Chapter Fourteen
"Are you sure you want to be doing this?" Gil asked as they walked through the halls of Claremont. He carried a small duffle bag of dressings that had taken five minutes to be cleared by security. The sour scent of bodies and antisepsis assaulted their senses. His surgical boot sounded like thunder as it echoed in the corridor.
Malcolm knew Gil didn't want him here. Mother had melted down over it. Ainsley had wanted to come. He'd firmly nixed that idea. Technically he didn't want to be doing this. He had to. Big difference. "Lazar is after everyone I care about. My father has answers. He will only give them to me and you know it."
Gil scowled but didn't protest. "You should have accepted the wheelchair ride here. You're over doing it on that ankle."
"I'm fine." He tried to smile through his pain.
Gil rolled his eyes at the blatant lie. Malcolm sweated. His stitches yanked with every thump of his cane and his ankle made him rue the day he was born. But he'd be damned if he showed up in a wheelchair in front of Martin Whitly. Mr. David opened the door even before they knocked, having seen them through the glass. He widened his eyes a bit at the sight of Malcolm's rough state.
"Hello, Mr. David," he said, pretending there was nothing wrong.
"Good afternoon, Malcolm." He stepped back, letting them in.
"Malcolm, my boy. It's good to see you," his father said with his usual cheeriness, already standing at the line at the edge of his tether. This time his hands weren't cuffed to his waist. The computer was up and running on his desk so he must have been working. His father's smile flipped upside down. "Oh, you brought him."
"The other way around," Malcolm replied as Mr. David brought over his chair so Malcolm could have it. Malcolm refused it, even though his ankle currently hated him.
"Sit down, son. You look awful."
"And who's fault is that?" he snapped, his temper getting the better of him. The rage slithered off his father, not putting a dent in his façade.
Gil pointed to the chair, putting a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. Malcolm eyed him hot as a poker but he sat himself down, biting back a groan as he off loaded his swelling ankle. His father's jaw tightened when Malcolm obeyed Gil and not him. Damn, that was dumb. Now he'll guess Gil means something to me. No, he probably figured that out when Gil visited for information last time. Malcolm stared at the floor. His father was ridiculously perceptive so he was best off avoiding direct eye contact at the moment. His father walked to his desk and picked up the small footrest. He carried it over and dropped it at the line before stepping back several paces. Gil slid the foot stool into position and Malcolm heaved his booted foot up.
"Thank you," he said reluctantly.
"Tell me, Detective Arroyo," his father said, making his name sound like a particularly virulent strain of STD. "What was the final clue that led you to my son?"
The smirk fading into his father's curly beard told Malcolm Martin already knew the answer. He was just digging in the knife.
Gil took up residence to the side of Malcolm, his face glacial. Good, Dad isn't going to rattle him. "You recognizing Julissa Lostetter's eyes in Eve's face. We wouldn't have found Malcolm nearly as quickly otherwise." Gil gestured to Malcolm. "It wasn't fast enough to prevent this."
"It happened the night she took me." Malcolm rubbed his boot. He didn't want Gil to feel guilty about his injuries.
His father returned to the line, his eyes wide. "How bad is it?" His dad did have some concern for him and Malcolm hated that it mattered to him.
Malcolm expected the question. The one thing Gil didn't fight him on was displaying just how injured Malcolm was. As much as Martin Whitly wanted to intimidate Gil, that was how much Gil wanted Martin to know the damage he had wroth even unwittingly. Malcolm undid his boot's Velcro, having gotten practiced now and slipped his foot free. He peeled off his sock that the doctor insisted he wear since he usually eschewed them, and undid the dressing just enough to show off the stitches, still clotted with dried blood since he wasn't meant to get them wet yet. Thanks to the walk here his ankle had puffed up like a child holding his breath. Gil eyed the renewed damage, a mix of pity and anger etching into his face.
