Defining Moment by Betty Bokor
Malcolm Bright. Malcolm thoughts after the death of Nicholas Endicott {Written before the new season started, so it may not line-up with what actually happened).
Spoilers: All Season 1.
Disclaimer: Prodigal Son original characters belong to Chris Fedak, Sam Sklaver, and the Fox Broadcasting Company. This was written strictly for the purpose of entertainment. No attempt at copyright infringement has been made.
Defining Moment
Clean up after yourself… Remember? His father had said it again, even though he knew he was not the one who had made this mess.
Malcolm hung up the phone and took a couple of slow, deep breaths. Ainsley was still looking intensely at him, searching for an explanation or for support. He was not sure.
Clean up after yourself. It seemed more like a command than just fatherly advice.
He could do it. He had the knowledge and, probably, all the necessary materials. He knew how it was done… But, should he do it? Was it the right move? Was there any other –better– path?
He had no time for doubts. He needed a decision, right then, right there. Give her up or clean up every trace of what had happened.
He made up his mind.
He approached Ainsley carefully, avoiding the pool of blood on the carpet, and took the knife out of her hands. He looked into her eyes and said, "I'll take care of this; just stay here until I get what we need. Don't move, okay?"
Ainsley nodded almost like an automaton and it made him think she was not capable of anything else at that moment but staying there, paralyzed.
He took his shoes off –no sense carrying blood around the house– and ran in search of supplies. He would need many different things.
He was making a list in his head: cleaning materials, clothes for Ainsley, a carpet from a bedroom, plastic sheets –had his father left those in that closet?– and gloves.
As he swiftly walked from room to room his mind wandered. Was this what would become the defining moment in Ainsley's life? Had she tainted her future, changed the pathway of her life in a way that could not be undone? Would she be the same sister he had loved all his life or would this act –what else could he call it?– become a permanent scratch in her soul?
The Catholic Church says that ordination confers the new priest an indelible spiritual mark in his soul, a sign of his new nature that cannot be erased even by resigning or abandoning the duties of the priesthood… Does committing a murder mark the soul, too? Was Ainsley different now? Indelibly marked forever by the taking of a life? Was there a hole, a space where her kindness, her happiness, all that was good on her had been marred?
He had not thought that way about Martin. Did his father feel any different after the first time he murdered a woman or did his psychopathy free him from such concerns?
Then again, did the marks accumulate in spite of his lack of concern? One kill, one mark. Twenty-three murders… A monster.
Malcom hurried towards the living-room. From the hallway he could see Ainsley, still motionless, in the same spot where he had left her.
He deposited a pile of clothes in a chair away from the carnage and signaled to her, "Use something here to avoid carrying blood around. Give me anything stained with blood. Drop it on this sheet," he added as he stretched a plastic tarp on a clean section of the floor. "Then, go take a shower. Come back when you're ready."
She obeyed him without a word. He began the tough work of making every trace of the murder –and Nicholas– disappear. But, as he feverishly worked, his mind frantically reviewed the events of the evening. He blamed himself for not being the one who shot Endicott and ended the hold he had had over his family for years. Why had he not shot him? Was he a coward or was he trying so hard not to be like his father that he could not do what would have been logical and justified?
It did not matter. It was too late for those recriminations. Now, he had to save Ainsley. Regardless of what Nicholas' crimes had been or what would be found out in the following weeks, if the murder came to light, his sister would be primarily seen as her father's daughter, capable of murder and infamy just for the mere fact of being born of his seed. No. That was a bias too deep to overcome. Malcolm had to make it look like Nicholas had disappeared, run just as cowardly as he would have if he thought his "power" would not be enough to keep him from paying for his crimes.
As he cleaned up, he started worrying about Ainsley's delay. She was taking too long to come back. He wondered if she was alright or if the gravity of what she had done had downed on her.
