Thicker Than Water
Ch. 1:
Summery: Based on a what-if theory I thought up while watching the Mr. Monk is on the Run season finale. Rated M for graphic physical and emotional violence.
"I owe you my life for this, Ambrose," said Adrian, shivering as he pulled the hobo's jacket tighter around his shoulders. "You saved my life."
Ambrose Monk merely smiled, saying, "I may not look like it, but I'm ready and willing to protect my little brother. Captain Stottlemeyer called me and said you need to lie low for a while. Who better to open their doors than me, huh?"
Adrian chuckled as Ambrose pressed a coffee mug (# 10) into his hands.
"Yeah, given your—your—"
"Issues, you can say it," said the elder Monk brother. "And I understand what you mean. Given my illness, who would suspect me of harboring a supposed fugitive?"
"I'm not a fugitive," Adrian replied defensively.
"Adrian, I know that, the Captain knows it, Natalie knows it—we all do! It's convincing these Angel County nunkheads that will be the hard part," Ambrose said. "Look, the Captain gave me the low-down on everything that's happened. The evidence against you is incriminating and if you weren't my brother, I would have said you did it—"
"But I didn't!" Adrian, almost in tears.
"Let me finish!" snapped Ambrose, his voice getting a testy edge to it. "I know you are innocent! But there is nothing I can say to even out your sentence. Nothing anyone can say can free you right now. I'll do what I can, but I'm afraid it won't be much."
"Anything you can do is enough. Don't put yourself in anymore danger than you need to," replied Adrian.
"I'd rather not put myself in any danger at all. I'm only doing it for your sake," Ambrose said quietly.
"Why did you agree to hide me? You're risking imprisonment yourself because of me!"
"I'm already imprisoned, Adrian," said Ambrose with a weak, crooked smile. "I have been for the past thirty-odd years. You've said it yourself. I know you wouldn't survive an hour in prison—"
"Neither would you!" said Adrian. "I shouldn't be here. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you on my account."
"Stay, please," said Ambrose, grabbing his little brother's upper arm. "You have nowhere to go." He sighed and opened a filing cabinet. Adrian blinked in surprise as Ambrose handed him an old letter. It was addressed to Ambrose. Adrian gasped when he recognized the handwriting.
"Mom…" he whispered. He looked up at Ambrose who merely nodded his permission to read the letter. Adrian held the letter with shaking hands as he read his late mother's handwriting.
Ambrose,
I'm sure you know that I shall not remain in this world much longer. You were always a helpful, considerate boy. I need you to take care of Adrian when I am gone. Given his working life, he has made or will make enemies. Should he need somewhere to run, by all means take him in, no matter what it costs you. It is your duty to see to your brother's safety, even though I know that you can not be with him given your illness. Offer him sanctuary if he needs it, but that does not mean you should neglect yourself. Take care, Ambrose. Give Adrian my love.
Mom
"I promised her I'd look after our family, even if it is just you and me now," said Ambrose when Adrian had put down the letter and shielded his eyes with his hand. "And now, I get my chance to hold up my end of the bargain."
"I never knew she contacted you before she died," Adrian said at last. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"After Trudy, I didn't have the heart to say anything to you. I couldn't. Not when I thought that her death was my doing," Ambrose replied, staring hard at the floor to avoid his brother's eyes. "You must be tired. Get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."
It was well before dawn when Adrian jumped awake. He was sleeping in the attic. Adrian knew Ambrose was awake from the sound of whistling the tune of In the Hall of the Mountain King emitting from a two-way radio concealed in Adrian's shirt. Ambrose also wore one in case anyone should drop by, giving Adrian a heads up should he need to flee.
"Ever since Peter Lorre, that tune is chilling when whistled," yawned Adrian.
"Heh-heh, sorry," said Ambrose's voice from the radio. "Did I wake you?"
"No," Adrian replied. "Sleeping with one eye open anyway. What are you doing up?"