His father's jaw clenched, working side to side for a moment. He balled his fist against the soft fabric of his cardigan. Malcolm briefly wondered who in the hell was giving this man sweaters. "Is it as bad as it looks?"
"She destroyed all the ligaments laterally and a couple of the medial ones. It will be months before I can walk normally again, if I can."
There was no hiding the mounting fury in his father's eyes. If Mallory was here right now, his father would reduce her to her component parts without breaking a sweat, no doubt enjoying every slice. Malcolm wanted to enjoy Martin Whitly's pain more than he was. His father took a ragged breath, unclenching his fists. "That is a devastating injury."
"I know. I'm living with it," he replied, bitterly, not about to let his father off the hook. He pushed the tape back down but it didn't stick well. Gil fished more tape out of the dressings bag and handed it to him. He didn't strap up the boot. The ankle felt better free but he might regret it later. He took off his jacket and undid the buttons on his dress shirt.
"What are you doing, son?"
"You need to see the rest. Mr. David, could I have a garbage can, please?"
David brought over and Malcolm shed gauze 4X4s into it, one after the other off his arms and chest. He held his arms out of the side, vulnerability sliding over him like a blanket. Gil didn't want to look at him. Malcolm read it in his eyes but he didn't look away either. He wasn't going to show any weakness in front of Malcolm's father whose face had gone blotchy with rage.
"She was cruel to you."
"No crueler than you were to her mother. The only difference is the team found me before she could finish me off," Malcolm spat. "I'll spare you the brand on my thigh made with her mother's name."
He watched his father's throat work as Martin swallowed hard. His cheery façade shattered and for a brief moment. Malcolm saw the monster beneath. His father's gaze shifted to Gil, lava hot and accusatory as if Gil were somehow to blame for Malcolm's scars. Gil ignored him and helped Malcolm to begin redressing his wounds.
"Do you understand now what you put other families through?" Malcolm knew it was pointless to assume that his father would process the emotions like the rest of humanity. "Do you understand it enough to finally tell me who the girl in the box was and where to find her?"
The charming mask reestablished itself and his father smiled. "You dreamed that, Malcolm. You always were an imaginative child as I'm sure Gil can attest to. Can't you, Detective Arroyo?" His smile held enough sugar to keep a coffee house a float.
The wrinkles around Gil's dark eyes deepened. "I can't argue he's imaginative but if he says there was a woman hidden in your basement, then I believe him."
Malcolm hoped it didn't show on his face how surprised he was. Note to self, don't play poker with Gil. He knew Gil didn't believe him, never had in twenty years, not until Lazar surfaced, but Malcolm would never guess it from Gil's expression.
"I'm more perplexed as to how you got her downstairs without anyone in the house knowing," Gil said.
His father's eyes twinkled. "Simple. I didn't."
That was a lie, a very carefully concealed one but Malcolm knew it was a falsehood.
"Surely this isn't why you came all this way or was it just to reassure me that my boy is strong and a survivor?" He moved to the end of his tether and Mr. David approached, possibly to handcuff his hands down. His father backed up.
"That definitely wasn't why I came, Dr. Whitly," Malcolm said blandly as Gil taped down another dressing on his arm. "I need to know Paul Lazar's real name and where are his killing grounds besides the junkyard."
The cheerful expression faded into something more guarded, almost disappointed. "I would have thought you figured it out by now."
"I was busy living inside a steamer trunk," Malcolm snapped as Gil finished off the last of the dressings. He helped Malcolm slide on his shirt.
His father tracked that motion with such hate in his eyes it stilled Malcolm's fingers. He left his shirt unbuttoned. "And I've been here for twenty years thanks to your Detective Arroyo. How do you imagine I know where he kills these days?" The vicious undercurrent of his tone hinted at the monster his father actually was and he obviously wanted to unchain the monster all over Gil.
"Because killers tend to stick to their favored places. You did." He velcroed up his boot. "And he's threatening to kill me, Mother and Ainsley. I can't convince them to leave and go somewhere safe. I begged them to go with me but Mother is stubborn."
