a little bit harder to breathe than before. The corners of her mouth lifted and sank uncontrollably. She rubbed her sweating palms and fought for words.

"Ha, excuse me? Is this, are you serious?" She stammered. She showed honest signs of confusion, but mostly because she didn't understand how fast the ruse of her happy family fell apart. Gil shrugged, he didn't see a reason why any of them should be in the mood for jokes. It was still a ruthless homicide they were investigating after all.

"No, there was nothing wrong. Obviously there were some up and downs, with the twins, a-and now the baby. You know, all that normal stuff, stress at work or home, not enough sleep." Vanessa rambled nervously. Even Gil was aware that she was concealing the truth of their real relationship right now.

"My consultant pointed out some facts, that may prove this marriage wasn't really full of love anymore. The missing sadness considering your recently deceased husband for example." Gil continued. He exchanged a look with Bright who nodded in approval. "Or the ignorance about personal dates and experiences with him. Marriage is something quite important in someone's life." He explained. Malcolm took a sharp breath as he noticed they had exposed the woman already too much. She was about to snap.

And she did. "So what? Maybe we weren't the cliché couple who bought each other presents on valentine's day! Or, or went to dine in a fancy restaurant at their anniversary. That doesn't mean anything. We loved in our own way. I know he loved me." She exhaled shuddering. Vanessa blinked perplexed when Bright placed his notebook onto the small couch table and moved it towards her.

'Did you also love him?'

Her lip trembled and tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them away and dodged everything she associated with the two officers in her living room. Her hands caressed her thighs up to her knees and back in a rapid manner. Eventually she caught herself and faced them again.

"We had our up and downs, but we still loved each other." She answered mechanically. She didn't mean it. Their marriage had been garbage for reasons she kept to herself. Did she hide something behind their perfect marriage, that really consisted a clue? Or was she just desperate to remember a meaningful life after it got ripped away from her grasp?

That was the one thing Bright had to find out. He motioned for Gil to carry on with the other standard questions. Meanwhile he stood up and took a quick look for the apartment. Before Vanessa could protest, Gil wrapped her in his next standard questions.

The answers were irrelevant for Bright. He had all the tools he needed to figure out what seemed off. What he needed right now was a new perspective. A new way of looking at the case, at Thomas and Vanessa Moore. His thoughts wandered to the twins, who he assumed to be in elementary school right now. Maybe they could bring the new perspective that was needed.

Then there was this old-fashioned wall phone.

Bright walked towards the slick black phone. He didn't touch it, but he knew he was close. He was at the switching point from 'warmer' to 'red hot'. The phone had a heavy dust layer on it, so it wasn't used often in this household, which definitely made sense. Right below the wall phone was a table with a more modern phone placed on it. Fully charged in the station. So the dark antique was just for decoration purposes.

He returned his attention back to the older telephone. At some places the dust was uneven. As if someone carefully tried to lift the phone away without disturbing the dust art. Bright tried to take off the whole phone from the wall. It appeared to be an impossible task, at least speaking for half of it. One half got lifted a little bit away from the wall and a small card fell out. It was a business card.

Bright picked up the card with the short catchy slogan and the phone number. He spared a glance at Vanessa and Gil who were engrossed in the interrogation. Slowly it dawned to him. The full length of what Vanessa was able to do.

With what burden she was able to live with.

 


 

Dani and JT had about zero troubles getting into the massive building. One look at their badge and they were granted almost everywhere free entrance. After all, no one wanted to mess with the police, if real or fake.

They were coated in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Either way there wasn't much they wanted to talk about in the first place. The unspoken goal to close this case as fast as possible was their mutual understanding. After all, this killer wasn't after some kills, he was after them in particular. Given Bright was right in the first place. As unconventional his methods were most of the time, he had proven himself to be trustworthy on so many occasions. Naturally this was one of the reasons for them to be doubted by a huge cloud of uneasiness and insecurity. They were literally working against his profile. Saying? This was a waste of time. It was this simple so there was definitely no harm in trying to get over this as fast as possible.

They were stopped as soon as they left the elevator into the warm enlightened office room. A white-haired man walked up to them, a strict severity printed on his elderly face. He wore a casual suit, just like the rest of the businesspeople in this room. "I'm sorry, but you can't enter in here. This is a reserved workplace-"

"We're from the NYPD." Dani cut him off after rolling her eyes in annoyance. She revealed her badge, so did JT. "Detective Powell, this is Detective Tarmel." She introduced themselves, JT lifting his hand as a short form of greeting. Ignoring the businessman Dani put away her badge and continued. "We're here because of Thomas Moore. We would like to ask some questions. Can we talk with the boss of this place?" She became quieter by the end.

Judging by the man's look he was outright disturbed by their appearance. Although they should be informed of the latest news. It took Dani several seconds to understand the issue. To her, this stuff was normal. It wasn't her every day, but happened often enough for it to be considered normal. To them it wasn't. They likely never had so much contact with the executive force, let alone major crimes. The man was at the verge to realize that a part of his boring normal and comfortable life had changed with the murder of his colleague. He was in the middle of an investigation and that must be a one lifetime experience.

Slowly the man caught himself. "Y-yes, that's me, I'm the boss." He stammered agitated but remained in a professional polite manner. If the files hold truth they were all salesman after all.

"We need your statement and those of Thomas' closest colleagues." Dani added impatiently. The boss nodded frankly and walked away, both detectives following.

"Sure, that's manageable. We can discuss this in the briefing room in-" He attempted to look at his watch, but hell would Dani make an official appointment and wait for everyone to clear some time. She wasn't just some client. She was a detective who had to solve a homicide with a criminal on the loose.

"Now." She threw in emotionless. The man glanced behind him and met her merciless eyes. "Of course. Right away. Give me just a minute to gather them all." He said when they reached the door to the briefing room.

JT glanced doubtingly at the nervous man. "Are you sure you wanna do this together? There will be questions considering their private lives, especially the afterhours. Could destroy the illusion of your perfect workplace." JT pointed out with a frown.

The old man revealed a kind smile with a hint of melancholy. "We're all humans. There is no shame for being less strict in our private life than in our everyday work life." He replied and opened the door for them. Dani walked in confidently. "Just checkin." JT mumbled and walked past the boss into the room.

It took a few minutes for the rest of the men to enter the room. All of them were nervous, as they didn't know what to expect from this. Matter of experience JT and Dani knew they weren't nervous because they were guilty in any form. This was just a new and very uncomfortable situation for them.

"Good afternoon gentlemen." Dani stood up and greeted them. In patches some of them greeted back politely before sitting down. She had the urge to offer them something to drink, since this always was a supporting distraction for the other side, but this wasn't their place. They were the guests. So they both declined the offer for a coffee and decided to go straight to work.

"We take it you were all informed of the death of your colleague Thomas Moore. We have some questions we'd like to ask you and hope for your cooperation." Dani started. No one answered her, they were all tensed up. "So first things first, who was with him the last time he was seen?" Again no one wanted to answer. As one man opened his mouth, another man suddenly interrupted.

"Are you asking us because we're suspects?" He blurted out distressed. JT frowned.

"We're just doing our job and gathering some information. If you're all innocent you don't have to fear a thing." He replied, unsure if his words possessed the power to kill some of their worries.

"So who was with him the last day of his life?" Dani repeated rather impatient.

"We all were." A pretty young one of them eventually answered. He earned the interest of both detectives. For now he was considered to be the bravest one of them all. The young man shrunk into his seat but continued talking. "We were at the bar, drinking a few beers and, and celebrating." He confessed like a teenager that snuck out to hang with some friends.

"Celebrate what?" JT asked, his arms crossed before his chest. Another man, probably in his early fifties took over.

"Thomas and I had made a huge sale." He earned a lot of looks, not only from the detectives but from his colleagues as well. "We were best friends you know." He confessed while scratching the back of his head. Dani and JT nodded.

"What was the sale about?" JT asked mechanically when he was interrupted by the boss. "That's confidential information we don't share." Not that JT was interested in it that much, it was just his standard questioning. Now though he was reminded by the chef and had more important question marks.

"I take it you weren't involved in the after party, Mr. Anderson?" JT spoke up, seeing how the boss backed away. "Where have you been the night your employee had been murdered?" JT leaned forward and looked the man dead into his eyes.

For the first time Mr. Anderson wasn't intimated by the police. He knew he was innocent and feared nothing. "I was at the opera. With my wife. You can check the tickets if you need to."

"We will." Dani answered coolly, only to value the protocol. They already had the real killer. This was just a waste of time.

"Was there anyone who wanted to harm Mr. Moore? Did he have any enemies?" JT sighed. It felt a bit weird to ask these questions although they had cleared the fact this was an impersonal murder.

The group of businessmen shook their head, almost in unison. The same answer to the question if he had been acting strange. According to his friends Thomas Moore left the bar last. Maybe he wanted the party about him to last longer. Or maybe he wanted to escape his wife. So many possible reasons that barely interested them. They wanted to catch the real troublemaker, not interview some salesmen.

Yet here they were. "What a person was Mr. Moore in his living days?" Dani continued. She looked up confused when no one offered her an answer. Instead they dodged their eyes, as if they were teachers asking their students for the right answer.

"What's the matter?" She spoke up, looking at JT for support. He shrugged but opened his mouth. She thought they already had relieved them of their tense distrust.

"Mr. Perez, you were his best friend, ain't that right?" He asked. Mentioned person looked up and nodded. "That's correct." He answered laconically. "You oughta know your best friend?" JT added with played astonishment. Mr. Perez fought to keep his head up, debating what to answer because in the end he had to. There was no way past it.

His head lifted up quickly with a confident impression. "You shouldn't talk bad about the dead." JT was taken aback by this answer. They just wanted to know what Thomas had been like. Were there only bad characteristics?

"Then just tell us the truth." Dani urged him kindly. Mr. Anderson leaned over the table with his arms, blocking his employee.

"Thomas was a good man. He was very ambitious and most of the time cheerful. He had an explosive temper, which he showed rarely to the publicity though. He was always hard-working and concentrated. This company will miss him." He told them, but it felt forced. Dani spied under his arms to Mr. Perez.

"That's all wonderful and good, but I'd like to know how Mr. Moore was also in private."

It wasn't Mr. Perez who answered. It was again the youngest one of the group.

"Thomas was a little bit old-lined."

The whole group looked offended at him. Dani suppressed a smirk, maybe this afternoon was getting a little bit more interesting.

"Mr. Williams, right? Could you explain that a little bit more." JT mixed in.

The young man nodded hesitantly. "Thomas, he saw the world a little bit different. I would say he stuck too much to the past." He looked apologetically at Dani. "He didn't really think high of women." The detectives nodded in understanding.

"He was very obvious about it, wasn't he?" She asked. Mr. Williams nodded in resignation.

"Yeah okay, maybe Thomas pretty much was an ass to women. But he was still a real man, you know what I mean?" Mr. Perez joined in. JT scowled. "I'm not sure I'm following." He admitted honestly, more sounding like a threat. Mr. Perez moved on his chair forth and back.

"What I'm trying to say is, he stood for his believes. God, even if they were so wrong and he was alone on it, he stood for his opinion. He defended it probably with his last breath."

Dani nodded, but couldn't form any admiration for such a guy. She looked into her files to verify her next words. "Yet he was married for over ten years." She said and looked up to Perez. The man sighed dramatically and drowned in memories.

"Yes, Vanessa. That woman is a goddess. One man and three children, I don't know how she put up with that." Dani and JT shared a look at each other. Bright and Gil were talking to her right now, would they find something out? For the first time they realized there could be more to it. Like the killer wanted to add some drama into this on purpose.

JT placed his palms on the table and looked Perez into his eyes. "Did Vanessa and Thomas love each other?" He asked sternly. The men shared one look at each other and... laughed. They actually laughed.

"So why didn't they break up then?" Dani threw in and interrupted the laughter. Mr. Anderson, the only businessman to stand upright with his arms closed, opened his mouth. "Because usually, Thomas never loses. He's more than just a man. He is a winner."

Dani soaked in the words, but her eyes shifted outside the room. A woman, straight brown hair and a cold expression, stepped out of the elevator. She wore a red shirt and a black skirt, crimson red high heels. She positioned her weight on her right foot and looked around the office. Her black eyes stayed glued to Dani's. Without taking off her eyes she fished into her black expensive purse. Dani immediately jumped up, the emotionless black eyes burning themselves into her consciousness.

"To the ground!" She screamed before a loud shot burned their ears.

Only one single shot.

 


 

Bright moved elegantly back to the couch. He had his sentence already prepared in his notebook, so he pushed it wordlessly to Vanessa while he himself sat down next to Gil. The lieutenant glared down at his profiler for interrupting them so ruthlessly. After seeing Vanessa's expression he knew it must've been important. The woman lifted her head, her eyes dangerously wet. She pushed the notebook back to Bright.

"I didn't lie. I loved my husband, I thought that was already cleared." She huffed with a hint of annoyance. She started to argue, she didn't know she had already lost. Although she didn't want to read Malcolm's newest message she accepted the paper politely.

'Maybe you really did, but that was years ago, right?'

She inhaled sharply and held her breath. Any other statement could be a lie and she wanted to be careful with the police. Malcolm gave her more input. Overwhelmed she grabbed the next little paper.

'You fell in love with him when he was the perfect man, Vanessa. He was a gentleman most of the time. Sometimes he showed a little bit of weird tendencies, but you pushed them aside. As jokes, as mood? He was such a sweetheart, how could you have known this would be something permanent?'

Vanessa looked at Bright after reading it, after he read her. By now she was addicted. She feared the next paper, but she needed it desperately. She needed to get familiar with the woman she had become. Somehow this stranger knew her better than she ever did herself.

'You're not from here. Your mother tongue is Spanish, the accent never fully disappeared. You didn't understand this language like your husband did, since he was born and raised in America all along. You married. For you it was the marriage of your dreams, Thomas was responsible for all the paperwork. After your honeymoon phase you really got to know each other. Thomas never valued women like men. His beliefs were conservative, and he forced that lifestyle onto you. You put up with it long enough. When was the first time you thought about divorcing?' Malcolm felt sorry when Vanessa spilled the first teardrop. He handed her his next paper, but no tissue. She pulled herself together and read it as well.

'When your boys started to follow into daddy's steps?'

Vanessa sobbed loudly and covered her mouth with her open palm. Still she continued reading, like it was a drug. Gil looked worried to Bright who was already working on his next message.

'You wanted to divorce, but you couldn't, right? Thomas was a player and he played you right at the beginning. You would gain barely anything from the divorce. You earn nothing yourself since you're a full-time mother. You wouldn't be able to make it with three kids alone. Maybe you knew your husband was a player. You never knew he was a winner. So there was only one solution for you left, am I right?'

Vanessa widened her eyes in shock and glared at Bright in disbelief. "What are you getting at? Are you saying I killed my own husband? How dare you?!" She snarled spitefully. Carefully Bright laid the single sheet onto the table. Vanessa was tempted to rip it in two halves. Malcolm looked sadly at her and motioned for to finally read it. She leaned over the paper in disgust and started reading.

'You didn't kill your husband. We already know who the real murderer is. I'm afraid you know him, too.'

He pushed the business card next to his message. Vanessa stopped breathing, her eyes wide-opened. The card with his number she explicitly hid. He found it. He found her dirty little secret.

"Please Vanessa, no more lies." Gil sighed and watched her crumble apart from the opposite couch. The woman blinked the tears away, her lip trembled. She broke down with the first tear that escaped her watch.

"I was desperate! That man, he was ruining my children. He infected them with his… his disrespectful beliefs, he tainted them! I needed to save them, I wanted to protect my children from this monster!"

"But you couldn't." Gil realized bluntly. Malcolm showed him his thoughts and Gil copied his words. "You couldn't help them, but he could. He gave you the choice to save your children from becoming like their father. You gave the Killer green light." Vanessa stared at them, the mascara running down her cheeks. Her whole body was trembling. She was scared. And not only for her children.

"I did what was best for my babies." She defended herself, the Spanish accent was so strong, Gil wasn't sure it was English in the first place. He sighed in resignation. He didn't love to do this either.

"And yet you soaked your hands in blood."

He stood up pulling out handcuffs. Vanessa watched him with utter horror. "I'm sorry, but we need to take you with us. Your cooperation will be valued in the court, so I advise you to act with sense." Gil said and read her rights while cuffing the stunned woman.

Bright observed the situation sadly. It was surreal to him. He felt pity for Vanessa. She reminded him of his own mother. So did she know about Martin Whitley's strange hobby, yet she kept it to herself to protect her family. Sometimes you had to walk the most horrible path to protect the ones you love. His family must be the perfect example to that statement.

"What about my children?" Vanessa cried. "Don't worry, they will be taken care of while you aren't available. Your biggest worry should be to find yourself a good lawyer." Gil replied calmly. Malcolm grabbed his jacket and pointed upstairs. Gil forgot there was an actual infant sleeping up there.

"Is there a neighbor who you trust to take care for your baby right now?" Vanessa sobbed uncontrollably but nodded between cries. "Trisha Edison." Gil nodded in understanding. He turned to Bright. "Can you-" He stopped when he noticed the big white ruff collar covering Bright's throat. He changed his sentence spontaneously, but there was no doubt Bright hadn’t noticed it. "-bring Vanessa to the car. I'll inform Mrs. Edison." Malcolm nodded bitterly.

They switched positions and parted themselves for now.

The cold steel of the cuffs burning in his hands.

It didn’t feel right. But sometimes the truth doesn’t have to feel that way.

Notes:

Writing muted Malcolm was actually pretty fun and challenging. I should've mentioned that in the tags...

Chapter 8: Chapter 7

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The sky had been dark for hours, but now it was also beginning to get late. The thin cups containing the hot liquid burned through, reaching his bare palms. He strolled through the empty hallway into the barely crowded yet lively precinct.

The day shift was already at home, the night shift had arrived a couple of hours ago. Technically he should go home as well, but there was only a little bit of paperwork left. It's not like he had a lot of sleep waiting for him at home.

As graceful as possible with two cups disabling his hands, he made his way through the bullpen. For a positive change he didn’t bump into anyone. He placed both cups on his desk and fished out his mobile. His hands were shaking, yet he still managed to get something written. This particular handicap wasn’t new, he already managed to get used to it and learn how to work with it.

The innocent Bing sound echoed at a certain table. He grinned and with that made his way to the destined location. He already saw the woman reading his message.

She lifted her gaze, a warm smile underlining her features. She stood up and relieved him of one Earl Grey tea with a silent thanks. They settled to lean against her desk, just a short break from work.

"Why are you still here?" Dani asked between her sipping. Her eyes wandered down to his hands, observing him typing in his phone.

'Same reason as you, finish paperwork.' He showed her. She nodded and took a careful sip. The tea was very hot. She tended to forget it every now and then, accidentally taking huge sips. Out of habit her eyes sought back to her desk. The toxic screen light penetrating her sore eyes. A tiny gasp escaped her lips under the warm touch on her usually cold hands.

'You really should give yourself a break. You didn't even take one earlier to change your clothes.' Bright pointed out. Dani grinned and looked into her tea, combing back a loose strand behind her ear.

"Well, I gotta earn my respect somehow in this man-crowded place. I would recommend blood on your shirt anytime." She countered back, a layer of humor coating the horrible reality. Bright chuckled lightly at her statement and went back to write on his phone. Dani waited patiently.

'No worries there. I'd advise anyone to keep a safe distance from you and your ferocious punches. And your cold hands of course.’

They both chuckled, but deep inside they were broken from this day. Malcolm still felt sick from the walk to the car, the poor crying mother in front of him, chained to him. He declined the offer to watch Gil get an official statement. Instead he went straight to paperwork. Until JT and Dani entered the precinct again, blood on their clothes. He was concerned, so he had tried to find out what had happened. Neither of them wanted to talk about it yet and preferred to get back to work. Bright accepted it disappointed and respected their choice. He was bound to find out anyway, it was part of their investigation.

"She shot herself in the head, the woman." Dani spoke up suddenly. Bright looked at her surprised. He didn’t know what woman Dani was talking about. He figured he’d never get the chance to ask when her lips already parted. "We were near the end of our interrogation when the woman entered the hall. I couldn't take my eyes off her, she seemed so off, you know." Malcolm was more than relieved Dani finally opened up to him, trusted him to inform him about the terrifying events of the day. He listened all too eager.

"She pulled out her gun and held it against her temple. Everyone lost their minds, they panicked blindly. They saw the gun and immediately dropped to the ground. Only JT and I were running to the woman." She explained and drunk her warm tea for a change. She licked over her dry lip before she sighed heavily.

"JT informed her parents. She was a young nurse but had suffered depression for a long time now. They never expected her to take her own life. She sought help, you know." Bright nodded. He did know. He already guessed who that help might have been and what kind of advice he gave her. For him, life was nothing but a big game. He played with everything and everyone.

Dani's grip on her cup strengthened. "It, it was that bastard! The bag was full of playing cards!" She informed him through gritted teeth, unbelievable anger reflecting her dark eyes. Bright observed her concerned, counting her steps back to her seat.

"Thanks for the tea Bright, but I really need to work. We have to catch that guy!" She exclaimed motivated and jumped into her paperwork. Bright nodded sadly and returned to his own desk. Dani was right after all.

After just a little while though he became terribly exhausted. He rarely experienced that level of fatigue. Frightened by the consequences of falling asleep at work again, he decided to take a walk and get some fresh air outside. Alone.

 


 

Dani awoke with a startle. She looked around herself for any witnesses, but everyone was engrossed in their own work. No one caught her sleeping on her desk. With a frown she studied her paperwork. She barely reached any update, she didn't even finish her tea. There was no use in continuing this. She was in dire need of sleep. She couldn't work anymore, and this paperwork wouldn't get her closer to catching that guy. Tomorrow was another day. There she could finish it and maybe scrounge up enough time to work on something more significant.

She put away her files and stood up. The coat embraced her shoulders and she felt strangely safe. No one said goodbye to her, neither did she. Dani left the building wordlessly. The moment she stepped on the concrete of the sidewalk she cursed herself for not checking on Bright. On the other hand, he was a grown man. He could take care of himself, she eased her mind while walking through this cold December's night. Her car was already around that corner.

The ringing of her mobile screeched loudly in the empty alley. She struggled to find it and accept the call to mute the noise. Who the heck would even call this late? Bright was her first assumption. Maybe he fell asleep on his desk. Now he woke up, all alone, wondering where his friend was.

Her phone announced an unknown caller. Bright was probably still working or sulking at home. Why was she so worried about him, he was a grown-up and very capable adult.

She tapped the green button a little bit harder than intentioned. The source of her frustration confused her, but now that she accepted the call she needed to answer and ignore the issue. She lifted her mobile to her ear and introduced herself with a sleepy sigh. "Detective Powell."

"Good evening detective. Took you long enough to answer your goddamn phone." An unfamiliar voice sang into her ear. She blinked confused. That man knew her.  Should she be knowing him as well? Her brain working so slowly, what was going on?

"What? You don't remember me? We haven't met too long ago." As sudden and surprising Dani was hit with the memories of that faithful night. It was the man, the man that choked her friend almost to death.

"You!" She snarled furiously, her eyes wandering instinctively through the alleyway. He was here, she felt it. If she had learned anything in her job, then it was that predators loved watching their prey struggle. He was here, and she would end this. She wouldn't be his prey, not today.

"There we go!" The Game Master cheered happily. He had a clear and calming voice. Anyone would love to listen to him. She could imagine him precisely, presenting the newest invention or product to his colleagues, bathing in their attention. That man had businessman vibes, maybe they could add that to the profile. After all, there was no way she was going to die tonight. Not because of that clown.

"Show yourself, coward. Be a man and fight me." She demanded in a low growl. Roaring laughter greeted her ear. She suppressed a wince and held her phone steady.

"Quite the fighter, aren't you?" Commented the killer on her attitude. She snorted annoyed, still searching her surroundings.

Caught up in her inspection, the Game Master was forced to continue their little conversation. He had to quicken up. Confidently he stepped out of his hiding place, walking down the empty street.

"Are you really that motivated to see me?" He asked casually while straightening his flawless suit. The female voice was laced with pure hatred. "You have no idea." A cold shudder overtook him. He had to remind himself that everything was in his control, no matter how scary this woman sounded. She was just enjoying the illusion of power a little too much.  

"You want to play, don't you? Then let's play. Let's see who the better player is out of us two."

The man grinned excitedly. He loved her spirit. She was the ideal subject for this. They all were. He was looking forward to it, the fun, the drama. This was the most excited game of them all. The game called life.

"I like your spirit, missie, but I have a few objections. I am not just a player. We aren't the same. I own the results, and you will merely dance pretty." He hummed, looking at the corner with anticipation. She didn’t know only a few feet were separating them. She would certainly wish there to be more.

"I don't do pretty." He heard her cold voice. What a ravishing woman. He'd look forward to breaking them, enjoying every second of it.

"That's a pity, given the looks you have."

Dani absorbed the words, hearing a pair of expensive dress shoes, just like Bright wears them every day. A little part of her hoped to see Malcolm. It wasn't her friend who entered her alleyway. It was her enemy. Finally.

Instinctively her hand reached for her gun, fingers fumbling empty air. Her next guess was her pocketknife, but it was gone as well. She ignored the chuckle coming from her phone and searched her whole appearance for her weapons.

"What is it, detective? Having troubles finding your gun? Knife? Your baton, or possibly even your pepper spray?"

Panic emerged in Dani. Where was all of her stuff? She didn't leave it at the precinct, it must be with here somewhere. She didn't stop searching. As long as determination was pumping through her veins alongside adrenaline, there was hope. If she would give up on her search, wouldn’t she need to accept the harsh reality of being unarmed? Naked?

"Did you like your precious tea?"

That was all Dani needed to wrap up her search party. It was about official. She was weaponless. He had drugged her and disarmed her while she was defenseless. Which meant he had been in the precinct, unnoticed.

No. Impossible. Everyone should've recognized him.

One sick and fucked up thought appeared all of a sudden, but she pushed it away. Impossible. It seemed plausible that he had an accomplice, a mole in their system. But she shouldn't doubt Bright due to his family history. His father was a serial killer, not he himself. He was a friend. A friend who brought her the cursed tea in the first place. So ultimately, this left her with two options. Either he was an accomplice, or he was in danger as well. She flinched, a smothered gunshot in her ears that never happened. The fear of Bright getting shot by his own people was too realistic, the blurry line between imagination and reality merging together. Because that’s what would’ve happened if Dani wouldn’t have caught him during his night terror, right?

"What did you lace it with?" She pressed behind gritted teeth, refusing to stand like the fool she had been made of. His sardonic chuckle was just like a dagger in her pride.

"Love, darling."

That was the last string for Dani to snap. She was torn apart between fighting this killer and worrying for her friend. Her safety was somewhere in the more irrelevant section. She chose friendship.

"I swear if you hurt Malcolm in any way-" A groan from her phone interrupted her threat. Right, the distance was yet too large for them to communicate without helping tools. By now she wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

"You are so tense, detective!" He protested in exaggeration. Dani's eyes switched to her phone and back to the silhouette blocking the alley. Why couldn’t she just attack him, foul and dirty with the element of surprise?

Quickly disappointed by her irrational thinking, she trained her eyes back to the threat. He could have a gun, a knife, he could possess all her weapons. He would see her attacking from the front and could react without trouble. She simply wasn't enough in advantage to accept a little risk. Again, she wasn’t in the position to fight him. Only this time, it was only him and her.

She startled when the man pointed his index into the air, afterward snapping them in realization. "I've got it, silly me." He exclaimed excitedly. His head was pointed to the sky. She noticed the vague indication he was grinning. His head fell down and she was pierced by cold predatory eyes.

"Let's play a game, detective, to loosen up a bit." He proposed, but the insanity was leaking far wide for it to be considered normal.

Dani inhaled deeply, hoping her voice wouldn't betray her while speaking. "I'm thinking more of a fight, to burn off some energy. Come on, a fair fight with our fists." She was tempted to insult his pride, call him chicken or something like that. She lost her breath when he reached into his pocket, one hand still on his ear with his mobile.

"Not a bad idea. The thing is..." He waged his words, inhaling a long-stretched breath with pressed teeth. He looked back at her for his confession. "I don't do fair."

Dani lost her breath. The knife was out of the pocket without her actually seeing it. Drawn to the bright reflection of the streetlamp on the sharp piece of metal, she nearly missed him speak again. "So let's play Tag." Nearly.

Everything went fast after that. The killer dashed towards her like a maniac, his knife high up in the air. Every rational sense jumped off her mind without parachutes. Her primitive instincts won over the control.

She turned around, almost stumbling over her own feet and going face-first to the ground. And then she ran. She ran. Her heart, her breath, both had never been this loud before in her life.

A splash echoed through the alley, a startled wince escaping her unwillingly. Her left sock was soaked wet starting then.

She risked a scared look behind her back, spitting out some of her uncontrollably flying hair. Gosh was he near, her heart sank to the very bottom, he was so near! She expected a blade in her back every second. But then again, was he really that near? Was her scared mind playing tricks on her? She didn't dare to double-check that.

Dani was running for her life. She was hella scared right now. She didn't want to die. Not today, not like this, not, just, no! Her breath was hitching and her cheeks were salty. She didn't think of it as embarrassing. Not when she remembered the maniac chasing her with a knife. No cry for help escaped her throat, just a big and ugly sob. Her lungs were empty, the sprint was taking a toll on her. Why not on him?

No one was chasing her. Her steps went slower, her stomach turning and squirming. Did she outrun him?

As her speed almost reached zero, she felt a pair of hands on each arm. She released all of the built fear in one agonizing scream. Malcolm eyed her disturbed. She recognized him in an instant, quickly trapping him in a tight embrace before he could back away from her.

"Dani?" Bright gasped, a barely audible croak.

Her whole body trembled. She was cold, and her makeup ruined from crying. She buried her face in his shoulder, not bothered by the neck brace. She tried to steady her breathing, to shake off the immense shock she'd just experienced. Why did she feel oddly safe with Bright? He was unarmed as well, and they weren't fighting off a nightmare that disappeared within the security of another witness.

"what appened?" His voice was damaged, broken. He squeaked in a high and weak voice, but he tried anyway. Dani couldn't bring herself to worry about him, nor asking why he was out here in the first place. The traumatic experience was anchored in her bones. Getting chased by a serial killer with a knife was an everyone's horror scenario. She just survived it, she thought with a bitter taste in her mouth. Because he wanted her to.

Shamelessly she sobbed into his coat and cried. His hand patted her back in circles. It was over. The horror was over, for now. Round two was done. What would follow next in this cruel nightmare? "He chased me with a knife..." She stammered, eyes torn open to a point they started burning. Covered in acid rather than fear. Bright soothed her with soft raspy Shh.

After a minute or so, her pulse slowly returned to normalcy. Her breathing left the state of fast and shallow, her mind entering somewhat of a more rational one. She was safe. Malcolm was safe. It was over and they were both safe, as long as they had each other.

Sadly the real world doesn't work like that. Her eyes tore open, wandered to her mobile still clamped tightly in her hand. Bright stirred slightly, having heard a faint voice behind his back. Dani started trembling again.

"Who said this was over?"

The dark silhouette appeared out of nowhere, the shining knife in his right hand. One quick movement and Bright went limp in her arms. She barely registered anything, he was already dragging her to the ground with a silent wince.

"Bright!" Dani cried in panic. He couldn't leave her alone. Please, he couldn't abandon her on this one. His knocked-out body weighed heavily on her own, crushing her and keeping her pinned to the ground. She couldn't help but look the murderer straight into his eyes. The lust, the excitement deeply engraved in his cold dark eyes over his hungry grin.

He kicked the limp body away from her and plunged down to Dani on the ground, the tip of the knife pointing towards her. The horror in her eyes manifested itself into a blood curled scream.

It was the last thing New York got to hear from Dani Powell.

Notes:

Fun Fact: While posting this I actually drank Earl Grey tea. I love tea, I'm so happy that's actually canon between the two of them :)

Chapter 9: Chapter 8

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The coffee didn't do its job. Malcolm was bone tired. Then again, when hadn't he been? His body had gotten used to being sleep deprived. After getting forced to sleep in the hospital his body had trouble coping with the changes. Good changes not to forget.

Whatever it was, his system was protesting. In a way it was funny. Too much sleep made him sleepy and needy for even more sleep. Was he supposed to crave for sleep every passing day and suffer for the rest of his life?

He was wondering why he always discussed the weirdest problems in his head when a special person entered the bullpen, silencing the voices in his head. He pushed away all sense and concern. For now, he was just delighted to see her again.

"Dani!" He chirped and headed towards the woman with a decent jump in his walk. He hadn't seen her since, well, since his last visit to the hospital. He was a lot of times in the hospital these past few days, nothing to be proud of. He was very much surprised Gil accepted him here after everything that had happened. His major concerns would have been that Gil could've booked him a flight and send him away until this case was closed. Seems like Major Crimes was more desperate than they would like to admit.

Dani looked awful, exhaustion marking her normally flawless face. The sun that returned to her stern expression just made Malcolm's day.

"I see you're off the neck brace." She noticed, a warm smile surfacing. Malcolm grinned to both ears.

"So is the voice back again." He added excitedly. Just when they reached an awkward silence where none of them knew what to say, they were rescued brutally. "You look like shit." JT passed by and collected a hole puncher on a table next to their small group. "Likewise." Dani addressed back at him as he was about to leave to where he had come from. He glared at Dani who looked surprisingly smug.

"Wow." Malcolm joined in to relieve some tension. "First time we're talking about this subject and it's not my fault." He chuckled and bounced forth and back in his stand.

JT played the puncher in his hand and scrutinized Malcolm. "Yeah, with you it's already normalcy. You always look awful." He countered back and earned an angry glare from Dani. Malcolm took it easy and laughed it away. "Well no, he's got a point." He admitted and lifted his takeaway cup, probably with the worst coffee he has ever drunk. "And this is bullshit." He directed at it and threw it into the nearest bin. So much for trying out new things.

"Briefing room. Now." Gil walked past the group, disturbing their friendly Smalltalk. The three shared worried glances before following their lieutenant into their Briefing room. Dani limped slowly behind Malcolm, whereas JT already disappeared in the room.

"Do you-" Bright stammered, pointing to Dani and her crutches. "I'm fine." She declined his offer for aid shortly. He nodded, walking the rest of the distance at her speed.

He closed the door gently after Dani was through. She wasted no second to take a seat. All the while Gil observed her with a stern impression. When everyone was ready he walked to the front, automatically gathering their attention.

"I had JT check the video footage, but apparently the killer froze the record for at least ten minutes. Our phantom photo led to further, let's see-" Gil spared a look into his files. "-a total of zero clues. We also checked on Ines Lambert, the woman who committed suicide in the office. We have nothing so far." In resigned mannerism he put away the files beside him and leaned against the wall facing his back. He sighed frustrated and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"How is this possible? We had two encounters with the killer and yet we have nothing against him. Nothing at all. What's our next lead?" He asked into the round, silence as an answer.

Malcolm recognized that face on Gil. He had seen it plenty of times. It warned him that Gil was about to do something he didn't even like himself at all but simply saw no other choice. Malcolm spared his breath to disagree immediately. Instead he thought of a reason to convince Gil to change his mind. To plant some hope into their heads.

"I don't see any other solution. We need to give this case to the FBI."

"What?" Dani blurted out indignantly. JT stepped closer to his boss. "You can't be serious Gil." Spoken to man raised his head. He wore a strong and confident expression, but Malcolm could easily see under all these layers up to the naked desperation.

"What if I am? We aren't capable of solving this case on our own. We are lacking the resources-"

"What resources? We have everything we need except time. Since when are you giving up on a case this early?" Dani objected enraged, not expecting Gil to have a good reason in her blind anger.

"Maybe since two of my team already gotten hurt?" He countered back, crushing silence taking again over the room. Dani and JT lowered their gaze to the ground, Gil looking apologetically at them.

"I'm sorry. I really don't want to do it, but what else should we do?" He searched the eyes of his detectives. JT signed in first for defeat. "I guess you do have a point. We really are out of possible leads."

"I beg to differ." Malcolm jumped up from his seat, choosing his words carefully, like he wasn't even sure if his thoughts were even presentable. Nevertheless, he was an expert in improvisation. Most of his profiles changed while he presented them to his team. That's how it always worked, and so far they were successful. Malcolm just worried that 'so far' wasn't sufficient anymore.

"Our killer isn't much of a player, no matter what he says." Malcolm started and exchanged places with Gil. Now was his time to shine, voice almost fully recovered. "In fact, he is more of a cheater. His games aren't real games. Normal games provide an equal possibility to win or lose. With this killer though, it is impossible to win. 100%." Malcolm explained motivated. He reminded himself to speed up a little bit before he would lose his team's interest, but there were just so many things spooking in his brain. "So what we can tell, and I'm very certain about this, the next victim will be Gil or JT."

"What?" All three blurted out at the same time.

"I know, it's a shock, but we can't change the fact it's going to happen sooner or later." Gil looked at JT and back to Malcolm.

"You say he's so smart, what if that's what he's expecting? That we put all precautions on us and he will strike you or Dani again?" He objected. Malcolm was glad he asked that, exactly what he's been hoping for.

"Excellent question Gil." Malcolm praised him, like a teacher his student. "Yet connected to a very simple answer. He can't afford it." He asserted with an obvious smile. "He planned all of this in at least four acts. Every act has its own game-” He lifted his index “-and a new victim of course. He planned it into every little detail, so mistakes are impossible. I even fear the same for precautions. There's simply nothing we can do but endure his little games. Until everything's over."

"You think he's gonna stop after fooling every single one of us and just disappear?" JT raised one eyebrow. Malcolm waged his head right and left, not convinced of that thought.

"Assumable, but honestly not very likable. In his mind, life is just a game to him. The winner lives. The looser..." Malcolm ended to let them finish the sentence for themselves.

"Yet you, quote on quote losers, are still alive." Gil threw in. Malcolm nodded, admitting he had a flaw in his theory.

"That is indeed a problem. The worst that could happen is that these four rounds are just for warm-up."

JT lifted both eyebrows. "That's the worst that could happen?" He blurted out, astounded by how manageable Malcolm let it sound. He literally assumed they were all going to die in the end and there would be nothing they could do about it.

"Alright, just another reason to get the FBI on this case. I'm not setting your lives on stakes-"

"You don't have to." Malcolm interrupted Gil innocently, attracting back all of their intentions. They stared at him, betting their hopes on him. They had tried all the official detective work they could do. Was it now time to become... unconventional?

Bright smiled regarding the attention, fire back in their eyes. That's more like it. "We are not completely helpless. I scooped up some potential leads that might or might not help us to find our Game Master." Malcolm revealed and went to pick up a box that contained all the evidence they had gathered so far. The brown box met the table with a dull sound.

JT and Gil inched closer to the box to have a better look at Bright’s results. Dani continued to observe from distance. She watched him fish out a polythene bag with one regular playing card. Or so they thought.

"The killer is using playing cards as a signature. They probably play a big role in his past, I would even go this far and say childhood. He is very familiar with them, probably most experienced with Poker.” Bright explained. His eyes wandered to the luxurious red Chanel. “Ines' bag? Practically a mass of full houses. He didn't only throw in some cards in the designer handbag. He manifested part of himself in it." He turned the card around and motivated the detectives to take a closer look at it. "Literally."

Dani squinted at the card, her eyebrows rising in slow motion. "Is this... a customized playing card?" She spoke for all of them. Bright planted his hands on the box filled with cards.

"Not only one of it. They all carry his face." He added, maybe a tiny bit too excited.

Meanwhile, JT took the card from Malcolm and observed the shielded card. He couldn't forget the killer's face. There he was looking at him, a little bit abstract, still him. Sticking out his tongue at them. "Didn't know you could customize simple playing cards." He snorted impressed and threw it into the box with all the other cards.

"You can customize literally everything these days." Malcolm replied while placing the lid gently over the box. Gil groaned.

"Great. Now we even have him mocking us on his cards. Anything else?" He grumbled at his profiler. Malcolm shot him a glance while escorting the box back to its former place.

"Don't be so negative all the time, Gil." He rolled his eyes, a wide grin covering his face. He refused to give them to whole treat, rather enjoying seeing them wiggle for their own conclusion. Motivating them to think for themselves. Shortly after it really made click in Gil’s brain.

"We've got his shopping area." Gil realized.

"We can check for anyone who offers to customize playing cards." Dani suggested.

"Bingo!" Malcolm cheered, a new box already in his hand. Gil scrutinized him from head to toe.

"You've got another idea?" He asked rhetorically, but really he was just clearing the stage for Bright to continue. The young profiler nodded.

"We have gathered two business cards, remember?" He pulled both out, one from Ines, the other one from Vanessa. Gil's eyes narrowed.

"You do realize we already tried tracing them down? No phone number, no internet site." He grumbled and crossed his arms before his chest.

Malcolm spread his hands to the sides. "Only makes sense removing them." He walked to the table, laying out both different cards carefully. "What I'm trying to point out is, they have something particular in common." He said, holding his breath for the others to play this through with him. JT looked at his boss, not sure if Bright was being serious. Gil covered his eyes with his open palm and shook his head.

His hand dropped and he moved towards Bright. "Let's see, both internet links are different, their source as well. Except that both sites are deleted, doesn't that count as a similarity?" Gil pointed out demotivated. Bright nodded reluctantly. He was obviously going for something else. Gil sighed, continued nevertheless.
"The phone numbers are different and not traceable. Is there something I forgot?" Gil looked at JT, who shook his head.

"The service." Bright objected, a lively spark in his eyes. Gil turned back to him, his attention entangled in the net Bright had thrown.

"Our killer didn't just leave breadcrumbs for us to collect. Even here he engraved an important part of himself. Business." Bright explained, as if it was this simple and totally obvious. He started walking in the little room, underlining his speech.

"Our killer is an experienced businessman. Persuading people for his own interests is his daily work. I bet he even runs a legal business," Bright guessed with his hand on his chin and his gaze out of the window, “just with some shady stuff going on in the background." He added after a little while, turning back to his group with a lopsided grin.

"So what do you suggest? Interrogate every businessman in New York?" Dani took out of it, but there was no conviction in it. Malcolm smiled sadly.

"Well, this is only a hunch. There are too many options, even then we could have him right under our nose and not recognize him." Bright replied.

"You know we have his appearance?" JT threw in, one eyebrow raised. Malcolm laughed lightly, pity for his less gifted brother.

"What we have of him, is a version of his disguises. The man we're dealing with is a chameleon. He sold me two cups of tea without me noticing him." JT narrowed his eyes.

"Well maybe because you're just freakin blind." Malcolm returned the glare. As if their killer would go to such risks and plan everything in such little detail- Was he even listening to what he was saying?

"Alright, calm down. Both of you." Gil interfered before the situation could escalate. "We've got work to do."

Dani watched all three men from her lowered position. "Fine. What do you want us to do?" She spoke up, open to any suggestion. Gil pointed at her. "You're definitely not going into the field. I need you here." Then he turned to Bright and JT for further assignments.

Dani suppressed an annoyed groan. On the other hand, she shared total understanding. It was for her own good after all.

"Our best shot is probably to look at our current businessmen. You two are going to visit as many offices as possible the next few days." He commanded to Bright and JT. The detective blew raspberries. "That's a long shot."

Gil shook his head. "We have a lot of time. There are no other leads to distract us." He replied shortly.

"So… JT takes the west? And I-"

"No." Gil cut off Bright. "You'll be working as a team." His subordinates rolled their eyes. "Seriously? That way it's gonna take even longer." JT objected, Bright nodding in agreement.

Not that it mattered to Gil. "I already said it, I'll say it again. We have time. Besides, four eyes are better than two." Maybe they accepted it, still they behaved like grumpy teenagers in the middle of puberty. Gil sighed. "I need your experience and Bright's expertise working together. Can you manage?" Eventually they nodded in defeat. None of them wanted to disappoint their mentor.

Gil planned to hand over Dani's assignment when both men would disappear. JT was almost out of the room when something kept Bright hesitating. Gil turned to him and placed on hand on his shoulder with fatherly affection. "What's on your mind?" He started investigating his kid. Malcolm was obviously unsure whether he should share his thoughts with the group or not. He decided to go with the flow.

"There's something, something nagging in the profile." He confessed. JT leaned at the doorframe, observing his partner expectantly. A flow of motivation pumped into Bright's body and he jumped to his whiteboard. The profile of the Game Master on it.

"The profile assumes he had a rather poor childhood, remember?" Bright pointed out, checking if he had everyone's attention. "Our killer has a typical ‘rags to riches’ story. He never really graduated but is intelligent and smart. His school was life. Poker, a job that helped him to get over the rounds. Like today. Cheating helped him to win, to survive." Malcolm retold the story he had already figured out after the first round. This time though, he was even more convinced of it. The killer reanimated his life story in an abstract way. He was an artist, but instead of writing or drawing he portrayed his masterwork with murderers. That's what made him so unique and interesting. Someday people in Quantico would learn about him, Bright had no doubts. Even if this case wasn't that big yet in the publicity. Real artists only got acknowledged after their own life ended.

"What are you trying to tell us." Gil tried to speed things up, his finger circling in the air. Malcolm looked at every single one of them before continuing.

"The Game Master's legacy was built on life experiences, hard work, and illegal benefits. He can rub his smartness in our faces as often he wants. One thing remains. Without his illegal ways and all this cheating he would be a nobody." Bright finished quietly. He turned his head towards the picture of their first crime scene. All these televisions on his command. "And yet he managed to present us a real technical show at our first round."

It dawned on each one of them at the same time. JT pushed himself away from the frame and attempted a few steps towards Bright. "Are you trying to say there are two of them?" He blurted out in shock. "No way." Dani threw in, her voice higher due to panic.

"Maybe an accomplice? Or another vic? Definitely a hacker, or at least a very talented technical expert." Bright threw back.

"Maybe a sibling?" Gil guessed. Malcolm shook his head reluctantly. "Wouldn't make much sense, given they should share the same scholar privileges." He objected.

"Not if there were separated orphans." Dani threw in, Malcolm gave her that point. Still, he didn't think of it as highly possible. Their killer seemed to be strongly affected by a false sense of family. Abuse even maybe. The four of them were like a family, spending so much time together, if only for work. They got very close and comfortable over time. Was he driven by vengeful motives towards families? Still didn't answer the question, why them?

Gil clapped his hands to gain everyone's attention. "Alright, from now on we have to assume that we might be chasing two people. If the unknown technic expert is just a helping hand in the background or actively supporting murder is irrelevant. That's for the judge to solve. We focus on catching those bastards in the first place." He announced. His eyes searched for equal understanding and motivation within the other ones of his teammates.

"Now go." He closed the meeting. His two men dashed out of the briefing room, discussing their following plans of action. Gil walked towards Dani to give her an own assignment. At the desk.

Notes:

I'm being honest with you guys, Bright completely caught me off guard when he proposed that accomplice theory. Like, I wasn't planning that, but daamn I'm fine with it. Yes I know I'm the author, I'm supposed to be in control, but they just keep doing what they want!!

Chapter 10: Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Malcolm sighed frustrated, removing his eyes from JT’s form. The day before had been a disaster and this one sure gonna was follow the lead. JT and Bright drove through New York, desperately stopping by to search for their particular businessman. Where did they draw the line? Was it just some manager of a fast food restaurant or instead maybe a big company?

Malcolm didn't know, therefore he had to listen the whole day to an annoyed JT cursing their assignment. After that, his mother insisted he'd join her and Ainsley at dinner where she tried to convince him to finally get laid and pop out some grandchildren. Alright, that was merely the gist of it, Jessica had been blabbering like a waterfall. The only pause he received was when his mother started to attack his sister. He felt earnest pity. And relief.

He wasn't ready to repeat all of that but talking to Gil wouldn't help. They really had no other leads than this. Malcolm's eyes found Dani at her desk and his mood brightened.

"Hey Dani." He walked towards her with a nod. She turned her head and chuckled at him. "How's your leg?" The question fell out immediately. He prayed it wouldn't awaken any horrific memories from that faithful night. He himself was pretty familiar with how traumas work.

Given he'd received a heavy blow to the head he didn't remember a lot of what happened. And Dani refused to fill him in. So he was left with the sole knowledge that they both somehow managed to survive the encounter with their killer. Bright with a surprisingly nasty head wound, Dani with several minor cuts and one big stab wound in her right thigh.

"Hurting as hell. But it will be okay." Dani huffed honestly. Bright hummed absently and leaned on her desk, wishing he could stay with her, whatever the assignment.

"So what's your deal?" He asked curiously. They already left yesterday before Gil explained her task. He was hoping she was still on the case at least and not doing some minor crime's paperwork.

"He ordered me to inform myself on customizing playing cards." She deadpanned. "You know, where to order and question everyone, the usual stuff." She sounded demotivated, and if Bright was being honest, he would be, too. True, all of it was sparked by his idea, still it was kind of a waste of time. And no matter how often Gil mentioned they had plenty of it, they didn't. Maybe they were freed of other distractions, but it was still unknown when the killer would strike again. It could be today or in two weeks. Everything was open.

"Yikes." Malcolm huffed, the same amount of motivation as hers filling his statement. "Ordering on the internet must be an easy guess. Easy to track. Everyone does that nowadays, right?" He guessed away.

Dani shook her head vehemently. "Just the opposite. Everyone would do that. How should I know from bank accounts who a killer is and who not?" She huffed frustrated and snapped her pen away. It banged with a dull sound on her keyboard, slowly and painfully rolling back.

Malcolm observed her carefully, choosing his words like he would his steps on a minefield. "So are there any businessmen involved or just, you know, private clients?" He shrugged, testing if the water was hot, cold, or deadly poisoned acid.

Dani pinged the bridge of her nose. She took a couple of deep breaths. "Most of the websites aren't even giving me any names or an official order list." She confessed calmly, Bright's shoulders slumping down in disappointment. "Which reminds me, I still have to make plenty of infuriating calls today." She growled and glared at her telephone. She spared one look at her colleague with a frustrated smile. "I dearly hope your work is any better." She added forcibly, holding her breath. "It's really not." Bright pressed behind gritted teeth in the same low volume.

"Bright we're out. Now, or your rich ass can get yourself a taxi." JT called over the precinct and stomped towards the exit, his jacket in his arm. Malcolm watched him leaving, wondering if he'd really force him to get a taxi and drive alone.

"Grumpy." Dani commented to the scenery dryly. Her dark eyes followed the other detective before flickering back to their consultant. "You should really go, I fear he means it." She advised. Bright nodded reluctantly and left the comfort of the desk. He hesitated, but at the end he inhaled a deep breath and turned around, more or less confident.

"What I’ve been meaning to ask you... How about we check out the casinos?" He proposed, feeling puny and weak all of a sudden. Dani frowned irritated. "Why...?" She started, ending with a slight up, motivating him to keep going.

Nervously Bright scratched his neck. "Erm, obviously these games of chance and luck are a big motive of our killer. I think we could get a bit closer if we try to understand his world." Bright explained. Dani chuckled, a little flushed on her cheeks.

"For a moment there I thought you were silly enough to ask me out on a date."

Malcolm turned his head to the side, mostly to hide the embarrassment of his face. "That would be crazy... Right?" He returned a light laugh. They refused to look each other in their eyes, Dani removing a loose strand of hair from her face.

"Anyway, what's your call?" Bright cleared his throat and was ready to face her. Dani didn't seem convinced.

"I don't know. Gil doesn’t want me on the field while my leg is still... you know." She sighed, gesturing down on her leg.

A smug grin appeared on Bright's face. "Who says it got anything to do with work?" Dani raised one eyebrow suspiciously and suppressed an excited grin. "Just two friends meeting late at night. At the casino. Playing Poker."

"Alright, I'm in." Dani gave up in defeat, a big grin going from her left ear to her right one. "So it's a date!" Bright cheered happily. Dani raised one eyebrow at him, startling him. "Er, I mean, a friendly get-together!" He corrected awkwardly, sending a jolt of laughter through Dani.

He remembered his annoying partner and that he really should catch up to him. "So see you later. At your place, I pick you up." He declared, already moving towards the exit in a hurry. Dani gave him a simple thumbs up. He sped down the stairs, nearly bumping into several officers. The wind was frigid but mostly strong. He arrived at the side of the streets, his hair already in a mess. The parking lot was empty. Malcolm huffed frustrated.

"Jerk."

Chapter 11: Chapter 10

Notes:

Ha yeah, last chapter was late. That's no reason to delay this one. My calendar says 28.01. - chapter 10 so here you go!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Malcolm paid the driver and watched him disappear into the busy streets of New York. He took a deep breath of the dusty city air and moved towards the building with a fake smile. He read somewhere that a faked smile can improve your mood, but he failed to remember how long that would take, given the total taxi ride of 15 minutes wasn't sufficient. His empty coffee cup landed in the next bin. The door opened automatically. JT stood restlessly in the reception, waiting for him he hoped.

"I told you I would drive." He huffed instead of greeting Bright. The profiler chuckled amused. "I wasn't arguing." He replied, spreading his hands to the sides. JT glared suspiciously at him, as if Bright was using some sort of reversed psychology without him noticing his devilish plans. Bright had to suppress a laugh, there was nothing at all he wanted to achieve. More than anything he was impressed JT stood to his words and abandoned his partner at the precinct.

Probably a change of topic was more needed right now, JT was already enough in a bad mood as it was. "Did you wait extra for me?" He asked innocently, genuinely interested. JT glared at him.

"Of course not. But that lady at the reception ignored me completely. She asked if I had an appointment. I barely said no, and she didn't acknowledge me anymore." He protested frustrated. Bright raised one eyebrow in surprise. "Not even your badge-?" "Not even my badge worked on her!" He groaned and buried his face in his palms. Bright studied the woman behind the counter and immediately knew how to break her. Her shell! How to break her shell and get through to her.

"So you did wait for me." Malcolm cooed and ignored JT's death glare. He walked straight to the receptionist. He repositioned his hair smoothly to the back and folded his hand before his body.

"Hello, Miss. I'd like to see your office manager." He demanded politely. The woman was engrossed in her work at her PC. She was probably playing Minesweeper and trying to look busy.

"Do you have an appointment?" She muttered disinterested, her eyes plastered to the monitor. Malcolm cleared his voice to summon a voice he learned by watching his mother.

"Of course I do!" He replied, remarking the receptionist's actions as outrageous. His mother wasn't a genius for nothing.

The aftereffects were tremendous. The woman was immediately spiked by nervousness. She opened her journal next to her, readjusting her glasses and flying over her notes. "Your name?" She asked without stopping her search to find the next appointment.

Malcolm stemmed his fists on his hip. "Is this some joke to you!" He bellowed frustrated. The poor woman was already sweating. He had just to push one more button, just a little bit. "I will have a word with your official manager and he will-" Malcolm started, already sounding like a male version of his mother.

The woman jumped up from her seat and shut the useless journal. "No need!" She squeaked and hurried out of her safe place. She headed to the door and opened it for them. "I will inform Mr. Sanders of your arrival immediately." Her voice was high pitched, her lower lip trembling dangerously.

"Finally!" Malcolm exclaimed annoyed and walked over to the door like the biggest drama queen. He looked behind him at a very shocked JT. "Would you hurry up? We don't have all day." He scolded the man. JT hurried to his side, the receptionist bowing her head in shame.

"Ugh! Nowadays it's too hard to find competent employees." Malcolm scoffed at JT and the woman altogether before disappearing into the hallway, confidently walking to where he assumed would lead to the right office.

The door behind them shut, his act dropping with it the exact time. JT sprinted next to him and stared at him out of torn open eyes. "What the hell was that all about?" He blurted out. Malcolm merely shrugged. "I got us in." He answered obviously.

JT shook his head, still trying to comprehend what just happened out there. "I didn't know you could be such a- wow." JT exhaled speechlessly.

Malcolm grinned at him challengingly. "I imitated my mother, so choose your words carefully." He advised. JT shook his head in disbelief, slowly restoring his mind after that encounter. "From what I saw you learned from the best." He decided to say and mimicked to take his hat off for her. Malcolm laughed, shaking his head.

The silent vibration of a mobile caught both men off guard. JT glanced at Malcolm who fished out his phone and looked intently at the caller ID.

"God you're annoying." JT groaned and leaned against the wall to wait for him to finish his call. "Come on, I literally did nothing this time." Bright protested in a pout. "You're not gonna take that one?" The detective asked instead. Malcolm grimaced mildly and looked back down. "Nah, it's probably just, oh wait no. One second." He pushed the green button to the unknown caller. His father was saved as Psychiatric Claremont by now, so that couldn't be him.

"Hello?" He spoke into his phone. His hand jerked away when the loud voice met with his ear. "You are the lucky winne-" He hung up immediately, catching an amused look on JT. Malcolm shook his head and was about to tuck his phone away when it started buzzing again.

"Ugh!" He groaned frustrated. "For the love of-" He pushed the green button with more force than required. "No. I don't want to buy anything!" He yelled back, his finger flying over to the red button.

"My boy!"

He froze in his tracks. He swallowed hard to recover from this shock, persistently ignoring JT's concerned looks.

"I gotta say, I'm surprised you answered." His father chirped happily as ever. Malcolm took a shuddering breath and banned all of his insecurity. He summoned the cool and rational mind he was so proud of. Starting then it was impossible to unsee it. His father’s words were a lie.

"You arranged that, didn't you." He deadpanned with a steady voice, referring to the fake call.

"I have no idea what you mean, my son." His father's voice quipped from the other side. Malcolm sighed frustrated. "Now, you had your fun. Be aware that will never work again. Goodbye Dr. W-"

"Wait!" His voice was urgent. Malcolm cursed himself for not ending the call earlier. He steadied his shaking hand and turned his back to JT. "I have no time to chat right now, Dr. Whitley." Malcolm spoke with a strong voice.

"Then let's talk about your case!" His father proposed excitedly. Of course, what was he thinking? An emergency? Hence, the urgency in his voice? His father just wanted to poke further into his already fragile life.

"We will not." Malcolm decided firmly. He spared one glance at JT and reminded himself to hurry up and not keep him waiting any longer.

"No, okay, I understand. It's just, I'm curious." His father admitted, still optimistically, probably wandering in his cell as he speaks. "The news barely gives any information, and I don't even have to mention the murders." Dr. Whitley went on. It was obvious Ainsley had less material to present given the police itself had only scraps to work with.

"What do you mean with the murders?" Malcolm recaptured, annoyed that Dr. Whitley actually managed to capture his curiosity. He could see his father moving his lips in a delighted Oh? He tried to ignore the bitter taste it left with him.

"Oh you know, those weren't real murders. No emotion was inside of them. We killers can feel such a thing, don't we?" His father responded, a surge of fury blasting through Malcolm's body. Not because he assumed they were the same as he always did, but because he was right. He did feel it.

"But that doesn't make sense. Why murder when it doesn't mean anything? Why put so much effort into it for nothing. Unless there is one bigger aim? Something major crimes is keeping from the publicity?" His father assumed. Malcolm facepalmed and tried to laugh over it to show how absurd Martin was.

"That's just, no. You're not getting any extra details, Dr. Whitley." Malcolm laughed, planning to end this call any second.

"Alright! Gimme the details son!"

Malcolm's eyes narrowed annoyed. He forgot, a liar always knows another liar. Which is why he's probably so good at his job.

"I want to help you, son. You're obviously short on leads and panicked flailing won't do anyone good." His father advised.

Malcolm spared him the 'How did you know'. That was irrelevant for now. All of Dr. Whitley was irrelevant. He didn't concern the case. "You are not on this case. You are a serial killer." Malcolm stated matter of factly. By this point he didn't even dare to check JT's reaction.

"Exactly! I'm a serial killer, he is a serial killer, that's why I understand him better than anyone." Martin sent his argument to Malcolm with agitation in his voice. Malcolm rolled his eyes. Understanding serial killers, that was literally his job and he was fucking good at it.

"Malcolm. Not every detective has the chance to receive the help of a real serial killer. That's an opportunity." His father spoke in all his earnest. Malcolm snorted unamused.

"And the night terrors and traumata just go by or what." He hissed, the joke coming out dry and humorless.

Martin sighed on the other end of the line. "I'm not saying you're lucky to have a father like me. What I'm implying is, you paid your price, Malcolm. The night terrors won't just leave, nor the traumas, no matter what you do. Now what you can do is try to ignore me and make your handicapped life even more difficult. Or you could use your opportunity."

Dr. Martin Whitley is known for being a sadistic liar and manipulator. But damn he's good at it. Malcolm shook his head, reprimanding him not to give in. Not to make a deal with the devil. He already did with their copy case cat. And now he couldn't get this man out of his life anymore.

"What do you have to lose, Malcolm?" His father pushed further without giving Malcolm enough time to recover from the manipulation, from the sweet but bitter apple.

"Time. A lot of precious time in fact." He deadpanned. The hands were back on his throat, Dani crying in his arms. JT and Gil were next. They couldn't waste another second.

"Aren't you wasting your time right now?" Yes, yes they are. Is Mr. Sanders their killer? Probably not, just like all the other men they encountered the day before. New York was too big. How far would Malcolm go to protect his friends? His work family?

He put his hand on the speaker and looked at JT. Go, he formed with his lips. JT shot him an incredulous look. Are you serious, he mouthed back frustrated. Malcolm nodded apologetically and marched back towards the exit. JT cursing in the background while stomping to the office.

"Alright Dr. Whitley, you have one chance. One chance to prove yourself worthy of my time."

"Excellent!" His father chirped delighted, like a toddler that just received the lollypop he wanted. Malcolm could take it away whenever he wanted. And maybe he could even enjoy it while it was worth it.

He stepped into the fresh morning, the breeze already messing with his hair. "Isn't this wonderful? Father and son reunited again. I think we should give each other names, like in the old spy movies. You could be-" Malcolm pushed the red button before his father could even say a word. Then he waited. Watched the people walk, minding their own business. His phone buzzed.

"Don't you think that was a little bit harsh?" His father growled hurt from the other side.

"My thumb is over the red button, Dr. Whitley. Do you want to test how often I'm going to accept your calls, or will you stop straining my patience?" Malcolm deadpanned ignorantly. He wanted to show his indisputable dominance. He had the upper hand at all times. It was important for him to clear that because he was the one who needed the information. He needed to see this case from another angle. As hard as it was to accept, he needed Martin Whitley. If he would make the mistake to fall again to the lower position he would need to bargain. Bargain his free time on visits, just like the first time. It was a clear mistake he dearly regretted and didn't want to repeat.

"Alright, alright, but first I need some more details. You do understand that?" His father sighed dismissively. Malcolm nodded.

"The first victim was only a lure. The second one was an unnecessary evil. His goal is clear and indisputable. He wants us. Major crimes. He wants to mess with us, play with us." Malcolm explained sharply. He could hear Martin keeping his breath.

"Well, that is a one of a kind killer." He murmured after a pause. Malcolm observed the passerby cautiously. Ready to catch any suspicious glances and hurl them back. Luckily he remained ignored.

"Every new round he picks a new victim out of us four. We already lost two rounds." Malcolm added briefly. He looked over Martin's snarky remarks, for example, that's not a good quote. Martin was just being Martin. Silly. Malcolm had no breath to waste for such things.

"Good, but there's still more. I wanna hear it. Tell me everything!" His father exclaimed excitedly. Glad to hear that his nightmares becoming reality was such a thrill for his very caring father. He rolled his eyes and added it to the long list of infuriating things he ignores for his own health. "You want to hear my profile?" Malcolm questioned, his eyes burning into every new citizen that walked past him.

"Yes."

After Malcolm repeated his words from the early morning, Martin stayed completely muted. It was quite enjoyable, but it only lasted as long as his profile was laid open before the serial killer. "Uff, that is one tricky killer you’re after, gotta admit." The surgeon said, enthusiastically like every day. Did he get that in his coffee? "But I'm also kinda jealous how he fools you all and-"

Malcolm waited through the typical silence for the next buzzing of his phone. Seconds later his father was back in the line.

"Seriously? You gonna hang up on me whenever I-" Once again the silence was back. Malcolm whistled a peaceful tone during Martin's forced pause. His phone jumped back into life. Malcolm accepted it with the energy to begin this conversation.

"Is this how you're going to waste your phone calls?" He spoke nonchalantly into his phone, his thumb already lingering over the red button. Martin's breathing was already audible. Malcolm was aggravating him, maddening him until he would burst or give up.

"Time, Malcolm, I have phone Time! The number doesn't ma-"

This time Malcolm chuckled to himself. Martin was used to be the cat, playing with mice in his pawn. He certainly didn't like it the other way around. Malcolm enjoyed every part of it, if it weren't for the nagging feeling that a certain killer was after them. He thought about getting softer with Martin. With a sinister grin he decided to reach to the full extent.

"Okay Malcolm, this is becoming a bit silly, don't you thi-"

"You require the information Malcolm, so don't you hang up-"

"I don't remember raising you lik-"

"Malcolm, if you don't stop this nonsense I WILL-"

After that one particular call, it took more time for Dr. Whitley to call back. Malcolm waited anxiously. Maybe he had gone too far. Wasted too much time to gain nothing.

He observed the civilians in the street, nervously flipping his phone in his hand. Would Dr. Whitley call him back? More importantly, how should he react if that would be the case?

He would poker. Go full in.

His phone buzzed and he waited several seconds to accept it. His hand was trembling tremendously, the light of his phone blurring in his vision. He took a deep breath, that was all he needed to motivate himself. To be brave enough to finish what he started.

"Malcolm my boy, I'm sorry about what happened just now with the-"

"5."

Malcolm cut him off sharply. Martin failed to understand yet the ordeal he would have to suffer through. "How about you come to my place, you know, the door is always open for you my boy." He said with a wink. "We could chat about it with a cup of tea-"

"4."

Malcolm counted down, so finally it should dawn on Martin, or some would suppose. Maybe he was just really good at ignoring things. Or at digging his own grave.

"Four? Four o'clock you mean? Yeah that's totally fine by me, you know I don't have many things bothering me, anytime would be fine-"

"3."

Malcolm let first signs of impatience leak through his steady tone. He spared a look at his watch, concluding that JT should soon exit the building.

"Alright, I get it. I promise I stop wasting your precious time any longer and give you what I promised-"

"2."

Malcolm continued regardless. Martin wasn't talking. He was signing up for defeat, but what Malcolm desired were his thoughts on the case and nothing else. His methods seemed harsh, but… He noticed there was no 'but' to that sentence. His methods to achieve what he needed were cold and egoistic to the core.

"Ok Malcolm I understand, alright? You get my thoughts on-"

"1."

Malcolm sighed tragically, his thumb hovering over the red button. If he wouldn't show his severity now Martin would know for the future that everything was nothing more than a charade. His pride was stronger than his logical sense this time. He wouldn't accept another call after that one. He'd hang up and go out empty-handed. What else did he expect? This was a waste of time. There was nothing Dr. Martin Whitley could give him that he didn't already know.

"Why did he choose you!"

Malcolm's thumb froze over the red button. His father's heavy breaths screamed into his ear. That one question. That one question lingering unanswered in his brain. Did Martin really have the answer to it?

"I can tell why he chose you four, although there are enough people in New York to mess with." His father promised. Malcolm repositioned his finger far away from the end call button. "Go on." He urged him patiently.

He could see his father visibly pushing his hair behind while starting his monologue. "I agree with the rags to riches story, or that he manifests his life into this game. He had a hard childhood and it didn't get easier as a teenager. Or as a young adult for that matter. Life was never easy on him." His breath calmed down and he must be walking in his room from left to right, forth and back, his arms folded behind his back. "But now it is." He said, raising his index finger into the air.

"Our killer seems to live the perfect life. Money is no problem anymore because he has enough of it. Women are no problem, he must be handsome, so every girl willingly jumps into bed with him. He reached his life goal and is living la Vida Loca." Martin exaggerated with wild gestures Malcolm could sense from the other end. He shook his head disapprovingly.

"So what's his problem if he supposedly has none." He growled offended. He saw Martin's innocent face when the words washed towards him.

"Oh simple, really. He's bored."

Malcolm took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He opened them, immediately glaring at an imaginary point. "So you intend to say,” He started with the voice of an angel, gradually becoming quieter, “that this man terrorizes our lives because he’s bored?!” Malcolm hissed sharply into his phone, his tone quiet enough for no one to raise any suspicion.

"Don't get this wrong, Malcolm. People like us, we are predators. A comfortable cushy life leaves us bored, and that is the last thing you want a predator to be." Martin explained calmly. Malcolm swallowed, his throat hurt. He shouldn't overstrain it.

"But you got laid. You had a comfortable life." Malcolm objected offended.

"I also killed 23 people." The surgeon commented on the side. Of course, it dawned on him. His father was a convicted serial killer, how could he forget something like that.

"For me personally, I needed to extend my hobby. The adrenaline kick was a minor factor that constantly rose, but I was more interested in, well, other things." He chuckled, severity returning immediately. "Predators need to be challenged. If not, we search for them ourselves. Your killer there is addicted to it, he's been raised with it. He can't exist without those challenges. And what bigger challenge would there be than to provoke the Major Crimes Unit of his own city?"

Malcolm mused about the fact for a second. "You think that's why he chose us?" He could hear Martin shrug from the other end of the line.

"Well yeah, wait. Did you think I was the problem, that I attracted the serial killer to you? Son, you can't blame everything on me." Martin groaned unnerved. Malcolm rolled his eyes. "So we just pretend Watkins never happened or..." He snorted annoyed, agitating Martin even more. "Well okay there was one time I made a huge mistake and found a wrong friend-"

"Focus Dr. Whitley." Malcolm snapped his fingers. He wasn't eager to open any old traumas while he was currently working on a new one.

"Sure." His father growled, not happy about this harsh treatment. He seemed to swallow his bile, because Malcolm received neutral silence, clearing the stage for him.

"That surely is quite the relevant information. We can circle every famous and wealthy company leader in this city, that might provide the aid we need." He mused with his free hand on his chin.

"See? I told you, your old man is still useful-" Malcolm was already thinking ahead, picking out names that were familiar to him. Suddenly this wasn't like a needle in the haystack anymore. There was a fox in the henhouse and all they had to do was to open their eyes and find the wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Thank you Dr. Whitley for your assistance." He dismissed his father coldly. He would grab JT and lead him to Mr. Farrow since that was the nearest company given their location. Adrenaline pushed through his veins and he didn't feel like wasting it on an already locked away criminal.

"Wait Malcolm, there's one thing I'd like to add!" Martin yelled, probably from the completely other side of his cell. Malcolm sighed and pinged the bridge of his nose. "If you must." He gave in. Martin cleared his throat and Malcolm already felt silly for this. He should leave and catch a killer, not listen to his father’s shenanigans.

"This man plays games with you, Malcolm."

"You don't say." He commented dryly. His father ignored him.

"He plays them because he's good at them. He really is." Martin continued. Malcolm swallowed, feeling that his father was actually onto something. He was about to give him a tip on how to beat him, he certainly was.

"Don't play his games."

Malcolm frowned surprised, he didn't expect that.

"Playing after his own rules will never lead you to victory. You have to play by your rules. Play your game." Dr. Martin Whitley purred dangerously, his sinister maniac grin creeping down Malcolm's back.

"That sounds in fact pretty unconventional." Malcolm croaked and positioned his tie that closed all of a sudden very tight to his neck.

"Oh my boy, that's how life works. Opening up to risks is a constant action of ourselves. Beware that this action can provide you with a very deadly risk though. You could catch the killer by disobeying his rules, or you could force him into a corner, resourceless. Then he will reach his limit of monstrosity you can’t even begin to imagine."

Malcolm breathed hardly into the micro, the words sinking into his brain. The situation felt already tight before talking to his father. Now every passing second was filled with agonizing anticipation. What was this killer capable of? How could Malcolm even break the rules and what would be the consequences?

"Alright then, son! Have a nice day and good luck finding that killer. If you need my help, I always have time for you!" His father changed back into his cheerful mood. Then the call ended. Malcolm still stood with his phone pressed to his ear. Staring through the individual citizens. Listening to the peeping of the ended call.

JT left the building, Malcolm wasn't quite sure for how long he'd been blacking out. He tucked his phone with shaky hands back into his coat and walked with big steps to his partner. "Well there he is, our Mr. Sneak-away-from-work." JT grumbled, rolling his eyes annoyed. He ignored Malcolm catching up to him, maybe he was even eager to drive away without him. Again.

"Hold up JT." Malcolm sprinted after the man who disappeared in the car. Quickly he grabbed the door and plumped into the seat next to the driver. JT blew raspberries as he worked on getting his car started. "How 'bout stopping at the Foleman company. I hear they repair roofs, small company, but this Mr. Sanders was a complete bust." JT grumbled, concentrated on meddling himself into the busy street life.

"To Farrow." Malcolm objected. JT shot him a look and back to the street. "You know Gil told us to check every possible suspect. It would be a waste to drive to this part of the city and leave those few here left out." He scolded his partner who had been barely any help this day so far.

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders, his facial expression staying constant. "I'm just narrowing down." JT raised one eyebrow at him, motioning for him to go on.

"Wealth is what we're looking for. Our killer got too comfortable with his achievements, that's why he's looking for challenges. Us." Malcolm filled him in. JT's eyes were glued to the street.

"Neat." He admitted coolly. "Got that all from talking to your old man?" He spared one look at him. Malcolm didn't even catch his eyes before they were back to the street. "Yeah." He sighed.

They drove in silence for several seconds. Standing at the red light, JT waited to choose his direction. "Can we trust him?" He asked earnestly. Malcolm hesitated to answer. He shifted on his seat, the light shifting to green.

"I think so." He replied, but JT didn't drive. Instead he grabbed his shoulder. "Can we trust the surgeon, Bright?" He repeated more urgently. Malcolm swallowed hardly, uncomfortably listening to the cars behind them honking. The picture of his father grinning maniacally appeared in his mind.

"Yes. We can."

JT started the engine and drove left. To Farrow's enterprise.

Notes:

Writing the relationship between Malcolm and Martin was so fun! Martin is such a cool character, one of the reasons I love Prodigal son!!

Chapter 12: Chapter 11

Chapter Text

The sky was going to bed. A slightly pink-orange colored blanket covered the once clear blue sky, fading bits of clouds riding along the remaining blue waves. It was yet too early for stars, but the moon was already finishing the holy art.

