AN: I had a single image in my mind, and that birthed this one shot. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!
WARNING: Although this story has a very happy ending (cheesy and sappy, even), it also deals with very heavy subjects and the dark headcanon that Malcolm has been suicidal in the past. Take care of yourself. If at any point you don't think that reading this is a good idea, then stop. My feelings won't be hurt lol. Be safe.
"Sometimes, I just wish I could make it all stop. I think about it too often. It would be easy, to end it all." Malcolm kept his gaze trained on the floor. He couldn't make eye contact with Gabrielle while he unveiled one of the darkest truths - even though she already knew about it. "I would never do it, not on purpose, I promise," he said, gaze bolting up to meet his therapist's eyes. "Not now, I'm not that lost anymore, I swear, but sometimes, often, I guess, I just..." he trailed off for a moment, gaze falling back to the floor. He continued in a whisper, barely loud enough for Gabrielle to even hear him. "Sometimes I want to die."
The telltale sound of Gabrielle scratching down his words in her notebook filled the silence. Malcolm didn't have the heart to look at her. He hadn't told anyone how lowly he felt at times, not even Gil - but not for lack of trying, since Gil could tell he was off and Malcolm himself had tried to get up the courage to tell him what was wrong. Gabrielle was different. She was literally paid to listen to his problems and try to help him. If there was anyone he could tell, it was her.
"It always gets worse when you see your father, and yet you continually go back to him," Gabrielle finally replied, without a hint of judgment in her tone. "Why is that?"
"You know why," Malcolm answered with a suspicious smile. "He offers valuable insight on my cases, and I need answers about his other victims-."
"That's not the real reason," Gabrielle interrupted with a fond shake of her shake. "You're brilliant, Malcolm, one of the most gifted people I've ever met. You don't need Dr. Whitly's help in solving your cases. You can do it on your own, and you know it. You also know that he will never tell you the truth about his other victims, never. He will hold that information for himself forever because he knows how much you want it. He's never going to give it to you, because as long as he has it, he can control you. You need to walk away for good."
Malcolm scoffed. "That's easier said than done," he muttered, but he didn't deny that Gabrielle was right. If he cut off all contact with his father, he wouldn't have to listen to the man's gaslighting and insults and manipulation. Malcolm wouldn't have to listen to Dr. Whitly essentially telling him that he's worthless and that his father is the only one who ever has and ever will love him. It was just common sense that his mental health would improve if he cut Dr. Whitly out of his life.
A buzz at his pocket saved Malcolm from having to give a real reply to Gabrielle's analysis. He broke out into a smile at the sight of Gil's name.
"Sorry, it's Gil," he told Gabrielle as he stood and answered the call. "Hello?"
"Hey, kid, sorry to interrupt your session, but we've got a body and I need you. I'm outside Gabrielle's office to pick you up."
"Not a problem, I'll be right down," he said, then hung up and stood.
"Is Gil here?" Gabrielle asked, standing from her own seat. Malcolm turned around.
"Yeah, he's here to pick me up. We have a case," he replied with a smile. Cases always made him smile, even when things got so bad that all he wanted to do was curl up in bed and stare at the wall for hours on end.
Gabrielle slid her notebook into a filing cabinet and locked it. "Would you mind if I had a word with him? Don't worry, dear, it's nothing about you," she said. "Of course, I'm always concerned about you, but I know you're not in danger from yourself at this point in time, especially when you're with Gil."
Malcolm blushed and ducked his head. She was right. When Gil was around, Malcolm was safe. It would have been embarrassing how safe Gil made him feel if it weren't so damn amazing to be cared about. But what did she want to speak with Gil about if it didn't have anything to do with Malcolm?
"Of course," he said with a shrug, then held the door open for her. Gabrielle smiled and muttered a thanks, and walked past him out the door, but turned to lock it when he exited. They walked together past the bathrooms towards the elevators, passing several other therapists offices and a janitor on their way. Gabrielle was the only child therapist in that building, but there were four other therapists that saw teenagers all the way through the elderly, with just a bit of specialization between them. Gabrielle had tried to convince him to see one of them instead of her, but Malcolm was nothing if not stubborn. Eventually, she gave up trying to convince him, but Malcolm knew that was probably due to an impassioned phone call from Gil begging her to help him more than Malcolm wearing her down himself.
Gil was waiting outside the LeMans in a parallel parking spot less than a block away from the building. The cold air bit his skin as Malcolm walked towards him, but he decided to just be thankful that it wasn't too windy. That would have made the cold even worse. Even Gil added a thick scarf to his heavy sweater and coat. It looked much warmer than Malcolm's own thin scarf that was much more for fashion than practicality - not on purpose, it was just what he happened to own.
"Dr. Le Deux," Gil greeted with a hesitant smile. He looked between Malcolm and the therapist, his eyes betraying his concern.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," Gabrielle politely replied. "Before you get too worried, Malcolm is as fine as he always is. I wanted to discuss something with you that I can't tell Malcolm directly, but if you wish to let him know later, I can't stop you." She looked pointedly at Malcolm, then over to the LeMans.
Malcolm's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, but he obediently slid into the car and closed the door behind him. In the side mirror, he could see Gabrielle and Gil stepping away, out of earshot. He watched them carefully. Gabrielle seemed somewhat nervous. She was wringing her hands together, but looked straight at Gil while she spoke. Gil, meanwhile, had his arms crossed but mostly relaxed. He nodded along as she spoke, his body language open and inviting. Whatever she was talking about seemed genuinely distressing to Gabrielle, but her demeanor changed after she fell silent for a moment. She shrugged and smiled, a clear indication that she was feigning nonchalance about something that she did truly care about. Gil still nodded and gave her a gentle smile in return. Then the conversation ended. Gabrielle seemed grateful, and turned and left back towards her office. Gil stood there for a moment, his hands falling from across his chest to on his hips as he stared at the building, his eyes tracing it up. A moment later, Gil turned and walked back to the LeMans, his expression relaxed once again.
"What did she ask from you?" Malcolm asked the moment Gil got back in the car.
"Wow, kid, give me a second at least," Gil replied, clearly doing his best to sound annoyed. He closed the door and turned the car on, then dialed up the heat. Malcolm had been so focused on trying to figure out what was going on that he hadn't noticed how cold it was in the car. He was shivering. "She asked if I could look into something that's been going on. She thinks there might be a case there, but as of right now, there's no tangible elements that point to foul play." He put his hands on the wheel and pulled them out of the parking spot and into the street.
