Y'all know the drill. I have absolutely no impulse control and once I finished this I had to put it up! This chapter was so much fun to write bc I haven't really gotten to write a scene like this in a couple of years. I was absolutely giddy every time I sent Em a new bit and they matched my giddiness. Hope y'all enjoy it as much as I did writing it

Jessica's eyes still linger on the book as she hears Martin come closer behind her. It's not too late to make a drastic move. But no, she refuses to stoop to his level. She came here to put an end to this, not to kill him. She will draw him out, force him back to Claremont. She takes a deep breath but it's punched out of her again when she turns to see him.

He's dressed just like before. A sweater and a nice pair of slacks, his normally unruly curls were tamed. If it weren't for his salt and peppered hair as well as the extra lines next to his eyes she'd say he looked relatively unchanged after 20 years.

Where the hell did he even find those?

"I came to talk." She sighs, dropping her shoulders. It's subtle but he takes it as her lowering her defenses. In reality, every single fiber of her being wants to take off towards the door. He smiles gesturing for her to begin. "This has to end."

"What does?"

"All of this. These games." The word tastes like poison in her mouth. That's all this was to him, a game to win. In the meantime she doesn't know if she'll ever feel safe here again, if she'll ever feel comfortable alone ever again. They're just pawns for him to manipulate to his sick desires. "Malcolm is a mess looking everywhere for you."

"And yet you knew exactly where I was." Her jaw snaps shut. Of course she did. He didn't need to leave, not when they'd come right to him. It was inevitable. Malcolm would come to reinvestigate to see what they missed. He would come alone and god knows what Martin would do. She came to stop just that. "Where is my boy?"

"He's at home. Sleeping." His nose scrunches at the word home. Martin would never associate their homes as anywhere but here. No matter how much Malcolm's apartment fit him more, or how Ainsley's style reflected more on her own. The disgust is enough for him to miss the lie buried at the end.

"I need to see him."

"You need to go back to Claremont."

"Where they'll put me in solitary for god knows how long?" He scoffs with a small laugh. "No thank you."

"This can't go on forever. What are you going to do? Hide in here for the rest of your life?"

"Like you've been hiding from here? From me?" She straightens sucking in a breath. "Tell me Jessie," All of the pleasantness has been sucked from his voice. "Where have you been?"

"Staying with Malcolm."

He grins, the one that's out the side of his mouth tossing his head aside in disbelief. "We both know that's not true."

Her blood freezes trying to read that expression. How the hell could he possibly have known that? He has to be bluffing, there's no way he'd be able to tell where she's been after this week. She'd hardly left Gil's at all. Most days were spent locked in front of the TV or her phone watching for any sight of him.

"Malcolm's apartment is quite nice. Lots of natural light but I'm assuming that's your doing. You always did love big windows." She shakes her head, surely he's lying. Malcolm fell out the window after a bad night terror. That's how he has to know that. "It's nice. So empty. So much potential." Every nerve in her body jumps to attention then. "And Goya? Such a nice piece. So sweet of Ainsley to find that for him."

Her heart bottoms out at that, knowing exactly what he's referring to. Her son, always one for the more macabre, had a fascination with that painting; Saturn Devouring His Son. It had been a gift one Christmas. Ainsley had it put up with the statement that his walls were too bare. The true mark left behind was Ainsley's small message to him etched into the frame.

"Now let's try that again, where were you?" The way he asks the question is like he knows the answer already. She's still stuck though, that he has left. He has been to Malcolm's when he isn't home.

The realization makes her nauseous. Where else has he been?

"How is the lieutenant?" Her fear melts away to anger once again. The absolute gall that he has to act like she's the one that betrayed him. Like she was the one that broke their family apart. He shifts before she can speak, eyes sparkling for a second. "You know, when you came in I expected it to be Malcolm. I knew he would figure it out eventually. But you surprised me Jessie." The smile alone makes her want to take off. "Though you've always understood me, haven't you? You've just been too afraid to admit it."