Malcolm lowered his gaze from the sky and opened the door, stepping out into the real and freezing world. He shivered into his coat, but the temperature was still manageable. At least it wasn't snowing like a few days ago. JT stomped past him with confident and strong steps, Malcolm always had troubles keeping up with those.

They entered the last company for this day. Their newest suspect on their list: Mr. Coleman. He didn't even hope this one would be a catch. He was supposed to meet later with Dani and he really wished to find their killer tomorrow. He awoke from spacing out and approached the scene to assist JT at the reception.

"I'm so sorry, no appointment, no meeting. Especially not this late." The woman answered honestly to the detective, her eyes fleeting to the modest clock on the wall. She seemed tired and probably wanted nothing more than to call an end for this day.

"We do have an appointment." Bright countered back from the other side of the desk. The woman groaned annoyed. "Name?" She began to spiral in her standard questioning Malcolm was all too familiar by now.

"Murder."

The woman searched in her journal before she was startled. "Excuse me?" She blurted out in what was still disbelief. Before she could think of mishearing JT held up his badge to confirm Bright’s word.

"We're here investigating a murder. We need to question Mr. Coleman urgently." He added coolly. Fear was visibly creeping over her face. These weren't only normal police officers. She was denying real detectives to investigate a real murder. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize." She spilled and grabbed her telephone, swiftly dialing a number. The seconds they waited were uncomfortable for everyone.

Her eyes widened. "Ah, hello Mr. Coleman, sorry to interrupt you this late. I have two guests who urgently need to share a word with you." She hurried, trying to avoid looking at the two men behind her counter. The two partners observed her with little interest.

"It's the police, Sir." She added earnestly. After that, she nodded several times. "Alright, I'll send them up." The phone landed back into its place and her bright eyes locked with theirs.

"The boss is ready to see you, just go to the elevator, fifth floor and right." She explained, her fingers pointing towards the mentioned direction. Both men nodded gratefully, JT turned around and walked to the elevator. "Thank you." Bright hummed softly and followed his partner.

They stood next to each other in tight silence. JT had his arms crossed before his chest, Malcolm folded his hands down. He seesawed to the typical elevator music, from his toes to heels, a huge grin constantly on his face. JT glared at him without changing his rocky position. Malcolm glanced at him innocently. "What? It's quite catchy." He chuckled in defense. JT rolled his eyes and concentrated back on the door, ignoring the profiler next to him.

The door parted into both sides. JT walked out as if he spent here every morning. Without any insecurities, he marched down the right alley until they reached a room. Malcolm was impressed by how sturdy JT sometimes could be. He feared the wooden door would burst under his partner's knocks.

"Come in." A clear voice welcomed them from the other side of the door. JT marched into the room, Bright appearing right behind him.

"Good evening gentlemen." Mr. Coleman greeted them politely. He offered them a seat and took place on his big leather chair. He was a middle-aged man, probably around in his late thirties. He had a smooth beardless chin, which made him look younger than he probably was. His black hair was slicked to the back and he was dressed in a tight suit, setting out his tender body form.

He threw one leg over the other and folded his hands on the table. His grey eyes watched them intensely. "What brings you two to my humble office, detectives?" Mr. Coleman asked and observed their reactions.

"I'm detective Tarmel. This is our consultant Malcolm Bright." Malcolm glanced at him in shy amusement. He just had to clear that before starting the official questioning. Well, JT had his chance.

"Homicide. A young woman and a man were murdered. We're here to ask you just some questions." Malcolm explained with a smug look, satisfied he took that from JT.

Mr. Coleman wasn't shocked. "That's horrendous, truly. Don't get this wrong, officers-" "Detective." JT meddled annoyed behind gritted teeth. "-But I don't see why I should care." Mr. Coleman ignored him delicately. Malcolm frowned at the other man's statement. Not something happening often.

"My concern is narrowed to this company's success and my own family. Your work carries no interest to me." He added further.

"Not even when you're on the suspect list?”

For the first time, the man showed signs of nervousness. Bright only needed to figure out if this was natural or suspicious.

Mr. Coleman smiled. "I don't see why this should intimidate me. As I said earlier, nothing but this company concerns my interest. I'm innocent, this is a waste of time for both sides. But if wasting our money fulfills you, feel free to do your work." JT glared at him, concealing his anger from this man.

"If you're truly innocent the questions should be no problem for you. We'll be done very quickly." Bright filled in meanwhile, smiling politely at the unsympathetic man. The problem was, he had some similarities to their killer, but so did some of the other suspects have. Finding their killer by his looks proved to be the hardest challenge so far.

"Be my guest." Mr. Coleman spread his arms mildly to the side. He made himself comfortable in his seat. Bright had a hard time seeing through these cold and hollow businessmen. JT didn't need to grab his files, by now he was very familiar with all the details of their murder. Unfortunately, Mr. Coleman happened to present enough alibi and plenty of witnesses. That man was as clear as a freshly cleaned pot. Malcolm let the harmless interrogation wash over him, trying to find a way to lure out any useful signs of Mr. Coleman.

"I'm sorry-" Bright interrupted Mr. Coleman during one of his long answers. "-have we ever met before?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the irritated man. "I don't know, you seem familiar. Like I saw you before, at a café maybe?" Malcolm pushed further, referring to the time he accidentally bought poisoned tea for Dani and himself.

Coleman smiled at him with vicious pity. "I don't visit cafés. It's a waste of my time." He replied sharply.

Bright nodded with an unbeatable smirk. He was going to destroy him. Men like Coleman loved to talk, so far that's all he's been doing. Talking more than JT even wanted to hear. Now Malcolm would take the lead. And he would force him under his dominance, because in terms of talking, Malcolm was the champion. He wasn't satisfied with the bits Coleman offered. He needed everything of him, especially the things the man wasn't even aware of himself.

The CEO took his eyes off Malcolm and went back to JT. "So, where was I-"

"Keep your breath. We're not interested. I have some other questions." Bright interrupted yet again very crudely. Mr. Coleman glared at him deadly. JT somehow was very fine with Malcolm doing his own thing. He leaned back and enjoyed the show.

"What's your favorite color?" Malcolm asked enthusiastically. Coleman blinked perplexed at him. "What the..?" He gasped surprised. He wasn't amused by how silly the questioning had turned out to be.

"Don't you have a favorite color, Sir?" Malcolm continued disappointed. He fished out a notebook and started writing into it. Coleman's eyes shifted frantically to him and his notebook. "Wait, what are you writing?" He asked nervously, looking at JT for support. The detective observed his profiler proudly. When Malcolm looked up from his notebook, the boss flinched back.

"Do you like animals?" Mr. Coleman looked at Bright as if he was the biggest idiot that has ever set foot in his office.

"Are you being serious?" He checked with a growl. Malcolm smiled brightly.

"I have a parakeet, her name's sunshine, she's very sweet." He responded instead. Coleman filled his palm with his forehead and sighed while shaking his head.

"No, I do not like animals." He answered behind gritted teeth.

Bright nodded and returned to making notes. "Did you know Mr. Coleman, that most serial killers begin their career with murdering animals, such as stray cats?" He mentioned without looking up.

Coleman sat straight in his chair. "That doesn't prove anything." He claimed coldly, almost too urgent for someone innocent. Bright ignored him. "Oh, he knows that." JT mixed in, arms crossed before his chest. "It's just the way he is. Popping up some random murder facts." He explained casually.

Bright looked up. "What is your favorite game?" Was the next question. Coleman leaned back in his chair. "What is your deal, man?" He sighed exhaustedly. Malcolm chuckled.

"I take this as a no." He wrote in his journal. "Not even card games? Late at night at the casino? You certainly don't lack the money. Given you win every game?" Malcolm glanced up and smirked dangerously at him. Coleman shook his head slowly.

"This really is becoming a huge waste of time." He muttered into his palm. He lowered his head and pointed with his open palm to the door. "Please see yourselves out."

"Why did your father hate you?"

"What?"

JT readjusted himself in his seat and went to observe the tensing up situation even closer. Bright grinned, a sinister glint sparkling in his blue orbs. "No, he didn't hate you. He didn't care. That must be where you got that habit from." Malcolm mused, clicking his pen shut. He noticed the sweat on Coleman's temple. He laid the notebook over his crossed knee. "Tell me, Sir. Is there even a family to return to?"

Coleman swallowed the shot and lifted his head to glare daggers at the profiler. "There is." He growled and promptly stood up. He walked with big steps to the door and opened it aggressively.

"It was nice talking to you. Good evening." He spoke coldly, mentioning for them to get lost. Bright gladly accepted the invitation. He stood up and repositioned his suit, JT following right behind.

"It really has not been. The lies won't do you any good Mr. Coleman." Malcolm advised when he stood right next to him. The man eyeballed him furiously. Being so close to the man, Malcolm hoped for the first time to feel the hands on his throat. Was he the killer?

He walked disappointed out of the room. The door fell shut with a loud bang. He didn't feel the hands on his throat. JT exchanged looks with him. "Is he sus?" He asked, hands in his pocket. Bright shrugged and simultaneously shook his head. He looked at his watch. It was time to head home. Get dressed and drive over to Dani.

"Let's continue tomorrow." He proposed. JT agreed.

Chapter 13: Chapter 12

Notes:

Yeah, so um... hi.
Remember when I promised to update every second day?
I failed.
I dragged this long-ass chapter into weeks, and by the way even started a new little story (Tasteless).
Anyways, enjoy this Brightwell chapter! :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It was late at the night, but who said New York ever went to bed? The road was filled with endless car lights, blinding his exhausted eyes. He had them closed for a good while now since they started burning at one point. The lights managed to burn through his eyelids anyway.

The cab came to a halt on the side of the street. Malcolm opened his eyes and leaned to the door, prying it open. The door was about to fall back when a black hand stopped it. It was torn open. Bright smiled at Dani. She returned the smile and entered the cab.

"You look great." Malcolm complimented her looks. She had her hair stuck up into an elegant bun. The red dress she wore embraced her curves tightly. She smirked smugly at him, his face heating up in the process.

"You didn't pack your gun and badge?" He mentioned surprised. Dani raised one eyebrow at him.

"I thought we weren't on duty?" She caught him, sending him to scratch the back of his head nervously. "Just kidding." She chuckled and revealed a split in her long dress. A black ribbon with her gun and badge attached to it. Malcolm raised both eyebrows. Hats off to that.

"To be honest, I wasn’t expecting a dress like this." He began warmly. "Where does a detective need such a lustful outfit?" He asked curiously, but also with a challenging smirk.

Dani returned the favor. "Apparently for work." She replied. "I figured this would be the elegant crap you wear at a casino." Malcolm laughed over her words. He couldn't agree more with her.

Dani frowned. "Will we even get in?" She questioned, underlining her words with doubt. Malcolm had no worries.

"Everybody does if they offer enough money." Dani smiled cheekily at his words. "Thank god we have a rich boy in our team." She teased him. Malcolm glared playfully at her, but a smile fought off his strongest severity.

The place the casinos owned wore a completely different atmosphere than the rest of New York. Worriless party lust traveled through the passengers. Elegantly they stalked in, but once inside every modesty was thrown into the nearest trash can. Lots of limousines or cabs pulled next to the gigantic stairs. More and more lights fought off the dark December night. They shot up into the sky with every color of the rainbow.

Malcolm paid the driver and watched him take off. He turned around to Dani. She was freezing in her dress. "Shall we?" He offered his arm. She accepted it with a laugh. Like promised they got into the casino without major problems. They were early, yet the place was fully crowded. Dani cringed at the sight of so many insane humans.

"Morons. They do realize they're wasting their money?" She pointed out disdainfully. Malcolm shrugged. "Not if they're winning." He objected neutrally. His gaze wandered over the several locations. On the other end was a crowded bar. This place was bigger than Bright could see in one fell swoop. At first sight, he detected Roulette, standard automatic machines, and several tables for minor card games. And of course the most popular discipline: Poker.

"Would you like a drink?" A waiter, appearing out of nowhere, offered politely. Malcolm smiled and grabbed two glasses, handing one over to Dani. It was a martini.

"So... What's the plan?" Dani asked. She was uncomfortable, at a loss of what to do. This wasn't her world. Neither was it Malcolm's. "There's no way we could spot him somewhere in here. We're not that lucky." She muttered and sipped off her martini. Malcolm mused for a second.

"You do have a point." He admitted and swallowed the alcohol. "This is his world, Dani. We can try to understand him a little better." He uncovered the opportunity. He put his full glass somewhere on a table. Dani watched his moves and followed him helplessly.

"Have you ever played Poker?" He asked with one short glance at her. That was the only warning she received towards Bright’s plan. She shook her head vehemently. "Hell nah, not even once." She blurted out with big eyes. Malcolm shrugged a little disappointed. "Well then, I guess I have to ask you to watch my back." He offered clumsily. Dani rolled her eyes. "My pleasure."

He fished out a bundle of money and placed it on the board. The Game director looked at Bright and Dani, then at the money. He kept a professional severity. "Take a seat." He offered coldly. Malcolm was surprised by how easy this went. He sat down with all the other suited gentlemen. They snickered at him.

"Look at him. A snotty little upstart." Malcolm ignored the old white-bearded man who quickly glued his eyes back into his cards. Little did he know about the death glares Dani sent at everyone who dared attacking her friend. She took her assigned role very seriously.

She didn't understand this game. None of their actions made sense to her. They were always so cold and distant, obviously faking kindness. She didn't see why.

"I call." Malcolm yet again said with a firm voice. That one man with the sharp chin and the scar covering his right cheek eyed Malcolm like prey. Dani felt oddly cornered. Defenseless. Although she was the one with a gun. Well, who knew who else wielded a gun in here. As a cop, she definitely wasn’t one of the popular.

"Raise." The scarred man purred with a deep and rough voice. He laid down more chips. "Five Million."

Dani tried her best not to gasp at the money that was offered back and forth. An unimaginable amount of money played carelessly in a gamble. Malcolm leaned back in his seat and smirked sardonically.

"I call."

The other three players who already jumped off the deal observed the two interested.

"I think the newcomer is bluffing." The man with the white beard huffed to his neighbor, a Chinese man who jumped off last of the three. Malcolm peeped amused at him.

"Of course you weren't brave enough to check that on your own." The player glared dangerously at the profiler. Only one, two seconds before the professional façade was back on.

Ridiculous. All these liars. Dani hated every second she spent here. The healthy respect she carried for these mysterious men were straining her mind. It took all concentration not to show how jumpy and uncomfortable she really was. The man with the scar looked down on Malcolm with a dangerous glint in his grey eyes. How was she supposed to relax under these circumstances?

"Raise. 8 Million." He pushed a new stock of chips towards the middle of the table. Malcolm didn't lose his smile. He glimpsed at his two cards for a split-second. Dani saw them, too, but she didn't recognize what was so special about them.

"Raise." He said instead, everybody at the table leaning interested over the table. "12 Million." He purred with a hungry look at the other man's chips. Dani saw how the man paled and froze, gripping his cards tighter than needed. Malcolm pushed his bit into the middle. He had yet enough to play, not much, but enough. The scarred man would be forced to go full in.

Malcolm gazed at him expectantly. So did the rest. What they asked of him was unthinkable. Losing 12 Million wasn't an easy choice to make. Although he had also the chance to win. If he was willing to risk it was the real question. The old man advised him to go for it. The player said nothing. He hadn't all night long. The majority of them were quiet, still delivering a certain impression of danger and respect. He searched for clues in Malcolm's eyes, but ended up dodging the icy glare that seemed to scan him to his very bone.

He laid his cards to the dealer. Malcolm scared them off the deal, but the price was more than enough. He gained more than the 8 Million, given the other three players had jumped off as well at one point. The dealer declared Malcolm the winner of this round.

"Congratulations. It's always an advantage to have the better cards." The Chinese man ignored the old man bothering him constantly and turned to the profiler who was currently ordering his gain. Malcolm snorted at him quietly.

"The cards aren't everything." He objected. He wasn’t obligated to show his cards to them. Yet he took the two cards and threw them into the middle of the table for everyone to see.

The scarred man looked up at Malcolm, unspeakable fury in his eyes. "Nothing?!" He snarled and jumped off his seat, slamming his open palms on the table. Bright didn't even flinch one bit, Dani's hand jerked to her gun on her thigh.

The dealer stood up in silence and merely looked at the aggressive player. The scarred man huffed. He swallowed and sat back down. The only noise on the table was the dealer shuffling his cards. Malcolm ordered his win and ignored the death glares with amusement. The Chinese man observed him interested, one corner of his mouth slightly in the air.

"You shouldn't draw your gun in such a place." Dani was startled by the female stranger next to her. She had appeared out of nowhere. Her hand shot back up to support her other hand with holding the cocktail.

"Excuse me?" She hummed politely at the elder woman. She had curly dark honey-brown hair under her flower accessory. Her dark purple dress went to the bottom, but she had no shame to reveal some legs, covered in black lace stockings. Her curvy waist was embroidered with gold, her hands holding the long smoking cigar hidden in pitch black gloves.

"Yours is the youngster?" She asked with a mysterious glint in her dark blue eyes, nothing like Dani had seen within the man before.

"And who are you?" Dani lost interest in the game and the new round that started. She glanced at the stranger.

"You can call me Katherine if you want to capture my very presence in one name." She responded with a sardonic chuckle.

She breathed into the smoke and sighed. "Mine's the old foul mouth." She spoke with decent disgust in her words. Dani looked at the rather louder man betting in a lot of money. It was the white-bearded man who despised Malcolm the moment he showed up. "He's dumb. But yours is really one of a kind." The woman calling herself Katherine purred, her eyes glued to Malcolm's back.

"What are you talking about?" Dani was getting frustrated, talking like she was some god and possessed men? Unfortunately, the woman decided herself how this conversation was going to happen, and it was definitely not cooperating with Dani's version.

"He's on another league than the other gentlemen. He can see what they hide from everyone else. Do you play Poker, darling?" She smiled kindly at Dani, but somehow she felt rather threatened. She held her ground and shook her head. She was about to add a no, but when her lips parted only Katherine’s voice echoed.

"Poker is a game of wits. Cards carry a relevant role. You don't need good cards. You need better cards. Better than anyone else's." She explained, her voice firm but sneaky and smoky at the same time. "Though cards are not everything. Sometimes you have playable cards. And sometimes you have crap. Nothing as we call it." She chuckled at Malcolm who just made his call. "Only the best players know how to win Millions with nothing."

Dani stepped closer to Malcolm and interrupted Katherine's possibility to gawk at her friend. "You seem to know this game very well. Why aren't you at the table?" Dani questioned confidently, her voice steady and challenging. Katherine looked delighted by Dani's change of mood. She smiled, her white teeth dazzling with the light above them.

"I am a woman. I don't scoop down this low to entertain myself with silly games." She laughed, it sounded fake. "I only get myself involved in the real games." Dani scowled. "You mean Russian Roulette?" Katherine fell into a deeper fit of laughter. She calmed down and looked at Dani through narrowed slits.

"No Darling. I play with lives."

Dani almost dropped her glass. She swallowed hard, blinked away the upcoming memories. "Y-you mean like..." She stammered, not finishing her sentence. Katherine waved at her dismissively. "Hush, you’re dark!" She snickered. She grabbed a glass from a bypassing waiter and took an elegant sip. Yet half of the strong liquid vanished. "I meant men. Those primitive creatures. Push the right buttons and they do what you want." Dani squinted at Malcolm before focusing back on the mysterious woman.

"We women are always above men. Never forget to show that you are in control." She drowned the burning liquid after her own advice. From the corner of her eyes, Dani noticed the commotion, the cheers of a freshly ended round. Though she couldn't tear her gaze away from the woman. Her eyes were glued to the two dark holes.

"Never."

The threatening words echoed in her head. She blinked, her throat sore she watched the woman dumbfounded. The mysterious woman smiled pitifully at her and turned around swiftly. She stalked away confidently. She stroked the old man's shoulder with her hip. "Vamanos." She demanded with a strict voice. The white-bearded man immediately abandoned his seat, packed his money, and rushed after the woman.

Dani blinked perplexed, unsure if this weird encounter really happened in the first place.

It did happen. All of a sudden this place hadn't enough air left for her. She touched Malcolm's shoulder, her hands were shaking.

Malcolm turned his head around, concern was written all over his face. "Shall we go?" He asked. Dani wasn't sure if she said anything. Malcolm packed his things anyway. "Let's go." He whispered kindly and dug up a path for them in the crowd.

The Chinese man stood up and blocked Malcolm's path. Dani failed to hear him, all she heard was Malcolm's warm voice. "I'm not interested. Good night, Sir."

He led them out successfully. Dani took deep breaths of the cold air. Malcolm stood awkwardly beside her, fidgeting in his stand. She observed him, feeling nothing but guilty.

"I'm sorry, you can go in and continue if you want-" She offered, but Malcolm shook his head. "No, no. It's alright." He sighed. After that silence took over again. It was uncomfortable. Her sad eyes searched for a free cab.

"Maybe I should go home." She decided disappointed. Her head snapped to Malcolm when his hands traveled in a frustrated manner through his hair. "Gosh, I'm so sorry." He blurted out. Dani frowned at him. Malcolm's face looked pained.

"This evening. It was a complete bust." He confessed, disappointed in himself. Dani was never really good at defusing a bomb. She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, yeah..." She stammered clueless. Malcolm shrunk more into himself.

"I'm so sorry. I really wanted to..." He trailed off, his gaze leading into nothing. Dani's interest was spiked. She leaned closer to Malcolm.

"Wanted to what?" She repeated, her face very near to his own. Malcolm glanced ashamed to the side.

"I wanted to offer you a good night. A night worth remembering. I kind of owe it to you." He confessed. Dani could coo in awe at the two first sentences, but the last one eventually carried more importance to get mentioned.

"What do you mean by 'owe' it to me?" She asked offended, disagreeing with the concept. Malcolm swayed to the sides, trying to avoid the outcome desperately. He didn't win over Dani. "Tell me why." She demanded fiercely, the picture of the strange woman before her eyes.

Malcolm reached his breaking point. "Because I let you down, okay!" He snapped, gesturing wildly.

Dani stepped back with a frown, as if Bright just lost his mind. "You were frightened, I never saw you this scared in my life. You really needed someone that night. And I just passed out on you." He sighed in resignation and shrugged powerlessly.

Dani blinked perplexedly. Then she was furious. Very furious. "What? How is that possible to be this dumb, but anywhere else to be such a smartass!" She ranted angrily. She was so done with him. "Seriously Bright. He cracked your stupid skull with the back of his gun. Maybe you don't remember very well, but I still remember the puddle of blood your head was laying in." She blurted out aggressively, not giving Malcolm any chance to meddle in.

She was walking forth and back, only now she came to an end. She stood still and pinged the bridge of her nose, vaguely shaking her head. "Why take the blame, Bright?" She muttered. It wasn't rhetorical, she really meant it. Yet she knew the answer herself. She felt it. Because of the things she was forced to do that night. The things she did to Malcolm.

"It's the helplessness I guess. The feeling that you couldn't help it, because you had no real choices. Right?" He asked sadly and looked at her intently. Dani huffed at him. Of course he knew. Bright maybe didn't know what happened that night, but he could always see through everyone. She was no exception.

"I never told you what happened for a reason." She muttered defensively. Dani turned away from him and crossed her arms before her chest tightly.

"I know. And I respect that." Malcolm let out a heavy breath. He scratched his neck and looked away from Dani. "It's just, not knowing for sure hits even harder into the gut than I imagined."

Dani cringed at his remark. She knew he didn't mean to hurt her. Or make her feel guilty. All he tried was to be honest with his friend. What the truth made with her was her own fault.

Malcolm sighed when she didn't answer. "I'll get us a cab." He spoke with a newfound distance.

Dani snatched his arm before he could raise it. "Let's take a walk." She proposed instead. Malcolm looked pained at her, unsure if he was forcing her to do something she clearly didn't want. But he wasn't. Dani was the one in control. She decided whether she revealed that information or not. And she owed him the truth she figured. He deserved it. Even if it meant traveling back to that cold and lonely night.

The moment where Malcolm went limp in her arms and dragged her to the wet ground. When he got kicked away from her, only to reveal the horrible monster that escaped her nightmares. How he plunged down to her with his knife positioned. Her crying echoing through the empty city, as she thought he stabbed her shoulder, but merely cut it in truth. She couldn't forget the maniac grin that eyed her hungrily while his arm lunged and lunged, on every new part of her body new pain flaring up. Every new cut could be deeper, deadlier. Every new stab could reach her heart. Every second could be her last.

She closed her eyes, shut down the scary face. Shut down the horror scene. She screamed, barely feeling the pain anymore due to the adrenaline that paralyzed her entire body. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mind was blank. Nothing was registered but a new cut on her stomach, on her arm, cheek, throat. The cuts rained down on her.

Only a pained groan granted her passage back into the real world. She tore her eyes wide open, finding a Malcolm who struggled to get up. He swayed, like a newborn foal trying to stand up. The pressure disappeared, the weight lifted. Dani realized too late.

"Bright NO!" She screamed from the top of her lungs. Before her friend could react he had hands on his throat. He froze, unfocused eyes torn wide open. With such brutal force the killer smashed Malcolm's head against the wall, she could hear the sickening crunch from her position. The profiler sunk dead to the ground. Dani jumped onto the killer in mindless fury. He absorbed a few mad punches before he managed to throw her off and pin her to the ground.

"That was fun, wasn't it, detective?" His sweet sugar-coated voice echoed in her thoughts. He grinned excitedly at her. "Here. So you won't forget."

The immediate pain in her thigh was unbearable. The bloodcurdling scream broke out of her body as she had never witnessed before. The pain burned her leg down to the bone, the dull smoke laying itself over her mind like a blanket, sending her to merciful darkness.

Her whole body was shivering when she opened her eyes to the world. She was alone. In peace. A white snowflake landed on her temple, melting instantly. It sent an odd salvation sense through her body. She breathed in satisfied and closed her eyes, wishing to drown back in the worriless illusion of a world.

It didn't grant her passage anymore. Her mind was wide awake. Her leg was throbbing and her limbs trembling forcefully.

She pushed her upper body up, leaning on her arms. Her whole body was covered in a dull pain, only did she barely notice it with the horror at her leg. She touched the cold clothing of her pants, leaking a surprisingly hot liquid. The killer took the knife. He left her to bleed out.

The killer! Now that everything came back to her, she was reminded of their profiler.

She searched panicked for him. He was still here, lying motionless in his own blood.

She crawled to him, every movement paining her. A white layer covered Malcolm's coat. She brushed the snow away and carefully checked for his head, the back of his skull unnatural squishy. She remembered the sickening crunch combined with the picture of Bright's head getting banged against the wall. His head was already hurt, she thought pitifully.

Logically she concluded to call an ambulance. She searched for her mobile in her coat, but it was gone. Her eyes scanned the dirty road. She found it. She lost it when the killer attacked Bright and then plunged down to her. It was broken. It had left a clear mark where the knife had dug into. So that was minus one option.

She swayed, her head beginning to feel dizzy and clouding her vision. She should stop the blood loss. She released her throat from her scarf and tied it tightly around her leg. She didn't hurry. The next step awaiting her scared her. She would need to search for help, or even retrace her steps back to the precinct. The way would be arduous, no kidding, but it forced her to do something much worse.

She tied a knot and controlled her makeshift bandage. She nodded and looked at Bright. She cupped his cheeks in her hands and tried to wake him up. "Hey Bright, it's me, Dani. Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" She whispered carefully, her eyeballs wetting up. She sniffed quietly. "Please Malcolm, you need to wake up. Can you do that for me? Malcolm? Please..." She embraced his head, silently crying into his neck.

Bright stayed unresponsive. He had a pulse, how long would it stay that way? Of all the things the killer did, this was the worst to Dani. She wanted to kick the feeling away, but she had no other choice. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't help Malcolm without leaving him behind. If she would stay both would die, either bleeding out or freezing to death. So she really was forced to abandon Malcolm and search for help. She could pass out on the way and be found while Malcolm died. She could be too slow, and Malcolm would die. She could die and he would, too, but separated.

The risk would be on both sides. Dani was a fighter, that she always told herself. She ran away once. Could she now be the person she desired to be? All she wanted was for Malcolm to be safe. If this was the second round, he shouldn't even be hurt. He should be fine, at home like Gil or JT. This was all her fault. And now she would dig in deeper.

She stood up, leaning at the wall for support. That way she ground herself out of the lonely alleyway. She looked back, barely seeing Malcolm in the dark anymore. But he was still there. And she would get help.

Arm in arm they walked down the street in the present time. Malcolm understood the resistance Dani had opening up to him. He knew that feeling all too well. He spent most time of his life getting crushed by it and still was. He couldn't even guarantee Dani to get over it someday, his experience on that part was non-existent. He was the worst advisor if you tried to defeat a traumatic experience. He would try his best though to help her. Dani shouldn't feel this way. He wished no one to live like him.

"Thank you." He muttered earnestly. Dani frowned at him. "You're not mad at me?" She asked with uncertainty wavering in her voice. "For saving my life?" Malcolm made big eyes and couldn't help himself to drag it into the ridiculous. "Maybe a little? But I forgive you." He realized too late that Dani wasn't used to his suicide jokes, but she took it lightly and laughed over it.

She exhaled heavily. "But no, seriously Bright. I abandoned you to save my own butt and you forgive me?" She sounded mad. Was she mad at him for him not being mad at her? Malcolm pushed the complicated thought away and went to defuse the bomb.

"I am in no position of forgiving someone. You did what everyone would do. And given I'm still here, you didn't abandon me, you saved me. That's more than I could've ever done. I was literally zero help to you."

Dani looked at him in disbelief. "You know that's not true. I was glad you were there to catch me." She said with an earnest smile. Malcolm chuckled at that. "Doesn't that make me the legal winner of the game?" For that remark he earned a punch on his shoulder. "Shut up." She laughed hoarsely. A few feet they continued in silence. Where they had walked to, almost no one was walking. No cars and barely streetlight reached the scene. It was strangely idyllic to see New York vast asleep.

They warmed each other with the proximity of their bodies. "So can we agree this is all the Game Master's fault and we were just trying our best?" Malcolm proposed out of the blue. Dani considered his words closely.

"Only if that counts for both of us." She claimed. Malcolm played an offended look at her. "That's guaranteed." He exclaimed. Dani raised one eyebrow. "I promise," Malcolm added, with an honest impression. She nodded and winked at him. "Deal?" Malcolm laughed, nevertheless they shook hands firmly.

Somewhere in the corner of his eyes, Malcolm spotted something. He didn't let it slip his mind. He turned to face Dani, who delivered signs to Malcolm she was freezing. Any second and she would suggest going home.

"The thing is, I don't really want to go home yet." He said, startling Dani.

"I haven't even said anything yet." She blurted innocently. Malcolm rolled his eyes mildly. "Yeah, but you were about to." He defended himself. Dani narrowed her eyes into thin slits. "Advice for the future, Bright? Wait for your friend to speak up before voicing your answer."

Malcolm glanced to the side embarrassed. She did have a point. "Fine." He signed for defeat. "But I was right?" Dani looked at him in disbelief, shaking her head.

"Yeah, of course you were." She admitted honestly. "But why don't you want to go back to your house? It'd be warmer." She meant. Malcolm pulled his coat away to look at his watch.

"First of all, it isn't even that late yet." He showed her the time, his arm wrestling into a weird position. "Second... I don't feel ready yet." He admitted embarrassed. Dani raised one eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"For what exactly?"

Malcolm's shoulders slumped down. He sighed. "When I'm with you I forget all my normal problems. I can ignore them and just appreciate the now and then, which I haven't done often. So if we part, that'll be over." He confessed.

Dani smiled kindly at him and stroke his shoulders. "You do realize we have to part at some point?" Her words came soft and careful. Malcolm breathed out heavily. "That's undebatable. It'd just be great to delay that for as far as possible." He grinned lopsidedly at the end.

Dani huffed in amusement. "Alright. I don't want to go home either." She admitted weakly. "But I’ll tell you, I'm really cold and you better figure out what we could do." She pointed at him to make clear that it was his responsibility to keep her warm and entertained or else she is gone.

Malcolm shrugged easily. "No worries, already found something." He grinned cheekily and led her to the other side of the road. Dani rolled her eyes. "You're always so prepared, aren't you." By now Dani noticed the wooden sign for the small bar, too. "Nah, I'm just really lucky when it comes to improvising." Bright bragged, immediately getting slapped by karma when his left foot met with a steep puddle.

"That's probably the only luck you have." Dani snickered at his misfortune. Malcolm shook his foot clumsily. "I also have bad luck, doesn't that count as luck, too?" Dani laughed at the squishing sound his left shoe made from now on. "You should take everything you can get." Dani countered back and showed with two fingers how little that was.

Malcolm opened the door and was greeted with hot stuffy air and noisy laughter that beat the little bell at the door. He peaked carefully inside, followed by Dani. The atmosphere was a different one from the casino just earlier. It was so carefree and cheery. Mostly men were present, drinking beer, playing cards, and laughing. Women were a little bit underrepresented. Which didn't mean that Bright fit better in than Dani. Most of the men were elder, coming here after work to meet with their folks and avoid their wives. "That's new." Dani deadpanned uncomfortably. Malcolm shrugged and proposed to mind their own business, drink something at the bar and simply talk.

His plans were foiled before he even managed to reach the bar. "Newcomers!" The bartender called into the room. Every man cheered and bumped their glasses. Dani and Malcolm shared confused glances. They continued the walk to the bar after everyone else went back to ignoring them.

"Hello, young lovebirds! What can I get you?" The barkeeper asked excitedly while polishing an empty glass. A muscly bald man with a few teeth missing. Yet he didn't have such an intimidating impression.

"Ah, we're not-"

"Just one beer," Malcolm answered tiredly. He motioned for Dani to decide.

"A shandy." She huffed and sat beside Malcolm with a low grumble.

"So tell me everything. What brought you two here?" The barkeeper glanced happily between the two friends while filling up a beer. Dani pointed confused at themselves, unsure if he was really addressing them.

"We're just here by coincidence," Malcolm responded for the two of them. His beer shot towards him faster than he could react. Dani caught the glass with her right, and shortly after that her own bottle with her left.

"Oh no, nonono.  No one arrives here by coincidence. There is always a reason behind it." The barkeeper lectured with his index finger to the air.

"Not for us I guess." Dani deadpanned and opened her bottle. "There isn't a reason behind everything." Malcolm added and accepted his beer, already opened thanks to Dani. The barkeeper ignored them happily.

"Don't worry, even the blind will see one day." He exclaimed and turned around to make the next beer. Malcolm cringed at the anatomic mistakes his statement contained. "They really won't." He remarked quietly and stared into his beer.

He shared one glance with Dani, agreeing that this place was definitely weird. He took a sip from his beer and widened his eyes.

"Wow, this one's really good." He realized surprised.

"It always is, and yet people are surprised." The barkeeper answered all of a sudden and jumped back to them. "I'm Jeff, by the way." He held out his hand towards Malcolm.

Malcolm eyed it irritated but couldn't keep his distance when the man was smiling at them, innocent like a puppy.

"Malcolm." He accepted the hand and it was immediately squashed painfully. Dani observed and didn't make the mistake to accept it. "Dani." She waved at him instead of the handshake. Jeff was alright with it.

"Oh, like in Danielle? Or Daniela? Or-"

"Dani is just fine." She interrupted him irritated.

"It's nice to meet you. We rarely have any new guests." He told them, leaning on his hands. Malcolm nodded slowly, not sure what to respond. "Oh, okay. That's... bad, I guess?"

Jeff spread his arms spontaneously. "Not at all. It's wonderful! I get to meet my people every evening. We have become like a family." He cheered.

"That's wonderful," Dani commented with an earnest smile. Jeff smiled calmly at them. "Yes, it really is. Please feel at home." He answered warmly and left the two alone for now.

Dani and Malcolm exchanged looks. "That was quite the interesting encounter." Malcolm struggled to find the right words. Dani laughed in agreement. "He spoke in riddles, did you notice?"
"They didn't even make sense!" Malcolm and Dani laughed, shifting closer to each other.

"Well, tell me, Mr. Bright." Dani looked at him with a challenging glint in her eyes. "What did you gain from playing in the casino?" She asked. Bright grinned cheekily.

"If you mean money, then a lot of that. So this round's totally on me, no objections." He answered proudly. Dani punched his shoulder.

"Not the money. Tell me about your profile. Got anything new after understanding his world." Dani repeated his words from this morning for mockery. Her eyebrows jumped up and down. Malcolm blew raspberries and turned his head away with a roll of his eyes. "I never said that." He protested. "At least something like that." Dani insisted. Malcolm shrugged and hid his face in his beer. "Maybe."

"So it really was a complete bust." Dani summed up, laughing tiredly at the end of her sentence. "Hmph. Maybe." Bright spoke into his beer and looked with big eyes away from Dani while drinking. "Well-" Dani leaned on her hand, elbow on the wooden table. "-I knew from the very start that your Poker would be useless."

"Did you say Poker?"

Jeff popped up from the side, Malcolm choking on his drink. Dani's hand felt to the place where her heart was. "Geez." She gasped startled. The barkeeper didn't mind them at all. He continued to talk about, apparently his favorite game.

"Poker is really fun, have you ever played it?" He asked curiously. Somehow they couldn't be mad at him, no matter how often he eavesdropped or meddled into their conversations uninvited. "He's actually an expert." Dani pointed at Malcolm who widened his eyes caught.

"Oh is that so?" An unfamiliar voice from behind reached to them. They turned around to see a table of five men playing the very game they were talking about.

"No title without proof." The same man pointed at Malcolm with a challenging grin, revealing all of his yellow teeth.

Malcolm shifted nervously on his seat. He didn't want to accept the offer at first. "What is it? Why so humble?" Another man bellowed. Jeff nudged him. "Go on kids, have some fun while you're at it. Playing at the Jeffrey's is a lifetime experience." He smirked. Malcolm nodded, his eyes slowly flickering reproachful to Dani for getting him into this mess.

"Ah, come on boys, he's probably not that good." A different man called and dragged the rest back to the current party. Malcolm raised one eyebrow. He fell for the lure.

"Oh, it's just that I don't play with amateurs."

With big eyes, every single one of them pounded their cards on the table. Jeff stared at Malcolm in excited shock, mouth opened. Malcolm grinned. Who took the bait now? If they would invite him to a game it would last less than ten minutes.

"How dare you?" The current dealer jumped up and threw down his cards on the table. His pout was only playful, not to miss. "You-" He pointed at Malcolm. "-are going to play with us now." He decided and began to pick up all the chips. "Come on Larry, I was about to win." Another man protested disappointed. "Nobody cares." His neighbor chortled. He pounded his fist into his open palm. "I want to destroy him!" He laughed maliciously at Malcolm.

Dani placed one hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry I brought you into this mess." She apologized. Malcolm shrugged. "That'll be a piece of cake."

He jumped down from the highchair, gracefully walking towards the Poker table. "Go get 'em kid!" Jeff cheered, raising both his arms in the air with a lonely "Woo!"

Malcolm sat down at the table, confidently looking down at the small number of chips. "You better not be wailing when I make you eat your words." His neighbor threatened. It just had the be the aggressive one.

Malcolm nodded unimpressed. "Got it." The man called Larry eyed him suspiciously, receiving slight signs that he may have really made a mistake.

"Shall we begin?" Malcolm asked into the round. His newfound arch-enemy grinned devilish. "That you can bet on."

Malcolm threw a glance onto his watch. "And that are 7 minutes and 56 seconds." He concluded. He looked back into the round, everyone staring at him with wide-opened eyes. Not only the five men. Everyone in this bar watched them. How one single person won against five men in under ten minutes.

"Amazing." Dani gasped speechless next to Jeff who watched the scene with an open mouth, his polishing process stopped in the middle. Malcolm played with his stack of 100 chips, which he had plenty of. "So who's up for another round-"

"Hell nah!" Biff, his former arch-enemy, blurted panicked. Malcolm laughed in amusement, holding up his hands in defense. "Alright, alright."

He turned around in his chair. "Hey Dani, do you want to play?" He called over. Mentioned person widened her eyes and pointed a finger at herself. "Me? I never played Poker." She blurted out frantically. Malcolm shrugged regardless. "I'll teach you." He offered, which could also be translated as 'But me no buts.' He smiled like an angel and offered her his chair. "Fly little bird-" Jeff pushed her literally off from her chair. "-It's never too late to befriend with Poker." Dani groaned in defeat and trudged to the offered seat. "Fine."

The rules weren't that complicated after Malcolm explained them to her with the other men butting in. She didn't like to risk her chips, but that was sadly part of the game. The only tricky part was to remember all the card formation and detect those with her own cards. Luckily she had a private joker that assisted her without a firm limit.

"You have a natural poker face." Her opposite adversary mentioned during one round. Dani failed to understand at first. "It's because you always look like you don't give a damn about every shitty thing happening to you." He added with a toothy grin. Malcolm burst out into laughing behind her. His hand shot up to his mouth and he peeped shocked at her, worried he wasn't supposed to laugh at this one. Dani fell into a fit of laughter by the look of his face. The other men joined in.

Who would've expected that Poker could be so much fun? It had just the right amount of tension, but in general, it was more of a game for fun, or as she would normally call it, waste your time. Wasting it like that was alright. They enjoyed the family atmosphere that rubbed off strongly on them.

"29 minutes and 3 seconds." He whispered into her ear while the others were recovering from a joke. Dani raised one eyebrow. Malcolm smiled warmly. "That's the amount of time it took you to loosen up.” He explained. Dani laughed, making a bit place for him on the chair. Both managed to put down one thigh.

Jeff smiled warmly at them from the back of the counter. Every guest who gets lost in his bar arrives for a reason. The two never were an exception. It always has been like this and it will never stop being this way. That's what made Jeffrey's so special. That's what brought the magic into this place. He chuckled, seeing how Biff messed with Malcolm's hair and both started to play wrestle on their seats, nearly knocking over Carl's fastidious ordered stack of chips.

"Raise!" Dani exclaimed excitedly after looking at her cards.

"Ooh, someone has good cards." Jim used his two cards as a fan and covered half of his face. After that, he threw the cards back to the current dealer. "Mine are bullshit." He groaned and leaned back, settling to watch this round.

Malcolm peaked up from under the table, given he almost laid sprawled on Biff's lap during their wrestling. "You know you can also win with crappy cards." He mentioned matter of factly. The man glanced at him in disbelief. "Sure. That is a lie." He laughed roughly. Malcolm shrugged in apathy. He didn't need to prove them, but Dani knew very well this was a truth.

He straightened himself to take a look at Dani's supposedly good cards. His muscles tensed up, his eyes glued to the card. He snatched it away, regardless of what Dani would say. He needed to take a closer look. "Hey!" She protested. Though after noticing his strange behavior, she too began to search for the disturbance herself.

Malcolm showed the card to the group. "This card." He spoke up with deadly severity. The good mood shattered instantly. "What? Never saw a joker before?" Larry asked to lighten up the mood. In vain.

"It's a customized card." Bright added further, but the group didn't answer after that anymore. Dani swallowed hard. It was the same card they had found in Ines' bag. A joker with the Game Master's face on it. The same nose, the same eyes, the mocking tongue, the same hat, clothing, drawings at the back. It was an identical card! Only much older, more damaged over the years. It carried a way longer history than the cards laying in their evidence rooms. This one was made years ago.

"Malcolm is such a Poker fanatic, he always wanted the best deal to customize his own cards." Dani threw in to kill some suspension. Larry threw down his cards.

"Cut it out. You're cops, we can smell them from miles away." He hissed. The other men looked disappointed into the round. The fun was dead.

"What a killjoy." Jeff commented from the back of his bar table. These two were here for a reason. They just found it.

Malcolm laid the Joker into the middle of the table. "This card was done by hand. Who made it?"

The fellows were muted, dodging his eyes. Dani sighed. She didn't want to do this. These men were super fun and kind. But this was her job, and she wouldn't tolerate anyone holding back relevant information.

"You should consider answering him." She advised while pulling out her badge from the thigh that was not injured. She didn't hide the gun she carried with her. "It's about a very dangerous murder case." She added to make them understand how big the situation really was.

"The artist is a young boy," Larry spoke up eventually. "Was." Jim pointed out. Larry nodded. "We were meeting up as usual after work, we were only three by that time. Me, Jim and Carl." Larry continued. "He was a scrawny puny little wimp, a nothing. He begged for work. Jeff advised him to call the youth welfare service. The little shit said this was none of his business." He laughed back in memories. It didn't last long.

"Did he find work here?" Dani asked with crossed arms.

Carl huffed. "Well, yeah. Jeff listened to him, after his many many visits. One day he gave up and let him in. He used to work as a waiter. Back then this bar was more popular than nowadays."

Dani's mouth fell open. "You let a kid work in this bar instead of calling for external help?" Dani gasped with disbelief and anger. Malcolm didn't miss the way Larry’s eyes shifted to Jeff and back. They were covering up for him. Protecting him. Why?

"He received good payment and became family to this business. Soon he helped where he could. He was a very lively child. A good kid."

Malcolm touched the card carefully.

"When did he start to paint?" He asked casually. Larry gazed at the card, lost in memories for a few seconds. "With 15 years. He sold hand-painted playing cards to our customers. To earn some money."

"Why?" Dani asked simply. "Was he an orphan or were his parents jobless junkies?"

Larry shrugged in ignorance. "I really don't know that much about him, he was very distant and mysterious." He lied. Malcolm made a mental note to confirm the bad parents theory. Moving on.

"Did he play Poker?"

"No," Biff replied without wasting a breath. Larry shot him a glance. Biff looked straight at Malcolm. Especially those two former enemies had gotten very close over time.

"He fought Poker."

Dani looked at Malcolm for a translation. Malcolm sent the look over to Biff. "He played Poker to survive. He never experienced the fun the others had. All he wanted to do was to perfect his skills and be unstoppable. Unbeatable." As soon as they heard these words they knew that was their guy. Now one question lasted.

"We need his identity. His real name." Dani revealed to the group. They hesitated to answer. "He's in trouble?" Larry asked concerned. Malcolm felt bad to be the one breaking it to them. To tell the truth about their little kid.

"He's a potential serial killer, Larry. He is the one responsible for the deaths. He won't stop if we don't stop him." Malcolm confessed. His imagination did not lie, there were without doubt tears in the man's eyes. He shielded them with his open palm and nodded in understanding. "I'm very sorry." Malcolm couldn't help but add. Bringing the bad news could sometimes be very interesting, whereas sometimes truly heartbreaking. This was the latter.

"What is his name?" Dani repeated impatiently.

"Bennett."

Malcolm and Dani turned around at the same time to face Jeff, yet again polishing. His eyes revealed his horror and he was surprisingly pale. Slowly he laid down the beer glass with the towel still inside.

Malcolm stood up and walked to Jeff. "He was like your son, wasn't he?" One tear slipped down Jeff's cheek. They scarcely spent one night here, yet it was already disturbing to see this cheerful soul so sad. The barkeeper wiped the tear away and took a deep breath.

"Bennett was always hard-working. He knew his goals and never stopped one second to achieve them. He wanted to build up the greatest company in the whole of New York."

Malcolm laid one hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner. Jeff shook his head frantically.

"I knew it. I knew something was not right with that kid. But who am I to judge, I wasn't the easiest teen myself. So I kept my promise not to call him out on the system. I supported him with what he was doing." The dam broke and the tears streamed down freely. "I should've called the welfare, shouldn't I? People could be still alive if I had just done the right thing, I'm so sorry!"

All of a sudden he hugged Malcolm over the counter. The profiler looked like a shocked deer in this particular scene, at a loss for words of what to do. How to handle a crying human in his arm. This was just plain weird.

The name Bennett circling in his brain stopped still for a second. It had been wandering on a lucky wheel, for example, stopping at a certain name. And suddenly it made sense.

"Please don't hurt my kid. He doesn't know better." Jeff whispered into his ear. He released him from the bear hug and wiped away his tears.

"Don't worry Jeff. We will catch him, and he will get a fair process. I promise." Finally, Jeff smiled again, shy signs of sadness in his eyes. He grabbed Malcolm by his shoulders.

"Look at you. Aren't you a good kid? Rightening old Jeffrey's wrongs." He sniffed, a new tear making its way down his chubby cheek. Malcolm smiled reassuringly at him.

"I'll come back if this is over." Bright promised. He nodded at Dani to affirm they would leave. Their new-made friends waved them goodbyes. Jeff cupped his palms over his mouths, mimicking a megaphone.

"Remember: There is always a higher reason guiding you to the one and only Jeffrey's." He called over. Malcolm smiled warmly at him before leaving. The bell sang in the uncharacteristic silence. Jeff sighed. "That's what makes the magic."

Notes:

See? I told you this chapter is massive
(So if you found any mistakes, I'm sorry. I read this chapter thousands of time, and I'm done!)
I hope you enjoyed it! :)

Chapter 14: Chapter 13

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

They stepped out of Jeffrey's in silence. Malcolm turned to her. "I know who the killer is." He declared excitedly.

Dani groaned. "Of course you do."

Malcolm shifted nervously on his feet. "No seriously, we should tell Gil and meet up-"

"Hold your horses." Dani interrupted him with raised hands. "We? No no, if Gil finds out I went against his orders..." She murmured in panicking realization.

"Well, if we present him the killer on a silver plate?" Malcolm waged his words.

Dani shook her head decidedly. "Nah. I once went against his orders and the punishment was terrible." She confessed. Malcolm shrugged in unconcern.

"I always go against his wishes and he never- wait, the last time you broke his order you took care of me because I was high?" He realized with a hurt expression. Dani widened her eyes in horror. "Yes." She croaked. Malcolm pouted. "That's just mean."

Dani rolled his eyes at him. "You wanted to throw axes with me." She mentioned. Malcolm shrugged. "Because it's fun! You should definitely try once."

Dani continued glaring at him. "You wanted to dance with me!" She threw in as if that was the most disgusting thing. Malcolm acknowledged the fact surprised, saying "I did?" Dani threw her hands up to the sky. "And then you freaked completely out on me." She pointed a finger at him.

Malcolm crossed his arms before his chest and pouted at her. "Well, I remember the experience to be very pleasant." He declared.

"You don't remember anything because you got knocked out!" Dani threw in, her open hand pointing to Malcolm. He shrugged ignorantly.

"So? I slept wonderfully!"

"And I slept on a counter!"

"Why are we screaming at each other?" Malcolm paused the contest to take a breath. Dani groaned frustrated. "I was about to go home." She decided and fumbled in her phone to call for an uber. Malcolm observed her offended.

"What about the killer? We have his identity!" Malcolm argued. His mouth dropped when a car pulled over. "That was fast." He admitted. Dani snorted, adding "I called that one ten minutes ago." She opened the door but turned to Malcolm one last time.

"Do you come in?" She asked. Malcolm considered it for a moment. His shoulders slumped down. "No thanks."

Dani nodded in understanding. "Then have a good night." She wished him awkwardly. Bright hid his hands in his pockets. He nodded her as a goodbye. "See you tomorrow." She vanished in the car, quickly disappearing into the night. Leaving Malcolm alone under a weak streetlight.

He looked at his unfamiliar surroundings. "Now what?" He asked no one in particular.

 


 

"Hello?"

"Heey, JT!"

"Hell nah." The man groaned on the other end.

"We just had to endure ourselves the entire day, I just thought, why not stretch that a little further?" Malcolm proposed chipper. He could hear how done JT was on the other side.

JT sighed tiredly in defeat. "Alright, what do you want?" He asked right away. Malcolm was shocked.

"What do you mean what I need? Can't I just call my bro and talk like friends do, you know?" He stammered awkwardly. Another groan escaped from JT's side. He could clearly see him facepalming right now. "You can try." JT offered. Malcolm had the urge to roll his eyes at him but apparently found out that it wasn't as easy as expected.

He squashed some snow at the side of the street, directly next to the lantern. "Erm, what are you doing so?" He stuttered meekly. JT snickered at the other end, but he spared Malcolm on that one.

"Not much. Just eating some chips, laying on my bed watching Netflix. Tally has night shift today." Malcolm nodded, kicking some snow off his show. "Aha."

His partner sighed from the other side. "And what have you been up to?"

Malcolm disliked how he said it with prejudice. As if he was doing something stupid or unofficial. Of course JT was right. Still, Malcolm hated it.

"I was actually just strolling through the city, meeting people, etc." Malcolm bragged proudly. "No way." JT gasped sarcastically at him. Malcolm wasn't that bad at being a social living being, the mockery was by now just ridiculous.

"And you know what, I just found out who the killer is." Malcolm expected a lot of reactions. Laughter wasn't one of them.

"That is by far the most realistic thing to happen in this conversation," JT confessed amused. Malcolm narrowed his eyes. "JT..." The man ignored him. "You, strolling down the street, stumbling into the killer and exchanging words, I can clearly see it-"

"JT." Malcolm interrupted him patiently. "Huh?" The other man hummed. He took a calming breath.

"JT I have the killer's identity. I'm being serious right now."

For a moment there was silence. "No joking on that, you know that," JT responded with a doubting voice. Malcolm laughed mutely into himself. "When was I ever the humorous person?"

"Fuck." JT realized shocked. "We have him." The voice on the other end of the line lightened up. "We're close," Malcolm admitted with an excited smile. He heard JT jump up from his bed.

"We need to meet up." He decided and Malcolm agreed wholeheartedly. "Did you call Gil?" JT asked at the side while rustling indicated he was dressing up for outside. Malcolm hissed out behind gritted teeth. "No, not yet." JT must be frowning on the other end, that's how Malcolm interpreted the pause. "Why would you, wait, I don't really care. Let's just meet at the precinct-"

Malcolm lifted his feet from the melted snow. "Erm, actually..." He squealed embarrassed, close from asking for a favor. JT sighed. "And now I know it." Malcolm was quiet for a good while, waiting for JT to declare his decision. JT groaned heavily in frustration.

"Fine. Where you at?"

The bright lights of JT’s car lightened up the rather dark alley at this late night’s hour. Malcolm squinted painfully, the light was too much for his eyes that had gotten used to the darkness. The yellow dots danced nearer to him until he could hear the buzzing of the engine. Like induced by magic the window rolled down, JT leaning out with a reproachful expression.

"You just had to be at the arse end of nowhere." He protested right away instead of greeting Malcolm.

Malcolm rolled his eyes, one amused snort escaping him. He walked around the car and opened the door, taking a seat. "Like seriously, where the heck are we." JT continued. Malcolm glared at him offended. "Back off, I figured out the case." He defended himself proudly. JT turned on the car smoothly, steering out of the dark alley. Malcolm looked back nostalgically at Jeffrey's. He couldn't disappoint those people.

"Then spill it," JT spoke up, meddling into the busy street. He looked past Malcolm and checked the back of his car. "Who is our crazy madman." He added, a stern concentrated expression marking his face. Malcolm leaned back in his seat.

"I called Gil to meet up in the Briefing room. Let's just do that all together. I don't want to repeat everything." Malcolm meant. JT laughed at his statement and shook his head.

"As if you don't like hearing yourself. Come on, be honest. You just like the drama." JT claimed. Malcolm shrugged with a sardonic smirk. "I wouldn't survive a day without the drama." He admitted coolly.

They didn't drive long in silence until JT decided to speak up. "Did you also call Dani?" He asked casually. He remembered Malcolm had only mentioned Gil earlier, but there was no way he'd keep Dani out of the investigation. She would kill him.

"Erm…" Malcolm widened his eyes, nervousness making itself in sweat drops visible. JT cast him a concerned glance, Malcolm dodged it, turning his head towards his window.

"I did. She didn't pick up. Must be showering. Something like that." He hushed to say rapidly. He hadn't really thought of a proper explanation yet to what happened tonight. Dani didn't want Gil to know, so JT theoretically counted, too?

JT shrugged indifferently. "Sure." He deadpanned unconvinced. It was Malcolm's funeral after all.

His phone started to buzz in his pocket. Without thinking too much about it he pulled it out to answer it. Before his thumb reached the green button, his phone disappeared magically from the top. "Hey!" JT protested surprised. He glared at Malcolm who had grabbed the phone.

"Excuse me? Phoning while driving?" Malcolm gasped playfully and eyed JT disappointed.

"Malcolm-" JT started but was quickly interrupted.

"Eyes on the road, Mister." Malcolm scolded while pointing with two fingers from his eyes to the street. "You will not risk our lives for such a ridiculous cause." JT groaned defeated and focused back on the street. Malcolm shook his head in a parental manner. "Embarrassing. And from the police even."

He tapped the green circle and lifted the little device to his ear. "Jason Thompson Tarmel." He introduced himself with a deeper voice and a wide grin. JT threw him a deadly glare, nevertheless staying muted. The voice speaking back to Malcolm sent him icy cold shivers through his body.

"Jason Thompson Tarmel? Well, that's what JT stands for. Good to know." His shaking hand tensed around his partner's mobile. His eyes were torn open, burning from the lack of blinks. His chin fell down. That, he really hadn't seen coming.

"Cat got your tongue, detective?" The killer checked on the other side with a nasty chuckle. Malcolm found no voice to answer that. He found no words. He was paralyzed. He saw his face, heard his voice. It was clearer than before. He knew that man. They had met before. Bennett and Malcolm.

JT's eyes shifted concerned to Malcolm and back to the street. "Bright, what's going on, who's there?" He pestered the profiler worried from the side. Malcolm wanted to answer, but he felt unable to. Bennett called JT for a reason. The third round was about to get started.

"May I ask how your investigation is going? You don't have a lot of clues, do you?" The Game Master laughed arrogantly. Malcolm knew he lied. Bennett was smarter than that. He knew they were onto them.

Trapped in his own thoughts Malcolm didn't notice JT pulling his car to the side of the street. He shut down the engine and snatched his phone back from Malcolm. The profiler didn't protest, only exhale the breath he didn't know he had kept. "Alright. Who's there?" JT grumbled into the phone unimpressed. "Ah!" The voice sang over delighted.

"The real Jason Thompson Tarmel I assume."

JT's eyes widened abruptly, immediate tension cramping his muscles. Years of experience barely guaranteed for him to stay professional towards the immense shock.

"What do you want?" He grumbled coolly. Malcolm heard the killer's laughter from his seat.

"I was meaning to get in touch with you, detective. You're smart, you can probably guess what's about to happen now." The man sizzled into JT's ear. The man cringed uncomfortably. Malcolm leaned to him to have a better understanding of what was going on.

"I'm not playing your dumb games." JT declared decidedly. Malcolm hissed at his partner's statement. That didn't sound promising. He would play the game if he wanted to or not. The Game Master had his ways.

"Oh? Not so smart apparently."

JT jerked furiously in his seat. Malcolm frowned concerned. "I can end this call whenever I want. You can't force me to take part in your silly games." He added further, completely ignoring Malcolm's signs to stop threatening their killer.

The man on the other end hummed peacefully. "That's true. I can't force you to play with me, that would kill the fun for sure?" The man sang unimpressed. "Although I know the place you live, and where your beautiful wife works. Tally, right?" JT's strong impression shattered with the name of his wife. His face revealed utter horror. "Leave her out of this." He snarled murderously, making Bright doubt who the real killer was.

"But you're right, detective. I can't just force you to play. I'll just call my other friends. I remember vividly the fun Dani and I had that night-"

"No!" Malcolm gasped louder than expected. He clamped his hands over his mouth under his big eyes. "Don't worry, Malcolm. You can join us!" The Game Master raised his volume for Malcolm to hear.

"Stop it," JT grumbled with a low, weaker voice.

"You know what, detective? I too can end this call whenever I want-"

"-Hold on!" JT jumped in, the nervousness by now very audible. He sighed in defeat. "I'll play your stupid game." He conceded helplessly. The killer cheered innocently on the other line. "A volunteer!" He whooped and ignored JT's further protest.

The Game Master cleared his throat. "The game I want to play with you is called, oh wait, no, wait!" He interrupted himself excitedly. "Put me on speaker, then Malcolm can help you." He proposed, delighted by his own idea.

"No," JT growled with a look at his partner. Malcolm had already suffered enough in every round. He was not going to get him involved in the third one as well.

"Oh come on, he can be your Joker. It's to your own advantage." The man pouted disappointed. JT glanced again at Malcolm who observed the scene a little confused. "You won't hurt him?" He raised one eyebrow. His communicating partner chuckled sardonically.

"I would never harm him. This one's for you, big fellow." He muttered maliciously by the end.

JT shivered at that and considered he could use every help he could get. Either way, they were both in the same location, it'd be more lucrative to have Malcolm informed when the game would escalate. He tapped the button and the Game Master's voice echoed loudly in the car.

"The game is known under the name: Two truths, ONE lie." He introduced excitedly. He paused for any comments, but Malcolm and JT waited patiently for the key player to go on. "You are familiar with the general rules?" The killer checked, his voice quivering with uncertainty.

"Duh-" JT rolled his eyes. "-it's basically the title. Someone, I boldly assume you, tells three stories, two of them true, the remaining one a lie." Applause greeted him.

"Correct!" The killer congratulated. JT glanced demotivated at Bright. "Doesn't that make me the winner and we're done?" He mocked, Malcolm shook his head. He leaned nearer to the micro.

"General rules aside, what cruelty do you add to that?" He asked instead.

The man whistled impressed. "Smart question, you're quite the expert in my games, no?" He sizzled sweetly. Malcolm huffed frustrated and leaned back in his seat. "The punishment is always a surprise." The Game Master revealed with a more serious voice.

JT swallowed hard. Their former experiences showed that punishments were impossible to avoid. He would just need to pray the disability he'd receive would be temporary as well, like in Malcolm's and Dani's cases.

The Game Master clapped his hands together. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Malcolm and JT shifted on their seat, readying themselves for the following. "Story number one.” The killer began.

“I never had any close friends in my childhood. I gained nothing from school for my life. I gained nothing from my parents. I had to work hard, for every little thing in my life. I wanted to become big and influential. Therefore I had to get rid of the leaks in my life, where most of my earned money flowed away for the most ridiculous reasons, alcohol, cigarettes, etc.

So one day, I killed my drunk father. With eight years old."

JT looked at Malcolm. Bright nodded at him. It matched with his theory and wasn't that far away from believable. He knew for a fact that Bennett already used to work as a little kid. As for the school, he mentioned he gained nothing from it, which is self-explanatory if he never attended it in the first place.

So far that was Malcolm's favorite game. Not only did it reveal bits of past from their serial killer, but it was also easy to see the truth. He was certain the second truth wouldn't be much harder to distinguish from the lie, which left Malcolm nervous. What was his deal?

"Made up your mind? Tell me later what you think." The killer smiled audibly. "Let's continue with story number two." He exclaimed excitedly.

"I ground myself very hard in life to achieve my goals. I looked over many corpses this way, so my business may be kinda shady from the inside. But with the influence, I also found friends. Or rather accomplices. We aren't close, but we share the same interests that aren't supported in the publicity. So we support each other, everyone with their own talents. Sometimes we are drink buddies. Sometimes we kill one. Our friendship is light and breezy, but often far more complicated than in your imagination. I don't care for anyone but myself. So do they."

Malcolm sucked in the information with excitement. They vaguely knew about one accomplice, but apparently there was a group? Given the information would be right in the first place. It surely was right, Malcolm had barely any doubts. Only the last story could prove that.

JT looked at him, wondering if they should give their statement already. Malcolm shook his head. He motioned for them to wait for the last story to be told. Slight fear crept to Malcolm. What if the killer would make the lines between reality and illusion too blurry? The killer could have an accomplice, yet the story could be a lie. It could be only one guy, it could be a victim. This story didn't have to be necessarily right. He swallowed hard. Either that was the trick of the game, or something much more sinister.

"Are you ready for the last story?" The Game Master asked with something in his voice, Malcolm failed to identify. But it was scary. Very intimidating. Without caring for any affirmation of his players, the killer continued.

"Story number three is a little bit different. Stories from the past don't possess the excitement they once had. It's over, plain history with plain impact. The future is what can bring the strongest nagging feeling. That can fill us with torturing anticipation. Consider that united with the present, it truly becomes the frame a masterpiece deserves." The killer enjoyed every single word. He took a deep fulfilling breath. He sighed contently and continued. "Right now, my story is being cast at the hospital." He hummed.

"And Tally joined me."

One second they were sitting uncomfortably in the car, suddenly JT was exploding out of the car. "You bastard!" He roared into his phone, angry tears welling up in his eyes. Malcolm processed what just happened, slowly opening his door, too. He heard the killer laugh evilly from the phone.

He had JT's wife. JT was losing it.

He hesitated to leave the car, in the background JT’s furious insults towards the killer registered. What was his deal? Malcolm wondered that since the beginning. Now he feared to understand what his goal was.

Uncertainty. Doubt. Fear. Negligence.

JT was going crazy to protect his love. He would act careless, foolish. That could be one of the Game Master's most dangerous games.

JT dashed back into the car, the engine roaring up in pain. Before Malcolm could do anything he was pushed into his seat. His open door fell shut by the sudden velocity of the car. JT accelerated to a speed that was far above the validity. Malicious laughter filled every corner of the room.

Malcolm dared to look out of the window, the many colorful lights flashing past them. He placed his head back to his seat and breathed in quick and shallow, frightened. That way he didn't miss the red light before them. JT did.

He rushed determined through the intersection, barely passing a truck coming from Malcolm's side. "JT!" Malcolm screamed high-pitched. His crazy partner swayed brutally with his car to dodge another car coming from his side.

Back on their own track, Bright realized they and other innocent people were going to get hurt or even die if he wouldn't stop his partner. He was trapped in horrible fear for his wife, he cared for nothing anymore. Not even for his own life, he didn't put on his seatbelt.

Malcolm pushed himself up from his seat. "JT!" He called over to his friend. His head was pulled to the side, banging against his door after JT outran another car. Malcolm blinked, his bump on the head throbbing after the encounter with the window. A car honked in front of them. Two lights raised towards them. JT's eyes were full of anger but looked into nothing.

Malcolm jumped forward and pulled the wheel in his direction. The other car rushed past them at the last second. JT breathed heavily, back in reality. Malcolm clawed his arm.

"Stop the freaking car JT!" He demanded fiercely. Rushing through the busy New York in the night was not the safest outside activity to enjoy.

JT blinked perplexed, his eyes narrowing back into slits. "No! Tally!" He roared and was back in the game. Literally.

Malcolm groaned helplessly frustrated. What did Bennett call him? He was the joker. He stayed unaffected, saw, and thought clearly. He could pull JT out of the despair vortex. He had to!

He shook JT's shoulder frantically. "JT this is a game! Two truths one lie! He lied! He doesn't have Tally!" Malcolm screamed from the top of his lungs to beat the external noises from the street, the laughter from the killer, to reach JT.

"How can you be so sure? You don't understand!" JT snapped without taking his eyes from the street.

Malcolm grabbed his shoulder with decent pressure. "No, I don't JT! I don't understand the horrible fear clouding your mind because I'm not supposed to!" He flailed. His gaze dropped to the ground.

He did know the feeling in general when you thrive to protect your family. At all costs. Watkins crawled back into his memories.

He shook his head to rid distracting thoughts. "JT, remember our profile about the killer? The first two stories fit perfectly. The last one is a lie, Tally is safe!" He claimed, doubt settling on JT visibly.

"Now please! Stop the car!" Malcolm begged, frightened they could crash and involve innocents. And die.

"No," JT stated determined, slowly shaking his head. Malcolm opened his mouth, glaring at him in disbelief. "No!" JT repeated with more force. "I'm not ready to risk that! I need to see for myself!" JT whined, passing another cue of cars before them. "Holy..." Malcolm gasped, his face pale as he noticed the shocked drivers rushing past him. At this rate, they would only see Heaven’s door.

Laughter in the background. Always this laughter from the killer, where the heck was it coming from? JT had rushed into the car and thrown away his phone regardless of the location. Malcolm detected the familiar blue display light in the room where his feet rest. He swallowed and bowed down to pick it up, praying JT wouldn't send the car into a sudden movement.

He came back up with a slightly battered mobile in his hands. "Alright, you want proof?" Malcolm protested angrily. He ignored the Game Master who began a conversation with him. Regardless of his words Malcolm ended the call abruptly and searched for Tally's number. He dialed it and waited, praying she would answer and calm her husband. She could save lives with that, his own included.

It peeped too long, it felt like hours. When someone took the phone, Malcolm almost moaned in relief. Although it wasn't Tally who answered.

"You just hang up on me Malcolm, how rude." Bright choked on the air. He was a dead man.

"Noo!" JT cried desperately, not willing to believe it. Malcolm panicked between both men. With whom should he deal first, no, with whom could he deal at all? JT seemed completely lost, gone feral. How could he get him to stop when he just worsened the situation?

"A real masterpiece, don't you think, Malcolm?" The killer sizzled proudly on the other end of the line. Bright hated to admit, but it really was a stroke of genius. JT dared the killer he shouldn't hurt Malcolm, whereas now he himself would be the one responsible if any damage would be inflicted on him. Brilliant, truly.

"As I often say, a joker is nothing worth if the player doesn't recognize its value." The Game Master spoke nonchalantly. This arrogant voice awoke memories in Bright's brain. As usual no pleasant ones, but at least necessary ones.

Don't play his games. Play yours.

Malcolm considered the words with a cautious nod. Trusting his father never ended well. But now it could only help, even if the help would be poisoning. A deal with the devil. Malcolm wasn't just a joker. He hated to say it, but he was a player, too. And he would go against Bennett's imagination if that could give him a slight chance of saving innocent lives. And hopefully JT's and his own, too.

Malcolm put one hand on JT's shoulder. "JT, listen to me!" JT didn't look at him, but Malcolm knew his words reached him, so he continued. "I know that doesn't sound very promising... and I can't prove to you that Tally is safe," Malcolm said sorrowful, "but I know that Tally is safe." He spoke as reassuringly as possible. And he meant it.

The third story was a lie. A very convincing one, but still, a blunt lie. He just couldn't prove it and they were straight storming towards one of the most crowded intersections in New York. They would crash for certain and drag hundreds of innocents into it. With that speed, it would end deadly, especially for them.

"JT. I need you to snap out of it and think clearly. Tally is safe. I can't prove it, but I promise you he doesn't have her." Malcolm confessed.

JT's angered expression started to crumble, leaving a naked and honest expression. He was scared. Under his tough and brave face, there was nothing more than a frightened man. This wasn’t something to be ashamed of. It is a good thing to worry about your loved ones.  

Bright stroked his shoulder in a calming manner, his eyes nervously shifting to the intersection. They were getting closer rapidly.

"We're partners JT, you know I would never lie to you." He confessed, watching JT fall apart bit by bit. "Do you trust me?" He asked, his voice rising by small hope.

JT did.

Tears streamed carelessly his cheeks down. His arms gave up on him and abandoned the steering wheel. Malcolm grabbed it instantly and steered them away from the street onto the exceptionally empty sidewalk. He pulled out the keys to lock the wheel into its place. Slowly the engine started to die away. By their speed, it would take horribly long. Malcolm leaned over JT and guided the seatbelt over him. It clicked in place.

He looked up in time to notice the lantern they were racing to. They were both secured by their seatbelts, the speed of the car had dropped, yet not completely. They were still fast. Too fast. But there was nothing they could do.

"JT!" Malcolm screamed one last warning to prepare themselves for the crash. Malcolm saw the little glint of fear and disbelief in his glassy eyes. The lamp neared them faster than he could realize.

His vision forfeited first. After a massive bang and a white-hot pain in his whole upper body, everything went black.

Pitch black.

Notes:

And, I still haven't revealed the identity xD
I wonder, would you be relieved if I told you I will reveal it in the next chapter? Or would feel uneasy because we still haven't reached halftime?

Chapter 15: Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Noise.

Which was first taken from him would be last given. He was blind. Lights submerged from the corner of his eyes, but they meant nothing to him. His mouth was dry and tasted metallic.

To say his whole body hurt would be an understatement. Everything ached in the hot burning flames. His limbs were sore, even the slightest movement sending hot-jabbing flares through his system. His brain received several alerts, but it was already aware of the all-embracing pain. After all, its shell was brutally attacked by a hammer, nothing compared to a usual headache.

With a groan his eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly to ignore the persistent flashlights. The noises of the street life were constantly buzzing in his ear, so much that he didn't hear it anymore. People were shouting, cars were honking, everything was a poor blur to him.

He turned his head, hissing in sharp pain. His eyes were back from their forced vacation and observed his surroundings. He was in a dark place, covered in shards of glass. The thing pressing against his chest, a firm marshmallow. What the hell had happened...?

What had he done?

A feisty vibrant tone bit through his bubble, nagging on his consciousness. He winced as he searched for the source. It needed to stop hurting him. His numb fingers fumbled through the destroyed leftovers. Maybe he even cut himself, but that must be irrelevant by now. His entire body seemed to be covered in cuts.

His eyes detected a weak blue light. He navigated his hand to that location, which proved to be harder than expected. While his palm stroked the cool surface, he began to realize where he was. Till now he had been floating in a tight uncomfortable nothing. Now he recognized the dashboard. His aching back replied with the same answer his butt and legs had found out. He was trapped in a car. More particular, in his seat. Tightly strapped to it, only his head lolling down.

His fingers felt something oval-shaped and he closed his hand around it. His first try to carry the blue light to him failed. He almost dropped it somewhere to his legs. He didn't fancy his second try, instead he observed the scene for other solutions.

Green. Green light. Green is good. Green is nice. With his last energy, he pressed onto to green circle. Then his arm went slack, dragging down the rest as well. For seconds he just breathed exhausted. He knew because it echoed extremely loud in the car.

"You're alive." A familiar voice spoke. It sounded surprised, impressed. He didn't fail to recognize the voice. It pulled him back into reality with sharp claws, making him moan in desperate frustration.

"I must say, Malcolm, I'm impressed." The voice echoed with such honesty in the room. It sounded alien to him, it normally didn't match with honesty. "That was some out-of-the-box thinking." He didn't care for his words, they meant nothing to him.

"Tally..." He croaked, his own voice sounding unfamiliar. Dry, weak, broken. Water would be great. Although the more urgent mission would be to get out of here.

