||Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me all this time, enjoy the chapter. (: ||

As a father, Martin prided himself in caring for his boy, being there for Malcolm when he needed him most. Causing any kind of harm, no wonder how little, wounded his that very pride.

Martin played the role of a loving, faithful husband to Jessica. However, none of that was for her sake. In the beginning the only use Jessica served was to help him blend in. That was, until the mention of a family, a child. He thought the idea preposterous. Children would only get in the way. With time and Jessica's persistence, his perception of the matter expanded.

Once Malcolm was born his entire world shifted. The difference between a guise and reality skewed. Malcolm was his perfect boy, the only human being he would truly come to love. Malcolm became his world. Everything he lived for, everything he did was for his son. There was nothing Martin wouldn't do to keep him happy and safe. Never once would he willingly hurt his boy.

Yet there he stood, watching Malcolm's unconscious form violently toss and turn, freshly cuffed hands loudly clashed against each side of the bed frame. His poor boy was suffering from terrible night terrors, very evident by the monotone screams escaping Malcolm's lips. It was clear now why the bindings were in place in Malcolm's apartment. The prescribed drugs, the complex PTSD...

"To think that my child suffers this much." If Ainsley's accusations were anything to go by, Martin was to blame. Untrue. No, if anything Martin was the only one who could truly help Malcolm. Better than the medications forced down Malcolms throat. Better than anything.

Martin approached Malcolm's sleeping form and shook lightly. He shifted accordingly to dodge flying limps. "Malcolm, wake up, it's not real." He called out but to no avail. No matter of shaking seemed to be doing the trick either. Slapping hard enough would do the job, but Martin couldn't hurt his Malcolm.

It appeared as though luck was on his side as Malcolm's eyes opened wide and his body flung up. He could hear a deep exhale, momentary relief. The relief didn't last long once Malcolm saw him, though. Instantaneously Malcolm moved as far away from him as possible. Didn't take long before his boy tried to break off the handcuffs.

"So you know, I didn't want to resort to this. You left me no choice, Malcolm." If only Malcolm had been a little less stubborn and more cooperative. Maybe he wouldn't have had to resort to these measures but he couldn't afford to lose his son. Not again. "I told myself to give you the benefit of the doubt, yet you tried to leave me again."

Malcolm continued to struggle with his bindings. "You can't keep me here, Doctor Whitly, eventually they'll know I'm missing. They'll find us."

"There are only two people who know where this place is. Myself and a dear friend of mine." Martin smiled sadly, "I know you've been wanting answers, and now I'm going to help you. I'm going to take care of you, I promise. For now, it's time to get something in your stomach."

Something wasn't right. The occasional silence was not uncommon here and there, but a little less than 24 hours and to not hear anything from Malcolm. Not even a single text. When her phone rang she felt some relief, at least until she saw the caller ID.

"Well if it isn't Gil Arroyo, are you the reason my son hasn't contacted me? Keeping him busy are we?" The silence that followed quickly changed the atmosphere, however.

"So you haven't heard anything from Malcolm, either. I was hoping that wouldn't be the case." Gil's voice sounded shaken at the realization.

Nerves were building, suspense in the air. Not even Gil had been in contact with Malcolm? Oh god, please tell me this is a joke. If this was a joke Malcolm decided to play than it was sick. But as strange and unorthodox as her son was, this was nothing like him.

Jessica reached out towards the door in front of her, the door to Malcolms apartment. She'd only arrived mere minutes before Gil's call. Oh god, her hands were shaking. Malcolm had to be there. He was just playing some joke, right? It wasn't his usual schtick, but perhaps could be the case. Just this once…

She twisted the knob. Locked. Silent panic began to sink as Jessica pounded on the door. "Malcolm? It's your mother, open up!" Jessica called out. When no response was heard, she repeated her previous action, only to be met with the same result. She swiftly retrieved a set of keys from her purse. Thankfully after that epic fight , Malcolm hadn't changed the locks.

"Malcolm?" The silence was deafening, not even a hint of movement from above. So much so that the sound of her heels touching the surface of the steps as she proceeded up reverberated through the walls. Her optimism dwindled further when there was no sign of Malcolm. His bed looked like it hadn't been slept in. Another glance around had her discover shards of glass on the floor beside the island.

Jessica gasped, hands now covering half of her facial features. The Junkyard Killer. Martin. One of the reasons she'd come here was to tell Malcolm the news of Martin's breakout. Who was she kidding? He would have definitely known long before herself. But more importantly to make sure he was okay..

Martin was on the loose.

And Malcolm…

"Jessica…? What's going on, talk to me!" Gil's voice pierced through the trance she was in. She had completely forgotten the fact that she never hung up.

"Malcolm's gone. Gil, somethings wrong, there's glass on the ground." Jessica's voice was shaken. On the other end of the line she heard Gil order multiple someones to head her way.

"Don't go anywhere, we're on our way."

Malcolm was stubborn to the core. He wasn't going to just let his father have his way. If that man thought for a mere second that they could go back to what they were before, before the chloroform and before he found out who his father truly was, he had another thing coming. Martin Whitly was a manipulative psychopath incapable of genuine emotion. Ten years away from him put all of that in perspective. So why would he accept anything his father offered?

"Why do you insist on doing this, Malcolm?" He could hear his father's irritation, or perhaps concern? "I made sure to check your everything before I brought you here. I know there wasn't anything in your fridge. You do know that's not healthy, don't you?"

What's it to you? It's your fault I'm this way. Malcolm wanted to say aloud, to give his old man a piece of mind. God knows he fucking deserved it. "Fuck off." Was all he said as he turned his head the other way.

Suddenly a hard smacked harshly against his cheek, no doubt leaving a red mark. That was surprising enough, but what he truly didn't expect was the look of guilt on his father's features. Had that actually hurt him too?

Don't you see he loves us? He never meant to hurt us in first place. The soft spoken, childish voice of his younger self made itself known.

"He doesn't love us! He doesn't even care about us. He's a psychopath who doesn't care gets hurt." Unbeknownst to him, the sentence was said out loud.

The same hand that had struck him was now caressing his cheek softly. The warmth from it was calming even. Only for a moment, though as he moved back slightly, enough to create more distance.

"I'm sorry you feel that way Malcolm, but I never wanted to hurt, or your mother and sister. I only wanted what was best for you." Martin Whitly knew something was going on, Malcolm could tell by the softened, yet still pained, gaze. "I still do, and now I'm going to take care of you. No matter how long it takes."

Malcolm looked on as his father left him to his thoughts.

Maybe Martin Whitly did love him after all.