"Liar." She sneers.

"There it is!" He whoops, throwing his hands up. "Now we are getting somewhere. Come on. Say what you really mean."

"You're a bastard."

He hisses, "Language!"

"Fuck you."

He hums with eyebrows raised. "Is that an offer?" She is unable to contain the disgust that radiates off her face. "Now, you're going to hurt my feelings."

"Your feelings?" She feels all of her patience snap in that moment. All of her frustrations from the past week, the nightmares, watching Malcolm unravel at the seams, Gil working himself into the dust to find his ass, Ainsley's worried glances. All of it. Twenty years of anger hits the surface fast. "You left us. Not the other way around. You murdered 23 people! I moved on because I had to. You ate this family alive." The deep note betrays the heartbreak beneath the words and she has to bury the sadness that comes up with the words. "Malcolm didn't speak for months. Ainsley kept asking where her dad went. I am not your wife. They are not your children. I raised this family from the dirt that you buried us in."

"Malcolm is my son."

"No, he is mine." She snaps. "And Ainsley is my daughter. I raised them and I did it alone because you were never a man. You were and you are a monster."

"You didn't raise Malcolm alone." She knows what he means but she softens for just a moment.

"You're right." He smiles and she takes so much joy in knocking him down again. "I don't know what I would have done without Gil. Or Jackie for that manner." All the pleasure he'd been getting from messing with her vanishes in that split second. It's her turn to twist the knife. "Doesn't that eat you up inside? How Malcolm despised what you became so much that he became the opposite. He wanted to be a surgeon just like his dad but instead he went into the FBI. Now he catches monsters like you."

"That's enough."

"And Ainsley? She tells the stories. The ones that deserve to be heard. Not yours. Not theirs. But this is what you wanted isn't it? The family business." The words come out spitting. "You knew that day, didn't you. As Gil pulled you away you knew that you lost. And you've been trying to make up ground ever since."

"Enough!" He roars and she rears away. Her back hits the bookshelf with a thud. "It's all yours, hm?" He steps closer still. "Your house, your children, your perfect little family. Tell me, how proud were you when Ainsley sliced the throat of your boy toy?" All of the color leaves her face and she has to bite the inside of her cheek from making a noise. "How about when she stabbed him seven times after that." She flinches at the information that she hadn't known. They didn't talk about it and she only knew the loose details. "They didn't tell you, did they?" He throws his head back with an explosive laugh. "Your son chopped up his body with the saw in the basement. But they didn't trust to tell you that."

She stands completely still, trying not to let her emotions to the surface. She forces herself to become a wall because otherwise he would shatter her. His words bounce in her head and she knows the echo will haunt her.

"No. They trusted me. Malcolm asked me how to clean your rug. He asked me how to get his sister out of this. You found out because of a book on a silver platter." Her shoulders square, taking on the brunt of his words. Tears build quickly behind her eyes as her hands, firmly clenched by her sides shake with the force she tries to suppress. "They hid it from you. Not because they're afraid of me. No, because they're afraid of what it would do to you."

"Be quiet." She growls.

"This is what you wanted isn't it Jessie?" He shrugs with a wide eyed expression. "You wanted to talk. Malcolm, he was always resistant. But Ainsley, oh my sweet girl, she didn't even hesitate." He places both hands over his heart. "She just needs one more push, doesn't she? Is that why she hasn't come looking for me? Is that why she's staying with Detective Powell? You're keeping her away from me. We've talked about it before, you know, how you're just keeping her from her true potential. Even now."

She reaches behind her ripping the book off the shelf over her shoulder. She flips it open drawing the gun with practiced ease. "Shut up!" She screams as he takes a step back. "Stop! Just stop!"

His laugh vibrates through the air as he shakes his head. "There's the smoke I fell in love with." He licks his lips drawing something from the pocket of his pants. "Though, you should really pick a better hiding spot than Ainsley's favorite book." Her eyes widen in horror when he shows off what he has in his hand. The ammo for the pistol twinkles in the lights of the room.