The man sighed disinterested. "Tally's fine. You were right, I bluffed. I never had her, only her phone. I'll keep it by the way, it's neat."

Malcolm sighed relieved. A pressure he didn't know pressing on his lungs lifted. Now it was only the airbag squeezing him.

His head lolled to the side. JT was in the same situation as him, the only exception that he had yet to wake up. But he was alive, that was for sure. His wheezing breath disturbed the whole car.

"She doesn't matter, Malcolm. You played against the rules." The Game Master said bluntly. Malcolm shifted back to face JT's abandoned phone. The display was black by now, he missed the little blue light.

"I didn't..." He had to stop earlier than his sentence, his voice was still pretty much down. He cleared his throat and found it easier to talk back. "I was just the better player." He snickered smugly. He was extremely proud, he was just too tired and battered to show it properly.

"And that is the problem. You're better than I expected. That ruins my calculations." He deadpanned. His voice rough, cold, and heartless. Malcolm and his team, they weren't real humans to him, only toys and numbers. Player one, Player two, they weren't living beings in his brain. They were irrelevant to him. Replaceable.

That was once. Now it had changed. Malcolm heard it in the change in his voice, how it became softer, yet even sweet.

"I have to rewrite my script. And not in your favor." He spoke with a strong voice, but he could never hide the warmth in his words from someone like Malcolm. He was too good at his job. He always knew that'd be someday the end of him.

"You should stop worrying about the others," The Killer advised, "and start worrying about yourself, Malcolm." The profiler listened to the voice, wondering when help would arrive to pull them out of this stupid car.

"Irrelevant." He huffed exhausted, the smallest words an exertion to him. He already struggled really hard not to pass out again with his surroundings swaying dangerously before his very eyes.

"Oh?" The voice purred affectionately. "What a selfless hero you are." He spat out the sugar-coated mockery. Malcolm swallowed hardly before finding the strength to answer.

"You're as good as caught," Malcolm took an involuntary pause to gather some strength. He heard the sardonic 'Oh really? Is that so?' on the other man's lips, but he knew it would never reach him. Not when he continued faster.

"Your game will end, Coleman."

The silence swallowed all of his senses, deafening him, blinding him, and muting him all over again. Malcolm sucked for breath, his lungs theoretically having enough air and muscle power to work with. It failed in his brain to realize he wasn't choking.

"So you found out?" Bennett confessed, somewhat disappointed. Malcolm swallowed although there was nothing left. His mouth was dry as a desert.

"I must say, I was astounded to expect your visit so soon. I assumed to have had a failproof poker face back there. I guess you can't hide anything from a profiler like you." Mr. Coleman sighed nonchalantly into the phone. His words tasted bitter.

"That changes a lot." The killer realized. Malcolm was forced to listen since his body reached zero energy. He just hoped there was no blood loss. Even then it was embarrassing to wake up a third time in the same hospital room and look at the same annoyed nurses.

He forgot his train of thoughts immediately after the next words bounced into the inside of the car. Energy flooded back into his body with the force of a tsunami, but most of it blocked behind a calcified water faucet.

"I can't wait to explore your mind, just you and me. Enjoy some quality time together, right, Malcolm?" Coleman said, but all Malcolm saw and heard was Watkins. His old maniac grin, the dangerous glint in his eyes, staggering into his body hungrily.

We have to stop meeting like this, Malcolm.

Malcolm shook his head to rid himself of that memory, as to avoid further ones. The urge to throw up attacked him, but that might as well come from the impulsive move of his head. He pulled himself together, fought the power that wanted to drag him back into darkness. First, he had to do what he did best. Talk. Talk with the killer.

"You don't have to do this." He croaked weakly. The killer cooed at him in awe.

"That's sweet. What makes you think I don't want to do this?" He countered back.

Malcolm breathed heavily. The current sitting position was starting to take its toll on him, and internally he begged for external help to arrive. What was taking the EMT always so long?

He pushed the unnecessary thoughts aside and returned to the matter at hand. "I know how you feel." Malcolm worked to build up an understanding between them instead.

"Because that's your job? Or maybe because you were raised by a serial killer?" The man countered back bluntly. Bright ignored him as he did with everyone else mentioning his father-son relationship.

"No one is born like this. Someone breaks us." Malcolm emphasized earnestly, yet he earned a disapproving snort.

"That's like your standard catchphrase, Malcolm. To get into my head I need you to kneel in deeper. Metaphorically, of course." Coleman chuckled, but he wasn't amused. Agitated. He played the cool composed man because he was nothing else used to. He didn't know how dangerous Malcolm could be while his original plan was in shards.

Malcolm exhaled exhausted. He scrambled his strength together, surprised there was still some left. "I know you feel alone and misunderstood, but there are people-" He swallowed, not certain if he could pull through with it anymore. "-people who still believe in you. Who haven't given up on you."

Coleman laughed sardonically. "Is that your way of making friends, Malcolm?"

The profiler closed his eyes, taking in a shaking breath. He exhaled with trembling lips. He was determined. His profile was wrong. Bennett Coleman wasn’t a sadistic and heartless monster. He was once a child, too. He once had a heart and he could regain it back. All he needed to do was to push the right buttons. He didn't give him up, not yet.

"Jeff..." He gasped breathlessly. The name echoed in the silent car. Only the weak light from the streets prevented to let the darkness swallow everything.

Malcolm checked the phone on the dashboard with a doubting expression. Had the killer hung off? Would he back off from the publicity? Search contact with his long-lost work-family? Or even more surprising, could he own up to his mistakes? Confront himself willingly to the police and confess?

"So that's how you found out." The dry statement appeared, too surprising to Malcolm. He really had believed he had hung up on him.

He nodded weakly, realizing too late that Coleman couldn't see him.

"That old man. He'd never report me to the police. So how did you find him?" He asked matter of factly, disappointment wavering in his voice. The usual fight had left him.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that you'll do the right thing from now." Malcolm advised calmly. He could hear the other person groan tiredly on the other end of the line and cover his face in his palms. His entire plan shattered, and that already in the third round. All that was left to him were the missing facts, leading him officially to prison.

"I'll treasure your advice." He replied sharply, a chair creaking in the background. Malcolm eavesdropped on any external voices that could give him some kind of hint or advantage. He almost missed hearing the arrival of the ambulance due to that. Coleman didn't.

"I guess our beautiful conversation will be forced to an end." He deadpanned, a silent door falling shut. Almost the same time as the car door of the ambulance bus. Malcolm was confused as to where he should pay attention to.

"It was a pleasure talking to you. Until next time."

The door next to him burst open. Malcolm released a surprised cry and automatically squirmed away. His shoulder collided with JT's, which sent jolts of pain through his body. Unfortunately, they got invaded from the other side as well. He was still too caught up in the phone conversation to realize he was in JT's car. Help was arriving. It was good. But he failed to understand.

A hand reached into the inside. He widened his eyes in shock. Another hand appeared and grabbed him by his shoulder. He opened his mouth to scream really loud. He didn't manage to release even one squeak, shortly after he realized he wouldn't need to.

He found the face of a young woman. Her caring eyes wore a professional and experienced spark. Strands of her black bob fell to her face, she didn't mind them.

"Are you stuck?" The woman spoke up with a surprisingly deep voice. Malcolm stared at her perplexed, unable to answer this little question. Even if he could, he wouldn't know the answer. Was he stuck? Probably? He was trapped by his seatbelt, but was he stuck in any way, no idea! Everything hurt!

The woman leaned forward and pulled out a knife to cut the seatbelt. She didn't expect an answer in the first place. All she was doing was keeping a conversation up with him. Keep him awake. So he didn't answer the question of how he was or what happened neither. That could be sorted out later.

"I'm going to pull you out on three, alright?" The woman announced so he could prepare himself. Malcolm’s head lolled to the side. JT received the same treatment, the only difference he was completely unresponsive. Well, Malcolm was, too, but JT was still unconscious.

The three came surprisingly quick. All of a sudden his upper body got pulled away from his place, torn out into the cold night. His left leg followed limply, only his right leg resisted moving. The EMT didn't know that so they continued pulling.

Malcolm released an agonizing cry when his right leg stretched persistently instead of giving away. If his savior noticed that he was indeed stuck was a mystery to him. With the pain in his leg intensifying, his vision completely gave up on him. A damp cloak of darkness layered over him, crushing his lungs until he choked into merciful unconsciousness.

Chapter 16: Chapter 15

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Malcolm buttoned up his shirt and stood up. He grabbed his jacket from the chair next to him and threw it over his shoulder. While he did that he was constantly being observed by a young woman crossing her arms decidedly. He ignored her with ease, he had a lot of experience in that one. Only when he needed to fetch his coat tucked between her arms he wouldn't be able to avoid her any longer. And that moment was about now. He looked up to her, his lips sealed. With big puppy eyes he pointed carefully to his long coat. The woman surrendered with a groan. The bubble of silence burst with it.

"For how long are we going to ignore the elephant in the room." She snapped, Malcolm shyly accepting the coat from her grasp. "What elephant?" He squeaked, his back greeting her while he dressed up.

"Malcolm." She emphasized sternly. "This is the third time you've been in the hospital in the last week." She pointed out sharply.

"Not my best quote." He chuckled with dry humor, although he knew it would probably make everything worse.

"This isn't a joke. You've been in a car accident."

Malcolm turned around and raised his hands to calm her.

"No. Don't you 'Ains' me!" She lifted her index as a barrier. Malcolm backed away. "You're not fine. This case is killing you. Literally." His sister bit angrily, but Malcolm didn't fail to hear the small hint of sorrow in her voice.

Gosh, he knew himself how dangerous this case was. What a disaster JT and Malcolm had caught that evening. He didn't blame the young detective. The mere imagination of receiving the same call with his sister or mother being held captive would make him go nuts as well.

Although, it wasn't like he had a chance to quit this case. They were so close now. It was almost over. That's at least what he thought. He highly doubted Bennett Coleman had the slightest chance to turn everything in his favor. They were on his heels, it was but a matter of time until they would catch him.

He sighed tiredly. What could he say to Ainsley what she didn't already know? I can't quit now. Sure. We're so close. Definitely. I will take care of myself. Well... Two truths, one lie, he thought bitterly.

Ainsley huffed, turning around sulkily. "You never listen." She growled.

"I do listen." Malcolm protested weakly. It was the truth, so why did it feel like lying?

"No Malcolm, you hear what we say. But you never listen." She glanced at him with cold disappointed eyes. His younger sister headed for the door, but before she pulled down the handle she mused. Her red lips parted.

"I'm telling mom." She decided.

Malcolm widened his eyes and jumped to her in panic. "Ains don't! If she knows I've been here for the third time-"

"It was a car accident for Christ’s sake!" Ainsley cut him off enraged. Malcolm backed away like a hurt kitten. She felt immediately sorry, she had to remind herself he deserved it.

"You could've died Malcolm." She added more composed. Her breath suffered unsteadily. Malcolm heard what she was saying. But he didn't listen. "Don't you think she deserves to know that?"

Malcolm lowered his head. He didn't respond to that. Ainsley was right. Only because he didn't understand how terrible the situation was, didn't automatically mean the rest would share his sentiment. Additionally, he wasn't eager to find out Gil's statement on his newest near-death experience.

Ainsley, obviously disappointed by his reaction, shook her head disapprovingly. She turned around and stalked out of the room. Leaving him alone in the aggressively white room.


All eyes were on him when he entered the precinct. Malcolm's head surveyed the scene carefully, how each officer and detective scrutinized him doubtingly. He knew it wasn’t necessarily because of his small but still obvious limp. Nor the band-aids reaching up to his temple.

He inhaled determined and forcibly set moving on his walk of shame. Uncomfortably he ducked his head and sped up his pace to reach his desk as quickly as possible. His goal in sight, he breathed out relieved. But before reaching it he would need to pass JT's desk. Apparently, the other man had been released the same day as him.

He fumbled nervously on his jacket, debating if he should share a word with the man he almost killed, or keep walking. JT lifted his head and found Bright procrastinating a few feet away from his desk, which concluded Malcolm's decision.

"Hey." He waved his hand awkwardly. JT rolled his eyes and returned his attention back to his notes. Malcolm sighed heavily and cautiously trudged over to JT. "How you're doing?" He asked as casually as possible, though he really wasn't that experienced in being normal. At least he tried.

JT shot him a short glance before attending back to his files. "M'good." He muttered silently, nervous fingers fumbling through the paper in his hands and laying it back on the table. He wasn't busy at the moment, it was just a hopeless effort of pretending to make Malcolm go away.

His heart stung at the realization. He lowered his head and released a heavy breath. JT hated him. Why was he so surprised anyway, that's how it always turned out. Look at Colette.

"How's Tally?" He wondered, genuinely interested in her well-being. JT's face lit up when his wife's name was mentioned, a warm expression drawn to his voice.

"She's alright, thank god." He smiled, until it mixed in with sorrow. Doubt crawled onto his face. "She's currently away. I sent her to her parent's house. To have her safe while this crap's still going on." He explained, his voice firm and strong. Malcolm nodded awkwardly. "Wise choice, I guess. He can't be at two places."

The fact that JT didn't answer Malcolm made things even more uncomfortable. He fidgeted on his two feet before deciding it was best to leave. He could only imagine Dani was just as pissed on him. This case destroyed the family they had built themselves bit by bit.

Malcolm turned around with a heavy sigh. "I'm really sorry." He confessed hastily and scurried away. One word made him freeze in his tracks.

"Why?" JT blurted out.

Malcolm turned his head, meeting JT's eyes embarrassed.

"Erm for crashing your car, I guess?" He stammered more like a question. JT blinked perplexed about this reply and proceeded to think about the matter. "That was nuts, true." He realized. He cringed when he met Malcolm's guilty grimace.

"As for the rest-" He started, but Malcolm continued for him casually, as if he was too used to situations like these. It mortified JT. "-I apologize as well, I messed up." JT frowned at him confused.

"Why are you apologizing to me?" He stated the honest question bluntly. Malcolm blinked confused. Usually, questions like these weren't common. Normally everyone just yelled at him or ignored him. There had never been something in between.

He glanced confused at his partner and back to the ground. "I thought you were mad?" Bright admitted ruefully.

JT chuckled at his statement and hid his hands in his pockets. "Well, I am mad." He confessed. "I'm mad at myself. I was being such a reckless idiot, I almost got us two killed."

Malcolm was surprised to hear that, he never considered things to be the other way around. Although in hindsight, it made very much sense.

"That's ok," Malcolm spoke up, a soft smile on his lips. "I probably would have done the same."

JT grinned at Malcolm mischievously. "That means nothing, it's obvious you're a reckless bastard." He laughed, and Bright hesitantly joined in.

He looked up to JT with a careful smile on his lips. "So we're good?" He asked, uncertainty wavering in his voice.

"That's hardly my call to make." JT clarified. Malcolm resisted the urge to grin from one ear to another. JT shook his head.

"And you're acting weird again, why are you so weird." He announced playfully and punched Malcolm's shoulder brotherly. Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.

"It’s always the other way around. It's actually very new to me." He revealed.

His partner shook his head disapprovingly. "And that's sad." He commented, but there was no fun in it. He meant it. He really felt pity. And so it quickly became uncomfortable. For both of them. This wasn't the light and breezy brotherly friendship they enjoyed. This was too much real talk.

Malcolm backed away with a challenging grin. "So, now we have both matching seatbelt bruises on our chest?" He snickered. JT narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Don't even start on that." He menaced him, pointing his index in his direction. Malcolm threw up his hands cheerily in the air.

"JT and I have something in common!" He announced loudly. JT sunk into his palm in shame, but Malcolm knew, deep inside he had fun, too.

Malcolm widened his eyes in realization. "And we're both reckless bastards." He gasped, JT's head struck back up in shock. "I never-" He stuttered, only to get interrupted by an excited Malcolm. "You said it yourself, no takebacks." He pointed out. JT sighed in defeat. "God help me." He muttered bitterly. He couldn't avoid Malcolm shouting "JT and I are blood brothers!" so he just took that hit. The profiler was just messing with him. And maybe he even deserved that as a harmless payback.

Dani stalked past them, a cold atmosphere following her step by step. "Mornin" JT greeted her miserably. "Mor-" Malcolm didn't even finish Dani was already gone. JT crossed his arms before his chest.

"So you didn't call her." He stated dryly. Malcolm turned his head back to JT and scratched his head embarrassed.

"I..." JT raised one eyebrow expectantly. "It's complicated." He eventually admitted. JT sighed, nevertheless shook his head.

"Well, it's your funeral." He replied and walked past Malcolm. The profiler looked painfully after his partner. Now that he had peace with him, he still needed to face Dani. No doubt she was mad he went to announce the news without her. Obviously, it didn't go as planned.

He lifted his sleeve to look at his watch. It was time to meet Gil in the Briefing room.

Time to share the Game Master's real identity.

Gil had his chin implanted in his palm as he slowly nodded. He lifted his head and took a shuddering breath, his eyes wandering to his confident consultant.

"Bennett Coleman?" He asked again. Malcolm nodded in affirmation. JT turned away. Frustrated. He had interrogated the man without noticing. How could this be even possible?

Dani wasn't too surprised by the news. She observed the scene with crossed arms. "Legally we have nothing against him. Nor can we be completely sure-"

"I'm 100% sure." Malcolm mixed in. Gil scrutinized him, but Malcolm had an earnest expression. He was being dead serious.

Gil sighed. "I guess we need to focus our investigations on him from now on." He declared. He walked towards the white billboard and wrote the name Bennett Coleman in big letters.

"Any suggestions?" Gil threw into the room, the pen dancing in his hand. He glanced at each detective once.

"Tally's mobile. He still has it." Malcolm proposed as a possible lead, ignoring the way JT tensed up.

"He might've already thrown it away." Dani countered back, eyes sharply trained on him. Malcolm knew she was scanning him for information he didn't reveal. Such as the conversation he had with the killer before the ambulance arrived. He remembered vaguely how Coleman had told him he'd keep her phone with him.

"We could check it anyway." He replied, but his argument didn't carry much strength. Gil, who knew him better than anyone, now was onto him as well. Even if they were, they had nothing against his hand. So they ignored it, for now. Malcolm could sigh out in relief, but he was trained well enough to hide real emotions.

JT threw in the suggestion to check Coleman's bank accounts, while Malcolm was distracted by his buzzing mobile. He pulled it out, planning to mute it temporarily. He frowned at the message from the unknown number. He opened his phone to have a look at the SMS.

Dear Player,

I apologize for the bug in the game you had to discover unfortunately. Even if it is too late by now, I'd like to assure you that it is fixed, and such a mistake will never happen again. I took care of it.

Have fun playing in the future,

Game Master

Malcolm's hand started to tremble until it was shaking violently. It took him a second or two to comprehend what Coleman intended to say. The realization hit him brutally.

He snapped out of his trance and stormed out of the room. He vaguely heard Gil calling his name. He ignored every officer he rushed past. The cold air that clashed into his lungs didn't scare the nausea away as he had hoped. He grabbed the nearest cab and urged the driver to drive as fast as possible. The ride was a complete horror, a trip to hell. He didn't know if he'd be too late. At the same time, he was sure to be. The anticipation was torture.

He didn't know how much money he left the driver. He was aware at every second that Gil and his detectives were on his heels the whole time. He ignored them victoriously.

He stumbled out of the car into the street, taking in shallow breaths to kill the nauseating feeling in his throat. In vain. The street was empty even in broad daylight. He staggered to the door. And when he opened it, the bell didn't announce his presence.

They were all dead.

For a whole night, they had been. The corpses were neatly seated in their chairs. Not tied, but during their torture they definitely were, Malcolm noticed it on their tenderly red burned wrists.

He entered the bar in trance. He looked into their dead and empty eyes. Jorge, the silent but kind friend. Jim, the man who could build anything with his hands, but sucked at Poker. Carl, always tidy and very superstitious. Biff, the fun and cool uncle of the group. Larry, their caring leader, and best friend.

Jeff, the kind and loving father.

They were all dead.

Murdered.

Slaughtered.

Slaughtered in a bloodbath!

Their mouths had been sewed together when they had still been alive, one by one. The agony was carved in their faces. They bled out slowly, one by one gliding into a horrible death.

Jeff watched it all. Was forced to watch it. The beer glass, he was definitely polishing when the murderer entered the bar, was covered in crimson red blood. Jeff's mouth was sewn tightly as well. The difference to the other man? He was covered in shards, little shards of glass stuck into his body like art. The two biggest ones were thrust into his eyeballs.

It was a nightmare Bright would never forget. The scene replayed visibly in his head, again and again. The possible screams howling in his ears. The urge to fall onto his knees, holding his ears, screaming out in agony. He was close, but he walked the path of shame. To the bell, the little bell in Jeff's hand that greeted him and Dani when the world seemed to close their gates.

No one arrives here by coincidence. There is always a reason behind it.

The reflection of himself was drawn onto the metallic bell. Why did he see a monster instead of his face?

Why was it so familiar, the walk to the bell?

Don't open.

Why did every step burn aggressively on his soles?

No... don't open it.

Why was every suck of breath embroidered with needles?

Don't!

He looked into the bell as he looked into the box once.

AAAHHHHH-


Gil dodged Malcolm just in time when he dashed blindly out of the crime scene. This wasn't just a regular crime scene, this was a scene straight out of a horror movie. These poor men had been tortured drastically. The killer wanted to ensure a gruesome and painful death. That was guaranteed. It was a wonder to him how Malcolm found out about the sextuplicate homicide. Probably a direct message from their wanted man.

After he had contacted the forensics, he hid his hands in his pockets. He took in the crime scene, analyzing it as long it wasn't crowded. It rarely happened that his team were the first witnesses. Usually, regular officers were contacted first, then forensic, and lastly Major Crimes. It seemed like the Game Master loved shortcuts.

Gil's eyes fell on Dani. She was shaken, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Her whole body was trembling, her eyes torn wide open. She stared into the dead faces, at the same time she wasn't there.

"So you were with him." Gil realized dryly. Dani blinked, her eyes unwillingly getting wet again. She used her hand to wipe away the tears and prevent her nose from running.

"Obviously." She sobbed, giving her best to build up her professional wall. Gil nodded absently. He looked to the barkeeper, wondering what Dani and Malcolm managed to get out of them before the killer struck again.

"Why didn't you tell us?" He asked bitterly, not taking his eyes from the barkeeper. Only when she refused to answer he looked at her, her head falling down in embarrassment.

Dani smiled sorrowfully. "I mean, I was supposed to lay low, wasn't I?" She pointed out, but her argument was weak.

Gil shook his head. "I know you respect my position in orders. I'm also aware that you are ready to break them if you consider them wrong. The Dani I know stands her ground for her decisions."

Dani turned her head away. He caught her. Gil just knew her too well, lying was fruitless. She sighed defeated. It's not like she lied on purpose to everyone. It's just that the truth is harder to accept than a pretty little lie. She simply wasn't able to accept the truth. Speaking it out loud seemed impossible. Running away from it turned out to be worse, especially if you only had detective friends on your heels.

She swallowed hard on her burning throat. "I..." She started but struggled to continue. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. Blowing bubbles like a mindless fish. She shook her head and decided determined to try out a different approach. Back to the times before the second round, the traumatic experience pulsating through her veins persistently, like dirty water poisoning everything it touched.

"After watching Malcolm almost die, I was so dedicated to catching that bastard. He murdered innocents for show and messed with us, I wanted to bring him down. No matter when, no matter what. Nothing else was in my brain." She explained what once was. Before the second round, that destroyed her completely. "After meeting the man firsthand..." She found herself unable to talk. Rip the patch off with one go, she told herself.

"I was scared." She confessed ashamed. She felt JT nearing them interested, not believing what he just heard. Gil frowned concerned. "I was scared of him, okay?" She repeated offended. She had built long for the undying respect of her tough appearance. But wasn't she a human in the end, too? A human that was frightened when a knife rained down on her defenseless shape with no end? When a heartless monster, who was capable of slaughtering his own work-family, threatened to kill her, wasn't it normal to be more than just afraid?

Gil placed a hand on her shoulder. He didn't say anything, but his silence spoke in several books. He understood, that was what mattered. A single tear escaped her eyes.

"Malcolm wanted to inform you as quick as possible. I resisted. I didn't want to meet this monster again so soon." She blurted out. The image of JT and Malcolm rolling into the ambulance returned to her mind. The respiratory mask on their bruised faces. The cuts covering their bodies, the huge seatbelt bruise.

"I should've been with them." She realized horrified. Gil scowled in missing understanding. "I should have been with them!" She burst out uncontrollably. "Malcolm was right, there is no time to lose. The third round could've started anytime. I allowed it." She sobbed hysterically and covered her face in her palm.

JT widened his eyes panicked, Gil didn't hesitate to grab her by her shoulders. He did what he was good at. Keep everyone sane. He had plenty of experience in convincing innocent people that they weren't guilty of something a killer had done.

"Dani." His voice was firm and steady. "There is nothing you could've done. Coleman did this. To these men, to JT, to Malcolm. To you."

Dani shook her head unconvinced. "I know, Gil, don't you think I don't know how powerless I am?" She sighed shakily. She brushed away her hair. "I am angry at myself. For how I could be such a coward. An egoistic coward. It's disgusting." She realized bitterly. Her head sunk down in shame, she felt weak and useless.

Gil never gave up on her. He had plenty of warm smiles to bestow upon his protégés. "It's okay to be weak, you know." He spoke up, his tone smoky. "Sometimes, you just need to care for yourself before you can give that to other people."

She smiled sadly, wondering how Gil could be always so wise. How could a regular mortal like her ever be like him?

Gil wasn't always right, that she realized for sure now. "Not if you're us, Gil." She disagreed bitterly. Her eyes fell on the dead corpses. Civilians. "People trust us to put everything else before our own personal needs." She realized. They weren't just sitting in a discounter, giving away food. They were responsible for catching villains. They were the parents who checked under the bed for monsters, just in a more horrifying way.

Her gaze returned to Gil, and for once she experienced him speechless. A wave of guilt rushed through her body. "Look, this case isn't just work anymore." Her eyes found JT’s. His head sunk into thoughts. "This is personal." She emphasized, gesturing to her colleague.

Gil nodded slowly, absently. Maybe he was trapped in his own thoughts as well, nevertheless it seemed like he wholeheartedly agreed with her statement.

"It's more serious than it has ever been," Dani spoke, her voice firm and cold. "If we're not ready to accept a personal loss, we can't afford to mess up." She stated harshly.

She was startled by the warm touch of Gil's palm on her shoulder. "And that's exactly why we need to stay together." Dani blinked perplexed. "If we destroy that bond we built up tediously, we already lost this battle."

"We are friends." JT joined in optimistically. "No matter how many obstacles he throws at us, we stay together. That's our advantage." He exclaimed confidently. Dani revealed a shy smile.

"Dani?" Gil persistently searched for her eyes. "You do realize we do not hate you for the decisions you made?" He checked, concerned about her.

The woman chuckled relieved. "Yeah, sure. It's just-" She fought for the right words to say. "-hard to believe if I already hate myself so much for that."

Gil smiled kindly and stroked her arm. "I think I know someone who has a similar approach to life." He revealed, his eyes momentarily shifting to the door. Dani couldn't help but look for it, too.

"Yeah, he must be eating himself by now." She added, knowing how bad her friend coped with guilt. They decided to give Bright some time for himself, but he couldn’t hide forever.

"Do you wanna talk to him?" She asked unsure. Gil clearly noticed that she wanted to go to him. Talk to him privately. They both knew these new victims in their living days after all. So he shook his head dismissively.

"No, it's okay." He responded. He was happy to accept that more and more people cared for his kid. "I guess you're as qualified as I am, if not even better."

Dani smiled at him thankfully and nodded. She turned around quietly and went to look for her friend. She has been aided. Now someone needed to look after their problematic case.

Notes:

I'mma pull off that Ainsley move, walking out like "Ooops! I murdered. Again."
R.I.P. Jeff's

Chapter 17: Chapter 16

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Malcolm remained silent.

He managed to find peace with Dani, but not with himself. He has never been more ashamed. He had a clear profile, he knew how this man worked. Telling him about Jeff's was a mistake he should've seen coming. Normally, he shouldn't be surprised by that outcoming. Showing that he was indeed only portrayed his dumbness from several different angles. A heartless killer like Coleman had no interpersonal relationships. He was different, he had no use for people like Jeff. If they loved him, there were nothing but pathetic in his eyes.

Bright knew this, but in his delusional state, he dared to try a new approach. Now he needed to live with blood on his hands because that's what his job was. A mistake as a profiler carries immense costs, no normal individual could handle that easily.

So Bright was currently on a dark road, breaking several promises on his trip. His agreement with Dani, not to blame himself for what a killer did, broken. Returning back to Jeff's, technically not broken, but definitely not as planned. The only promise he would enjoy breaking would be to smack the killer with his fist when they’ll finally catch him. That man was in for something. He doubted Jeff would be mad at Malcolm for hurting Bennett after what he did to Jeff and his friends.

Now what was the plan? Knowing the killer was a great advantage indeed, yet useless without proof. They couldn't charge him without evidence. Well, they could, but it would end effortless for them and the killer would be free of charges faster than they could think. Not to forget they were talking about Coleman, one of the wealthy people in New York. Getting a good expensive lawyer would be brutal for them, so they required real bulletproof evidence.

They agreed to check on all new leads and discover anything dirty about Coleman, but so far the man had wiped out his whole past. That was fishy, but not enough for the judge to speak some years.

Talking with Coleman turned out fruitless as well. The man didn't hide from them. He played with them. He knew what they needed. And he kept it under his paws, neglecting any possible ways to prove him guilty. Somehow, even his alibis turned out fine, which wasn't very promising.

Till now, Malcolm didn't see any other way than waiting for Coleman to attack them again. They needed to wait for the last round in order to catch him on point, that was the bulletproof evidence they were talking about.

Therefore, Malcolm didn't mention his concerns. Quality time. Coleman could play with them on the phone long enough, but if he really would be coming for Malcolm, he needed to step into the spotlight.

So why refused Malcolm to give his colleagues a fair warning? Well, because Gil wouldn't hesitate to rule him out and lock him into a safe house. That was going the opposite way of luring out their killer. No, Malcolm would have to keep it his little secret.

Above all of that, he needed to deal with something much worse right now.

Jessica Whitley. His mother.

The door opened energetically. Malcolm startled, almost dropping the little present to atone for his sins. Jessica looked fresh and styled as always. But she didn't carry her usual harmonic smile. She was angry. Malcolm swallowed nervously and stretched out his arm with a bottle of wine and the small package of chocolates.

"Hello, dear mother." He greeted with a lopsided grin.

Jessica furrowed her eyebrows in displeasure. "A car crash, Malcolm? Seriously?" She snapped instead. She didn't budge, denying him the very entrance into the childhood home he sought.

No matter what an experienced psychological expert Malcolm was, he had a hard time figuring out how to deal with the people he cared for. Somehow it seemed easier to get along with his work family than with his cold family by blood.

"Chocolates?" Malcolm suggested helplessly. Judging by Jessica's reaction this was the wrong thing to say, if not the worst. At least she granted him access to their huge mansion. The elder woman turned around with a groan, the majestic sound of her heels accompanying her to the living room. "Is this some joke to you?" She hissed.

Malcolm pulled off his jacket and removed it loosely. In an emergency, he could grab it quickly and run. "I'm afraid it's my job." He answered, very well aware that she didn't hear him. He placed the gifts on a shelf and headed to the living room.

"Your job, huh?" Jessica greeted him unamused. Malcolm grinned embarrassed. He forgot that Jessica was a born mother, it was impossible to fool her or keep secrets. That woman sees, hears, and knows everything.

"Maybe I should send a job offer to apply you as a nurse, since you like visiting the hospital so much." She threatened sharply. Malcolm didn't doubt his mother's capability. He was just relieved to know his mother would never do this to him. She loved her kids and would support them with all of their foolish dreams and ideas.

"Mother-" Malcolm started reassuringly. Jessica raised her index. "Don't get me with 'I'm alright'. I know you're not." She interrupted. Malcolm closed his mouth, as it was the exact thing he was going to begin with. Was he so predictable? Or maybe he was running out of telling other people's worries off. Probably the latter.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jessica calmed down, her voice vulnerable and weak. He noticed a glass of bourbon in her hands, no idea where it came from. But Malcolm knew the reason it was there. He saw the reason every time he looked into the mirror.

"You literally demonstrated your answer just now." He deadpanned. He was back in the nineties, a child reasoning with his mother. Why did he try when it was predictable he'd never win the fight. Maybe because it was never a fight to begin with.

"Is it wrong to worry about my child?" Jessica's face dropped, her with devastation marked eyes starring daggers at him. Now he felt bad. Very bad.

"No-" Malcolm started, ready to object with his point of view. Jessica was quicker.

"So I'm the bad mother for worrying for my child. Should I act like Gil, who keeps you in this dangerous case after you nearly died three times in a week?" She raised one eyebrow expectantly, waiting for Malcolm's defeat. He sighed heavily. "No." His gaze fell, his shoulders hunching down in guilt.

Jessica scrutinized her subordinated son doubtfully. She took a calm sip and lowered her glass. "You're still not going to stop." She stated dryly. She turned her cold back to him and gazed out of the window, deep in thoughts. "Hardheaded as ever." She muttered absently.

"Guess I learned from the best." Malcolm carefully looked up. He thought going with a compliment would do the trick.

"Then maybe there is another one of my qualities I reject to have," Jessica admitted.

The words hurt Malcolm more than he would have expected. He was a disgrace to his family, and it was painful to look into those never approving eyes. Every breath he took lead to disappointing the people he cared for. Sometimes it was hard to live with that shame. In moments like these, he wished he'd never existed in the first place.

It was useless. He turned around and trudged to the door. "I'm sorry." He confessed genuinely. Jessica remained quiet, her arms crossed before her chest. "I'm just too good at messing up." He muttered. He didn't even know why it slipped out of his mouth in the first place. Maybe it was just a fact that had to be said at some point. A fact that everyone knew but needed to be mentioned to fully understood.

"Malcolm-" His mother whined, but he couldn't stand it anymore. He needed some air, he couldn't stay at this cell that was known as his childhood home. He never felt comfortable here after his father was arrested. "-Don't you think I don't know?"

Malcolm turned around confused. He found the same desperation that he heard in her voice back in her eyes.

"I know you don't do anything on purpose. That's just who you are." She said. Malcolm smiled sadly as he shrugged.

"What? A constant pain in the ass?" He stared into the disapproving eyes of his mother. "The time I was gone from New York must've been the best time in your life after the whole thing." Malcolm realized sorrowful. He knew what it meant. Maybe it was better for everyone if he just disappeared again.

"It was hell," Jessica admitted nonchalantly.

Malcolm turned around. He didn't believe her, but after analyzing the woman everything in him screamed it was the truth. The weird yet so ever truth.

"You’re my child, Malcolm. I will never stop worrying about you. That is what makes me a mother. At least while you do the same crap in New York I get to see you." She walked closer to him.

"You get to see me in the hospital. Isn't that counterproductive?" He deadpanned.

Jessica softly grabbed his shoulders and began to examine his suit with gentle fingertips.

"When you keep away the bad things happening to you, it's like you're back in Quantico. I can never tell if you're hurt or not. It's another living nightmare I'm not ready to go through again."

Malcolm threw his arms around her suddenly. She returned the embrace with a small sniffle. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." He stammered scared. He forced himself back into the hidden tunnel under their house. The fear of losing his family. He put his mother through these emotions so often, and now again. He was a monster to put her poor heart into this misery.

"You're not going to quit the NYPD, are you?" She spoke up all of a sudden. Malcolm chuckled between a sob. "No chance." He replied, his mother returning the soft chuckle.

She pulled herself out of the hug and positioned her son to look her directly into her eyes. "Then at least, tell me if you're hurt. Tell me if you're not alright. I want to be able to trust you." She demanded seriously. Malcolm swallowed slowly. "At least concerning that topic." She added with a hint of twisted humor. Malcolm couldn't hinder himself from laughing.

"Fine." He sighed peacefully.

"Promise me," Jessica added, her face stern and determined.

Malcolm gave his word.

"So, what is it that you need?" Jessica asked after they finally agreed to a certain understanding.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Malcolm laughed nervously. Jessica threw a knowing glance at him, he scratched his neck.

"You wouldn't even dare to enter the lioness’s cave if it wasn't gravely needed for your stupid work, so let's get over with it. How can I help?" Jessica snorted superciliously and cast an arrogant glance at his small appearance.

Malcolm laughed in defeat. "Well, there is a matter that concerns the police dearly," Malcolm admitted. Jessica didn't hide her curiosity. "It is about a certain Mr. Coleman. You know him I'd guess straight ahead." Bright revealed. Immediately Jessica's face lit up.

"Oh, dear Mr. Coleman!" She exclaimed joyfully before realizing the topic they were talking about. "Oh no." She remembered, her happy expression dropping. Malcolm smiled at that. "Say, is he just in trouble, or are we talking..."

"Certain trouble, that's more fitting in our terms," Malcolm responded. He motioned with his eyes to the couch. Jessica rolled her eyes.

"Why do I always attract the psychopaths." She groaned while making her way to the comfortable furniture. Malcolm followed her close by. "We both seem to be some sort of magnets to that." He added unruffled.

"Now." Malcolm crossed his legs and made himself comfortable. Jessica was tense, he didn't miss that. "Tell me about Coleman. How did you two start to make business anyway?"

Jessica smiled to herself at that question.

"Well, I am mostly the reason he got that big." She revealed proudly. Malcolm raised one eyebrow, mentioning for her to continue. "I was his venture capitalist. You see, he had plenty of money to pay some employees, but not enough to raise a whole company." She explained, her red lips parting to a smile and revealing white teeth.

"So you helped him make business, gained some profit, the usual stuff." Malcolm summed up. He interrupted his ongoing thoughts for one question. "When was that again? Before or after?"

Jessica waved her hand dismissively at her son.

"Oh dear, long after. Coleman is barely a few years older than you."

Malcolm nodded. So Coleman should be about thirty-five, or older. It was good to know at least something. Somehow, the man had succeeded in keeping a low profile of his whole life or erasing his complete existence. Except for the people he met and left alive. He would not make the mistake of bailing his mother as he did with Jeff and the others. Mistakes like these were too crucial to even think of making them.

"What else do you know about him? What was he like?" Malcolm scrounged further. His mother fell into a fit of praising.

"Oh, he was perfect. Good-looking, polite, ambitious. He was the son I never had." She dreamed lovely. Malcolm glared at her.

"And I'm sitting right here, just so you know." He grumbled annoyed. Jessica returned the glare.

"No one forced you to become a profiler." She spat disgusted. "You could have been like him, an entrepreneur. But your goal was never to make me proud in the first place but to follow your own desires, which ironically makes me sort of proud." Jessica mused surprised. As delighted as he was to hear of his mother being proud of him, he had a job to do. "That's wonderful, but back to Coleman."

Jessica nodded. "Right, back to the kind and handsome man." Jessica raved dreamily. Malcolm shook his head.

"I knew from the very beginning that he was the ideal businessman, or else I would have never invested in him." She told, suddenly sounding neutral as if the act before was just a charade to entertain Malcolm. Maybe it was.

"When you say 'ideal businessman', this doesn't seem to add up with the former mentioned 'kind man'." Malcolm threw in critically. Jessica eyed him challenging, urging Malcolm deep inside to continue his objection.

"The Homo Oeconomicus." He smiled and spread his hands to the side. "The ideal standard of a human. Utility-maximizer. It says they only act after their own profit, excluding extraneous factors such as other people's interests. Their thinking is considered to be more rational than emotional. People who carry the traits of a Homo Oeconomicus aren't considered to be kind. Actions like these prevent them from reaching their own goals, which is a disastrous turn of events."

Jessica's challenging smirk didn't vanish. "You know that's only in theory." She objected with a skilled poker face. Malcolm slowly shook his head, leaning forward with his elbow on his knee so his hand could rest in his palm.

"But not with this guy."

Jessica smiled proudly and nodded. "You're right, unfortunately. It's hard to notice, but Coleman isn't one of the norms. He expresses pure coldness. I would've said he could walk over corpses to reach his goal. Just an expression." She defended herself, but Malcolm nodded understandingly. "An expression excellently fitting him I'm afraid."

"I ignored the warning bells screaming in my head. I didn't realize that the good traits he brought didn't only fit a successful businessman, but also a psychopath." Jessica admitted. Malcolm smiled warmly.

"There's no harm in that. All you did was invest in something you saw potential in. It's what you do." He calmed her down.

"At least he made it far." Jessica sighed in resignation.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows.

"You lost touch?"

Jessica shot him an incredulous look.

"Why of course. He can perfectly stand on his own now. He isn't dependent on my money anymore."

"He reached everything he set his minds on," Malcolm added, remembering the phone call with his father. Jessica nodded, oblivious to his inner thoughts.

"Exactly. I wonder why he would risk destroying all of that by running rampage through the streets?"

Malcolm forgot his thoughts and turned his attention to his mother. "Don't worry, I got that covered. Coleman is our man."

Jessica observed his determined expression, a sad smile creeping on her face. "Yet you don't have enough evidence or else you'd have him cuffed instead of seeking for my intel." She noticed. Malcolm nodded, painfully aware of the reality. "In what way is my word going to help?" Jessica asked genuinely interested.

"It's not that much worth as we'd wish to, unfortunately." Malcolm huffed disappointed. "We need solid evidence and proof of him being emotionally stable. I won't let him receive the same treatment as Martin. Not on my watch." Malcolm growled determined. Coleman had done too many horrible things to get away so easily. It pained him enough to know his father's luxurious life despite his terrific sins.

He jumped up. Jessica was startled by that sudden movement. Shortly after she rushed after her son. "You're going already?" She protested disappointed. Malcolm was already at the door. He looked back at his mother while grabbing his coat.

"Yes. I have to meet Gil." He responded, the cringe in his mother's face not going unnoticed but ignored. "This man is highly dangerous. We need to stop this madness as fast as possible."

He threw over his coat, his mother watching him intently. Before he grabbed the handle he advised his mother not to tell anyone about his visit or conversation. Jessica shrugged it off, already familiarized with Malcolm's weird behavior. She was not expecting this though.

"I love you." He muttered as he hesitated to open the door. "I love you, too." Jessica returned lightly. Malcolm turned around, holding a concerning severity in his eyes. Jessica gasped inaudibly.

"No, I... I really mean it. I love you. And Ainsley. I love two so much." He confessed, sounding desperate all of a sudden.

"Are we in trouble?" Jessica's voice pitched higher, reminded of what happened with Watkins. Malcolm smiled sorrowfully.

"No. No, you're not." He calmed her down. "I would never let another psychopath touch a hair on your heads, you know that."

Jessica nodded absently, swallowing down the traumatic experiences with the junkyard killer. Her head shot up in shocking realization.

"But what about you?"

Malcolm remained silent instead of calming her down. His mouth was too dry to form some pretty sweet lies.

"Malcolm." Jessica sighed in a low scolding manner.

"I'll be careful." He assured her weakly, but Jessica didn't buy any of that anymore.

"Why can't you stay out of this case? Just this one?" She fell into a begging role she wholeheartedly disliked. Malcolm drew a pained grimace and shook his hands.

"Because I can't." He replied obviously. Jessica rolled her eyes.

"Right, how could I forget. They need your genius brain." She huffed tiredly.

"No it's…" Malcolm hesitated, gently grabbing her hand. "I fear it's too late to quit by now." He confessed.

Jessica scowled at him. "What is that supposed to mean?" A light nervous laugh escaping her lips.

Malcolm looked her dead serious in the eyes. "He's targeting us four. We're in this together from the first day on. The only way to get back to a rather normal life is to catch him." Or kill him. Whatever adds up, Malcolm finished in his thoughts. This was really just like the Jumanji game in the more realistic version. If they could beat the Game Master, this nightmare would be over. Finally.

Jessica eyed him worried. "Then I guess you can't promise to take care of yourself." She muttered pessimistically. Malcolm smiled warmly at his mother. It was frustrating yet so comforting how good she knew him. He couldn't lose. There was too much at stake to allow that. There certainly had been a time he had wished not to exist, to be dead. These times weren’t now. He had reasons to live, motivation to make him fight, and the resolution to win.

"I won't die." He promised determined. Jessica didn't look impressed.

"Well, your bar is almost too high." She criticized ironically. Malcolm gladly ignored it, rather crushing her in a bear hug.

"Oh!" Jessica gasped surprised by the sudden affection.

"I love you," Malcolm whispered, his eyes clenched shut. Jessica became comfortable very fast and settled to stroke his back.

As sudden as it had happened it was over. The warmth of the hug was replaced with the cold December's wind rushing into the house.

"If this is over, I'll invite you all to dinner." Malcolm offered with a bright smile. Jessica smiled warmly, beating the cold temperature easily.

"You'd better be present." She dared. Malcolm was startled by the dark meaning that is kept hidden. Yet he was certain it wouldn't be his funeral.

"See you!" He called before turning around and settling into the busy city life of New York. He didn't turn around once. Else he would have to look into those eyes. Those eyes that never stopped worrying because of him.

Notes:

My greatest fear is that I post the wrong chapter. Every. Single. Time.

Chapter 18: Chapter 17

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It was yet early in the morning. The typical get to school/work business had long calmed down, nevertheless, the day was pretty young. Coffee ruled the world, wherever you let your eyes wander. It was strange how one rather simple built liquid could get so popular among humanity all around the globe. It was common knowledge that caffeine-filled drinks were only able to wake up the mind for a short period of time. The aftereffects were more tiredness, which surely strengthened the desire for replenishment. If you'd look at it like that, coffee was just another drug. A legal one, yet still a drug.

Malcolm dragged himself into the little office, abandoning any more coffee thoughts. He should get settled with the disappointment of his coffee getting cold and lonely at his desk.

"Morning." Gil, his boss, greeted him cheerfully. If that wasn't already odd enough. They were in the middle of a crisis, happy emotions were rare. On the other hand, complete desperation is known to have some weird effects on mental health. Erratic mood swings are common results, laughing instead of crying. The mind never ceased to amaze Malcolm.

"I didn't even get the tiniest little sip of my precious coffee." Malcolm began to criticize right away instead of greeting him formally. The last days had taken a great toll on him, he simply lacked the energy to keep his optimistic attitude up. "Mind telling what's the big deal?" He grumbled, suppressing the urge to look after his coffee on his desk.

Gil specifically ordered only him to his office, there must be an important reason than just 'checking'. And whatever that was, it was, without doubt, more concerning than his coffee getting cold. Maybe it didn't even taste good. It was a new brand after all, from the new coffee machine at the precinct.

His lips escaped a yawn. Gil eyed him concerned. "Did you sleep at all?" He asked caringly.

Malcolm raised one eyebrow. "Was that rhetorical?" He deadpanned grumpily.

Bright knew the man didn't mean him any ill and was genuinely concerned. But from the deepest of his heart, he just couldn't bring himself to care right now. It had been days since he had had a good sleep. And lately, he figured out that his body didn't count the forced naps at the hospital. The wounds he carried after that were even more aggravating.

"Alright." Gil sighed defeated, realizing that it was pointless to discuss Malcolm's concerning wellbeing. He didn't doubt that he was already getting pressured by his family, he didn't need to poke in any further.

"You met Coleman more often than anyone else. Do you have any ideas how we can charge him guilty for a lifetime?" Gil asked, professional severity returning to his face.

Malcolm's face literally lit up. It was one of his typical stage moments with all eyes on him.

"We need to catch him while he's at it. Discovering him in the midst of action will be the best evidence we can get." Bright exclaimed motivated. As if one button was enough to change him from down to highly energetic. Probably Malcolm himself was more affected by the same mood swings he detected on Gil.

Gil smiled approvingly at his employee. "Sounds to me like you have a plan?" He mentioned curiously.

Malcolm's smile crumbled lightly at the statement, horribly reminded by the inevitable. Coleman planned to kidnap him, just like Watkins once succeeded. If he could give his team a fair warning, how drastic could that change their tactics? Could they prepare and beat Coleman, or would he be locked into a safe house for who knows how long? Coleman could terrorize his loved ones while he stayed isolated and hidden.

Malcolm decided to test the water. "Well..." He started reluctantly. "How open are you to suggestions that involve, I don't know let's say, endangering my life?" Bright phrased carefully.

Gil's smile dropped in a second, his eyes glaring disappointed at Malcolm's slender frame.

"No." He decided sharply, the authority of his word striking the consultant.

Malcolm huffed annoyed at the expected but unwanted turn of events. "Then I have none."

Gil groaned and buried his face in his palms. He massaged his temples. All in one, he had aged in mere seconds and looked absolutely drained out. "This is hopeless." He muttered tiredly and proceeded to stare into nothingness.

Malcolm eyed him concerned, but he was at a loss of what to say. He wasn't good at cheering people up, usually he made everything worse. There was less damage evoked if he just remained silent, no matter how pitiful his mentor appeared.

Gil recovered from the short breakdown, he braced up all by himself. Malcolm observed his lips parting with high expectations. For now, he would really enjoy laying low and merely following orders, especially if they came from a trusted person.

A massive noise emerged behind his back, drowning into shattering glass. Deep from his lungs, a cry escaped his lips and his trained body dropped to the ground. His heart hammered violently against his chest and his breath rattled rapidly.

Hands grabbed his shoulder and shook him. His disoriented pale eyes focused on Gil. He had a frightened expression and stammered helplessly.

"I'm good!" Malcolm blurted out, after that pausing to swallow.

Relief took over Gil's face, but only for a short second. Malcolm turned around on his back, leaning on his elbows. He didn't dare to straighten up yet to his full height, it was safer to stay close to the ground. They both knew what the source of the noise had been.

"A gunshot," Gil croaked while Malcolm acknowledged the blanket of shards over his body. Most of Gil's office window was still intact. The bullet had missed them by a lot and was embedded in the brick wall.

Malcolm frowned confused, he really wouldn't have expected the killer to show up at the precinct and shoot into the office like a madman. That didn't fit the profile, that didn't even sound like the Coleman they had started to get to know.

Gil peeked over the window that wasn't broken, Malcolm tensed up. He readied himself for another bullet, but something else happened instead.

Gil jumped to his feet and stumbled out of his office. Malcolm instantly followed curiously. What happened before his eyes was so bizarre, he wouldn't even believe it if he himself would be the one to retell the story.

The whole precinct was running batshit crazy.

Chaos was the new rule and every officer followed it strictly. Screaming and shouting filled their ears, delirious eyes saw what they wanted to. Someone threw a chair to the other end of the hall. It crashed brutally against the wall and broke into several pieces.

Gil barely dodged in time before a running woman crashed into him. She screamed insanely loud at nothing behind her and ended up knocking herself out by running headfirst into the wall next to Gil and Malcolm.

Bright crouched down concerned and examined the unconscious woman. Gil was speechless, having a hard to time processing what was wrong with his employees.

A coffee mug crashed at the wall over his head. Gil ducked in time.

"Gil!" Malcolm screeched, but the lieutenant had everything in control. He secured his attacker in a firm grip and brought him to the ground. The young man huffed in pain. Faster than Malcolm could see Gil fished out the man's own handcuffs and strapped his hands on his back.

Patrick, Gil noticed during the process. He was still a rookie, new and motivated. He was yet in street patrol, but Gil had his hopes up for him to be the glowing new generation. Was that imagination about to shatter?

"What has gotten into them?" Gil exclaimed, struggling to keep the young officer pinned to the ground. The boy snarled and wriggled like a feral animal. Gil looked at Malcolm for support, given he was the only other sane person beside him.

Malcolm opened his mouth, and then he tore his eyes open. Gil only noticed the loud crash, but barely got a glimpse of the pair of feet disappearing out of the window.

"Oh my god!" Malcolm cried out and jumped onto his feet. He dashed to the window, so did Gil. Bright was surpassed easily by the elder.

While Gil checked for the person who had jumped straight out of the window, Malcolm was stopped by a burning slap on his cheek. The force swept him off his feet and sent him crashing to the ground, landing on his side with his pelvis taking most of the impact.

Dark hungry eyes glared down on him. With a roar, the police officer leaped down on Malcolm's grounded body.

A fist collided with his cheekbone, his path misguided to the same direction. Gil stretched out his hand to the downed profiler, who gladly accepted it.

"You good?" He asked in passing.

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders, feeling much better on his two feet. "Been better." He admitted honestly, hot stings burning through his soft skin.

Before the couple could decide on any further actions, Gil discovered a familiar scene. It was strange encountering the exact situation in a normally safe police precinct. Usually, officers didn't try to suffocate one another.

Instantly Gil felt the urge to check on Malcolm, just so he could rid the picture of the boy himself almost getting choked to death.

Bright was gone.

Instead of standing by his side, the young profiler stormed into action. He tried to break the hold of Tom's hands had on John's throat. "Stop it!" He yelled at the attacker’s deafened ears.

Gil tackled the man he normally trusted to patrol the streets for safety. Tom went to the ground, disorientated. Malcolm supported John, so the weakened man wouldn't drop down as well. Gil trusted him with that, while he was checking on Tom before he decided to cuff him as well, just to make sure.

A strangled gasp tore him back to reality. His head snapped around, sending a sharp pain through his neck. John didn't manage to strangle Malcolm for remotely long. Gil's fist shut off the man's lights.

He didn't blame John at all, he realized the man must've been in shock and mistook Malcolm for his former attacker. It was merely self-defense, but it went too close to dark drawers of memories Gil tried to lock away.

His pulse was pounding uncontrollably fast. He crouched to Malcolm, who was hiding his throat in his hands and coughing roughly. "Are you alright?" Gil asked terrified, his heart dropping to the bottom. The trauma was still too fresh for both of them.

Instead of answering Gil, Malcolm raised his head and acknowledged the havoc before their very eyes. "Is JT dancing Polka on his desk?" He winced bemused.

Gil blinked perplexed and searched for the mentioned detective, who was indeed dancing a version of Polka on top of a desk.

"It seems not everyone is affected negatively." Gil mused bewildered. With the next step, the detective missed the table and crashed to the ground. Gil and Malcolm cringed simultaneously.

"Still dangerous," Malcolm added, not trying to imagine the pain his colleague went through with that fall. He doubted he himself would ever recover from seeing the usually severe JT dance and sing on top of a table.

Gil grabbed Malcolm's hand and pulled him up, bringing him back to the safety of his office.

"Gil, they aren't themselves anymore." Bright mentioned apprehensively. Gil nodded fiercely.

"Yes, I kinda noticed that, too." He grumbled. He was breaking his head on how he could stop this chaos and get everyone back to normal. He had no control over his officers and detectives, they had gone completely feral.

"Any ideas?" He asked, quietly shutting the door. He doubted anyone would hear their retreat with all that noise. He cringed at the gunshots fired into the ceiling, accompanied by a burst of lunatic laughter. Gil eyed the detective that shot into the ceiling like a maniac copy of a cowboy and closed the curtains.

He turned around to face Malcolm. "This is definitely one of Coleman's schemes." The lieutenant sighed and massaged one temple. He just didn't see why. Didn't Malcolm say the next game he would come after Gil? Then why was he attacking every single officer and detective in this god-forsaken precinct?

"Gil? Did you try the new coffee down the hallway?" Malcolm brought up, of all times he chose now.

Gil shook his head, fearing his consultant was about to go nuts as well.

"I fear Coleman is responsible for the new machine. He must've laced it with drugs to make everyone run amok." Bright explained, one hand on his chin.

Gil cast a glance at his profiler. "He laced it with drugs?" He recaptured skeptically. He couldn't deny that Malcolm made a valid point, he did not drink coffee this morning, he wasn't in the mood. So did Bright mention earlier that he didn't get to taste the new coffee. "Is that even realistic?" He added curiously.

Trust Malcolm to know random facts. "With drugs, mostly nothing is impossible. Or don't you remember that one time with Dr. Elaine Brown and Dr. Carl Mitchell?" Bright reminded him of a certain case. "Their drinks were spiked with LSD and they went nuts."

Gil nodded reluctantly. He didn't experience them firsthand, but he recalls both tried to kill Malcolm in their delusional state. "You say they were drugged with LSD?" He recaptured, walking up and down in his office. Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.

"I would be careful to settle any assumption, but for now? Yes, that is my closest call."

Gil marched to the window and peaked through the narrow slits. He heard all the noises, but seeing his people scream or laugh maniacally was a different story again.

"The effects are so multifaceted." He noted with a frown. Malcolm shrugged his shoulders with a light laugh.

"Only makes sense. The effects vary on the dose and the mental state of the consumer." He explained carefreely.

Gil shot him a concerned look, fearing what could happen with Malcolm and a high dose. His mental state was already wrecked enough without the enhancement.

"LSD is similar to the semiochemical serotonin and is therefore able to activate the serotonin receptors in our brain, which-"

"Kid..." Gil sighed and waved his hands dismissively. "Just, gimme the short gist of it, would ya."

Malcolm huffed annoyed and shook his head, nevertheless he obeyed the orders. They were short on time, even if this situation was literally made to rehearse his biochemical knowledge.

"Fine." He surrendered. "An acid trip influences the mental as the physical health. It's very hallucinatory and the effects go from 'super happy and euphoria' to 'heart-stopping terrifying delusions'. Of course, if large enough quantities are given. Physical side effects are for example nausea, dizziness, or cold sensations." Malcolm explained as short as possible. Gil nodded with every new information getting submitted.

"Are there any signs that indicate LSD, or something..." Gil stammered, Malcolm jumped in enthusiastically. He was barely to distinguish from Edrisa by now.

"Actually there is!" He affirmed. "Pulse, body temperature, and blood pressure rise extremely during the trip. Also, the pupils dilate."

Gil walked to the door and peeked through the narrow slits at the unconscious woman on the ground. "You checked her earlier, didn't you?" He brought up rhetorical, not taking his eyes from the police officer.

"She showed all the signs," Malcolm revealed sorrowfully.

Gil turned around, determination marking his stance. He needed to help his people. Drag them out of their forced trip.

"How long takes a trip?"

Malcolm blew raspberries as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Usually about 6 to 8 hours for the usage of 50 to 100 microgram." Bright elucidated. Gil shook his head.

"That's too long. Didn't you once say that pain is the only thing to wake them up from their trip?" Gil mentioned, his hopes getting up. Malcolm cringed at the statement.

"Well... temporarily maybe, it would be an option for emergencies." He explained cautiously, indicating that he would never recommend it actively. Unless you're held captive by a victim who is slowly trying to throw you off a roof.

"There is a sedative called Valium that can calm down horror-trips, so the best thing would be to call an ambulance and wait," Bright recommended calmly. The problem was, waiting in safety wasn't always a given.

The door opened quietly, they didn't notice the intruder immediately. Malcolm's eyes widened and he rushed to the woman. "Dani!" He called concerned.

"Malcolm, stop!" Gil warned him, just a little bit too late. Malcolm found himself at gunpoint by the last person he expected.

The click of another gun rung in his ears. His head spun around to see Gil pointing his weapon at Dani.

"Gil, stop that nonsense." Malcolm hissed. He couldn't believe Gil would ever raise his gun on his own people, regardless of the imminent danger they found themselves in.

"Drop the weapon." Gil snarled coldly at the detective, the authority radiating immensely from his appearance.

One look at Dani was enough to realize that she wasn't herself. She wasn't her own and whatever she saw wasn't the reality. Dani would never raise her weapon against innocents.

"I won't let you... I won't..." Dani muttered, her eyes disoriented shifting between Malcolm and Gil. She didn't even seem to notice Gil with his mighty weapon.

Malcolm carefully stretched his arm out as if he intended to tame a feral beast. "Hey, Dani... It's me, Malcolm." He cooed soothingly, ignoring Gil behind him. He once calmed down a hallucinating person, maybe he could succeed again. It wouldn't help completely, but they could disarm her at least so she wasn't an imminent threat anymore.

Dani made no signs of recognizing him. Her expression was desperate, she was frightened and lived a nightmare. "I will not... You cannot hurt him..." She muttered deliriously, her arms beginning to tremble.

Malcolm frowned confused, but maybe he figured out what Dani was experiencing. If he was right, he could use that to his advantage. If not, he'd better pray that he didn't waste her patience.

"Dani, drop the weapon!" Gil shouted enraged, the woman heavily flinching. For a moment Malcolm was certain to be dead.

"Shut up, Gil!" He hissed quietly, as not to startle his friend while the gun was still pointed in his direction. "I've got this." He spoke reassuringly, laying a nice tone over his previous outburst. He'd never imagined screaming at Gil to shut up. He wouldn't regret it, but he also would never want to dwell on that for too long.

He returned his attention to Dani, her whole body shivering by now. He knew why. She was back there. The night, snow, running for her life. It had terrified her to the core and she still hadn't fully recovered from that traumatic experience. JT was lucky that the drugs didn't inflect his emotional storm. He couldn't say the same for Dani.

"It's alright, Dani. He isn't here." Malcolm spoke soothingly, glad to have her full attention. "I'm here, it's me, Malcolm."

"He won't bother you anymore. He-" Malcolm flinched sharply when Dani readjusted her weapon fiercely.

"He has to die." She snarled furiously. Bright swallowed nervously, sweat breaking out on his temple.

"Don't worry." Malcolm continued, more uncomfortable. "He will receive the justice he deserves." He promised reassuringly. He smiled warmly at her. "But for now, it's just you and me." He pointed with his fingers at whatever person he mentioned.

He noticed with delight how her hands sunk down. He dared a step closer to her. "You're safe with me." One step closer, the tightness of her grip loosens. "I won't let him hurt you no more." He swore.

And for some reason, Dani believed him. A tear escaped her eyes and she inhaled slowly and deeply. She exhaled, a shy smile on her beautiful lips.

Malcolm breathed out relieved. He kept his gaze locked with her eyes, his hands slowly working towards disarming her.

A shot banged through the hall. Dani startled. Her arms shot up and she fired with an agonizing cry.

Malcolm stumbled back, gasping shocked. While he fell to the ground in slow motion, he watched Gil dashing towards Dani. He tackled her to the ground, kicking her weapon far away. He pointed his weapon at her to force her to subordination, forgetting that Dani didn't think rationally at all. Her arms lunged out, scratching Gil in the process.

He lost his weapon eventually, too. Dani was a feral animal that fought to survive with all of her powers. Meanwhile, Gil didn't want to hurt her, he fought to disable her. He hissed at the long scratch mark that covered half of his face. Dani used his weak moment to jump up and lunge at him.

Malcolm observed the fight, his eyes roaming his surroundings for clues. He jumped up and raced to the closet. He opened the doors to reveal the narrow space inside the furniture.

"Gil!" Malcolm called over.

Gil had his hands strapped around her wrists and battled to keep her at bay. He forgot how strong that woman was. He immediately understood and made steps backward, leaving Dani with the sense of winning.

When he was close enough to the closet, he spun around and threw her away. She bumped against the wood. Before her slender frame fell to the ground, Malcolm shut the doors. Just in time he blocked the exit with his back, Dani angrily hammering from the inside.

Certain not to hold on for long, Gil decided to help Malcolm out. He rushed to the nearby shelves and pushed one after another to Malcolm. Rapidly they blocked the closet with them, making it impossible for Dani to break out with pure violence.

Both men crossed their arms, observing their work on bunkering Dani.

"That woman's insanely crazy." Gil huffed breathless.

Malcolm nodded, with the same amount of breath. "Never doubted that."

They stood in silence for several seconds, watching Dani powering herself out with the door. Was it the best solution for her mental health? Definitely not. But was it their best shot at stopping her from hurting anyone? Probably.

"Wait" Gil perked up and scrutinized Malcolm. "She missed you?"

Only after Gil mentioned it Malcolm remembered the gunshot. His hands wandered over his body, searching for fresh a bullet wound.

"Lucky me, she really missed me." He noticed relieved. Gil laughed tiredly, glad his kid wasn't going to die for now. Another trip to the hospital really wasn't needed in their tense situation.

Hospital! Gil pulled his mobile and dialed the emergency number. He totally forgot about that.

"You didn't call for help?" Malcolm realized mildly outraged.

Gil glared at him reproachful. "When should I have called for help between Dani threatening to kill you and me fighting her off?" He snarked at him.

Malcolm shook his head with a light laugh. "Fine, point for you."

It was more amusing to hear Gil struggling to phrase how the whole police precinct went nuts after the usage of LSD. Not only once, but he also called over some cops on the street to help them out. The reaction of Gil when the other part didn't believe him was a show.

The background noise had become something they could handle. The terror marked itself deep in their bones, but Malcolm wasn't particularly scared with Gil by his side. After Dani's break-in, they had decided to lock themselves for good and wait for help. Gil had been eager to storm out and do something instead of sitting. Malcolm convinced him to stay, for their own safety.

So normally, nothing bad should happen anymore if everything went according to the plan. When Gil's phone started to ring, Malcolm instantly knew that their plan was screwed. It had been too easy till now, hadn't it?

Gil eyed the unknown number with concern. He sighed resigned and brought it up to his ear. "Lieutenant Arroyo." He introduced himself with a firm voice. Malcolm observed the scene nervously.

"Do you like your round so far, lieutenant?" The cheerful voice chirped carefreely. Gil wasn't surprised to hear their killer.

"I would've liked it more if you would've excluded my detectives and officers." He growled honestly, but that advice was already running too late.

"Oh, but where would be the fun in that?" Coleman giggled childlike. Gil rolled his eyes.

"Fun was never a thing to begin with." He deadpanned.

He brought some distance between ear and mobile when roaring laughter emerged from the other side. "Oh lieutenant! You're hilarious!" The Game Master exclaimed, even Malcolm heard how fake everything was. "You still need some time to notice that this will be by far the best game of them all." The man claimed proudly. Gil raised one eyebrow.

"Care to show me?"

A subtle smile emerged on the killer's face, Gil swore he could hear him smiling at him. Belittling him.

"You're so challenging. All of you. You never won one game, yet every single one believes they still have a chance. It's so dumb." Coleman hummed disgusted.

The words hit Gil in his gut. Did he really have no chance? All he cared for was to protect his people, why couldn't this game be just between Gil and Coleman?

"Says the one who doesn't even show himself." Gil spat in mockery despite Coleman's words.

"Oh I am here, lieutenant."

Gil was hit by surprise.

"I am waiting for you, here, in the same precinct." He confessed, but his surroundings were silent. Here at the office, there was constant noise from the lunatics screaming and laughing outside.

"You don't only have a badge, not just a title. You have authority, lieutenant." The killer continued after Gil failed to answer. "Your word is law, and you can rely on your people to follow your orders. I felt no greater joy than robbing you of all that control." Coleman elucidated happily. Gil could see him stretch out his arms and marvel at the destruction he had caused.

"This, my friend, is your personal Circus Halligalli."

Gil growled furiously, fuming with anger. "I will find you, and I will kill you." He snarled his promise.

"I want to see you trying." Coleman retorted.

Gil ended the call abruptly. He placed the phone back in his pocket, headed towards the door. Malcolm jumped back into life and grabbed his wrist.

"Don't, Gil. He's only taunting you." Malcolm explained. Gil withdrew his arm with more force than needed.

"Well, maybe he did. But this ends now." He declared determined. Bright shook his head.

"You'll be making a fool of yourself. He's probably not even here and you'll get hurt while searching-"

"Enough!" Gil snapped. Malcolm backed away, with big puppy eyes.

"I will face him. Alone." Gil stated. Malcolm cringed, breaking his head over how he could convince him to stay.

"Fine, but better wait for backup." He advised, using Gil's own words against him. Of course it didn't work on him.

"Malcolm. It's my decision. You have to tolerate it."

"No!" Malcolm blurted out. He was surprised by his own reaction, more than Gil probably. The man blinked perplexed, then his expression darkened.

"Well, that seems about right. You never needed drugs to disobey me." He hissed coldly. He regretted his words in an instant. Malcolm backed away from him, hurt.

Gil's attitude softened. He noticed it, too now. Coleman was driving them against each other. With every game, he tried to destroy them from the inside. He struck a painful point on Gil and now he was letting it out on Bright. The only person who was left sane with him.

Gil exhaled heavily. "I'm sorry Bright, I know you're right. It's just..." He stammered helplessly for words. Malcolm found back a forgiving smile.

"He really can get under your skin, hu?" He finished for him. Gil marked him right. Slowly he returned back to the inner of his office.

"So, you're not leaving?" Malcolm controlled hopefully.

Gil leaned against the desk and stroked the place for Malcolm to sit beside him. "I'm not." He assured peacefully.

Malcolm sighed relieved. It tasted like victory. With the third round he suspected both sides had lost, but now? It really was some sort of a first victory. With closing his eyes he exhaled a breath. He leaned against the table and rested his side to Gil. The man he loved and trusted like a father.

Click.

Malcolm's eyes shot open. Getting lulled in by Gil's calm behavior, he stood no chance. Gil locked the handcuffs to the desk, while the other one was locked to Malcolm's wrist.

"Gil what the hell!" He exclaimed furiously. He tried to follow Gil, but the chain forbid him to go any further. His knees were forced to the ground.

"I'm sorry, kid, FBI agents usually can kick doors open." Gil reasoned and pulled out the keys from his office. Bright pulled with all his might, only then realizing the desk was fixated firmly to the ground.

"Get back!" He grunted, his wrist burning almost instantly. He had too much energy to settle with being chained to the desk while Gil was about to do something very stupid.

Gil sighed. "I'm sorry. But, I have to do it." He reasoned apologetically.

He turned around and opened the door. Malcolm stood up, but the cuffs were locked so low, he could never stand straight. He ignored that and stretched to his full height, which ended with him falling back on his knees.

"Gil!" He cried after his mentor.

The man shot him a pitiful look. "I'll be back soon." He promised and locked the door again.

The door fell shut, keys rattling. Malcolm's ears burned for Gil's and only his footsteps.

"Stay put!" He called before disappearing into the madness.

Malcolm crunched his teeth. "Yeah, no kidding!" He roared back and fought against the cuffs frustrated.

He lost the fight. Gil left him, running headfirst into danger. And Malcolm could do nothing but accept the way it was. He plumped down on his butt and sighed resigned. Burying his head in his palms, he really was near crying. He cast a hateful glance towards the cuffs.

Despite all the noise, cries, laughter, screams. Despite all of that, for the first time, it seemed to be quiet.

Dead quiet.

Notes:

Gil and Malcolm against the rest of the world. Gotta love those two.

Chapter 19: Chapter 18

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Malcolm spent a good while of his morning chained to his boss’s desk.

Sometimes, Dani decided to punch the closet again, which was wonderful. It reminded him that she was still alive. Other times, a mug crashed, or a shot was fired outside the office. Those moments were scary, they always startled him. A few times someone ran against the door or window, which was even more frightening. If one wacko would succeed in entering, Bright would be completely defenseless to them.

Yet he was fully able to understand why Gil still chained him. Malcolm really would've kicked the door down. It didn't need much strength, just the right tactic, and a bit of skill. And Bright had that, he had been one of the best special agents after all, just to flatter himself in this miserable time.

He pulled his arms into his lap for another round of examining these stupid handcuffs. The floor was getting cold and hard on his butt. There was nothing he could do about it anyway, so why bother?

When he was gonna get free, ugh, Gil had it coming. He would make his life a living hell for pulling off such a stupid stunt. It didn't even make sense, Coleman was probably 100% brains but zero muscles. Probably. The only way he dared to challenge Dani was to rid her of her weapons. What a lame move. Why would he challenge Gil all of a sudden?

It was a trap that couldn't be more obvious. Problem? Gil was already so desperate, he would actually try his luck with everything, even with something blunt like this. How frustrating.

Malcolm's head shot up at the sound of keys rustling. He listened to the sound of the keys while he waited patiently for the door to be opened. Bright smiled hopefully, trying to master a disappointed expression for Gil. Still, he was so happy that he managed to return, hopefully in one piece.

"Seriously Gil, that was one sick move you-"

Coleman entered the room, casually and relaxed as ever. Malcolm lost his words somewhere in his throat and proceeded to stare dumbfounded at the killer. Coleman's eyes fell on Malcolm's small appearance, immediately bursting out into carefree laughter.

"Well isn't that very unfortunate for you!"

Malcolm crunched his teeth and glared at the man. Bennett wiped a comical tear away and walked further into the room, ignoring the heavily bunkered closet at the side.

"I am a bit upset you were excluded from my surprise," Coleman admitted calmly. He went next to Malcolm and leaned on the very desk the profiler was chained to. Without any weapons, Bright swallowed the unbelievable anger of being defenseless as useless and remained put.

He raised one eyebrow though. "LSD? Seriously?" He deadpanned. Coleman smiled affectionately and looked down at Malcolm on the ground. He hated it.

"Pretty simple, right?" He replied proudly. "It doesn't even cost that much in the dark web and now look at the disaster." The killer exclaimed joyfully.

Malcolm looked at the closed curtains, the noises easily coming through, especially since one window was broken. "It's so... disastrous." Bright replied unfazed.

"How much did you give them anyway?" Malcolm began to chat casually, hoping to keep him around until Gil returned. Or at least backup.

"I'm not so sure, lost a bit track of it. Should be somewhere over 150 micrograms." Coleman made himself more comfortable, his hands placed in the middle of the table. Bright shot him an incredulous glance.

"Are you nuts?! That is way too much, especially for their first time!" He exclaimed indignantly. Coleman just smiled at him.

"You seem to be very familiar with drugs." He noticed. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"It's just basic knowledge." He objected confidently.

Coleman did think over that, eventually shaking his head. "It really isn't that common."

Malcolm exhaled heavily. "Well..." He started. "Trust me to know random facts."

Coleman chuckled at him. "You were a nerd in FBI school, admit it." He teased him brotherly. It didn't break Malcolm’s icy shell.

"I prefer the term smart." He countered back dignified. Bennett shrugged it off.

"Sure, whatever you say, nerd."

Malcolm huffed frustrated, dodging the other man’s eyes.

"So, how are you? Did recover well from the car crash?" Coleman asked suddenly. Bright glared at him offended.

"Why would you even care, you tried to kill me several times." He bit back, the other man just shrugging ignorantly.

"You survived every single time, didn't you?" He replied chill.