"You don't have to tell me about your mother." He shot a hostile, intensely jealous look at Gil. "Maybe you should warn Gil."
Gil arched his eyebrows. "I have twenty years of dealing with Jess. I'm well aware of how stubborn she is."
His father's sardonic rictus sent a chill up Malcolm's spine. He'd warned Gil not to engage but that as proving impossible. He needed to jump in. Malcolm struggled up to his feet, his shirt flapping open. He walked right up to the line, staring his father down. "Do you want Ainsley to die? Because we might not always be able to protect her."
His father clenched his jaw, looking away. "I truly did think you'd have worked it out where we met by now."
Malcolm blinked, staggering a bit as a sudden pain stabbed up his leg. Gil grabbed his shirt, tugging him back and nearly sliding it off Malcolm's torso. He sat and started doing up his buttons. He considered that. "You met at a hospital."
His father nodded. "Do you know why he kills at a distance?"
"He doesn't like to get his hands dirty, quite literally." Malcolm mumbled. "He sees a lot of things as dirty both physically and morally. He made a big deal of that to me yesterday."
"Ah, so he's still calling."
"And you're stilling playing games with me," Malcolm replied. This had been such a wasted effort. Maybe he should have listened to his mother. He'd need another tactic to break through his father's defenses.
"He has always been so fastidious. I blame his upbringing."
"His mother was a prostitute and addict," Gil said.
His father's gaze slipped over to Gil and curled his lip but he nodded. "She didn't last long."
"Who raised him, a highly religious aunt? No, more likely a grandparent."
"So, you puzzled that part out too. Good for you, my boy. Grandparents, both of them were very religious very hard on him. He didn't share your gentle upbringing."
Malcolm scowled. Leave it to his father to pat himself on the back. It was true he'd been raised with love and kindness, nurtured at every step until he found the girl. "The FBI made it sound like I was having sex with two women at once and he was spying on them. He overheard all the salacious talk. He called me dirty, decided that I needed his attention." To his shock, his father paled. "He's threatened my family and my friends who is he, sir? I have to know."
"Two women? What were you up to, my boy?" Martin waggled his bushy eyebrows.
"Not what everyone is insinuating. They keep forgetting the part where Gil and Mother were also both staying over."
"Including you," Gil said out of the corner of his mouth.
"Because it's germane to Lazar's misunderstanding. Everyone was at my place for a potluck and making me some prepared meals so I don't have to acquiesce to Mother's idea of getting me a live-in nurse. The once a day dressing change nurse is plenty enough," Malcolm said, hearing his fraying nerves singing in his hot tone. "The point is, thanks to the incident, Lazar has not only threatened our family, Dad." He lingered on that. He used the word so infrequently with this man he hoped it made an impression. "He's threatened three police detectives, the medical examiner and one sweet old lady simply because they were being kind to me. I'm especially afraid for the two ladies in question. What if Lazar decides I'm lying about Gil and Mother being there all night, in separate locations before you jump to any conclusions of your own?" He shot his father a warning look when he saw Martin's rage building in his eyes. "What if he comes for them and takes them by surprise? No one should have to be tortured to death because they were being kind to me."
His father spread his hands. "I would have thought you were used to shouldering blame that wasn't your own by now."
Malcolm tried to jump up but Gil held him down. His father turned his back before Malcolm could say anything.
"You already have what you need, my boy. Puzzle it out. You're more than smart enough but you're right." He whipped back around, danger in his eyes. "He will make what Mallory Lostetter did to you look like child's play. Those grandparents of his instilled very strange ideas of morality and sexual conduct in him. He would see a fun little ménage a trois in a very different light than you or I. Me, if that's how you choose to express your desires, I say enjoy yourself. He would see it worthy of punishment and correction. His grandparents made a very big deal of that. I suppose that's why he kicked the jack out from under his grandfather's car when he was not much older than you were when you betrayed me." He sighed heavily.