"Oh come on," Malcolm scoffed with a grin. "You have to tell me more than that. Why couldn't she ask me herself? She practically told you to tell me," he insisted. This sounded exactly like his kind of thing, even if it wasn't Gil's.
"Maybe later, kid. We have a very real case that needs your attention at the moment."
Malcolm gave an overexaggerated groan, but listened dutifully as Gil told him about their latest case. He would put his whole being into tracking down the killer and seeing that justice was served, but he wasn't going to let Gil get away with not telling him everything. Whatever was going on with Gabrielle, Malcolm needed to know about it.
TWENTY-SIX HOURS LATER
It was, by far, the fastest case that Malcolm and the team had ever opened and shut. The best part about that was the paperwork. Because the case had been solved so quickly, there was very little paperwork that actually needed to be done - comparatively speaking. Malcolm was finished before lunch, and planned on getting sub sandwiches for the team, and maybe even a small, bland one for himself. He gave two knocks in quick succession on the door to Gil's office as a formality before walking in anyway.
"Hey, kid," Gil greeted, but he didn't look up from the files he was going over, and he hadn't sounded at all excited to see Malcolm when he greeted him. Malcolm tilted his head in confusion and walked over to Gil's desk.
"What's this?" he asked, creeping closer. Malcolm would always rather have something to keep his mind occupied than just go home. That was the whole reason why he was going to buy everyone lunch. If he bought them lunch, then he would have an excuse to come back to the precinct before going back to his loft. His mind was a scary place when he was alone. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told Gabrielle that he often wanted to be dead, but he also hadn't been posturing when he said that he would never do it. That left him in the limbo in between, the endless hell of wanting to die but never taking action to make it happen. That was why he needed to work. When he worked, that hell disappeared for a while. As horrible as murder inherently was, Malcolm would give anything for another case. The cases where the only things that kept him from sinking into that inescapable abyss.
Gil sighed, then gestured for Malcolm to take a seat. "I guess I can tell you," he muttered, briefly making eye contact before going back to the file. "This is what Gabrielle was asking me about. There's been a string of suicides that she thinks are suspicious. All of these patients saw doctors in her building, all had expressed suicidal ideation but never any intent, not once, and all of them jumped off an abandoned waterfront building. Not one of them was under any sort of special watch, and none of their psychiatrists had thought them any dangers to themselves. There's no evidence of foul play, but this many suicides of patients from the same building in this time period would be a statistical anomaly to say the least. Gabrielle wanted me to look into it, just to see if there's anything there. As her patient, she couldn't tell you about it but as my consultant, I can bring you in." He shrugged, then leaned back in his chair with a quick gesture for Malcolm to take the file.
Malcolm flipped through what Gil had collected. There were basic coroner's reports, revealing nothing other than blunt force traumas, not even alcohol in their systems. That was odd. Statistically speaking, a good number of suicides occurred after ingesting some alcohol. It was strange for not one of the eight victims to have any in their systems at all.
"Is there anything about what occurred leading up to their deaths?" he asked Gil, glancing up from the file.
"Each one hadn't been heard from for a couple of hours prior to their time of death, some even disappearing from work beforehand. Not long enough for a missing person's report to be filed, obviously. As per usual, most of their families and friends are saying that they never would've killed themselves, but that's hardly uncommon," Gil said with a shrug. "I can see why Gabrielle is concerned, but there's not enough here to open an investigation."
Malcolm frowned. Gil was right, but he had a feeling that Gabrielle was right too. There was nothing more in the file that Gil hadn't said. One of the bodies had even been autopsied by Edrisa, who had concurred that it was a suicide. But at the same time, a statistical anomaly usually meant something. Eight people connected to the same building in the same month? That was just too much to ignore. But where was Malcolm supposed to start?
"You're both right," he finally said. "I definitely think there's something here. There's certainly a pattern with where the bodies are dropping, but there's not enough to call it anything but coincidence." Malcolm sighed and turned back to Gil.
"Go get something to eat, then I'll see what JT and Dani think. I'll even loop Edrisa in and see what she thinks about all the reports, not just her own."
Malcolm nodded. "That's why I came in here in the first place. What kind of sub to do you want?"
Gil smiled and shook his head. "You don't need to get me anything, kid."
"But I want to," Malcolm immediately replied. Gil sighed, then rattled off an order for an Italian sub. That was exactly what Malcolm had thought Gil would want, but he knew it was polite to ask anyway.
Just as he thought, JT requested a meat lovers sub and Dani would take a BLT. Malcolm smiled as he walked out of the precinct, despite the cold air. A challenging case was exactly what he needed to keep himself distracted from the hell of his own mind.
There was a bodega about three blocks away from the precinct, two if he took the alley shortcut - and with the temperatures well below freezing, Malcolm was definitely going to take the shortcut. He cut down into the alley, blowing air over his hands in an attempt to warm them up. It had been a bad day to forget to bring gloves. The buildings protected him somewhat from the biting wind, but the cold air still chilled him to the bone. Maybe he should've gotten a cab.
Malcolm pulled his coat tighter around himself in an effort to ward off the cold. It didn't do much, but it was something. He kept repeating his team's sub orders in his mind to make sure he didn't forget them, having forgone writing them down. As he walked down the alley, his mind became totally occupied with remembering those sub orders, causing Malcolm to pay very little attention to his surroundings, as he was wont to do. Getting lost in his head had always been his biggest bad habit as a teenager, then an agent, and now with the NYPD. It had almost cost him his life before, and it probably would again, if he lived this time.
The blow to the back of his head came out of nowhere, sending Malcolm to his hands and knees in a daze. He fought against the encroaching blackness as arms wrapped around him, trapping his arms at his sides and pulling him back the way he had come. Malcolm tried to lash out, to kick, but another blow to the back of his head, to the same exact spot, left him limp, all of his energy focused on staying conscious. He was barely aware of himself being lifted up, but being dropped into the back of a car - the trunk - had him dry heaving, the nausea caused by his certain concussion becoming overwhelming. A third blow to the same spot was all it took to send him over the edge, into dreamless oblivion.