Malcolm opened his mouth for a snarky remark but closed it again. Fear started to pulse through his veins. It began to dawn on him. Coleman was here for a certain reason. He teased it already. He was going to take him. If he would've just told his team, could they have changed anything? Maybe Gil wouldn't have left him. He really thought he could handle Coleman on his own. He wasn't that much different than Gil after all. They both were just idiots.

"What did you do with Gil?" Malcolm spoke up, the fight completely out of him. He ignored Coleman's concerned glances.

"Nothing, really. He's just wandering around, searching me, fighting off some crackheads." Bennett counted casually.

It didn't make much sense to Bright. Wasn't this round supposed to be about Gil? Why was Bennett here and Gil left clueless? Although, kidnapping Malcolm would surely leave a mark on Gil.

"What an exciting round." Malcolm huffed ironically. Coleman laughed heartily, he didn't seem so bad. If you ignored all his crimes, he really seemed like a pleasant person to chill with. On the other hand, even now he could be a manipulating piece of shit, so every second felt like hell.

"You may not see it yet, because this is only the beginning. It will be awesome, trust me." Coleman promised.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Thanks for those reassuring words." He huffed frustrated.

"No problem." Coleman shot back unbothered.

As the nervous tremor in his hands subsided, Malcolm dared a look at the clock on the wall. It was quickly getting far more uncomfortable with every second, turning into a long-stretched moment of awkward silence between the two of them.

"You know, we won't be alone any longer," Malcolm said, not even sure why he decided to say that. His goal was to make him stay so they could arrest him. This was practically the opposite.

"Yes," Coleman answered coolly. "What are you getting at?" He smirked down at him with a seducing smile. Malcolm smiled at him full of hatred.

"I'm merely inviting you to stay with me to the very end. I want you to say hi to my friends." He snarked at him. Coleman chuckled and participated in the game.

"If they are as high as your other friends, I'd rather pass." He sizzled poisoning.

Bright crunched his teeth to deal with the anger, his hands were already starting to shake again. Why did he have the ability to attract psychopaths, specifically serial killers? He must've gotten it from his mother, a curse he couldn't fight off.

Coleman rose up to his full height, startling Malcolm on the ground. "But you have a point. Our time is short-lived, although I do enjoy your presence so much." The man exclaimed, exaggerating the pleasure. Malcolm raised one eyebrow.

"I thought we were gonna have plenty of that?" He blurted out confused. He regretted his words almost instantly, but he really was puzzled by Coleman's behavior.

"Well, someone sure his impatient." Coleman grasped with amusement. He crouched down to his eye level. Before Bright could react his chin was firmly trapped between Bennett's fingers. "Though we have to be patient, my dear Malcolm. My damsel in distress." He purred, forcing Malcolm to stare into the cold and merciless eyes of the killer.

He leaned in closer, Malcolm backing away into the table. His breath began to hitch, his whole body screaming. Not only his body. A loud 'thump' and a swear dragged Coleman's attention to the lively closet.

"Is that... Dani in there?" He stammered surprised. Malcolm tried to calm his breath down, swallowing down the forgotten spit.

"Y-yeah... she got really scary." He explained bluntly. "The drugs kind of made her a hulk-"

Coleman planted a quick kiss on Malcolm's cheek, disinterested regarding anything else. Bright's brain stopped working, too shocked about what just happened. He was being loved by killers, no news, but he wasn't used to this kind of love.

Malcolm stared at Coleman in thunderstruck. The killer giggled harmlessly.

"Aren't you cute? I simply cannot wait any longer."

"I mean nothing to you." Malcolm blurted out bluntly. "People… mean nothing to you."

Coleman smiled knowingly at his words.

"That is correct. People distract from the real game. They make you weak." He explained, circling the desk Malcolm was chained to. He eyed him hungrily, from every given perspective.

"But you aren't like the norm, are you, Malcolm?" He added, Bright's head turning into his direction, afraid because he failed to see the predator. "You are like me. You really do understand me, don’t you?"

Malcolm looked doubtingly to the ground. "Well..." He startled when Coleman leaned over his head.

"No shame in denying your gifts, Malcolm." He advised genuinely, but by now Malcolm was simply scared. The man was superior to him on so many levels. He realized how much he had underestimated this man. To catch a person like himself, he needed to scoop down to his own level. Fight fire with fire. Look into his soul.

And break it.

When the moment was right, Malcolm knew what he was destined to do it. He shouldn't deny his gifts. Probably the only thing that could lock this monster away for good.

"When the time is right..." Coleman whispered, one hand traveling caringly over Malcolm's cheek. Applying a little force, just to bend Malcolm’s compliant head to the side and expose his neck.

Malcolm's eyes widened, his mouth parting for a breathless gasp.

A quick sting, and cold liquid stormed into his system, immediately demanding control. Coleman injected the liquid skilled. He removed the needle, little drops of blood trickling down Bright's pale throat. His free hand reached up cautiously to the little wound. "What did you..." He slurred, his head hammering violently. Coleman appeared back into his eyesight, casually cleaning the empty syringe.

"Just a small present."

Malcolm's breath accelerated, his fingers fumbling at the wound panicked.

"I could give you the whole world. For now, it'll be just a generous amount of LSD, princess."

He turned his head around, looking hungrily at the frightened profiler. "Finally I've found a reason to win." He muttered, barely audible for Bright. He opened the door, the noise becoming louder in an instant.

"You will be my trophy." Those words echoed in Malcolm's brain, over and over. Never fully disappearing, never really ending.

And then he was alone. Just him, the pounding closet, and his wild hallucinations gradually becoming stronger.

Malcolm doesn’t recall a time he was this mortally terrified.

Notes:

I'm really dreading the next chapter. I don't want to edit it. But I have to.
I don't want to spoiler too much for next time.
Thank you for reading, and all those lovely comments. It just needed to be said, you guys are awesome!

Chapter 20: Chapter 19

Notes:

Warning!
Hear me out, okay? This chapter contains stuff that may be a trigger for some people. I don't want to spoiler, but I am well aware that not everyone can read this unaffected. If you don't mind spoilers, and you know gruesome stuff upsets you, I wrote a more explicit warning which you can find in the end notes. There you can take a peek and decide for yourself if you want to read this.
Good luck.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The room was on fire.

Malcolm was sweating out of every pore, yet his body was possessed by a tremendous shiver. He was laying in a burning cold storage. His tongue felt fury, tasting sweet bile.

The room began to dance in just a few minutes since the injection with LSD. Malcolm wasn't surprised, he was familiar with the knowledge of how quick and strong the drug worked when injected as a liquid. He was aware of the immense danger he found himself in, but his brain refused to comprehend the smallest thing. He wasn't the lord of his own anymore.

When the colors kicked in, the nauseating swings rode down the rainbow and kicked into his gut. Malcolm curled into himself in pain, laying his forehead on the cooling ground. He moaned into the little salvation he was granted.

He didn't understand why people would give themselves these drugs consensually. In small batches and prepared settings it sure could be a quite pleasant experience. Under the circumstances Malcolm experienced LSD, it was no surprise that it would aim after his nightmares and double that.

He tried to ignore this thought, internally begging it wouldn't come this far. The voice sizzling into his ear proved his luck to be non-existent.

"Malcolm. My boy."

Malcolm forced his eyes open to narrow slits. He was still in Gil's office, that's good. It was still obvious nothing of this was real. Just the hallucinations starting. His father was in Claremont. Locked behind bars.

Tiredly Bright forced himself back up, starting with his upper body. His resolution to ignore the blurry and distorted hallucination foundered before he could declare it. He glared hateful daggers into the appearance.

"Malcolm, you don't look so good," The doctor spoke caringly, almost sounding genuinely concerned. Bright huffed at him disgusted.

"You don't say." He snarked disparagingly. He didn't like how the illusion became clearer every passing moment, while the background of Gil's office was barely able to recognize anymore.

"Maybe you want a hot cocoa to sleep over that bad fever," Martin suggested, nearing the downed profiler.

Malcolm wasn't afraid. He laughed at the illusion while shaking his head. "I do not need a hot chocolate, and this isn't a fever." He spat, his exhausted body falling down, his back meeting with the hard wood of Gil's desk. He enjoyed the solid support for a moment, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

When he opened his eyes next, he was in his childhood room. The little machine projected stars on every wall, a warm small lamp next to his bed lightening up most of this place. He wasn't leaning at Gil's desk. He was in comfy PJs, tucked in his bed leaning to the wall behind him.

Martin placed the mug on the small bed table, next to the lamp. He leaned forward, his hand gently testing Malcolm's forehead. "That sure is high temperature." He commented worried, quickly exchanging the expression with a kind smile. "Nothing that can't be fixed."

Under normal circumstances, Malcolm would've never allowed so much contact between the two of them. He would slap his hand away and step back behind the red line. Only that there wasn't a red line. And Malcolm's muscles refused to respond to his demands.

He was bone tired and ill. His face was constantly trapped in a pained grimace and he winced against the creeping nausea. He wanted this to stop and grant him some peace. And somehow, his father possessed little fragments of this peace. He offered it in small gestures, placing his cooling hand on Malcolm's burning forehead. Wiping away the hot tears from his salty cheek.

Malcolm felt safe. He felt loved. "Don't worry my boy. It will be better." His father assured him soothingly, stroking his wet cheek affectionately. Malcolm found himself leaning into the touch, craving for fatherly love. He opened his eyes, relieved to be greeted by his father's kind and gentle smile, not the monster he really was under all these layers.

"Everything will be fine." Martin cooed, his hands disappearing behind his back. Malcolm's eyes fluttered, fighting against the warm sleep, luring him into a sweet dream. "You just need to take deep breaths..."

Malcolm's eyes tore open in panic, his air supply cut off all of a sudden. His limbs thrashed wildly, but Martin had him firmly pinned down on the hard mattress. A strong sweet smell infiltrated his nose, penetrating his senses. Refusing to breathe into the cloth meant to slowly suffocate into unconsciousness, in which state he would be forced to take in the drug. His head winded away to the sides, but he never managed to free himself of Martin's strong hand clamped around his mouth.

Black dots danced before his eyes. His muscles lost energy. The unfair fight was slowly coming to an end. Guiding him in into an inevitable defeat. Before his very eyes, he stared into those predatory orbs, underneath it a maniac grin baring all teeth.

This was his father. A monster.

With a wince he lost the fight, settling into heavy darkness. A mist clouding his mind. He was left all alone with nothing.

Until he wasn't.

Light returned with a bang. Scratching his sensitive eyeballs to a burning point. He took deep and quick breaths of the stiffy air, his chest rising up and down. His back was still hurting. A glance to the side revealed he wasn't any longer in his childhood room. He wasn't in his bed. His father wasn't here. No one was. His eyes roamed the room, painfully recognizing his surroundings.

He was still at home. Just underneath it.

Just as his eyes scanned the room for another round, they stopped glued to a dark silhouette. It was pitch black.

Malcolm heard his breaths, they were louder than anything. He feared to attract the unknown slender person, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing of this was in his control. He was the only audience of this terrifying theater.

The head of the silhouette snapped around with a sickening crack, dark greasy hair swinging towards him. Malcolm gasped scared, urging his body to move, back away, damn at least do something!

He remained still, observing the snake-like hair sizzling into all sides. The woman was barefoot, it didn't take long for him to notice that. The uncomfortable tapping sound of naked feet echoed in his ears, sometimes louder, sometimes barely audible. He was forced to stare at the figure, or else he could never predict her arrival.

Tears slipped out, traveling down Malcolm's temple and tickling his ear. "Why...?" He gasped speechless, his voice cracked and weak. "Why are you doing this?"

The footsteps didn't stop, proceeding to ignore his silent begs. Only when the woman was standing directly above him the world drowned in silence. Dark hateful eyes embraced by black and broken hair burnt into his body. Reproachful eyes.

"You really ask why?" The female voice snickered, appearing more alive than Malcolm ever felt. The woman, Malcolm was very familiar with, crouched down. His breathing pace quickening up. The long hairs already tickled his bare skin on his face, sick shivers running down his whole body.

"You think it's unfair I chose to hunt you instead of him?" She hummed, hate dripping down from every word said.

Malcolm winced, the black snakes attached to her hair crawling on his body, one attempting to disappear under his clothes. A thin tongue explored his ear. He whimpered, but he was simply paralyzed to turn away.

"I was tortured to death. And now I'm supposed to be the monster?" Her voice again, coming from the snake in his ear.

Malcolm took a shallow breath, hopelessly turning into a sob. "No..." He croaked with the most power he could gather around, which wasn’t much. The woman, no, the girl in the box ignored him.

"Have you ever considered yourself guilty, Malcolm?" She hissed down on him. Malcolm noticed that she didn't possess a mouth or lips. Her face was just a big black dote, excluding the bright eyes piercing into his own.

"Always..." Malcolm replied weakly. He meant it, yet it tasted bitter like a lie.

"Of course you didn't." The girl snickered, disappointed but not surprised. "Weren't you just a little and innocent child? That's what they all keep saying, don't they?"

Malcolm stared into her eyes, not answering to that. His brain seemed empty. There was a convey belt in his brain, delivering the words he needed to say. He received nothing for now.

"They say that and ignore how much I suffered. Because of your family." She spat, literally. It landed on his cheek, slowly getting pulled down by gravity.

"Look at you. You aren't better than him. You are the same. You can't live between them and actually believe they will trust you forever. You belong locked away. Or dead. Either way will be for the best. For everyone."

Tears streamed down like a waterfall. Malcolm whimpered, wailing like a child. This was too much, it needed to stop, just stop.

Claws stung into his arms. He tore his eyes open, forced to look into the unnatural grin. As she crept nearer to him to the ground, more and more details were revealed. Her deranged body was covered in gashes and never fully healed wounds. Her skin color was putrefaction, sickly green-blue. Worms and maggots fed on her decomposed body, their little heads disappearing in her skin. They wiggled so lively, hungry and unbothered. Malcolm's hyperventilating body fought hard not to gag. The woman's nails were black and simply fell off, landing on his unmoving body.

The girl in the box grinned at him mockingly. She widened her mouth, throwing up on his body, the dark vomit filled with maggots. Some teeth were dragged out as fell, falling against his body and landing on the ground. They clanged like hollow coins.

The vomit was warm on his body. And very much alive. The maggots began to crawl on his body. When they found their destined place, they bit into his skin, chew his flesh, digging deeper. The bile churned in his throat, unable to escape. The same with his building-up scream. It was locked behind bars, his whole mind focusing on the sensation of these worms wiggling under his skin, chewing off flesh bit by bit.

The woman observed his appalled facial expression. She threw her head into her neck, roaring laughter screeching out of her deceased body. She enjoyed every bit of it, Malcolm's displeasure feeding her mischievousness.

Her head focused back on him, her neck crunching and cracking by that motion. A maggot from her face fell down, landing on Malcolm's face. He tensed up even more. The unbothered monster immediately began to enjoy his living skin, biting its way down to his luscious flesh. His hyperventilation was close to reaching his point, his breathing going ragged and uncontrolled.

"Why so disgusted, my child?" She wondered innocently. Malcolm frowned, repeating the word child in his head, desperately trying to ignore his decaying body. Her head tilted, transparent eyes locking themselves with his own. Malcolm narrowed his eyes, focusing on the silhouette in her eyes. There was more than spiteful emptiness. He saw something. Something laying motionless.

The girl in the box chuckled gloatingly. "Weren't you supposed to be dead as well?" The wet mockery dropped down on his eyes, washing away the scales from his eyes. He looked into a mirror. He looked at his own decomposed body.

Only that he was a little child, embedded and forgotten in the dirty forest.

Murdered, by his own father.

"Noooo!"

Malcolm clenched his eyes shut and screamed. He screamed his lungs sore. He screamed until the maggots disappeared. Or his flesh. He continued screaming and crying with full force. He screamed louder than her laughter. He screamed and screamed and screamed.

Normally his nightmares would end at this point.

His horror trip had just begun.

His eyelids jumped up spontaneously, bright eyes immediately scanning his surroundings. First, everything was burning white, but with everlasting minutes his vision cleared. Also did his body wake up, receiving several alerts on how cold it was.

Malcolm embraced his upper body with his arms, shivering while his teeth clattered. Outlines of trees were confirmed by the time, wherever he looked. He was in a forest, obviously. The previous events had been forgotten, Malcolm did not remember how he landed here in the first place, he remembered nothing. His mind was blank. Still, the horror from before was yet anchored in his bones. He expected nothing good from this place either.

Malcolm was always encouraged to be an optimist. His mother always scolded him when she found him scowling in doubt. "Your skin will age faster!" That was the fear encouraging her to stay happy on the outside.

Malcolm had found other motivations to build up an optimistic mask. People stopped worrying about him. People began hating him for his unwanted cheerful attitude. He built himself a big fat wall around the world, tricking people into avoiding him in the first place. It really wasn't that hard.

The happier his optimistic mask sparkled, the more broken he was inside. He lied when he expressed hope. Internally, he never believed that anything good might happen. Which truly had its advantages. Either he was always right, or pleasantly surprised.

Malcolm didn't manage to force up a smile this time. He couldn't force up the optimistic side of him that could help him get through this. He never had it in the first place.

He lifted his hand, confused to find a knife in his hand. Shocked he realized it was his knife, the one his father gave him. He wouldn't be surprised if everything would go downstairs at this point. He told himself, that way he wouldn't get his hopes up just to get shattered. He knew his hopes were long forgotten and decayed in one corner of his mind.

A strong wind battered against his front, biting the bare skin on his face. It brought soft and greasy words to him, whispering "Monster" into his ear. Malcolm sighed, fighting against the strong wind that could throw him away any second. Well, at least he was right. A very positive thing to say.

His head raised from the safety of his arms when the wind calmed down. Between the trees, he saw him. He was there. For one second he smiled at him smugly. His hands in his pockets, barely clothed for this winter weather. But he had looked relaxed, comfortable. Malcolm blinked perplexed. The figure of his father was gone, the place between the two trees empty.

They're after you...

Malcolm acknowledged the voice in his gut, his breathing panicking. His head snapped around, scanning the area for anything. The knife in his hand began to burn. He looked down. He held it wrong, the metal was slicing into his palm. He opened his clenched fist. He was about to turn around the knife, ignoring the new flaring pain. He frowned at the inscription on the blade.

Run.

"Hello, son."

Malcolm jumped around, feeling the breath on his neck. He lashed out with the knife, effortlessly hitting the air. No one was there. He was alone.

"Feeling a little paranoid?" Again he jumped to the other side, barely getting a glimpse of his father leaning against a tree. The next time he opened his eyes the man had vanished.

"Wha- What do you want?" Malcolm gasped breathless, spinning around nervously, scared to leave his back unwatched. Insecure.

He received laughter as an answer, tensing up and clenching his knife tighter in both of his hands.

"Is it wrong for me to spend some time with my only son, mh?" The voice hummed, Malcolm unable to detect the source.

He took deep breaths to calm himself down. "This is wrong, this is not real." He rambled in a low mutter. It couldn't calm him down.

He heard a creak above him, snow falling down and landing on his nose. He observed the coldly manifested liquid before his neck snapped up. Martin laid on his stomach on the branch, his head resting on his arms while observing Malcolm with a manic expression.

Malcolm shrieked, stumbling over his feet and crashing to the ground. He winced at the impact with a root. Instead of disappearing like earlier, Martin began to grin, his eyes wide open and red. Bright couldn't get his eyes away, taking in the disturbing scene and burning it into his newest memories.

The man's throat began to grow, like a snake wriggling down to Malcolm's pale eyes while the rest of the man's body stayed on the branch.

"Ah~! It's so good to look into a mirror once in a while." The doctor giggled with an unmoving expression.

Malcolm tensed up. In the reflection of his father's eyes, he only found... his father? Leaning on the ground. Frightened, a knife in his hand.

The white eye splashed red, Malcolm's knife piercing into the fragile substance and killing the reflection. Blood mixed with black bile dripped down like a waterfall on Malcolm.

"What are you waiting for? Rip it down!" The man screamed at Malcolm, unbothered by the knife in his eye or the immense blood lust. Malcolm didn't hesitate. He had no control over his body.

His hand moved down drastically, the knife clawing onto the skin and ripping everything away. What was left was a shredded muscle mass on the old man's face. Instead of howling in the pain, his grin became even wider, gushing blood out of the bare flesh. His roaring laughter deafened Malcolm.

After one blink, everything was gone. Only splashes of blood marked his face artfully. The knife was still tainted. Malcolm breathed heavily, jumping back on his feet and stumbling in the snow for balance. He fell steps back, acknowledging the crimson letters on the innocent white snow.

"Malcolm-" He read his name out loud, stopping for the next word. It said Whitley. Malcolm Whitley. He killed that man to become the man he was today.

The letters soaked into the ground, disappeared. What was left behind, crimson red snow. Malcolm looked at his boots, they were covered in that red snow. Panicked he began to wipe it away. The snow was glued stubbornly to his clothes. He stopped in his work when it began to snow. It snowed red. Soaking him in his birth name.

"Did you really think you'd just change?" The voice snickered maliciously. Malcolm didn't turn around to face the man.

"Bright. The name's ridiculous." Martin scoffed.

Malcolm huffed offended and bravely turned around to face the horrific creature with the face of his father.

Instead, it was his father. Standing calmly opposite of him. Except for the big scar, starting from his left black eyehole down to his chin, all over his face.

"You can't change who you are, Malcolm." Martin Whitley stated coldly. Malcolm stared through the red snowy wall to his father.

"Never had to." He replied coolly. "I was never like you."

Martin began to laugh, bending his back behind and roaring his enjoyment into the forest.

"You're still in denial?" He asked rhetorically, wiping away black tears. "The funny thing about truths is, that they are facts. Solid facts. You can ignore them, run away, or deny them for how long you want. But-" Martin raised his index. "-they will always remain the same. Always."

Malcolm backed away, scared. "You're a liar." He remembered, still unconvinced of that fact.

"So? Apparently you, too, so no finger-pointing at me!" His father snickered mockingly. His expression changed in the break of a second.

"Stop lying Malcolm!" He roared enraged, his red head defaced to a grimace. Malcolm stumbled back like a scared puppy. He bumped against a warm body. Horrified he turned around.

"Gil?" He breathed surprised, tears building up in his eyes. His body lunged forward for a hug to taste the safety. His arms fumbled empty air. He opened his eyes confused, seeing how Gil had taken a step away from Malcolm. He stared down on him with hateful eyes, disgust, and… Disappointment.

"I expected better of you." He deadpanned coldly, scrutinizing the other one's body, covered from head to toe in blood, from that red snow.

Malcolm frowned, panicked sadness pumping through his body. He parted his lips, moving to the sync of a confused 'What?'

Gil didn't hesitate to turn away, showing the kid his back. The scrunches of Gil's shoes in the white snow echoed scratchily in his ears. His head fell down, eyes drowning into crimson red snow, only surrounding him.

"And come to think I trusted you." Dani's voice spat behind him. His head snapped around, not believing if he didn't see for himself. He saw her reproachful eyes before there was only her neglecting back.

"Dani-" Malcolm stretched out his hand to her, but his legs refused to follow orders. They hurt as if he was standing in icy cold water. They were burning to get limp. He looked down, studying how red ice spiked into his legs, through the fabric into his skin. Extending. Crawling up higher.

"That was so obvious." JT snorted, dragging his attention back up. The man shook his head disapprovingly, following Dani and Gil. Marching through the white snow away from him.

The ice reached his torso, freezing his sensitive stomach. His mind blacked out for a second or two, overwhelmed by the pain.

"We aren't like him, mother." Malcolm gasped, fighting his eyelids to open up. His sister Ainsley observed him concerned. But not for his well-being. She was afraid of him. His mother Jessica stood right beside her. Her eyes were cold and merciless. He failed to find love in them. It was the same look she gave his father.

"No. He never really fitted in anyway." She deadpanned heartlessly. She turned around. There was a great distance between them, yet Malcolm felt the slap of her long hair on his cheek. Ainsley cast him one last glance before she followed her mother.

By now the ice had reached Malcolm's throat. He extended his neck, gasping for air like he was drowning. The coldness was unbearable, but not as worse as everyone he cared for abandoning him. He fought the upcoming tears, giving into the inescapable defeat.

The red ice began to scratch his chin. With his neck fully covered it became impossible to move at all. When he would close his eyes, he would give up indefinitely. He would endorse for his death. And maybe this wouldn't be even the worst option. For everyone.

He closed his eyes. At the same time, a pair of arms snaked around his torso from behind his back. The ice began to melt, bathing him in warm blood. A stiffy breath caressed his neck. Despite the warmth, Malcolm shuddered.

"It's okay, my boy. I know this feeling very well." His father soothed him caringly. "We still have each other." He brought up encouragingly. Malcolm enjoyed it for a second. The feeling of not being alone.

Until he realized he didn't need to belong. He had been alone for a long time during the FBI. It wasn't necessary to be with loved ones to survive. His options weren't minimized to him and his father. He'd rather choose to be alone if it meant doing the right thing.

He walked out of the embrace, stubbornly leaving his father like his family had left him.

"What are you doing Malcolm?" Martin asked irritated, the subtle sound of threatening in his voice.

"The right thing," Malcolm replied determined. He squinted, beginning to see the back of his family in the distance. He could reach them, live up to their standards, all by doing the right thing.

"Don't make yourself regret this." His father snarled behind his back. Malcolm didn't even give him one look. His eyes were glued to his goal. He marched through the red snow, gradually losing the color, and returning to an innocent white.

"Fine. You want to play, Malcolm? Then let's play."

Malcolm's head snapped around, the mixture of his father and Coleman freaking him out. No one was behind him. He breathed panicked. Not again.

The knife in his palm began to sting again. The blade was covered by every inch with one word.

Run.

This time he treasured that advice and began to sprint. Where to, he was still unsure. The main point was that he could get away from here. It couldn't be too late.

He bumped into a screaming person, sending him sprawled on the ground. Panicked he scrambled himself up. When his upper body was up, his vision became reduced to a horrifying grimace screaming at him in agony. Malcolm returned the cry, stumbling back on his butt. He noticed the stranger's wrist, missing a hand. The blood poured out like a waterfall while the naked man cried at him. Malcolm wasted no second to jump up.

He abandoned Nico in the red snow and moved on. Telling himself this wasn't real didn't help too much. He had already forgotten what reality was. He didn't remember what else there was other than this hell. It is sad, how this world slowly had become a reality he couldn't deny.

His feet buried into the ground to a spontaneous halt. This was wrong, this was just wrong.

Trapped in trance his body followed the small trail, slowly leading him to his arch enemy.

The box.

He crept nearer, his pulse racing and his breath hyperventilating. Cautiously he peeked over to the box, of course it was shut. His hand reached for the lid. Internally he scolded himself not to open it, to keep running and leave it behind. His body ignored him.

The lid jumped open, revealing the jammed body of a young woman. Her breathing ragged loudly. It was the only noise filling his ears. Not even his internal voice screeching for him to remember what will happen afterward reached him.

The strong hand with the chloroform didn't appear this time though. He crouched down to the girl in the box. The feeling was unfamiliar, surreal even. He never made it this far. Now he was so near. So near to her. He could smell her. Could he also feel her?

His arm stretched out for his hand to reach her. A rough hand gripped his throat before he could get this far. It wasn't from behind, it wasn't his father's hand. It came from the girl in the box. Out of the trunk, her body shot up, carrying the deranged face of the junkyard killer.

"Was about time you let me out, kid." He snarled with amusement, tightening his grip around Malcolm's throat. His hand rose up, nails digging in to free himself. It was like fighting off a brick. Watkins tilted his head, wearing a deranged grin under his murderous eyes.

"So you don't forget..." He sizzled, but Malcolm already knew what that meant. He remembered the knife in his hand and lashed out, knocking the sword out of Watkin's hand before it could dig into Malcolm's abdomen. Mindlessly he lashed out, striking one, two, three times. He didn't count how often. He struck until his throat was released and he could jump away from the box, panting with his hands on his knees.

"Malcolm?" The sweet and wonderful voice of Eve, stirring him up from his bad dream. He looked up, still breathless. She studied him concerned, frightened. Her hand was covering her throat. The blood gushed out between her fingers, dropping down to the snow. It began to dawn on him what his uncontrolled movements had caused.

"Eve?" He muttered shocked. He dashed forward when her legs gave up on her and she sunk to the ground. Her eyes weren't focused as she slowly dove into her own death. Into the box.

"Eve, no, no!" He rambled, over and over like a mantra. She didn't acknowledge him while she was dying in his arms. She didn't notice Malcolm burying his head in her chest, crying, and whimpering uncontrollably.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, careful, for these words only were meant for her and no one else. He didn't back away when her beautiful smell was exchanged with that of putrefaction. He forced himself to endure it. It was his fault.

"Malcolm..." Eve rattled all of a sudden. Malcolm widened his eyes and lifted his head. He held the green-bluish corpse in his arms. She didn't look like she died from his knife, rather from drowning in a cold lake.

Her cold bony fingers reached up to his cheek. He tensed up, close to jumping up and back away. This feeling intensified when he looked at Eve and didn't recognize her. She looked the same, and yet Malcolm was unfamiliar with her appearance.

"Find me..." The rough voice muttered emotionless. This wasn't Eve. The corpse slipped out of his arms, disappearing into the box with a dull noise. This wasn't his Eve. Malcolm fell steps back, away from the corpse. Not his Eve.

"Find me..." The voice began to repeat itself in his brain, over and over again. Never really disappearing.

A hand gripped his shoulder tightly. Malcolm spun around, crying out in fear. The chase, he totally forgot about that. He expected to find his revengeful father, ready to make his life even more of a living hell.

He looked into his own eyes. His own cold and murderous eyes.

"You?" He spluttered out confused. The mirror image studied him amused.

"Why so surprised?" He chuckled smugly. His finger reached out to Malcolm, lifting his hand which was covered in Eve's blood. With a diabolical grin, he sucked the blood of one of Malcolm's fingers, humming in pleasure. Malcolm’s body was limp, observing how his other self acted without comprehension.

The slender man, who also listened to the name Malcolm, began to circle him. He scrutinized him, how he was covered from head to toe in blood. From every event so far.

"That's more like it." He commented approvingly. "Blood suits you."

Malcolm's head turned to the side to observe himself disappearing behind his back.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He grumbled, his head moving to the other side, not letting his eyes off the horror reflection of himself.

"Nothing." The other Malcolm shrugged, a wide grin decorating his mask. "It's just more honest. Shows the real you."

Malcolm, the profiler, shook his head determined.

The illusion raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh. Is that so?"

With one snap of his fingers the surrounding changed, teleporting them to the blurry outlines of a warehouse. Corpses laid around them. Their guns were still in their hands, the rest of their bodies rested motionless on the ground. Dead.

"I didn't kill them." Malcolm objected before anyone could say something. His mirror giggled maliciously.

"I haven't said anything yet." He noted. Malcolm narrowed his eyes to slits.

"But you were going to. This isn't new to me. They pulled the trigger themselves." He stated strongly, determined to believe himself.

"Oh right." The other Malcolm huffed exaggerated. "You only guided them to their death. I guess that is far better. Feeling moral already?" He exclaimed mockingly, smugness in his eyes. Malcolm opened his mouth, closed it when he didn't know what to reply in his defense.

"You tried to save your own ass. Nothing wrong with that." The reflection mentioned kindly. Malcolm shuddered, he didn't want this sympathy. "You know, an anti-hero is still a hero, somehow."

Malcolm turned around sharply. His mirror stopped confused. Surprised how quick he could infuriate the real thing.

"Just..." Malcolm started but didn't know what else to say. He noticed he was gradually losing the battle with himself. He had always been his greatest enemy after all. "They're not even all dead." He sighed, not seeing how it was better he only killed two men than four. It was getting constantly harder not to drown in the guilt created by his once made decisions.

"You're right." The other Malcolm noticed bluntly. He walked over to the only woman, who was about to stir up into life, casually picking up a discarded gun on the way there.

Bang.

Malcolm took a sharp breath, his eyes widening in shock.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

The gun in Malcolm's hand sunk down, the smoke fuming out of the pistol. With cold eyes he looked down at the criminals, each sharing a small red hole between their eyes.

He turned around to face the real one. He was shaking tremendously, tears pouring down his cheek and over his hands covering his mouth. The mirror image walked up to him, unimpressed. Malcolm's eyes wandered over each body, bile crawling up his throat. Many questions stormed through his brain, but when he opened his mouth, there was only one thing he managed to croak.

"Who are you..."

The reflection acknowledged the words, a diabolical malicious grin finding his face. The insanity of his eyes wasn't realistic, this whole scenery wasn't. Yet Malcolm believed it with all of his being. There was no other world than this. This monster in front of him was real. So was the answer. There was no denying it anymore.

"I am you."

Malcolm slowly stepped back, his foot sinking into the snow. The warehouse was gone, the biting cold returned with a strong wind. Looking around him he realized, the corpses remained.

"We always have been." He said with the same voice. For each step Malcolm made backward he came one step nearer, killing the distance. Malcolm's hair embraced his face, the wind pushing against his back. He failed to make one step away from himself. The other one didn't.

Their noses were almost touching. They shared the same eye level, looking at each other.

"We're the same," Malcolm stated, his hand rushing forward with a knife in his hand. Without his consent Malcolm's hand acted on its own, ramming his knife into his reflection's gut. The exact time his own abdomen got penetrated by a knife as well.

Malcolm gasped in the familiar pain, bending forward. His reflection went limp, falling onto Malcolm and through him. He was gone, leaving Malcolm alone with his hands holding the knife into his own gut. His knees gave up, sending him down to the ground. He panted, silently whimpering at the pain. He pulled out the knife, staring at the familiar outlines. It was his knife. The one his father bought him.

"Malcolm..." He ignored the broken voice. His body trembled, his hands shaking tremendously. It wasn't because of the temperature.

"Malcolm..." Another voice. The snow was crunching, someone dragging himself through it.

Malcolm shut his eyes tightly, abandoning the external noises, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Stop, please stop." He begged, whining weakly.

"Malcolm..." Gil's voice sounded. Malcolm's eyes snapped open, greeted into a world of agony. Corpses, countless decaying corpses crawled into his direction through crimson red snow. He recognized too many people. A lot of victims from his cases, Jeff's crew, his colleagues, and the female part of his family.

They were all dead.

"Murderer..." They all chorused equally, repeating the word like a mantra. Malcolm was reaching the peak, his final breaking point. He snatched the abandoned knife in the snow and positioned it in his hands.

"Murderer...!" Right on cue, he rammed the knife into his gut, screaming over the familiar voices.

They were louder.

He cried in anguish, ramming the knife over and over into his abdomen. The pain intensified, torturing him along with the voices. But the life in him didn't escape. He pierced in deeper, striking stronger. He didn't die.

Cold bony fingers pierced into his skin, on his shoulder, thighs, abdomen. Everywhere the dead fingers penetrated his body, dragging their deceased bodies to him.

"Murderer..." They whispered into his ear. Malcolm threw away the useless knife and dropped to the ground, the corpses burying him beneath them.

"Murderer..." They muttered into his ear. Malcolm's forehead dug into the snow, his last attempt at shutting out the voices by protecting his ears with his palms. The weight on his back intensified, crushing him mercilessly. The voices became louder despite his efforts. Their emotionless whispers turned into mournful cries. Malcolm shook his head, red tears marking his cheek.

And then he broke.

Malcolm released an agonizing scream. A scream that would never end. He screamed his lungs out, blood dripping out of his mouth. Nevertheless he continued to roar out his breaking point. Internally he was a mess, begging for this to end.

He had yet hours to spend in this hell.

Notes:

Warning tags:
Explicit death descriptions
Maggots on alive body
Deformed bodies
Manipulation
Blood and Gore
Strong Hallucinations
Alrighty, I made a note of everything I think needs to be mentioned. It's okay if you decide to skip this chapter. I, for myself, nearly threw up writing the maggot part (Now I feel basically numb after reading it multiple times). It's also possible to understand the story without this chapter. The gist is, Malcolm is experiencing an awful LSD trip. You have no idea how much I learned about LSD because of this. My Google history is tainted for life.
So yeah, halftime! Hope you're all doing well!

Chapter 21: Chapter 20

Notes:

This chapter would've come out 3 days earlier if it weren't for life constantly interrupting. Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Gil stood in the hospital yet again, hands buried in his pockets. He lifted his hands to catch the little cough, afterward returning to the position.

This day was already coming to its end. He felt like they had achieved nothing in the meantime. Most of his employees had spent the night at this hospital, recovering from the immense acid trip. Most of them had already left. Those who weren't affected too much returned to in extreme cases.

He was relieved the men and women understood the urgency and went back to work instead of taking their deserved days of absence. After the office incident, they lost too many employees with one fell swoop, given all of them were poisoned with LSD. All of them, except Gil.

Luckily, the majority wasn't hurt badly. Okay, maybe they were, but there was not a single death. Not even the guy who jumped out of the window. Although, he was currently in a coma and it was uncertain if he could ever walk again.

Gil sighed heavily, shook his head. There was nothing to be done about it. This particular attack from the Game Master had been rough, there was no denying it. He struck them badly and the recovery would take time. When Gil proceeded to stare into the silent room, studying the limp form on the bed, he doubted some wounds could ever heal.

Malcolm did not take the acid trip well. He was strong, he proved that every day he survived with his awful traumas. This strongness had been his greatest weakness during the battle against the acid trip.

Gil had arrived too late. He returned to his office with Malcolm laying on the floor, his breath wheezing and his eyes unfocused. His forehead had been burning hot, nevertheless his whole body had shivered. Any attempt to get his attention had been fruitless. Malcolm had been completely unresponsive to the real world. He was trapped inside his mind, his greatest fear as far as Gil was concerned.

xXx

Gil’s hands were tormented by a constant tremor while trying to release Malcolm from the cuffs. His own cuffs, Gil had resorted to the cuffs he usually used on criminals. He had used them on his own kid.

He swore violently under his breath, cursing the roots of all evil, Coleman, knowing very well he deserved half of it. How was he any better? After everything he had done to his Malcolm?

Speaking of, Bright flinched under his touch, trying to pull away the moment the cuffs let go of him. That’s when Gil saw it, due to a lucky accident resulting by Bright turning his head and therefore exposing his neck.

An injection mark. Coleman had injected a liquid into Malcolm in his defenseless state. A liquid that might’ve well been LSD. Not that Gil was familiar with the procedure of the certain drug, but just like Malcolm said “With drugs, everything is possible”.

The obvious question floating in the office remained, how grave could be the effects on a fragile mind, like Malcolm’s, where there’s more trauma than happiness?

Looking at Malcolm, the answer didn’t fit to his liking.

xXx

Malcolm had screamed a lot during his trip, lashing out desperately and accidentally striking or slapping Gil while he’s at it. Other times, he had scooted away from the only sane person until his back pressed painfully tight into the wall. His eyes indicated that he never had been really there. While his body had been very much present, his mind was everywhere else, just not in Gil’s office.

Gil had realized, freeing Malcolm of his cuffs probably hadn't been his smartest idea. Malcolm had moved a lot during his drugged time, trying to escape whenever Gil neared him. Sometimes though, all he had done was to duck from Gil and cry uncontrollably, silently begging for it to stop. It broke Gil's heart in so many ways.

xXx

“Don't... don't leave me...”

Gil’s head snapped up and at Malcolm. The kid was his constant worry, especially since he considered all of this his fault. It should never have come this far if he would’ve kept his cool, or actually listened to Malcolm instead of running blindly into a time-wasting trap. True, Bright’s know-it-all manner could be annoying and get into one’s head. Gil fully understood how his former bosses must’ve snapped under his personality. The truth is, no matter how annoying he is, he’s right. So usually, listening to Bright is only an improvement hidden in a critique.

“Kid?” Gil chimed worried, slowly nearing the drugged person careful not to disturb him any further. The thing is, Gil wasn’t even sure Malcolm was aware of his presence in the first place.

It happened all in a flash, Malcolm was up and ready bolting for the door. At this point he would uselessly run against it, which he did. Gil had closed it after his return. Still, he had underestimated Bright’s dedication as his shoulder connected with the creaking old door. Malcolm wasn’t the biggest hulk, but under current circumstances Gil wouldn’t be all too surprised if he would run through a brick wall.

So Gil did what sounded most logical to him. Once he reached Malcolm he entrapped him in his arms, held him tightly and dragged him away from the door, away from hurting himself. He wondered if Malcolm knew what happened, begged he didn’t as the desperately struggling kid in his arms broke his heart. It pained him to see his kid in this position. It hurt even more to possess the knowledge that the fault lied on his shoulders square and heavy.

The struggling began to fade away ever so slightly, in the end abating like a dying pet. Malcolm’s energy turned into thin air and he sunk to the ground, guided by Gil’s gentle support.

xXx

For the time being, Malcolm had his concentration relocated into his internal reality. His body had been left as a lifeless puppet without a hand sending down orders through the strings. His eyes, his eyes always had a tinge of weirdness. Malcolm has been born with beautiful blue eyes, yet at the same time, they were pale, eerie cold, and frightening. His profiling worked so well because it didn’t only look like he was reading his subjects. It was more like scanning them with an x-ray, leaving no stone unturned while exposing his victims.

But then, his eyes had looked empty. Open for the world, helpless and defenseless. No border control, everyone could see inside of him, if they were only able to understand the horrors Malcolm had to go through. No one could, Gil couldn’t, that’s why the description empty was the most fitting when in reality it was anything like that.

Gil had lost all his hope, his arms sliding down from Malcolm’s unresponsive body. For a second, for a whole second, he had wondered it was over. That after twenty years this had to be the unfair end of Malcolm Bright’s fight with fate.

xXx

And then he struck him.

Malcolm struck Gil so hard, his face flew to the other side. More punches were supposed to rain down on him, or maybe they weren’t. Malcolm lunged into the air furiously, fighting something off, surely there must be something in Malcolm’s world, if not in this. Gil was at a question whether to secure him or let him do his thing, carefully waging the pro and cons of each decision. His thinking only resulted in procrastinating for so long, the answer fell on the latter choice.

xXx

Babysitting a Bright on a bad acid trip had been the most exhausting experience Gil ever had experienced in his life. Malcolm had been constantly fighting against nothing. If not that, he had been breaking down, screaming and crying, as if his life depended on it. The last option had been his muted stared into nothing, which freaked Gil out the most. The sudden mood swings had been overexerting Gil’s mind to a point where he was doubting his own sanity.

The ambulance had arrived late. There wasn’t much to say about it. It had been far too late. Gil had seen Malcolm dying in the middle of his office, falling on his knees, and clutching his abdomen, panting in pain. He had panicked when Malcolm had punched himself several times in the gut, pretending he had a knife thrusting inside him. Malcolm had been so desperate to kill himself, what had he witnessed that was so horrible?

At that point, Gil had begged the ambulance to arrive and help his kid as soon as possible. He had already heard the chorus of sirens outside. The challenge for them had been to fight themselves up to their office. He had informed them he had been holding down a victim at the current moment, a victim that was dealing extraordinarily bad with the drug use. By that moment, Malcolm had been fully unresponsive.

He had learned that getting LSD injected was supposed to be even worse than taking it orally. The effects tend to attack in a matter of mere minutes and bring the user faster to the peak than manageable. His concerns also had reached a peak, by the way, surprising him since he hadn’t known it could go even higher.

The EMT had arrived minutes after Malcolm had given up on suicide. Outside the office, firemen, policemen, and EMT had been working together to restrain the insane detectives and officers. Only a small group of one paramedic and one fireman had managed to reach the secluded office. They had arrived just in time for Malcolm to bend down, his forehead pressed against the floor and his hands covering his ears and scream bloody murder. Tears had been running down his cheek so one might’ve feared he'd get dehydrated from that excessive loss.

xXx

The EMT didn’t waste any time for questions. He was informed about his strong reactions and pulled out a syringe. He injected the antipsychotic medication, haloperidol the label said, an antibiotic mainly aiming to help against schizophrenia.

For Malcolm, it seemed to work well enough for the time being. If the reason was the new liquid in his body, or maybe just himself tiring himself out, the effect was the same. The young man went slack and dropped promptly to the ground, energy faded away in a matter of seconds.

Gil tore his gaze from his kid, trusting the paramedic to know what he’s doing. In the meantime, he assigned himself to rescue Dani this time with the help of the firefighter. Their former decision hadn’t done the poor woman any good, rather saving Malcolm and his own ass instead of helping her. Now that real help was there, there was no reason to keep her locked away any longer. It was time to set her free.

xXx

Once she had been freed she received the same treatment as Malcolm, although it had seemed to have a stronger effect on her than it had on Malcolm a few minutes prior. It could’ve been that she had shaken off some of the LSD already. It also could’ve been a completely different reason.

It had taken hours to restrain every cop and have them delivered to the hospital. Quite a few had been already receiving treatment when Gil arrived there, obviously joining the ride with Dani and Malcolm. Dani had been almost unconscious. She hadn’t seemed in a peaceful slumber, but it sure looked like she managed to calm down.

Malcolm instead, he had never stopped crying the whole ride. Sometimes he had fought against his restraints, sometimes he had managed to gather enough energy to release a small cry. His eyes had been glassy and wet, mainly unfocused. He had been still living through the nightmare and that for hours. Even after receiving medics.

Gil had stayed at the hospital for the whole night. Most of his employees had been here after all. Except those who had been on patrol or had night shift. Those had been spared and dutifully continued to protect the city like they always did.

Only the media had tried to feed on the incident like hungry vultures. They hadn’t been allowed to enter the hospital under any circumstances. The staff had been determined to give the recovering cops the rest they deserved. Only Ainsley made it through with her mother in tow, given they had actual family stuffed in there.

It didn't go well. Gil remembered Jessica screaming at him a lot. She had been furious to see her boy still suffering under the effects of the bad trip. She had grabbed every accusation she found and smashed it into his face. Of course she must’ve been aware how guilty Gil had already felt. It just hadn’t occurred to her that moment. She had been worried to death.

Gil didn't resent her for freaking out and cursing at him, and everything else. She had all right to be worried as a mother. He had no excuse to escape the truthful accusations.

They had ended with consoling each other in a tight hug. They had both needed it, worry and fear clouding their minds. They had hugged as if their life depended on it. And it offered little comfort, a little respite in this cruel world, so it wasn't too bad.

Gil was relieved she didn't despise him for his mistake. She was right though. He should've rid themselves of this cursed case earlier. Should have given it to the FBI even sooner. The harm it had caused to so many people was inexcusable. He knew that now, after all his men eventually landed in the hospital.

Ainsley had left earlier, revealing the information she just had gathered in her news. There had been nothing Gil could do about it. The world found out about the attack on the police precinct earlier than he had wanted. He had observed the news, had studied social media. Even in small places like Switzerland or Finland they discussed the incident at their precinct. The German television gladly informed all of its citizens of their failure. Their case was going viral.

So, Gil wasn't surprised when his phone rang. He greeted the call with a heavy sigh. "Lieutenant Arroyo."

The monotone voice on the other end of the line spoke up, introducing herself. Repeating that familiar name.

"I know," Gil answered, plummeting down on the nearest seat in the cold hallway of the hospital, and burying his head in his free hand.

"This case has spiraled out of your control," The familiar female voice stated sharply. Gil massaged his temple.

"Yeah, I noticed, too," He replied with a tiny hint of twisted humor. He exhaled heavily.

"Look," He began his proposal, "Do whatever you want. Just leave me and my detectives out of this." His whole team was laying in the same hospital, allocated in different rooms and sections.

"We will." Colette Swanson replied coolly. Without mentioning any goodbye the call ended abruptly. Gil listened to the beeping. His hand sunk down, meanwhile, his body stood up. He walked straightforward, looking into Malcolm's dark room through transparent windows.

The effects had worn off for a good day now. Still he stayed completely unresponsive. Tomorrow his therapist would have look at him. Hopefully she could help and tear Malcolm out of the hole he had fallen in. Someone had to. Malcolm hadn’t a future like this. Even with a beating heart, no one could call his comatose condition a real life and be serious about it.

All his other detectives had woken up already, given this was the second day. Some cases were kept for observation. So far everyone seemed to have forgiven him. They didn't sue Gil for Coleman's wrong doings. Gil was grateful for that. Internally he knew he deserved their unclouded judgment.

He betrayed his position, betrayed his responsibility he once swore to protect at all costs when he was made a lieutenant. His failure was made worldwide. He had messed up and that was a fact he couldn't escape anymore. All he could do was training to learn with that immortal guilt.

He would never succeed that without Malcolm.

He needed him. More than ever.

Notes:

I had to do a lot of rewrite and editing for this because I was never really content with the result. I hope it wasn't all too bad.
Thanks for reading for 2 months and a day now :)

Chapter 22: Chapter 21

Chapter Text

His foot drummed restlessly on the ground. His arms were crossed before his chest, his head studied the same surroundings for days. Time had become a short thing, days passing by more rapidly like a snail on a sprint. He felt grounded, his wings broken and laying in the room he wasn't allowed to enter at the moment.

The FBI was on his heels, demanding to meet up in Quantico. Gil didn't even think about leaving New York, not with Malcolm still in the hospital. Why would the FBI even expect him? Should he bring their case on a silver tablet and bow before them? Should he as well deliver Coleman with it since that psycho's acting area was New fucking York?

Gil took a deep breath. He was so stressed, it left him angry most of the time. Honestly, the only person he should be mad at was himself for keeping this case so long. And Coleman of course, for doing such awful things. It didn't change the fact that Gil was constantly overthinking his decisions.

Would it really have been better if he gave the case up when he had formerly planned to? Would the killer have just forgotten about them and started to mock the FBI agents?

Only time could reveal that answer. In a few days the case would belong to the FBI if he wanted it or not.

The door to Malcolm's hospital room finally flung open. Gil's hands dropped down to a more polite stance. He observed the exiting Doctor expectantly. "So?"

The woman closed the door gently, lifting her gaze to meet Gil’s one. "Well, it is bad." She stated the obvious. Gil didn't buy that, the woman was holding back relevant information. He couldn't afford to miss that. He needed Malcolm back. Not for the case anymore, but because he cared for him. As family.

The doctor exhaled heavily. She put away her empty notes into the handbag she left dangling dangerously near to the ground. "I can't say much about his condition. It isn't like he ignores me or refuses to answer. It's like back in his childhood. Just a whole lot worse." The doctor replied sorrowfully.

Gil's ears were sharpened. If anyone would know what to do, it'd be Dr. Gabrielle Le Deux. She had been occupied with Malcolm's complex mind since his father's arrest. Malcolm had leaked at some point that he even considered her till now as his therapist. That's the sole reason Gil had called her in the first place.

"What do you mean by that?" He questioned concerned. Gabrielle bit her lip, ringing for the best way to explain the harsh reality. Gil's subtle gesture to rest on one of the couches went declined.

"He traps himself in a shell. He blocks out every external influence that could hurt him again. It's a complex safety mechanism." She began, her voice firm and professional. Her eyes flicked over to the room where Malcolm was still laying, unresponsive to the world. "Or he wasn't able to escape that place at all. That would be the worst option." She shuddered, her shoulders lifting and tensing up.

"But one can't know for sure. Only time will reveal." Her shoulders dropped down. She pulled up her purse and flipped it over her shoulder.

Gil blocked the path just in time before the therapist could leave. "Time? That's all?" He blurted out disappointed. He frowned downright angrily at her.

Dr. Le Deux lifted her eyebrows. "I'm a therapist for children. What more do you want?" She confirmed bluntly. Gil shook his head strongly.

"You know Malcolm's mind best. If there's anyone who can help him, it's you." He objected. Gabrielle swallowed down a groan, her bag sliding down her shoulder and sinking back to the ground.

"First of all, I don't know Malcolm's mind. I can't even begin to imagine what he has to endure on a daily basis, nor do I want to." She began, her strong tone indicating that she was on the verge of losing her patience with Gil.

"Second-" She held up two fingers. "I can't help." The impact of these three small words pushed out the air of Gil's lungs. "I never was able to help him. You can't just delete traumas. All I can do is help him deal with those." She added. Right after that, she searched her way to get past Gil.

"But isn't that the same again? Help him deal with those traumas. You've done it before, and he became a decent man." Gil offered before the woman could lift her bag again. The cold glares she gave him were a clear sign he said something he should instantly regret. He swallowed hard, readying himself for the incoming attack.

"I see you have no idea at all." She sighed in the end, surprising Gil completely. The woman carried a gentle glint in her eyes, telling him she didn't sue him for his ignorance. Going with the saying 'Ignorance is bliss'. Maybe it really is, but sometimes you can't avoid living in that fantasy world. If the ones close to you fall into that dark abyss of 'you'd better avoid that one', you can't help but follow them and jump right into it.

Gabrielle's eyes flickered to the couches. Gil began moving towards them, Gabrielle following him. This was going to be a long talk he feared.

"I don't doubt Malcolm can fight himself back into the world of the living. In case I have given you that impression." She apologized. Gil shook his head dismissively, although he had thought the exact thing. Gabrielle pushed away a curly strand of hair. "He really is a fighter. My astonishment for his endurance never ceased over all those years. With what burdens he managed to enter into adulthood and progress further." She spoke nostalgically. Gil smiled, luring out an equal kind expression out of her.

"What he experienced during his acid trip must've been truly horrifying," Gabrielle revealed. It felt hard for her to blink, her eyes getting sore, equal to her dry mouth.

"I get it," Gil huffed in agreement, failing to notice her emotions. After receiving silence he looked down with a frown.

"No, you don't," She stated firmly. She took a sharp breath, tensing up in her comfortable seat. "We can't even begin to imagine what he survived." The doctor hissed enraged, not at Gil specifically. "We never understood the full extent of his traumas, how are we supposed to feel what the drugs did to him?" She realized frustrated, glaring down into her lap with bared teeth.

"Maybe we aren't." Gil mused calmly. He looked away from her, his eyes wandering to Malcolm's room. "He wouldn't want us to anyway."

Gabrielle found back a sad smile, sharing his thoughts. "Maybe we really aren't supposed to." She hummed. Her head tilted to the side, remembering those many meetings she spent with Malcolm. Some days she would return home frustrated, achieving nothing with the muted child. Every meeting felt like the confirmation of her failure as a doctor.

One evening though, after years had passed by, she began the see the bigger picture. There had been times Malcolm ignored the whole world and locked himself in a shell. Towards the end though, he had sometimes been joking dryly or smiling sadly. It wasn't the optimum, but it was an improvement.

People with traumas would never be fully able to lead a normal life. Some could come closer to it, some could be further away. Malcolm was far away from that. Still he was able to live. Not even sad. It was hope he delivered her and many of her supposedly hopeless patients. The brave broken boy accompanied her throughout her career, even when he said his goodbyes after turning 18.

"Malcolm is anything but dumb. He's fully aware we can never comprehend his pain." Gabrielle spoke up. She laid her hand on Gil's knee. "So let's not try. Instead, let's be there for him. Show him that he will never be alone, no matter how broken he is." She suggested, a warm smile plastered on her face.

Gil returned the smile, covering her hand with his bigger one. "That has always been his greatest fear. To be left alone." He realized, Malcolm's panicked voice repeating in his mind.

Don't... Don't leave me...

"Yes," Gabrielle affirmed sorrowfully. "The fear is as much irrational as he fears of becoming like his father, am I right?" Gil nodded without hesitating. Abandoning his kid was never an option before. He had known him since he was ten, constantly caring about him and his well-being. There was nothing he loved more in this world anymore.

"Fear is a silly thing, isn't it?" Gabrielle sighed. "I've dealt with a lot of fears. Spiders, heights, such things are more common. Malcolm was a new challenge, even for me." She murmured nostalgically.

She never judged anyone for their fears. She also wouldn't say it would make one stupid for being afraid of supposedly silly things. Or after being told thousands of times to still have doubts. In her line of work, she realized there were always stories behind one's weird behavior. Each had their own story. It was what made them special. Made them human. She always preferred her little patients over those ignorant adults.

She stood up abruptly, startling Gil in his seat. He jumped up as well. "So? Can you help him now?" He repeated his questions. He began to follow the therapist who headed to the exit while ignoring the lieutenant. "Doctor?" Gil pestered irritated. How could he let her leave when Malcolm was still in the same situation as before?

Gil opened his mouth just when Gabrielle turned around. He stumbled back, closing his mouth dumbfounded.

"I told you once. I can't help him." She explained patiently. Gil sunk into himself, disappointed.

"But..." Gabrielle sighed tiredly. How she managed to keep up a congenial smile was a wonder to him. "Listen. There is clearly some unfinished business between the two of you." She noted. Gil took a defensive stance, surprised by how she could see through him. It was no wonder Malcolm turned out like this. It was either talking with his father or this woman. He was practically trained and raised to be the most talented profiler.

"He may seem to be lost in his own world," Gabrielle explained, "but there is still a part of him observing the real world." Gil frowned at Gabrielle. The therapist chuckled. "I know you can get through to him. He will listen to you. He trusts you." She complimented, patting his shoulder.

She used the time wisely and proceeded for the exit quickly. She feared she could never leave this place. Not to forget she had still important appointments.

Gil watched her leave, appearing calmer than he felt. He would be too late to stop her, even if he wanted to. He didn't intend to stop her from leaving though. He had heard enough.

His head turned to Malcolm's room. There was probably a fifty-fifty chance on whether Malcolm would return to him or not.

He wouldn't give him up.

Chapter 23: Chapter 22

Notes:

That's like part 3 of Gil giving up on life in the hospital. Enjoy.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Light submerged into the dark and in solitude tainted room. The silence it guarded was disturbing, too deep to feel comfortable in it. This room was dead, a foreboding of what was going to happen to the borrower of this small and tight chamber.

Colors washed over the gray furniture, expelling the darkness. Gil's footsteps destroyed the forcedly sheltered silence, with each step sending bits of it crumbling into dissolution. Bravely the lieutenant continued his path. His only goal, the one lonely bed in the middle of the room. He mastered his way past the unnecessary shelves, past the irrelevant furniture. Gil ignored everything to fulfill his dearest wish.

To look into those eyes again.

He gazed down, studying the gray blanket. Gradually his eyes climbed up, over a motionless body to torn open eyes. He could drown into those bright eyes, whenever his kid searched his attention. He wasn't alone with that. He heard from a lot of contacts what power Bright held over people, only by looking at them.

He could look into them. See things you weren't even aware of yourself.

Most people were afraid of those bright and seemingly cruel eyes. Gil wasn't. He carried respect, which was never wrong within a healthy amount. But all in one, Gil didn't fear to look Malcolm directly into his eyes. Whenever he did, the boy allowed him to see as well. To see into others he always opened his own heavily locked doors. As if he was taking advantage of the concept of equivalent exchange. The trick that lead him to one-sided victory? Looking into a soul isn't easy. Train yourself on his eye level, and only then you can read him like a book while he reads you.

Gil would never be able to look eye in eye with a psychological expert such as Malcolm Bright. So whenever he got a peek of what was going on within Malcolm, he was allowed to. He only saw what he was supposed to. And Gil had seen a lot. A proof of Malcolm's solid trust towards him.

Now, his eyes were dull. Lifeless. Defeat was signed all over his face in capital letters. His eyes were opened for everyone to look. To a certain point. At the same time, Malcolm was protecting a massive lock in order to prevent you from coming in deeper. Malcolm cornered behind that heavy door, determined not to return. Gil was hoping his voice could sound up to that door and a little bit further. He begged to reach Malcolm, deep inside there blocking out every external influence.

Gil pulled a chair from the wall near to Malcolm's bed. He needed to observe Malcolm's eyes while doing this. He sunk down, his hand covering Malcolm's smaller one.

"Hey kid." He started, his voice barely more than a dry whisper. All these days were taking a toll on him, exerting his energies. Gil was spent. Tired. Uncertain how long he could continue like this. Clueless on how to break this vortex he was spiraling deeper and deeper with every passing second.

His eyes searched desperately for Malcolm's. He gave up resigned. "We miss you," He exhaled heavily. His muscles tensed, cramping tightly around Malcolm's hand. "I miss you," He emphasized.

Malcolm's hand was getting cold in his warm palm. Letting go revealed to be an impossible task. Letting go would be translated in his stupid brain as already giving up on Malcolm. Even if it meant he would let Malcolm's hand rest without him, the effects it could have, mostly on Gil, were too huge to risk them.

Gil continued to embrace Malcolm's hand gently. "Whatever happened there, inside your brain..." Gil took a shuddering breath, trying to imagine the worst things possible. "I..." He stammered, his head sinking in defeat, a sorrowful grimace painted on his face. "I wish I could know."

Malcolm's eyes showed no signs of acknowledging his words. They remained empty.

"I wish I couldn't only take some of the pain and share it," Gil continued nevertheless, determination pulsing through his every fiber. "I wish I could take all of it. I wish I could relieve you of that pain. Of these-" Gil's eyes wandered up, frustrated searching for the right use of words. "-these shackles you carry around your legs, dragging them with you wherever you go."

Gil damned this cruel god, if there even was one, to shape Malcolm's life like a living nightmare. He damned Martin, the worst father of the world for putting his own son's life in such misery. And with the same breath to claim he loved him. No one deserved that twisted poisonous love. Especially not Malcolm. This particular boy, after everything he went through. Through so much pain without any light guiding his gloomy path. He deserved the best.

Neither did Gil's wishes get acknowledged. What were the chances life decided to grant his boy some mercy? Given Malcolm laid in the hospital, trapped in a self-inflicted coma after a horribly strong acid trip, Gil lost every hope.

He couldn't blame Malcolm for trying to end his own life. He doubted he himself could endure ever so long Malcolm managed. Wasn't it rather unfair to drag him back into this living hell?

Silent tears slipped down Gil's eyes. He inhaled, fused with a sob, letting his tears carelessly mark his shame. "I'm so sorry," He muttered, barely audible, his voice nothing more than a weak breath. The heavy guilt weighed his head down, catching himself in his palms.

Malcolm's hand slipped out of Gil's grip while the man resulted in muted crying. It fell down from his stomach, landing inconsiderately beside his body.

The door fell shut with a strong cold wind, intruding through the narrow slits of the opened window. The room was again tainted in darkness. Only the silence didn't return fully. Like a damp cloak it threatened to swallow both men. Let alone Gil's sudden loud sobs pushed away the dangerously nearing cloak.

After a good while, Gil was taken over by the feeling of checking his phone. He ignored the time, the messages. The missed calls, everything he ignored regardless of their possible importance. He didn't get far.

The weak blue light was blurry due to his wet and reddened eyes. He saw the outlines of Malcolm's face from the corners of his eyes. The boy appeared even paler than normal, which broke Gil's heart again, painful whimpers emerging from inside of him.

He opened his gallery, straight up going to his favorites. He smiled adoringly at the pictures, most of them taken several years ago. Those photos were still taken with an old camera, only years later transferred from his PC to his mobile, where he could always treasure them.

Scrolling down he discovered earlier pictures where Jackie was still there. She wasn't only kind. She loved Malcolm like a son. He loves Malcolm like a son. The son he never had. Malcolm was broken and different, still, Gil could've never imagined something better happening to him than this special boy.

He looked over all those photos, big tears welling up in his eyes. He snorted sadly at some pictures. Nostalgically he remembered the wonderful journey they shared together. It reminded him that Malcolm wasn't always sad and broken. He found hope and strength within his loved ones. Dani, Edrisa, JT, Ainsley, Jessica. Gil. Some so many people would never stop supporting Malcolm.

Family.

They were inseparable. Always stuck together. Endure together, as much as possible. Love each other.

Gil reached one of the later photos, showing Malcolm holding up his new identity with a wide grin. Even the tears were visible in his big eyes, howling relieved in the new freedom. Breaking the cell of his cursed family name.

The last photo was a selfie of the two of them. Gil remembered the scene vividly. Malcolm fidgeting nervously at the train station. His eyes shifting nervously from one side to another.

"What's wrong, kid?" Gil noticed concerned, one hand reaching to Malcolm's shoulder and catching his attention.

"Nothing?" The young man snapped, uncertainty leaking out of every corner.

Gil gave him that look, that look that was reserved for his kid. 'Don't give me that bullshit.'

Malcolm dodged it, squirming to find a way around it. He wasn't one to surrender easily, so much Gil knew.

"I thought you wanted this?" Gil wondered. Malcolm surrendered almost immediately, breaking up their eye contact and staring into the distance.

"I do want it." He replied after a while of silence. Gil found it hard to believe him.

"Then why are you doubting so much?" He mentioned, urging the kid to loosen up.
Malcolm smiled smitten at him.

"To be honest? I'm scared," He admitted, but so confident, leaving no place for shame. Gil admired his kid proudly.

"What has our Mr. Bright to fear of?" Gil joked in soft mockery, gently punching Malcolm's arm. He laughed lightly into that, finally loosening up.

"I don't know. I just... I fear I made some wrong decisions and-"

Gil cut off Malcolm with a shocked expression. "Wrong decisions? Malcolm, this is your dream. You worked so hard to achieve it, despite all the difficulties." Gil blurted out. He grabbed Malcolm on both shoulders and positioned him to look at Gil.

"You earned this." Malcolm smiled gratefully. "Don't get hindered by your past. Your background doesn't make you any less worth. It defines you, in your own individual ways," Gil counted, affectionately stroking Malcolm's arms up and down.

"Thank you, Gil," Malcolm confessed, genuinely touched. Gil looked down proudly at his kid, finally becoming a young man. Leaving his past behind and being brave enough to step into a new future.

The noises of the oncoming train alerted them of their minimizing time they would spend together. Gil let go of Malcolm and picked up his small luggage. Despite having a rich family, Malcolm didn't possess much. He really went for a new start, leaving behind everything.

It pained Gil deep inside. He never liked the idea of Malcolm leaving New York for Quantico. He feared that the FBI would never trust his kid and hurt him more. Unlike Gil, Malcolm always stood brave for his own dream. In his moments of doubts, Gil had to remind him of Malcolm’s personal goals instead of using his uncertainty to his own advantage. Malcolm wasn't happy in New York. And Gil could never find peace if his kid suffered.

"Don't forget to call us when you arrive. Also your mother, obviously," Gil reminded him, passing the luggage over to Malcolm.

"Yes," He agreed patiently, despite hearing this for the thousand's time.

"And make sure you eat. You've got a long journey ahead of you," Gil continued, searching the train and scanning the distance. He lifted his index. "Water," He remembered, "Don't forget to drink enough. You always let that slip your mind and I don't want you passing out in the trai-"

"Gil?" Malcolm interrupted with a playful scolding glare. "I got it," He assured him mildly annoyed. Gil nodded reluctantly. He looked intently at Malcolm, not ready to say goodbye.

"This is it," Gil realized depressed.

Malcolm smiled warmly. "You know, I’m still going to visit you guys for Christmas. That's like already in a few months," He countered back amused.

Gil grinned widely, lunging forward and trapping Malcolm into a loving bear hug. "I'm so proud of you!" He exclaimed, only audible for Malcolm. The young man giggled into his ear, returning the embrace with identical intensity.

They only parted when the train pulled in right next to them. The doors opened, a mass of people rushing out the wagons. Gil reluctantly let go, watching as Malcolm set moving to one of the entrances.

"Erm…" The man hesitated, scratching his neck in a moment of thought. Gil looked at him expectantly.

"I wanted to say... Thanks. For supporting me. For believing in me and always being there for me. Thank you, Gil," Malcolm confessed, his eyes wet and a grateful smile right underneath it.

Gil returned the expression wholeheartedly. "Always." He promised.

Malcolm thought about leaving, instead he quickly rushed back to Gil and pulled something out of his pocket.

"Now what is that?" Gil blurted out, looking at the surprisingly thin object in Malcolm's hands. The kid lifted it up. Gil observed his own mirror in it with surprise. He listened to Malcolm's advice to smile.

"It's a smartphone." Malcolm explained with a chuckle. Gil remembered the all too recent news. He just didn't bother, it was yet too expensive for him. Trust the riches to already have it.

"So it really is a phone and a camera," Gil groaned in disbelief. Malcolm giggled, waving the phone in front of Gil's nose.

"This way, I always have my guardian angel with me."

Gil's face dropped, just in time when Malcolm turned away. The young man sprinted to the doors and jumped in before they could close on him. Meanwhile, silent tears dripped down on Gil's cheek. He noticed Malcolm vaguely waving at him with a big grin, the train slowly departing. Gil waved absently, the word 'guardian angel' circling his mind.

About three weeks later Gil received his first mail from Malcolm. It was only a photo. It was the photo of him and Malcolm with their first selfie. Flipping the card to its back it only said those two precious words, Gil would always treasure in his heart.

Guardian angel

Gil broke down into sobs. He took Malcolm's hand back in his one, rubbing it like a genie's lamp. "I'm sorry, so sorry," He choked off his own cries. He drowned in shameful guilt, suffocating alone.

Malcolm was not gonna return to him. He may have trusted him once. Saw in him his guardian angel. Saving him from the surgeon's wrath. Protecting him all along his childhood up to his adulthood.

And now he failed. More than once. He couldn't protect him from his returning past. He couldn't protect him from Watkins. And he couldn't protect him from Coleman. Gil couldn't protect his kid anymore.

"I should have been there. You told me not to leave. I should've listened to you, then this never would've happened," He blamed himself reproachfully.

It wasn't fair. Why did Malcolm have to pay for his mistakes? He let him down when he needed him most. Chained him, made him defenseless, and left him that way in the middle of the chaos.

"I betrayed your trust in me," Gil realized painfully. Energy flooded out of his body, like a balloon covered in holes every few inches. His grip around Malcolm's hand loosened. "It's all my fault. And-" He was interrupted involuntarily by a sob. "-I will never forgive myself."

He tightened his eyes closer together, grimacing while the guilt crushed him entirely. Tears poured down his face like a waterfall and got trapped in his goatee. "I wonder if you could ever forgive me," He whimpered with the volume of a breath. He sunk down, cowering into himself.

A weak squeeze on his hand.

His head snapped up.

"Someday..." The fragile voice croaked exhausted.

Gil immediately searched for Malcolm's eyes, which weren't painfully torn open anymore, but narrowed into thin slits. More important, they weren't empty, dead. Life returned into them. The color of his eyes almost as deep as usual.

Gil jumped up, accidentally disconnecting their hands. Within seconds he scrambled the limp hand back in his warming palms. He leaned forward to Malcolm, laughing in tears. "You're back? Are you really back?" He repeated over and over, praying his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. He could never cope with that.

Malcolm barely tilted his head, let alone that tiny movement sent gigantic sparks of joy through Gil's body. He wanted to jump and shout, roar his excitement into the world. That is my kid! A real fighter!

At same time, he wanted to feel him, stay close to him, and never let go again. His mind was constantly debating these two options, but secretly Gil always knew he wouldn't let go of Malcolm only yet.

"Please don't wish yourself to feel my pain," Malcolm croaked, his throat raspy and his mouth dry. The last time it was used it had been for crying and screaming at hallucinations.

Gil frowned irritated. "But... how else could I ever help you?" He wondered frustrated, generously ignoring that Malcolm had been listening to him all along. The more frightening aspect was that he didn't receive any answer on that. Maybe Malcolm didn't know. How to help himself. Or maybe he drifted back into his shell, having had enough of this world again. Gil was deeply afraid that could be the case.

"Say-" Malcolm spoke up all of a sudden, relief falling down Gil's shoulders instantly. "-Would you ever abandon me, too?" He asked with a clear tone of fear wavering in his unsteady voice.

Gil scowled at that absurd question. "Wha- Of course not!" He blurted out offended. "I know for certain that none of us would ever leave you," Gil spontaneously spoke for all of the people Malcolm was concerned about. He knew they shared his sentiment just as strong. He didn't need to fill in Malcolm's already with doubt clouded mind. Still he felt the urge to assure him with a 100% guarantee.

"I will never abandon you," He promised genuinely, his hand caressing Malcolm's cheek, although he didn't even seem to acknowledge that.

"And if I turn out to be like him?"

Gil listened to Malcolm voicing out his biggest fear. The kid was truly frightening, seeing how he tensed up under his blanket, shivers possessing his body under his torn open eyes.

Gil smiled warmly at him. "Do you want to know, how I know for a fact-" He raised his index slightly up, "-that you will never ever turn out to be like him?" He proposed. Malcolm rewarded him with his attention, his bright eyes searching for answers in Gil's darker ones.

"Martin lives an unheeding life. He doesn't care about the harm he inflicted on the lives of the remaining families of his victims. He doesn't feel guilty about his acts." He explained calmly, enjoying Malcolm's undying attention.

"But you," He sighed gently, casting Malcolm a caring smile, "You do."

"You do worry about those murders every day. You never stop to ask yourself how many lives could have been spared if you found out earlier. You feel guilty about things you never had control over in the first place. For example your suppressed memories.

"You try to show everyone you're anything like your father, constantly trying harder because no one ever believes you. No one notices that you are the kindest person of them all, exactly for that reason. You are always genial to everyone, never back away from helping people, no matter whom. You give even the most horrible people on earth a second chance, even if they don't deserve it."

Gil chuckled overwhelmed. "Honestly, I still don't know what I did to deserve you. You're one of the best things that happened in my life," He confessed, unbeknownst to what consequences these words might elicit within the other man. He only noticed when Malcolm's neutral face grimaced into a frown, his eyes filling up with a salty liquid.

And then he wept.

Gil didn't hesitate to pull Malcolm into a hug where he began to wet Gil's shoulder. They didn't talk anymore. They just held onto each other for life's sake, needing themselves desperately. Malcolm loved Gil like a father, and Gil loved Malcolm like a son. They gladly ignored that reality didn't go along with their wishes. At least they found each other in this big city, in this huge world.

And that should be enough.

Gil stroked Malcolm's back soothingly. He ruffled his hair and massaged his neck, which always seemed to calm Malcolm. So did it now. He powered himself out by crying Gil's shirt drenched. And Gil didn't deny that some tears escaped in his case as well.

"Shh, I'm so proud of you," He cooed, delivering his words carefully, like fragile thin glass. "I will always be there for you," He promised earnestly, closing his eyes and tracing down the teardrop running down his face.

"Always," He promised more to himself when Malcolm went slack in his arms. He was certain he'd wake up again after a dreamless slumber. He ruffled his hair and settled him carefully back into a sleeping position. He surveyed his calm breath, the constant rise and fall of his chest. He'd come back to him, Gil thought with a soft smile.

