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English
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Published:
2021-02-15
Completed:
2021-03-26
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25,233
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8/8
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Poetic Justice

Summary:

"It's poetic really how everything has led us to this moment. Now you're here. And I get to watch the light leave your eyes as everything you care about crumbles around you."

Notes:

For the purpose of this story, Malcolm has tested for and earned his credentials to carry a firearm while on duty with the NYPD.

Chapter Text

PRESENT DAY

 

The sun had all but set in the Catskills and whatever wasn’t already bathed in darkness from the mountains wore the pale blue filter of twilight. Two identical SUVs raced down the winding road at speeds that would’ve made a typical passenger uncomfortable. Malcolm Bright anxiously flipped through a file in his lap, one he’d read a hundred times already. He wasn’t actually reading the pages anyway, merely flipping through them aimlessly, occasionally pausing to look at a photo. It was a failed attempt at passing the time during their long drive from the city.

Dani’s hand reached forward from the back seat, coming to rest on the profiler’s shoulder. The gesture actually brought with it a small amount of comfort. “Hey. Relax. There’s literally two ways out of here and we’re covering both.” 

Malcolm turned his head and offered an affiliative smile, clearly not convinced of the plan’s air-tightness. 

“We’re four minutes from the fork; twelve from the target. We’ll go west, you take the east route,” Gil’s voice echoed through the multiple radios inside the black Suburban. Malcolm nodded in response, as though the Lieutenant could see the gesture from the vehicle in front of them. 

The FBI agent in the driver’s seat, Blake, responded, “Copy that.” 

Malcolm shut the file, the pretense of studying it no longer worth the effort, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. This last week had been brutal. The victims, the investigation, the lack of sleep - even by his standards - was taking a massive toll on him.

“Seriously, Bright. We’re gonna catch him.”

This time he didn’t turn to look at her. He simply gazed down at the file in his lap, the one containing the photos of four new victims, and sighed. 

They approached the fork in the two-lane highway and Malcolm watched as Gil and JT’s Suburban took the left route. 

“Eight Minutes,” JT announced, their car speeding in the opposite direction. 

“Comms check,” Gil ordered. 

“Powell, check.” 

“Clear,” their boss replied. 

“Bright, check.” 

“Clear.” 

Blake repeated the phrase last. 

“Car two comms are go,” Agent Coe, confirmed from Gil’s car. Once the lead car was prepped, Dani checked her weapon, cocked it, and returned it to her holster. 

Bright mimicked the action, addressing both teams as he did, “Remember, Adam Reynolds is not looking to negotiate. He’s in the middle of a psychotic break, and is motivated solely by revenge. Everything he does and will do is focused on one thing: Justice.” 

For what I did, he finished internally.

He knew his teammates were thinking the same thing, but would never say so aloud. Silence permeated both cars, to the point that it was starting to get uncomfortable. Thankfully, that changed when Agent Blake straightened up behind the wheel. 

“Vehicle. Opposite lane. Quarter mile ahead,” he noted. The road was dark enough now that the outline of it was overpowered by the beams shining in their direction. 

Dani leaned as far forward as her seatbelt would allow, examining the headlights coming toward them. She squinted while she tried to make out whether the front end matched the info the DMV had given them on Reynolds’ car. “That’s too big to be a sedan. What is that, a truck? SUV?” 

“Yeah. Looks like it,” Malcolm agreed, as Dani shifted back in her seat. “Seriously, though. Everyone,” he began, addressing both cars on his comms once again, “Don’t assume anything. We may know his M.O., but that doesn’t mean we know how he will resp--”. 

The rest of his sentence was cut off. In an instant, the truck approaching them swerved over the centerline and slammed violently into their SUV. 

The sound of the impact was deafening. The force with which Malcolm’s body flew forward was unbelievable. The seatbelt strained to keep him in place, as his limbs flew forward. He had no time to process what had happened before everything around them fell into chaos and the world turned upside down. They were rolling, flip after flip, down the side of the mountain highway embankment. Glass flew everywhere; the contents of the Suburban bounced within it like clothes in a dryer. The metal of the vehicle shrieked as it bent and smashed with each roll. 

The SUV finally stopped rolling, initially landing on its side. However, it had just enough momentum to slowly fall over onto its top, creaking at first, then landing with a resounding crunch. That was the last sound Malcolm heard, before his vision tunneled and everything faded to black. 

 


 

ONE WEEK AGO

 

Malcolm rushed merrily across the street, a smile stretched tightly from ear to ear. When he reached the sidewalk Gil turned and greeted him with far less enthusiasm. 

The lieutenant took one look at his face and huffed, “You could look a little less excited that there’s been a murder, ya know.” 

