~Thursday 3rd January 2013~
"Will the jury foreperson please stand?" Malcolm drew in a silent breath, letting it out slowly as he glanced to his left, flashing a brief smile toward his client, "has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?" Malcolm clasped his hands together on the table in front of him, meeting the eyes of the standing woman for just a second before she looked away. He didn't blame her, not many had the courage to hold eye contact with him.
"Yes, your honour," the woman handed the piece of paper she clutched in her hand to the bailiff, who proceeded to pass it to the judge, who took only a second to skim over it before it was returned to the woman, "the jury finds the defendant not guilty," Malcolm just about managed to suppress his grin, despite many of the audience in the courtroom disrupting the silence.
"The jury is thanked and excused. Court is adjourned," Malcolm rose to his feet, with the intention of merely shaking hands with his client, only to be engulfed into a tight hug.
"Thank you," the man whispered, even shedding a tear or two, "thank you, thank you, thank you," Malcolm chuckled, patting the man on the back compassionately.
"There's no need to thank me, Isiah, let's go talk somewhere private, OK?" finally, Malcolm managed to peel Isiah off him, collecting his briefcase, feeling the scowling gaze of the permanent thorn in his side. Saige Collingwood.
"You put up a good argument, Saige," Malcolm smiled politely, extending his hand to the redhead.
"Congratulations are due, aren't they, Malcolm?" Saige forced a smile, one that was far too stiff for even the dimmest of humans to believe, "what will it be this time? Back alley prostitutes or underage drunks?" Malcolm's smile faltered and he rolled his eyes. Saige was far more than petty, he was downright rude, simply because of Malcolm's creed. Disgusting.
"You're hilarious, Saige," Malcolm muttered dryly, "but, if I were you, I'd stop focusing on your stand up and pay a little more attention to your failing day job. What is it now? Eighty-three per cent fail rate? Tsk tsk, I'm surprised you're still staying afloat in that penthouse apartment of yours," Malcolm's expression became a tad wrier at Saige's lack of response, "give my love to the wife," Malcolm picked up his briefcase, walking out of the courtroom with Isiah and stepping into the private quarters he rented there.
"I can't think of any way to repay you, Malcolm," Isiah immediately began again with gratitude, wanting to stamp a monetary value on morals, it wasn't something Malcolm agreed with. That wasn't to say that Malcolm's services were free, of course not, that would be absurd in the age he lived in. He simply kept his rates low and offered financial aid for those who couldn't afford it. He had more money than he needed already, to ask for even more would weigh heavily on his conscience.
"There's no need, Isiah, I've already told you," Malcolm smiled, loosening his tie, having already noticed the tightness far too much in that courtroom, "you just stay out of trouble, and stay off the heroin, OK? You have a baby on the way and a doting fiance who needs you on the outside, not locked up for crimes you didn't commit," Isiah smiled nervously, wringing his hands as he often did.
"Of course, Malcolm," Isiah vowed, nodding overenthusiastically, "of course. No more drugs, I promise you."
"Good, that's very good. To ensure that, Isiah, I would like to pay for some therapy for you," Isiah's eyes widened but Malcolm silenced the man's protests before they could begin, "drug addiction isn't an easy thing to deal with, you will need help, I'm happy to provide that. I'm not talking about a rehab centre, I know you can't afford to be off work, however, some sessions with a therapist I know should help you along your way," once again, Isiah began to cry. Malcolm was used to it, many of his clients could get overwhelmed with emotion.
"You take care of yourself, Isiah," Malcolm patted Isiah's back when he had finally composed himself, "stay in touch, I want to see pictures of that beautiful baby girl," Malcolm exited the room, carrying his briefcase, striding out the front door of the courthouse.
"Congratulations, Mr Reed," one of the security guards smiled pleasantly at Malcolm as he removed the two silver bracelets from around his wrists, a shiver rolling down his spine as he felt the power flow back into his veins.