He planted down a gentle kiss on top of Malcolm's head. He smiled proudly at his boy, his hand searching for his chair. He settled down contentedly on the hard and uncomfortable chair. His hand embraced Malcolm's one softly, his head settling down on Malcolm's mattress. He closed his eyelids, for the first time since days managing to get some sleep. He smiled joyfully into himself.

Always.

Notes:

Oh shit, finally. I love Let's play a game with all my heart, really, but I was getting really sick of editing this sentimental shit. You have no idea how often I had to read this chap while writing another story where Malcolm is kicking asses. Life is so weird.

Chapter 24: Chapter 23

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Fingers danced lightly on the keyboard, the static noises of pushed buttons singing in his quiet office. Most of his things were reorganized. A small attempt to hide the horrors that had taken place in here days ago. The window wasn't repaired yet, only covered in almost transparent foil. The hinges of his closet door were loose, refusing to keep the furniture closed properly. At least his lamps had been spared, unlike outside his office. Some corners were left dark, especially now in winter, when the darkness approached faster than the end of work.

Gil massaged his temple, his finger hammering frustrated on the delete button. He made surprisingly often mistakes, typing in a letter too much or accidentally switching two words. Words. Lost in his thoughts he deleted more than a paragraph. It was even more frustrating, considering he didn't remember his thought. Maybe he had just been zoning out. And now he had to rewrite that paragraph, his day extending unnecessarily.

At least he could write the report with a good feeling. It was the last time he would engage with Coleman. The last time he would put his team in the dangerous front line of this psychopath's game. They were currently finishing their parts of protocolling as well, unbeknownst of the news. The FBI would take over the case. Gil just prayed the attacks would stop. The four rounds were over anyway. The time for Coleman to search for bigger opponents had come. He defeated Major Crimes, now he could test his Game Master skills on the FBI. If there wasn't a greater honor for a psychopath, Gil didn't know.

He ended the repetition of his older paragraph, moving on to the next lines. There was still so much he had to write and prepare for the FBI, it was stressing his already spent mind. It was the least he could do.

The phone on his desk began to ring. Gil abandoned his work with a grateful huff and scooched over to the communicating device. He lifted it and placed it to his ear. "Lieutenant Arroyo." He greeted with an indifferent tone. He leaned back into his office chair, certain he could enjoy this call. Anything other than paperwork was dearly welcomed.

"You were ordered to Quantico," The rough voice alleged without any formal introduction. Gil rolled his eyes, blowing some air as he leaned forward to his desk. He prepared himself for an uncomfortable tirade, his shoulders tensing up.

"And I told you there was a family emergency keeping me in town," He objected confidently, holding up his chin with all the pride he could gather. Only because he was subordinated didn't mean he would acquiesce with the accusations. He wasn't only the lieutenant of the major crimes section, no. He had also a private life, and he'd rather kill himself than let his career get the better of him. Family always held priority. Always.

"Anyway. It doesn't matter," The other man surrendered surprisingly quick. Gil frowned, feeling a small wave of ridiculousness wash over him, marking him with a big F on his forehead. F for Fool. He won this battle, didn't he? "We have someone available,..."

Gil's hands slightly lowered down. He arched his eyebrows, seeing how his report began to write itself. Unfortunately, not what there was supposed to be written. More like his PC manifested his own soul, tragically copying that one of Coleman's.

Don't lose your case.

The demand was stated clear and solid. There was nothing to comment on that. Gil blinked perplexed, swallowing the dubious message with a dry and raspy throat. He frowned critically, silently debating his next moves while refusing to comprehend why out of all people he was slowly gliding into obvious blackmailing.

"Lieutenant?" The other man's voice snapped him back into reality. Gil tensed up, focusing back on the conversation with the FBI. He risked one glance at his document. The demand was really there, black on white.

"Erm yeah, I'm still here," He blurted out embarrassed, nervously shifting on his seat. "Excuse me, but what were you just saying?" He admitted shamefully. Not listening to a superior, what a rookie mistake. Or was it? Aren't you more stressed about paying careful attention if you're very new to this? Irrelevant, since Gil wasn't a rookie nor unmotivated to ignore the other man. He just received an unknown threat. Debatable if it really was an unknown person to him, he would bet his apartment he'd know the person behind this ruse.

The FBI agent on the other line sighed in a low grumble. "I said, that I have an available special agent sent over to you. She will arrive tomorrow and expects to receive all she needs you gathered about this case. Provide …"

The words went lost in the room again. Gil's mouth dropped when he caught the phenomenon again of his document writing itself on his own. His PC was hacked, no doubt, and Gil knew exactly by whom.

If the FBI interrupts our game, there will be consequences.

Gil's eyes shifted nervously from the document to his phone, back and forth. The FBI agent's words reached him, filling his ear without getting registered. Instead the threat circled around in his brain. He thought it was over, he thought this round was over. Apparently not.

I have my eyes everywhere. Don't believe me? Ask Jeff.

"..., understood?" Gil registered the words on the side. He jumped up as if he realized he had been sitting on lava the whole time.

"No! No, we're good, thanks," He spluttered out, his hands traveling through his hair and ending on his neck. He mouthed a decent 'Fuck'.

He could hear the other man arching his eyebrows. "I wasn't offering help," He replied incredulously. Gil facepalmed mutely, almost dropping the phone. "It's an order. You're suspended from this case." Gil acknowledged those words. He couldn't allow himself to dwell on his thoughts for too long, he needed to act. Now.

"But we really have everything under control. We're so close," Gil objected enthusiastically, a silly ruse to obscure his nervousness.

"Under control?" The other man laughed mockingly. "Your whole precinct was in the news worldwide, lieutenant, in case you were too busy noticing it. You have nothing under control anymore," The agent claimed harshly. Gil realized how Malcolm must've felt during their copycat case, he had a vivid Deja Vue. Although, he couldn't blame the other agent. Gil's behavior was plain stupid. After all, it wasn't like he did that on purpose. He had been looking forward to getting rid of this case, eager to let the FBI handle this while they could take some time off. Guess that was nothing more than a false hope in the bitter end.

"Well..." Gil looked to the ground. "I admit this case has spiraled out of my control over the passing time-"

"-From the very beginning," The agent threw in more concretely, hitting the nail on its head. Gil groaned in defeat.

"Fine. That's true. But now, we have everything we need. We're unbelievable close to charging the killer," Gil argued, faking his strongest assuring voice. There were still clueless on how to charge that bastard guilty for his many crimes.

"Believe me," He pushed further, almost begging on his knees. He needed some time to figure out how to deal with this threat in a less destructive way. He was fully aware that pushing the FBI away meant solving the case on their own again. That action had proven to be the most dangerous of them all. Still, he feared the consequences if Gil didn't succeed. Malcolm had been choked, Dani chased down and stabbed, and JT inflicted a car accident. The consequences weren't easy to deal with. Either way he looked at it, there was no way to dodge this without having his family hurt.

The agent smiled genuinely. "I do believe you, Gil," He revealed warmly, but his tone already let him guess how it would continue. "But I can't let you work on this anymore," He apologized gently, before his voice returned to the steady and straight forwarded one it used to be. "Special agent Swanson will arrive tomorrow morning, please provide her with everything needed."

Gil lowered his head in submission, mumbling his affirmation. He didn't say goodbye, yet the call ended all by itself. Resigned, Gil dropped the phone back into its place. He plumped down on his seat, leaning his elbows on the hard-wooden desk. He buried his head in his palm.

What should he do?

There was nothing he could do to prevent anything bad from happening anymore. He couldn't end this nightmare, attached to his back wherever he went. Why wanted Coleman to destroy them? These motives didn't fit with the former profile. A hungry wolf out for a challenge. No. This had become personal. Revenge.

Who was Coleman really? What did he want from them?

Gil needed to find that out. The sooner, the better. He aimed for the door, jacket in his hand. Upon seeing his workers an idea entangled in his mind. Highly unlikely, yet worth a try. Their chances went against zero and playing with fire wasn't to be excluded.

But if they could solve the case before the next day?

Could they finally return to a more normal life?

Notes:

Things have been a little Gil-centric for the past few chapters, but a change for more diversity is waiting ahead. Round four has been the longest one so far.

Chapter 25: Chapter 24

Notes:

Much later than anticipated, but well. I basically have nothing to say in my defense.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

They arrived late in the evening.

Dani had picked up Malcolm on the way, who was now staggering into the warm house with a round metal box in his glove-covered hands. JT was following close behind, ridding himself of his scarf and lifting one foot to take off his shoes one after another.

Gil welcomed them unperturbed, internally though he was suffocating in nervousness. It wasn't like a lot was depending on the results of their meeting. It was way more than just a lot.

He nodded at Malcolm, swiftly relieving him of the box with Christmas cookies so he could undress as well. Gil led them into his living room, his ears buzzing, constantly filled with the chatter of the two men behind his back. Somehow, over the months turning into years, Malcolm had become a little brother to JT, which could be mostly defined by he’s annoying but still adorable. They don’t argue often, it would be better described as JT criticizing Malcolm, who reacts more or less composed. He rarely bites back with a snarky remark. Oh, but when he does, JT doesn’t stand a chance.

Dani studied the White Billboard in the middle of the room. Her two colleagues shared her stunned expression. "Do I even want to know why you have one of these in your home?" Dani questioned, directing a concerned frown at her boss.

The billboard wasn't plain anymore. Photos were attached to it. Recent Crime scenes, victims, and in the middle the latest image of their suspect. Bennett Coleman. The one and only Game Master. He smiled harmlessly into the camera, but professional and distanced. They took the picture from his website of his company. The similarities to their killer image were surprisingly subtle. If you wouldn't know the connection for 100%, no one would raise any suspicion. Especially when you considered his generous and congenial expression. He didn't appear to them like a murderer, even after knowing it for sure.

Gil walked to the board, watching his colleagues settling down on his couch. He had asked them spontaneously to come to his place for the night and work the case. He'd rather say solve the case though.

They agreed, a little bit happier and relieved than expected. His guesses were that they simply didn't feel safe anymore on their own. Especially now, since the four rounds had ended and not even Malcolm could predict Coleman's following moves.

"That's all we've gathered so far," Gil presented to his team. He hadn't noticed when the board filled itself, remembering vividly the time where they had no leads at all. But now, it was like they had too much. The board was heavy, the overbearing weight pulling it down, or exploding in exhaustion. There were too many things to consider, too many details that demanded attention. It only resulted in spiking more nervousness into him. He was unable to see the forest for the trees.

Dani grimaced tenderly. "It's... a lot," She admitted, sharing Gil's sentiment. JT fell back onto the couch, his hands leaning on the backrest. He blew raspberries, training his eyes to the billboard.

Only Malcolm remained neutral. If he was intimidated by the tsunami of information he didn't show it. He sat down between the two detectives, crossed one leg elegantly over the other one and leaned down with his elbow on his knee. He smiled into his palm. Gil decided to ignore Malcolm's smug expression for now.

He guided his attention back to the white billboard, that to be honest barely showed any white places anymore. Not even the red slip string could be followed precisely, as it entangled itself more than three times.

"Still, it's not enough to catch Coleman," Gil huffed, almost failing to conceal his frustration. Even if this wasn't his workplace he aspired to maintain his professionalism.

"Less is more," Malcolm spoke up, smirking into his palm. The look that always delivered the 'I am smarter than you' expression.

Gil knew Malcolm was a good kid, always striving to be kind and polite. So sometimes, he thought Malcolm delivered this message by accident. But even after years, he could never tell for real if Malcolm actually knew what emotions he sent others with his smile. And if he actually enjoyed the idea of being smarter than everyone else. Malcolm is an expert psychologist after all, he should know what behavior unsettles his fellow human beings, and which not. Yet he never really changes himself to fit in.

Gil didn't even manage to invite Malcolm to the front, the man already jumped up and stalked enthusiastically to the board.

Gil stepped back, plumping down on his armchair, and studying Malcolm interested, high hopes and expectations afflicting him. His heart dropped down into his pants when Malcolm ripped off one of his carefully pinned pictures down. "What the-" He blurted out offended, almost jumping out of his seat.

Malcolm needed to raise only one hand to calm Gil down. He had reserved an unbreakable trust for his kid. No matter how bad it seemed to appear in the beginning, Malcolm always knew what he was doing. That's why he was so good at whatever he was doing.

Every rip hurt Gil deeply. With every photo that glided ignored to the ground Gil became more fidgety. He noticed JT and Dani weren't feeling much different about this either.

Malcolm was using one of the most unconventional methods of them. Ignoring leads that could hide useful evidence. After all, Malcolm's work was founded on theories. They were right, they were precise, but in the end, they always remained presumptions. Nothing that could lock away a criminal for good.

A picture of one of the crime scenes followed the mild gust, steering into Gil's lap. He picked it up, watching the crime scene intently. That's where it all started. The little store in the little street. They believed it to be an inconspicuous homicide, solved in a few days. He would've never guessed that it would drag into weeks. Drag itself into their lives, invade them and destroy them bit by bit. It started with Malcolm almost dying, brutally choked to death. Then the chaos followed, intensifying, building up. The effects stronger, the consequences bigger. It started out with one person getting strangled and ended with the whole precinct on drugs.

Gil guided the paper away from his lap where it slowly sunk to the ground, landing in between dust. Malcolm hopped to the side, setting the billboard into spotlight. Now it had more white than actual work on it. They catapulted back to the beginning. Back to nothing. It was depressing.

Only Malcolm's optimistic attitude left them with hopeful irritation. "I'm certain we figure this out. We just need to clear our minds," He said, gesturing to the board. "Approaching the problem from a new angle is one of the solutions."

The detectives nodded unsure, casting Gil a worried glance. They certainly didn't trust Malcolm knew what he was doing. Though the profiler was anything than out of options. Bright is a very resourceful man. Getting him out of options is a challenging task. In the end, they'll lose all.

"Our main subject is Coleman of course." Malcolm pointed to the photo of the young and colorful man. His gaze fell towards the red yarn. He snatched it, casually tossing it into the air and catching it. He looped it around the pin holding up Coleman. Next, his hand traveled to a crime scene he considered worthy of mentioning, the string following him loyally. He attached it tightly to the pin.

"Jeff's," He mentioned at the side, glaring at the picture as if he could burn a hole into it and dissolve it. Everything that has happened. He tore his eyes away and faced his group.

"Coleman has a strong connection to this bar. Dani and I found out that he used it to gain money. Said money should cover the outgoings of his father. Junky father, money was lost on cigarettes and alcohol." Bright grimaced mildly. "Or maybe some stuff more illegal," He added, bitterly remembering the LSD attack on every detective. This proved Coleman definitely had some experience on far more than just cigarettes or weed.

"At Jeff's, they always play Poker," Bright reminded them, noticing how Dani's head sunk down. "He learned to play it, although it never was just a game to him. His priorities were set on maximizing his chances of victory to a high level."

Malcolm used the same string to attach it to the picture of playing cards, using it as the headline for the topic casino. "The support of Jeff's and Poker combined brought him to his current position. The boss of his own company."

"Money from playing Poker," Dani threw in with a frown. "I remember the number of money they play with in an actual casino. But this can't be enough for a whole company. Especially if he started out from nothing," She objected sharply. Malcolm grinned widely, proud swinging nearby.

"Correct," He revealed. His arms spread to the side. "I so happen to have contacted his venture capitalist and exchanged a few words."

The detectives leaned forward in excitement. "Really?" Gil blurted out, sharing the same unbelievable look as the other two colleagues.

Malcolm tilted his head, baring his teeth and hissing critically. "Yeah-" He replied long-stretched, extending the answer for at least a few seconds. "It's actually my mother," He confessed.

Their expressions dropped. "Your mother?" Dani exclaimed. There was no trace of that surprise they had seconds ago left. Gil facepalmed, massaging his temple. "Of course it's Jessica," He groaned, frustrated how that family always managed to interact with danger unintentionally. This family would drive him crazy soon.

Malcolm sighed, rather looking at the red yarn than at his friends. "Yeah, she helped him set foot in the business world and supported him with her own fair share until he became fully independent. They haven't been in contact for a good while now, which means that Coleman actually enjoyed his comfy life. Until he got bored that is." He looked up, scanning their faces and analyzing them. He did it by accident, not even noticing his doing. Only the detectives felt the shiver running down their spine when Malcolm's bright blue eyes rummaged through their souls.

"Does that connect the Whitley family to Coleman?" Gil spoke up and snapped Malcolm out of his profiling. He was worried the family could be again in danger, just a year after Watkins happened.

Malcolm shook his head, but slow and unconvinced, obviously not completely certain on that topic. "I'm not entirely sure, but I suppose rather no. The Whitleys were only a ladder in his life. He doesn't care about emotional aspects. He acts out on his own interests. The Whitleys should be irrelevant. I hope so."

Gil nodded assured. Almost. There was still the connection and still the possibility of a plot against them.

Malcolm connected the strings. A paper with the name 'WHITLEY' right underneath the Coleman emblem was added. He connected those two together. After a short time of hesitating, he also connected the Whitleys with Coleman, just to be sure.

"Now, how does that bring us any further?" JT groaned after nobody said a thing for seconds. Seconds that felt like minutes. Minutes that felt like hours. Hours that felt like days. They didn't know yet, but they only had this evening.

Bright mused in silence, but stress began nagging on him. He studied the connection, his chin in his hand. "Maybe we should start over again," He muttered to himself. He feared he had divagated too much from the main subject, leaving them to wander off the tracks wider and wider. The solution to their problem wasn't in that direction. It was the opposite, really.

Gil stood up, covering for Malcolm. "What we need is present information," He declared, remembering they needed to find full-proof evidence. They didn't need to understand their killer. They had him. They needed to get him to sit off several life sentences. "Hideouts. Strange notes or conversations. Maybe friends," He counted up.

His head snapped to Dani and JT. "I asked you earlier to check the office once more. Did you manage?"

"We asked around, gathering information from the staff," JT responded. "Apparently, Coleman avoids close contacts. He's that boss who seems to be untouchable. None of them know anything about him in private. Seems fishy if you ask me."

Gil nodded fiercely. "Fishy yes, but that alone isn’t enough to lock someone behind bars.” He snorted.

“Dani, you checked the surveillances. Did you catch him getting into close contact with someone or hiding notes?" He turned towards her.

Dani straightened her posture. "No, nothing of that sort. His actions are completely legit and unfortunately, I do not have any access to his telephone conversations." Gil cursed under his breath.

"I also contacted Edrisa," Dani continued unbothered by her Boss's reaction. "She examined the bodies but found no traces whatsoever. Neither did the forensics department. I think we go out empty-handed on that one, too." She noticed how demotivating her words were and ushered to lay a relatively positive powder over it. "For now at least. There's still time left, maybe he'll make one or two grave mistakes."

Gil was not motivated. Time was too short to stick with that. They were running out of time, out of options. Simply out of everything. Yet again the FBI crossed his mind. Could they really help?

"Childhood," Malcolm muttered behind Gil's back.

Gil turned his head around, scrutinizing Malcolm concerned. The profiler had developed a new piece of paper, the letters 'CHILDHOOD' marking it. It was already pinned down, Malcolm's hand traveling over it. Gil exhaled heavily. They really had no time to dwell on traumatic childhood experiences.

He opened his mouth, but Bright was quicker. "Back to the roots. That is it," He revealed excitedly. Gil arched his eyebrows, not seeing the whole picture like Malcolm.

"We took the wrong turn during our analysis. We worked on what we know, walking down the timeline," Bright explained. He gave every single one a huge grin. "In fact, we had to walk in the opposite direction. We need to explore his childhood more precisely. His origin is what matters," He elucidated.

"Why?" Dani spluttered, plain curious. Malcolm gave her an understanding smile.

"Because serial killers aren't born." He turned around to meet Coleman's eyes. "They are made." Pictures of Watkins’s old home flooded into his mind, excitement bursting through his nerves and colliding with his synapses. The idea of seeing what Coleman made to the man he is today was thrilling him.

"Think of it-" Malcolm encouraged them, wild gestures supporting his ideas. "Coleman deleted his whole life." If you would search Coleman's background story, you would be eagerly greeted by mostly blank space. Not even his age could be verified. "His curriculum vitae is practically empty."

JT raised one eyebrow, otherwise remaining silent. Malcolm noticed it, unfortunate for him. "It's a CV," He added, as if JT didn't understand him in the first place. JT glared at him. "I know," He grunted resentfully.

"Anyway. There is a reason why we aren't able to find any information on Coleman," He continued unperturbed. His eyes shifted to Jeff's for a split second. "He hides something. Something so bad, he doesn't want anyone to know. Especially not us," He revealed with a dark tone.

"After all, Coleman told us plenty about how he murdered his father, so there is a motive behind that."

Dani perked up. "Like abuse?" She threw in.

"Exactly," Malcolm accepted. "There was no harmony in the father-son relationship. But what about his mother?" He mentioned, almost too innocent.

Gil jumped up. "She could be still alive!" He called out. Malcolm pointed at Gil. "Bingo!" He cheered, glad to be on the same page.

"What about friends, neighbors?" JT added, his arms crossed before his chest.

"All those things will reveal if we find his house. His childhood home," Malcolm confirmed excitedly, too excited for his colleagues’ taste, but whatever.

"Alright!" Gil clapped only once but filled with enthusiasm. "That's what I call a lead!" Malcolm joined him, squealing in a thrill of anticipation.

"The house must be outside the city, but near to a train station. This way he could constantly travel into the city to Jeff's, forth and back. Probably dodging the fare," Malcolm mused to himself.

JT observed the scene irritated. "Is he profiling a house?" He spoke out loud, confusion underlining his strongly concerned words. Bright could be losing it, that would be a serious issue.

Dani just waved dismissively. "Nah. He once profiled a window," She told casually, JT's irritation intensifying.

"Guys," Malcolm won their attention. "Seriously, we need to look for nearby villages and keep our eyes open for any messages. Since we can't find the address of his old house, maybe it's about time we check those hundreds of civilian messages ourselves," He proposed in a severe tone. The detectives nodded and immediately pulled out their laptops.

Gil enjoyed the surge of rising hope streaming through his body. It could be a dead end, there was no guarantee, yet it really felt like they were close on his heels. Even closer than last time when they found out his identity. They had chances. The main question was if they would be on time.

He went to his laptop to search for himself. They split the civilian suggestions into three. Malcolm dropped by now and then, peeking over their shoulders like a teacher in school.

The time began to run down faster and faster, but they barely even noticed it, too engrossed in their search. Malcolm once made tea, so they nipped and ate some cookies, strengthening for another few hours of solid search. Bright settled back between Dani and JT near the end. That's when the idea of sleep began to invade their minds.

Except for Gil.

The threat kept circling in his mind, keeping him wide awake whenever he spared a look at his friends. Seeing how JT yawned more often. How Dani had clear troubles keeping her sore eyes open. And how Malcolm's eyes fluttered open whenever he nodded off. His unofficial family. He must protect them.

At all costs.

Notes:

Gil was feeling a bit nostalgic there. So was I. I never imagined actual people would read my writing. I am so thankful for every Kudo and comment :) I really appreciate how you see a big unfinished story and go like "Oh boy, I definitely gotta read this!"
Thank you so much for reading! <3

Chapter 26: Chapter 25

Notes:

Heey...
Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Gil flipped over to the next page, a brand-new list of comments appearing on the screen. For the first time in the night, a frustrated groan slipped past his lips. So many new accusations and guesses, in the end, all of them appeared to be wrong. It was like searching for a needle in the hay, only that there was no guarantee that there was a needle in the first place. With every new civilian post, Gil began to doubt a little more that they'd have any success any soon.

Gil shut his laptop, dearly craving for this pause. He knew how important it was to keep going, how much depended on him not giving up. That's why he only told himself it'd be a short pause and then back to reading every post left for the rest of the night.

"How's it going so far?" Gil asked towards Dani and JT. They parted the civilian posts equally, still there were so many of them. Like they traveled back in time and everyone was granted a chance to rid themselves of a person they hate by calling them a witch.

Dani shut her laptop with a bang, massaging her eyelids and yawning. JT didn't shut his laptop, but he did break his eye contact with his screen to cast Gil a concerned look.

"We should stop," He advised bitterly, closing his laptop sharply. Malcolm stirred lightly in his deep slumber, but his head remained on JT's shoulder.

"This is pointless," JT added, his head gesturing to Malcolm leaning against his side. "Even he fell asleep." His probably strongest argument, even Dani eyed the scene astounded. His subtle snoring was calming them all, luring them as well into a peaceful sleep.

Gil rolled his eyes. "They just upped his meds. He told me how fast he gets tired in the late hour thanks to that. That's all," Gil objected. He noticed his detectives putting their laptops away. His break destroyed all of their motivation to work. He ignored that most of their motivation had actually long ago vanished.

"Still, we should take a break and go to sleep," Dani compromised kindly, suggesting they would continue their work tomorrow. Their promises meant nothing to Gil, there could be no more tomorrow at this rate.

"No, I think we're close," Gil disagreed strictly. He opened his laptop. Looking at the mess his confidence began to shrink.

JT sighed, obvious he was about to do something he would not enjoy. Though Gil's persistent attitude left him with no other choice. "Face it, Gil, this is hopeless," JT deadpanned bluntly. Gil blinked several times, taken aback. "Those civilian reports never were useful, this won't change. We're wasting our time and it's already what? Three o'clock?" He grumbled.

Gil's eyes searched the actual time on his laptop screen. "Two and 23 minutes, but okay," He countered back quietly. He did get his detective's point.

"It's just really hard to solve a case in one night, especially with one like this," Dani joined JT's side, but referred to a more harmless way of delivering her concerns.

JT appreciated the more direct approach. He didn't want any misunderstandings for Gil to lure them into working the night through. He wanted results. Sleep. It's not like they hadn't once worked a night through, desperate to solve a case. This case though wasn't something happening often. It strained them, tired them out for weeks. Their sleep-deprived bodies began to fight against them, and it was very hard to cope with that. Solving the case faster meant safe relaxation as a reward, but they just lacked the very energy to keep going and going and going. They were all so spent.

"You can't force the results to come and pressure us into this. We need sleep, more than ever Gil," JT revealed with a reproachful glint in his eyes. "Stop being unreasonable. How do you think we'll find an old house with all the evidence we desire? Or, how about we find his old friends and neighbors, who magically know more than enough to put Coleman into prison? Tell me Gil, how realistic is this hunch after all?" JT snapped, agitated gestures helping to prove his point. His eyes flickered worried to Malcolm. He didn't want to wake him up in his rant and let him witness how he destroyed Gil. Exhausted Malcolm in sleep mode was proving their strongest point, he couldn't destroy that.

Gil exhaled tiredly. "It's not," He surrendered with hunched down shoulders. JT nodded in affirmation. Dani shot him a fierce glare, telling him he clearly crossed a line and said too much. Both knew he didn't. He said the truth. He just refused a nice and beautiful wrapping. Gil would never unpack the present, he seemed single-minded to keep working.

JT urged Bright to wake up, realizing annoyed that his sleep was surprisingly deep. He stood up, slowly and carefully dragging Malcolm up under his arms. His leg reflexes jumped in, giving him a little power to stand. His eyes fluttered open and closed almost immediately. He moved alongside JT like he was sleepwalking. Earlier, Gil had shown them the guest room, so that was where JT was steering the unresponsive profiler.

Dani had offered to take the couch, so she remained, eying Gil concerned who didn't make any attempts to stand up. She arched one eyebrow at him.

"You should rest as well," She stated eventually. Gil looked up caught. His fingers tensed around his laptop, hesitating to shut it down.

"Yeah. You're right." He agreed but disagreed. Dani's observation turned out pointless. She figured it was Gil's own problem what he would do.

"I understand if you're continuing the search, but I really need a break," She confessed.

Gil jumped up nodding frankly. "Of course, you're right," He spluttered. He scanned the room, his eyes remaining pointed to the door of his bedroom. "You can take my room if you want," He offered with a lopsided grin. Dani forced up a smile, which probably ended in a sorrowful grimace.

"Thanks," She pressed out and dragged herself to the room. She didn't look back even once.

When everyone had left, Gil sunk down in resignation. He buried his head in his palms, whining in a long-stretched sigh. His hopes had vanished into thin air, leaving him to be an anxious mess. The ticking clock certainly didn't diminish those feelings. He was frightened for his detective's sake. He promised to protect them, yet all doors remained heavily shut. How was he supposed to shield them from any new pain? Highly likely it was impossible after all.

He closed his eyes, clenching them shut until it the darkness was exchanged with a dazzling white. How could he find sleep if tomorrow was already today? If the deadline was already in a few hours? He could tell his detectives. They would understand, they would come back and search again with him. But their real talk had left him with open eyes. They needed some rest. And the more time that passed, a painful future seemed inevitable. This could be the last rest granted for them. Before disaster would feed upon them, again.

Gil opened his eyes and shifted his computer over his lap. He snatched a cookie from Malcolm's box, next to his cold tea. The cookies were surprisingly good if you acknowledged the fact that Bright absolutely cannot cook or bake. He doesn't need to, usually it's not his thing. But Gil sent him to rest after the hospital released him. Bright agreed rather unwillingly, protesting all the way he wouldn't know what to do anyway. So, he used the short span before Christmas to do something festive. Apparently his parakeet supported him. That's the story of the secret ingredient he told Gil after he had asked. The concerns of spitting out colorful feathers were negative so far.

He munched the cookies, fighting off weak tears prickling in his eyes. His vision began to swim, complicating his unsuccessful work even more. Why was he getting so sentimental on cookies from Malcolm? He understood where that depression came from, but the cookies? Did it remind him of what a good kid Malcolm is? Of their wonderful but hard time they spent together? If he would've never dragged him to the NYPD that day, how much pain could have been prevented for his kid?

He forced down a good amount of cold tea. It fought off his wet eyes, washed away his memories. Left him empty. Numb, unable to feel the smallest things. His attention was directed back to his laptop. He opened the next post where he had disrupted with his short and innocent break.

My neighbor looks almost exactly like the man in this picture. He always acts very suspicious and walks late at night through his apartment, I HEAR him. He's currently unemployed-

Gil stopped reading and jumped to the next post, which wasn't all too different. It was a clear reminder of why they usually never revealed phantom photos in the news and kept most of their clues secret for as long as possible. In this case, the phantom photo had been one of the things they had from the beginning combined with very few leads. He really had hoped Coleman's cheekiness would hit him back, but apparently he could show his lots of faces very well.

Hours passed, straining Gil further without any regard. The messages never seemed to end. He didn't know if he should be grateful in that case or curse at it. They had no prominent other leads and they couldn't wait for Coleman to make his move, whether it'd be tomorrow or some other unfortunate day.

So, I once had these neighbors a long time ago. They were kinda weird and suspicious most of the time, but you know, who am I to judge? I can tell they had a bunch of problems, but I had my own. The parents were garbage, I avoided them whenever possible. I thought the kid was good, but in the end, I believe he was the worst of them all. I never had any proof or else so it's fine if you don't take my words. It's just, I wondered. That maybe after all these years that monster began to show its true colors.

Gil swallowed hard, rereading the same post for the third time. He had this feeling in his gut, call it intuition or instinct. Gil knew they had their man. They had a strong lead that could light their way to the house. They just had to use them. Before it would be too late.

Gil dialed the number swiftly, waiting impatiently for his man to take the call and answer. Give him what he craved to know. The last beeping noise before the stranger picked up, Gil realized how late it already was. He had no time left to procrastinate over that.

"Hello?" A male voice slurred tiredly to him. He felt a slight pang of guilt but ignored it strictly. It was for the greater good.

"Mr. Mathewson?" Gil asked into the phone, assuring himself that he had the right one with him. "I have some questions." He pushed further since the other man refused to answer. He listened to him coughing his raspy throat before he spoke up, annoyed yet terribly unsure of what was really going on.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man growled, possibly not even capable of fully opening his eyes that had gotten used to the darkness. He was as impolite as one would expect for calling a random person in the middle of the night, so Gil forgave him. He was fully aware of how much the other person would blame himself after hearing Gil out.

"Lieutenant Gil Arroyo from the NYPD," He presented his full name with a sense of pride and honor. Until he realized he should've mentioned that earlier for the fairness of this conversation. Now it was too late, and he had sent the poor man into a position of regret and embarrassment.

He barely heard the small gasp. "Oh my- holy!" Mr. Mathewson blurted out, the subtle rustling transferred to Gil, indicating the other one was jumping out of his bed. "Am I in trouble now?" The man whispered scared. Gil couldn't help but smile.

"No, it's fine. I just want to ask some questions regarding the post I came across earlier." Gil chuckled as he revealed his innocent goals. He was eager to get this over with as quickly as possible and drive to the given location, there was no time to waste anymore. He ignored the relieved noises of the stranger with an impatient smile.

"Can we begin?" Gil interrupted his happy blubbering, leaving him to apologize frankly. It was obvious this man just loved to talk for hours. "I read your post-"

"You really did?" Mathewson cut him off already. Gil took a frustrated breath, motivating himself to calm down. Whatever this stranger said was law, wasn't it? "That's crazy because I almost wouldn't have written it. My wife, we met in college, she remembered like Hey, what about that fucked up kid," He mimicked a ridiculous high female voice. Gil rolled his eyes, otherwise remaining his coolness. "And then I thought, yeah... he could be that age. Maybe it's him. But I wasn't sure, so I didn't wanna call and then my wife proposed to write it... which I did."

Gil arched one eyebrow, waiting if the man had finally finished. There was zero left of that grogginess, that man was wide awake by now. It's not often the major crimes lieutenant calls you late at night. "Why do you think that kid might have been suspicious?" Gil asked finally.

The man bloomed like a flower. "Yes!" He exclaimed as if he had been waiting his whole life for this to happen. Gil couldn't suppress a warm smile. "So, when I still lived there I went to college in NYC and that was the cheapest apartment I could get. If you ignore the train bills, at least I was close to the station." Gil made a mental check. It fitted with Malcolm's profile. He profiled a location. A house.

"I wasn't often in that town therefore, but that wasn't necessary to know how... weird these people were. I always heard screaming every single night. I bet the father was violent. I don't know much about the mother though, I barely got to see her. But I did see her son. He sat in the garden whenever I left for college. He was good with the neighbor cats."

Gil leaned forward on his knees, concentrating on nothing else than the stranger’s story. Even when they hadn't cleared the name yet, Gil was sure it was about their killer. He got to experience all of that firsthand.

"Then one day, the boy sat with me on the train every morning. I guess he was going to school. Or I hoped. I think he really went to work and earn some money because his father was plain stupid. It's just sad. I felt pity for that kid. Until I knew how fucked up he was."

Gil widened his eyes in excitement. "Explain further," He demanded eagerly.

"Well," Mathewson sighed, "I said he was good with animals. Cats were drawn to him. One day, my cat Billy disappeared. I searched for him everywhere, he just vanished. It was stupid, I know, but did some digging. Literally." He snorted sarcastically. "That bastard killed him. I know it. I just can't prove it. He killed my cat and after I did some research... Does reading crime novels count as research? Anyway, most killers start with animals and such stuff. You would know that, right?"

Gil nodded slowly, one hand on his chin. "Indeed. Those are tendencies. Although it isn't bulletproof, especially since you can't prove it really was him," He explained briefly. He didn't care about the cat, he wanted to move on. "Are you still living there?" Gil questioned further.

Mathewson laughed. "Wha- Me? Live there? Hell nah!" He blurted out bluntly. "As soon as I received my degree I was outta there. That Hicksville was crap from the beginning, my freaky neighbors were the cherry on the top. I moved with my once fiancé now wife to Waterbury and honestly? It sucks here. I was thinking of going back to NY, that's when I found out about the serial killer, so I'm considering how about Philadelphia? Or how about-"

"That's great. That's good for you," Gil interrupted awkwardly, sorry but not sorry. It was hard to break through Mathewson’s talking bubble since it was also comfortable to hear him talk. Unfitting with his quirky behavior he had a deep and calming narrator voice. It didn't fit, yet he enjoyed it so much. "I need to find this house," Gil revealed his motives urgently. Mathewson seemed to understand. Why else would Gil call him in the very early morning hours?

"Sure." The other man nodded and slowly dictated the exact location address. Gil grabbed a pen to copy it. Otherwise, he'd forget it in seconds. "Do you also remember their name by any chance?" Gil asked mid-writing, closing up to the end.

"The Colemans of course."

Mathewson replied with such seriousness. Was he aware of how much damage his words could deal if they were wrong?

Gil snapped his fingers, satisfied with the answer. That was their guy. That was a big step in the right direction. Victory never felt so good.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Mathewson." Gil closed his notebook loudly, settling for an end. Mentally, he was already ending the call and aiming for his detectives. They had a good time to drive.

"One second, is it really him?" Mathewson called after him nervously. He very much seemed concerned. Why would he be? That kid killed his cat?

Yet Gil could understand. He had been just a kid. Not raised in the best conditions.

"Yes," Gil confirmed coldly. He assumed it couldn't hurt to tell this one man after his efforts. The case should be closed in the next few days anyway. Coleman was as good as arrested. "I hope you'll treat this highly confidential information according to the circumstances," He added professionally to ease his mind.

"Yeah, sure, of course. No doubt," The man stuttered dumbfounded. Gil pitied him. He wasn't a bad man for worrying for a convicted criminal. He partly knew about his hard childhood. If Gil had learned anything in his job, then that you can't excuse your deeds for a traumatic background. It wouldn't serve justice. It wouldn't be fair to those innocent victims who had to suffer under it.

Gil parted his lips, ready to let reassuring words flow from his mind. That comfort he always provided Malcolm with.

He didn't find any.

His brain was dried out. If hope would be water, his inner self would be a desert. Yet there, behind the dunes, there it was. Gil squinted his eyes to see it clearer than ever.

Water.

Fresh water, gently embedded in green plants and huge trees. His broken lips parted, heaving in thirsty breaths into his dry mouth. He stalked closer, feeling it more than ever. Hope spreading through his body like a poisonous disease. To open his eyes and recognize the blooming hope. To be nothing more than a mirage.

A Fata Morgana.

Notes:

I am so upset that my updates stretch into full weeks. I swear, I want to finish both, but I'm currently writing a new one which I'm enjoying way too much. I can't really focus on anything else right now, but I'm trying to manage. I'm not exactly doing great, but in the end, I did upload, no?
Next one to go is Tasteless!

Chapter 27: Chapter 26

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

JT took a big gulp of water while massaging his temples. His eyes were beginning to burn since all the adrenaline had vanished into thin air. He soothed his sore throat by drowning the whole glass of water.

Dani trudged into the silent kitchen from the bathroom. Her hair wasn't messy anymore, but the dark bags under her eyes already ruined her look. She was fully clothed in her usual black and tight outfit. Ready to start the day, despite it being so damn early.

JT shook his head disapprovingly. "This is a nightmare," He grumbled disappointed under his breath, searching for a source to get himself fit and awake. His attention got dragged to Malcolm standing cautiously behind the counter. "You have no idea," The profiler snorted with his wrecked humor. He wished to swallow back his words when JT shot him a furious glare.

"Six o'clock, Bright. What the hell!" JT snapped. If he'd have enough energy he'd jump up and smack the profiler. It was annoying as hell to see that at least Malcolm was wide awake.

Earlier in the night, JT had guided Malcolm to the guest room and thrown him onto the bed where he proceeded to sleep peacefully. Naturally, JT had had a good feeling for this night. He had proceeded to rest next to Bright, sleep a few hours, and it was paradise. If it wouldn't have been for this maniac to literally scream JT out of his peaceful slumber. The profiler had thrashed around, kicking the detective while being at it. JT had jumped off the bed, studying Bright as if he were possessed by a demon. Unfortunately, he was no exorcist.

Luckily, Malcolm's screeching had attracted his other roommates. Gil had stormed in first, probably never having slept in the first place. Dani had dashed into the room only seconds after. JT had tried to shake Malcolm out of the nightmare, or terror whatever, to no avail though. Dani, who had stood right at the door, received the order to grab a bowl full of water. Meanwhile, JT and Gil had tried their best to calm down the feral man in the bed. Fortunately, Malcolm hadn’t jumped up to run around blindly through Gil's apartment.

The horror scenario had ended with a big splash on Malcolm's face. His eyes had immediately shot open in panic, his head shaking disorientated. Gil had grabbed him by his shoulders before anything else could be done. Dani and JT could only watch in silence as Gil had whispered soothing words to Malcolm. Let alone their raspy breaths filled the room in disturbing noise.

The drama pretty much had ended with Gil and Malcolm hugging. Dani had experienced clear Deja vue, how Malcolm desperately hung into the embrace just like during their first encounter.

The detectives managed to calm down, but their ability to sleep had been killed. They left the room to prepare for the day nevertheless. Or more important, to process what just had happened and cope with that.

JT had accepted Malcolm's apologetic offer for a mug of coffee. He knew the young man didn't hold any blame. He suffered more than them. Though there was a reason for JT's behavior. He didn't want to dwell on those experiences any longer. He figured he wouldn't like to get treated special. It would be just a reminder of all the bad things that resulted in him being a wreck.

So, he treated Malcolm like he normally would, hoping the profiler wouldn't take things too seriously. After all, JT didn’t hate him. Maybe a little bit. He hated him like a little brother.

"Next time you go all nuts you better give a warning first," JT huffed into his warm coffee. Malcolm smiled sadly at the statement. "I'll try my best," He winced. He passed Dani a coffee as well. She accepted it mutely.

Gil was the complete opposite of them.

Although he hadn't found a chance to close his eyes in the past hours, he was wide awake. Energetically he marched into his kitchen, a big grin plastered on his normally stern face.

"What are you goofing at?" JT hissed peevishly. Dani simply frowned at him, not stating any comment so far. Unlike JT she preferred to think before talking.

Bright lifted his own mug of coffee to his lips. The glint he recognized in Gil's eyes left him hesitating in the last seconds. He smirked knowingly. "You found something out, didn't you?" He muttered convinced into his mug.

Gil affirmed with a decent nod. JT turned directly to Gil, Dani widening his eyes at him. "Seriously?" She blurted out.

Bright nodded at Gil to spill the beans. He was curious, although he had a vague idea what this new information was about.

Gil walked to the empty spot the counter left him, receiving everyone's attention willingly. "I found a neighbor," He announced proudly. His detective’s faces barely lightened up. "He confirmed weird and suspicious stuff going around there. Apparently, the kid also murdered his cat." Gil added at the side.

Malcolm picked that information up, nipping on his coffee. "That was to be expected," He murmured to himself.

Gil pulled out the address and pushed it to the middle of the counter. Everyone cast a curious glance at the noted location. "He also confirmed the killer's name. We have our house," Gil declared with a firm voice, hope and confidence catching the detectives off guard.

"That's great," Malcolm chirped joyfully, already checking the distance in his phone. "The drive is not too long, we should immediately check it out," He suggested. Gil couldn't agree more.

Instantly they prepared for the trip, dressing up appropriately for the cold weather. It was when Malcolm tangled the grey scarf around his neck Dani spoke up.

"Can we quickly drive by to the precinct?" She mentioned politely. She didn't expect someone to turn off her request. "Sure," JT consented. Malcolm didn't feel uncomfortable about it either.

"No," Gil decided harshly. Dani frowned at him.

"Seriously? I really need to pick something up. It'll be quick," She promised. Gil shook his head vehemently.

"There's not enough time," He explained strictly. The two men studied him irritated. Gil's weird behavior was beginning to become more than just 'concerning'.

"And why's that?" Dani pushed further, crossing her arms before her chest. She glared at him challengingly. "The house won't run away."

Gil stepped back, debating how he could defuse this situation without raising too much suspicion. They were already doubting him enough. Why couldn't he just tell them the real deal? Would they help out with his crazy plan or would they advise against it? The longer he'd wait, the worse the consequences would turn out to be.

"Alright fine. I guess we can manage a quick drive by," Gil surrendered. He wasn't let off the hook for a last scan from Dani's side. She turned around and minded her own business again. JT almost forgot about it instantly.

Only Malcolm didn't. Gil met with those dangerous blue eyes of his, knowing they never stopped profiling him. Rummaging around his brain for the needed answers. It left Gil a little bit dizzy and disoriented, as if Bright literally turned around thought after thought to uncover the truth. So long, he left empty-handed.

The drive to the precinct was quickly done. Gil thought about waiting at the car. He figured that would be nothing more than silly. Anyway, it was still so early in the morning. He doubted the FBI had arrived yet. They could sneak in and out. Solve the case, arrest Coleman, and explain to the FBI. It sounded all too simple in his head. How goes the saying again? Easier said than done.

The group walked into the precinct, immediately heading for each their own desks. Gil entered his office, too. There was nothing he wanted to do in there. He was overwhelmed by the latest events, all taking place in this very location. It would take a good amount of time to refund the trust he had anchored into this room. If it wasn't too late. Too much had happened for it to be ignored.

He exited the office without having done a thing. He regrouped with his detectives, nodding at them to leave. Malcolm didn't share that sentiment. His attention was somewhere else. Gil almost walked into that distraction.

"Lieutenant Gil Arroyo," The venomous voice chirped gleefully. Gil stumbled back into the safety of his team. Although he doubted he'd still receive their trust.

"What is she doing here?" Malcolm pressed out behind gritted teeth, hatred marking his usually kind eyes. JT and Dani scanned the area doubtingly, wondering which film was currently on. This seemed like a version of the Watkin's part. Only with much more force.

"Uh, what's going on?" Dani spoke out loud for everyone.

Special agent Swanson granted her a belittling look. "What does it look like?" She smiled. "We're taking your case."

Gil cursed her for revealing the very information he kept away from his detectives. He hated that they had to find out from her, although he had been given plenty of chances to confess the truth.

But the worst part? He loathed the woman for enjoying this so much. Just so she could rub it under Malcolm's nose. He begged for her to have a little taste of what his kid had to go through. That would be enough to disturb her and teach her some respect.

"Hold up-" JT's hands shot up, his features slowly forming into anger. Dani stomped next to Gil holding up her naked finger against Gil's face.

"Did you really use us to do the dirty work for them?" She snarled disgusted. None of the males ever experienced her that threatening. And that for a good reason. "Work through the night, solve the case, and then throw the laurels at them?" She snapped.

From the corner of his eyes, Gil noticed the displeasure creeping onto Colette's face. "Wait, did you seriously plan to solve the case on your own instead of following direct orders?" Swanson joined in, almost as angry as Dani. Solely by emotions, the two women could be mistaken for twins.

Gil's team was crumbling apart, and he was probably going to face a longer suspension than anticipated. Gil had several problems he couldn't escape nor fight. Malcolm added another one to that list.

"Blackmail," He muttered, his chin planted in his palm.

"Excuse me?" Gil and Swanson questioned simultaneously. Bright faced them repeating his guess louder.

"You were blackmailed, weren't you?" It only made sense. Malcolm had Gil figured out earlier, he suspected the man was eager to let the case drop. He was more surprised than any of them when Gil asked them to come over to solve the case.

Things didn't add up, and Bright suspected something bigger behind this abrupt mood change. It slipped his mind when he was too eager to solve the case. By no later than now the reality was clearer than ever. Everything made sense. Yet so ever the truth is nothing more than a black hole that feeds upon your happiness while leaving your empty mind in a pit of misery.

"It's Coleman's game, the fourth round. It isn't over yet," Malcolm realized coldly, ignoring the rising panic of his friends. Swanson's head traveled forth and back from Malcolm to Gil, a questioning expression printed on her face.

"Alright, you better fill me in," She snorted annoyed, lowering her pressure on one foot and stemming her hands on her hips.

Gil's head sunk ashamed. "Gil, don't tell me he's right." Dani touched his arms apologetically, panic quivering in her voice. Gil shook away her hand, forcing himself to look at them and confess the truth they deserve.

"He's right."

Two words. Two simple words. To Swanson they barely made sense. To the rest, a new trip to the gates of hell lightened their path.

"I'm so sorry guys. He told me to keep the case and not lose it to the FBI. He hacked into my PC for that," Gil blurted out like a waterfall. It clearly felt easier since he didn't need to carry the weight on his own anymore.

"Why wouldn't you tell us?" Dani retorted in disbelief. Maybe she could imagine the answer, but she refused to accept it. Malcolm agreed whole-heartedly.

"Yeah. That changes the profile drastically. Declining to climb up the ladder of higher challenges? Why would he refuse to mess with the FBI?" Bright mused, despite knowing how serious this was, he couldn't hide his enthusiasm completely.

"Because he knows he would lose?" Colette threw in without knowing what in particular was going on right now. The team ignored her with pleasure.

"Because he evolved," Bright realized with a wicked smile. He looked at his teammates, the horror sinking into his gut. His smile crumbled, his face freezing in terrifying revelation.

"Because it became personal."

Coleman began this hunt with his eyes out for a challenge. Did he already focus to reach the FBI? Or did he never think so high? Most importantly, when did he drop his former intentions? When did this thing become so personal to him that he'd refuse any higher options and stay with major crimes?

Round three. Two truths, one lie. All the puzzles connected in Bright's brain. All his mistakes led up to this very point. He could literally count his mistakes, yet the impact they caused was impossible for a mere mortal to carry.

The first mistake was to trust his father's advice. Play his own game. That was what attracted the killer to them. What made him change his motives, what triggered his development.

The second mistake was made when Bright decided to trust his hope in humanity. Working against his belief. It was probably the greatest mistake. It decided the grounding for Coleman's master plan. It plastered the lonely bricks into a decent path into their own doom.

Malcolm set everything in motion for Coleman to destroy them. He served the devil's hand without realizing it. Maybe the idea of him and criminal intentions wasn't that far-fetched as primarily thought?

"Why wouldn't you tell the FBI about the threat?" Dani questioned, searching for acceptable reasoning, if there even was one. "Or at least us?" JT added. They were obviously hurt by the lack of trust their boss held upon them. They didn't understand. Neither did Gil. All the control had slipped from his grasp, he found it hard to comprehend what was happening and how it could've gone so far? How could have the person guarding the responsibility let this happen? Wasn't that him who failed so hard? Lieutenant Gil Arroyo, Major Crimes from the NYPD?

Gil exhaled in defeat. "I couldn't. I didn't want to worry you. I thought, if we could close this case before... no harm would be inflicted," He confessed ashamed. Swanson arched her eyebrows.

"Well, you thought wrong," She deadpanned coolly. The number of glares the team sent her increased dramatically.

"No matter what, this case is now in the capable hands of the FBI." Colette declared ignorantly.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with," Dani warned her with a deep growl. Swanson smiled at her, putting no effort in disguising her disrespect towards the detectives. She didn't take them seriously.

"You can't take the case," Gil realized strictly, putting himself between the files and Colette.

"But I will," She declared determined, trying to dodge and snake past him. Gil blocked the path always in the last second.

"I fear we won't be able to carry the consequences," Gil explained, hoping to ring in some sense into Colette. This wasn't just about rubbing into Malcolm's nose how good she is. This case determined over all their fates. He was not going to let her play with his friend's life carelessly.

"How about we work the case together?" Dani suggested. JT nodded supporting. "We'll make it look like the case is still within Major Crimes, but actually the FBI is helping."

Colette frowned unamused. "Helping?" She spat back disapprovingly. Gil shook his head.

"That won't do. His eyes and ears are everywhere. He'll find out," He warned. He didn't doubt Coleman's capability for another second.

"He won't know highly internal information. He can't know everything, Gil." Dani countered back. Gil gave her a cold glare.

"And what about Jeff's?"

Dani lost her breath, her eyes widening. Her face heated up in seconds, pearls of sweat tickling on her temple.

"Who's Jeff?" Colette threw in with her arms crossed before her chest. Malcolm couldn't contain his emotions anymore.

"Oh my god! Gil!!" He burst out in disbelief, his hands clapping over his mouth. Everyone interpreted immediately that Gil was the one who made the mistake. That he had been too naive although it was blindly obvious. He himself would believe it right away, although he never would manage to see his own mistake.

Colette groaned frustrated. "Am I surrounded by incompetent idiots?" She snarked. JT run out of patience for her unnerving attitude. "You shut up!" He snapped, pointing his finger at her. "You have no idea how messed up this is." Colette eyed him shocked, yet slightly impressed with how he dared to talk back at her. Without the adrenaline pumping through his blood, he probably would've never managed.

Dani scowled at Malcolm. "Actually, Gil does have a point." She spoke against Malcolm's outburst. Of course she would, she didn't know. How could she? He kept it secret, refused to inform them of his sins. How could he have known the gigantic impact it would provoke?

He should've known, he's smart. An expert psychologist. He should've seen this coming. No matter how he looked at his, he couldn't wash away the blood of his hands. The blood of Jeff and his fellows.

"No... no, no, no…" Malcolm panicked, shaking his head between his trembling hands.

"Bright?" Gil dragged him out of the vortex, looking at him intently. Demanding answers.

"It's my fault," Bright revealed suddenly. He even surprised himself how fast that passed the judgmental barrier at his lips.

The group widened their eyes, even Swanson. It wasn't often that Bright confessed to his mistakes. Not because he always strived to be right, even if that meant to walk over sharp shards of lies. It's because normally, Malcolm doesn't make mistakes. It's for a reason.

"What do you mean it's your fault?" Gil spoke out loud for everyone, determined to still his curiosity. He needed to know the details of why Malcolm believed this was his fault. There was no way he could blame himself.

"I told Coleman about Jeff's," He confessed ashamed. Maybe Gil was wrong and there actually was a little gap where Malcolm could've done something less right?

"Wha- When? Was it during round three? When JT raced through the city?" Gil pestered Malcolm further with questions. Malcolm turned to his side, every new question hitting deep into his gut.

"Definitely not," JT meddled in. He didn't remember much of what happened during that period, but it seemed highly impossible that something remotely like that had happened. Malcolm verified his statement with a nod.

"It was after the crash. Before the ambulance pulled up he called," Bright explained. He could see Colette shake her head in the distance. She had all rights to do so.

"Why?" Dani spoke up behind him. Malcolm turned around to face his partner. She glared at him, aghast of what he did. "Why would you tell him?” She snarled, images of the corpses flashing through her mind. Not just any corpses. Those had been good people. Friends. They only have known them for an evening, yet it felt like she had lost her closest uncles. There was a hole in her heart that couldn't be fixed. And now her friend told her he was partly at guilt?

Bright was smarter than this, he informed them on his profile he made himself. That Coleman is cold and heartless, unable to form relationships. Why would he appeal to Coleman's humanity if he knew there wasn't any?

Bright lowered his head, unable to stand the judgmental glare of his friend. "I had the slightest hope there was still a human inside him. The means I risked to use are unforgivable," He recognized. He had knowingly played with the lives of innocents. Coleman would've never found out if he just kept his mouth shut.

Gil grabbed Malcolm by his shoulder and turned him around. "You should've told us," He insisted sternly. Malcolm nodded, his wet eyes reflecting within the lights.

"I know, I just, I … I couldn't?" He stuttered. He turned around, fixating his eyes on the window. "It's not like I forgot some burgers or designed a logo wrong." He sighed. "When I make mistakes, they're a huge deal. Because in my line of work I gamble with life and death."

He faced his team, not even flinching from Swanson’s icy judgmental eyes. "I couldn't tell you because I already hated myself so much for what I did," He confessed.

"I couldn't stand the idea of the people I care for hating me equally."

Dani widened her eyes, gaping wordlessly at Malcolm. Gil smiled warmly at the scene, stemming his hands on his hip. He cast Dani a mildly reproachful look. "Looks like you're not the only one with these thoughts," He told Malcolm, intently looking at Dani.

Suddenly, she was very ashamed for judging Malcolm so quickly. In the end, they were all much more alike than they realized. Hiding relevant information from each other, blaming themselves 24/7. They were all a bunch of broken people.

Dani offered Malcolm a reconciling smile when the speakers above their heads cracked into life.

"Aww, what a sweet reunion." None other than Bennett Coleman cooed into the room.

Swanson spun around in panic, the rest remained still. It sounded absurd, but they kind of had gotten used to this invasion. Only the other officers and detectives shared Swanson's lack of knowledge.

"I have to admit, using Jeff's was a dirty bluff of mine. But it did work thanks to Malcolm," He chirped into the whole precinct. Malcolm's head sunk down, weighing heavier than a boulder. Dani slightly stepped next to Malcolm protectively, crunching her teeth.

"Gil!" The killer redirected his attention. His gleeful voice was too paradoxical for this situation. "You failed!"

Gil tightened his palm into a fist. "You're wrong! The FBI isn't yet charged with the case." He objected weakly, although it very much was the truth. The FBI was already on the case. Only Gil refused to give them the files, officially though, he couldn't change much.

"You lost this game lieutenant. That makes 4:0. For me obviously." Coleman ignored him. It struck Gil immediately. The Game Master was only announcing. He couldn't actually hear them, only see when the time is right and plant the recorder. Which left the chances open he was actually here in this precinct and not recording the whole fiasco.

"But behold, long is nothing lost!" Coleman proclaimed enthusiastically. "There is still one chance for each of you in the FINAL BATTLE!"

It was everything Gil needed to know. The fourth round was over, lost. The never-ending question of what would follow up after the last game, simple. A fifth round. Not just any round. The finals.

One look at Malcolm's torn open eyes was enough for Gil to realize that he knew. He knew the last game already. So, Gil ignored Coleman's words, marching over to Malcolm, and grabbing him tight on his shoulder.

"What is it?" He asked right away. Malcolm staggered away, unable to gain some distance between themselves due to the hard grip. He faked an unknowing face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," He lied nervously.

Gil grabbed his other shoulder as well, digging his eyes into Malcolm's. "Bright. We need to know what's going to happen. Otherwise we can't react properly," He explained. Bright opened and closed his mouth, no sound escaping. Gil accidentally shook him. "You need to tell us, Malcolm. Right. Now!"

Malcolm swallowed hard. He blocked out every external noise and fully concentrated on Gil.

"What is the last game?"

Malcolm closed his eyes. He breathed in. And out.

"It's Hide and Seek."

Notes:

How is everything burning

Chapter 28: Chapter 27

Notes:

Hey ho! I wanted to give you at least one update as a little present for the day!
Happy Easter! Enjoy your day and do what you love!

Chapter Text

Gil turned around confidently, the situation tight and safe in his hands. He walked past Colette, ignoring her while she’s occupied shouting out orders to her team. Her words were irrelevant. Gil was the one in charge. He carried the burden of responsibility hard on his shoulders. Yet he guarded it with his life. He had a plan for the next minutes, if successful even for days. All he needed was for everyone to follow his lead. Fortunately, lieutenant Gil Arroyo knew how to make people listen to his demands.

His hand shot sharply to the side. "Dani, JT!" Both detectives snapped their heads to him. They were ready to kick butts, one in particular. Despite the earlier inconveniences, they decided to trust Gil, clearing the stage for him. He carried utmost respect for their loyalty.

"You're with me. We'll search the precinct for Coleman," He called out his orders. Coleman was still here. He knew it. That man began to crave the adrenaline. Killers whose gain was personal searched their victim's presence. Coleman was no different.

He sent both detectives running after their gun and spreading out. Gil faced the remaining pair, Colette and Malcolm. "Special agent Swanson, I need you to protect Malcolm Bright," He ordered coolly.

Colette's expression darkened. "I am not his babysitter," She snarled, throwing a disgusted glance at the profiler who looked just as displeased about the arrangement.

"And I am definitely not subordinated to you."

Colette automatically flinched back when Gil made steps towards her. "I know. It perfectly makes sense. You're smart, quick-witted, and a resourceful independent woman. You deserve your status," Gil said, sweetened her mind, flattering her to a degree where it genuinely confused her. She could see his plan if she wouldn't be blinded by his charming words.

"That's exactly why I beg you to do this," Gil emphasized, careful to make it look like she was in control while stripping her of all decisions. "There's no one else who could earn my trust right now. We need you," Gil continued. His eyes hardened, his expression turning severe. "I need you to be the professional FBI special agent. Right now, Bright is nothing more than a civilian in grave danger. You need to protect him at all costs."

Gil waited for Colette's reaction, although he was ready to storm away before she could disagree. The time was screeching into his ears. Every second he wasted staring at Colette was lost. Lost time that could’ve been used to find Coleman and bring him down.

Colette fought her dumbfounded expression. She backed off, showing Gil her cold shoulder. Her glare was filled with hatred.

"This once," She muttered in a low growl.

Relief washed through Gil's body. He watched Swanson grab Bright by his wrist and drag him to the emergency exit. Gil nodded. They would see again. No need to worry. Bright was with Swanson and several FBI agents. If they'd lose towards one single man, then Gil would give up on humanity.

He pulled out his weapon and kicked out the safety catch. His finger rested tensely on the trigger. He moved quickly through the precinct, heading for one place in particular. No doubt Coleman had seen the commotion through the surveillance camera. He would logically attempt to flee. Not if Gil managed to cut him off.


The two pairs of feet shuffled through the hallway and down the metallic staircase. None of them said anything, only their heavy breathing filled the silence between them. They reached the lonely alleyway. She didn't give Bright time to catch his breath from the unexpected sprint and swiftly dragged him out of the alley.

Malcolm didn't struggle under her death grip. He followed her wordlessly, remembering it was Gil's wish. Furthermore, Malcolm wasn't stupid. He stood fewer chances alone. Admittedly, he wasn't sure if the female agent by his side was such an improvement in his misery.

Colette adjusted her micro, ordering a van to the next street, all while she was still running. There was no one behind them anyway. Still, Swanson treasured the idea of going fast and never stopping once. She probably believed the second they allowed some rest to wait for the car to show up they would be doomed. Although, it made sense to bring as much distance from them to the precinct.

Bright watched her back as he tried to keep up with Colette, when a sharp pain on his right cheek sent him stumbling to the side and crashing down. Swanson spun around, dodging a fist just in time. Instinctively she punched the attacker, hard, her second punch sending his mind to a setback and the third one making him kiss the ground.

She regretted abandoning her team at the precinct. She had figured their help might be needed most at the scene to secure the killer. She underestimated the trouble magnet Bright was infamous for.

More men appeared from the alley they’d just passed. Choosing fight over flight, Swanson stormed full force to the second attacker, preventing him from touching Bright's still cradled form. She raised her knee, ramming it into the man's stomach. When he made the mistake to hunch down in pain, her elbow struck down mercilessly, hitting him like a hammer on his neck. She watched him drop, knowing he was out cold before his body met with the ground.

She had barely time to turn around when she found herself walking backwards, pushed by a man with his paw on her throat. She gasped panicked, colliding against the cold wall. It pressed the remaining air off her lungs, leaving her to fight more desperately. Sucking in breaths with no reward. A sharp slap redirected her face to the other side, she was busy blinking away natural tears.

The imminent danger went limp, slacking down to the ground in surprise. The man wheezed for air like a fish on land, a deep and ugly rattle emerging from his throat.

Colette's eyes shot up to meet Bright's blue ones. His flat hand was still raised in his previous attack to the enemy's throat. Swanson's eyes scanned the area, noticing four men on the ground, out cold. Only two of them were familiar, so the other ones showed up when she was inhibited in her actions. One man had a split lip and whimpered pathetically on the ground while clutching his stomach.

Colette sent Bright an incredulous look. Malcolm returned a glare, his hand sinking down and settling on his hip. "You tend to forget we were trained at the same time," He snorted, frustrated how quick people forgot about his capability. He was still a threat enough even if he was stripped of his weapons.

Swanson huffed in response. "Sure, whatever," She croaked, coughing away the soreness of her tortured neck. She limped past Malcolm, leaving him to deal with the one reawakening enemy. The groans filled her ears, but as long as she didn't see them she could pretend they weren't there.

She placed her hands on her knees, her breath wheezing. "Who the hell are those guys?" She gasped when the noises died down. Malcolm resurfaced from the side, buttoning up the end of his sleeve. She didn't miss the faint red stains on his white chemise. The blood wasn’t his.

"I wouldn't know. Our killer must've paid them to do his dirty work," He mused casually, as if nothing had happened. Swanson told herself he had had enough time to recover from his blow while she protected him. Now it was the other way round. Nothing more.

She shook her head exhausted. "Why is it always with you," She grumbled frustrated. The last time she saw him he was nothing but trouble. She couldn't go with another Christmas with this idiot getting kidnapped. That wasn't healthy. For none of them.

Malcolm shrugged innocently. "Killers like me, I guess."

"Well, they're certainly alone on that," She hissed sharply. Malcolm's mouth formed into a pout.

"Speak for yourself," He growled offended.

Bright followed after the agent, walking to where she had arranged their escape car. The fight had left their bodies and there was not enough energy to keep running. More accurately was they dragged themselves away, each person suffering mutely to their own individual pain.

"You just had to call the car to the other end of the street, very professional," Bright mocked frustrated when their walk began to feel like hours already.

"Shut up," She deadpanned, focusing on her path. "I'm not the one who was fired." She struck low but didn't care. Talking with Bright she could let all her hatred towards him stream free. It was quite liberating.

"Don't jinx it," Bright advised bitterly. Although he wished to see her dumbfounded face should she ever witness her own suspension.

They continued their walk in silence, knowing the van shouldn't be too far away. The road was full, equally was the sidewalk busy. They had barely registered the reactions of innocent bystanders while Bright and Swanson beat up those men and left them for the world to judge upon them.

Generally speaking, the two didn't notice a lot of things happening around them, instead snarking rude comments at each other. Usually, Malcolm refused to give into such childish play. So whenever they met officially, Bright built up his shields and let Swanson's hatred wash over him. He just concentrated on keeping his uncomfortable expression and force a polite attitude.

But whenever the two of them were alone (which didn't happen often), ugh. It. Is. On. They would equally throw mud at each other, constantly trying to demonstrate who the better one of them is.

Secretly, Bright enjoyed the fight between them, it was a weird relationship. But if Bright would be trapped in a room with Colette, Coleman, and Watkins with only two bullets in his gun? He would waste both on Colette.

Malcolm opened his mouth for a snarky remark when the dark FBI van entered his sight.

His shoulder was pulled back by a bypassing man. Bright naturally took a deep breath, accidentally taking a lungful of the sweet drug pressed over his lips.

Colette's elbow collided with the stranger's cheekbone. Malcolm stumbled away on wobbly feet, the ground underneath him swaying dangerously.

Swanson returned to his slightly blurry vision, grabbing his arm and dragging him rapidly to the FBI van. Malcolm obliged, staggering behind her like he was drunk.

Bright fell hard on his knees once he reached the inside of the van. Irrational panic of getting kidnapped after all submerged in him. The heavy door falling into place, an unfamiliar surrounding drowning him. Colette's fierce and out-of-place voice actually soothed his mind and prevented him from entering a state of panic.

It didn't take long for him to snap out of the mild effects the drug wore on him. Usually, nothing to be proud of, but his body was pretty resistant towards sedatives. That really helped in situations like these. Although it really was a pain in the ass when he was in the hospital, which happened more often than the attempts of getting kidnapped.

"Where are you bringing me?" His words were slurred and a little sluggish. Nevertheless, still audible for the FBI agent right next to him.

"To a safe house." She replied briefly, her attention focused on the street.

Malcolm pushed himself up. "You can't bring me into a safe house!" He urged stressed.

Swanson frowned at him. "And that is why exactly?" She huffed less amused.

Malcolm swallowed hard. His tongue didn't only seem to weigh 10 pounds, it also felt so hairy, making it very challenging for him to speak. "Because else we won't be able to lure him out. That's our only chance! We have nothing against him," He elucidated.

Colette shrugged. "That's not your business anymore," She declined harshly. "You're going into a safe house, I'm not having you kidnapped again," She added, a subtle groan supporting her annoyance.

Malcolm shook his head defiantly. "You don't understand-" He started but was interrupted in record time.

"I already don't trust you Bright. Don't make this worse for yourself," She revealed brutally, no hints of mercy in her voice. Bright closed his mouth reluctantly, leaning his back at the wall of the car. Colette wouldn't hesitate to act if he made any signs he was suspicious. An accomplice to their killer. Only because his father was a serial killer.

Sometimes, Malcolm wished he could wipe out his past and start a completely new life. Without prejudices or doubts towards his loyalties. He thought the hardest battle would be to become a special agent despite the obstacles his past plastered his path with. Turned out his fight would never really end. He would never be free of his father's sins for the rest of his life. So the wish to wipe out his past was just a waste of precious energy which he strongly needed to get through this life.

Even then, would he really retort to such a drastic method? The past is what defines you. It made Malcolm the man he is today. It gifted him with the motivation to perfect his talents to the limit. If his father never turned out to be a murder, would Malcolm or Ainsley really have gotten out of the family business? Would they have been granted the chance to fulfill their dreams or would they sit at the banquet right now? Chat with rich snobs and get bored?

Although Malcolm had to admit, a glass of whiskey would be far more pleasant than being escorted to a safe house. Quarantine. Never experienced it before, but who can tell that from themselves?

He wondered which special agent could be afforded to be dispatched for this mission. Maybe Mr. Straight-face over there? Or the nervous rookie behind Swanson? Or the stone-faced driver? Everyone would be horribly boring. He couldn't even begin to imagine how long he would need to survive this threat. Days. Weeks?

Though at the same time he had to ask himself: Would it be better than some quality time with Coleman?

"Can you at least tell me where we're going? Or who will be guarding me?" Malcolm asked quietly, anything to push these dark thoughts further away.

Swanson glared at him, abandoning her listless conversation with the other agents. "Shut up. I'm busy," She replied shortly, returning to her conversation.

Accidentally eavesdropping, Malcolm figured this truly wasn't a real busy. It was a desperate try to hurt him by showing how good her life was. That she had friends within the FBI and generally was better off than him. She saw the bonds he had with the other detectives. She longed to compete with that, yet better win. Every rookie could see how forced and listless their conversation was. She probably had no friends. A weak point. He could hit very low. And if she would be the slightest near to his psychological level, she would know how vulnerable she was to him.

Malcolm spared her. "Sure. Very busy," He huffed offended, granting Swanson the slight satisfaction. Sometimes he didn't comprehend why he was nice to people who didn't deserve it.

Swanson turned around sharply, incredulity in her eyes. Malcolm widened his eyes surprised. He underestimated her. She was very well aware of her vulnerability and how obvious it was. So she clearly noticed Malcolm going soft on her. Being nice. Now that was somewhat embarrassing to Malcolm. They usually never did 'nice'.

Swanson frowned, ignoring their weird moment. "Shut up, I organized a safe house for you," She snapped at him. Malcolm was glad they were back to innocently hating each other. Although this short and unspoken moment did something with them. Something both couldn't explain.

"We're being followed," The driver mentioned casually.

Swanson tore her eyes from Malcolm. "What?" She blurted out, desperately trying to catch the car. "Who?" She added while searching.

"The white van. He's been onto us for a good while," The driver elucidated, his face neutral and emotionless. Malcolm stretched himself to a straighter position, curiosity spiking him. He wanted to see his kidnappers.

Colette laid one hand on the driver's shoulder. "Can you outdrive them?" She questioned concerned. The man didn't reveal any premature signs of what his answer may be. He hid his eyes behind sunglasses and didn't budge the corner of his mouth even once. Malcolm found it impossible to read this guy. He didn’t have many blind spots in profiling.

"I'll try," The driver answered eventually. As soon as the opportunity presented itself the driver grasped it, steering sharply into the turn of the road, last second. Unfortunately, so did the other car. They took several sharp turns, Malcolm getting tossed from one side to another. He barely found any obstacles he could cling onto.

The next turn he somehow hurt his thumb. "Wow. A car chase with the FBI," He scoffed disappointed. He was annoyed of getting tossed around so much, he thought the days of getting bullied were over. "I feel honored," He grumbled, tensing up for the next harsh turn.

Swanson grinned mischievously at him. "I think he hit his head a little-" Colette gasped abruptly, her neck snapping painfully. Malcolm was hurled to the front, catching himself with his open hands. He didn't stand up, still he could tell the white van behind them continued to box them aggressively. It accelerated, suddenly driving next to them. A screeching noise filled the inside of the car.

"It's trying to push us off the street!" Colette realized panicked. The driver fought against the external force, for the first time having a more natural expression. Fear and exertion.

"Change of plans?!" Malcolm suggested all of a sudden. He hadn’t intended to meddle in. Like they said, he was just a mere civilian. On the other hand, he didn't want to die.

Colette rewarded him with a glare but remained mute. She actually waited for him to tell them his plan. Malcolm cleared his throat.

"We lure them out of the city and confront them at the side of the street," He elucidated confidently. Colette mused about it before she spoke against it. Malcolm grasped that chance to work himself a little further through this mess.

"Hey! Anybody know how far it is to the next route?" Often the routes outside the city were a little less crowded, especially in the morning. The risk of hurting innocent bystanders was lower. With the full FBI force, they could hopefully beat the next wave of kidnappers away. There was no chance Coleman was in that car. He used all his money to hire people to do his dirty work. He wasn't greedy at all. The people in the car were no different from the people on the street earlier.

"10 minutes at least," The man next to the driver calculated. Malcolm was shocked when Mr. Stone-faced man smirked challengingly.

"I can do five."

He immediately accelerated the car to an abnormal speed, which made Malcolm's head fall behind.

"Fine. We'll do your plan," Colette affirmed reluctantly, but not without pointing a threatening finger at him. "You will stay in the car." She declared. Malcolm obliged with a frustrated sigh.

The driver wasn't joking when he told them he could get them out in less than ten minutes. About five minutes later they rushed past the sign and onto the abandoned route. As predicted the car was still on their heels. At least it didn't try any further stunts. They couldn't risk killing their target after all. No result, no money. Malcolm didn't doubt Coleman would kill them for such a mistake. He figured every single one of Malcolm’s team was a valuable aspect of his plan. Destroying that could have unimaginable consequences. Either Coleman would take his own life in desperation, or he could retort to mass murdering under uncontrollable raging.

Colette timed their attack strictly, observing her surroundings for advantages in a fight. Eventually, she found what she sought.

"Stop!" She bellowed, her hand chopping down in a cut. The driver stomped onto his breaks brutally. The abrupt halt pushed the air out of their lungs, gluing Bright to the seat in front of him. The white van rushed past them, but also came to halt several miles before them. They didn't drive back. Instead, masked men jumped out, dashing aggressively towards their bus.