When it came to Malcolm, it didn't take much to make Gil worry. The kid was his whole world, and he'd promised Jackie on her deathbed that he would look after him and protect him. Being worried about Malcolm was pretty much a twenty-four-seven state of being, since the kid was so danger prone and had so much trauma that he dealt with on a daily basis. Gil tried to keep his worry in check. Malcolm was an adult, a former federal agent, with full martial arts training as well as all of the training that Quantico had to offer. He could take care of himself, he just didn't always choose to. But once it had been a full hour since Malcolm had left for a bodega that was only three blocks away, Gil did begin to worry. When his call to Malcolm went straight to voicemail, signifying that his phone was turned off - it was never turned off - he started to get scared. What if Malcolm had walked in on a robbery in progress? The kid would've tried to talk the robber down and probably would get shot for being a hero. What if a car had hit him and smashed his phone? What if traffickers had picked him up? What if someone recognized the Surgeon's son and killed him?
Gil took a deep breath. Getting frantic with worry about the kid wasn't going to help anything. He needed to check in with JT and Dani before he did anything else. Maybe one of them knew something. Gil stood and made his way out to the squad room. Dani and JT were diligently finishing up their paperwork, but Gil noticed JT glancing at his watch, and Dani looking towards the door.
"Either of you heard from Bright?" he asked them, trying to sound calm and casual.
"Nope," Dani answered with a grimace and shake of her head.
"Dude's been gone for over an hour now. That's a long time for a couple of sandwiches," JT added.
"My calls are going straight to voicemail," Gil admitted, some of his anxiety bleeding into his voice. "He never sends me to voicemail."
"You think something happened?" JT asked, looking between Gil and Dani. Gil nodded. "Want me to go look for him?"
Gil hid his smile at JT's concern and shook his head. "I'll look, ask if the bodega owner saw him. Finish up your reports. I'll keep you updated." Gil turned and grabbed his coat from his office, then headed out. He cringed the moment he left the precinct. It was freezing. Malcolm would've taken the shortcut through the alley to limit his exposure to the cold. The kid hated being cold, and he got cold all too easily, his slim build doing nothing to keep him warm.
Gil turned down the alley that he knew Malcolm would've taken. It was as sketchy as any alley in NYC, but you got used to it. He walked down slowly, eyes and ears open to everything around him, sure to take in every detail. Missing one thing could be the difference between him finding his kid and never seeing him again.
The small blood trail was hard to miss. Gil crouched down, focusing on it. The blood was coagulated, and the droplets were small. There was no way of knowing whether or not it was Malcolm's, or even how long it had been there. There weren't any other signs of anything being wrong or out of place. All Gil had to go on was his gut, and no matter how much he trusted it, his gut didn't count as hard evidence of something bad having happened to Malcolm - though a parent's intuition was seldom wrong.
With a deep breath, Gil stood back up and continued down the alley. He came out the other side and walked the last block to the bodega. He went right up to the counter.
"I'm Lieutenant Arroyo with the NYPD," he said, flashing his badge. "How long have you been working here today?"
"The last couple of hours. Is something wrong?" the man asked.
"I just need to know if you've seen this man," Gil said. He pulled up a picture of Malcolm and held it up to the man, who shook his head.
"I know he's been in here before, but not today."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sorry, he hasn't been in today," the man confirmed with a sad smile.
Gil sighed, but nodded, and turned to leave, pulling out his phone. He tried calling Malcolm again as he walked out the door, but once again, it went straight to voicemail. Gil muttered a curse, then called Dani.
"He didn't make it to the bodega, and his phone is still going to voicemail. Pull up traffic cams between here and the bodega, see if you can spot anything, I'm on my way back."
Dani gave a brief word of understanding, then Gil hung up. He took the long way back to the precinct, just to be sure he didn't miss anything on the other possible route that Malcolm could have taken. Nothing was out of the ordinary. On a whim, Gil stopped by the front desk.
"Did you see Malcolm Bright leave or come back within the last hour or so?" he asked the officer on desk duty.
"Yes sir," the man replied. "He left a little over an hour ago, but he hasn't come back."
Gil nodded his thanks, then went back upstairs to the squad room. At least he knew that Malcolm had made it out of the precinct, but not to the bodega. Whatever had happened, happened between those two destinations.
"Got anything yet?" he asked the moment he got to Dani's desk, despite the fact that he'd asked her to pull traffic cameras less than ten minutes prior.
"Maybe?" Dani hesitantly replied, turning her computer monitor towards Gil. JT appeared on the other side of her chair, leaning against the edge. "This camera picks up Bright turning down this alley, but the opposite camera doesn't catch him leaving it." Gil studied the videos, watching Malcolm turn down the shortcut, nothing out of the ordinary. A car backs into the alley after him, with only the front end exposed to the camera, but that wasn't out of the ordinary either. People used that alley to make deliveries all the time. The driver gets out and walks into the alley, but the camera didn't pick up his face. Less than two minutes later, the driver gets back in the car, and the sedan pulls away. None of that was overly suspicious in any way, but Dani was right. The other camera didn't pick up Malcolm leaving.
"Maybe the driver saw something," JT suggested.
"Or maybe the driver is in on it," Gil muttered, straightening up and crossing his arms.
"In on what? We still don't know what happened," Dani pointed out, but she was already pulling up DMV records nonetheless. "The plates come back to one Dennis Grafton, from Queens. He's clean. No priors, not even a speeding ticket."
"Want us to go check him out? See if he saw Bright?" JT asked.
"We'll all go," Gil answered, not waiting for his team as he made his way out of the squad room and back down to the LeMans. He knew they would follow him, and he didn't want to face the knowledge that they could see how truly worried he was. It didn't take three cops to go talk to a potential witness, but Gil wasn't going to sit around and do nothing while Malcolm was almost certainly in danger.
Just as he knew they would be, JT and Dani were only a few steps behind him as he reached the LeMans. The drive from the sixteenth precinct to Queens was spent in tense silence, the three of them all too concerned about what Malcolm could have gotten himself into to pass the time with idle conversation. The kid was a danger magnet if Gil ever met one. Gil tried to calm his racing heart and focus on the road in front of him. He wouldn't be any good to Malcolm if he got the team in a car wreck because he was too distracted by his worry to drive safely on the icy NYC roads.
Gil was first out of the car and first up the steps to the bungalow. He knocked on the door, then stepped back, unintentionally mirroring Dani and JT's positions: hands down and loosely clasped together. The door opened, but it wasn't Dennis Grafton who opened it.
"Can I help you?" the man asked. Gil took a glance around him and into the small home. Nothing seemed out of place or wrong in any way.