He was about to call her name when he saw her coming down the hallway. She had gloves on her hands and, as soon as she reached the clean-up area, she kneeled and quietly began to help.
Malcolm looked at her and his mind spiraled again.
Defining moment. Pivotal.
What had been his? What had uprooted his childhood and transformed the rest of his life into the mess it was now? He had a multitude of choices. Opening that box and finding Sophie. Being drugged by his father to avoid him from telling. Being taken to the cabin to be killed…
That point gave birth to a new surge of thoughts. Events had been happening in such a rapid succession that he had not been able to properly process them. Why had his father not killed him in that cabin? He came up with two possible reasons. Either he believed Martin that his love for his son had stopped him or there was a more pragmatical reason. An inquiry into the disappearance –or death– of the son of a famous socialite and a renowned surgeon would have implied a deep examination of the lives of all those involved. The chance that his double life would be discovered then could have been incentive enough to keep Malcolm alive…
Perhaps his pivotal moment had been when he had actually called the police and betrayed his father. Maybe his guilt was not only for not being able to save the girl in the box but for his own betrayal.
Or –if one wanted a more positive outlook of the situation– the defining moment on his life had been that day when Gil had entered their home. Many said that Malcolm had become a profiler and an FBI agent just to differentiate himself from his father, but what if he had done it to honor his mentor, the man who had been his father more than the real one had? He still was.
Ainsley, on the other hand, had not benefitted from Gil's help. She had grown in the shadow of her infamous father and her troublesome brother. All the eyes had been focused on him and the damage Martin had caused. But, what about her?
He shivered; he was worried, not only for what had happened right there or for what they were doing, but for the long-term consequences.
For a second, a horrible question crossed his mind. Had Ainsley enjoyed that moment? He remembered every expression on her face as she slid the knife through Nicholas' throat; there was fury, rage in her look and in her actions. Still, a knife was such a personal, close manner to kill… Yet, she had few other alternatives left; he was the one holding the only gun and he had not shot.
Memories from other times added to his concern. What had Ainsley done after that inmate had stabbed her own boyfriend and cameraman while interviewing "The Surgeon"? She had kept reporting, even as her father tried to save him. Malcolm had felt uncomfortable while watching it all. Her boyfriend had dumped her.
But he knew Ainsley better. She was a good person. She had only done what had to be done.
"Save our family," his father had told him. How? By killing Endicott. "It's the only way. In your heart you know that," he had added.
Ainsley had defended Malcolm, "He's not a killer." But his father had insisted, "He's a Whitly. He'll know what to do." And as Nicholas talked that night, Malcom knew his father was right; as long as he was alive, his mother would not be safe. Martin was already in mortal danger. Ainsley and he would become his puppets.
Even Gil had fallen prey of the madman.
So, Martin was right; Malcolm knew that Endicott had to die. He just could not do it. He was not a killer.
Ainsley was. She had grabbed the knife, walked resolutely towards the enemy, pulled him by his hair, and sliced his throat. And then she had stabbed him multiple times.
She was a killer.
Were there nuances of killers? Certainly, she was not like their father. She had had an exceptionally good reason… Though Nicholas was not armed –physically–, he clearly had brandished a weapon: his power, his corruption, his lack of empathy or remorse, his intention to harm them all if they did not obey his wishes.
There was no other way to stop him.
She was a killer, but she was not a monster.
And if he had had to clean this up, it was not truly her fault, but his, for his inaction, for his cowardice.
Having justified Ainsley in his mind, he felt somewhat relieved. He picked up the last remnants of "the scene" and put it all on the beverages cart. His mother would faint if she knew.
With the help of his sister, he slowly pushed it towards the entrance to the tunnels below the house.
You have to clean after yourself, son. First rule of killing… and Kindergarten.
A.N. I have not written much this year amid quarantine and remote schooling. Life has been complicated. I am in the process of finishing a few stories I left open, but I wanted to exercise a little my English before it all goes away... :)