“I could,” Malcolm replied, practically bouncing in place, “but we both know I’d be lying.” 

Gil attempted to chide his would-be-son with a glare, but the look did nothing to quell the ball of excitement in front of him. Eventually, he gave up and gestured toward the front door of the building, “Follow me.” 

As soon as they stepped off the elevator, the smell hit Malcolm like a nauseating tidal wave. 

“Yeah,” Gil acknowledged the thoughts he hadn’t actually verbalized.

Bright turned to him as they approached the apartment “So, I take it this is not a fresh body.”

His boss simply shook his head vigorously and very reluctantly walked through the door, taking a noticeable deep breath before entering. 

Malcolm followed, “Do we know time of death?”

“Based on the bloating and slight foaming from the mouth and nose, I’d say four days, maybe five.” Edrisa answered, beaming up at him from her crouched position next to the victim. The profiler nodded, as he walked toward the victim. 

Dani too, had bent down, though her back was to them. She hesitantly leaned closer, examining something very intently, and taking notes on her pad. After a few seconds she stood and turned, both acknowledging their entrance and releasing the breath she’d been holding. “Hey,” she waved, her face scrunched in revulsion.

“Hey,” the profiler chuckled at her for a moment before returning his gaze to the body on the floor. The victim was a woman who looked to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. She was positioned the same way a body would be in a casket at a funeral. 

That implies remorse, he thought.

Dani interrupted his train of thought. “You’re gonna love this,” she predicted, stepping further out of his way. 

“Why’s that?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

“Um,” Dani pointed deliberately toward the far side of the body, “that.” 

Malcolm’s focus had been on the victim and hadn’t shifted to the surroundings yet. His eyes followed the direction of her finger. As soon as he saw it, he froze. Almost a foot away from the victim’s body was her heart, painstakingly removed and wiped clean. It was cut down the middle and lay separated, the two halves only a few inches apart. Between the pieces, a knife had been deliberately stabbed into the hardwood floor and was standing on its point. Malcolm’s own heart pounded in his chest, as he looked back over the victim’s body. 

Cleaned. 

Dressed. 

He took a slow, deliberate step forward to see her face more closely. 

Full makeup. 

Bile creeped up the back of his throat and he forced it back down. 

That’s not possible, his psyche denied. 

“You okay?” Dani asked, watching him, her brows furrowed. 

Malcolm only partially registered the fact that someone was talking to him. A shrill, high-pitched ringing had filled his ears. He searched for something, any difference in the M.O. that might indicate he was wrong. But, he wasn’t. The realization hit him so hard it took his breath and he wobbled in place for a second, hoping no one else noticed. 

“Bright?” This time the concern in her voice was enough to alert the rest of the room.

Gil approached him, “What is it?” 

“I…” He needed to get out of there, get away from the damning evidence.

“Talk to me, kid,” the lieutenant reached out and grabbed his shoulder, grounding him enough that he could form a coherent response. 

“I need some air,” he replied, hurrying, unsteadily out the apartment door. Thankfully the elevator was still waiting there and the doors opened as soon as he pressed the button. He rushed in, smacking the button several times impatiently. It was only nine floors to the ground, but it felt like an eternity. By the time he made it outside, Malcolm’s stomach was in knots. Luckily, the fresh air helped; it cooled his skin, despite the summer heat and he made his way to the narrow alley beside the building. 

Malcolm paced back and forth, attempting to breathe himself out of the anxiety attack he felt looming. Slow, deep breaths in, through his nose, and long exhales out, through his mouth. 

As he retraced the short space between the adjacent buildings, Dani turned the corner. “Hey,” she repeated, worry dripping off of the greeting this time. “What’s wrong?” 

Malcolm didn’t respond. He looked over at her for a split second before continuing to pace, almost manically. 

“Talk to me, Bright,” Dani begged, “What’s going on?” 

He couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. Saying it out loud made it real and that reality wasn’t something he was ready to face. He needed more intel, to be absolutely sure before he spoke. Mid thought, Malcolm stopped and turned toward his partner, “We need to go back to the precinct.” 

“Right now?” She looked up at the building, clearly imagining the reaming they’d receive for leaving an active crime scene. 

“Yes.” 

The urgency with which he spoke the syllable convinced her. That level of desperation wasn’t something he typically showed. She pulled the keys to the precinct’s sedan from her pocket, “I’ll drive.” 