"I'm Lieutenant Arroyo, Detectives Powell and Tarmel. NYPD. We're looking for Dennis Grafton," he said.
"Yeah, he's my roommate. He's at work right now. Is he in trouble?" the man asked, looking genuinely concerned.
"Not at all," Gil quickly answered. "He's just a possible witness to a missing person's case. Where can we find him?" That was stretching the truth, but for Malcolm, Gil would do anything.
"I don't know the address, or even the name of the building. Dennis is a handyman at a psychiatrist's office in Manhattan. Janitorial stuff, locksmith, anything like that," the roommate answered with a shrug.
"Could you find the address, please?" Dani asked, her voice terse with forced politeness.
"Oh, yeah, sure, sure," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through it for a minute before turning the screen around and showing it to Gil.
Gil fought to keep his expression neutral as he stared at the address he knew all too well. It was Gabrielle's office. Dennis probably had seen Malcolm before. Whatever was going on, it was targeted.
"Thank you very much," Gil said before turning on his heel and walking briskly back to the LeMans, JT and Dani right on his heels.
"Boss, what's goin' on?" JT asked him once the three of them were in the car. "What's got you spooked?"
"That's Malcolm's therapist's office," Gil answered, then muttered a curse under his breath. He tore out of the parking space and raced down the road. The pieces were all starting to connect. It had to have something to do with the string of suicides of patients from that building. If Grafton worked there, then he might have known every single one of them. He could've killed them all and made them look like suicides, and Malcolm could be next.
Malcolm awoke to a pounding in the back of his head. It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull. The pain was so great that it brought tears to his eyes. Malcolm wasn't sure his head had ever hurt so much in his life. He tried to focus on taking deep breaths and calming his racing heart. The nausea certainly wasn't going to help him get out of whatever he'd gotten himself into.
After he was sure that he wasn't going to vomit, Malcolm slowly opened his eyes. He could see city skyline and the bright blue sky beyond. There were no clouds to trap any heat close, but Malcolm couldn't feel the wind. Bracing himself against the pain, Malcolm turned to view the rest of his surroundings. He was on top of a building, and his hands were tied to a pipe. Under the ropes were layers of cloth, preventing pain and bleeding from struggling. He was shielded from the wind by part of the building, likely the top of the stairwell.
"You took longer to wake up than the others," a monotone voice from his left said. Malcolm snapped his head over to the source of the voice, his vision swimming as he turned so quickly. A man walked into his view, a man that Malcolm had definitely seen before, but he couldn't place where from. "Then again, I also had to hit you more than the others. For someone who wants to die so much, you certainly put up a fight." He shook his head and sighed. "So tell me, Malcolm, why do you want to die?"
Malcolm stared at the man, flabbergasted. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words would come out. What was going on? Clearly the man knew him, but how?
"How do we know each other?" Malcolm asked in lieu of answering his question. "Who are you?"
"I'm Dennis, and we don't actually know each other," the man answered. "I've seen you, and I know everything about you, but you don't know me. You've seen me, but you don't know me. That's alright. I don't mind being unknown. I think you wish you were unknown, too. Life as a serial killer's son can't be easy." He shook his head with a sigh. "So I ask again, Malcolm. Why do you want to die? And don't lie to me and say that you don't. I know you do. I know that seeing your father makes it worse, I know that Gil helps you, and I know that Gil will be devastated, broken beyond repair, when they find your body. He won't understand why you didn't come to him, why you killed yourself instead. Not many people will be surprised. You are medicated and depressed and anxious and have even attempted it in the past. You'll just be another example of the mental health crisis rampaging across the country, of therapists that don't do their jobs."
"How do you know all of that?" Malcolm asked, his voice shaking in time with his hand.
Dennis shrugged. "Dr. Le Deux's notes don't leave much to the imagination. The notes always tell me everything I need to know."
Malcolm remained silent as the pieces came together. This was the case that Gabrielle had asked Gil to investigate. She had been right. They weren't suicides, they were murders. The cloth around his wrists under the ropes prevented any signs of restraints, and any wounds he sustained at Dennis' hands would be covered up by the injuries incurred by the fall. It was the perfect cover. That showed that Dennis was highly organized, likely with a high IQ. The man was older than Malcolm, probably around JT's age, and his voice had remained mostly monotone. He wasn't taking any pleasure from this, and nothing he had said indicated that he was at all compelled to do any of it. These were all choices he was making, that in his mind, seemed rational enough. Malcolm needed to keep Dennis talking if he wanted to figure anything else out. He needed to buy enough time for Gil to find him. Gil always found him. He would realize that something was wrong when Malcolm didn't come back with the sandwiches, and he would immediately investigate. Malcolm was going to be just fine. He only needed to stall for time.
"How did you get her notes?" he asked, doing everything he could to mask the shame in his voice. This man had read everything about him, his darkest secrets and most personal thoughts that he only shared with Gabrielle. He'd read them. He knew. He knew exactly why Malcolm wanted to die sometimes, so why was he asking?
"It's all part of the fun of being a locksmith and a janitor and an all around handyman," Dennis answered. "No one questions why you're anywhere. As long as you're fast, they don't even see you at all." He was being awfully cavalier with his answers. Dennis clearly had no intention whatsoever of letting Malcolm live. He hadn't done anything to hide his face, and he was freely answering the questions that Malcolm asked. Dennis was confident in his plan to kill Malcolm, and he didn't believe that Malcolm stood any chance of escaping. "I'll ask you again, and this time, I expect an answer. Why do you want to die?"
"I don't," Malcolm answered immediately. Yes, death was all too often a passing thought for him, but he didn't actually want to kill himself.
"According to what you told your own therapist, that's a lie," Dennis replied with a sad smile. The man sat down in front of Malcolm, crossing his legs as if they were just two friends having a chat on top of a roof, not a serial killer and his next victim. "You said you want it all to stop, that you think about how easy it would be to kill yourself all the time. Why do you want to die so badly? Is it the depression, that void in your head that leaves you feeling so empty and unmoored? Is it the anxiety, that crushing feeling that everyone you care about secretly hates you, that your father is always going to control your life, that there's nothing you can do to pay for his sins? Is it all of your PTSD combined, the sleepless nights, the night terrors, the inability to eat, the lack of social skills? Or is it the ostracization and cruelty that you're always shown by others, in their snide comments and cold shoulders and cruel remarks and harsh treatment? Is that why you want to die? Because so many others seem to already wish you were dead? You're nothing more than your father's puppet, a useless boy good for nothing but target practice, a burden to all those around you, a stain on society that doesn't deserve to live. You can never make things right, you'll never be anything more than the son of a serial killer, unworthy of love, unworthy of anything. You're a worthless brat who should've been killed twenty years ago. You've been living on borrowed time, stolen time, and maybe it's finally time that you give it up and kill yourself."