In spite of himself, Malcolm said, "Really? So, his need to use crushing by car goes back decades? That's fascinating."
"Focus," Gil whispered.
His father beamed, obvious seeing Malcolm's interest as him winning out over whatever he thought Gil wanted. "It really is. But he never liked getting his hands dirty. That's equally fascinating when you consider when I knew him, he took his pleasure with cadavers."
Malcolm widened his eyes, his jaw loosening. He hadn't profiled that. Edrisa and her domain rocketed to the top of his worry list. "He's a necrophiliac? I hadn't guessed that."
"I'd imagine that's because there wasn't enough of his own victims left to have sex with," his father replied, edging up to the line. Malcolm shuddered at the thought and caught the soft sound of disgust Gil made. "That's some of the reason he was so taken with my work."
Malcolm gagged softly and Gil rubbed the back of his neck, setting his father on edge. He caught his father's eye before he could blow up at Gil. "If I can't stop him, he will do that to Ainsley."
His father flinched and Malcolm knew he had him. He let that sink in a moment before adding. "Or to Mother. For all I know, he'd do that to me. Is that what you want?"
Martin's gaze slithered away before refocusing on Malcolm. "Watkins. You keep your sister safe."
"Thank you." That's all he needed. Watkins was a common name but sharing a hospital with his father, having a squashed grandfather would narrow the list considerably. "I need to go now."
His father deflated as Gil gestured to Mr. David who nodded, taking out his phone. Malcolm paid them no mind. "Do you have to leave so quickly? Stay and talk, son. I miss that. Send your guard dog to the car. He can start his detectives looking for Watkins while you and I chat."
"I've already chatted about the only things I care to." Malcolm stood. The room twisted like a Tilt-a-Whirl, and he nearly pitched over.
His father jumped forward, yanked back by his tether. Gil's arm went around Malcolm's waist, steadying him. Malcolm couldn't help himself. He leaned against Gil's shoulder until the room stopped spinning.
"My boy is right. He does need to go home or to lie down." He nodded toward his own bed. "Orthostatic hypotension passes quickly normally but I'm guessing Malcolm is still a bit low on blood."
"Again, whose fault is that?" Gil asked while Malcolm worried at how hard his father had hit ownership of him.
Martin narrowed his eyes. "Just remember, Gil, it was my blood that spilled in Lostetter's cabin, not yours."
"Don't," Malcolm warned them both. "Take me home and again, thank you." Let his father have that. If they could capture Lazar, no Watkins, thanks to this then he was grateful.
"Anytime, Malcolm. You should come calling more often."
Malcolm sighed and took up his cane. He let Gil lead him to the door and Mr. David opened it. He paused, glancing up at Gil. "Give me a minute alone."
Gil nodded and slipped out the door without argument. Leaning heavily on his cane, Malcolm turned back to his father. "Leave Gil alone, sir."
His father chuckled and returned to his desk, dismissively. "What do you imagine I can do from here, Malcolm?"
"You arranged the chaos that went down when Ainsley came for your interview."
"So they say. I was punished whether I had done it or not," his father replied with a hint of bitterness. "And even if I had, that was internal."
"And you have a computer." He nodded to it. "I know your interactions are monitored but you're clever. You slipped your drawings to one serial killer. I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility you could contact Watkins somehow. I'm sure you'd love to send him after Gil."
"That man is not your father."
Malcolm jumped at the viciousness of his response. He stiffened his spine, meeting his father's furious gaze. He was not about to be cowed by Martin Whitly now. If he showed weakness, the shark that was his father would hone right in on it. "He has been a dad to me for years but Gil is more than that. He is the reason I'm still here and I'm not speaking metaphorically."
The effect of those words was more profound than he expected. His father stood, stalking back over to his line. "What are you talking about? You haven't…." He let it trail off because he no doubt saw in Malcolm's eyes the stark ugly truth. Martin's composure rattled like a rusted out car.
