"You know you don't have to go in there with me." Malcolm said, his walk stopping and shuffling to the side with me.
"No I know." I shrug, not really giving him a definitive answer.
"If you don't want to that's okay. I just need to ask him a few questions, and then we'll head right back to the station."
"Malcolm-"
"I do need an answer though. Are you going in with me or not?"
"Uh.." I think about it for a second.
Seeing Dr. Martin Whitly had never been part of the plan. Me and Malcolm were out on a case together and had planned to go back to the police precinct right after the investigation. After something came up, Malcolm had an undying need to go visit his father, and I got swept up with him. I was feeling off that day, and had been trying not to jump at loud sounds all morning. My chest felt like it was exhausting the heart within it, beating so hard, and the evil little intrusive thoughts voice in my head had been having a field day so far.
In my defense, he was driving and all of my stuff was in his car so I didn't have much choice. Neither did I want to wait out in the hallway or the parking lot. This place was weird. I wasn't even a cop, I just worked with Edrisa in Forensics, and was friends with Malcolm through mutuals and a few common interests. He was the type of friend who you got coffee with once every two months and that was the bulk of our bond.
"I um, sure, why not." I said, running my hands through my hair which had been cut shorter a while back and was starting to grow out again. Why not meet one of the most infamous serial killers of all time?
"Okay, you don't have to say anything, it'll be so brief, I promise." Malcolm reassured me. I followed him down the hallway to perhaps the nicest goddamn prison cell on planet earth. The guard, Mr. Davis, let us both in, the heavy metal door opening.
The barricade of a door closed behind us and I tried not to jump at the sound.
Martin Whitly was writing at his desk off to the side and only looked up when he heard the door close.
He was tall, and a lot scruffier than I'd anticipated. He was one of the few serial killers that had a full grown beard, I realized. I glanced him over and immediately cast my eyes back down to the floor, unenthusiastic on making any sort of eye contact with the man.
"Ah! Malcolm! How good to see you, dropping in so unexpectedly."
"Skip the theatrics, I'm not here to play games." Malcolm said, not in the mood for what I assumed were his father's usual antics.
"But why not? Look, I've been writing poetry in the mornings, helps me destress, especially if I've had a rough night." Dr. Whitly said, going over to the desk to retrieve the piece of paper he'd been writing on.
"I don't care. I have two questions and then I'm leaving." Malcolm stated firmly, in a tone that showed his dad he was being serious.
"Who's this?" Dr. Whitly asked, turning his gaze on me, asking the question with just enough intrigue to make my skin crawl. Out of habit I looked up and make the eye contact I was so adamant on avoiding. His face was wild, manic, almost. I hated it. It burned into my head and I felt my heart speed up, blinking multiple times and looking away.
Malcolm rolled his eyes and cleared his throat at his fathers persistence of not listening.
"This is Teddy. He's working with me on a case."
"Ooo, another one that's into murder. I haven't met you before, I'd shake your hand, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." he said, "joking", gesturing to the handcuffs and the leash he was attached to.
The inability to bite my tongue overpowered the anxiety and for a brief second my head snapped up.
"You think your victims would make the same joke?" I snapped, fear flooding me while I said it. I knew I shouldn't have, but it poured out of me unintentionally. Blood rushed in my ears. The Surgeon stared at me for a second.
"Feisty."
"For God's sake will you listen for a second?" Malcolm asked again. Dr. Whitly returned his attention to his son and I shrank back into myself, relieved the encounter was over. "Look, when we were talking the other day about that woman who was found dead, you never told me where you thought she was. I'm asking you again, where do you think she was buried?"
"Well, you tell me, where do you think she was buried?"
"I told you it would be reasonable to assume she wasn't there at all."
"Then there's your answer. You just opened up the entire world as the dumping ground for a body, son." Dr. Whitly said, shrugging. Malcolm wasn't having it.
"Wow there really is a reason they're calling a copycat killer to you, huh?" he mused. For the first time, a small frown appeared on The Surgeon's head, though he laughed it off.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I was very considerate as to how I disposed of my victims."
"Just the dead ones? Or the ones that lived to? We're victims too, Dad, me, Ainsley, Mom."
"Your not making any-"
"Your a disgrace of a father. Teddy lets go." he shook his head, upset that he hadn't gotten anywhere, again. Still, that particular statement cocked a metaphorical gun inside Dr. Whitly and he stood up and tired shooting Malcolm directly in the chest.
He lunged forward so hard the leesh make a significant tugging sound, and his eyes went from manic to fiery mad in second.
"What did you say?" he screamed, suddenly at the top of his lungs, enraged like a lunatic. "Say it again!"
Instead of affecting Malcolm, the bullet lodged somewhere in me instead and suddenly I was flinching holding my arm up to shield myself, and suddenly my legs were shaking and I was hanging onto the wall for support, and suddenly I couldn't breathe and was choking for air, cowering backwards.
"I'm sorry- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- it won't happen again-" I gasped. My head was spinning, ringing in my ears. Malcolm was over in seconds standing in front of me, hands squeezing my shoulds, saying something, but my head was somewhere else, remembering the voice of my mother shouting at me at the top of her lungs, hand raised.
"...what the hell is wrong with you?" I heard somewhere in the distance, Malcolm looking over to his father, angry. I held out a hand and put it on Malcolm's shoulder, trying to catch my breath. He looked back over, and moved a hand to my chest, looking at me.
"Hey, okay we're gonna breathe in and out. Follow me ok? In-" he sucked a breath in and I followed suit, his hand raising on my chest. "- and out. Ok, again."
It took a second for the ringing to subside, and when I fully zoned back in, I was practically hanging on to Malcolm, wanting nothing more than to go home. My cheeks were wet, though I don't remember crying, and his dad had watched the entire scene unfold with fervent interest.
"Hey...there you are. Lost the focus in your eyes for a second. Are you back with me now?"
I nodded.
"Can we go?" I asked, my voice strained.
"Yes. Yes, we can leave." he nodded, pulling me in for a hug and wrapping a hand around my back, the other cradling my head, glaring at his father over my shoulder. He cleared his throat once more. "Good day, Dr. Whitly."
"Goodbye son, and do bring Teddy back sometime. We can talk more about human psychology. Terribly interesting thing!" he called after us, walking down the hallway and back to the car.
I had never been happy to get back to the old ruddy thing Malcolm considered a functional vehicle.
He pulled me close again.
"Are you ok? I'm so sorry that happened. You should have stayed in the car, I didn't know he was going to be in a bad mood today-" he rambled and I shook my head.
"No, I wanted to go, it's my fault."
"Hey- no. This isn't your fault. Teddy, nothing you said or did...ever, influenced my dad to do that. Or whoever hurt you. This isn't your fault." he iterated. I nodded, tired and it seemed to appease him enough to get back in the drivers side.
Things weren't okay now, but maybe they would start to be soon, I that was enough for me.