Malcolm didn't respond. There wasn't anything he could say to convince Dennis that he was wrong, because the man was right. Everything he said was something that Malcolm had thought. It was like Dennis was inside his head, knowing every single one of his thoughts and the darkest places his mind went. He was being pried open and laid bare, examined like a body on Edrisa's table. It was humiliating, vulnerable, and exposing beyond all measure.
"Is that why you want to die?" Dennis asked again.
"Yes," Malcolm responded in a broken whisper, his eyes watering. Even just thinking about all of it made him want to die all over again. Maybe he really did want to be dead.
Of course those were the reasons why he wanted to die. Dennis had known from reading through Gabrielle's notes, he hadn't needed to share it with Malcolm. He'd done it to show him something. How smart Dennis was? How sure of himself he was? To force Malcolm to verbally acknowledge how messed up he really was? Whatever the reason, that had to be part of his signature as a killer. Although the man's MO had seemingly remained consistent, it was a killer's signature that absolutely could not change, the thing they absolutely had to do in order to get the emotional release that killing gave them.
"Why do you want to kill me?" he asked, voice shaking, hoping to not only deflect the attention away from his own baggage, but to glean more insight into Dennis' state of mind, why he killed. Malcolm took a deep breath, forcing his tears back down. He had to ignore everything that Dennis had said. He couldn't let himself fall into that while he was in the clutches of a killer, no matter how much that little voice in the back of his mind said to stop fighting, to just let whatever Dennis wanted to happen, happen. Gil was going to get there in time, and everything was going to be okay. Gil always made everything okay. When he was with Gil, he didn't want to die as much.
"I'm only giving you what you want," Dennis answered with a shrug. "You want to die so badly, but you won't do what it takes to end it. I'm helping you."
"But that's not all of it," Malcolm responded, more confident as the conversation moved away from how messed up he was. "If that was all, you could've just shot me in the street. But instead, you took me, you took everyone else too. There has to be more than you just wanting to help us do what we can't do ourselves." He hoped that sounding sympathetic and understanding would help him to gain further access to the man's psyche. The main challenge would be ignoring the nearly blinding pain in the back of his head. He was going to need a CT scan when it was all over to say the least.
"You're a smart kid, Malcolm," Dennis replied, giving Malcolm a smile. "It's a shame you want to die so badly. But you're right. First, I have to make you understand what exactly you're leaving behind. Let's start with your family, shall we? Your mother will be devastated. No mother should have to bury their own child, you know. But she will. Your funeral will be the most extravagant she can afford. She'll blame herself for not being a better mother, not being there for you like she should have been, for not noticing when she was hurting you instead of helping you. Who knows, maybe she'll even take her own life in her despair."
"Stop," Malcolm said through gritted teeth, but Dennis just kept on going.
"Now Ainsley, she'll try to be strong. She'll keep a brave face, but when she's alone, she'll break down and sob like she's never sobbed before. She'll hate your mother for not doing enough to help you, she'll hate your team for not seeing the signs, she'll hate Dr. Le Deux for not doing enough, and most of all, she'll hate herself for being well adjusted and not suffering like you did."
"Stop, Ainsley doesn't-."
"Your team, they'll be just as broken. Edrisa will be heartbroken more than anything. She's never had such a big crush before, you know. Maybe you should've taken more time to appreciate what it's like to be desired by people who know who your father is, but it's too late now that you're dead. Edrisa will never like someone again like she liked you. JT will try to be the glue that holds the team together, but he'll fail. He's never had a little brother quite like you before, and he won't even realize how much he loved you until you're gone. He'll hate himself for not letting you know that he would've been there for you had you reached out, that he was your brother and he loved you and he would've protected you had you just let him. He'll even hate you for a while, for doing this to them, but then that crushing pain of missing the one who became his brother will overwhelm him, and JT will be just as helpless against that grief as the rest of the team."
"Please, just stop, I know-."
"And Dani, wow, she'll be devastated. The what ifs will keep her up at night for months. She'll regret not telling you the truth every single day, not telling you just how much you meant to her, because maybe, if she'd told you, then you wouldn't have done it. She'll think it's her fault, that she could've prevented it, had she just told you how she really felt. She'll watch your body go into that grave just like she watched her dad's, and she'll be that broken girl all over again, and it will be your fault. Because of you, she'll never trust again, she'll never open up again. She will never love again."
Malcolm shook his head as tears began to fall, his pleas for Dennis to stop going unheard.
"Last but not least is Gil, of course," Dennis continued, a hysterical laugh in his voice. Malcolm let out a sob. "Without you, Gil will feel like he has nothing left to live for. After losing Jackie, then promising to protect you with his life and failing, what's the point of going on? He'll have lost the only child he ever had, a pain unimaginable. Why would you do that to him, Malcolm? Why would you make Gil suffer so much? He'll blame himself, of course, because he was supposed to protect you, he was supposed to be your dad, and he wasn't able to keep you safe. His reason for living was you, and when you're gone, he has nothing, and no one. And it's all your fault. It's a no win scenario for you. You should kill yourself for being so selfish, but by killing yourself, you're being even more selfish. You can't do anything right, can you Malcolm?" Dennis leaned down, putting himself right next to Malcolm. "Can you?" he asked again, his voice seething in rage. He clearly expected an answer.
"No," Malcolm responded through his tears. He hadn't felt so lowly about himself in so long, he hadn't wanted to die that much in even longer, but he'd also never had such a reason to live. "Why are you telling me this? I know they care," he said, trying to take deep breaths and put himself back in control of his own emotions. That was easier said than done, especially when he had a nasty concussion.
"Do you know?" Dennis asked in reply, leaning back once again. "I don't think you do. If you did, maybe you wouldn't kill yourself."
"But I'm not going to-."
"That's what I'm here for, to help you," Dennis interrupted, a genuine smile on his face. "You just need to understand the gravity of what you're doing, first."
