Chapter Text
“Bright!” Dani’s voice echoed through the clearing, “what did you do?” Her voice was shaking, disbelief, horror, shock, a mix of emotions that should never have appeared. She lowered her gun but kept it close to her in case of emergency. Ainsley appeared behind her. As soon as she registered the scene, she took a step back in shock, her hands flying to cover her mouth.
Malcolm seemed to not realise their presence. His eyes were cold, as lifeless as the bodies he investigated. Dani took a half step forward, eyes flying to Martin Whitly laying on the ground, hand covering the stab wound. Blood pooled around his fingers, flowing to the ground and mixing with the dirt. Malcolm had hit something.
“Malcolm?” Dani asked in a near whisper. Malcolm looked down at his hands and dropped the knife.
Malcolm’s hands were still.
“Dad?” Ainsley shook herself out of the shock and ran to her fathers side. She desperately tried to put pressure on the wound with the panic of a little girl who never got to really know her father.
“Is he-“ Dani cut herself off with a gulp, looking to Ainsley. Ainsley had tears streaming down her cheeks - tears that she weren’t sure were for show, for losing Martin, or out of pure shock. Ainsley looked at Martin’s face, his eyes were staring up into the canopy of trees above, glazing over slowly. His chest rose and fell with each laboured breath. He wasn’t dead yet, but it was apparent he soon would be.
“Soon,” Ainsley replied.
“Malcolm?” Dani tried Malcolm again, stepping forward another half step, “Malcolm talk to me,” Malcolm glanced at her with unfocussed eyes.
“He’s dying,” Malcolm said almost abruptly, the steadiness of his voice sending chills down Dani’s spine, “I punctured an artery,” he looked downward at his father, eyes devoid of any light, “note the blood loss,” he added.
Dani gaped at him, Ainsley covered her mouth with her hand - her hand that was now covered in Martin’s blood. Malcolm was nonchalant, blasé, indifferent - all the words that never seemed to apply to him. But now, in the seemingly impossible situation where Malcolm had turned a weapon on someone and succeeded, he didn’t care.
Or at least, that was the shock speaking. His rational mind making sense of the situation while his emotions took the time to catch up.
Dani hoped.
“Malcolm…” Dani trailed off and then looked down at Ainsley. It was clear from her expression that Martin was too far gone, “Ainsley, go back and get Gil,” she had a momentary delayed reaction, but nodded. She stood and quickly rushed off to find the lieutenant.
“I’m sorry,” Malcolm looked to the ground, “he brought me here to help Jeannie, in some misguided attempt to redeem himself,”
“You found her, so why did it come to this?” Dani asked cautiously, “how did it get here?”
Malcolm hesitated, his eyes focussing on his surroundings more. He shut them tightly and shook his head.
“I…you found the Woodsman? You found Don?” He asked.
“Yes, he…wasn’t in a great state, but alive,” she replied. Dani bit her lip in anticipation of his next words.
“Martin was trying, he wanted to be free, have a normal life of some sort. He hadn’t killed in twenty years and was surprisingly reluctant to start again,” Malcolm took a deep breath, “but I had him torture Don for Jeannie’s whereabouts,” Dani closed her eyes for a second too long and sighed, “I guess that did something…” he glanced at his hand, the hand that seemed to always shake in situations where he was presented with moral choices, but was as still as a surgeon.
“What happened here, Bright?” She gestured vaguely to the clearing, “I need to know. Please,” she said desperately.
“I killed him,” Malcolm said almost absently, like he wasn’t all there, “I…”
Then he broke.
Malcolm crouched. He put his head in his hands and rubbed them through his hair. He looked up at Dani, the emotions beginning to register the situation. His eyes were red rimmed, glassy with tears, and the tremor slowly began to return.
That was the moment when Ainsley returned with Gil.
“Bright…” Gil stopped when he saw the scene, registering the knife, the body of Martin Whitly who had definitely passed by that point and Malcolm’s blood stained hands.
“We…we have to take him back,” Dani said quietly to Gil, a grim expression on her face, “he…he killed his own father. How will he live with that?” Gil shook his head and sighed.
“He won’t,” the look of despair on Gil’s face was enough to make anyone give up.
Malcolm’s eyes never left his hands during the long drive back to New York. He was in the back of a police vehicle, none of his friends in the car with him. He sat in the cage in the back, separated from the front seat by the metal bars. His driver was an NYPD officer brought by to help with the search and recovery. Someone Malcolm had minimal contact with at the precinct.
His hands were bloody, but his tremor was minor, not as severe as it had been in the past.
It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders at the same time a ball and chain was attached to his ankle. Martin was gone, never again to make snide remarks, enthusiastically contribute to one of his cases, never again to greet him with the ecstatic “my boy!” Malcolm had gotten so used to. He was gone, but Malcolm wasn’t. Malcolm was the victor, Malcolm had torn away everything he’d held the most dear, the morality he’d clung to his whole life just to save one woman and to stop his father from leaving.
Malcolm had stabbed Martin once again, only this time he didn’t survive.
Neither of them did.
Malcolm’s mind was racing. His thoughts tumbling over one another like the rush of students exiting a school at the end of the day. There were several parts of Malcolm fighting for control in that moment. The parts that enjoyed inflicting pain, the vindictive side, the rational mind and the emotional one. Malcolm was torn between feeling relieved and feeling horrified. He fiddled with his thumbs.
“You okay back there Whitly?” The officer asked and Malcolm froze at the use of his birth surname.
“What?” Malcolm croaked out the question, his throat dry.
“I asked if you’re okay. You look like you’re having a mental breakdown,” the officer pointed out and Malcolm scoffed, turning his head to stare out the window.