"When I've been lost in my own darkness, Gil's been there holding on tight. Mother loves me but she can't…" Malcolm swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. His father tried to close the distance between them but couldn't. "She and Ainsley aren't enough to keep me alive. I feel horrible to even think that but it's true. Ainsley doesn't even know about the suicide attempts. Mother hovers over me too much because of it. It's one of the reasons I was grateful to be in D.C., away from that. She means well but it's not always what I need or want. Gil keeps me grounded. If you take him, you'll take me too. That's not a threat or overstatement. I need Gil and I fear what will become of me when he's gone."
Silence enveloped them. For several long moments they said nothing, simply staring at each other. Finally, his father said, "If people hear you talk like this, you'll end up in a place like this."
"I've been on a seventy-two hours hold before, only in a place much nicer, the wealthy sort that has the name 'retreat' or 'resort' so no one knows what's really going on," he replied bitterly. He hated having put his Mother and Gil through so much with that episode of his. He knew he hadn't been in his right mind but the guilt of it lingered regardless. "Hate Gil all you want but leave him the hell alone."
"No need for cursing, son. I won't so much as raise my voice to your precious policeman," he replied, mocking Malcolm with every word. "You do realize he wants your mother, don't you?"
Malcolm shrugged, taking the changed subject and the hate for what they were: a distraction from his father's own pain at his disclosure. Malcolm might never know for sure if his father loved him but he knew Martin valued him none the less. "That would be their business, not mine but no, I don't actually think he does. He's kind to her because Gil is kind to everyone. He's what I wish you had been but that's not your nature. Devastating or not, I have to live with that. Goodbye Dr. Whitly."
To his surprise, his father nodded without protest. "Keep your mother and sister safe."
"We'll do our best."
Malcolm fumbled for the doorknob, emotions swelling like a tsunami. Mr. David opened it for him and Malcolm kept his eyes off his father. He shouldn't be so overwhelmed that his father had helped, that maybe he did care just a little bit about Ainsley, or at least didn't want Watkins to be the one to harm his children. Just outside the door Gil waited with an orderly who had a wheelchair. Sorrow and frustration fled in the face of his annoyance. "Gil!"
"Get in the chair before you either fall down or mess up that ankle worse by over doing it." Gil stabbed a finger at the chair.
"Listen to your detective, son. He's not wrong in this case," his father called after him.
Malcolm let his shoulders slump. He sat in the chair, trying to keep his face down so his father wouldn't see the pain, the standing tears in his eyes. The orderly flipped up the footrests and started wheeling him away. Mr. David locked the door behind them.
"You okay, kid?" Gil asked as they made their way out.
"No, I don't think I am."
Gil reached over and patted his shoulder. "Would you like to stop somewhere to take your mind off things or just go home?"
"Home please."
"I think Edrisa is already there with your mother."
Malcolm allowed himself a smile. "I shudder to think."
Gil returned that grin. "It might be good for your mother to have someone nearly as indomitable as she is to deal with."
Malcolm laughed. "Oh, the images. There might not be anything left of my apartment." He sobered up. "I didn't want Edrisa to be at more risk by being there."
"Dani will be there soon too. It will be okay." Gil sighed. "Your father gave us what we needed. It won't be long now."
"I hope you're right."
Time would tell he knew but he couldn't let his fear show now. He could fall apart in Gil's car or once he got home but for now he chose to believe Gil was right. The alternative was too frightening.
XXX
Malcolm paused outside the door for a few minutes letting the sweat on his face dry off. At least he had convinced his mother to stay in the lobby with a book. She did like to read but often didn't have the time, or that's what she said. He knew it was because when she had enough free time to read, the weasels in her own mind prey upon her so she drank or took more of her mood stabilizers and was too numb to read. He wished either Gil or Dani had been available to bring him here or that Mother would have been willing for him to come on his own. Thankfully she was willing to give him privacy for this at least for a little while.