Malcolm didn't know what to say. Dennis didn't make any sense. If he was so set that people who understood they were loved wouldn't kill themselves, then why was he so insistent on making people know they were cared about before killing them anyway? Clearly the man saw himself as a savior, helping people do what they were too weak to do themselves, which was understandable from a psychological sense. On some level, he probably genuinely cared, and wanted to help people. He was just twisted and doing it in such a messed up way, giving them what he thought they truly wanted. But where did the loved ones they left behind fit in? It had to be about guilt somehow on the part of his victims. Dennis wanted them to feel guilty about suicide, but still wanted to force them to do it anyway? If it weren't for Malcolm's concussion, he was sure he could've figured it out, but as it was, his mind was so scrambled and he was just in so much pain and he wanted Gil and-.
"Do you understand, yet?" Dennis asked him, looking at him with curiosity.
"You don't have to do this," Malcolm couldn't stop himself from saying. "I know you lost someone you loved, and they didn't understand what they were doing, or they didn't care what it would do to you, but I do understand." Malcolm could only hope he was on the right track. "I know there's a reason to go on, to not die, even when I want it all to end. I'm not going to kill myself, Dennis. I was never going to." That wasn't strictly true, but it had been true most recently, so Malcolm was sticking with it.
"No, you see, that's what you think, but you're wrong," Dennis answered. He pointed a finger at Malcolm, growing agitated. "That's what he thought to, and he still did it, he still jumped, even when he said he wouldn't. He jumped because that's what he wanted, deep down, and that's what you really want to. I'm going to help get you want you want, but you're going to understand. He didn't understand, but you will."
So Malcolm was right. This was about someone in Dennis' past that he'd lost to suicide. Now he just had to figure out how to connect with that in a way that would make Dennis stop and let him go. Easier said than done.
"But wouldn't you give anything to have him back?" he asked him. "He made a mistake, and you've been suffering ever since. Don't you want to help people to not make that same mistake? Don't you want to keep others from having to feel the same pain that you do?"
Dennis just stared at him like he was a museum curiosity. Malcolm's shivers started to become more pronounced as the well below freezing temperature dipped even further with the setting sun. The sky that Malcolm could see was the darkest, meaning the sun was behind him. There would be no reprieve by the sun on his shoulders. He was only going to get colder, and if he wasn't careful, he wasn't going to get the chance to ever be warm again.
"I could tell you were smarter than the rest of them, but you won't sway me, Malcolm," Dennis finally said, waving his finger as if disciplining a child. "This is what I have to do, and keep down, it's what you want. It's what you need. This isn't some new thing you've been struggling with recently. You've wanted to die for near two decades, and a few times, you've almost succeeded. Of course, only one of those times was intentional, but still. You really have never shown any regard for your own safety, Malcolm. You really want to die so badly, don't you?"
"No, no, I want to live," Malcolm pleaded with him, fighting against the tears once again building in his eyes. Dennis was so set in his path and Malcolm was too concussed to figure out how to stop him. Where was Gil? He needed Gil. "I don't want to die, Dennis, I want to live."
Dennis sighed and shook his head. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you became so weak. I'm going to give you what you want, what you need. It's too late for anything else."
Gil tore up the steps towards Gabrielle's office. He didn't have time to wait for the elevator. He needed to get to Gabrielle and the woman wasn't answering her phone. She was probably with a patient, a child who had gone through something traumatic and was seeking her help, but Gil needed her if he was going to save his own kid's life.
Dani and JT were trying to find connections between the locations of the apparent suicides, looking for a clear pattern. There had to be something more than just knowing it would be an abandoned waterfront. There had to be a way to know where he was keeping Malcolm - to know which building he was planning on tossing the kid off from. But Gil needed to speak with Gabrielle and every other psychiatrist in that building that there was. If anyone would be able to glean some info that Gil couldn't see, it would be one of the shrinks.
Gil slowed to a brisk walk as he got to the hallway where Gabrielle's office was. Thankfully, the door opened as he walked down, a woman and a young child exiting. At least Gil wouldn't be interrupting a much needed session for some poor kid.
"Dr. Le Deux!" he called out as the door swung back to its place, almost closed. He caught it just in time, and wasted no time in entering the room. Gabrielle stared at him in mild surprise, a stack of notes in her hand. "I need you to tell me everything you know about Dennis Grafton, a handyman who works here."
"What?"
"You were right, about everything," Gil explained. "The suicides were all staged, and Malcolm is gonna be next if we don't find him in time." Gil didn't even know how much time they had. According to their friends and families, the victims had all been unreachable anywhere from three to six hours before their time of death. That didn't give them much time to find Malcolm before some killer threw him off a roof.
"Uh, he was hired a couple of months ago, due to his varied talents. He's a locksmith and a plumber and a janitor. Not very friendly but he hasn't caused any problems," Gabrielle answered as quickly as she could. "Do you think he's involved?"
"We think he's the killer," Gil responded. If Grafton was a locksmith, then he would be able to get into any locked room or cabinet. He would be able to get at all the notes the psychiatrists had locked away and able to target anyone he wanted. He would have seen everything Gabrielle had ever written down about Malcolm, and Gil knew that was a lot.
"And you think he has Malcolm?" Gabrielle confirmed. Gil nodded. Her face fell in heartbreak. "What do you need from me? I've known that boy since he was a child, I'll do anything I can to help you find him."
"Where would he take Malcolm? All of his victims have been thrown from abandoned waterfront buildings, but we can't exactly search every abandoned waterfront in New York." Gil was already turning over the possibilities in his head. It would have to be somewhere where the man could easily bring a victim from the trunk of his sedan up to the top of the building without attracting suspicion.
"You would know better than me," Gabrielle said. "It's about Grafton, but the way he does it has to fit with his victims."
"He's taken them all somewhere they could've easily gotten on their own," Gil said, finishing the woman's train of thought. So where could he have taken Malcolm that it wouldn't be suspicious to find the kid there on his own? "Has Malcolm said anything recently about any sort of waterfront or view that he's been going to recently, or dreamed about, or anything like that? Something you would've written down in your notes?"
Gabrielle looked around wildly for a moment as she thought, then made eye contact with Gil again, eyes wide and full of fear. "Pier 25, Hudson Park," she said. "Malcolm was talking about memories of playing there with Ainsley as a young boy, how that innocence and purity seems so far away."