She swings the pistol making contact with his head before he can even react. The impact of the hit sends him to the ground with a loud crash. She moves to run past him but he catches her ankle bringing her down with a painful thud as well. The force knocks the breath out of her and sends the pistol skidding across the linoleum floors where it slides under a dresser lining the walls. She kicks herself free of his grip digging her heel into his shoulder as he tries to pull her back to him.

She pushes herself up and runs through the labyrinth of hallways, not entirely sure herself where she's heading. She reaches a window but abandons it quickly when it doesn't budge. She finds herself in the kitchen, jumping as she hears Martin call out her name far too close for comfort.

She pulls a knife from the block on the counter weighing her options momentarily. It's not worth it, she decides again as she bolts into the back hallways where Louisa would track in order to move easily. She allows herself only a moment to catch her breath, listening for him as she leans heavily against a wall. Her shoulder aches from where she tried to catch herself but she shoves the pain down for now. She can hear him as he roams from room to room. Ripping open each cupboard, closet, and cabinet along the way. It feels horrifically similar to when Malcolm and Ainsley would run the halls playing hide and seek with him.

They never could beat him at the game.

The closer he gets the more her hand shakes. She should hide, preferably somewhere that will give her advantage to attack as he's opening it. Her body is woefully uncooperative though, her feet frozen to the spot as she tips her head against the wall. Tears are running in hot tracks down her cheeks as she thinks about Malcolm or Ainsley finding her here, like this.

Her heart drops to her stomach when she hears a car door close from outside. It's so quiet she tries to convince herself that she was mistaken. She shuts her eyes tightly as she suppresses the sob that tries to shake it's way out of her chest.

Our children have always had horrible timing.

She forces herself to move again, making the painful journey to the front door. Her ankle that he grabbed protests every step. If she can get them away before they see this, she has to try.

"You." She stops dead in her tracks at Martin's voice. It's ahead of her. Directed to the person who had entered the home. Filled with so much anger and poison that she knows exactly who it is.

Gil.

She moves quicker, being sure to step on carpets to avoid her heels clicking on the floor and alerting Martin of where exactly she is. The second she gives herself away, well. She's not sure what will happen. But she's sure as hell she won't let Gil fall on the blade because of her. Not again.

She peaks her head from behind the corner, relieved to see Martin's back to her. The quick glimpse is enough to confirm that it is Gil at the door. She holds her breath listening for a moment. "You've come to play the hero yet again, huh Gilly? No back up either, honestly you'd think you would have learned your lesson the first time."

In the light of the room Jessica catches the glint of silver metal in his hand. For a few fearful beats she has to steady herself. Martin has her gun, he must have picked it up when she

ran. She has to move, she has to do something. Her eyes meet Gil's over his shoulder, his only widening for half a second. It's a warning, she recognizes. A sign for her to run and hide again. He will handle this.

"You ruined me. You stole my family. You stole my wife! You stole my children!" Martin continues to step towards him, waving the pistol around. She has no idea if he's ever even fired a gun before much less held one.

Though she also had no idea he was a serial killer.

She waits, holding her breath for Gil to draw his weapon. Why the hell isn't he drawing his gun? He holds his hands up slowly, showing he is unarmed. Oh, oh god. Her mind flashes through every horrific scenario in her head. Each one more gruesome than the last. All ending with Gil dead on her floor and Martin with a sickening grin of victory.

She steps out from behind her corner. "Martin." She whispers and it causes him to whip around.

His eyes are less human than she's ever seen before. She wonders briefly if this was the last thing those 23 women saw. As soon as he turns, his grimace turns to that grin. The one that always felt like a rock in her stomach, his chin tilted condescendingly. Her throat tightens and she doesn't give herself a second to think.

The blade sinks into his stomach with sickening ease.