Having gathered himself up, Malcolm knocked on the door and an orderly left him in. Shadyside hospital was far nicer than Claremont but it was no less a locked-down psychiatric intensive care facility. The meeting room had the bland beige walls and cheap table of a police interrogation room. He should have felt at home but he'd rather be at the precinct than here. The orderly gestured to the table. Malcolm had already been apprised of the rules and conditions. He knew Mallory wasn't going to be handcuffed but her handler was authorized to use sedatives to restrain her if necessary.
She glanced up at him, tracking his slow, cane-aided, loud-booted progress across to the table. Mallory looked washed out, more than just the lack of makeup and the oatmeal hued 'patient uniform' they had her in. Her eyes had lost all luster. If she hadn't been watching him so intently, he wouldn't be sure that she even recognized him. He sat down in front of her.
Mallory winced as he put the cane against the table. "You came."
"I felt I had to." Doubt boiled up in him. This could be a terrible mistake.
Her eyes swept over him. "You're healing but something is haunting you, something bigger than me."
Malcolm blinked. He hadn't expected her to be quite so perceptive. "My father had a killing buddy. He's after me now."
Mallory tossed her hair back, perhaps savoring that tidbit. "You can't catch a break, can you, Malcolm?"
He made a face. "No. Maybe I don't deserve one."
She scoured his face with her gaze. "You mean that. Part of me agrees and part of me…why didn't I kill you? Is it the part of me that feels sorry for you right now?"
Malcolm wanted to reach across the table and take her hand but restrained himself. It was off limits anyhow. "I think so. You are not a killer, Mallory. My father is. It's something that is inside you to be that cold, to torture and kill. Maybe had you simply shot me in my apartment, you could have done it but that's not even a sure thing. I might be dead but you might not be able to live with it."
Turning her face away, Mallory sat quietly, digesting that. "You might be right and I'm not sure if I hate that insight or am grateful. Did this buddy help your father kill my mother?" She slowly swiveled her gaze back to him.
Malcolm shook his head. He couldn't possibly tell her the truth he'd just learned, that Watkins was a necrophiliac. He would not put those images into her head. "I have no way of knowing. My father talked a lot about other killers but he never told me much about his own. I've read about them, of course but…he's my father, Mallory. There's only so much horror I could take in about the man." Another lie. He'd digested every bit of it. "He never told me once about Watkins. I had to find him on my own, quite unexpectedly. It's horrible, I know but I have no idea about what he did. All I know is no good will come of thinking too hard on it. I've spent a lot of my life letting the past rob me of the joys of the present. I suspect you have too."
She made a bitter noise, glancing toward the lone, high window in the room. "And what is the alternative, Malcolm? Go out and live my best life?"
"I don't see why not."
"Well I'm here for one and from here prison, unless that lawyer I've been talking to hasn't been lying to me." Another bitter laugh preceded her digging her broken nails into the tabletop. "She says you and your mother are pushing to have her argue that I'm insane and I'll be spending time in a secure mental hospital like this one instead of jail. Much like your father I guess."
"Probably in a nicer place than where my father is incarcerated, but yes, that is the plan."
Mallory cocked her head, scrutinizing him. "Why in the hell would you do that? Aren't you afraid I'd get out and finish you off?"
He decided she deserved honesty. "Maybe a little but I think you lost your taste for this."
She slapped the table, making her keeper jump to his feet. She held a hand to him. "You're right. When you broke, when you went catatonic, I was horrified. I was terrified of myself and I just…I wanted you back."
"And that's why you're here. Your humanity is damaged, Mallory but not gone. Maybe normal isn't out of the question. Do I hate what you did to me and Mother, of course. I'm in a lot of pain still and the nightmares are worse but I'm not unforgiving."
A twisted smile crossed her face. "You forgive me?"
"Not yet but I can see a future where I could."