"That's gotta be it," Gil said with a muttered thanks as he turned around, pulling his phone out. He tapped on JT's name as he practically jogged down the hall and out of the building. JT picked up on the first ring. "Look for anything abandoned near Pier 25. Malcolm talked about it in one of his latest sessions with Gabrielle. I'm gonna start making my way over, let me know as soon as you find something." Gil barely waited for JT to agree to the orders before he was hanging up. Gabrielle's office was closer to the Milton estate than Malcolm's loft and the 16th precinct. He needed to get moving.
Gil didn't hesitate to put on his lights and sirens to bypass the traffic. He had no way of knowing how much time Malcolm had left, and he wasn't going to risk not getting there in time and finding his kid's body on the pavement.
Only a few minutes later, Dani called him. "I dropped the address of the closest abandoned building to Pier 25 with a view of the water to your phone. JT and I are on our way now, but Gil, Grafton's brother committed suicide a couple of months back. He jumped from a high rise with a view of the Hudson."
If Gil had any doubt that Grafton was their man, that doubt was gone. "Thanks, Powell," he muttered, stepping on the gas a little harder as cars moved out of his way. He needed to get there in time.
The rest of the drive was spent in frenzied prayer, asking God to please keep Malcolm safe, to not let Grafton kill him, to let Gil get there in time to save him, to please oh please don't let him be too late. Gil couldn't do anything but beg and plead God to protect his kid as he drove through the streets.
He pulled up on the abandoned building right as Dani and JT were getting out of their car. Gil barely took the time to put the LeMans in park and take out the keys before he was dashing out, gun drawn. As always, Dani and JT stayed back, letting Gil take point and give direction. They quickly passed the sedan from the surveillance video. They were in the right place.
"I'm going straight to the top, you clear as we go, but don't waste time. Grafton won't be anywhere but the roof," Gil said, getting his flashlight out and balancing his gun hand on his arm. The sun had set, and night was taking over the city. In an abandoned building, there was no city glow to light to the way. The temperatures were downright frigid, but Gil ignored the bite of the cold.
"Got it," Dani grunted, with JT nodding in the affirmative.
Gil walked through the open door and immediately located the stairwell. A couple of pigeons flew away as they entered the building, but Gil's attention was focused on what he heard. From somewhere above him, there was shouting. He wasn't too late. Malcolm was still alive, and on that rooftop. With all of his self restraint, Gil kept himself quiet, but moved even faster up the stairs,
"No! No, I want to live! Please!" Gil's breath caught in his throat as he heard Malcolm scream, followed by a cry of pain that Gil knew all too well. He hurried up the last few steps and banged the door open, heedless of the pain in his aging body from climbing so many stairs so quickly.
"Grafton!" Gil shouted, taking aim at the man holding Malcolm by the collar of his dress shirt, bending the kid backwards over the edge of the building. If Malcolm tried to scramble with his legs, he would knock himself off balance and tumble over the edge. Grafton was holding him at enough of a distance that Malcolm couldn't lash out with his fists or arms, and was even holding him at such an angle that Malcolm needed to hold on to the man in order to not fall. "Don't do it," Gil said, looking to Malcolm. He could hear Dani and JT burst through behind him, but Gil kept his gaze focused on his kid. His kid, whose eyes were full of terror, and tears.
Dennis stood from his place in front of Malcolm, a knife in his hand. He walked over to Malcolm and began to saw through the ropes connecting him to the pipe. Under normal circumstances that would be a good thing, but in Malcolm's situation, that meant that Dennis was getting ready to toss him off the building, and thanks to his concussion, Malcolm wasn't going to be able to do much to stop him.
"You don't have to do this," he couldn't stop himself from repeating. It was pure instinct, despite knowing that Dennis wasn't going to listen to him. "The one you lost, this isn't what they would've wanted, and this isn't what I want either. I don't want to die, Dennis, I want to live, please," he begged. He so truly wanted to live.
Dennis remained quiet as he tossed the ropes and cloth aside with one hand, and gripped Malcolm's wrists together with the other. He pulled Malcolm up to his feet, and that was almost it right there. Malcolm's vision swayed and his stomach churned. He couldn't pass out. If he passed out, he would have no way to defend himself, to save his own life. Dennis started walking towards the edge of the building, Malcolm weakly struggling in his grasp. Every movement Malcolm made to get away was paired with an increase in nausea and the black encroaching in his vision. Getting away without passing out in the process seemed to be a losing battle, but Malcolm was never one to admit defeat.
"No!" he screamed as Dennis got him pushed back against the ledge. "I want to live! I want to live!" he repeated. Dennis remained quiet, heedless to his struggles and screams. He had Malcolm bending backwards over the ledge. It was all Malcolm could do to hold on, much less escape the man's grasp. If it hadn't been for his concussion, Malcolm would've been able to easily take the man, but with it, it was all Malcolm could do to just keep himself from passing out. "No! No, I want to live! Please!" he begged again as terror took over and he began to writhe.
Dennis gripped Malcolm's hair and slammed his head down onto the edge of the ledge, hitting the same place that Malcolm had been struck three times before. Malcolm cried out in pain, but all of his attention went to staying conscious. There wasn't anything Malcolm could do to save himself. Absolutely nothing. Tears built in his eyes as he panicked, mind racing once again. How could this be the end? He wanted to live more than he ever had before. Malcolm didn't know anything but how deeply he wanted to live.
"Grafton!" came a shout from a voice that Malcolm knew better than his own. It was Gil. Maybe everything wasn't over, maybe it wasn't the end. If anyone could save him, it was Gil. It was always Gil. "Don't do it," Gil said. Through blurry eyes, Malcolm managed to catch the man's gaze. If nothing else, at least he was able to see him, and JT and Dani, one last time.
"If you kill him, you die," JT practically growled.
"The only way you make it out of this alive is by bringing him away from the ledge," Dani added.
Dennis remained silent, and his grip on Malcolm didn't let up. He was going to have to make a decision, and soon. The stalemate couldn't last forever. One way or another, it had to end.
"Please, Dennis," Malcolm begged, his voice breaking. He didn't want to die. "I want to live, Dennis, please. I want to live, and so do you."