The FBI agents jumped up, readying their guns, and storming out of the doors. Swanson laid one hand on the driver's shoulder. "You stay here," She ordered. "If anything happens, don't hesitate to drive away. He needs to reach the Safehouse. Alive." Colette shot a look at Malcolm. Bright was speechless. The special agent stormed away before he could say anything.

She closed the door and left him.

The car didn't block all noises. Malcolm listened to the pained grunts and screams. He flinched whenever a gunshot was fired. He jerked to the other side of the car when something, or rather someone collided against it. Although he was not alone in the car, he feared the idea of someone bursting in and dragging him away. To Coleman.

Remembering he was indeed not alone, he decided to distract himself. "By the way, I'm Malcolm Bright," He spoke up, but it didn't seem to reach the ears of the remaining driver. Bright felt ridiculous, as if he was talking to himself and the stranger was secretly judging him. He bit his lip in discomfort.

"You can just call me Bright, say what's your name?" He rushed to say, again greeted with no sign or whatsoever that told him he was being acknowledged. Colette must have said something to them about him that they were so distant. Or they were just plain weird.

He puffed indignantly, crossing his arms before his chest. He wasn't letting this stranger make a fool out of himself. He leaned back, determined to mind his own business.

Then he heard everything again. The pained grunts, the cries, was that Colette? A gunshot and his muscles twitched in response. The van began to shake, Malcolm saw it clearly. The door getting torn open, a masked man stomping in and grabbing him by his hair.

He was back. Back at the office.

Bunkered in the only sane place left. Cries and screams invading his supposedly safe place. Dani storming in, trying to kill them. Coleman. The syringe. The trip.

"So, I have a cute parakeet. Called Sunshine. Do you have any pets?" Screw that idea of minding his own business. It only remembered him of the traumatic experiences in the precinct. He couldn't go back there. He needed to distract himself to stay sane. To feel safe.

Weirdly, he did feel safe. He was with the FBI. The people who never trusted him and pushed him away after everything he did for them. Yet he spent a good while of his life within the FBI. It was a part of him, if he liked it or not.

Momentarily, he liked it very much. The idea of a safe house didn't sound too bad anymore. He should convince them to add his colleagues since they could be in equal danger. Bright was only informed of Coleman's current plan, he didn't know how he would react if that fell apart. And it was falling apart.

Malcolm sighed, disappointed the agent refused to talk with him. "My mother hates my bird. I don't know why. I once had snakes, I think those should've been worse. But I think she liked the snakes more than Sunshine," He rambled on and on, happily engulfing himself in harmless memories. He realized he really missed having snakes. Maybe he should get back to that when all of this was over. His only concern was if Sunshine would be fine with snakes. Could birds get jealous?

"Never mind," Malcolm sighed. Then he smirked and winked at the driver. "Did you know I once used to be a special agent as well?" He brought up. Bright almost started talking about his family, but that was a topic he better avoided. "They fired me because they thought I was..." Malcolm trailed off, observing how the driver turned on the engine nonchalantly.

"What are you doing? They're still out there," Malcolm noted irritated. The driver continued to ignore him, the van roaring into life. Bright struggled onto his feet, shuffling over to the window. Was everything lost that the driver decided to abandon the others?

Bright's eyes locked with Colette's. She was still fighting off the masked men with the help of the other agents. They shouldn't be driving away. "Hey, wait-" He met brutally with the ground, pain flaring up in his elbow. The driver accelerated calmly. Bright glared at him irritated. He crawled nearer to the middle of the car, able to see the driver's reflection in the mirror.

He smirked.

Malcolm's heart plunged deep into his pants. He widened his eyes, the realization hitting him hard. A barrier between the driver and the passenger area appeared, closing the little gap between them. Trapping Malcolm in a completely dark cell.

The driver belonged to Coleman.

He had won.

Chapter 29: Chapter 28

Chapter Text

The wind curled around their bodies, kissing goosebumps all over their skin. It was so gentle, yet at the same time it bit into their scarfs, tearing at them violently.

The three detectives walked the promenade, barely bathed in lights. Besides the tender rustle of their clothes and their footsteps echoing, almost no sound disturbed the silent night. Not even a single bird would sing a pitiful song for them. On their walk of shame.

They were all alone. It was better this way. No one to witness their shameful march. No one to get dragged into the dark and sharply bladed vortex, spiraling them into a slow and painful breakdown.

They had thought it was over.

They had searched the whole precinct, every available cop lending them their help. Each man and woman had watched their backs as they secured room for room. None had forgotten the incident during the unexpected visit of an uninvited killer. That had motivated them to their limits, to work as the perfect team. Coleman would've stand zero chances.

If he would've been there.

At the receptionist they had found a recorder placed before the micro, replaying the words Coleman had prepared for them. Gil hadn't aimed for this room though. He had planned to catch the killer red-handed in his escape plan. He had to deliver the recorder at some point.

Gil had arrived in an empty entrance. He had hoped to find Coleman in the middle of his escape. The man must've left right after abandoning his player.

Gil had cursed, kicking an empty can like a football, hoping it could burn and crash into the wall to portray his frustration. He had lifted his head. In the blink of a second, he had looked the devil right into his eyes.

Coleman had been a few miles away from Gil, studying him with an amused expression. His hands hidden the pockets of his coat which had flapped gracefully with the wind. He had tilted his head, standing comfortable with the pressure on one foot.

Before Gil's brain had processed Coleman had smirked at him, turning around with a wink. His cold back had greeted Gil, infuriating him so he was left shaking. He had urged his muscles to follow the arrogant shape to tackle him to the ground, cuff his wrists and drag him back to the precinct.

He had halted when Coleman had retrieved one hand from his pocket, a device in his gloves. He had lifted his arm up high, the device dancing over everyone's heads. His thumb had cowered over the round button.

He pressed it.

Behind Gil's back a loud explosion roared up, splinters from broken windows catapulted into the air. People screamed up immediately, sprinting away in sheer panic. Away from the growing dark smoke. In less than a second, Coleman vanished in the crowd.

Gil wasted no time here, immediately changing his plan and storming back into the building. Without even analyzing once he already knew where the smoke was coming from. The little recorder.

Gil grabbed the fire extinguisher at the entrance and rushed up the stairs, following the faint trail of smoke gradually becoming thicker. He took two stairs at once and slid through the curves. He arrived to the first victims, stumbling through the hallway and coughing violently. Dani was among them, another woman supporting her out of the danger zone.

They had the fire quickly back in control. No soul was lost that day. Barely injuries had been inflicted. The explosion was never meant to kill. It was for show. Gil was sick of that show.

That day, the police had arrested plenty of people. Hired thugs to do his dirty work. Officers found them unconscious at the sidewalk, efficiently beaten up, assuming by Swanson and Bright. They were questioned strictly. None of them knew anything about their payer. They didn't bother. Not even when they found out they served a serial killer. They only cared about the money.

Coleman had slipped through their fingers, yet again. Technically, they could arrest him anytime, but what was it worth if they didn't catch him red-handed? They were still left without any evidence. They were about to get some when, surprise, everything started going downwards.

Dealing with the damage and arrests had taken plenty of time. Most of the day had been lost, and that without any message from Colette or Malcolm. It had clouded Gil's mind with constant worry, but somehow he had managed. He had considered no answer as a good answer. Bright had been supposed to be without a mobile anyway in the warm embrace of a safe house.

They had filed their last reports and left work. The team had met outside the entrance since they hadn't had any time to do so the whole day. They had looked completely worn out and exhausted. The relief barely had lit up Dani and JT's faces.

"That was one way to spend the day." JT joked lightly, his muscles sore and burning. Dani and Gil shared that feeling. Dani forced up a smile for him, relaxing for the first time after a time of constant tension. For now, she was just glad the day was finally over and she could take a break. Only Gil's mind was filled with dread, as he saw the press conference in his head, discussing how in the world an outsider managed to smuggle a bomb into a local police precinct.

"Did you hear anything from Bright?" Dani spoke up, distracting Gil from the inevitable future.

Gil's face softened. "No," he replied, unable to hide his worry anymore. Now that he had some free time he couldn't wait any second longer without knowing for sure what had happened. He pulled out his mobile, deciding to contact Swanson promptly. They waited in silence for her to accept the call.

"Special agent Swanson?" The woman spoke up disinterested, a decent question mark in her greeting. She probably didn't recognize Gil's number or else she would've reacted differently for sure. After everything he put them through with the false sense of protecting them this way.

"It's Gil," he answered, sparing her his full title. Officially, he was off duty, though he realized he would never stop being the person he trained himself to be, no matter what time of the day.

He felt Colette tensing up on the other end, her posture stiffening. He could hear her concerned frown. Gil suspected something to be off before it could be spoken out loud.

"What happened?" He prompted, his voice rising. Dani and JT convulsed next to him, readying themselves for the worst. Still, there was this innocent flicker in their eyes. Internally begging on their knees.

Please don't let it be something bad, please...

The answer hit them unexpected no matter how prepared they were. Knocked the air out of their lungs, churning up their abdomen with a dull knife.

"He has him."

Gil's lips parted, gasping in a burning breath. Needles stung into his eyeballs, provoking shameless tears to mark his cheeks. He expected this in a way. And he yet he refused to believe it. He refused to see Malcolm in Coleman's grasp. His hand went slack, the mobile leaving his ear. Even with all the distance, he heard Colette's worried voice loud and clear. It was obvious Dani and JT had gotten wind of what happened.

Dani reached her hand out to him, her word racked with pain. "Gil-"

The mobile collided with a shrill noise on the ground, the blue screen tearing up ugly, right in the middle. Dani stumbled away, her back meeting with JT who caught her with his open palms. Gil pressed the heel of his hands firmly against his forehead. He bent down, grunting in frustration.

"Fuck!" He bellowed to the world, repeating the curse again and again. He roared until his voice decided to pass and search for a better host. Gil sunk down on his knees, head buried in his palms, the bony ball of his hands pushing violently into his skull.

He had sworn to protect them.

Now here they were. Not even one year after Watkins kidnapping Malcolm they found themselves again in this bullshit. They were days before Christmas. They couldn't hit the nail better on the anniversary.

Ping!

An innocent tone emerging from his abandoned phone. Gil raised his head, studying the notification on his broken display.

Ping, Ping!

Dani and JT simultaneously pulled out their phones. Gil followed their lead, crawling to his phone and opening it to read the sent message. From an unknown number.

Dear Player 1,

Welcome to the finals.
The harmless warm-up phase is over, and it's not looking good for you.
Fortunately, I have good news for you.
Each one of you can still win this game.
Return to your normal life.
Doesn't that sound great?

If I sparked your interest, go for freedom.

Liberty will offer you more information.

Yours sincerely,

Game Master

So they went for liberty. Staring up the gigantic statue bravely holding up her torch. A symbolism of freedom, sure, but it meant so much more. The arduous fight behind the freedom. Walking on hot coals and eating raw shards. Liberty rarely was a gift. You had to fight for it. Gil, JT, and Dani felt this more than ever.

"What now?" JT grumbled, rubbing his cold hands to warm up. It wasn’t like they expected to meet Coleman here, the real deal. They did expect though a sign that they understood his message right. If this wasn't already a scheme from the very beginning. Although, Gil saw less sense in taking them as well. He had enough experience to know that Coleman wanted to see them struggle. Wiggle like a fish on solid ground.

"Maybe it's on her," Dani threw in skeptically. If there really were another clue, it had to be up there. They had already searched the whole area.

"Seriously?" JT grunted. "That thing’s like 300 feet up high."

Gil scanned the statue up and down, his eyes getting caught on the pedestal. "The pedestal reaches only about 150 feet, that should be enough," he considered, determined marching towards the statue. His team hesitated.

"You do realize what we're going to do isn't quite legal?" JT mentioned nervously, arching one eyebrow.

Gil turned around and scrutinized his detectives with a frown. His face lit up. "Yes." Promptly he turned around, continuing his walk to Miss Liberty. Dani shared a concerned look with JT, exhaling sharply. JT shrugged, setting on to follow their boss.

Thankfully it was night, or else this wouldn't have been so easy to climb up a well-visited statue. Mostly the absent light burdened their criminal act. Yet they were trained and fit people, they managed pretty fast to reach those gigantic toes. "Wish I brought a feather," JT joked out of breath, his bad pun gladly getting ignored.

As they reached up the pedestal, they couldn't help but remember a woman who climbed up as well on no other day than the fourth of July. A popular scandal trending through the news. Gil imagined the idea of someone finding them. The news would feed upon them like hungry vultures. If they would be fired after that stunt, Gil wouldn't be surprised anymore.

"Look." Dani perked up, her index pointing at a little box at the center. Her curly hair was going crazy in the wind. They blocked her face and covered her mouth. She combed them back strictly, fishing out single strands from her mouth.

Gil surpassed her meanwhile, cautiously reaching the gallant looking reddish-brown box. He picked it up, the wood snuggling softly in his hands. In the weak streetlight, it held a light golden spark. "Mahogany," JT commented impressed. Dani concentrated more on the lock, or better said locks. "Oh great, it has three. Probably a coincidence," she snarked sarcastically. Gil rolled his eyes at both of them.

The blue light of his phone flared up for a millisecond. It was exchanged with a black background and on each side decorated with aggressive circles. Green and red. None of these actions seemed well. Gil killed the buzzing of his phone and chose the green button, quickly putting the phone on speaker.

"Greetings, Player One!" The Game Master proclaimed enthusiastically. Gil growled annoyed as a reaction to the strange attitude, nevertheless he couldn't deny his intense motivation. Coleman wanted them to play? Bring it on. Gil would play against that bastard. He would destroy him, wanted the man on the ground begging for his death. Coleman crossed a line he shouldn't have. He’d make him regret that.

"I see you made it. Are we enjoying the sight? Quite liberating, no?" Coleman snickered gloatingly.

"What's the deal with that stupid box?" Gil ignored him, promptly directing the conversation to his own needs. Only because he agreed to play this stupid game didn't mean he would enjoy it. He was determined to finish this round in record time.

"Mh, yes. The box," Coleman purred, somehow edging closer to his own phone. "Better hold onto that," he advised casually. "It'll let you know where Malcolm and I are having a very good time."

Dani and JT jerked agitated nearer to Gil and his phone. Gil visibly tensed up, his teeth crunching even for Coleman to her. "Never choosing USPS again. They can't compete with my delivery man," he joked venomously. There couldn't be more spite drooling down his mocking fangs.

"Get to the point," Gil bit back sharply. He detested the chuckle Coleman gave them, this sweet sardonic chuckle. Disgusting.

"As you wish, lieutenant Gil Arroyo," The man sizzled with faked courtesy. Gil wondered for how long he could actually enjoy that title now that he found himself reflecting over it on top of the statue of liberty. "To open the locks you need three individual keys."

Dani rolled her eyes. "Thanks for pointing out the obvious," she grumbled.

Coleman giggled. "You're welcome."

Gil blocked Dani's path to the phone before she could stomp over there and beat the shit out of it. His phone was already a mess thanks to his outburst, but hey, as long as it was working? Gil would definitely guard it.

"Where are the keys?" Gil asked for all of them. Coleman snorted mockingly at them.

"You're the detectives. That's your job to find out," he declared coolly. Gil's hand clamped around his phone tightly. Maybe it wasn't worth the protection anyway. He'd better throw this useless device off liberty island into the wild water, Coleman close behind.

"My job is to explain the rules to you," he continued.

JT stepped forward, his interest spiked. "And those are?" He spoke up curiously.

Coleman hummed, the image of him smiling creepily going to haunt them for the rest of their life. "There are none," he whispered devilishly. "Everything's allowed in my world."

Gil smirked maliciously. "Good," he hummed in a thrill of anticipation. "I'll make you regret a lot of things. That one will be just the beginning," he threatened darkly. And he fucking enjoyed it. Cramping his hands around Coleman's throat and pressing. Drowning satisfied in his panicked eyes. Watching him realize how the devil slowly pierces his sharp nails into him, dragging him down into hell. Gil was shocked himself, but he actually wanted to murder Coleman. Didn't mean he would really do it, right?

Coleman snorted. "I'm looking forward to this," he sizzled fearlessly. Gil glared into the display, telepathically trying to choke the man.

"Alright then, have fun at the hunt!" Coleman proclaimed. Gil, JT, and Dani exchanged panicked glances, realizing their killer was going to hang up on them. Without giving them any proper information about where to find the keys.

"Oops! I almost forgot." Coleman laughed foolishly, smacking his hand on his forehead. Obviously, he did not forget. He just loved the show. "There is a reason I chose to use 'keys'," he admitted with a more severe voice. "It's the key to your freedom."

They remained silent, tasting the words cautiously. "What does that mean?" Dani muttered after a while. It was the cue their killer had waited for.

"Find the key and you're free. You win and can return to your normal life. It's your chance to buy yourself freedom."

Wonderful. It was too good to be true. Their mouth watered at the idea, to rid their life of Coleman's presence. Leave this crap behind them.

Gil frowned suspiciously. "What about Malcolm?" He remembered. Coleman inhaled through gritted teeth.

"I'm afraid I only had enough money for three keys."

Coleman chuckled. While the team furrowed their eyebrows, his laughter evolved into a loud and insane roar. Gil crunched his teeth, glancing away when the killer seemed to have the time of his life. He 'Ow-ed' in the aftereffects of his good laugh, probably stretching his back.

"No, Malcolm doesn't have that chance. His only chance is when all three of you throw away your freedom," he elucidated.

JT fell forward, his eyes widening. "Come again?" He blurted out shocked.

"The moment each one of you inserts your key into the lock, you pay with your freedom. After that, you can't escape the game anymore. Until the bitter end."

Well, it did sound too good earlier. But throwing away the hard-earned freedom to save their friend did come a little unexpected. And harsh. Gil would never doubt the team would offer this much for Bright's sake. Then again, he needed to consider how much each of them had suffered. JT had been separated from his wife, Dani left traumatized from the experiences of her round. How far would they go for a normal life? How much would they offer to forget everything? Could he demand from them to sacrifice all of that?

He wondered most, could they really lead a normal life by abandoning Malcolm? Because Gil knew he surely couldn't.

"Any questions?" Coleman singsang into the dead silence. The group looked worriedly at each other. Gil began to doubt even more what Malcolm was worth for this team. What would he do if they'd refuse to use their key to open the box? How could he hold up alone?

"Wonderful. I hope we'll see each other again. If you die in the finals or leave with the key, in that case, farewell I guess," he deadpanned coolly. Gil widened his eyes, never having even spared a thought for the difficulty the next game could hold. He never considered that he may never survive long enough to get the key. Looking at the others he realized they didn't either.

"Now then, have fun. Toodles!" Coleman chirped joyfully. Then they heard nothing more than monotone beeping. He had hung off.

Gil looked up at his teammates.

He did not know what to do.

Chapter 30: Chapter 29

Notes:

I am really sorry I've been gone for so long, I'm on a really tight schedule. I had a bit of free time before class, so I thought Why don't I update a story? So there you go, enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

What is it like to wake up in a place unknown?

To have clattering chains around your wrists, jingling a dark theme?

To be alone and experience your breath louder than a starting plane?

Malcolm could already tell you a whole story of it. And yet this experience was a new shocker. Coming unexpected. Leaving an individual and unique mark in his book of traumas.

The room, or better said cell he was tucked in was in no way similar to that of Watkins had prepared for him. With Watkins, he was allowed to keep most of his senses. He could smell the foul odor of the underground hideout. He could see the vague outlines of the room he was locked in, a warm and comforting light never leaving his side. He could taste the stiffy air on his heavy tongue. And he could talk, to keep himself sane. To prevent his mind from losing itself in self-destructive fear. Damaging his strongest weapon beyond repair.

Now, Malcolm felt nothing. It felt unreal. It was unreal, impossible to smell or taste anything. Nothing that could give him a hint of where he was. This room was neutralized, heck even the size was unknown to him. It pained Malcolm most to lose the ability to see. To scan the room for any weak points. Or something useless, like a bug crawling up the ceiling, just to entertain his mind. Considering he couldn't tell for how long he would need to spend the time here it would be helpful to know where he could relieve himself. Not a beauty to think of but nevertheless a necessary need.

So, Malcolm would use the remaining senses Coleman allowed him to have. His hands touched the area carefully around his body, feeling nothing but solid ground. He tested his legs, checking if he was still able to stand straight despite his hands being chained. He was, and that was good.

Instead of examining the room further, he crouched back down, his knees meeting the hard ground again. Since he was blind, he was taken over by the irrational fear of distancing himself from the floor. He felt much safer when his palms connected with the smooth surface.

He decided to follow the chain to its source, curious whether it was attached to the wall or the floor. Crawling like a toddler, he was surprised he didn't detect any obstacles. No stones or rough areas, the floor remained constantly smooth. Not even dust crumbled on his hand. It was relieving and stressing him at the same time. Good that he's crawling on clean ground, but he needed to feel at least something to keep his mind busy. Therefore, he placed one hand on the chain, his fingers touching the cold metal all along the way.

It didn't take long for him to reach the wall. He examined the hook on the wall his chain was attached to. Reminiscing the whole path in general it was about 9 feet to the wall.

Curious if he could find the door as well he began to scramble all over the place, testing out the range of his leash. He could not roam the room as freely as hoped. His hands tugged back and with his full height and stretching out his legs he did not meet a door. He huffed frustrated. At least he could conclude in which direction he could remember the door. His chain really helped him to build up a sense of orientation.

He checked out the other side of the room, the chain relaxing on his wrists. He scrabbled more confidently already. He didn't expect to feel anything so soon. In his memory, he tried to keep a track of when he'd be supposed to meet the last wall, which was still a few inches away.

His fingers touched the new surface first. Excitedly he lashed out both hands, touching the new thing eagerly. It was thin and covered the flawless ground. Although Malcolm quickly learned it had many layers, making the material thicker the more you took. It was soft and resistant, at the same time a little bit rough and fragile. The moment he ripped a part of it away he realized what he was touching.

He grimaced affronted.

The material laid out for him was paper. Newspaper. He realized bitterly that soon his nose wouldn't be underprivileged anymore.

Bright's ears detected faint footsteps echoing in the distance. He moaned in relief, enjoying the noise too much. Until his brain registered the issue. Rapidly he scrambled back into what he considered the middle of the room, away from the humiliating paper. He waited patiently for Coleman to arrive, to open the door and greet him politely. To elaborate him on his plans. Malcolm couldn't stand the way he was floating in between nothing.

Coleman didn't show up. The door wherever it was didn't budge. Malcolm began to count the seconds, creating the illusion of knowing the time all matters considered. He forgot the sum of his minutes after he reached somewhere between 30 and 45. So instead, he began to hum a comforting tune. He hummed until it became a necessity, hearing the song in his mind from beginning to end, again catching himself counting those minutes.

After approximately two hours he found himself forced to consider the newspaper. He stretched it out as long as possible, until his bladder burned, and his body began to tremble. He swallowed down his pride while he crawled over to the area. He opened his pants with shaking fingers, cursing himself for refusing to put on a belt this (or the last?) morning. He could pick the locks in less than a few minutes.

Still his current problem wouldn't be resolved. So he did what his body needed him to do, his face flaring up in shame as he listened to the lapping sound of his urine.

After that, the room didn't smell neutral anymore, and Bright missed it.

He scurried to the opposite of the room, as far away as his leash allowed him to. He buried his head in his lap, holding up his knees with his arms. He hummed his comforting tune, but in the end, he sounded lonelier than anything else. It didn’t appeal to his content, not at all.

He fidgeted until it became a steady movement. Like a dog he scrambled around, searching for the most convenient position. In his stress, he almost brushed over the object he must’ve overlooked during his expedition.

A bowl of water.

For how long did Coleman plan to keep him in this black hole?

He picked up the bowl, taking a few careful sips, sighing towards the cooling water healing his dry throat. He was mindful not to use up everything just at the beginning, couldn’t he know how long this torture was supposed to last.

He left the tiny bowl that grew emptier faster than he’d liked and scurried into a corner. Burying his face in his lap. Humming again. Breaking off into sobs. He bit his lips, swallowed everything back.

He needed to save water. Precious water.

He forced himself to hum the once comforting tune, couldn’t remember the origins of this tune anymore. Didn’t remember the intention of the song anymore. It just sounded cruel, vicious, and mocking.

This way he sang himself into a dismal sleep.

He drifted in and out of sleep, memories vague of the time he spent awake. Nothing seemed real and he was floating in nothingness. He wondered why Coleman wasn't showing himself, hadn't he been saying he wanted some quality time? So why was he ignoring him, not even dropping by once or twice for food or water? The walk of shame to the newspaper became easier. He knew it was limited. At one point there would simply be nothing left for him to relieve.

The strong and stinging scent gradually lost importance. Malcolm wiggled in his hold, given up on keeping an eye on the time or the location he currently was at. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he was currently awake or dreaming. He was floating in nothing. Only his body ached on the harsh ground he was forced to spend his whole day, even sleep. Wait, what if it was currently night and he failed to realize?

Malcolm giggled softly at the thought. The door burst open, Malcolm shot with dazzling light.

He wheezed, shocked, but his lungs seemed paralyzed. Or whatever the reason was he didn't manage to suck in air properly. He clenched his eyes shut, a weak attempt to recreate the pleasant darkness he had gotten used to. His senses got kicked away all at once, a painful tinnitus torturing him from the inside.

How much time Malcolm needed to recover from that blow, he did not know. He was also unsure what exactly happened during that particular time. He breathed in with a shudder, relieved he succeeded. His eyes still weren't used to the bright light, but his instincts didn't grant them any more time. He forced them to work, squinting painfully against the burning.

He recognized blurry outlines, a dark and weird shape blocking the hole in the wall. His whole room was purely white and not even one corner was left without light. It would probably even be too bright for the normal eye.

Bright's senses kicked in, the smell of his excrements penetrating his nostrils with a newborn force. But there was something else. Something sweet and … edible?

Food.

Malcolm's eyes scanned the shape directly in front of him. He attempted to get closer, but his hands were nowhere to help him crawl, a movement he had gotten very used to. He fell on his nose, without any chance to catch himself. The sound of a faint snicker reached his ears. Compared to the food it held no relevance. He sniffed to confirm his assumptions. It was edible.

He scooched over, grunting in the exertion. His nose never reached the food, the pain in his wrist intensifying. Malcolm pulled frustrated at his restraints. The fitful movements provoked a certain outcome Malcolm didn't expect. Until it happened.

He was yanked back by his wrists, crying out in the pain. At the very least this motion lifted the clouds of his mind, logical sense returning from its vacation to the cruel reality. With returning conscience, his eyesight improved. He blinked rapidly, fighting against the brutal intensity of the white light.

Finally, he could see. He could see again. He acknowledged the room, never having had such a clear image, even when his vision was mostly blurry, meaningless tears streaming down his cheeks. He trained his eyes on the food. Beans were carelessly scattered on the ground, without a plate or anything. There was his one tiny bowl, refilled with clear water, which Malcolm craved to consume, despite the humiliation it portrayed. The treatment was prepared like he was a shabby dog.

"It's good to see you again, Malcolm," Coleman's voice echoed in the room. Bright raised his head, focusing his disorientated eyes on the intruder of his small realm. He only realized now how weak his body was, dangerously swaying to the sides. "I lost a bit track of time and was really busy," he justified himself. Sure, it wasn't like he kidnapped a living human and forgot him for-

For how long exactly? Malcolm did not know how much time had passed. How many days he spent in solitude without any supplies? Coleman definitely hadn't forgotten about him. It was part of his torture. Partly physical and partly mental torment.

Malcolm trained his eyes on Coleman, the image becoming a bit clearer with every passing second. The man had one leg crossed over the other, smugly sitting on his chair and looking down on him. In one hand was the end of a chain. It didn't take long for Malcolm to count one and one together. Coleman controlled him with this leash. Meaning: It was up to Coleman to decide how far Malcolm was allowed to go. Or, another meaning: If Malcolm could build up enough strength he could storm past Coleman and escape.

The idea boosted his life spirits, excluding how improbable it really was. He was dehydrated and weak. He couldn't even fight himself to the food inches away from him. Should he manage to overpower the man he'd never have enough energy to try a successful escape. A minute ago he didn't even know the layout of his room, how was he supposed to find his way outside the room? It could be a simple house, yet it could also be a labyrinth.

Coleman's eyes landed to the left corner, studying the dirtied newspaper. Malcolm looked away uncomfortably. He didn't want to see it, no matter how often he told himself there was nothing he could've done about it. It's natural for all living beings. There was nevertheless the humiliating aspect of being forced to do it right there. Even most animals received better treatment.

Coleman just snickered at it. Malcolm puffed his cheeks offended. "Beautiful," Coleman muttered with amazement, readjusting his hungry gaze on Malcolm's hunched form. "Don't you agree?"

Malcolm arched his eyebrows, unsure if he was being serious. What happened in this cell was far from beautiful. For the first time, Bright failed to understand a killer. "What is wrong with you...?" He mumbled skeptically.

Coleman laughed in exaggeration. A frown appeared on Malcolm's face, quickly wiped away and exchanged with one of terror when Coleman grabbed his chin and pulled him nearer.

"The first time I saw you, I knew you were more than just pretty," he sizzled, studying Malcolm's squeezed face affectionately. "But to recognize true beauty, you need to strip it of all modesty."

Malcolm widened his eyes, beginning to fight against the hold. He couldn't deny it. His body was too weak.

"And so I did. I stripped away what was fake. Away with everything we were taught to be, formed to ugly monstrosities. Take that away and what's left of it?" Coleman stated rhetorically, his eyes shifting to his excrements, the food and water. Eventually it rested on Malcolm.

"Every human is just an animal."

Malcolm's eyes darkened in sorrowful realization. Shortly after he was thrown to the ground. For moments he searched for a motive to stand up again. Was there anything worth fighting for? He felt nauseous when his instincts urged him to eat. Eat and live. Coleman wasn't so wrong after all. Malcolm didn't feel like the brilliant profiler anymore. More like a dog on a leash in the hands of a very bad owner.

Bright stemmed on his elbows in a low attempt to defy Coleman. He played right into the man's hands who smiled sardonically. "I see you haven't understood yet," he noted. He folded his arms and leaned on the back of his chair. "Very well, seems like you still need a bit more guidance," he decided coldly, reminding Malcolm of some of his teachers he never really learned to like. However, they never were this sinister.

"Your clothes," Coleman demanded strictly.

Malcolm laughed lightly in disbelief, shooting an incredulous look at the man. "Seriously?" He growled in displeasure. Coleman showed no signs he was joking.

"No clothes, no food," He decided remorselessly.

Malcolm swallowed hard. He needed food and water if he wanted to survive, at least until his team would arrive. "I don't need your stupid food," he snapped defiantly. His traitorous stomach growled loudly to mark his bluff. Nevertheless, Malcolm refused to show any weakness. Coleman couldn't afford to let him die. He was sure of that.

"Fine," he deadpanned. He stood up abruptly, Malcolm following his movements with his eyes. Unlike expected the man walked towards him. And stomped one foot on the beans.

"No!" It slipped past Malcolm, watching with sadness how the life was squashed out of the beans.

"I guess you're also fine with sitting in your excrements then." Coleman lifted his dirty shoe, revealing a bunch of flat beans. He couldn't bear another time of blackness without food and water. Neither was the penetrating smell manageable. Bright would need to swallow his pride if he intended to see the outside world again.

"Wait!" He called after Coleman desperately. He was already on his way out of the room. He would leave the food and water right in front of his nose and tighten the chain on the other end of the room, making it impossible for Malcolm to reach it. Malcolm was sturdy and expected to survive this ordeal, just like he did in his past. He didn't need to make it more difficult than it already was.

Coleman granted him his short attention, observing him expectantly. Malcolm sighed in defeat, his fingers working on opening the white chemise. He peeled it off, instant shudders running down his exposed skin. Next he worked on unbuttoning his pants, the process gradually becoming more uncomfortable. He took off his shoes and socks and laid all of his clothes into a mess. Coleman didn't budge, his eyes trained on the last barrier. Malcolm glared at him, his eyes begging him to grant him at least a little bit of pride.

Coleman did not.

And so his underwear landed on top of his clothes, the man rewarding him with a proud smile. He demanded him to toss over the clothes. He did not carry them out. He threw them next to the door, knowing Malcolm couldn't reach them anyway. That was torture.

As Coleman was busy with the disposal of the profiler's clothes, Malcolm used the chance to benefit from this sick deal. His mouth was dry and his throat itching. He scooched over to the bowl of water his hands reaching forward to grab it.

Violently he was yanked back. "What the hell?" He snarled resentfully. A deal was a deal, a businessman like Coleman should know that.

Malcolm looked up at Coleman, immediately shrinking in his position and ducking instinctively. Coleman glared menacingly down at him.

"I allow you," he emphasized, more humiliation sinking into Malcolm.

The pressure on his wrists disappeared. Malcolm observed Coleman cautiously while crawling to the bowl of water. He yanked at his wrists, but Coleman held them back. He wouldn’t...

Malcolm began to fume internally. The humiliation was beginning to cross a line. Dignity was long lost in Malcolm's case, it was inhuman to dwell any longer on that and torture him like that. Malcolm opened his mouth, but only dry coughs emerged from his throat. He needed water or he would dehydrate. As he bent down he repeated the mantra in his head, over and over again.

He would make him pay for that.

He would make Coleman pay for so many things, but that was on top of the list.

Bright formed his lips to an o, sucking the water out of the bowl. He forgot the humiliation for a short moment, enjoying the healing water repairing his sore throat. Cooling his mind. He drank everything, mildly regretting he took it all at once. Yet there was no guarantee Coleman would leave the water here again.

He looked up, drops of water dripping down his chin. It was a painful waste that couldn't be prevented by the way he was forced to drink. He breathed out exhausted. He ignored Coleman's stares at him. He couldn't bear this anymore. He didn't become an expert psychologist to be degraded in such a way.

Coleman nodded to the squashed beans. "Eat up." Malcolm glared disgusted at the food. "You won't receive anything else until you haven't eaten," he threatened.

Malcolm took his word for it. He bowed down, picking the flat beans with his teeth. It was a weird way to eat and definitely took more time than it would need him to with hands. His hunger was stronger though.

When Malcolm had finished his chain was back to its former state and not in Coleman's control anymore. The man marched towards the exit wordlessly. Malcolm observed him, a disapproving frown on his face. He 'forgot' to exchange the newspaper. He wasn't surprised.

Coleman stepped out of the door, giving him a last glance. "Sweet dreams," he purred sickly sweet, winking at him as a goodbye. The lights died out in Malcolm's cell. The only remaining light came from the long hallway behind Coleman's back. His maniac grin stood out even more. His shape disappeared in the light.

The door closed with a loud bang.

Malcolm was back to the crushing darkness, unable to see anything. The only difference to the first time he awakened were his senses. He smelled his excrements. He felt the cold and rough ground freezing his exposed skin and pressuring his bones. He heard the chains jingling to his rattling breathing.

He saw.

He saw his father sitting in the corner, one leg crossed over the other and hands embedded in his beige cardigan. He saw him smiling amused towards his miserable situation. Heard him laughing and shaking his head disappointingly.

"And that is the Prodigal son I raised?" He snickered with a pitiful glance at Malcolm's exposed body.

"What a shame to our family."

The words hit Malcolm hard in the gut. Coming from this man who really dragged their name into the mud.

Then why couldn't he disagree with his father's statement? Disagree while he was naked on a leash, treated worse than a neglected animal. This truly was a shameful sight.

"We both know you're better than this," Martin spoke up, a weird tone of hope in his voice. Malcolm frowned confused, looking at his father for further explanation.

Martin smiled at him gently, fatherly. A rush of comfort filled Malcolm. He felt spent and vulnerable. Craving a hug. Even if it was a monster like his father. He wished for a safe and comforting embrace.

The mirage of his father pointed with his head to the door. Malcolm followed him eagerly. His father smirked smugly.

"He doesn't know."

Malcolm's eyes lingered to where he remembered the door, even after his father vanished and left him alone again. Alone in the darkness. Where his eyes got used to the nightlife again. His blue eyes piercing to the door, recognizing the outlines of his clothes.

A grin appeared, right under his icy blue feral eyes.

Coleman thought he could just throw him out of the game. Lock him in a room and pause him from further action. He disabled him because he knew he stood no chance against Malcolm. Against the son of a serial killer. He tried to make him know that, degrading him, stripping him. He urged him to find back to his nature. And Malcolm was exactly going to do that.

There are sheep in society. And there are wolves. Malcolm was a wolf at heart. Just like Coleman himself, a dangerous predator.

 

Let's see who the better one is.

Notes:

I'd say this is definitely one of the darker things I've written... poor Mal.

Chapter 31: Chapter 30

Notes:

Hello.

:)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"You are suspended, damn, get that into your head!"

"But-"

"Want me to spell it out for you?"

"No, it's-"

S

u

s

p

e

n

d

e

d

 

Gil stood outside the precinct with shaky legs. The horrible conversation repeated itself in his mind, and so would it for years. Visit him on a sleepless night or haunt him just for fun. Another embarrassing experience to add to the list.

Yet the encounter hadn't been a total waste.

It killed Gil to accept Malcolm Bright had been missing for a whole week. They didn't receive any further contact from Coleman. They couldn't even say Bright was still alive. All they could do was cling to fragile hope. And so far it was not helping them.

Gil carried the box with him whenever he left the house. It was the last connection they had to the case. Both detectives had been sent into suspension alongside Gil. Too many failures, too many chances slipped through their fingers. They literally had a name and encountered the killer more than once. The man managed to invade the precinct twice, not to forget the havoc he had caused meanwhile.

The constant stress they had been under had been acknowledged to their superior's harsh decision. Suspension. Two weeks. After that conversation with the captain Gil had, he wouldn't be surprised if they'd get another week plus. At least they already managed one week.

Which was the worst week of Gil's life. He had forced himself to deliver the news to Jessica, all over again. Her response was a laugh. She had really been believing he was joking, regarding what happened a year ago. Gil was not, and deep down Jessica must have known.

Long story short, after a lot of screaming he was kicked out of the mansion to hit the road. He had seen it coming, the woman was close to a breakdown when she saw her boy in the hospital. And now he was kidnapped, in the hands of a madman. Not even a year after Watkins.

He failed the Whitleys as he did his team when he delivered the news they were all suspended. Excluded from the search for their friend. Dani and JT left him standing at the precinct, disappointed in how Gil could’ve let that happen. He hasn't heard from them ever since.

He had isolated himself in his apartment and accepted the comfort of alcohol. He had gotten used to the miserable appearance in the mirror, greeting him every morning and motivating him to open another whiskey bottle.

Today he woke up, greeted to the same reflection as every day. He strolled to the alcohol closet in habituation. It had only been one week, yet one week could be hella long if you had nothing to do. Nothing but to pump in the vicious liquid to destroy your body. Additional feature? Looking at Coleman's box, trying to figure out the secret of the three locks. It destroyed his mind as well.

They didn't show the box to the FBI. Probably a huge mistake since it could help them to find Malcolm. If it wasn't for the fact that Coleman threatened to send Gil a whole arm from Malcolm. Gil couldn't let the FBI work this case, their killer refused to tolerate it. But how was Gil supposed to work when he was clearly suspended?

He let his contacts dance, driving through the city and searching for anyone who could open the box. Without having those three keys. Whatever that box was made off, Coleman wasted a lot of money to make it bulletproof. No one could help Gil.

Ironically, his captain just did.

Gil played the day back in his head. He woke up, trudging to his darkest closet like a zombie. He saw the calendar. Realized today was the 24th of December. Starting then he completely lost it. He destroyed some glasses in uncontrollable rage. He screamed like a maniac, all the way cursing Coleman in multiple different ways. Until he snapped and jumped into the car. Raced to the precinct and dashed inside, stomping through the hallway until he burst open the captain's door.

"You need to put me back on the case."

The captain looked up in surprise. "You're suspended," he deadpanned, his eyes shifting back to the document he was busy with. Gil closed the door with more force than intended. The captain sighed frustrated, pushing aside his work and returning his attention to Gil.

"You don't understand this," Gil breathed out, his voice quivering with nervousness. "He's like a son to me. I need to find him or else I'm going to kill myself," he emphasized, declining his captain's gesture to sit down on the couch.

The white bald man exhaled, pushing himself up to reach Gil's eyes. "I know how personal this is for you. That's also a reason why we need to exclude you," he explained patiently. Gil shook his head vehemently, straining his captain's nerves.

"But my team and I can offer certain qualities. The killer only contacts us," Gil objected. "But not since you cut us off the case. Malcolm has been missing for a good week. How much longer should this carry on? Until he's being pushed off to the cold cases, hu?"

The captain shook his head disapprovingly, yet still calm and harmless. "The FBI enhanced their attention on dismantling Coleman's legacy. They are hot on his heels, it's just a matter of time until they've gathered enough proof to charge him guilty for all of his crimes. They have everything under control-"

"They do not," Gil cut him off, his arms spreading to the sides. "With this case no one has control. They should relocate all their work on searching Bright. Locking Coleman away doesn't guarantee his safety. He will rot away wherever Coleman hid him."

The captain lifted his hand. "You are right, lieutenant, and I can ensure you they are onto that as well. You need to put a little bit more faith into them, Gil," he advised gently. Too bad Gil ignored all of his kindness and kept firing like a teenager during puberty.

"No! I don't trust them!" He snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "How can I trust them? He's been gone for a week and I don't know how he's been doing. Do you have kids, captain?"

The old man frowned displeased. He scrutinized Gil skeptically, a warning expression covering his appearance. "I do, lieutenant. I even have some grandchildren in fact," he responded fretfully. Unfortunately, Gil didn't pick up on those signs.

"Then you must understand how the worry is killing me. I can't anymore," Gil exhaled, surprised he just opened his heart to his superior. He said so many words he told no one. He swallowed all the hatred and insults his dear ones hurled at him without breaking. Today though he lost it. He lost it all. He confessed things to his captain he wouldn't even dream of. That's why the reaction hit him even harder.

"So? Deal with it." Gil's mouth dropped, watching in horror how his captain turned around and walked back to his chair. "There are enough real victims, some of them who really had to die." He turned around, studying Gil's broken expression. "I don't mean to say you're no victim in this sick world. I'm just saying there are some who suffer more. Victims like Malcolm. We have to provide them the help they need. And right now, you is not what he needs."

It pained Gil to hear those words. Mainly because of the honesty they held. Gil really was no use for Malcolm. He wasn't smart enough to follow Coleman's crumbs of bread and neither was he of any use in between the FBI. He was forced to sit at home like everyone else. Like Jessica. Ainsley. Dani. JT. They all dealt with the same thing without being able to change anything. Why was it so hard for Gil to accept the way it was?

"And if I could assist the FBI, you know? Like a consultant?" Gil offered instead of settling into acceptance. The captain plumped into his chair, massaging his temples.

"You are suspended, damn, get that into your head!" He snapped frustrated with a threatening glare in Gil's direction. In any case he'd dare to even think of objecting.

"But-" It spluttered out of his mouth unwillingly.

The older man arched one eyebrow. "Want me to spell it out for you?"

Gil didn't doubt one second it was just rhetorical. By now he was just a stuttering mess, fidgeting from one foot to another. "No, it's-"

The captain swiftly spelled the word, Gil bowing his head in shame. It was like traveling back to his past, where the teacher had called him out in front of the whole class. Just like now it was pure humiliation. Even if in the present time there was no audience to witness his fail.

He didn't dare to look up when his captain had finished. He longed to sprint to the door and hide in his apartment again. Drink his burning alcohol and drown in self-pity while imagining what horrors his boy must be living through.

The bald man cleared his throat. "Do you understand?" He asked to reassure himself. And Gil did. He wasn't eager to act spontaneously and do anything stupid. "Yes sir." The reply came like a shot out of the gun. He turned around sharply, mechanically dragging his feet to the door.

"Lieutenant Arroyo," the captain called out after a long sigh. Gil faced his superior again, against his will. "I'm sorry."

Gil blinked perplexed, studying the apologetical face of the man. "I do understand what you're going through. I would probably act the same," he confessed genuinely.

Gil smiled painfully at him. "Thanks," he pressed out. It really meant a lot to him. He was close to tears and his throat was hurting him.

"You're a good man, Gil," the captain said all of a sudden. "What you did for that young man. It's impressive how you supported him since he was a young child, keeping the bond even through puberty and raising him to be such a decent man."

Gil stopped breathing. "You know his real identity?" He gasped, his breath hitching in panic. There was a good reason why Malcolm preferred his real identity to be a secret. The last time it cost him his job.

"Of course." The old man laughed warmly. "I prefer to keep track of all my employees." He acknowledged Gil's panicked face, his observations ending in a chuckle. "Don't worry, I won't judge him for his father's sins. That wouldn't be fair," he promised. Gil lost a bit of tension, yet he could imagine that was the same thing the FBI promised Malcolm before he joined them.

"Thank you, sir," Gil responded tonelessly, slightly bowing his head in gratitude. His captain waved dismissively.

"Now get some rest, lieutenant. Treat your suspension like holiday. You and your team need it desperately," he laughed. Gil nodded dryly. He couldn't keep up with such a level of cheer.

"Merry Christmas, Gil," he wished before Gil left the room, closing the door gently. Softly whispering to himself. "I certainly will not have that."

Now that he was standing outside, breathing in fresh air and recalling the conversation, he realized his captain might have accidentally given him the best present this year.

He fished out his mobile excitedly. He recalled what Malcolm had taught him, how to do something like group calls. Somehow the young man was far more experienced with technic than Gil could ever be. He controlled both contacts before lifting his mobile to his ear.

"Gil?" Dani's voice perked up first. Gil relaxed at the sound of that. He hadn't had contact with them since their suspension. It was good to hear them again. Although there wouldn't be enough time to see them in person.

He breathed, "I've had a breakthrough."

"Really?!" Dani spluttered out, JT supporting her sentiment by speaking out his equal disbelief.

Gil nodded despite being aware they couldn't see it. "Yeah, I think I figured out the rhythm to the lock sequence, or well, where to find those dumb keys," he explained excitedly. It was only a hunch, but it was certainly better than nothing, literally the FBI's position right now.

"The keys portrait Coleman's three life stages that play an important matter for him. Or at least that's what I suspect." He shrugged his shoulders. Shortly after he lifted up his hand, counting for one. "His childhood. My best guess is his first home." It pained him that they hadn't been able to drive there, neither tell the FBI about it. After all, it was nowhere in their reports, since they figured that outside of their work time.

"His second station is about his teenage days," he continued, holding up two fingers. He was about to raise them to his chin when Dani jumped in.

"The key could be at Jeff's," she suggested excitedly. Gil snapped his finger and pointed his index at nothing.

"Bingo!" He cheered. "That leaves us only with the present time."

JT grumbled in understanding. "His company, I get it."

Gil nodded, all the pieces coming together. Hope arising in his bubbling stomach. A step closer to Malcolm. A step closer to end this never-ending madness.

"Should we meet up, do this together?" Dani phrased unsure.

Gil shook his head decidedly. "No," he stated firmly. "We already lost too much time. We'll separate. Dani, you're at Jeff's. JT, you search Coleman's office," he assigned them, grateful they confirmed their agreement. After that journey, he couldn't be sure of their loyalty anymore. They had all reason not to trust him.

"We'll play Coleman's stupid game and we'll beat him at it," he decided confidently, his hand cramping around his phone. He looked back at the precinct, studying the building from head to toe. He clenched his fist.

"If they want us to or not."

Notes:

We passed 100k! I think this is the perfect time to let you know... this was supposed to be a short story. Only 5 chapters, one chapter = one round. Yeah, haha, I faced the truth when one chapter had 23k words and was nowhere close to an end (it was JT's round). I let myself off the leash and look where it brought us. But I can tell you, we are damn close to the end...

Chapter 32: Chapter 31

Notes:

Hey... it's me! I'm back!

Enjoy :)

Chapter Text

JT inhaled deeply, building up the necessary courage for the upcoming task. His thoughts wandered back to his youth, when he used to play with his Gameboy. Before he accessing any stage of no turning back he would always, always, save the game. In the end, he never needed it, always survived the big fight without any inconveniences. Only luck could decide if this would work today as well. In the real world. Playing with real lives.

He pushed the door open and revealed a new, a busier world. Men as women sitting at their desks, occupied with their own work computer or telephone. JT staggered in confidently, attracting the irritated glances of the employees. Fortunately, JT still remembered his way around here, going back to the time he investigated here in this matter. Looking back he was still accompanied by his partner, Bright. That seemed to be a good century away. Looking back, not at particularly happier times, yet somewhat more innocent times.

One person, a man with pointy black hair sticking to the air, he wasn't pleased with the intruder heading straight to their CEO's office room. He jumped up and away from his cubicle surrounding his personal desk, sprinting to the detective to block the path with his whole appearance.

"And you are?" He huffed, crossing his arms before his chest, like a bouncer.

JT wasn't intimated by the slightly bigger man. He puffed out his chest and built up a severe expression.

"Detective JT Tarmel from the NYPD. Major Crimes," he barked back authoritatively. He observed the opponent shrinking further with every new title. He smiled proudly, forgetting for a split second that he was straight up lying to them. He wasn't a detective from the NYPD. He wasn't with the major crimes. At least for the time being. He was suspended from work, therefore a civilian, and shouldn't even be here. The gun he wielded in his pocket wasn't registered and his official badge was highly secured, far out of his reach. JT wasn't supposed to work, neither were his colleagues. Their actions were as illegal as Coleman's. Whatever small disaster could happen today, it could ruin his life.

"I'm here for Coleman," he continued his act, nevertheless. He couldn't focus on the possible consequences of his actions. It would only awaken doubt inside of him, cloud his mind with uncertainty. A big weak point and advantage for their enemy, he couldn't allow that. Not only his future depended on it, no, also Bright’s life.

A woman, beautiful and young, stood up. She had a white chemise tucked in her crimson red skirt, embracing her long legs tightly. "Unfortunately, he isn't available at the moment," she stated with a calm and composed voice, unfazed by her dark curly hair tickling her nose, kissing her neck, which JT can’t imagine being pleasant.

But of course. That very day was Christmas Eve. The man probably took holiday to spend all his time with their profiler. "Oh, so he has been gone for the week?" JT questioned, worried for Bright's well-being. If Coleman had been gone for one week, there’s no question where he would’ve spent that. Oh, except where that would’ve been?

The woman shook her head, if she were to be confused by JT’s assumption she wouldn’t show it. "No, he has been here. He just didn't arrive today, although he was supposed to," she elaborated, and maybe there was a trace of tiny irritation in that robotic voice.

JT frowned, planting a hand on his chin. It was definitely suspicious for Coleman not to show up when his business was supposed to be his most important obsession- pardon, possession. It must only mean he found something more valuable. In that means it could be either Bright or the game itself.

"Why aren't you yet on holiday?" JT wondered instinctively. Only because he wasn't in a Christmas mood himself didn't mean everyone else would share that feeling. JT didn’t intend to celebrate the end of this year. He was still separated from his pregnant wife. He didn't risk meeting with her again, Coleman only claimed the game would end if he possessed one of the keys. It was a shame, really, that he could never keep the key for himself and buy back his normal life. He was well aware that the key couldn't replace anything. He would lose his friends for good, and Coleman would be still on the loose. Not to forget, JT refused to trust a criminal like Coleman. That’s just not his thing, trusting ruthless people. He could never take his word, so accepting the offer was never really one of his plans.

The woman's hands traveled down her knee-long skirt, flattening it nervously with her sweaty palms, even though there weren’t any visible issues with it. "We always work this late. Coleman doesn't value holiday seasons like the rest of us," she explained. By now the whole office was watching the scene. They ignored their work and leaned back in their chairs, observing the conversation in curiosity.

JT cleared his throat, hastily trying to figure out a new plan. How was he supposed to find a key here in this office? He burst in here expecting to follow a new trail of breadcrumbs. Now it looked more like a dead-end.

"Oh!" The woman parted her red lips in realization, her equally red-colored index rising into the air. Her heels clicked loudly as she made her way over to Coleman's office, shortly after returning with a video projector. "Now I remember, Coleman warned me this would happen," she drawled, distracted with setting up the technical device. She positioned the lens towards an empty white wall and turned back to JT.

"The other day he said a man of the executive would show up. I shouldn't worry, just get this from his office and show it to you," she explained eventually. She didn't even wait for JT to answer, instead she returned her attention to the projector and turned it on.

Immediately Coleman's head appeared on the boring wall, almost filling it to the edges. "Greetings, detective Tarmel," the businessman chirped politely, JT's features tensing up. "I hope you received a warm welcoming from my employees. If not I dearly apologize for any inconveniences, they are a little bit distrustful."

JT studied the reactions of Coleman's employees as well, noting their genuine confusion. They were just more victims in this sick play, and JT broke his mind trying to figure out how to protect them.

"Now, I am glad you accepted my invitation for the next game. I prepared a little digression for you, so you might wanna take a seat and enjoy the presentation," Coleman advised. JT remained standing. "The game I want to play with you has its roots in Germany. The first time it was ever printed out was in 1791. Yes, it's a game, but it is also accompanied by a folkloric and traditional song. Can you guess the game?" Coleman questioned into the room. It flew past JT since he ignored the question like a professional. Yet he could hear the other men and women actually whisper to each other.

Coleman chuckled complacently. "Surely you won't. The game is called 'Taler, Taler, du musst wandern' or in other versions the Germans are also talking about a 'Ringlein'," Coleman elucidated, the German parts coming out weird and exotic. "For the less gifted I will translate the meaning of the whole text:

Coin, coin, you have to wander,

from one hand to the other.

That is beautiful, that is beautiful,

coin just don't let you be seen."

The group of colleagues shot themselves incredulous looks after witnessing their leader's performance. JT fell one step back, never having imagined hearing one of his killers ever sing. After years of being in the force there are still things that surprise him.

"The text lets you almost guess what the game is about, though we are certainly not going to play with coins today, right detective?" Coleman snickered. "I do remember your heart desires, something else, mh, something- a certain key."

JT perked up, taking one step towards the wall with the man's face on it.

"One of my employees has the key you desire. Unfortunately, that certain person is on my team and won't give you anything. Unless-" Coleman raised his index up. "-you can dismantle their identity."

The shy whispering evolved into panicked shouting. Several men and women jumped up, distancing themselves in small groups, their panicked cries drowning out any other noise, including Coleman's voice. The civilians entered a dangerous phase of distrust towards everyone else, a phenomenon JT had observed when they had published the phantom drawing.

"This'll be a piece of a cake for a detective like you, no?" Coleman sizzled before the picture began to die away, leaving the plain white wall. JT gasped breathlessly, fully aware he had no time to think over his next steps. He would need to find them while acting or else the crowd would be too uncontrollable for anything.

JT's foot met the plate of one table. He pulled himself up, stomping down on the table and surpassing everyone's height.

"Hey! Everyone! Listen up!" He bellowed, multiple times, until he could redirect everyone's attention to himself. He used his hands as well, waving around like a maniac.

It worked, at least. The distraught faces searched for his one, looking for an authoritative person who would take over responsibility, someone who could promise everything would be fine. Theoretically, JT couldn't do both, yet he was standing there and preaching for their trust. His reasons were as selfish as every single person in this room.

"Alright, I need you to form a line- Everybody get into a line!" JT roared out his command, satisfied that they actually did as he wanted. Their trust was sickening him, but the power that came alongside him was truly wonderful.

He cleared his throat. "One of you has a key," he stated, earning frantic shaking of heads as far as his eyes reached. He sighed. There really was no other way than the hard way, wasn't there?

"Whoever has the key, I'd advise you to cooperate with the police and hand it over. That way I can promise you, there will be only very mild consequences."

Again no one wanted to admit their shameful guilt. JT wasn't sure. Was it fear keeping them from telling? Did Coleman manipulate them, like the poor girl who committed suicide in the other office Dani and JT questioned? If that would be the case, the person wouldn't face any consequences at all, given it would be a victim itself.

Although someone in here was getting blackmailed. Coleman could force them to follow his plan, maybe kidnapping one of their loved ones. Normally, they would look into the missing announcements in such a case, but it was obvious that JT had no time for that. If the FBI would receive wind of what they were doing they could easily arrest them and interrupt the hunt. Getting caught by their own allies would the worst that could happen.

"Fine. If you don't want to tell me willingly, I’ll have to find out myself," JT concluded, his eyes traveling over every employee's face. He tried to detect someone concealing real terror, not just shallow fear and nervousness. If someone was trying to hide suspicion they would pretend to be like the rest. So far, the actor between them was managing just fine.

JT clapped his hands. "I'm going to ask you some questions," he announced strictly, a shudder creeping down his spine when his tone reminded him of one of his former military commandants. A man that always used to have a plan for every so ridiculous thing in life, just how JT had a plan for this day. Following that plan, his intentions were to get to know them. To expose their secret relationships, their malevolent intrigues.

"Who of you has met Coleman ever in private?" Despite starting calm and harmless, no one was willing to confess. They stood tense, their gaze glued to the ground. Do teachers feel this way, JT wondered.

"You!" His finger shot up, pointing at the woman from earlier. She seemed to have a pretty close relationship with her boss. There was no way she never met that man in private. "Have you ever met your boss in private?" He stated the question as clear as the sky.

The woman raised her head, solid and fearless eyes meeting him. She took a step forward.

"I have," she confessed shortly.

JT nodded, pleasantly surprised by her honesty. "Good. Is there anyone else brave enough to out themselves?"

Very few followed lead, moving a step nearer to JT. The rest just stared at them in shock. Something that extended clearly was the fact that only one representative of the male gender ever met Coleman in private. The rest were women. JT couldn't contain his curiosity.

"May I ask in what way you met your boss in private?" He wondered.

The young man jerked caught, locking his nervous eyes with JT's. He looked around himself, noticing why the detective picked out him. The realization tainted his cheeks in a light shade of hot red.

"Uh... yeah," he stammered breathlessly, unsure if and how he should answer. JT was almost pretty convinced the man to be innocent. "I once met him in the supermarket. We just had a short conversation, nothing really big actually. We parted again and that's it," he explained.

JT nodded slowly. A short conversation, nothing that could let someone expect to lead you into such a situation. The man was probably innocent and was just being too honest here. Obviously, JT was keen to uncover some dirty stuff and not some everyday experience.

He let the man go and concentrated on the female presence. Each woman shot nervous glances at each other. Were they just trying to fit in? Pretend shocked to make it harder for JT to uncover their mask? Or were they genuinely frightened to have a forbidden sexual act being laid open to everyone?

JT considered it would take too much time to hear everyone's story. Where was even the guarantee they would remain honest with him? So his next idea was to define the interrogation more precisely.

"I'm not interested in simple everyday life situations. I want to know, was there anyone who shared a more personal conversation with Coleman? Something private?"

Again the group divided. JT studied the faces of the women who left equally to the women who remained. Three women, exactly three stood bravely before him. Faced him with a challenging demeanor. One of these women could wield the key. The question was, which woman would break under his questioning.

"So you are Coleman's best friends from the office," he chided, walking on the table from left to right. He stopped at the right side, near to the most nervous woman of the three of them. "I'm dying to know your story," he admitted, a dangerous tone in his voice.

"What do you have to tell me?" He asked the hyperventilating woman. She immediately broke under the pressure and fell to the ground.

"We had sex, okay!" She screamed enraged. JT widened his eyes in surprise. He did not expect- well he did expect exactly that kind of confession, but not that fast and unhinged. "He flirted with me at the office, just a few times, nothing serious. One time we accidentally met at the club and then it happened. He hasn't talked to me ever since," she confessed ashamed, her face red like a tomato. If she feared to be the slut of the office from now on, her suspicions couldn't be that far from impossible. The looks everyone stared into her back raised awful suspicions in JT's stomach.

"Can I go now?" She whimpered hurt. JT shook his head dismissively. "No," he decided rapidly. "No one is leaving this office until I have the key," he announced, louder, for everyone to hear. He ignored their shouts of protests, or someone urging the responsible to just give the damn key. The comments went unignored by the detective, instead JT made his way over to the next woman.

"So?" He directed at her. She was nervous, of course, yet the statement of the other woman seemed to have visibly calmed her down. Maybe she figured there was nothing for her to be afraid of. She crossed her arms before her chest, her slick hair relaxing on her shoulders.

"It's just what you thought. I did it with him, too. No private conversations whatsoever. That man is shallow," she responded almost unaffected by the stress, appearing like a majestic lioness. "Do you also want some details?" She added smugly, arching one eyebrow over her smirk.

JT stumbled away, almost dropping from his elevated position. "No thanks," he declined eagerly. Right now he really wished he could have Bright by his side. Reading those women was unbelievable hard. Especially if there were so many faces, so many mimics and bodily features to pay attention to.

He faced the last woman, the same one who delivered the projector to him and had the last conversation with Coleman.

"I never had any sex with him," she deadpanned before JT could say anything. He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's good, yet you're standing here," he countered back.

The woman lowered her head, fleeing his gaze. JT figured the woman knew more than anyone else in this room. He focused his attention on her, solely on her, musing how he could break her effectively.

"You're unsure whether you should call him out or not, hm?" He guessed. She did not move to his statement, so JT continued. "I would like to tell all of you that Coleman is a criminal. A serial killer who murdered more than once. Now, he kidnapped an innocent person. A person, like you and me. Gone."

The office turned dead quiet. The majority stared at him with big eyes.

"We need the key to save our friend," he emphasized, hoping to have their pity. And maybe it actually worked. The woman looked up, regret in her eyes.

"Coleman and I do share a closer bond. He trusts me on many occasions, and we sometimes met outside of work," she confessed all too openly. Her eyes hardened. "But I do not have that key. I'm sorry for your friend."

"Liar!" A woman screeched from the other side of the room. She pointed her naked finger at the woman, snarling like a feral animal. "You've jumped with him into the bed more than anyone else, you slut!"

The woman's face grimaced in worry and fear. Her eyes switched to JT and back to the crowd. The insults rained down on her like a waterfall. JT pitied her, yet it did influence his decision. Maybe she wasn’t so innocent after all?

"You have to tell me. I need the key," JT urged her, making the woman even more uncomfortable. She began to back away, searching for a corner to hide in.

"Whore! Because of you innocents have to die!" A male voice roared enraged. Each word carved in a big and deep wound that would leave nasty scars in her soul. Deserved for a dark soul like hers.

"Just give me the key already!" JT snapped, jumping down from the table and staggering furiously to the woman. She stumbled back, dodging his grasp with a frightened cry. Her ankle bent over in a sickening crunch, floundering in her high heels. That short moment enabled JT to grab her wrist and drag her face nearer to his.

"You have the key, don't you?" He snarled, her frightened and shocked face burning itself deep into JT's mind. Enough to leave a bitter taste of regret.

Then an ear-piercing crash.

And the world was bathed in crimson red.

Death.

Chapter 33: Chapter 32

Notes:

Guys! Listen up! Important!!!

Fox cancelled Prodigal Son, and I took that personal. If you're like me, distraught and motivated, please try to keep the show alive!

http://chng.it/hjsy6MmVVb

I already signed the petition, the least I can do is to make people aware of it, encourage some to sign in as well, and hope it will change something.
I already lost Prodigal Son once (it was very ugly). I only found out about this series on September 2020 when it first aired in my country. Just like Fox they had cancelled it because of bad viewing figures, in the middle of the first season! They replaced it with something else without as much as a warning, it was horrible. While I am glad we get to watch the remaining last episodes, I still wish this series a fair ending.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


The drive to Jeff's was rather short from her apartment. It wouldn't have taken that long if it weren't for her weapons. After her encounter with Coleman in the second round, Dani refused to go out without decent weaponry, and therefore she'd gladly accept a little detour on her path.

She opened the door of her car and dismounted it. Just as she remembered. The noises of the lively city could only reach so far, and the silence embracing this street was almost something supernatural. The sound of her door shutting roared like a clap of thunder, and her heels clicking on the concrete echoed after. Her eyes met the old wooden sign plate, a flicker of hesitation stumbling over in her stomach.

She took a deep breath, slowly moving to the entrance of the closed bar.

Dani bend under the cordon, lightly grazing the black-yellow barrier with her shoulder. She moved over to the door, pulling at it for the first time. For a moment she was back, back to that one night she was certain to never forget. The night where Bright opened the door for her, opening the gates to a new and warm dreamworld. She remembered how she accepted his guiding hand to step into the bar, hand in hand, his surprisingly warm coat hugging her shoulders.

The world that greeted her now was abandoned of all warmth and happiness. It was dark and gloomy. Coldness escaped outside into the slightly warmer December day.

Dani wrinkled her nose over the stiffy and bad air. She knocked off the snow from her shoes before entering. A shudder overtook her once inside, stares nagging all over her body. She'd prefer to think those were the remaining ghosts of this bar. She couldn’t be afraid of them. She should be more afraid of the living souls. Unlike the friendly ghosts, they aimed to harm her and all the people she held close.

Nothing had changed after they had expected the crime scene. Obviously, it would take some time before they would clear the area. It was to assume though that with the next year the property would be back on the market. Although, with the impractical location combined with its tragic history it is bound to stand alone for a good while. If not even years. Someday, kids may enter the bar, after the thrill of the unknown and some adrenaline at the side.

The lights crackled into life. Dani jerked heavily, her hand shooting down to her weapon. She hesitated to draw it out yet, realizing that it was only the work of a few lamps. She examined the area skeptically. Usually, in areas like these, there are no motion-sensor lights. She is not alone.

Behind the counter, a door jumped into her focus. Probably the manager’s room. If the key wouldn't be there...?

She set her foot towards the direction, when the wall next to her lit up. This time she grabbed her gun, pointing it directly between his eyes.

"Greetings, detective," the man hummed, composed of his emotions.

Dani's arm began to shake under the pressure. Despite the anger flooding through her veins, she lowered her gun. It was no use to shoot at a projection anyway.

Coleman folded his hands before his body. "I'm so glad you finally managed," he continued, stressing Dani even more. Of course she was aware of the time they already wasted. He didn't need to rub that into her face.

"I have prepared a fun game for you," he declared, smiling harmlessly in excitement. "The rule is actually pretty simple, and I can guarantee you won't forget it. Reach the door." His eyes flickered to where the door his, Dani's gaze following automatically. She scanned the door. Just reach it? Shouldn't be that hard, right?

"Behind that door lays the manager's room. I hid the key inside, just so you know," he elaborated further. Dani nodded in trance, her thoughts already suspecting what could really lie behind that door.

"That is all you need to know. A friendly reminder at the side. Don't dwell on the past, my darling," he purred mockingly.

When Dani's head snapped back to the wall, the projection had already disappeared. Vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing more than an old blank wall.

"Alright-" Dani huffed, stretching her fingers in anticipation. "Let's get this over with."

Although she expected the task to have some sort of twists, she wasn’t really that worried,data-p-id=55a63d7eba7b46f88d7c429ef3c1bd0b, but the moment she set foot towards the door, a sickening crunch filled her ears. She flinched, stumbling backwards. Just in time, or the vase would've smashed her head, probably knocking her out cold. Her breath was already hitching in shock. Eyes trailed up, counting the vases attached to the ceiling.

"Seriously?" She gasped incredulously, yet still laughing lightly. That was Coleman's plan to prevent her from reaching the room? To tie vases to the ceiling and let them drop whenever she was under it. They could certainly not do the trick in killing her. Yet she could lose her consciousness. Given she wasn’t alone in her, that seemed to be enough for Coleman. Someone was in the manager's room, stalking her through video surveillance.

Her search for the cameras was in vain. She pulled out her gun, smirking when she aimed at the vases attached to the ceiling. Coleman did say everything was allowed, so why wasn't she supposed to kill the perfectly visible threats?

Dani enjoyed the adrenaline pumping through her body, the surge intensifying with every booming gunshot destroying a vase. She looked at the path before her, a path of shards, proudly squashing the pieces of porcelain with her heels. She hoped Coleman wasted a lot of money on these.

Just when she thought she arrived on the path of victory, one of her next steps proved her to be dead wrong. The table next to her pulled up as if by an invisible hand, throwing it directly at her. Even though she tried to dodge the attack, the wide span of the table was enough to catch her off guard and hit her shoulder. The force hurled her to the side, stumbling until the wall caught her and gliding to the floor. She took the attack with nothing more than a silent grunt. She recovered quickly, stemming herself up by her elbow in newborn agitation.

She used the wall next to her as a support, little did she expect a good piece of it to crumble away and crush her. She rolled away, bumping against the table from earlier. With horror, she was forced to watch the wall fall down in slow motion. Her hands shot up, protecting her head instinctively.

The horrible fate never came, instead a loud thunder accompanied by dust tickling her nose.

Dani opened her eyes, confused, vision restricted on white eternity. Her head lolled to the side, instant relief rushing through her veins when she saw that the table had caught the fall, though it creaked and ached relentlessly under the pressure.

She didn't waste another second, rapidly pushing herself out of the free space. When the wall pressed the table down and eventually crushed the area she had been lying under mere seconds ago, she thanked whatever poor luck she had to be alive. Her body rested prone, chest pushing against the floor as frantic breaths pulsated through her body. It was a good moment to gather her thoughts, regroup, and reconsider her stance on this challenge. The only thought living rent-free in her mind was What the fuck.

Eventually, she crawled up, floundering on her two shaky legs. She studied the construction behind her, reluctantly building up admiration for Coleman. Those two attacks certainly caught her off guard. In her defense, what person in the right mind would break into a crime scene and convert it into ruin full of traps? For a game?

A click on the wall. Her head snapped towards the reaction, the warm glow burning her shoulder. Only a split second was left for a frustrated “Come on!” before she sprinted to the center of the room again, kicking down a table to use it as a shield, merely seconds away from the actual attack.

Sounds of a machine gun thundered through the tiny bar, strong bullets pounding into her shield as also digging into the wall behind her. Gladly, the bullets weren’t strong enough the burst through the sturdy wood of a classic oak table.

Dani waited patiently for the attack to subside. The clatter of the machine gun faded away eventually, leaving Dani to peek uncertainly over the edge of the table. The gun was barely hidden under a blanket, but there seemed to be a whole mechanism behind it. Keeping the weapon attached to the wall and configurated to fire away at a certain time. Someone with expert knowledge in mechanics had to be involved. More friends of Coleman?

Dani abandoned her hiding place, continuing her path of shards to the manager’s room. The feeling of pride and joy was gone for good, merely a taste of bitterness remaining. Half of it, she had only managed to walk half of the way. She had expected this to be easier, but when was life ever simple?

For the next trap, her reflexes were already prepared. She tilted her head before the sharp blade racing down the ceiling could separate her head from the rest of her body. Only the stinging air on her cheek allowed her to realize the immense danger she was in. Otherwise, her mind just blanked out, numbly walking down the dooming path like a zombie.

She was only inches away from her goal when she burned herself.

With a hiss she retracted herself, her fingers hovering over the sore area on her forehead. She narrowed her eyes into slits, squinting to see the vague outlines of the trap. She rolled her eyes. Such a cliché move she didn't really expect.

A wall, more like a labyrinth of red lasers. Almost impossible to see with the human eye. Just the usual spy crap portrayed by every cheap movie.

Dani's head observed the ceiling. She lifted her gun, swiftly killing all the lamps, a black blanket laying itself around the bar. Now that the world was painted in darkness, the laser beams were bright red. They were covering the whole area in front of her, so tragically, there was no way around it.

The only path was through it.

Dani smirked. This couldn't stop her. It was only a piece of cake after everything she bit herself through. The loud finale to her path.

She raised her weapon to the sides, following the laser beams to their source, and mercilessly shooting it down. One after another the red strings disappeared, dissolving into thin air.

Dani tucked her gun away, smugly walking to the manager's room in a straight line, chin raised up high. The room was locked, but that was the smallest of her problems. She kicked the wood right under the doorknob with the fullest force of her heel. The door burst open like nothing.

Immediately her gun was up and prepared. She aimed menacingly accurately at the man's head. She frowned confused when she didn't recognize him.

"I suppose we haven't met yet," the stranger spoke up, his black hair sticking wildly to all sides. A huge contrast to his calm and round face with the small pair of glasses.

Dani's arm lowered. She had been expecting Coleman, not some chubby nerd.

"Who are you?" She bit back, hesitating to put her gun away. That man had all the potential to be a threat as well.

The stranger spread out his hands to the side. "I'm Mark," he introduced himself politely, and that was it. Short and precise to the point.

Dani raised one eyebrow. "And that is all I need to know?" She scoffed skeptically. Mark laughed in response, seeming too relaxed for the situation.

"Well, I'm also the mastermind behind Coleman's technical appearances. Remember the artwork of all the perspectives on that one corpse in the beginning? Or for now, the instructions of this place. Did you like my modifications by the way?"

Dani glared at him frustrated. "Based on all the destruction it caused, I'd say you didn't even like it yourself. Little short on self-esteem?" Dani countered back. Mark mimicked a short pout, but let go of the act extremely quickly. She wasn’t a profiler like Bright, but even she could tell that this person was an introvert trying horribly obvious to appear like an extrovert, yet every attempt made him internally cringe.

"Destruction and creating share a close bond. I like to favor both equally as I create with technology to bring destruction wherever possible." 

Dani shook her head disapprovingly. "You're wasting my time. Where is the key?" She snapped, her eyes surveying the room closely. The room wasn't big, and she wondered how one would not suffer claustrophobia spending a whole day in here. Except for the weak blue light of the screen monitors, it was completely dark. The desk was messy, an unfinished coffee mug close to the edge. She could clearly imagine how Mark watched her on his screen, sipping some cold bad coffee and pushing buttons.

"Oh the key is right here."

Mark held the key up, tilting his head challengingly. Promptly he had all of Dani's attention. She stretched her hand out to him.

"Hand it over," she requested coolly.

The key disappeared in his fist. Dani shot the man an incredulous however very menacing glare, which was answered with a smug grin of his.

"Only from my cold dead fingers," he hissed, plummeting back down on his chair and sending it spinning.

Dani lowered her weapon, relocating her aim back on his head. "Fine," she responded sharply. She was disappointed by the lack of reaction she received, instead having the man continue spinning around in his chair calmly, the key tight in his grasp.

"Is that really how you want this to go?" Dani spoke up impatiently. "Die for a key?"