“Do you even care?” He asked bitterly. The officer didn’t say anything, “and it’s Bright, not Whitly,” he corrected.
“Does that apply now?” The officer asked and Malcolm gritted his teeth in frustration.
“I didn’t ask for your input,” Malcolm hissed at him.
The officer said nothing more.
Malcolm continued to stare out the window, the lush forests of Vermont passing by as they drove through the state. It would be several hours before they reached New York.
I was right…we’re the same!
Martin was grinning when he said that to Malcolm. The one thing he’d been wanting Malcolm’s whole life, for him to follow in his fathers footsteps, had happened. Malcolm had become a killer. Malcolm had succumbed to those primal, violent urges he often felt but suppressed. Malcolm had defended himself, but a part of him didn’t feel bad about it.
The part of him that did was shocked.
Had he always been in denial? Was he always capable of that?
Everyone was in some degree.
Malcolm had always prided himself on not being like his father. On not being a murderer. Malcolm had distanced himself from the Whitly’s for good reason. A job in DC, a name change and minimal contact meant barely anyone had known his real identity.
None of that mattered now. While both he and Ainsley had killed, Malcolm had done so in front of multiple people. It wasn’t just going to go away, it wasn’t going to get gift-wrapped in a neat package and shipped off to a foreign country, it was very real and something Malcolm had to deal with.
Jessica Whitly was waiting at the precinct when they returned. Her eyes lit up when she saw Ainsley step into the bullpen first. Ainsley’s tears were real, she had finally decided. The rare instance where the tears had a reason to be there, the rare instance that Ainsley felt something so raw she couldn’t help herself but nearly explode. She found her place behind her mother and put an arm around her. When Gil walked through the doors, shadowed by Dani and JT who had Malcolm between them in handcuffs, Jessica gasped loudly and took a small step backwards.
“Mom,” Ainsley muttered. Jessica shook her head frantically and waved her hands round her temples trying to understand the situation.
“What…what happened?” Jessica asked Ainsley desperately.
“We’re free,” she said simply. Ainsley watched her brother get escorted into an interrogation room, “but he will never be,”
Jessica understood the implications and broke down in tears right in the middle of the bullpen. Ainsley could only be there for Jessica.
“Did my mother offer to send the lawyers?” Malcolm asked the moment Gil walked into the room, Ruiz at his side.
“No,” Gil sighed. Malcolm slightly raised his eyebrows and nodded in understanding.
“Tell us what happened,” Ruiz asked, taking a seat across from Malcolm, Gil electing to stand.
“From when?” Malcolm glanced between Gil and Ruiz.
“From the moment you went off the grid,” Ruiz pursed her lips in annoyance. Malcolm nodded.
“Vivian Capshaw was at the storage unit with Dani and I,” Malcolm began, “Dani went to take Gil’s call and Capshaw made herself known to me. I followed her out into the parking lot and I asked her to take me to my father - to Martin,” Malcolm gulped.
“Why?” Ruiz asked.
“I wanted to find him. Save him from her because he was the victim in that moment,” Malcolm explained, “she gave me some pills that knocked me out. I woke up in the mansion,”
“Martin Whitly?” Ruiz raised an eyebrow.
“Incapacitated,” Malcolm shrugged, “Capshaw had us both. She was using me against Martin. When Dani showed up, I was strapped to the gurney in the basement and Martin was free. He helped me, saved me because Capshaw tried to kill me, and I told him to run,”
“Why did you do that?” Gil asked.
“Because as much as Martin Whitly was a serial killer, he was also my father and I didn’t want him to die,” Malcolm held eye contact with Gil. He was holding back emotion, glassy eyes and occasional sniffles told Gil Malcolm wanted to cry.
“Then how did he end up dead in the Vermont woods?” Ruiz brought attention back to her and Malcolm coughed slightly.
“Martin took me when he ran and brought me to Vermont. He wanted to catch the Woodsman. We tracked the Woodsman to the local PD, and we were kidnapped by him. The Woodsman tried to kill us but we incapacitated him,” Malcolm explained briefly.
“How did you do that?” Gil cut in.
“I distracted him, Martin got free, I kicked him and Martin knocked him out,” Malcolm shrugged, “we then strung him up the same way he did to us and I told Martin we needed to get Jeannie’s location from him,”
“Martin tortured him?” Ruiz questioned and Malcolm nodded.
“Yes. We got the information and found Jeannie. I called 911, told them where we were and Martin ran because I told dispatch about him. I went after him and caught up to him at the clearing,” Malcolm looked down at the table his hands were cuffed to and composed himself for several moments, “Martin decided to kill me, and he turned the knife on me. I deflected,” Malcolm said.
“Martin was going to kill you? That doesn’t seem like him,” Gil pointed out in confusion, “he was a psychopath but he truly seemed to love you and Ainsley,”
“Family was his weekness, but he was still a psychopath,” Malcolm said, “at that moment I wasn’t his son, I was the obstacle standing in between him and freedom,”
“So he went to kill you,” Ruiz clarified.
“Not exactly,” Malcolm thought over his words for a moment, “for Martin, anything was better than going back to Claremont. I think he wanted to die, wanted me to kill him. Kill two birds with one stone. Get me to become the killer he’s always wanted, and secondly to die. Suicide by son, if you will,” Malcolm explained his thoughts.
“You think he orchestrated the situation to prove a point?” Gil asked and Malcolm nodded.
“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but he was desperate, not in his usual habitat, he could have simply just wanted to kill me, get me out of the way so he could be free,”
“We’ll never know,” Ruiz frowned.
“I guess we won’t,” Malcolm sighed.