"If you hurt the kid, your life ends," Gil said. "Is that what you want? Are you willing to die to kill him?" Malcolm caught Gil's gaze again. The man had his gun trained on Dennis, all three of them did, but they didn't have a clean shot. If they were to shoot at Dennis, there was a good chance that the bullet would go through and hit Malcolm, and, even if that didn't happen, Malcolm would still plummet over the edge without Dennis holding him up. As it was, Dennis was the only thing holding him up. "I'm gonna come over to you, okay? I'm gonna come get him from you," Gil said. He slowly holstered his gun, and crept towards Malcolm and Dennis, his hands held up to show that he wasn't holding any weapons. "I'm just gonna get the kid out of here, okay?"
"It's gonna be okay, Dennis," Malcolm said, bringing his gaze back to his captor. Dennis looked back at him, with something in his eyes that chilled Malcolm to the very bone: intent. "No!" he shouted, just as Dennis leapt over the edge of the building, taking Malcolm with him.
For just a moment, Malcolm was weightless. He felt nothing as he was surrounded by only air. But it wasn't the cruel crush of concrete that gave him weight again, it was his hands catching on the window underneath the ledge. A quick look down proved that Dennis hadn't met his fate at the bottom of the building either. Malcolm could hear grunting from above him, but the only thing he could do was hold on to the ledge.
"Malcolm!" Gil cried out, panic evident in his voice.
"Gil!" he answered, trying to focus all of his attention on holding on. "I can't-," he broke off, knowing the rest was obvious.
"Just hold on, kid, I'm gonna get to you," Gil said from right above him. "JT!" he shouted, but didn't take his gaze away from Malcolm. "Hold on to me."
Malcolm heard more grunting and some muffled cursing from multiple people, and saw Gil somehow getting closer to him. JT had to be clutching the man's legs in order for Gil to get close enough.
"Just hang on," Gil said. "Don't you dare let go." Malcolm looked straight up at Gil, even as he felt tremors wracking his hands, making it all the more difficult to hang on. The freezing cold and biting wind numbed his hands. How could he hold on? He looked straight at Gil, and he forced himself to hold on, even after Gil's hands wrapped around Malcolm's wrists. "I've got him!" Gil shouted back up to JT. Malcolm switched his grip from the ledge of the window to Gil's wrists, cementing their connection.
With more grunting and even more swearing, Malcolm felt himself being lifted back up, oh so slowly, until finally, he was over the ledge of the building, and being held in Gil's arms as they both collapsed against the wall. Malcolm's hands kept shaking as he held on to Gil with everything he had. A quick glance around showed Dennis, still very much alive, handcuffed by Dani. Malcolm turned back to Gil, the question clear in his eyes.
"She tackled him back, but you were already falling," Gil muttered, then held on to Malcolm even tighter, as if Malcolm might fall if he let go. Malcolm was content to be held.
"I want to live," Malcolm whispered, talking more to himself than to Gil or JT or Dani. "I don't wanna die, I wanna live, I promise I wanna live." He buried his face in Gil's chest and tried to take deep breaths as his tears fell. He was okay. He wasn't going to die. He certainly needed to go to the hospital to get his head checked out, but he wasn't going to die. His eyes remained squeezed shut as he focused on the feeling of safety in Gil's arms.
"You're okay," Gil gently said, his hand coming up to card fingers through Malcolm's hair. The pain was instantaneous and white hot. Malcolm distantly knew that he had cried out, but all he could focus on was the pain. Someone was driving an ice pick into his brain.
"What's going on?" JT asked, but Malcolm couldn't answer. He couldn't do anything but try to breathe.
"Head wound," Gil replied, his voice full of guilt. "Kid, I'm so sorry, I couldn't see, I should've asked you, I'm so sorry-."
"It's not your fault," Malcolm managed to say, relaxing against Gil once again. He just wanted the pain to end. The wound was bleeding again, having been reopened when Dennis had struck him a fourth time to get him to cooperate.
"You're damn right," Dani growled from a couple of feet away. "Come on," she said, yanking Dennis to the side. The man remained quiet as Dani brought him to the stairwell and began their descent.
"We gotta get you to the hospital," Gil said. For once, Malcolm didn't object. "JT, can you take care of the evidence and take Grafton to lockup?"
"Sure thing, boss," JT replied. "I'm glad you're okay, bro," he added, his tone of voice implying that he wanted it to be taken as an afterthought, not as something that he truly meant with all of his heart. Malcolm only nodded, and didn't comment on it. If he recalled correctly, he wasn't supposed to profile his friends, and JT was definitely his friend. He loved JT, and he couldn't wait to get to know the other man more. He wanted to learn his hobbies and interests, and partake in them. Malcolm wanted to grow their friendship.
And Dani. Wow. Malcolm wanted to learn everything about her. He wanted to sit down with her and just have her tell him everything. He could listen to her for hours. He wanted to spend the rest of his life getting to know her better, to love her more. He loved her so much.
"Think you can stand? I've got you," Gil said. Malcolm gripped him tighter, then did his part to help them stand, despite the wave of dizziness and nausea. He was going to the hospital, he was going to be fine.
Gil was taking him to the hospital. Gil always took care of him. Gil was his dad, so much more than Dr. Whitly had ever been. Malcolm loved Gil more than anything. All he wanted was to make Gil proud, to be like him, and to be loved by him. Gil was the greatest friend he'd ever had.
"Thank you," Malcolm said as a fresh wave of tears came over him. He would be dead without Gil - he would've been dead several times over. Gil saved him every single time. "Thank you so much," he repeated.
"It's okay, kid. I'm always gonna save you, take care of you," Gil said, sounding just as emotional himself. That was understandable. Malcolm couldn't imagine how rough his day must have been too. "I'm just so glad you're okay. If we hadn't gotten there in time-." Gil broke off again, but Malcolm didn't need him to finish. Malcolm knew exactly what the man was thinking, and he knew exactly how Gil would react to his death. He never wanted to put that knowledge to the test. He wanted to live.
Despite the nausea and pain from the concussion - and what would turn out to be a skull fracture - Malcolm smiled. He wanted to live. Despite everything that Dennis had said, he wanted to live more than anything. Dennis had never been wrong when he talked about why Malcolm had wanted to die, but he'd also been so right when he delved into how Malcolm's team and family would react. Malcolm wanted to live for them. He wanted to see them smile and laugh and grow together. Malcolm wanted to live for himself. He wanted to move past his trauma and baggage and become the man that Gil had always believed he could be.
"I'm gonna be okay," he said with a smile on his face. Malcolm wasn't alone anymore. Truly, he hadn't been alone in a while. He didn't have to be stuck in that limbo hell anymore. He had so much to live for, and Malcolm couldn't wait to live.