Mark stopped the annoying movement and arched one eyebrow at Dani. "For you it's not just a key, am I right?" He sizzled. He hit every mark in Dani's bones. The key wasn't just a piece of junk to her. It portrayed her fate and that of Malcolm in many ways. Throwing away their immunity for Malcolm sure was a bitter thing, yet Dani never hesitated one bit. Whenever she dreamed of the key it was shortly followed by the action of opening the box. Her freedom was worth nothing if Malcolm would have to pay for it.

"Unlike you, I stand to my words," Mark prompted, crashlanding into her world of thoughts and brutally dragging her mind back into reality. The reality where she held her gun towards a man's head. Almost ready to cross the last line. "Either you pry it out of my cold and dead fingers, or nothing."

Dani swallowed. Obviously, she had bluffed. She didn't want to kill anybody. As the police they tried, whenever possible, to use their guns as seldom as possible. If necessary, they'd rather use it to disable their enemies temporarily by shooting at limbs. However, killing a man was never a thing Dani applied to when she decided to become a cop.

So, that was her plan for now as well. She could never get out of this clean if she had a corpse under her bed. Her sole attendance at this crime scene was illegal. She would have no excuse for Mark's death and would immediately get arrested alongside Coleman.

Dani nodded, aiming down on Mark's shoulder, which he noticed, unfortunately. "Your friend is not doing well," he spoke up, sending burning volts through Dani's limbs. Her eyes widened, her arms beginning to tremble.

"I once visited both. Coleman sure does like that man. However, the way he shows affection is quite concerning," Mark continued, acting as if he didn't notice the effects it had on Dani. How her aim was repositioned back on his head, how her teeth gritted tightly to keep back furious gasps. He just kept on with the wordy torture.

"Though I have to admit, Malcolm does scream beautiful."

"Don't you dare say his name," Dani snarled, barely louder than a breath.

Mark had no difficulties hearing her loud and clear. "Oh?" He exclaimed delightfully. "You don't want me to take Malcolm's name in my bad mouth?" He pushed further, Dani trembling now violently.

"Malcolm sure did enjoy something else in his mouth-"

Click!

The shock was quickly replaced with relief. She was surprised when her finger had acted out on her own, pulling the trigger in a strong jerk. She had definitely pulled the trigger, audible for everyone in this small room. Mark was still alive, staring at her smugger than ever. It took Dani several seconds to realize she had forgotten to reload her gun after shooting down the whole bar.

Relief exchanged with terror.

"Guns are barely reliable," Mark spoke up, hungrily feeding upon Dani's growing fear. Suddenly the act of the extrovert appealed to him much easier. "They wield power like nothing else. Such power no mortal should carry around like a given. Yet here we are, long live America." His cheer leaked with mockery, dropping down from every end.

Mark straightened up in his chair, the key attached to a string disappearing under his shirt, wearing it like a necklace. "The thing with weapons is-" Dani's eyes followed Mark's hand behind his back with dreading anticipation, "-once their stomach isn't satisfied anymore?"

Dani recognized the shining spark instantly, her whole body tensing up.

"They are bound to let you down," Mark ended calmly, everything Dani wasn't anymore. She realized her body shut down. Paralyzed. Refusing to move. Away. Danger!

Mark tilted his head, smiling affectionately down on his weapon. "That's why I'm more of a blade guy." He grinned at Dani. His chair battered against the wall as he lunged at her.

She saw the growing black shape taking away her eyesight.

Until she dropped to the ground, air pressing out of her lungs.

Her world became reduced to black.

Notes:

http://chng.it/hjsy6MmVVb

Save Prodigal Son

Chapter 34: Chapter 33

Notes:

Hello?

Is it me you're looking for?

jk, enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The sun long disappeared behind the dark clouds, tainting the empty landscape in tender darkness. The day was still young though, for the suffering of all the other people who just couldn't wait for Christmas Eve to arrive.

Gil would gladly postpone that event to far away. There was no guarantee that his hunch was right, even then, Gil was merely assuming he'd make it out alive, whatever was waiting there for him. Everything would work out in the end so he could celebrate with his kid by his side.

Gil could die today. But he wouldn't. There was a promise binding him to this cruel world, and he would not let go if he didn't know Malcolm safe. If necessary, he would be the first ghost refusing to haunt one house in particular. Should Coleman gain victory over this ‘game’, succeed in killing him, he would haunt this man for the rest of his afterlife.

After the long ride, Gil had to stretch himself first. He wasn't accustomed to such long road trips anymore, although it had been merely two hours. Usually, Gil only strolled through the big city, most of the time even the same roads. If the goal wasn't so preposterous, Gil could've actually enjoyed this road trip. He could take the kid to one some other time, that way he could guarantee he was taking a vacation. Presumably, they would manage to free Malcolm in the first place.

Pushing that bitter thought aside, Gil marched to the house that matched the given address. He looked at the friendly family house in suspicion, that couldn’t be possibly it, until he realized the neighbor had given Gil his own old address. So right next to it, there was a shabby cottage, pretty cliché-like radiating a nauseating feeling sending his stomach churning over his last meal. There was no doubt this was the correct location.

Gil changed his path, heading straight to the other home. He proceeded to ring the bell politely, he was raised up with manners, although it was blindly obvious the doorbell was long dead. So he knocked, just to be sure. He didn't want to stumble into the home of another junky family, the next Coleman generation.

When no one answered him, he nodded, just like he had assumed. The home was abandoned. With swift movements he kicked the old door open, which barely offered great resistance. A huge smoke of dust washed over him, escaping into the outside world. Gil coughed lightly, brushing his clothes before diving headfirst into the dusty waters.

An unpleasant smell reached him. That was the thing he noticed first. He left the door open. At least some fresh air should reach the insides.

No one had been in here for years. The mess everywhere showed that no one had bothered much about this place, not even in the living times. The Coleman's lived like pigs, leaving trash behind and never tidying up at all. The last survivor probably left the home just as it is, fleeing into freedom without any baggage to carry. He did make sure his life was a completely new beginning. Therefore, he needed to make sure this life didn't stick with him any longer. Something his kid, Bright, tried in theory, but never quite succeeded.

Gil climbed over a pile of scrap and clothes, following the narrow hallway with a horribly ugly orange wall, past the bathroom (which door he happily closed) and into the kitchen. He raised one eyebrow at the panicking pack of mice disappearing into each corner. The table was dirty beyond any chance of repair. Stains of wine burnt into the greasy wood, chairs which were mostly nagged off when no more food was to be found. No wonder, really. This house stood alone for several years. The mice and other insects made sure not to let any food get wasted.

He left the kitchen, aiming to examine the rest of the house, therefore having to pass the living room smelling the worst. He noticed a staircase, probably leading him up to the bedrooms. Excitement filled him, temporarily even relief to leave behind the living room without having to inspect it further. Coleman's child room could be upstairs. It could be the one. The key must be there.

He stomped towards that direction, the wooden tiles screeching with every new step. His head snapped back to the living room, mostly involuntarily, studying the mess with all those empty alcohol bottles and cigarette stubs. The colors, especially those of the couches, were a disaster. A fashion pas faux, but that really wasn't the reason Gil was so interested in them. It was the little bob, barely reaching the top of the armchair.

Cautiously Gil sneaked to the dirty orange furniture, his hand close to his weapon.

He peaked over it-

He stumbled back, floundering over his own foot and meeting the ground with his butt. Heavily gasping while recovering from the immense shock, Gil’s hand moved over his chest to control his frantic breathing. He pushed himself up, the news starting to digest. Gil walked around the armchair, much calmer, ready to face the corpse directly.

"So there actually was a mother hidden in here," he croaked with dry humor. He scrutinized the dead body, or better said skeleton. Gil could imagine the scene all too vividly. How she sat there, day and night, never sober enough to care for anything. Never caring enough to put the bottle away even once. One vodka bottle was still in her lap, her bony fingers embracing it. She died that way, all alone and drunk. Was Coleman still here when that happened? Did he come home to find his mother dead? Did he just pack his things and abandon her immediately, never looking back even once?

Gil jerked at the sound of his buzzing mobile. With shaky hands he fished it out, almost losing it several times as if trying to hold a slippery fish. He accepted the call saying "Lieutenant Arroyo", his internalized standard line.

"Good afternoon, lieutenant," Coleman greeted politely. Gil groaned, yet he was very pleased to hear of his psychopath. He waited for him to count down the rules and explain the game to him. It was getting down to it either way.

"Cut to the chase and tell me how I can get the key."

Coleman snickered on the other end. "Oh? Grumpy much, are we? Someone definitely knows how much time they already wasted."

Gil didn't show it, but the last sentence was a crucial hit. Receiving a reminder on that part of the story wasn't building up his puny self-esteem. Well, Coleman certainly didn't aim for that if he planned on winning. Although to be fair, it wasn’t just a simple mind game. He did lose a lot of time. He left Bright for a week in this madman's hands.

"Anyway," Coleman interrupted his train of thoughts. "I have good news for you. The chances of you winning this game are as equal as mine. Doesn't that sound very promising?" He elucidated excitedly.

Gil scowled earnestly, because it really did appear like good news, considering the rest of the games were already destined for them to lose. Every round ended in a huge disaster, he was quite curious what a victory would look like for a change.

"Hold on a second-" Gil took a rapid intake of breath. The hidden meaning behind Coleman's words reached his brain with such ferocity, he had to catch himself. "You mean like fifty-fifty?"

He could basically hear Coleman’s nod. "Fifty-fifty indeed," He confirmed smugly.

Gil placed his hand over his forehead, grasping the gruesome part of the whole deal. He groaned menacingly. "I swear, if this is a game of luck-"

"It's a game of luck!"

Gil's head fell back on his neck, a long stretched frustrated groan escaping his throat. There was no way he was going to gamble for Malcolm's life! That was beyond cruel, reaching whole new levels of monstrosity.

"I will not participate in your game of chance," Gil stated with a firm snarl, and therefore he'd put his foot on the ground.

Coleman cooed in fake disappointment. "Do you really want me to tell our poor boy that his Daddy Gil refuses to find him?" He whined, the threat carefully shielded behind a gorgeous mask. He had Gil wrapped around his little finger, let alone the thought of Malcolm hearing this news broke his heart. The kid was so smart, reading people like his second nature, though when it came to his own interpersonal relationships he was an utter mess. It was practically impossible to convince Malcolm that he was really loved, really, the second doubts would never leave him alone.

"I'll find that damned key myself," Gil decided annoyed, his eyes already roaming the living room.

"Oh fine. I'll just tell you where it is," Coleman surrendered all of a sudden, voice gruff and whiny as if Gil turned out to be a killjoy to his plans, which to be fair, exactly defined the lieutenant’s role here.

Still, Gil was taken aback by the unexpected generosity. At the very least it would spare him the time to turn around every stone in this god damned house. The skeleton on the couch was giving him the creeps!

"It's in the small box. To open it-"

"What small box?" Gil threw in, his head turning around wildly to find the mentioned object.

Coleman hesitated for a second. "Oh why Gil, it must be before your eyes," he chirped in a chastising voice. Gil scowled, adding with a further no. "Don't be shy to look at my mother. She always owned the stares," he giggled maliciously.

Gil did as he was told, scanning the dirty skeleton partially hidden under a violet dress thoroughly. There was no box with the mother. He grimaced disgusted, shaking his head. "I think you might have misplaced it," he replied, glad to have his attention somewhere else than on the corpse.

"No," Coleman protested, "I left it right on her lap. She even put one hand on it," he began to argue convinced. Gil checked her over again, quickly, although he was pretty sure he couldn't have missed something as obvious as a wooden box on her bony lap, thankfully covered by her long floaty dress.

"Oh, I see," Coleman realized slowly. "She must be playing tricks on us and might've hidden it somewhere else," he assumed, and Gil would never be able to find a worse actor than this guy here. Maybe Bright, though that isn’t the point right now. He hates comparing his wonderful son with this psychopath.

His eyes landed again on her purple dress, only this time he wasn't thankful at all. He lifted the skirt up, indeed finding a little wooden box between her two fat thigh bones.

"You're sick," he grunted disgusted, fishing the box out, careful not to brush against the brownish-white leg. Coleman chuckled at him.

"Gil, you naughty boy," He commented thoroughly amused. He was very well aware of where he had hidden that stupid box.

He shook the box, the little object rattling in confirmation. "To open this box-" Coleman started, abruptly cut off by the noise Gil caused by smashing it down to the ground. He stomped on it with his foot, disappointed when it didn't break under the impact.

"You can't break it," Coleman stuttered dumbfounded. That scenario probably wasn't a thing he had prepared for. Gil reached for his gun, the click of his trigger warning Coleman what he was about to do. "You can't shoot it open either!" He called infuriated, immediately cut off by the deafening sounds of two shots.

Gil scooped up the fully intact box, examining the two embedded bullets with a frown. "What is this stuff made off? Seriously, where do you get these badass boxes?" He wondered, not even offended. He was genuinely interested in who was able to invent these physical-law defying pieces of shit.

"I have some contacts," Coleman admitted at the side, continuing "though that isn't the point!"

Gil shrugged. He was out of his ideas, may as well wait for Coleman to pull through with his perfect plan. He consoled himself with the fact he could still find loopholes. He wouldn't need to rely on his horrible luck.

"What I've been meaning to tell you, is how to open that box properly." Third time's the charm, and eventually Coleman managed to say what he failed to do earlier. There was a moment of awkward silence where he probably tested out if he had Gil's sole attention. Gil made a mental note of that.

"The game is called Heaven or Hell," he introduced, immediately cut off by the lieutenant all over again.

"You mean that child's play? With the paper snippets? Or the drawings on the ground where children jump-"

"Yes!" Coleman hissed sharply, failing in keeping his frustration concealed. Gil smirked to himself.

data-p-id=5f1bec46d456e0d5e39cc9aecac6a710,"What now? That was a two option question?

"Argh you- it's the first one." Coleman took a deep breath, his voice leveling back down. "The one with the paper. I did say game of luck, didn't I?"

Gil rolled his eyes. "Right. How could I forget that," he snorted quietly. "How is that going to work out? Don't mind me, but I'm not seeing any paper scraps or other useless stuff."

Gil was aware he was straining Coleman's nerves. After all, it was his only plan. It was the newest weak point he figured out, no way he would leave that unexplored. Truth to be told, he was genuinely surprised how patient Coleman presented himself. It told Gil how eager he was to continue this game. Maybe there wasn't fifty-fifty after all?

Coleman groaned in response. "Well, that would be too obvious, wouldn't it?" He replied with forced politeness.

Gil shrugged disinterested. "Honestly with you? One can never know."

Coleman laughed poisonously at him. "You're sweet. Maybe I let Malcolm feel how naughty you were today?"

Gil tensed up, swallowing hard. He shouldn't overdo it and forget it was the other man who was on the higher end. It slipped his mind that his actions could have consequences for Bright. Which wasn't fair at all. No one should atone for his self-made sins but him.

After that, Gil remained muted, so Coleman took over the lead satisfied. "Cat got your tongue, lieutenant?" He snickered. Gil just crunched his teeth, biting down a witty remark on that. He shall be thrifty with those from now on.

"To be honest with you, I don't recall how to fold these paper thingies. Well, I never learned it. Yet I am familiar with the concept of a few versions. The easiest one by far is to choose one side of the origami form and reveal if it's hell or heaven," Coleman spoke, a chair screeching in the background. "Now we are in this shitty position without this damn paper," he confessed, "which is why I decided to change it into a quiz."

Gil narrowed his eyes, frowning annoyed. "A quiz? Doesn't sound like a game of luck to me." He huffed betrayed.

Coleman hummed in a light laugh. "Take it how you prefer it. Are you in, and I'll reveal the first question. Are you out, good luck with that box. You know where the door is."

Despite Gil's internal voice screaming to abort that mission in several different voices, he witnessed helplessly how he confirmed his consent to start the game. By now it was the only possibility he saw in getting a step closer to Malcolm. So he would play along for now.

"Alright!" The killer cheered excitedly. "We find ourselves floating over the Mariana Trench, located in the western Pacific Ocean, it is known to be the deepest trench on earth. It's about 200 kilometers east the Mariana Islands and measures about 2,550 kilometers in length and 69 kilometers in width."

Gil frowned in mild panic. Kilometers? He hated to admit it, but this particular parameter barely left him any hints. He had no time to drown in further concerns.

"The maximum known depth is 10,984 meters at the southern end of a small slot-shaped valley in its floor known as the Challenger Deep. However-"

"Can we cut out the history lesson?" Gil snapped unexpectedly, frustrated by the lack of knowledge the words delivered. Of course he knew the Mariana Trench, where it lays, and what it's famous for. What he does not know are the exact numbers of wide, length or depth, and he never will. He won't keep it in his briefcase to remind himself how deep a trench on the other end of the country is. Although, as for right now, he kind of wished he would've done that at some point in his life.

"Ugh, fine," Coleman groaned, reaching towards the skip button. He cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Now, if you would place Mount Everest at the lowest point of the trench, would it breach the surface?"

Gil huffed taken aback, surprised to hear from a mountain after all this ocean talk. "Wha-? How did you even invent this question?" He blurted out.

Coleman ignored him coolly. "Fifty-fifty, yes or no?" He summarized indifferently.

Gil hesitated for a second. This was serious. There were no loopholes. He was forced to gamble for Malcolm's life. As outrageous the idea was, as necessary it was for Gil to play along more than ever. And be right. It was a quiz, yes, a game of knowledge. Yet the answer wasn't particularly clear. Whatever answer he'd choose, it'd be a guess. Only luck could decide, so they were back with the game of chance after all. No matter how hard Gil strained his brain for the answers, he could not picture a mountain in the sea. He could not compare both unknown sizes to him. He could only guess.

"No," he breathed out shakily. He concentrated on any sound. Anything that could warn him. Coleman did not spoil, not in the slightest breath. Gil was completely caught unguard when the lights around him changed.

Blue.

"You're right, Gil. Mount Everest does not scratch the surface. It is in fact smaller than the trench. Lucky guess I would say, hm?" Gil exhaled relieved. He was mildly interested in the change of colors. He was just glad that he didn't screw up. For Malcolm's sake.

"You like the lights? I put some LED up, pretty fancy looking right?" Coleman explained, only then Gil began to really acknowledge the change of atmosphere. The living room soaked in a strong cold blue. So much for heaven.

"Good to know I'm worth the effort," Gil gasped, still breathless from the shock.

Coleman snickered in response. "Everything for a good game."

"Ready for round two?" Coleman suddenly asked, all in rhetorical nature of course, but Gil really could've used a short moment to calm his breathing. If it wasn't for the overwhelming time pressure, so over to round two. "The next que-"

"Hold on," Gil interrupted confused, a scowl on his face. "I guessed right, is there no reward or something of that sort?" He was unsure of the concept, in what way exactly this was getting him nearer to the key.

A soft slap of an open palm against a forehead echoed from the speaker. "Silly me, I simply forgot. For every right answer I give you a clue that may help you reach the key, leaving it up to you how many rounds there are needed. Fortunately, you remembered me just in time, what a waste of nerves that could've been?"

Gil could practically hear the nasty grin. "Sure you didn't want to cheat?" He grumbled offended. It went ignored, luckily probably.

"Anyways, sharpen your ears for this huge reveal," he announced, Gil concentrating more than ever.

"The very thing you seek is not the thing you need."

A moment of silence between the two, a moment where Gil tried to balance his composure. He inhaled sharply. "That is the clue?" He hissed disappointed.

Coleman chuckled. "Why yes, moving on." Gil pinched the bridge of his nose, taking deep breaths to keep his cool. The blue light disappeared unfortunately, he really could've used that to cool down. "The next question is very close. Now, that we've established that the mountain does not reach the surface, I want to know by how many meters it's failing."

Gil almost bit his tongue. This question was even worse. "You sure this is still a game of luck rather than knowledge?" He protested panicked. Coleman hummed amused.

"Of course. Fifty-fifty, just like I promised. A) more than 2 kilometers, or B) less than 2 kilometers."

Gil didn't even know where to begin with. First of all, why were they talking about the Mariana trench in the first place? Was there a particular reason to it, a hidden clue maybe? Secondly, damn those kilometers or meters, Gil isn't familiar with that crap. Lastly, what the heck, more or less? What kind of inaccurate shit is that? This game was a disaster, frustrating Gil to a certain dangerous point.

The moment where he made his first mistake.

"A," He grumbled, without giving the question much of a thought. It wouldn't change a thing after all, it was pure luck. Yet personally it did matter a lot. It was Malcolm's life at stake, and he just threw it away like nothing. The guilt nagging on him could never be painful enough for the action he just pulled.

The light turned blue. Gil was not surprised, just instantly relieved. He may have made a mistake, but it was not too late. Little did he know he was too late by weeks already, to be precise the very moment he entered the inconspicuous looking shop. Examining their first victim. Definitely not their last.

"You guessed correct again, lieutenant. You're very good at this. Maybe I should invite you to a game of poker. With your luck, you might be an interesting opponent." Coleman snickered in mockery. Gil looked over it, coldly demanding for the clue.

"Of course, what is a deed without a reward. Your next clue: Heaven truly is a marvelous place indeed, unfortunately, it cannot grant you what your heart aches for. It is worth to lower your expectations."

Automatically, Gil's head traveled to the ground. There was nothing but a dirty rug. Lower your expectations. What was that even supposed to mean? He wasn't even sure what his expectations were. Finding the key for the other cursed box. He couldn't lower that expectation, he wouldn't leave without the very thing he came for.

He caught himself waiting for the next question, horrified how he could already fall that low. That definitely didn't fit his former plan, more than anything it identified strongly with the skeleton resting on the couch. Did he expect to get the key just by standing and playing along like a marionette? What happened to his search for loopholes? The motivation to outsmart the gamemaster and play by his own rules?

The blue light died, soaking the living room back in darkness. Even the sun hid itself from this godforsaken place. Only that way Gil noticed the remaining light from the corner of his eyes. Weak and barely a flicker. A thin line under the door he hadn't even noticed before. Lower your expectations?

"Ready for round three?" Coleman checked in, while Gil sneaked quietly to the door. He was highly motivated not to give Coleman any hints of what he was about to do.

"Sure," he replied distracted, only present with one ear. He laid his hand on the door handle pulling it down. It opened without any effort, without as much as a stereotypical creak, revealing a staircase leading to a hidden basement. Lower your expectations, hu. So it really was going down for him.

"Alright, this round is a little bit easy there, but you certainly won't mind," Coleman announced. Gil nodded absently, careful not to make any noise as he started his path downstairs. He brushed past the naked light bulb flickering weakly, spider webs above his ducked head. The alley was narrow and small. Not only tight but also very steep. Gil was careful of each step he descended into the deep darkness. His personal Mariana trench.

"For the next question, I want you to name the highest mountain in the world. Is it A) Mount Lhotse? Or is it B) Mount Everest?"

Gil stopped in his tracks, although he could already see the end of the steps, a dark abyss below him. Was Coleman being serious? That answer didn't require luck, no matter which person you'd ask. Even a child would know the answer. It was a certain clue, a certain win for Gil, if it wasn't for the second doubts.

Heaven truly is a marvelous place indeed, unfortunately, it cannot grant you what your heart aches for.

The right answer means heaven. But heaven can't help him. He doesn't need clues. He needs a way to open the newest box. Heaven can make him run around in circles, bite his own tail like a dog. Hell instead can provide him with physical answers. How he is so sure? Heaven doesn't exist. It is nothing but a blue light. Hell, though, is right here. Right before his nose. A dark space, yet to uncover with all its secrets.

Gil hesitated to answer, the second doubts circling in his brain. In the end, he had no other choice. He needed to set his mind on heaven or hell. Unfortunately, hell seemed too sweet to decline, like the malicious fruit in paradise luring Gil closer and closer.

"A," he croaked, fully aware of his decision. He understood too late that he managed to achieve only one thing. Allow Coleman to manipulate him.

The basement lit up in light, revealing a small, a very small place. Empty shelves lined up at the wall, tainted in crimson red. "Wrong. Guess you didn't pay much attention in geography, lieutenant?" Coleman sighed overdramatically, his voice echoing in the tight room.

"Calls for punishment."

The door above him fell close with a dull noise. Gil wasted no second to race up. Just like expected the door refused to open, locked from the outside. Coleman was here? In person?

His jacket lit up, a faint red color biting through his pocket. Gil pulled out the box he'd received from Coleman's mother, dropping it in shock. The clattering noise as it plummeted down the stairs accompanied Gil all the way down. He followed closely, picking up the box again and acknowledging the numbers.

14:45

And the seconds count down further.

"Are you kidding me!" Gil blurted out panicked, the bomb in his hand casually running down, nearing its merciless ultimatum. The clattering sound inside the box wasn't the key. It was the mechanism of a deadly machine.

"Don't you like my surprise?" Coleman spoke up, startling Gil. He completely forgot about his presence. The monster he trusted.

"Your clues are crap," Gil accused him offended, gritting his teeth.

"Only if the beholder fails to see the price," he countered back.

Gil snapped. "Cut out your riddles!" Of course he was on edge, this house was on the verge of blowing up and he was trapped in a basement. No help would ever arrive in time, and the key was a complete bust.

"Crap!" He cried, a slight wince accompanying the sound. He hid his eyes in his palms. Drowning out the red light from his vision. He did not enjoy the crushing darkness either.

"Ready for round four?" Coleman asked innocently. Gil's hand dropped down, his murderous gaze scanning his surroundings, eventually falling on the empty shelves.

"I'm ready to slit your damn throat."

"Oooh, grumpy," Coleman cooed unimpressed. Gil was more horrified by his own statement than the killer. He was a police lieutenant for Christ’s sake. The last thing he would do was murdering a man. Malcolm needed a role model after all. How could he ever distinguish the difference between his actual father and Gil himself?

"Tick tock, Gil. Tick tock," Coleman reminded him all of a sudden. Gil appreciated that, dashing towards the empty shelves in hope of finding anything. A visual, physical clue. Now the first clue made much more sense. He didn't need a key for this box unlike he had thought.

The previous events repeated in his brain. Didn't he shoot the boxes? They certainly did not explode. He examined the dents on the box, where the bullets never made it through. How dangerous could this really be if not even a gun from close range could dig through it? Certainly, it wouldn't tear down the whole house. But this tiny room, including Gil? His chances were against zero.

The shelves were all empty, as expected. Neither way Gil wasn't very skilled in defusing a bomb. Especially not one like this which he couldn't even open up. His only chance was the door itself. Kicking it down might be possible, although he couldn't reach the maximum of his power with his unfortunate place. The chances of tumbling down the stairs and breaking his neck were shockingly high.

No matter how Gil looked at it.

He was facing his own death.

Coleman won, and he failed. He failed his colleagues and friends. He failed Jessica and Ainsley. He failed the only person in this world he was ready to sacrifice his own life for.

Now he would die.

In 12 minutes and 53 seconds.

Seems like he chose hell more literally than expected.

Notes:

Oh well, that didn't end for neither of those four in a happy note.
In case you're not familiar with the game referenced in the chapter (but you wanna know) just use this link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnvTKzE0K98

It was part of my elementary school time. I'm not sure if it's the same in the United States, but once I got a plot idea it's pretty hard to find some alternatives. So I went with Heaven or Hell, turned it into a quiz (how I decided to play with the trench and mountain I have no idea, but in retrospect, it fitted quite well, no?) and that's the story!
See you next chapter!

Chapter 35: Chapter 34

Notes:

Hi!
...
Despite writing so much, I'm actually not good with words, so...

Enjoy! :)

Chapter Text

There is an advantage of being a danger magnet.

Ironically enough, there is. Not that Malcolm has been kidnapped often in his life. Only last year with Watkins, oh and well, currently. That one time in the FBI, but that doesn't really count, neither the other one. Oh well, what happened in the FBI stays with the FBI.

The point is, getting kidnapped isn't the first time happening to Malcolm. This one is just as unique as the other times, sure, though they do have some things in common. For example, the part where you're locked away in an unknown place, etc.

So learning to break a lock with a belt was more or less necessary, and is kinda one of his best traits actually, though pretty useless in an actual kidnapping case. Experienced abductors never leave their victims with their belts, no matter if they're fully-fledged cops or normal civilians. A desperate human being always finds ways. Some of them just faster than others.

This aspect doesn't play a role though, since Malcolm had decided one morning far away in the past, he wouldn't need his belt for this pair of pants. And now he’s here, freezing in black nothing, wearing exactly nothing.

Although his clothes technically are right there, just out of his reach. Malcolm tried it countless times, stretching himself to his full length, toes wiggling furiously to touch something else but dusty air. He could never grasp that stupid pile of clothes with his toes, not one single time.

Though as of right now, he couldn't care less about those damned clothes. The shock of the humiliation had died down, swiftly exchanged with flaming hatred. And that was good, as long as hatred pumped energy in form of invincible energy into his body.

It's not like Gil is a paranoid man. More than anything he is very calm and composed, above that very experienced, so he usually owns trust wherever he blesses with his appearance. Having this man as a father figure is stressful, especially because he's always right. It's like having two mothers, which is too much indeed. Yet also wonderful, because Gil is always right.

I don't need a lockpicker in between my shoelaces.

That was his own quote. Busy fighting off a persistent lieutenant in overprotective dad mode. It was shortly after the Watkins incident, directly after what happened with Dr. Copperfield. The kidnapping case had hit him hard in the gut, and it wasn't hard for every bystander to miss.

So Gil had dragged him aside, into his office with drawn blinds, you know, to do the talk. Holding up a tiny metal stick before his nose.

"A lock picker. It fits between your shoelaces."

Ridiculous. That's what Malcolm had called it back then. He laughed lightly at his own stupidity, stretching further, his wrist burning in the hold.

Gil had insisted that Malcolm would take it and carry it. He didn't fight it too long, after all, it was no huge deal anyway. It wasn’t like it constantly poked into his foot, he didn't feel it at all. It was just the concept unnerving him. As if Gil expected him to get kidnapped another time, which Malcolm really didn't hope for.

"I dearly hope you will never need it. But whenever something happens, I want you to be well-equipped."

Well-equipped is something else, but it’s still better than nothing. Malcolm was aware that an experienced kidnapper usually makes sure to rid their victims of their shoes as well, alongside the belt. That’s the first thing they do, especially with people like Bright. Even Coleman followed the lead, if not a little bit too late, which wasn't a shame on his side, since Malcolm completely forgot about his secret weapon. He whined over one stupid belt, forgetting that he actually carried a damn lockpicker with him.

The punishment was tremendous. An immense loss of pride and much more was lost during his mistake. With his wrist burning aggressively, he befriended himself with the idea he deserved this treatment. He had possessed everything he needed. If he didn't use it, it was his own fault, as simple as it is.

Fortunately, he had a chance to redeem his mistake, granted by Coleman himself. A man too certain of himself, spoiled by his failproof plans he created for months before engaging. Unlike this kidnapping, which was probably born only after the car accident. Keeping up his attitude towards them was vital for him, though it left Coleman bound to make a mistake sooner or later. Falling down the canyon after teasing the edge once too often.

Bright stretched too far, more than his leash allowed, breaking the already tender skin on his wrists. Blood began to shine through the probably reddened skin, tickling as it slowly trickled down his arms. It came in handy, finally allowing Malcolm to go one inch farther than previously. It hurt like a bitch, but was instantly forgotten when his toes wiggled around something soft, under it something hard. A sturdy cord, his shoelaces!

He grinned victoriously, curling his toes around the material tightly, and proceeding to pull it towards him. The pressure on his wrists relieved, a sigh escaping his lips. He wouldn't acknowledge the newly gained wound, there was nothing he could do about it anyway.

Bright was more concerned in finding the tiny devil in his shoe. He fumbled around in the darkness, only seeing with his fingertips.

He flinched when he met a warm metal stick, so warm it almost burned. He pulled it out, clenching it in his wrist, allowing it to brand the victory in his palm. He wouldn't need to lift it to his eyes. His eyes were useless. Instead, he acknowledged it with his whole hand, satisfaction streaming through his body. It’s the lockpick, alright.

He doesn't know,

the words of his father echoing in his head. Sometimes his brain is a real genius. It’s only disturbing that it uses to manifest itself in mirages carrying his father's face.

Malcolm made short work of the handcuffs on his wrists. They fell to the ground, clattering the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. It meant freedom, and it tasted wonderful.

He grabbed his clothes, swiftly putting on some warming layers. They held no form of pride or dignity anymore. Over the hours, Malcolm had gotten numb to this sort of torture. Or maybe, he finally learned to accept the animal inside of him, whatever bullshit Coleman said. No matter the real reason, the clothes meant nothing more than warmth to him at the moment. Bright was sure that aspect would quickly change after rearranging himself back into civilization.

He corrected the buttons on his wrists, mildly feeling sorry that the expensive white fabric would be tainted in crimson blood. Although, this really shouldn’t be his biggest worry. His sole goal was to escape this godforsaken place quickly and unnoticed. Then he would take the safe house option no matter what. He was getting too old for this kind of shit.

So was the plan. Malcolm already consoled himself he would never make it that far anyway. He dreaded the same isolation in a safe house, day after day worrying for his friends.

No. He couldn't leave without taking down Coleman.

He opened the door easily. It wasn't locked. Not that it would be a huge deal for him and his awesome lockpicker, (shoutout to Gil for that), but it demonstrated all too well how careless the man had gotten. A thing he would eventually come to regret.

There were two options for him. Either try to flee unnoticed in the dark, probably failing in the end and therefore having to start the fight unprepared, or option two. Preparing himself for the fight and patiently awaiting Coleman’s return.

Each way had its fair share of risks. Fleeing unprepared could lead Malcolm into huge problems, and his death was more certain. Although waiting for Coleman to own the first strike also had its flaws. The last time, it took Coleman quite the time to come for him. The more time Malcolm waits, the weaker he'll get without following water or food supply.

His next decision could turn out both fatally or perfectly. Only luck could decide, Malcolm could never know what the other man is up to. Therefore, he would need to observe his habits of coming and going, which was not a thing Malcolm had time for. He wouldn't sit in his cell any longer if he were presented with a key to the outside world. Even if it meant sneaking around blindfolded.

Malcolm peeked outside, as expected seeing nothing. Nothing at all. Black darkness. So he went with his more reliable eyes, touching the area around him with his free hands. He was delighted to feel a bulge in the wall, pressing the switch. The effect was massive, blinding him like a supernova.

He gasped shocked, blocking the white light from his sensitive eyeballs by pressing the balls of his hands on it. He groaned dizzily, exhausted to repeat this battle all over again. There really was no other way, and in the end, he needed to get accustomed to light again. Even if it meant the hard way. There only was the hard way.

Through tearful eyes he watched his wrists, his vision blurry. He gathered all his strength, ripping away a good piece of his expensive chemise. It was wet, most certainly stained with his blood. All of that he felt with his hands, his eyes barely being any help yet.

He put the cloth on his face, covering his left eye and granting it salvation in darkness. He relaxed one-sided. His right eye was left to cope with the dazzling light, tears making their way down his cheek. He must look like the most pathetic pirate right now, but that was fine. Pirates were known for their eyepatches, although most of them weren't actually missing an eye or something. They disabled their eye for strategic reasons, reasons Malcolm was tailing to ensure himself at least a few advantages. When entering a dark cave or else, the pirates could lift the eyepatch and see clearly immediately, one eye already accustomed to the natural night vision of a human. Malcolm was making use of the same trick, working on getting both his eyes accustomed to the opposite situations.

It took more time than he wanted, waiting blindly for better times. When his blurry vision slowly sobered up, Malcolm studied the room disapprovingly from his place at the door.

It was really small. The toilette corner was a mess, which is a given when you live in utter darkness. His empty water bowl laid next to crumbles, leftovers of the squashed beans.

Malcolm would not return to this place.

Even if Coleman would catch him, he'd rather die trying to kill defeat him. But he won't go back to this room. Never again.

Bright turned around, footsteps echoing from the other end of the hallway. Now he could conclude it was a good thing he didn't storm out immediately, rather creating a plan. He didn't expect Coleman to arrive this soon again. But, to be honest, he wasn't familiar with the actual time he spent alone. His head wasn't completely dizzy from the lack of water, so it couldn't have been much more than a day.

Reluctantly he enters his cell, closing the door behind him, careful to make no sound. He left the lights in his room on, and that for a good reason.

After that, all he had to do was wait, wait and listen to the footsteps. How they gradually became louder, and his heart pumped more rapidly. His body was shaking anxiously, every passing second straining his nerves. For once, he was glad that action finally was approaching, but at the same time, he dreaded it. Action was coming. He would need to fight actively for his freedom. Keeping in mind that he only had one chance.

Shortly before the door, the noise died. Coleman must've noticed the light under the door, there’s no doubt about it. Confusion? Fear? Uncertainty? What was he experiencing? How would he act? Turn around and flee, mulling over a new plan? Or maybe bravely face the abnormality, demask the question to a reasonable explanation?

The profiler in Malcolm was striving for the answers, to understand the man's brain and everything else. His logical part of the brain urged him to position himself behind the door. He wasn't here to speculate. This situation required action or else he's done for.

So he hid behind the door, anticipation racking his muscles in spasms. He heard the approving sound of footsteps again, drumming in his bones. His arm tensed up, lifting up once he realizes the man is coming nearer. Facing the situation bravely. What an idiotic move.

The door opened with a slow creak.

Coleman peeked into the room first. Checking for Malcolm's presence. He won't find him.

The moment Coleman decided to enter the room fully, his fate was sealed. He was down before he could realize it. Lost before he even knew he was playing.

The hit on his neck was fatal, leaving him paralyzed on the ground. It was Malcolm’s cue to run, and he would not let him tell that twice.

He kicked the door shut, without looking back once. He punched the lights out and ripped away his eyepatch. Better than anticipated, he saw his surroundings. Enough to determine where the wall was, and where not.

He stormed away, following the hallway. Somewhere Coleman must've entered this place. That would be the same way Malcolm would escape. In this state, he wasn’t much of a match for Coleman. No weapon, barely strength. He needed to escape, gather up enough strength. Only then he could think about fighting back.

Their only chance to break out of this game.

Picking up on booming footsteps behind them, Malcolm knew there was no time for that. His breath was already hitching, exhaustion tormenting his every sense, all the while the footsteps grew louder, stronger.

He came to realize, he is screwed.

He is still screwed up if nothing else crosses his mind, a good idea. He’ll need an extremely good idea to get out of this in one piece. If not, well, the ending to this game isn’t much of a mystery.

Game over.

Chapter 36: Chapter 35

Summary:

"One of my employees has the key you desire. Unfortunately, that certain person is on my team and won't give you anything. Unless-" Coleman raised his index up. "-you can dismantle their identity."

"Whoever has the key, I'd advise you to cooperate with the police and hand it over. That way, I can promise you, there will be only very mild consequences."

"You have the key, don't you? Just give me the key already!"

JT snapped, jumping down from the table and staggering furiously to the woman. She stumbled back, dodging his grasp with a frightened cry. Her ankle bent over in a sickening crunch, floundering in her high heels. That short moment enabled JT to grab her wrist and drag her face nearer to his.

Then an ear-piercing crash.
And the world was bathed in crimson red.
Death.

Notes:

Hey ho guys, long time no see :)
I have been gone for such a long time now, it's unbelievable. Therefore, I do apologize, and I cannot stress enough, I will finish all my stories. I will even stay here for a while, since I still have a few ideas left that I want to share with you guys. I know I could've at least left a quick warning, but I was mentally so exhausted... I just decided to disappear for a short while and take some recovery time for myself. sorry.
Therefore, I need to thank you for your patience, I really appreciate all of your support.

Enough said, I hope you enjoy this new chapter!! :)
(PS.: Summary gives you a short overview of what happened in Chapter 31, since both are linked to each others)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The man stumbled back, his torn open eyes glued on his dirtied hands. His whole body trembled, his breath hitching rapidly. His vision focused in and out, going from blurry to clear in a matter of seconds, and back to blurry. He didn't dare to look at anything else than his open palms.

His blood-tainted palms.

He literally had blood on his hands.

His ears plopped back into life, leaving behind the irritating ringing noise. JT saw himself forced to look around himself, eventually snapping out from his sudden shock-induced paralysis. Men and women, screaming and running uncontrollably through the office.

The corpse was laying to his feet, the stomach of the young woman – exploded. Her legs were almost separated from the rest of her body. And there were things, all kinds of things JT didn't even want to name, leaking out from inside of her, just like a snake escaping into freedom. He had to fight the nauseous urge not to throw up in front of everybody.

What did just happen?

No, that is the wrong question, JT knows what happened. What he wants to find out is why would Coleman implant a bomb in a woman's stomach?

"Everybody! Calm down, everybody!" JT raised his voice to a roar, surprised that he actually managed a decent volume than just a weak croak.

Only reluctantly, the wildly screaming mass of terrified people quieted down, shifting their fleeting attention back to the detective instead of their instantly deceased colleague.

JT inhaled, two big shuddering breaths, and said while he refused to look down again, "Anyone care to tell what the fuck is going on?" He subconsciously released a low growl, coming from the deepest of his throat, and directed at all these businesspeople. "Anyone?!" He added frustrated, but no one seemed to feel addressed by him. Nobody felt even a little bit responsible. Well, hopefully because the responsible helping hand could’ve just died. Then the next question: Why kill off his own allies? Since when are Coleman’s games fair?

JT turned his head, his attention caught by a silent murmur coming from a less crowded group. "You need to speak up louder," one of them, a male voice, advised, barely louder than a whisper. JT heard anyway with the office so quiet, they could hear the drop of a falling needle. He instantly locked eyes with the man, observing how he tensed up and backed away in fear. JT followed, spotting a tiny woman behind someone else's back, hiding.

"Who are you? And what are you hiding?" He blurted out immediately, warning bells ringing so loudly that he could easily ignore the guilt for scaring the poor woman. She trembled like a leaf in a storm, big black eyes glued to him, yet she didn't move one bit. She reminded him of poor Edrisa, when in a very unfortunate moment a snake from a crime scene crawled up her leg and she became fully paralyzed. The fact that they almost shared the same height was the cherry on top of the cream.

JT motioned for her to come nearer and abandon her hiding place, and surprisingly enough she actually cooperated. Mechanically the brunette staggered to him, never wasting a look at her fellow colleagues. Looks of astonishment, yet also fright coated in a dash of betrayal.

JT cleared his throat. "Are you familiar with this?" He tried to soften his voice for her, yet he couldn't get rid of the harshness that he usually wields.

The young woman nodded reluctantly, seemingly crushed by the shameful guilt. "Yes," she muttered barely audible, head falling down to count the dust corns on the floor. JT really had to strain his ears to make out anything of a noise at all. He arched his eyebrows in curiosity, urging her to end what she started.

The woman lifted her head, facing the taller man confidently.

"I wrote it."

JT needed a long moment to process the meaning of her words. Meanwhile the rest of the office fell in equal silence, only disturbed by the sounds of unanswered phone calls drifting into mailbox, or the beeping sounds of forgotten printers.

He shook his head in disbelief, coming back to her with a "Sorry what now?"

The woman turned even shyer than before. "I said I wrote it. It was my idea," she confessed as she shrunk deeper into herself, making herself smaller than she was.

"It was your idea?!" He barked out in sheer shock. The woman widened her eyes likewise, mouth gaping with a trembling lower lip.

"No!" She spluttered nervously, but her words barely carried impact.

"It was your idea to plant a bomb into the woman's stomach?!" JT continued, easily ignoring the vehement shakes of her head. "Why would someone-"

"A book!"

JT calmed down, his attention returning to the woman. She breathed shakily, her eyes checking her surroundings. She swallowed audibly and followed up on her earlier sentence. "It was an idea for my book."

JT blinked perplexed. "A book?" He huffed.

The brunette nodded. "Yes. I once wrote during my lunchtime and... our boss, he caught me off guard. He just barged in, h-he grabbed my notes and flew over them, which happened to be this particular scene. He seemed impressed, even went so far as to offer me his support if I'd need some contacts to get the attention of publishers."

In the beginning, JT commented nothing on this. He had several questions, but overall he was disappointed the woman never confessed her private story with Coleman. Nevertheless, this was a good lead to predict what would happen next and how to react, if this scene were based on a book. It also helped him to ignore the corpse in the center of the room, which he couldn't get off his mind for the love of God, innocent or not. He never felt this responsible about a victim before. His rational mind told him it was Coleman who killed her. The more honest part of him was unfortunately aware that he decided for her to be guilty. Was this her death sentence? Did JT order her death?

"Alright, ehm… So what's your name?" JT started uncomfortably.

"Sheila," the woman confirmed companied by her chin nicking down to a nod.

JT nodded, too. "Alright, Sheila. Since this should be based on your book idea, I really need you to explain this scene to me. Give me a short gist of what and why this happened," he demanded.

Sheila planted her hand on her chin. "Short summary, hu...?" she mused, stemming her hands to her hips. The whole office didn't seem to be bothered about her anymore.

"So in my book, the protagonist is searching for something. Yet only the serial killer knows the location," she began, already getting interrupted.

"What is he searching in particular?" JT threw in.

Sheila frowned. "It's... a picture. Of the daughter of- well it doesn't actually matter. You’re searching for a key anyway, right? To keep it short, it's really important for him," she explained. JT nodded, he could draw the line between the picture and the key very well already.

"Okay, so the killer and the man strike a deal where the man can simply win the prize back. Therefore, he must figure out who the traitor is. In his office. His private workplace. He's no detective," she added quickly, assuming it could hold importance. JT waved dismissively, eager for her to continue. "The man chose the same approach as you. He began to question the people around him, parting them into groups. He aimed for one person at the end and chose the traitor. And said person died."

JT blinked perplexed. "Wait, how is this going to help the situation in any way? That doesn't make any sense," he commented frustrated, but labeling something unworthy of belief doesn’t necessarily conclude it as senseless. Easier said, only because JT refuses to recognize sense in her explanation, doesn’t mean it’s actually senseless.

Sheila smiled sadly, sneaking past him to crouch next to her deceased colleague. "It does in fact. The killer hid implants in their food, so when the questioning would take part, everyone would have a bomb in their stomach. Except for the traitor. This person-" She kneeled down, inspecting the red puddle around the woman with amazement, "-also swallows the picture in a small box. The protagonist needs to search for it in the stomach." She rose back to her full height, turning around to meet JT's horrified gaze.

"That must be where your key’s at. In her stomach."

JT swallowed dryly, reluctantly making his way over to Sheila. "In her stomach you say," he croaked.

She nodded unimpressed. "Probably. If she is the right one."

They both have their eyes on the corpse, only now JT raises one eyebrow at her. "Saying she died in vain if there is no key?"

Sheila doesn't even look up anymore. "Every human being makes mistakes, detective," she replies softly. Then she looks him dead in the eyes. "But yes. That's correct."

JT is determined when he crouches down to the corpse, Sheila looking over his shoulder. He wants to prove that she is a traitor after all and didn't die innocently. Therefore he only needs to put his hand inside her. In her blown up stomach. Easy, right?

It's not easy. JT can't even cook a whole chicken or goose, so he never felt the inside of any living being. He doesn't know if he's exaggerating, or if his disgusted grimace might be an insult to the deceased woman. He is really just having a hard time doing as he is told. Rummage through a human's stomach.

It's unnatural in the beginning, and it doesn't get better after the second touch. He fights his hand through the shallow wound into the slimy inside. He gags all the while, blood pressing out and pouring down to the ground. He avoids the dead eyes as he invades her stomach further, until the warm liquid cools up to his elbow, little droplets staining his shirt. His hopes sink slowly, the longer his efforts remain unrewarded. He does not find a key, neither does he find an unusual box that has nothing to do in there.

He doesn't know for how long he has his hand in the bloody mess. He gets accustomed to the feeling, at the same time he never really gets used to it. He doesn’t stop until Sheila lays a hand on his shoulder she speaks out the horrible truth JT still denies. "I think you can stop now. It was the wrong person."

The woman was innocent. She died for nothing. And JT decided her death. Coleman murdered her, but he placed that heavy responsibility on his shoulders. JT doubts he can ever learn to live with that crushing weight of guilt. The guilt of taking someone’s daughter, or sister, or even mother. He took away a human being.

His crimson tainted hand retreats, blood dripping down from his fingertips. His whole arm is soaked in the red liquid. "What now?" He sighs, a faint whimper in his tone. He looks at all those people, looks them in the eyes. They will never see look at him in the same way as they did before, not after they witnessed him doing that. Neither would JT be the same anymore. Still, his fail meant that there was at least still one stomach to investigate.

Sheila looked at him with hope. "We'll find the one responsible. Just like the protagonist of my story we'll just do another questioning."

JT didn't believe in that anymore. No one would be honest with them. Not after they witnessed an innocent colleague dying right before their eyes. Though on the other hand, was there any other chance left?

"Alright. Let's order back. The people who met Coleman in private to the right, the rest to the left," he announced listlessly. Given he was going with the same tactic, it wasn't a big surprise to see the same few people on the right side of the office, even when they only complied less willingly with his orders. He nodded satisfied, making his way over to the left side of the room.

"So. You all claim to haven't seen Coleman in private," JT concluded, his hands on his hips. "I know one of you is lying," he snarls, his eyes shifting to the first victim. "One of you killed an innocent woman. You have the same amount of blood on your hands as you can see on mine. Do you really want more?"

No answer. No suspicious mimic, gesture, or reaction. Looking at this mass of people JT could swear every single person is innocent. But one isn't. One of them is ready to kill, more than once.

A tug on his jacket drags his attention back to Sheila. "I know their shameful secrets," she whispers into his ear.

JT pulls away, arching his eyebrows confused at her. "So?" He mutters helplessly, admiring her determined expression, which comes unexpected, but not unappreciated.

"I don't have many friends. I'm more of an observer. I know questions they will definitely lie to," she elaborates.

Suddenly JT understands, and he likes her plan. He affirms his consent with a nod. "You." JT points at the bearded man at the furthest left. "Do you like chihuahuas?" He forms his question at the tuff-looking man, tattoos pressing under his tight chemise. He widens his eyes, confused and shocked at the same time. "What no!" He blurts out fast. A certain lie.

JT moves over to the next person. He asks a stern-looking man if he is addicted to a petty mobile game and remembers his reaction. With Sheila he discovers each person's facial reaction to a lie, putting in a few filler questions to keep their minds occupied. So they don't have any chance to uncover his plan to disguise the liar in between them.

"Do you watch a series for children in your free time?"

"No. Of course not."

"Do you have the key from Coleman?"

"No? Of course not."

This particular woman is extraordinarily suspicious. She is calm, yet weirdly affected by the corpse behind JT's back, her eyes constantly switching to her while she lies. Or whenever JT talks to her. She notices that JT searches for more conversations between them and tries out different tactics to shake him off her tail.

JT is close on her heels. The raven-haired woman blinks often. Maybe she wears dry contact lenses. Or something else. The sweat is under her armpits and on her gray pants, coming from her sweaty palms. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, fidgeting them on her belt, her pants, her shirt, and her hair.

At some point, JT can't ignore his gut feeling anymore. She is the traitor. The liar. She lies perfectly, still the situation catches up to her. The guilt of her murder never leaves her alone.

"I think it's Nessa," Sheila mumbles into his ear. JT agrees. The woman definitely has some dirt under her nails. If it is the dirt they are searching for will be revealed only by activating the bomb.

"Say Nessa," JT starts, "Have you ever killed someone?"

The woman swallows. "I did not kill her," she states decidedly. JT doesn't take her word for it. Her eyes linger on the corpse this time. It's already too obvious. JT glares at her in disbelief and exchanges a disapproving look with Sheila.

The panic settles within Nessa. "I didn't kill her, I swear! I'm innocent!" She pledges nervously, tears welling up in her eyes. It certainly isn't unusual to fear one's death. No matter if being a traitor or not.

"Can't we just wait until we digested the bombs or else? Killing each suspect can't be the only way?" One man wails frightened. JT ignores him gracefully. There is the risk that the bomb will go off in the stomach acid and all of them could blow up. Of course, he wouldn't tell anyone that right now, but he would definitely make sure to have them checked out before he escapes with the key. There isn’t enough time for him though. If the ambulance pulls up with a police car as backup, JT will never receive the key. They will never find Bright.

"Nessa. You can still give the key willingly. You don't need to die," JT tries to reason with her, but she bursts out like a volcano.

"I don't have your stupid key! I don't have it and I don't care!" She cries hysterically. "I'm innocent! I'm-"

JT narrows his eyes at her before her middle explodes right in front of him. It happened so fast, he had no time to worry if he chose the right person. A few gasps travel through the office, the rest remains silent. Most of them stare in shock at the newest corpse, hands covering their mouth. One person even throws up into a bin.

JT walks numbly to the woman, looking into her dead eyes from above. He crouches down and sticks his finger into the fresh bloody mess. This time it is easier. Still disgusting, but he doesn't fear to throw up or gag. He's just grossed out by the procedure.

Panic rises above the surface and reaches his face. He doesn't find an unusual object, he does not find anything. His hand jerks inside of her, pearls of sweat run down his temple. Where is this stupid key, where is it? If it isn't with her, with whom then? Nobody was suspicious like her, he can't run around slaughtering everyone in this office- Where is this stupid key?!

"Hahaha..."

JT turns around, his hand following automatically. He notices Sheila, who is in the middle of a progressively stronger becoming fit of laughter. He scowls at her. His assistance. His accomplice?

She wipes away a tear. "I never was really good in hide and seek. I always laugh when they're close to finding me," she confesses with a smug smile. How come JT never thought of her? He was so comfortable with the illusion of trusting someone else in a room full of enemies. He enjoyed the thought of not being alone. It was too good to be true.

"You?" He whimpers hurt.

Sheila throws a mocking expression at him. "Surprise?" She's no longer the shy woman she pretended to be in the beginning. Probably in her whole life, all her colleagues staring at her in aghast.

"Why?"

It's a question that doesn't only bother JT. He speaks for the whole office, everyone glaring at the formerly quiet woman with incredulity.

Sheila smiles at him. "You must have the perfect life, detective. Satisfied with your profession. Do you have any idea how it is to be a failure? To be trapped in a life you hate waking up to? To never really fit in, because the problem lies deep within you?" She hisses bitterly.

"You don't know what it means to be lonely."

JT's head drops down. "I guess I get your point. I did have a perfect life. Had the best wife in the world. A wonderful child in sight. Friends. And a steady workplace," JT realizes slowly, his torn open eyes glued to his blood-soaked hands. "Coleman took everything from me."

"What he did is what you deserve," Sheila bites at him, leaving him genuinely confused. He doesn't know her, he never did her any wrong.

"It's not too late for you, Sheila. Give me the key." JT walks closer to her, his demand soft and gentle. Sheila spreads her arms to the side.

"Come and get it."

His eyes land on her belly unwillingly. "I don't want another person to die," JT admits, the stares of the other people in his back. Do they want her to die? After they killed two innocent colleagues? Do they hate him now for refusing to bring down the guilty one?

"Coin, coin, you have to wander, from one hand to the other. That is beautiful, that is beautiful, coin just don't let you be seen," she begins to hum instead. Sheila shows no interest in surrendering. She closes herself from the outside world, singing the song as a universal question to everything JT can come up with.

"Kill her!" Voices hidden behind his back urge him. When he turns around he sees no one moving his lips, wondering if it was in his brain all along.

"Sheila..." JT whimpers, yet he can’t stop the dead song from coming out of her mouth.

"Coin, coin, you have to wander, from one hand to the other. That is beautiful, that is beautiful, coin just don't let you be seen."

With a bloodcurdling scream a woman lunged forward, attacking Sheila with her long nails. Both women almost crashed down. JT pulled out his gun before he even thought of it.

"Back off!" He called, neither of the two listening to him.

The red-haired woman curled her fingers around Sheila's throat, choking and shaking her enraged. "You killed her! You killed my Nessa!" She screamed incoherently. Sheila's eyes became red, her lips instead deciding on a light blue shade. "Coin, coin... you ave to wander..." she croaked relentlessly, despite everything.

The gunshot came unexpected. JT flinched heavily, jerking back and landing on his butt. The exploding noise is even louder. The blowback reached everyone in the office. After that, silence expanded all over again. This time, a new message seemed to be delivered though, a message full of certainty.

It's over.

JT saw the two limp bodies in front of him. He tensed up when he realized, he's lying in a puddle of blood, blood belonging to both women. Both corpses. He jumps up upon realizing that he's the only one with a gun.

He fired the shot.

He killed both women.

He… is a murderer.

The whole office is covered by a blanket of silence. They're all watching him, and he can't stand it. He can't stand those reproachful looks on him. Mostly because he fears they are right. He never thought he might end up like this. Malcolm, probably. But he? JT Tarmel? Never.

But is undeniable now. His hands are literally covered with blood, so is his gun. His bullet lies within one of the woman’s bodies, triggering the bomb inside to explode.

JT is a murderer.

Was there another way? Another way how he could’ve prevented this slaughtering? Four women died at Coleman’s extended hand. His hand. Does the question even matter? If there was another way? Those innocent women should’ve never been dead, not even for an excusable reason. Yes, not even Sheila should’ve been dead.

There is always another way, always a better option. Today, it didn’t want to present itself to JT. So he has to pull through with the mess he started.

Like a robot he trudged to the corpses, every step echoing through the hall. Loud and heavy like an elephant. He reached Sheila and mourned for whatever disturbed this woman so much. That she felt like there was no other way but to leave this world with a bang. Take three innocent souls with her. Drawn to play a role in this sick game.

He felt sorry for her.

Then he pressed his hand into her slimy stomach, blood pouring up to his elbow. He rummaged ungently in the soft and warm mess. He didn't feel anything anymore. He was completely numb to the world. Until his fingertips came in contact with a hard, long object. He curled his fingers around the metal and pulled it out.

He wasn't surprised to see a crimson key in his bloodied hands. Not anymore.

He stood up and walked out of the office without another comment. Without looking back even once. He wiped the majority of the blood on a spare towel he came across and left the office wordlessly. He tucked the key in his pocket and left the building.

He entered his car and drove away, never looking back once.

Running away from the nightmares that are bound to catch up with him.

At some point, they will. They always do.

Notes:

I feel like with Sheila (now months later), I unknowingly wrote myself. Not by appearance, but by the personality. A rather shy person, loves writing just for fun, but is stuck in a life she cannot stand. Sheila always seemed like a girl not fitting in this office/business world to me, and it took me half of a year and a breakdown to realize that I don't fit either into my major. I kept forcing myself to like it, even when I hated it, up to a point where I became really frightened of my future (not like death though, poor Sheila, R.I.P.)

What's the moral of this story? It sucks to make teenagers choose a profession for their life. Welp, that's life. But if they realize they made a wrong decision, don't call them losers or dumb, instead show them support. Don't make them feel broken or weak for 'giving up', when in reality they pulled through bullshit for ... it doesn't matter how long. Too long.

The world is big, and I'm aware some might be going through the same BS as I currently am. So if you want to talk with someone, you can always write to me in the comments. Just talking about stuff helps so much.

Chapter 37: Chapter 36

Summary:

"The rule is actually pretty simple, and I can guarantee you won't forget it. Reach the door. That is all you need to know."

"Alright-" Dani huffed, stretching her fingers in anticipation. "Let's get this over with."

Dani smirked, hand caressing the door, before kicking it down.

"I suppose we haven't met yet?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Mark, the mastermind behind Coleman's technical appearances."

"You're wasting my time. Where is the key?"

"Oh the key is right here."

"Hand it over."

"Only from my cold fingers."

Dani lowered her weapon, relocating her aim back on his head. "Is that really how you want this to go? Die for a key?"

Mark smirked. "I stand to my words."

Dani, usually too, stands to her words.

Click!

"Guns are barely reliable," Mark spoke up. The thing with weapons is-" Dani's eyes followed Mark's hand behind his back with dreading anticipation, "-once their stomach isn't satisfied anymore?"

"They are bound to let you down."

"That's why I'm more of a blade guy." He grinned at Dani, promptly lunging at her.

Her world became reduced to black.

Notes:

Heey... :0

Alright, I am terribly embarrassed. My updates have gotten out of hand, and I need to try to update sooner. Uploading two days in a row, not necessarily, but two weeks are too much. Seriously, I profusely apologize for the long wait, also for not answering to any of your kind comments. It doesn't mean I don't appreciate them. I do. What it means is, that I tried to only answer when I upload. So... that didn't really work I guess. Woops!

Anyways, while I try to get a grip again, I hope you enjoy this brand new chapter! :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Trauma is such a funny thing.

People experience horrible things. To people of all ages, and that is a well-known fact. There is nothing you can do about it. Once you feel something’s off, it's already too late. It's over. It happened. Still, something will never leave you alone.

Thoughts.

Memories.  

Everything boiling up, emerging in a volcano. Every. Single. Day. Over and over again. The force of the impact doesn’t shrink, it will never shrink. It's more likely to rise, and rise, and rise, if not treated carefully.

That is practically the first reason why you should invest in a good therapist. Although, for most people, it seems hard to admit that there is a problem. That they have a problem. That they are wrong, broken even. Why would they? Everything is over. It happened, fine, but now it’s over. Finally over.

It should be over. It really should be, but the evidence is there, that eventually, it is not over. Why is the trauma not over yet?

A good therapist could deliver the answer to that, probably. Could discuss the problems, make them lighter, less threatening. Probably. A therapist can't delete traumas, yet they can help you to learn to live with them. If you look at it, therapists are true lifesavers. It’s a pity she didn’t notice that earlier. Although in Dani's case, her screeching mind is only the second problem guiding her to her death.

The most pressing problem is Mark, straddling her on the floor, and wielding a knife in his high-up raised hand above his head. The scene is all too familiar to her, which is the main reason her mind blacked out and abandoned her. It was definitely not ready to go through that shit again, neither was Dani.

Malcolm's words echo in her head, remembering the words he once told Edrisa. How paralyzation is only a natural fear response. The snake crawling up her leg was unable to detect a threat in the young woman. Her instincts saved her life.

If Dani doesn’t move right now, she will die. She isn’t tricking a snake, she is under attack by a lunatic. If she won’t move now she will never move at all. Never get a second chance. Neither will Malcolm, wherever he suffers.

Her muscles jerk, barely dodging the blade before it pierces into her head. She is surprised to move again, even though it wasn't like she was the one in control. Her mind is still blank, not present. Her fight or flight instincts although were, very much even.

Her fist snaps out, burning when it collides with Mark's nose, a sickening crunch echoing in the small room.

Dani chose fight.

Mark backs away with a guttural cry, one hand shooting up to his nose. Blood pours through the gaps of his finger. He is dazed in the imminent pain, therefore almost missing to recognize Dani's following punch.

Dani jumps up, lunging forward. She manages to push him to the ground and begins striking his face. Several blows rain down on him, splitting up his lip, cracking up his skin. Dani doesn’t stop, not until that man shows signs of certain unconsciousness.

An abrupt sharp pain between her legs forces her to cry out loudly. A big fist meets her jaw, guiding her head with the wind. She lands headfirst, her back pounding on the ground. She tries to blink the haziness away, tries to swallow down the nausea. Without a decent distraction, she probably would’ve given into the sweet little nap. Unfortunately, there is Mark, jumping down on her, and aiming to regain his role as the attacker.

Dani rolls away, over his foot, sending him stumbling to the ground, falling on his tailbone without mercy. He stubbornly grunts against the pain, but just like Dani, he is still determined to get the upper hand between the two of them. Neither of them can accept anything else but a victory.

Dani is already up on her feet when she is caught off guard by the reflecting light glittering on the metal blade. Pictures of that faithful night resurface in her mind, kindly described. Like a train they explode in her brain, rendering her motionless, her instincts yet again wearing off. And here she thought she was back in the game.

Instead, tears well up in her eyes as she is teleported back to the cold horror night, fear raking down her limbs like a snake made of ice. She doesn't notice her whole body beginning to tremble, neither does she register how Mark reaches up to his full height. How could she? Mark wasn’t there. Wrong. Mark isn’t here.

Her weak moment is all he needs to bring her down on her knees. Willingly.

Mark doesn’t even lift a finger, observing with a satisfied smirk how Dani barely reacts, her torn-open eyes glued to the shining blade. She can't escape the world her mind created to disable itself. She can't fight the memories that never stopped hunting her.

Mark isn’t here. Another monster though is, always will be.

Coleman picks up the blade. With a cocky grin he examines the weapon, finger tracing over the metal, almost delicately, savoring every cooling touch.

His head whips to Dani. Shivers pierce down her spine.

Move, she tells herself.

Do something, anything.

She can't move as the man walks towards her, the maniac smile never leaving the mask. In the corner of her eyes, she barely notices Malcolm's unconscious shape. Malcolm…

This isn't real.

It can’t be.

And yet the monster walks up to her, presses the knife to her throat. It feels real. She feels her skin slitting up to the slow task. She feels Coleman's foul breath, tainted with coffee, she feels it in her face.

And yet, this can't be real.

Dani...

Her eyes abandon Coleman before her, nervously shifting around to survey her surroundings for the familiar voice. Barely a whisper, like an angel singing down to her from the heavens.

She meets pale blue eyes, and is stunned.

“Malcolm…” She breathes.

Dani observes Malcolm's weak form in the corner on the dirty street. He stems himself up with a wince, making the small task look so arduous and impossible, as if he’s carrying the whole world on his shoulders. It's obvious that he is no help to her in this shape. Although it seems like he is more than just an illusion.

Coleman turns around, disturbed by the distraction Bright caused.

Dani wastes no second to strike the man down. And yes, he goes down. Dani rises up and towers over the pathetic shape of a certain hacker. She does not know what distracted Mark to turn around, but she doesn’t really care anyway.

Her foot shoots down and kicks his unguarded abdomen. The man cries out unexpectedly, rendering Dani in hesitation, enough time for him to squirm away. Her foot lands on his leg to stop him. All she is allowed to hear is the sharp intake of a breath. Mark is concentrating on not showing his pain.

He will know real agony.

Dani burns down, piercing into him with her knee. She lands on his chest. Mark can't even cry over the pain, not enough air for that, but his eyes widen, almost popping out.

She grabs him by his hair, her nails scraping his scalp. She pulls the motionless head almost up to her chest, then she slams it on the ground. Again and again. And then, again, till his weak cries drown under her own battle cries.

Blood marks the ground, tainting her hand as well. Dani slams down his head for the last time where it remains.

Mark doesn't move after that.

He lies unresponsive in his own bloody mess. Yet Dani waits. For several seconds, she remains fully attentive. Observing movements, anything. Waiting for the adrenaline to subside. Until the consequence of her action catches up to her.

Did she kill him?

She jumps up, stumbling away with tears welling up in her eyes. Fidgeting nervously in her wobbly stance, her eyes keep shifting doubtingly to the mess she caused. Her breathing accelerates until she isn't sure if she remembers the feeling of air in her lungs.

This is no solution.

She drops to the ground, her shaking hands moving to Mark’s throat. That is a solution.

Her bloodied fingers press down on the pale skin, inches below his chin. Weak bumps jump against her hand, faint but steady. Mark has a pulse. He'll be alright. Probably a terrible concussion, or something, but at least alive.

Alive…

… and guilty.

She pulls out her handcuffs and ties him to the table attached to the wall. First though, she needs to check the wood for its durability. It should be enough to keep a desperate concussed person at bay.

Dani crouches down again and lifts him by his chin. His eyes are shut. She sighs relieved and grabs his exposed collar, ripping it in two until his hairy chest is partly bared. Mildly cringed, she fishes out the key with ease, snapping the cord from his neck.

Dani straightens up, looking proudly at her victory. When Coleman told her to reach the door she did not expect things to end this badly. She did not expect to meet a crazy hacker trying to kill her. Neither did she expect she would come to kill someone. It seemed like a stupidly close call.

Before she leaves the room, she reloads her gun, the task burning on her fingertips. She cannot rest without a decent weapon. It’s a burn mark Coleman had pressed on her soul, leaving it with a big scar behind. A trauma to hunt her for the rest of her life. When she will cook with a big knife. When she will examine a murder weapon. The fear will shrink with time going on. But it will never fully subside. Never die.

Dani leaves the manager room, her eyes glued to the key in her open palm. Without sparing a glance she walks over the remaining shards, the crunching under her heels leaving a numb feeling to accompany her.

She tucks away her weapon, but can't seem to let go of the extraordinary key, one that is so complicated constipated, she has never seen anything similar to this. It is her key to freedom. And after they find Malcolm, she'll be free. Even if they need to kill Coleman for that, together they will survive.

She looks up at the door. Due to the missing bell, she didn't notice someone opening it. It is the warm sunlight that lures her out of her head, back into real life.

So now, she is looking eye in eye with someone she prayed she wouldn't see again.

Her hand reaches for her weapon, but she hesitates to pull it out. Neither do words escape her mouth. Instead, she tries to figure out a way to flee without making the situation worse. She is caught anyway.

"I knew you would be here," Colette notes coolly. Dani swallows, the tear of sweat tickling her temple. Colette's gaze wanders over the destruction Dani left behind, a sense of respect shimmering in her gaze. "But you are alone."

Dani breaks her head on how to escape the woman and reach their meeting place. Gil and JT must be already waiting for her. Malcolm without doubt. Her eyes are glued to the light behind Swanson's back, the light that screams freedom.

Colette steps to the side, leaving the door exposed.

Dani frowns confused. She observes the woman, slowly taking a careful step towards the exit. "What is this?" Dani asks suspiciously. She isn’t keen on getting a gun smashed on her neck. Malcolm needs her. After all that mess, she can’t be hindered by the local authority. The FBI agent won’t stop her.

Colette leaves the door, stepping further into the room, her heels clattering menacingly. Dani glares at the slender woman, equally taking steps away in a circle. She makes sure she comes closer to the door, but careful to not leave it behind her back. Colette wouldn't come alone now would she?

"I'm letting you off the hook." Her firm voice echoes through the abandoned bar. Dani arches her eyebrows, smirking in obvious suspicion. She met this woman before, and this certainly isn’t her. "Just this once," Swanson adds sharply, her dark eyes narrowing. Her irises shift to the door, urging her to leave. Before she changes her mind, or what?

"What game are you playing?" Dani speaks up strongly. She lifts her chin up and points to the door. "Who did you position outside?" She demands to know.

Colette proceeds to feign confusion. "Backup? None. I'm alone," she states.

Dani nods incredulously. "Of course you are," She laughs back in a biting tone. And another person underestimating her. For her family, she would fight her way even through the agents outside. She'd rather die than fail so close to the goal.

"Do you have the key?"

Dani is taken aback. They never told the FBI about the box, or any keys for that matter. How could she know? How could she know about the key, the box, and even her whereabouts?

"I boldly assume you already know the answer to that," Dani snaps, her eyes wide opened. Her hand tightens around the object, the other one gripping her weapon already. Is Colette dirty?

It makes sense. The things she knows, she isn’t supposed to know. Adding her irrational motivations to let Dani go- Colette hates Bright. With Bright out of the picture, she should be happy. Then again, would she really go to such lengths because of hatred for another person?

"Is he still alive?" Colette ignores Dani’s assumption, gesturing with her head to the manager's room. The dots connect further. Dani steps back from Colette, her hand pretty close to pulling out her weapon. She would not let herself be made a fool again.

"So you are in this," she realizes, her fingertips drumming on the handle of her handgun. Her eyes scan for possible defenses, any tables or else. In case Colette would be the first to her gun.

The woman stems her hands to her hips and scowls disapprovingly. "Are you joking?" She huffs offended, but Dani refuses to let her guard down.

"I could ask you the same. Stop messing around and tell me which side you are on."

Swanson glares at her infuriated. "You illegally enter a crime scene, with a gun in possession that you aren’t allowed to wield. You beat down a civilian and rob him. Then you plan to escape to finish a case that doesn't belong to you, not forgetting you are currently suspended. And here we are, I am the suspicious traitor?"

Dani crunches her teeth, the sweet irony snickering back at her. Colette has a point. Who is Dani to judge people on their loyalty if she is the very one who betraying it? Of course, she is restless to see her friend safe, but that is no reason to act irresponsibly. In everyone else's eyes maybe. Dani knows very well, no matter the outcome, she would not regret her actions. She is doing exactly what her heart guided her to do.

"Maybe my actions aren't fully justified, but my intentions are solely concerning Bright. Everything I do is to save him," she confesses genuinely.

Colette smiles, a foreign look on her, and then her eyes wander down on Dani’s crimson red hands. "Is it that... or killing Coleman with your bare hands?" She states smugly, marking a sensitive spot within Dani.

She glares menacingly at the woman. "Only Malcolm..." she snarls, warning her not to cross another line. Swanson acknowledges that, surprisingly respecting the woman.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Dani almost stumbles. Colette is right, what in the hell is she waiting for?

The door is directly next to her, luring her with baited freedom. Colette seems to let her go willingly, although it is her very job to prevent that. The chances of running into a trap are higher than actually escaping.

"What is your deal, tell me," Dani prompts, her desperate tone almost shining through. Almost.

Colette's facial expression melts down into a warm and gentle look on her face, something Dani has never seen before with her.

"I'm willing to help you."

Dani feels the words to respond.

"What?" She gasps irritated. Colette tilts her head and Dani desperately tries to decipher if there is a threat or not hidden within her gestures and words. Even if the little twitch of her lip.

"I can't help Malcolm. Coleman made sure of that," she admits eventually. She sounds disappointed, until hope marks her face. "But you can. He gave you three a chance. And I see you're not wasting it, so I won't stop you," she speaks, her bangs moving with her head. Her eyes wander to the door, Dani's eyes following close behind.

"I can't guarantee you will be safe of the consequences, after whatever the outcome may be. But you have my blessing. Save your friend. Now. Go," Colette ushers her, and to everyone’s surprise, it works.

Dani sets moving to the door, not without throwing a last concerning glance at Colette, unsatisfied how she could never find all those answers to those questions doubting her decision. Her recklessness could mean her end, meeting the woman back at Coleman's side when she herself is on her knees. She hates herself for ignoring these concerns.

But what other choices does she have?

Dani storms out of the bar in a rush, ready to run down any agents. She is alone in the alleyway. Only her car and Colette's were parked on the road.