"Do you forgive him?"
He shook his head. "Some things can't be forgiven. He took too much from far too many. I know you didn't believe me but we didn't know he was a killer and once I did learn what he was, I put a stop to him which was…"
"You were a child. I know you made that argument…there in the cabin." She glanced off. "It wasn't a truth I wanted to hear."
"I know. It's a shame. Mother liked you, you know. She has almost no friends thanks to that man. You aren't alone in not believing she didn't know but she didn't and I'm not saying that as her son. I'm saying that as an investigator with access to the police interviews and the evidence." It was his turn to struggle to look at her, haunted by the memory of his mother's face in the interview tapes. "She was happy to have you as a new friend and now…she can barely look at me because she blames herself for all the pain I'm in."
"I can't be sorry for that. She should have known," she snarled.
"She thought he was having an affair."
"So protective. Do you think she deserves it?" She leaned forward on the table. "It goes both ways though. I saw it when I had you in the cabin. She was fierce and would do anything to protect you. I could admire that about your mother. Do you know how proud she is of you?"
"I know. Ainsley and I are her whole world." Mostly because they were the only ones who hadn't deserted her. If his mother was overbearing sometimes, it was mostly because she was so afraid of losing the two people left to her. He understood it logically but it could be hard to deal with it some days.
"That's true." She sighed heavily. "What now, Malcolm? Do you plan to keep coming here?"
"I will if you want. If you don't, this will be the last you see of me unless there's a trial."
Mallory pushed back from the table. "I don't know what I want. I'll have the lawyer let you know. I just know I'm tired now."
"I'll go then." Malcolm stood, his limbs leaden, wondering if this had been a major mistake. He hadn't accomplished much.
"Malcolm, in the end, I'm sorry for what I did to you. It should have been him, not you."
He didn't know what to say to that. He knew it wouldn't have given her the release she wanted. "I accept your apology."
Her shoulders slumped. "Maybe you shouldn't."
"Maybe but maybe you need me to. And in the end, you did treat the wounds you inflicted. It could have gone much worse for me," he said and his ankle seemed to throb at the thought.
"Go home, Malcolm, and I hope that your dad's buddy doesn't catch you."
"Thank you. Goodbye Mallory."
She didn't answer. She turned her back and looked out the small, barred window. Malcolm didn't wait. He limped back down to the lobby. His mother set aside the book as soon as she heard his boot thumping. She met him halfway across the room, nestling her hand against his cheek. "You are exhausted, son."
"I am." It wasn't worth lying about this. "I want to go home, Mother."
She slipped an arm around his waist. "Alphonso is outside with the car. Gil's police escort is too."
"I wish you and Ainsley would just go. Like I said, take me with you."
"I could send you on your own, anywhere you want to go."
He rolled his eyes. "That's not the point and you know it."
"You know who Lazar is now and it's only a matter of time before you catch him." She shrugged as he pushed open the door.
"He knows we're looking. He's intelligent because Dad would never have suffered a fool as a student."
"We can argue at home."
He sighed. "All right. We will."
But not today, he decided, casting a glance back at the hospital. He was too tired out. He'd lost too much but there was hope. His mother wasn't wrong. They knew John Watkins's name. Gil and the team were on his trail. Malcolm still had resting and healing to do. As he helped his mother into the car and sliding in after her, he wanted nothing more than to go home with his friends and he hoped they found Watkins before he had the chance to harm Malcolm's family because the team wasn't his friends. They were as close as family to him. He hoped they understood that. If not, well he had a chance tonight playing The Walking Dead Clue to tell them how he felt. Sure, he'd probably chicken out but maybe they'd know anyhow. Malcolm certainly hoped so because after everything he'd been through, the fact that they were still there, meant the world. If nothing else, he'd make sure they knew that much. He allowed himself a soft smile as he headed home. Life was hard but he was still here and in the moment, he was relieved and hopeful things would work out.
Fini