"Thinking," Ambrose said via the radio. "A few days ago, I was contacted by Captain Stottlemeyer. He said to be very careful. Said this Sheriff Rollins is really into intimidation and fear tactics. Cold War stuff."
Adrian chuckled, knowing that, if anything, Rollins was most likely channeling the spirit of Joseph McCarthy.
"Hang on—?" said Ambrose's voice quietly. Adrian felt a wave of cold dread slither down his spine as his brother whispered the words he'd been dreading. "'Angel county'…Adrian, listen to me, no matter what you hear stay hidden, understand?"
Adrian said nothing, listening in horror to the exchange between his brother and Sheriff Rollins.
"Morning, Sheriff," said Ambrose pleasantly. "Can I help you?"
"You're Ambrose Monk, I take it?" Rollins asked in a growl.
"Yessir," Ambrose replied. "Is something up?"
"Do you know where your brother is?" Rollins asked.
"No, I haven't heard from Adrian in months. Why do you ask?"
"Mind if I come in, son?" Rollins inquired. Ambrose fought a sneer and allowed the man inside. "I'm sure you are aware that your brother is wanted for murder."
"Adrian doesn't have a murdering bone in his body. Even if it was the man in connection with his wife's murder, he would not kill him," Ambrose replied. "His sense of justice outweighs his need for revenge."
Rollins laughed heartily, as though greatly amused by Ambrose's words. He sat down on the sofa and pulled out a tape recorder.
"I'm sorry to say that you don't know you're brother well at all, Mr. Monk. I trust that you are at least acquainted with Adrian's former employer, Captain Leland Stottlemeyer?"
"Yes," Ambrose replied carefully. "Why do you ask?"
"Using some rather—unorthodox interrogation, Leland spilled everything. He told me where to find your brother," Rollins explained in a dangerously quiet voice. He gave a cold smile and pressed play on the tape recorder.
"Talk, Captain! Where is Adrian Monk hiding?" snarled an unknown male voice.
"I—don't—know!" howled Leland's voice. He sounded as though he was in terrible pain. There was the sound of metal on flesh, followed by the sound of what could only be breaking bone. "You son of a bitch! I don't know anything!"
Ambrose's face was chalk white, even tinged green, as though he looked ready to be physically ill. Rollins grinned, watching him and keeping his hand on the tape recorder. At last, he turned it off, finally stopping the sounds of Leland's pained howling.
"Do you know where Leland Stottlemeyer is now, Mr. Monk?" Rollins asked in that same dangerously quiet voice. His grin widened at Ambrose's silence. "He's currently rotting in a solitary confinement cell in San Quentin. You just might find yourself in a five-star cell too, if you don't tell me where your brother is."
Ambrose swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat.
"Inflict enough physical or psychological pain on a man and he'll tell you the world is flat. Torture is no way to glean information on any grounds!"
"So you say," replied Rollins. He suddenly slammed the butt of his pistol against the side of Ambrose's head. Ambrose fell to his knees, groaning and dazed. "But it works!" Rollins continued, his foot connecting with Ambrose's face.
Adrian listened in pure horror at what was occurring several flights of stairs below him. Ambrose was being tortured all on his account. Captain Stottlemeyer was imprisoned and injured. And it was all because of him. Everyone he knew was being affected by a crime he was witness to, but did not have a hand in. Rollins was a monster and he'd do anything to anyone until he got Adrian Monk's head in a noose.
"I don't know anything!" gasped Ambrose's voice on the two-way radio. "Please, stop!"
"Are you going to tell me where you're brother is, Mr. Monk? Or maybe you've still got too many teeth?" Rollins demanded.
Adrian listened as Ambrose wept softly. There was clicking sound that could only mean one thing.
"No!" Ambrose begged. "Please! Have mercy! I'm praying to you! Have mercy! Please!"
"Then starting singing, kid."
"Adrian, run!" Ambrose screamed.
BANG!