Her mind urges her to control both machines for bugs, yet her stressed body immediately guides her to the inside of her car. She starts the engine with shaking hands, constantly controlling if anything unusual is going to happen. She has a nagging feeling.

Why is Colette alone? Why did Bright get kidnapped under her watch? And why is she letting Dani off the hook?

All these questions seem to end in bad foreboding. Dani has a very bad feeling about the special agent. It could be that the woman is actually feeling very deep with them. That she understands them and actually has a good heart. Although in Dani’s line of work, drastic changes like this are a rarity.

Dani drives away from the spot without any inconveniences. She looks into her rear mirror only to see Colette watching her from the entrance.

Is it good? Is it a hopeful goodbye, wishing luck on the way?

Or is it bad? A victorious smile on her face? Patiently waiting for a fun reunion?

Dani leaves the alley and meddles between the other cars into the bigger street. With the key in her jacket, she drives straight to their meeting point, certain to leave her car behind and escape with JT or Gil, whoever comes first.

Hoping her partners got away with it just as easily as she did.

Notes:

I'm kinda curious tho

What do you think? Is Colette sus? I don't know, I think she's a sweetheart.

Chapter 38: Chapter 37

Summary:

"The game is called Heaven or Hell."

"For every right answer, I'll give you a clue that may help you reach the key, leaving it up to you how many rounds there are needed."

"The very thing you seek is not the thing you need."

"Heaven truly is a marvelous place indeed, unfortunately, it cannot grant you what your heart aches for. It is worth to lower your expectations."

His jacket lights up, a faint red color biting through his pocket. Gil pulls out the box, dropping it in shock. The clattering noise as it plummets down the stairs is accompanied by Gil all the way down. He follows closely, picking up the box again and acknowledging the numbers.
14:45
And the seconds count down further.

Seems like he chose hell more literally than expected.

(~ Chapter 34)

Notes:

Hey guys!
Ahhh it's good to be back! I missed writing, I even missed editing! I assume everything is better than writing exams, but now I'm on summer break and I'm looking forward to spending more time with my little projects :)
I will be gone tho for a few weeks in August, but I want to finish LPG... So I hope you're ready for an ending soon ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Facing your own death is by far not an easy matter. There are people who refuse to believe to the very end, those who refuse to accept the inevitable, since it's more than just written in stone. Then again, there are some people who die before the ultimatum has even approached. They are left by all hopes. Maybe they can claim to have a beating heart, but they are doomed to remain living corpses, only present to steal away air senselessly.

Gil, a man of great words, never would've believed to recognize himself with the second group. He preferred to consider himself as some sort of a fighter, never relenting to reach for the last straw keeping him alive. Ha, those were thoughts he truly enjoyed while spending his time on the couch, vibing to a senseless action movie. He had never been this close to death anyway, just like now.

To be precise, 7 minutes and 23 seconds away from his own death.

What kind of torture it is to foresee your own death. Every second he is forced to spend in this basement feels borrowed, if not stolen. Every breath feels wasted. He is nothing but a burden for the earth. And a useless one at that, considering he never managed to achieve what he pledged his whole life for. Protect the kid that saved his life. Protect his self-proclaimed son, his dearest Malcolm.

It feels in vain. All this hope and action was in vain. He hates himself for having trouble believing his detectives could've been any successful. He knows they are made out of tough material. They are the best. But if he failed so easily, is it even possible to beat Coleman? To outsmart that bastard? Is it possible to escape this game anytime?

Probably not, he only has about 5 minutes to figure out something. How he can possibly save his life.

That's exactly why Gil used the time to accept his death. That was by far the hardest thing. Every time he tried, he saw Malcolm before his very eyes. Fear in his eerie blue eyes. Staring into nothing, completely given up on living. Coleman snaking behind him. Embracing him like a spider, sizzling into his ear. But Malcolm remains still. Like he is already dead.

Gil shakes his head and bans the horrible nightmare from his mind. That isn’t any help to him. He faced the situation already. There is a bomb in his hands. And he is stuck in the basement. Any way of kicking the door open would leave him to fall down the stairs and break his neck. Not to mention the shelves are pretty much empty, devoid of any helping tools.

There is nothing he could use to save his life. Everything was destined to fail him.

His gaze falls on the red numbers.

4:43

Anxiety surges through his body. He is nervous that he already lost so much time. No matter how hard he tries he doesn’t feel ready to die. If you look over the fact he is already a living corpse. Sure, none of the ideas would work in his favor. But did he actually ever try? Is it too late to try to live up to the man he rather wanted to be?

Motivation replaces hopelessness. Gil places down the box with more strength than needed. He raises up, claps the dust off his clothes, and then marches towards the staircase, looking up to the closed door representing his doom. No light is shining through from the other side, it’s drenched in heavy and unforgiving darkness.

It is a dumb idea to begin with, really. With the last remaining energy, he storms up the stairs. Gil plants his hands on the walls next to him and concentrates all his power into his stronger leg. He kicks the door hard and loud, a shatter reeking through the wood. An action his body is used to. He kicked down enough doors in his lifetime, but never did he encounter one that didn't even budge in the slightest.

The impact gets back on him, sending him backwards down the stairs. The edges scrape on his skin, the surface mercilessly clawing on his skull. His world is tilting when he straightens his upper body up to acknowledge his sacrifice, the remaining limbs still resting on the stairs.

The door is shut.

Gil curses loudly. He knew it was in vain. Now, he had tried it to assure himself how shitty his situation is. And? He is still going to die, with his body aching all over him. What a waste of time he could've used sulking over there.

In an immense wave of accrued frustration, he draws out his gun.

Without thinking much about it, Gil sticks it into his mouth, deep into his throat, tears pouring down his cheek like a waterfall. He didn't want to die. Gil never wanted to die like this, but he wanted to be in control. He just… wants to be in control at least one last time. He hasn’t been for weeks. It was the personal torture Coleman had reserved for him. And this is the only thing Coleman left him with. Considering the man aimed to strip him of all control, Gil would win in the end, right?

He brushes the metal a little too far, scraping his throat accidentally. He gags in reflex, the gun falling down in his lap. He coughs violently between sobs, a metallic taste appearing in his mouth. More tears follow where Gil curses his stupid self again, this time for being too weak to take his own life. The game doesn’t matter anymore. It never did to them. They were forced to play along without their consent. It was never really a game to begin with.

He studies the red light on the other end of the room through blurry eyes. A falling teardrop guides his head to his gun on his lap. A possible solution?

He scrambles up, the gun steady in his hand. With his sleeves, he wipes away those shameful tears. Once his sight is clear again, he positions himself.

He inhales deeply, gathering all the braveness he ever possessed.

He exhales.

Then he pulls the trigger.

The bullet bursts through the door, burning through the layers of wood into freedom. Gil, still a little bit shook from the anticipated noise, limps towards the stairs and climbs up to the damaged door. The hole is small, but he knows from experience that the exit hole is always bigger than the entry.

Gil secures his gun swiftly and uses the safe handle to batter into the hole. It is sturdy, but eventually, he manages enough space for him to put his hand through. There he can touch the area in his reach, looking for anything that could aid him, but he doesn’t even find the door handle.

He bows down to peek with one eye, but is greeted with constant darkness. Probably a closet that Coleman could've placed over the door. After all, he did just hang up on him. Gil hadn't even noticed when the call ended, it was just very quiet at some point.

It doesn’t matter. If the door is blocked by a closet his chances are already zero. he might as well grab his phone and inform his friends he wouldn't make it. That this is the end of Gil Arroyo.

He trudges back down and strolls to the box. At least he wants to know his remaining time.

1:02

That is less than he expected. Not enough time to call everyone he loves. Then again, if you consider that Malcolm is, well, gone, his friends probably in an equally dire situation, oh and that Jessica hates him? There aren’t many phone calls to make. There are in fact exactly none. And that is probably even what he deserves in the very end for letting everyone down.

He picks up his fate in form of a cursed little box. This damned piece of shit. Not even his gun was a match for this stupid material. It still looks like mahogany, just like the other one, but that could never be unbreakable, unlike this crap. Sure, the box would consume a lot of the impact of the bomb. The house would survive it, that he is positive of. But this room would be swallowed for sure. It isn’t that big after all.

Right?

New doubts are born. He knows partly that it isn’t healthy to cling so badly to life, but he isn’t ready to go yet either. He has nothing in control, but he can still try.

0:32

He can’t even tell if time is going pretty fast or extremely low. Gil dashes up the stairs and pushes the box through his self-made hole, listening to how it clatters to the ground, banging against each wall once.

0:21

He jogs back down and chooses the furthest corner to be his survival spot. Or grave, whatever the heavens or hells have for him in store. What if the explosion will be bigger than expected? What if a boulder falls down and squashes-

Then so be it.

At least he can leave this word by saying he gave it all.

Gil closes his eyes and counts down the numbers he had memorized.

5

4

3

2

1

He blinks his eyes open in confusion, partly relief.

Then his world is swallowed in white-jabbing pain, and then darkness.


The man sits on the bench across the house, pinching out some dirt under his nails. Out here in the country, it is by far colder than in the city, but as a veteran, he is used to anything mother nature can throw at him. He has a comfy cloak embraced around his slender posture that is doing wonders to him. Only his toes are freezing inside the massive boots. His fingers, those he can’t feel anymore.

He pushes his blond hair back. It is crazy how most people daily go to a job they hate with all their guts. He likes his work actually, and the payment is always very generous. Especially that man from the big company, he seems to throw out money like he is living his last days. Which is fine by him. After the first mission, he could afford himself two luxurious weeks in Hawaii. And he even got to act like an FBI agent and fool all of these morons. That was a pleasant experience.

This one mission though is plain boring. He observed the old man enter the house from this very place. He followed him, and waited again, observing. When the old man entered the basement, he did what his client paid him to do. Close the door, lock it, and place a sturdy closet in front of it. Then he left as quickly as possible. He wasn't eager to see what the bomb could do to them.

Exactly 15 minutes later, and his peaceful break is disturbed by a roaring explosion. The house shakes visibly, but stands still anyway. Smoke blows out from the broken windows, a gigantic gray cloud emerging into the clouded sky. He clicks his tongue impressed. That is a firework the next New year's eve can’t even begin to compete with.

He waits exactly two minutes, just like he was ordered to. When those are up, he pulls out his mobile from his pocket while standing up, dialing the number for the firemen. He turns his back to the smoking house.

"Hello?" He fakes a higher and distressed voice. "I- ah, I heard a loud bang, and... and I think that house there is smoking! Oh my god! I don't know what happened!" He whimpers with a big grin trembling to appear on his face. The fireman does a great job in ensuring him. He tells him to stay away from the house and wait.

As soon as he delivered the address, he hangs up on the fireman. Nonchalantly, he tucks his mobile into his pocket, equally pulling out the key from the other end. Coleman ordered him to get rid of this useless key. Destroy it or throw it into the wild river. He knows exactly one. A quick drive-by there to get rid of it, bring the news to Coleman, and then he would go eat in McDonald's with his newly earned money.

He strolls in the direction of his van when he is alerted by someone spawning behind him. He turns around sharply, a surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins, before calmly eyeing the intruder from head to toe.

"I gotta say, I'm impressed, old man," he murmurs with his mouth hidden behind his scarf.

The officer stares him down with vicious fire in his eyes, the smoke behind his back emerging from the house allowing him to look like a demon crawling fresh out of hell. He doesn’t seem to care that he isn’t facing the man he expected to see. All he does is stretch out one hand with the words "The key. Hand it over. Now."

The man drops it smugly into his pocket and crosses his arms before his chest. "Hold on, let me call the boss if I'm allowed to kill you. This wasn't in the job description," he snickers. The officer is no deal to him. No offense, but he looks like shit. His clothes are mildly torn, but wherever he presents skin there are black stains. His shoulder seems hurt, blood leaking out of the shredded pieces.

He, on the other end, is in perfect condition. And you wouldn't want a hitman to be in flawless condition when standing on the wrong side.

"Give the key and we'll go easy on you," the officer threatens, his hand already shaking from exhaustion.

The man laughs out loud, barking "Oh really? You and what army?"

The officer frowns, his gaze directing to the ground. The man generously sums that up as a victory. He snakes graciously to the man and lays one hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, officer, I'd advise you'd take that pretty gun of yours, and stick it into your mouth. Everyone would appreciate it if you would just blow your brain away."

His hand is abruptly yanked forward by his wrist, leaving him to stumble with a surprised yelp in lack of balance, almost brutally forced to his knees. Until his legs are swept away from underneath him, and he does land hard on his knees. The impact pierces like needles from his knees upwards, intensifying where his right arm is held at a weird angle. It stretches strongly, painful for most people sure, but he always used to belong to the rather flexible type.

"It's lieutenant for you," the old man snarls down.

The hitman can’t help but laugh lightly at that. He shakes his head, a sharp grin plastered on his face. "You, should not have done this," he mutters in response, but more to himself.

Faster than the eye can see, he engages with a roll forwards, tearing at the cop’s balance and damaging his already wavering balance. The old man stumbles helplessly, the grip on his victim long lost. Maybe he could parry back under normal conditions, maybe, but as it is of right now, it’s too easy for the hitman.

He takes his time with getting up, and when the cop turns around in shock to face his enemy, the last thing he receives is mercy. The hitman lashes out with his flat hand, the sharp edge of his palm digging into the officer’s throat.

The officer falls to his side, ridiculously slow, but not on the shoulder that was already wounded. He wheezes ugly, trying to suck air through his abused throat. His fingers claw around his neck, his bloodshot eyes torn wide open.

The man claps his hand, shaking his head at the officer disapprovingly. "Stupid decision, really," he murmurs, correcting his cloak. He mustn’t spend much time, the firefighters are already on their way. He'd preferred not to be seen.

He pulls out his phone again, dials Coleman's number. He doesn’t accept the call. He could've really used to know what to do with this dude, that was not according to the plan. He isn’t even interested in how that guy managed to survive, he is just hungry, and a burger seems like a very good idea.

"Well, I guess I'll just leave you to it then. So long," he decides nonchalantly. He strolls past the downed lieutenant, swearing he can hear a distant siren.

He is hindered unexpectedly by a strong grip on his ankle.

"The key..." the man croaks.

He frowns irritated. "Seriously?" He groans annoyed, lifting his other foot to squash the hand. It is a beginner's mistake. An embarrassing beginner’s mistake. He realizes that when his leg is already getting yanked away and he is swept off his feet ever so easily. He grunts, the air pushed out of his lungs the moment his back collides with the ground.

Fortunately, he is a trained hitman, so the recovery time isn’t taking too long. Yet it is long enough for the lieutenant to steal the key.

He scrambles up, glaring menacingly at the policeman. He is in no state to fight, but if he provoked him, so shall it be.

The hitman jumps up and lunges at the cop. He has no time to react, the fist collides with his jaw, and he is swiftly guided to the ground.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he growls as he pulls the man up by his collar. Hard punches rained down on him, destroy his face and add bruises to his limps. The last punch digs deep into his abdomen, luring out a painful grunt.

After he is done with him, the lieutenant hangs lifelessly in his grasp. "Don't blame me, you wanted this," he huffs self-righteously and dutifully searches for the key in the other man's pocket. He scowls when he can’t seem to find it, the noises of the sirens gradually becoming louder in the back of his head.

"Where is it?" He blurts out stressed. The man grins victoriously, blood gushing through every gap of his teeth, his left eye so swollen he can barely see. The hitman furrows his eyebrows. "You...-" he snarls ferociously.

He hears the machine when it is too late. He told himself the siren was still a good while away, so he failed to notice the immediate danger. His head snaps to the blue car. He never knew what it meant to fly. Until now. He soars high into the sky, every part of his body screaming. He lands in a pit of darkness.


Dani kicks the door open and storms towards Gil. She falls on her knees and acknowledges the bruised body restlessly. "Gil?! Are you alright?!" Her voice is several tones higher than usual.

JT follows her close behind, risking a peek at the guy Dani just drove over. He is unsure if he survived that crash, though he has bigger worries at the moment. "Gil, man, get up," he urges his boss nervously, the sound of sirens growing louder.

Gil scrambles himself up. He looks awful. He is battered to the bone, beaten up into a pulp by that midget. Yet, he forces up a brave smile. He is just so happy to see his team made it alive and even came back to rescue him.

"You got the key?" He croaks, his words barely more than a whisper. Dani nods immediately, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Yes. JT and I arrived a while ago at our meeting place. We called you but you didn't answer, so we decided to drive here." She explains patiently, throwing a glance behind at JT, who nods in support, though is kept being distracted by the loud sirens. They can’t afford to be caught by the authorities.

"Now I'm sure glad we did," he adds, absently straightening his blood-soaked shirt.

Dani examines Gil worried. "We should get you to a hospital. You look awful," she confesses sadly. Gil narrows his eyes at her, although only one agrees to cooperate, all in the means of displaying his disagreement.

JT panics when he recognizes the shape of a big van in the distance. "First, get in the car. We need to get out of here," he decides and rushes to Gil’s side. He gestures for Dani to get back into the car while he helps Gil. The lieutenant limps as quick as possible to the back seat, JT's arms under his armpits.

"What about that dude?" Dani calls over, frowning at the unconscious shape. Gil is too busy with getting into the car, so JT takes the lead.

"We'll leave him for the firemen. They'll get him to the hospital. The FBI will deal with him," he decides, sparing one last glance at the dark form.

The van already pulls up, only having eyes for the big smoke rising from the old house. They jump out, almost stumbling over the downed man. Only then do they notice the detective's car in the way. The engine roars up loudly. Dani turned sharply, coating the group of people in dust.

She risks one glance behind to observe whether they are being followed or not. Of course not, that isn’t their work. Their concern is the house, and now the unconscious man. All they can do is to note down Dani’s car plate, but that would be a worry for later.

While Dani concentrates on their escape, Gil works on opening the box with all the three keys they gathered. JT observed him from the side.

The silent click sends a wave of relief through the team. Gil opens it anxiously, like it is the greatest treasure he'd ever received. He scowls irritated when he retrieves his hand with just a small piece of paper. Only seconds later it dawns on him, tears burning in his eyes.

"What is it, boss?" JT mixes in. He is too impatient, snatching the paper away from Gil's fingers. He widens his eyes and smiles in delight. "Coordinates!" He cheers loudly, loud enough for the driver to hear. None of them would've expected Coleman to be so generous. He wants them to find him and Malcolm.

JT types the numbers into his phone and activates the navigator. He observes the route it offers, wishing they would've instead taken a big van for the part where it’s deciding to go off-road.

"Are we driving in the right direction?" Dani asks with one raised eyebrow. JT confirms wordlessly. He turned to the side and offers the now worthless paper back to Gil. The man accepts it with open hands, clamping his fingers around the little paper. It is a new piece, probably ripped off of a freshly bought pad. The numbers were scribbled down hastily.

And yet it means the world to him.

After everything he survived down there, it is the light of a very long tunnel.

Notes:

Guys, I don't know, but this hitman is my favorite character. I don't know, I like this dude. I'm not sure if it's alright to praise OCs, but I like him. I caught myself rooting for him until I switched back to our guys. He's so chill. But I never got a name for him. Would be fun to have him reappear in another work tho. If you have a name in mind that would suit him, please write it in the comments. It doesn't change the story, I just want a name for chill dude.

Chapter 39: Chapter 38

Notes:

Aaahhh

This took so much editing because I absolutely hated my initial ending. I erased those 300 words and exchanged them with 3000 words, and I'm satisfied. Hope you'll be, too ;)

So, there you go, enjoy the almost last chapter!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Light at the end of the tunnel.

It sends out motivation, traveling in jolts of voltage on the synapses, eventually colliding in the brain like an explosion. Nevertheless, the brain will register the new information, process the new data, and send it back out. Back to his muscles, back to his legs, pushing further. Run little human. Run for how long your legs will carry you.

Light at the end of the tunnel.

In the end nothing more than an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Yet the hope that builds up effortlessly can function as a pair of rose-colored glasses. Cloud the reality in a wonderful rainbow. Place a barrier between your imagination and the brutal reality.

So that's how Bright found himself, running through the dark alley with a pair of rose-colored glasses on his nose. His lungs were burning in protest, his legs shaking. Nothing that could stop Malcolm from running further.

To the light at the end of the tunnel.

He craved it. For weeks he begged for an end. He was never yet granted a chance, a gap between all the disasters happening.

Until now.

He'd rather die than let this chance slip from his grasp. That's why he needed to keep running. The footsteps behind him permanently growing louder. Growing steadier. Fortunately, Malcolm had a good head start, although he worried it wouldn't be enough.

The light at the end of the tunnel came nearer.

It was no lie, no, it really existed. Only in his case, the tunnel was blocked. A door obstructed his access to freedom. The light escaping from the little gap between door and ground was enough to threaten tears in his eyes. To make his body shake in pleasant anticipation. To create energy and make it surge through his body. He was starting to think, with every new step he was elevating. Growing wings, bursting through the ceiling, and flying into heaven.

He bumped against the door sooner than expected. He stumbled away in shock, his hands throbbing from the harsh impact. He never felt so much joy in such pain.

He fished out the tiny lockpicker, his trembling hands traveling to the locked door. Oh how he hated his tremor right now. If that was the reason he would fail he would cut off those useless limbs. Earlier, when he had all the time in the world, it had been so much easier. After that run, and the footsteps gradually becoming louder, it became an impossible task.

Malcolm fumbled desperately with the lock, control slowly gliding from his grasp. As if it just fell to the ground his head glanced down.

To the light at the end of the tunnel.

The faint rays of sunshine crawling into this dark tunnel.

The moment you lose complete control of your doing, everything's lost. Bright knew that which is why he tried very hard not to lose his lockpicking mechanism, which obviously refused to work.

The footsteps grew louder.

Bright refused to accept he had long lost control. He was merely fumbling around with the tiny scrap, like a rookie breaking his first lock.

Click!

He heard it. He heard the first sign of breaking. Did he imagine that or was his luck actually allowing him to open this door?

The footsteps grew louder. Malcolm flinched, almost suspecting them to be next to his ear.

Fine by him. This lock was going down if it wanted or not. He ignored the self-inflicted slashes on his hand, the burning it conjured.

The lock revealed another clicking sound. This time Malcolm was sure he hadn't imagined the first sound. It worked. He was as good as out of this hell.

Despite the footsteps gradually becoming louder, Bright wasn't distracted. His sole attention was on the lock, breaking under his hands further. It didn't take much. He already tasted freedom. The warm tickling sunbeams on his pale skin. Fresh air brushing past his split-up lips into his lungs and system. Wind dancing through his messy and greasy hair.

He was outside, that he forgot, he wasn't.

He was still in the tunnel while his mind was in the light.

And that changed everything. His whole vision broke when the rose-colored glasses shattered on the ground. The scales dropping from his eyes, the darkness of the tunnel engulfing him.

"Freeze!"

 


 

"Freeze!"

So this is it. The story behind the question of how everything could've gone so wrong. It was quite the marathon of bad events, keeping the whole group hot on their heels. Day after day, they had been strained for weeks. Either it was bad anticipation or the actual disasters that plagued every single one of them. Marked them with more than just bruises. It marked every single one of them with individual traumas.

Recapturing the events, Bright wasn't sure what he could've done differently to prevent things from escalating. He looked the monster in his eyes and knew everything was written in stone from the very beginning. They never had a say in this. The end though? Still unwritten. Malcolm could prove what he was really made of. He would avenge his friends and himself. For every single deed Coleman was held responsible for, he would receive double back.

"Hands where I can see them! I said hands up!"

Malcolm complied obediently, raising his tensed-up arms in the air. It was a weird thing to do. It left him with the feeling he was a criminal, although the real one was in fact the person speaking.

"Good, now on your knees!"

It was just plain stupid how Coleman believed he was something better when he said those simple words. That was indeed some freaky Friday bullshit, shouldn't it be exactly the other way round? Although technically Malcolm wasn't a real cop, he often said what would suit the situation best. He needs control, he's a cop. He needs to act unconventional, suddenly he isn't a real cop anymore. The criminals do believe.

Coleman grinned behind his gun. "Wow, I feel pretty righteous right now. Hands up! That really has some power doesn't it?" He mocked the very side Malcolm had chosen over 20 years ago. The legal side. "I suddenly feel very much like Captain America, isn't that crazy?"

Bright arched one eyebrow unimpressed. "You are crazy," he deadpanned.

Coleman frowned disapprovingly. "Sure, I am the crazy one. And you aren't freaky at all. What are you? A wolf in sheep's clothing? Shall we start bets on how long the NYPD's going to keep you until they realize what you really are?" His poisonous words echoed to Malcolm's side.

The profiler merely shrugged. "They know already. I'm just Malcolm Bright."

"Whitley!" Coleman spat disgusted. "You're a Whitley and you will always be! Did you think changing your name would purify the blood you carry? Erase the fact that you're a monster?!"

Malcolm suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He saw what Coleman was doing. Mental torture, he was familiar with that one. Apparently, everyone was able to steep so low. Those words were painful true, especially when the voice was his own. But honestly? They were no news. Malcolm had heard these things his whole life. He wasn't immune to it, but he learned to deal with it and ignore it.

Coleman on the other end, things were different. His childhood wasn't haunted by publicity. He erased his past before anyone could ever get a grasp of it. He was too busy, too fixated to be reminded by them. He ignored his past long enough. He did not know what it was to have your pitch-black soul torn out of your body and fed back, bite by bite.

"Takes a monster to know one, wouldn't you agree?" Malcolm murmured in response, a wicked grin appearing on his face. Coleman frowned at him, his hands tightening around the weapon.

"You call me a monster, yet I have the feeling you never took the time to acknowledge your own being," Malcolm continued.

Coleman shook his head, but he did not realize yet what would hit him.

"We don't have time for that-"

"We do," Malcolm interrupted gladly. His eerie blue eyes pierced into his dark ones, digging further into his soul. Coleman must've felt that, taking a step back without noticing. He would be surprised what impact Malcolm could have on people.

"Let's take the time to acknowledge who you are. What a rotten and foul personality you hide under your expensive suits."

Coleman opened his mouth, but Malcolm raised his hand dismissively. "No need," he declined. "I have been exposed well enough. And with that, I don't mean the clothes. I have been exposed of my identity countless times in my life. Here, talking from psychopath to psychopath, I think I can help you to understand yourself better," he offered, rising to his full height without Coleman noticing. It was when he made an accidental rash movement that Coleman threatened him back to his knees. Malcolm complied easily.

"On the outside, you carry a great personality. Ambiguous. You truly know your goals, and whatever you set your mind on, you achieve them. Take the company as an example. Coleman's is a strong company, a well-known brand all around the united states. You have my respect," Malcolm confessed. According to his plan, first sweet sugar... then lemon, followed by lemon, and lemon, lemon, and for the finale - lemon.

"Sadly, that is already everything." Malcolm drew an exaggerated pout. Coleman gnarled at him but surprisingly remained silent. He was curious, so much Malcolm knew. The problem was if he wouldn't snap right now, rest be assured Malcolm wouldn't be granted another chance. No, Bright would need to trap him, trap him in his silky spiderweb, and eat him.

"You live without friends. It's because you want to possess the expression of being untouchable. Most people, especially bosses, who carry that personality trait only fake it, but you... You took it too seriously, didn't you? You built up barriers, keeping people out of your life. At some point, even managing to make them run away from you. You never noticed that nobody needs you. That nobody would miss you."

Coleman opened his mouth to disagree. Malcolm was quicker. "Your family is nonexistent. That is tragic. Family is the most important thing in life. You murdered them though. You don't seem to be the brightest." Malcolm shrugged.

Coleman stomped on the ground. "That's not how it is!" He retorted. Yes, the fly realizes the danger and wiggles desperately in the net.

"No? I recall you being responsible for the murder of Jeff and the gang. Those were people who loved you. Jeff would've been the person that would visit your grave, you know." Coleman gasped shocked. Malcolm intentionally chose the word grave over prison.

"Jeff was a good man. You didn't deserve his love," he stated disappointed.

Coleman shook his head violently. "He was a nobody! You're a nobody!" He countered back.

Malcolm raised one eyebrow and shot him an incredulous look. "You don't even believe that yourself. Deep inside you miss the contact with people. You miss it to touch again, but you realized too late that you pushed everyone away. You want it. Why else am I here?"

Coleman opened his mouth, but he was rendered speechless. At a loss for the right words. There was nothing he could say against it anyway.

Malcolm took the sign to continue his payback session. Coleman was a surprisingly easy target. "You and I are so much alike, Bennett."

Coleman backed away several steps. He did not like his first name, but more than that he was frightened of the direct approach. Did he fear to be the same thing as Malcolm?

"We both have our daddy issues, haven't we? We never could look up to our fathers like a son longs to. It's more likely that we were, and still are afraid to become like them. And that is funny I think. I know you're a horrible man. You know you're a horrible man. And still, we believe you are better than him?" Malcolm laughed. He narrowed his eyes, a piercing look glaring daggers into him. "Do you want to know the truth?" He asked, way too innocently for his actual intentions.

"No!" Coleman snapped, his weapon wavering in his grip. "He is the real monster! He destroyed me!"

Malcolm wasn't sure if Coleman was feeling remorse for his deeds, he seemed to have enjoyed it too much for that. So why would he blame his father for the way he ended up being? Wasn't he satisfied with the man he turned out to be?

No. He wasn't. If he'd be, he wouldn't have started that game in the first place. Coleman was never satisfied. He hated himself for what he had become. He was fake, from the inside and outside. And the worst thing is that he doesn't even know that himself.

"Your father only set the ball moving. Everything else you did yourself," Malcolm claimed mercilessly. Coleman shook his head, but that was the only action Malcolm allowed. "Don't act like you were never given any chances in life. You had Jeff. He helped you. He wanted to contact the youth welfare service. They could've provided you with help. Real help. You declined. You fought against it. Why is that, Bennett?" He asked, pretending genuinely confused while innocently tilting his head.

He stood up and began walking towards Coleman. The man stepped back, not intimated by Malcolm, but by the truth.

"Because you knew they would make you normal. You wanted to be a big man someday, and therefore you needed illegal ways to achieve that. For school, you would be too dumb. You didn't want to work in a fast-food restaurant. You wanted to rule. And this has nothing to do with your father anymore. You chose to be a criminal. At the age of what? Eight? Ten?"

Coleman shook his head, but Malcolm knew that only meant he was nodding. He underestimated the profiler's abilities. The ability to see people's souls just like they are. Exposing them was the easy part. How he pushed the buttons was the tricky part. One wrong move and everything could backfire on him.

"Your father was a nobody. Just a regular junky. But what you have become is beyond excuse." Malcolm paused. As a profiler, he uses his abilities only for a better outcome. But with the next sentence, he would betray that part of him that calls himself Bright. He would throw away all his rules and morals. What he was about to say was only something a Whitley would do.

"You're a heartless monster. You know it, I know it, EVERYONE knows it! No one needs you. Just the opposite. The world would be a thousand times better without you. Between you and me, you achieved nothing. You lived your whole life on borrowed time. Every breath of yours is a waste. Your father needn't be sober to be ashamed of the creature you have become-"

"Stop!" Coleman demanded furiously. His face was red flushed in uncontrollable rage, his limbs were shaking.

"Your master plan will be worth nothing. What are you even for a serial killer? You don't even have the guts to do so. There have been far more dangerous men and women than you. Your case is just plain annoying. I wasted a complete month on your worthless ass because you never could end your shit-"

"No!"

"You're a failure, everywhere you go. You're a failure as a leader. You don't even care about your company. You're a failure as a serial killer, and I should know that. My father is a serial killer. He murdered more than 20 people, whereas you? You had four target people and all of them are alive. Or am I a ghost to you?" Malcolm spread his arms to the side.

Coleman shook his head weakly. "No..." he whined, the strength slipping from his grasp.

"But most importantly? You're a failure as a living being. You have nothing. Nobody likes you, and that will never change! You are worse than..." Malcolm found himself forced to hesitate, his angry insults starting to run out. "...than dirt under one's fingernails! You're a failure in creation-"

"Stop.." Bennett pleaded, moving backward away from the Whitley. Shameful tears were already welling up in his eyes. Pathetic.

Malcolm stomped his foot on the ground, screaming out what his mind reminded him every day.

"You are worse than anything, a thousand times worse than your father! You are the worst! Just do us all a favor and die!"

 

 

--BANG!--

 

 

The deafening crack through the air came unexpected. Malcolm widened his eyes, air pushed out of his lungs. His breathing came in rattles, his vision becoming indistinct. He blinked several times, his eyeballs burning. He did a thing he dreaded to do so unbelievably much.

His shaking hand reached up to his abdomen.

 

He was wrong?

 

His hand searched his abdomen, up to his chest. He never reached the pain. Never sunk into his flesh. Didn't Coleman just shoot him?

His gaze wandered down, sunbeams under the door enlightening the hallway enough to see the limp body, enough to see it sprawled on the ground.

Malcolm carefully took steps closer. He peeked at the man, or more accurately, at the dead body.

His head had exploded. Parts of his brain marked the ground, covered the splinters of his skull.

Malcolm observed every little detail of the artwork. Counted all the bloodied teeth he could find. He scrambled up the exploded eyeball, fishing out the lenses. He only found one, and it had a tiny crack in the middle.

Malcolm sat down into the puddle, looked through it, smiling at how the light broke in it.

Malcolm trailed his fingers over the mess that was once his nose. He pressed his fingers into the rest of the head that had somehow managed to stay in contact with the body. His imagination was going wild, repeating the resurfacing memory of Bennett sticking the gun into his mouth and pulling the trigger. One tear rolling down before everything had broken in the explosion.

He smiled, his hand swimming through the puddle. He hummed a peaceful tone as he played in the fresh remnants of the corpse that was once a very, very bad person. A person that had brought so much harm to him and his friends. All of a sudden this person stopped existing. Coleman was dead. His game, his only pride, was over.

Malcolm closed his eyes, the darkness engulfing him. He took a deep breath and felt something he has never felt before in his life.

He felt free.

Freed from himself.

He opened his eyes and began staring at the puddle of blood. The image that greeted him back was himself. No hallucination. No dream. Even though the face appeared to be much more joyful than Malcolm ever remembered himself to be.

He looked at Malcolm Whitley.

With that, his smile dropped, his reflection nursing a neutral expression. As if he wasn't bothered. As if he wasn't bothered at all.

A teardrop landed into the crimson red lake, the disturbance setting out small waves to destroy the clean reflection.

He didn't need it to know that Malcolm Bright was crying.

The words scratched in his throat, burned in his mind, but never reached into freedom.

What have I done?

What happened to his belief that everybody has a good soul inside?

What happened to his dedication to prove that evil is not inherited, but achieved?

That they are not born but made?

Coleman was made to be a criminal as well, but he probably died without knowing so much. Because whatever can be made, can be changed into something new.

Bennett Coleman took his life with the illusion of standing before hell's gate and no other way around because Malcolm held all the doors shut he usually guides the victims into. Victims of life, so they were led into crime.

Coleman was one of them. One of Bright's prodigies. One of Whitley's enemies.

Malcolm murdered Bennett.

He murdered Bennett for his own sake. Malcolm would've died here and today if he wouldn't have struck back. If he wouldn't have fought back with his deadliest weapon. His words. Wounds dealt by words tend to heal slower than physical injuries, should they ever heal.

That is what Malcolm had unleashed upon Bennett, killing him in cold blood.

He became horribly aware of that when the blood under him turns into icy needles. Coleman's blood.

Malcolm jumped, stumbling away as if burnt by the liquid. The corpse he was able to see again, in high quality, was the worst one he has ever seen in his career, in his whole life.

It's his first kill.

Malcolm took a deep breath, to calm his mind, blissfully ignoring the other five shallow breaths directly attached to his deep one.

He took another one, without remembering if he had released the earlier one.

And when he took another one, the absence of air wasn't blissful at all.

But at the same time, wouldn't choking to death now be a fair ending?

His gaze fell to the ground, eyes wandering to the elegant handgun, still embedded in Coleman's hand, embraced by cold fingers.

Would that be still fair?

Coleman didn't die suffering in physical pain, and he committed far worse than Malcolm right now.

So it would be fair?

Right?

The metal in Malcolm's palm began to sting, fingers unclenching to unveil the little lockpick, burning as if it's surrounded by flames.

Malcolm's skin underneath was bright red and sweaty, though it turned out to be less important than the warm lockpick. Heck, even the lockpick was worthless, he could ram it into his throat.

It's the people standing behind it that matter.

Gil gave him that lockpick to save his life, not to take it. Gil, a man like a father to him, gave him that piece of scrap metal, demanding nothing in return. Nothing but to use it.

Malcolm clenched his fist around the lockpick again, chin rising to the ceiling. He frowned.

Gil... Is he looking for him?

Is he waiting at home?

Is he with mom?

 

Are they waiting for me?

They love me, but do they also want me?

 

He remembered the warmth of his mother's embrace, the worry of his friends for his well-being. Gil's crushing guilt. His words.

I will always be there for you.

And for all the hatred pulsating through him, directed to himself, he couldn't bring himself to doubt Gil's words. That at least Gil had said the truth and meant what he said. Even he would love a monster like Malcolm.

So no one can be perfect. Entirely good. Flawless. And if Malcolm comes to accept their mistakes, maybe they will be able to tolerate his little... Malheur?

He shook his head, realizing how he was again talking around the topic. The real question wasn't what the others would think about what he has done. It was about if he was still willing to live after what he has done.

Because the gun was right there.

Well, he hadn't been wanting to live for a good while now. He had always found reasons therefore.

Those reasons haven't changed now, have they?

Just on the contrary. They have grown. He used to hold on for three people, and that number has grown with his newfound friends. Existing bonds have strengthened, new bonds have been formed.

Malcolm doesn't want to cut them already. He'd rather prefer to witness them grow before everything withers again.

He has found more reasons to live than to die without realizing, or else he wouldn't have accepted Coleman's death. He wouldn't have unleashed this untameable fury, because he knew where it would lead to.

"When this is over, I'll invite all of you to dinner," he echoed his own words, smiling at the memory of his mother's look she gave him.

"You better be present," he mimicked her response, his grin growing wider, more sorrowful.

"Alright, mother," he concluded, testing his steps towards the big door. He stumbled at first, only slowly growing more secure. He placed his palm for validation onto the cool surface. "Let's do this," he whispered, holding up the lockpick, even though he could search Coleman for his key.

He moved the metal stick, calm and calculated movements, as if his tremor was soothed by another pair of hands holding them. If he would close his eyes, maybe he could even see Gil here, supporting him behind his back, together cracking the lock.

And with a little bit more imagination, he could maybe even feel his touch, hear his voice --Let's do this together, buddy-- of a time when the detective taught the younger boy to break locks.

Maybe he could even detect the voices of his team, of forgotten conversations picked up from the breakroom --I used to be the fastest lockpicker in the trainee's squad!-- JT's boasting pride, Dani's smug steadiness --Oh really? Maybe we should confirm that assertion with a contest?--

A bit more imagination and he could even hear words never been spoken before --Come on, Bright, I never took you for a slacker!-- and probably will never be spoken --What are you waiting for? For the corpse to decay? Hurry up, Bright!--

Click!

And the voices stop, because Malcolm has never had that much imagination anyway. It's only him, there has never been anything else.

Except for now, the end of the tunnel.

He opened the heavy door, using up all of his remaining strength to push- and light flooded into the room.

Sunlight.

Instinctively, his hand shot up, his palm shielding his sensitive eyes that were forced to squint.

A cool but gentle breeze nestled his cheek, tenderly touched by the warming sunbeams, and then glided over to rustle through his terribly messy hair.

He looked around himself in awe, when the dazzling white filter began to fade, exchanging with fruity deep colors. A dark shade of moss green covering the forest ground, a soft bright green decorating the canopy.

Peaceful noises flooded his receptors, the fresh and wet smell of nature, the silent but shrill chirps of birds.

He caught himself observing a tiny butterfly for a whole minute, mesmerizing its white and stainless wings, so innocent and wholesome at a so horrible and gruesome place.

Malcolm sighed, shaking his head. He dropped his head, losing the butterfly that continued to occupy his mind from this moment on.

He recognized his reflection in a puddle to his feet. A puddle filled with real water, and yet Malcolm couldn't tell if the bloody face belonged to Bright or Whitley.

He shook his head, not ready to deal with this again. Not now. And maybe not tomorrow.

He turned around, looking at the tunnel behind his back, leading into a path underground --a fallout shelter, hu?-- and thinks with a bitter chuckle 'Never again'.

He closed the door with a heavy bang without much effort even. He wasn't too surprised to find a sign on the door, engraved with a message that was definitely not directed towards him.

 

 

 

Here lies Malcolm Bright

You lose

~ The Game Master ~

C.B.

 

 

Those names should have been reversed, yet it appears someone seemed to be very confident of victory.

To understand this place was built to preserve life, but destined to be a grave in the very end, it leaves a sour taste of nonchalance within Malcolm. A victory he will never understand to savor.

Without possessing a strict goal in his mind, Malcolm started walking. At first, he walked away, away from that cursed place he never wants to revisit. The further he came, the less urgent it seemed to become. So much, that he just walked.

An afternoon hike through the forest. Malcolm wasn't sure to ever enjoy them in the future, just as he failed to enjoy them right now.

Forests just seemed to be a cursed thing in his life.

So when the deep rumbling of an engine sounded through the forest, he didn't think much of it. It seemed fitting.

But as it stopped, and the birds succeeded in chirping the loudest, Malcolm realized.

Cars had no purpose in the deepest of the forest.

His heart skipped a whole beat, and when the familiar voice echoed after, his eyes suddenly watered. Motivation burst through his muscles as he picked up on his walk.

"I told you we can't drive too far out here, we'll get stuck!" The all too familiar voice boomed in the forest, banging against all trees like a ping pong ball.

"And I told you that we have no other choice!" A much lighter, yet feistier voice snapped back. "Do you expect him to stay in the car?"

A grin was to be found on Malcolm's face as he realized the warmth spreading into his chest.

They came for him.

"Guys," another voice croaked, a voice that made Malcolm's heart do all kinds of somersaults.

"Great! Now we have more of a choice all stuck up on a fucking root!" The male voice pounded back, ignoring the third person.

"I didn't see it!"

"Guys..." The gray-haired man repeated, the big dark rings under his eyes stretching with his shocked expression.

"I literally screamed 'Watch out! Root!' and you of course didn't notice," the dark-skinned man mocked the woman to his left, arms crossed before her chest. Her dark curls moved ever so wildly as she gestured to her agitated words.

"Yeah, cause I-"

"Guys!"

It's the oldest one of the three that finally mustered up the strength to make himself heard. And since Malcolm had his eyes already locked with those of the man, the time couldn't be more convenient to make himself known.

"Hey..."

Two heads simultaneously snapped in his direction, utter surprise marked on their faces.

When Malcolm saw JT, Dani, and Gil, the complicated and exhausting world seemed to weigh so much lighter on his shoulders.

JT's mouth was solely opened in a gape, unable to react to the giant surprise. Unable to form any grand emotions but shock.

Dani, on the other hand, seemed to be overwhelmed by all kinds of emotions. Her gaping mouth wavering, lips drawing to purse together. He saw her dark orbs through a teary vision, but he saw enough to know she carried the same glasses.

"Malcolm..." she breathed, her voice weaker than a little breeze, so fragile and finite.

A teardrop hurried down Malcolm's cheek.

He knew what they saw.

A man, covered from head to toe in blood. His kidnapper gone. Anyone could solve that riddle.

And Malcolm knew they should hate him, should abandon him for good. He's not like them, not like his father, he's worse because he pretends to switch sides when he doesn't know what he is.

Before a pained sob could escape his throat, Dani had him in an embrace. And just like that, Malcolm didn't care. His identity didn't matter. He was trimmed to search for an answer everywhere and anywhere, but this very moment made him realize, that there wasn't a logical explanation for everything. Especially not for humans.

He returned the embrace like holding onto a lifebuoy, burying his head in her neck. Another pair of strong arms snaked around his sides, and a cry of dearest relief ripped into the air.

Relief, mixed with so much pain for all this bullshit it took to endure. Everything they needed to endure to get to this very moment is so unreal. It felt like half a year could have passed when it shouldn't be more than a month.

The embrace was everything he could've asked for, and still, his heart felt something amiss.

The hug was bound to break, and when it did, Malcolm knew what was wrong.

Gil leaned heavily against the car, lungs tortured by exertion. He looked terrible, like he literally went through hell to retrieve Malcolm. They all do. He recognized blood on JT, looking as guilty as Malcolm's. Dani's flawless skin was littered with bruises and cuts.

And still, compared to all of them, Gil looked the worst. Malcolm dared say he survived an explosion only to get beaten up, but that would be a little far-fetched now, wouldn't it be?

Whatever had happened, the strong wounds hindered Gil from reaching Malcolm, so the profiler gladly took that work for him.

He stalked to the lieutenant, big and confident steps. Bright felt strong after everything he survived. He really should be validated to possess that feeling.

Gil's face marked pure desperation under the obvious exhaustion. He stretched out his arm, hand feeling for Malcolm, trembling due to the great exertion it put on his body.

Malcolm would gladly ease his pain, but felt paralyzed upon touching, even though it were only his fingertips brushing his skin. He felt weak again, like a little child in a world far too big for him. Strangely enough, with Gil by his side, it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

A small yelp escaped him when Gil pulled him into his arms, very suddenly gravity pulling both men down onto the soft moss bed.

"Malcolm," Gil breathed into his ear, sounding breathless and near crying all at once. Desperate and endlessly relieved.

Malcolm felt equally torn.

Desperate to find out what they sacrificed for him, what they went through for him, and what in the world happened to Gil.

"Gil," is all he could breathe out in great relief, big tears pouring down his cheeks, dragging the splattered blood to take new routes.

Gil kissed them. He kissed the dirt, the bruises, the blood, the tears. He kissed Malcolm's cheek and everything that went with it.

Despite being able to imagine the horrors lying in the story behind Malcolm's appearance.

Hm, Malcolm hummed pleasantly, dreamily thinking So that's what it's like to have a father loving you unconditionally?

He snuggled into Gil's arms, praying that it will never end. That he will never be forced to part.

But as the telltale goes, all good things come to an end.

Malcolm smiled when he smugly thought Always? as the two men gently passed into a peaceful state of unconsciousness.

 

 

Arm in arm.

 

Notes:

It's over. It's actually over :')

Any guesses what the very last chapter will be about?

Chapter 40: Epilogue

Notes:

I am proud to announce: The time has finally come

The last chapter of Let's Play A Game is here

And I wish all of you, who made it this far, a pleasant time reading ❤

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The red, relentless fire crackles gently to the melody of soft laughter, leading out of the empty, barely lightened living room, and into the bright, more lively dining area. It's a joyful atmosphere, a rare phenomenon to rule the bleak mansion.

Outside, fluffy tiny snowflakes float over the scenery, turning the rowdy streets of the untamable city into an innocent white meadow, a marvelous winter wonderland as far as the eyes can reach.

The chaotic kitchen noises almost drown under the loud and careless chatter, though never going fully ignored.

Seven people, pardon, eight people are sitting around the table, talking about everything, and nothing. A young successful journalist, and a forensic medical expert, a couple that would rarely have the chances of meeting in real life, are returning playful banter, forth and back. Their smiles are true, honest, genuine. They understand each other, beyond a level of others’ comprehension, and while this often makes them feel weird, unwelcome, now they care less. They seem grateful even. Content.

Opposite them, an old couple, yet a young family. The woman has a firm grasp on the little body in her arms, her leg jerking up and down – gently, producing a calming rocking for the infant in her care. She doesn't say much at the moment, rather looking, just looking. Looking at the man, her husband, deep into his eyes, a smile so wide it could touch both her ears. The man, her man, he shares the smile, exchanging his macho-like expression for once, and replacing it with pure love. He presses a tender kiss on her lips, bowing down to look at his healthy, gleeful sun. Stroking his baby cheek with two fingers, even he receives a fatherly kiss on his forehead.

And then the woman throws her head into her neck, roaring laughter booming out. She points at another man on the other end of the table, speaking credit to whatever amazing joke he said.

The man smiles proudly, but it's not long until all his attention is back to the woman opposite him. His eyes carry so much fondness, so much love. His erratic heartbeat almost dominates all noises, and it's not difficult to recognize the great swarm of butterflies to storm in his abdomen. He has only eyes for the woman before him, a glimmer of new hope, of resurrection. The same goes for her, her inner appearance being a mirror to himself, presenting two broken peoples in search of love. Unconditional love, affection, the absence of loneliness. They might have found it finally.

A satisfied smile strikes his lips, an exploding feeling of joy boiling deep inside his chest. He looks at them, and he sees freedom. He sees love, but most of all, he sees hope. For the majority of his life, he has been wandering in a hopeless valley, and judging by all the events the past years, he has only been spiraling down more and more. He had wondered when there would shine the light to a turning point, genuinely doubted he'd be alive to see it.

But now, he thinks he can see it.

His gaze brushes over one empty chair, a gap in the row of people, and he only manages to form a slight frown before he can forget all about it again.

"You okay, Bright?"

The smile returns to his lips, his head tilting to the side to greet the newcomer. To the brave, loyal, honest, all-in-one amazing woman. A truly remarkable person, willing to give every single individual an equal chance, yet not naive, guarding her trust in people only to her closest.

It's only a bonus – her perky curls, crystal clear eyes, soft lips – that Dani Powell is not only an astounding personality but also an astounding beauty.

"Why shouldn't I be?" He quips, raising one eyebrow at her. He can see her reaction, how an unwilling smile tugs on her red lips, her eyes squinting challengingly, and he can't deny the swarm of butterflies taking a visit in his stomach as well.

"Because you're kinda spacing out again, keeping your head locked somewhere else," she points out sharply, a tinge of amusement following when she peeks around his body leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. "Oh, and also, your timer has been ringing for at least a minute now."

The dreamy expression immediately falls off his face, exchanged with surprise, yet also embarrassment. "Oh," he stammers, whipping around and storming into the kitchen. Dani is not wrong, his timer is ringing relentlessly, crying for the meal to be ready. He taps furiously on the display, the phone refusing to give in to his orders. When it finally does, Malcolm's head is already traveling places.

He tears the door to the furnace open, flooded in a giant, suffocating smoke. It's burning hot, so he backs away, coughing a few times to clear his lungs. He wouldn't be surprised if he burnt the meal, messed up again, but that will only reveal if he pulls out the-

"Forgetting something?" Dani perks up, jesting his shoulder with a pair of oven gloves while leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Uh, thanks," Malcolm blurts out, retracting his hands out of the scorching oven and accepting the heavy gloves. He strives them over his shaking hands, laughing in embarrassment. "You're saving my life," he means, and once he's ready, he grabs into the inside of the oven.

"Someone needs to," huffs Dani, probably her way of saying 'You're welcome'. It works for him well enough.

Bright retrieves the heavy meal, setting it on the counter, and looking over it, yet it’s rather difficult to disguise its rate of edibility. He reaches out for a pair of scissors, muttering an absent 'thanks' when Dani, yet again, lends him a hand. He tears through the plastic bag. Another round of sweltering smoke greets him, but this time, it's manageable.

"It's good?" He realizes confused, inspecting the cooked turkey for any flaws. To his genuine surprise, it looks incredibly delicious.

"You were expecting something else?" Dani snarks, and when he turns around, he sees her arms crossed before her chest, lips formed into a smirk.

"I'm not really much of a cook, you know," he explains, hoping to justify his dumbfounded expression. Usually, things tend to go wrong in his life, rarely right.

Dani tilts her head, squinting at him, but kindly. "Yet you're also a person that can achieve anything if you put your heart into it. So come on, let's bring it to the table, your guests are impatient." With that she turns around, swiftly, returning to the living room.

Malcolm blinks perplexed, his mouth still parted in a gape. He looks at the burnt turkey, asking if this really happened, if she really said what she said. His heart flutters, so naive and young, but it's alright. His expression melts into a content smile, and he grabs the plate with the turkey, following her to the dining table.

"-it was only one homicide, but after that, he seemed overridden with guilt, took his own life. So don't you worry about us, we've got nowhere to go so soon, the case is clo- Oh?"

Gil interrupts his speech in favor of a delighted hum, eyes locked onto the turkey in Malcolm's hands. The incredible smell runs Malcolm miles ahead, and he chuckles upon witnessing how every guest at the table raises their chin, eyes closed, and sniffing the air, falling for the yummy scent. His eyes fall on Dani, who equally seems to be enjoying the rare spectacle.

"What were you talking about? We've got a new case?" Malcolm chirps enthusiastically, carefully stumbling to the table. He's sure he can make it to the table in one piece, but he's literally a human disaster on two legs, and things have been going surprisingly smooth in a good while. His mother seems to be feeling his anticipation, raising her hands with a mouthed 'Careful, sweetie', as if she's going to catch the turkey when it decides to take its last flight.

"Settle down," JT groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. Malcolm stifles a laugh at that, always knowing how to push the right buttons to unnerve everyone. They closed their case right in time, even if the case mostly closed itself.

"Here," Ainsley offers, placing salad bowls and bread baskets to the side, making place for Malcolm to put down the turkey. Malcolm nods her a muted thanks, delivering the turkey safely into the middle.

"Oh," Tally moans in anticipation, her hands wandering to the baby's chest with the words, "be a dear, darling, and put him to sleep. Mommy needs to eat!"

JT groans frustrated, hands anyway stretching out to take his son into his arms.

"Can I?" Malcolm chirps up excitingly, crystal blue eyes wide open.

JT scowls skeptically from the other side of the table. "You sure you won't drop him with your shaky hands?"

Malcolm takes it as a yes, quickly rounding the table to arrive next to JT. "I just delivered you a whole thanksgiving meal in one peace, so I'd say yes, my tremors ain't stopping me," he claims, grinning proudly. In seconds he stands beside JT, anxiously whipping from heel to toes, waiting for Dad's call to make.

"Alright," JT gives in with a sigh, taking his happily squealing son in his hands and giving him to an equally squealing profiler. "But don't drop him, I swear, one crazy person is already enough."

Malcolm grins to both ears, accepting the baby with open arms, and placing it to sit comfortably in the crook of his arms, almost like a natural. He greets the little guy with one finger, which the baby happily latches onto. Then Malcolm's smile drops, head turning to his little sister, and responding in relation to JT’s statement "No offense, alright?"

Ainsley’s subconscious smile drops, forming into a pout as she protests "You're the crazy one, not me!", but Malcolm's already leaving the dining area, all the way crooning at Tarmel Jr, pretending not to hear her.

"Alright, little man, Mommy and Daddy want to eat now, so how about you take a short nap, hm?" He proposes in a soft voice upon arriving at the tiny mobile bed. He cradles the baby in his arm, still reluctant to let go. "You're so adorable," he breathes amazed, fingers stroking the soft puffy cheek.

The baby squeals quietly, hands reaching up to Malcolm while he places the baby carefully into the crib. "Just a short nap," he promises when the little baby begins to whine in protest. "After that, we can play if you want, although I'm going to have to ask your Daddy how to do that first, alright?" he bargains quietly, gently flipping his nose.

The baby follows Malcolm's finger, eyelids growing heavy, and reluctantly drooping. "That's right, let Mommy and Daddy eat," he cooes, gently whipping the crib to guide him into a pleasant dream world. He wishes that could work for him as well.

"You know, Uncle Malcolm needs to eat as well," JT calls from the dining area to the living room. Malcolm's head whips back, giving the man big eyes.

"He's right, get your ass back and eat something," Gil adds, a fork with salad following into his mouth.

"Language, Gil," Jessica hisses, taking a break from cutting the turkey to glance into Malcolm's direction, still resting at the crib.

"Mom, I think Malcolm's old enough to have heard the word ass plenty of times already," Ainsley means in a dead serious voice, hand touching Jessica's wrist.

"Very funny," Malcolm groans at her, leaving the baby to sleep, and returns to the table. Ainsley can't hide her grin anymore, immediately sticking out her tongue in reply. Malcolm rolls his eyes, sending her a glare with the intention of saying 'Very mature of you'. Yet even for him it gets hard to stifle a grin.

"But seriously, you still haven't told me his name," Malcolm protests, choosing the empty chair between Gil and Tally. "I think the joke is getting old by now," he grumbles, glaring at JT.

Mentioned man, snorts into his glass of wine. "Yeah... I don't think so, I'm having a pretty jolly time,” he chuckles, coolly swirling the red liquid in his glass.

Malcolm groans into the ceiling. "So you haven't told anyone yet?"

A series of "I know already" follows, to Malcolm's surprise emerging from each and every person on the table, even his own family.

His head whips to the right side. "Seriously? They all know already?"

JT snickers maliciously, hand inching to his fork to get some of that salad off his plate.

"No wait, you gotta tell me now, come on," Malcolm protests, a helpless gaze wandering to Tally right beside him when JT proves to be useless. "Tally? Please," he begs whiningly.

"Careful, puppy eyes alert," Gil jokes behind his back, urging him to leave the snickering woman alone and revert his attention to his dad.

"Come on, guys, tell me already- Edrisa!" Mentioned woman chokes on her water, setting the glass down while grabbing for a napkin. Malcolm leans forward to her, as much as possible, because her place is on the other side of the table, opposite JT. "You said you know it, can you tell me?" He begs desperately, engaging her with fully activated puppy eyes.

She turns immediately bright red, and it's probably unfair to attack her so viciously, knowing if anyone's going to slip a name, it's probably going to be her. But… he really needs to know.

"Uh, I- I mean- who really knows, not that it's about anything, of course it starts with a letter, just not E, uh, I meant to say-"

"Alright," JT grumbles, Edrisa breathing in relief when he releases her, "I'll take it over from here, thank you very much." He must be realizing that Malcolm will find out eventually, and he’d prefer it to have him find out from him. Malcolm does, too, so he's all ears.

"We called our little guy Ethan."

"Ethan," Malcolm mutters, holding the name like the most valuable thing in his hands. His friends are the most important thing to him, they are his family.

"It means strong, and enduring, resembling pretty much the hard time we went through before his birth," Tally adds, her hand searching for JT's. He catches hers, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand, and flashes her a heartwarming smile.

"That's... very fitting. Ethan," Malcolm mumbles again, surprised how much more precious it could get. They all went through a lot. A lot of crap rests behind them, and he couldn't be more grateful, despite knowing what difficult times wait still ahead of them.

Their latest big case dragged them through the mud, and despite coming out mostly unscathed of the last game, souls were scarred irreparably from the adventures.

JT for example, he lost innocent people on the field, incapable of protecting them from Coleman's sick games. Malcolm heard he was forced to dig through their stomachs to find the key leading them to Malcolm, to save him. Now, the man's visiting his therapist twice every week.

Dani as well, fighting off her seemingly irrational fear of blades. She doesn't turn into a mess whenever seeing a knife, but she still visibly tenses up, breathing tightening. It pains him to see her like that, scared and frantic, always checking her back paranoid, always equipped with weapons, wherever she goes. It hurts him, because he wasn't able to protect her from that trauma.

Gil was the only one emerging from the case terribly scathed, immediately accompanying Malcolm to the hospital after passing out together arm in arm. Malcolm was checked out, too, but in the very end it was Gil and his terrible battered body everyone was worried about. Malcolm was merely hooked up to some IVs, to rehydrate him, feed him nutrition, and stuff. It turned out he was denied of that for one whole week.

He was missing one week. Sometimes, he wonders if that is the reason Gil was also assigned to therapy, if he is the reason Gil can't shut his eyes properly anymore, not without calling Malcolm at eleven pm, only allowing himself to rest when he knows the other man to be safe.

Yes, they all came back scarred from the experience, and recovery is going to take up a lot of time. From experience he can spoiler, full recovery isn't a given, is hopeless in fact, so they are doomed to live with the baggage Coleman looped around their necks. They'll have to endure, and he personally thinks, it's a wonderful message they decided to gift their son with.

JT nods melancholically, repeating, "Yes, Ethan. Ethan M. Tarmel."

Malcolm's head perks up. "M?"

"Alright, help yourselves!" Jessica declares, presenting the neatly cut turkey in slices. She already takes a piece for herself.

"Honey, can you give me a piece, please?" JT asks his wife, as if nothing's wrong, holding his plate out for her.

"Sure," she answers casually, grabbing his plate and standing up to grab some of that turkey. Malcolm dodges past her, throwing an intent glare at JT.

"What's the M for?" He asks nervously, puffing his cheeks when JT laughs at him. A warm hand places on his shoulder.

"He's just messin with you," Gil means, softly chuckling in a way of saying 'I know something you don't'.

"Am I?"

"Is he though?"

"Here Malcolm," Tally interrupts, placing a big chunk of meat onto his plate. "Eat up."

Malcolm's eyes widen, a heavy stone sinking down into his gut. He could never eat this much, not in one evening, or ever. Ainsley snorts mischievously, and even Dani next to her can't keep a snicker to herself.

"Tally," Malcolm whines quietly, but the woman only gives him a side glance, chuckling apologetically.

"Come on, kiddo," Gil says, clapping Malcolm's back with his free hand. "It was you who cooked it, so you should definitely have a try."

Malcolm furrows his eyebrows. "Sure, but I only cooked a turkey because I messed up this and last year's Christmas Eve."

"Bright," Dani snaps, fork clanking on her plate, "we went over this already."

"Yeah I know, getting kidnapped isn't my fault, I get it." He sighs, eyes wandering to the food on his plate. "Still, it kinda feels like I owe you all-" and just as several mouths part to disagree he adds "also I promised mother a meal, and look at you, you're all happy, so let's just drop it, shall we?" He grins nervously at each guest once, until they give up and continue to shovel food onto their plate. Tally sits back down beside him.

"That's true, and I also think it's remarkable that it's not your own funeral," Ainsley mentions, immediately shoving a full fork into her mouth.

"Ainsley!" Jessica scolds her indignantly, at the same time when Edrisa nods in surprising agreement, jesting her shoulder so both young women can exchange a smile.

"What? Don't tell me you weren't thinking of it, too?" She protests rightfully, motivated by Edrisa’s approval to defend her position.

Malcolm chuckles. "Classic journalist. Always speaks out loud what normal people only think," he states amused, returning to listlessly dig through his salad after Gil nudges him.

Ainsley bursts into laughter. "You’re calling us normal? Us?" She emphasizes, her fingers circling to include the whole table in her demonstration.

"I'm normal," JT pipes up in realization, his lips drawing into a disappointed pout when his wife places a hand on his arm, shaking her head pitifully.

"Eat your meat," Gil hisses quietly, again poking his side under the table.

"Ugh," Malcolm groans, giving his surrogate father the stink eye. "Next time I’ll invite you to dinner I'll make sure to only serve food I can stomach."

"I'd suggest bowling," Dani mentions opposite him, adding, "it'll be more fun than chewing on air."

Ainsley laughs at that, Edrisa shyly joining in after checking if Malcolm’s alright with it. He tries to keep an offended pout upright, but the moment Dani's grin turns into an imitation of his own sulky expression, he completely loses it.

"Alright, children," Jessica speaks up, throwing a warning glare at both her actual kids, before raising her wine glass, respectfully presenting "let's toast now, shall we?"

The group nods, swallowing down their last bite and grabbing their own glass, no matter if it's filled with wine, like Gil's, Jessica's, and the Tarmels, or with sparkling wine, for Malcolm, Dani, and Ainsley. Edrisa lifts up her almost empty glass of water.

"To what do we toast?" Ainsley questions, quickly swallowing down the remnants of her food. They all take a moment to think, even if the answer is crystal clear, so clear that no one really wants to answer it.

"How about, to 'new hope'?" JT finally voices, eyes drawn to the living room. "What do you say, hon?" He looks back, glancing at his wife and catching her red-handed stealing food in her mouth.

"Sorry," she apologizes embarrassed as she attracts everyone's attention to her and her mouth full of food. "I thought you'd be still arguing for hours before actually toasting," she justifies herself quietly to JT, to which he replies with an amused snort.

"Nah," Malcolm shoots back, "Whitleys tend to make fast work of things. It's the Arroyos you should be worried about, they could discuss for hours about- ack!"

Gil smiles smugly after silencing Malcolm by poking his sensitive, highly ticklish area. "How 'bout this," he starts, granting each and one a fatherly warm glimpse.

"To a new beginning, for that bastard to rot in hell, and a hopeful and bright future."

Malcolm smiles at Gil thankfully, instead of words, simply raising his glass in confirmation. It's very considerate of Gil not to mention Coleman's name, that he noted how quickly Malcolm shuts down when the topic comes up. They have figured out the reason completely wrong though. Malcolm has no issues to talk about the convicted killer. The problem only begins when they start asking questions, prompting him to tell where the body is, what happened, and-

Malcolm swore to keep that for himself. No doubt they have figured out the man's death after finding an apathetic profiler, hands and face covered in their enemy's blood. What they didn't find, is the abandoned fallout shelter Coleman had bought to hide Malcolm in, entrance sufficiently covered from the world.

So he will definitely rot, that much Malcolm can promise. That burden he will carry, for them to have a bright future finally.

"To a bright future," he mutters absently, his smile faltering, a sorrowful glimmer flashing past his eyes.

"And to lockpicks," Gil adds promptly, a wave of groans traveling through the round, Jessica's forehead falling into her palm as she curses under her breath "Not again", but then Gil already continues, "because they save lives, are awesome in general, should be worn at any time-"

"Gil!" Malcolm snaps, head shooting to his left. "Any kidnapper thinking remotely straight will take away your shoes, alongside your stupid lockpick," he begins to argue to everyone else's dismay.

"And yet it helped you, didn't it? A win for the lockpicks I'd say."

Malcolm shakes his head vehemently. "It was just luck, and a cocky criminal-"

"You really want me to say it, don't you?" Gil quips menacingly, raising one eyebrow at Malcolm. The profiler groans loudly.

"We did not beat him because of your lockpick-"

"You encouraging me?"

"Don't you dare-"

"I told you so."

Malcolm's fist pounds on the table in frustration, exactly feeling where this conversation is leading to.

"You told me, and I'm quoting you, it's ridiculous!" Gil barks at him, Malcolm turning to face him completely, the older man following his lead.

"I did not-"

"Giil! I don't need a lockpicker in my shoes!" The lieutenant mimics his own words pathetically, with a much higher voice than Malcolm even has.

"I don't even sound like that," Malcolm protests outraged, looking at his forgotten guests in conformation. He is surprised to see them amusing the little banter, observing the entertainment with a slight shake of their head, but big grins on their face.

"What did you say about shoes, Mal, I wasn't paying attention," Ainsley snarks at him innocently.

"Ridiculous! You called my lockpick ridiculous!" Gil continues, his exaggerated outrage starting to become hilarious to the group, even luring a smile onto Malcolm's face.

"Because it is," Malcolm defends himself, unable to hide his amusement anymore.

"Say that to my other lockpicks, I dare you," Gil grumbles, poking his index into Malcolm's chest and elucidating a burst of mild, ticklish sensations.

"Ridiculous," Malcolm dares, swatting the hand away, to which Gil gasps loudly in disbelief.

"Guys, do you want us to toast with our lockpicks or what, my hand's starting to become heavy," Dani groans on the other end, elbow supporting her still raised hand. The rest immediately agrees with her vocally, glasses raising with new energy.

"Good idea," Gil jokes, urging his employees to pull out their own lockpicks.

"No! Keep your stinky lockpicks in your shoes," Jessica interrupts, taking the initiative to clank her glass against Gil's. "Cheers," she says, taking a big gulp of her wine.

Malcolm and Gil equally burst into laughter, proceeding to clank their glasses with all the other ones. A magical jingling evolves in the middle, produced by each glass clinking together like crystal bells.

This time, it's interrupted by the fractious whining of an infant in the living room. Malcolm prompts his glass to the table, shooting up and volunteering to go to Ethan. "Let me calm him-"

"You sit down and eat," Jessica orders grumpily and stands up herself. Malcolm reluctantly sits down, watching his mother leave the dining room and enter the living room, her heels producing their usual staccato.

"Jess, it's fine, I can go," Tally calls after her, placing down her dishware and hurrying to follow.

"It's alright, dear, relax and eat while it's still warm," Jessica responds from the living room, waving one hand dismissively. She bends down to the crib, pulling out Ethan and cradling him into her arms. "I raised two problematic children, I've got this."

Tally visibly calms down at that, accepting the fork back in her hand. Even JT beside her calms down, chewing on his meat. Not for long, Malcolm thinks mischievously, leaning on his palm and shooting him a glance.

"That's right, she raised me, didn't she?"

Instantly JT loses his calmness, almost choking on his meat, eyes torn wide. He drops his dishware, stumbling to escape the table and save his son.

"Settle down, honey, Malcolm turned out great," Tally disagrees, placing one hand on JT's wrist, and the other one on Malcolm's.

"Naw, you're too kind," Malcolm croons sarcastically, a victorious smirk deforming his lips. JT proceeds to glare at him.

"Now, now, kids, don't fight," Gil meddles in, like the father he is, pointing at Malcolm's plate with his knife and mentioning "You haven't even touched your food yet."

"I have," Malcolm protests, grumbling "Don't stress me," while poking into his meat.

Jessica's heels rush ahead of her, reverting everyone's attention to her returning form, Ethan secured in her arm.

"Say hello, Ethan," she cooes, carefully moving his tiny hand to wave at them. The little boy giggles joyfully, repeating the motion even after Jessica's hand left. She sits down on her chair, allowing Ethan to rest on her thighs meanwhile. The curious boy immediately reaches out for her plate, grabbing at her slice of bread.

"Aw, hello little guy," Gil croons, extending his hand to attract Ethan's attention away from the bread and onto Gil's big finger. Dani observes the scenario with amazement, Ainsley right beside her scooching further to Edrisa, a respectful glance towards the infant.

"Should I leave him something from my food," Malcolm asks without looking at anybody, instead continuing to dig listlessly through his food.

"Ethan's not a dog you can smuggle food to under the table," Dani retorts, breaking her gaze from the old couple and looking at Malcolm. As if entrapped in a magic spell, he needs to look up, face her, and yet again he feels exposed to a buzzing swarm of butterflies.

"A dog," he chirps up, anything to distract himself from that sensation. "Mother, I thought you like dogs, how about one?"

Jessica lifts her fond gaze from the infant in her arms, exchanging her expression with a disgusted scowl. "I hate dogs," she states irritated, startling delighted when Ethan pulls at her long brown hair.

"But... Gil likes dogs," Malcolm pipes up, throwing an innocent glimpse at the man next to him.

"Stop playing matchmaker, you little devil," Gil hisses next to him, his fork attacking Malcolm's plate to move the meat back into the center. "Eat," he demands in order for him to shut up.

Malcolm rolls his eyes, eventually though complying, and so he pierces his fork into the soft meat, swiftly cutting it with his knife. He raises the food to his lips, hesitating when he feels everyone's surprised glance on him.

"What?"

They part in ushered nothings, shaking their heads, and minding their own business. A grin lifts Malcolm's lips, and he can't wipe it away even as he shakes his head. Dutifully he chews the meat, already a bit cold, but tasty enough. Only the moment he swallows, he feels saturated enough for a week, and he's certain the next bite will provoke a nauseating feeling.

But it will do, somehow he'll get through it, and maybe it won't be that bad. He survived worse, endured enough, and even when he knows that the future might not be as bright as they wished for it tonight, he knows it will be alright.

How does he know?

Well, the game is finally over now, isn't it? And since it's not a game over, things can only be looking up from now on, no matter how catastrophic or challenging. The future will always be hopeful if they aren't afraid of it.

Right now, they are all afraid. Terribly afraid. They are in new shoes, in his shoes, experienced horrible stuff, and are obligated to carry around trauma with them for the rest of their life. It may be still excruciating right now, but he knows they will learn to live with it.

It's ironic how the roles almost seem reversed. Not that Malcolm defeated his trauma, yet he is much more used to dealing with it, and now he can teach them, too.

They are not alone. They may be all a bunch of broken people, but they are not alone anymore, and they've got each other to help themselves fight through life, raise a new generation, and yeah, who knows. Maybe they aren't afraid of the future so much after all. It's a bright one, isn't it?

So he looks at the old couple, but young parents, baths in their gentle love for each other, enough for even one more person, or two? And he looks at the two friends, understanding each other so well, that they don't bother to change for anyone, decide to walk confidently through life starring themselves. And he looks at his parents, old and broken, but young and alive, fingers entangling on the table, squeezing gently to communicate beyond everyone's comprehension, as if they are the only ones existing.

Then Malcolm realizes, he's content. He's happy to be here, happy to live, because it all seems worth it. Pain and sadness, all his anguish seems worth it for moments like these in life, and there’s no place he’d rather be than here.

And when he accidentally, or not, locks his eyes with Dani's, her beautiful warm eyes full of trust, and a gentle smile graced with innocent happiness, then he realizes.

So what if the future is scary? What if they are all but a bunch of scarred people, incapable of functioning the way they should? It doesn't matter to him, not anymore.

It doesn't matter to her, because she always saw him, saw him for what he really is, and nothing else. Even now, she sees him, not like the rest here, she really looks at him, at his flaws and perks, and she accepts him. Yes, he smiles contently, gifting her the most genuine smile in his possession, because she deserves nothing less.

Maybe the future is bright after all.

 

The End

 

Notes:

Oh my god. It's done, it's finally done and I have grinned like an idiot throughout the whole editing session. That is one of the sweetest and lightest things I have ever written and I love it so much.
And yet it's so bittersweet, because it's chapter 40, and the epilogue of a very long journey. Let's Play A Game has been a part of my life since October, being the first real project for me. It was supposed to be 5 chapters long. It was supposed to be many things, but in that vision, I never would've imagined so much support from you guys.

Thank you so much, for every Kudo, for every comment, for every hit and subscribe, for your understanding and whatnot, thank you so much - every single one of you! You are the ones who gave the story significance, not me.

Special thanks go out to Snowy_Angel, as their little comment about lockpicks influenced the whole ending. Without them, this epilogue would've been about 5000 words shorter and less happy. So thank you so so much Snowy, thank you for all your encouraging and inspiring comments! I'll treasure our little talks. ❤

Now, I think it is time for me to let go of this story, and enjoy the little prosecco heart praline I had saved up since Christmas for this very moment. I have no one to toast with, so...

I'll toast to you!

❤ ❤ ❤