Silence was never something that bothered Dani. In fact, she’d much rather sit quietly than be forced to partake in painful small talk. One of the things she appreciated about Bright was the fact that he never felt obligated to fill a conversational void. If the discussion wasn’t organic, then it was allowed to rest. Because of this shared mentality, she never felt uncomfortable being in the same space with him. If there was something to talk about, they would. If there wasn’t, then they didn’t

Now, however, as she drove them back to the precinct, she silence was torture. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. That much was obvious. Normally this was the part where he practically vomited every detail to her, trying to talk through whatever it was that was bothering him about the case. Not this time. The entire drive back not a single word was spoken between the two of them. Every few blocks she would glance in his direction out of her peripheral, but he just kept staring blankly out the windshield. 

Bright held the door to the precinct for her, still managing to keep from looking directly at her. When they entered their floor she looked to him for direction, unsure of what he needed here. He gestured toward the conference room and shut the door behind them once they’d entered. Only then did he finally speak. 

“I need you to look up something, a case.” 

Dani tilted her head to the side, questioning, “Okay…” 

Bright shifted his stance, fidgeting nervously, “The problem is, the minute you search this case it’s going to flag the FBI and they’ll likely be here in a matter of hours.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“I know this is a lot to ask.” 

She crossed her arms and stared at him, “Yes. It is.” 

“But I need you to trust me. I wouldn’t ask you for this if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary,” his hands were pressed together in front of him, practically praying for her assistance. 

Dani watched him. He was panicking. Outwardly he was doing a halfway decent job of keeping it together. If she didn’t know him like she did, then she probably wouldn’t have seen the signs. His body language was calm, but his eyes were frantic. His breathing was faster than it should be for a situation like this, which meant his heart rate was likely through the roof. Whatever this was, it was serious.  

“If I do this, and the FBI shows up breathing down our necks, you know Gil is going to lose his mind right?” 

A half grin crept up one side of the profiler’s face, “Most likely, yes.” 

“Then tell me why. If I’m about to risk my neck with Gil and the FBI is about to hunt me down just for searching something, then I deserve to know why.” 

“You’re absolutely right,” he nodded his hands opening in front of him, “and I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I promise. Just as soon as I’ve checked something.” 

Dani glared at him, shifting her weight to the opposite leg. She stared long enough that he had already broken their eye contact awkwardly twice. Then she took a deep breath, “Fine.” 

Bright’s eyes widened in shock and gratitude, “Thank you,” as the two of them made their way to her desk. 


Once she had logged in and opened the database, Dani stood and offered Malcolm her seat. It seemed easier than being the middleman. She’d been standing over his shoulder for twenty minutes now while he clicked and sifted through numerous files, photos, and reports. He hadn’t spoken a word since he’d thanked her for her assistance. 

A figure, marching down the windowed hallway toward the bullpen door, caught her attention and she tapped him on the shoulder, “Incoming.” 

Malcolm exited the database quickly, as the two of them watched their boss stomp toward them, JT trying to keep pace behind him. 

Gil pointed at both of them emphatically, “Conference room. Now.” 

Dani swallowed and led the way back into the room. She immediately walked over to the wall and leaned against it. Bright stood at attention next to the table. 

“Imagine my surprise,” Gil began, “when I came downstairs to check on my profiler, and the detective who was supposed to be bringing him back upstairs, only to learn they were nowhere to be found. And that your,” he pointed at Dani, “car was gone.” 

Malcolm tried to defend her, “I can explain. I asked Dani to bring me back to the precinct.”

Gil interrupted him, “See that’s the kind of thing you tell your commanding officer.” 

Again Bright held up his hands in contrition, “I know. And I’m sorry. I just… something I saw at the crime scene… I needed to be sure before… to search it…” 

The lieutenant raised one eyebrow in confusion, “Complete sentences, please.” 

Malcolm shook his head, as though it would clear it, “Right. The heart at the crime scene, cutting it in half and leaving the knife between it. I’ve seen that before. The rest of the M.O. as well: cleaning up the body, redressing and positioning it. All of that is a very specific M.O. from a case I worked four years ago.” 

Dani straightened up off of the wall and slowly walked toward the table, while he continued to speak.

“It was a case in Pennsylvania. The last case I worked with Colette, actually.” As he spoke the last words his voice trailed off. 

“And?” Gil demanded. 

Bright paused, staring blankly at the table, before taking a deep breath, and answering, “And this murder, everything about it matches that case identically.” 

“So you think we’ve got a copycat?” JT asked. 

“That’s the thing. We were worried about that four years ago, so there were specific details about the murders that we never gave to the press or published. Like the knife for example.” 

Gil leaned on the back of the chair in front of him, “So if you don’t think it’s a copycat, what are you thinking?” 

Malcolm looked up at them, his eyes filled with guilt, “I think there’s been an innocent man sitting in a prison cell for four years. Because I put him there.”