"Thank you, Rick," Malcolm passed the two bracelets to Rick, who placed them in the lead-lined box that always remained there in his little booth. Malcolm was used to the segregation he received in his job, used to the precautions the government had to go through to keep the cases he reviewed completely unbiased and fair. He was used to the speculation of his altering evidence or placing curses on witnesses, it was a constant that he had come to expect. It barely even registered in his mind anymore. However, one aspect of his job that did irritate him was the press. Vultures.
"Mr Reed! Mr Reed! How do you feel about yet another success in the courtroom?!" one of the women in the crowd shouted, thrusting a microphone under Malcolm's nose. Deep breaths, big smiles, empathise, just another mantra Malcolm had to recite daily.
"Glad, of course, my client was found innocent, I could ask for no more," Malcolm may have disliked the press but that didn't mean he hadn't perfected how to talk to them. He had to keep his reputation alive after all.
"And what will be done about the false allegation against your client?" another reporter chimed in whilst others tried to push forward their questions and scrawl down whatever Malcolm said.
"That is up to my client. Should he want to prosecute, I will be happy to represent, but I don't believe he will. Quite often in these circumstances, people just want to get on with their lives, not spend more time in court."
"What is your opinion on these types of cases, Mr Reed?" a much younger looking woman stepped forward, her dark red eyes behind her glasses catching Malcolm's attention almost as much as her sly little smirk.
"They aren't a favourite of mine, however, they are common. The SN community is bombarded daily with allegations like this by heinous individuals who wish us harm. Quite frankly, it repulses me. I myself have been the topic of discussion in many rumours and I've been attacked in the streets before. It isn't a fun life to lead. We're just trying to live in peace, yes there may be individuals who wish to live otherwise but not all of us represent that type of cause," Malcolm sighed, checking his watch, "if you would excuse me, I have to get back to my office."
The crowd parted to allow Malcolm to pass through, walking to his car with, thankfully, no more interruptions. The drive from the courthouse back to the central office Malcolm worked in was too far, although he did manage to get stuck in rush hour traffic. Just his luck as usual. Parking around the back, Malcolm avoided many of the reporters and staff in the lobby by using the service stairs. He simply didn't have time to stand and chat for hours, he was a busy man.
"Speak of the devil," Malcolm cursed under his breath, having thought he had managed to slip past Reivon's spectacular hearing, "you know the drill, Mal, march that pretty ass in here and tell us the good news."
"I'll be at Ari's tonight, Rei, can't this wait?" Malcolm grumbled, spinning on his heel and walking through the door he had practically sprinted past. Inside the meeting room sat Slate and Arian, clearly having been in a somewhat important discussion.
"Two little words, Mal, it won't take you long if you don't protest," Slate grinned, leaning back in his seat, "why do you have to avoid celebration all the time? Don't tell us it's bad news?" Malcolm couldn't help but smile, rolling his eyes.
"I won," the three men chuckled and said their congratulations, with Reivon patting Malcolm on the back, "can you inform Tia that she can come here for an exclusive interview whenever she wants? She doesn't need to join the mob outside the courthouse every time."
"She doesn't like to think she's been gifted with her job, she likes to believe she worked to be where she is. I will tell her though," Reivon said with a nod and a warm smile, one that didn't often grace his sharp features.
"So red wine tonight?" Arian chimed in, "your treat, of course," Malcolm chuckled at his little brother's comment, he thought he was far funnier than the reality.
"You know where to find me," Malcolm called back as he strode from the room and down the hallway, managing to actually make to his office that time. Removing his blazer and hanging it by the door, Malcolm sat down heavily at his desk, his eyes immediately locking onto the pile of case files in front of him. Of course he had to pick a profession where the job never ends.
Malcolm loved his job, as much as he made out that he didn't. He liked to celebrate his wins, and review his losses. He liked to be in the courtroom, to believe he was helping people, putting away the guilty and saving the innocent from the same fate. He was unique in his field, one of a kind, and that wasn't arrogance speaking. It was pure facts.
Malcolm represented only those in the SN community, be it under defence or prosecution. It wasn't the profession he had intended to move into, rather he simply wanted to be on the board of directors of SNRS, but he found it was necessary. And he was good at it. His friends had always mentioned he could argue a good point, and they often avoided getting into heated discussions with him due to this.
When Malcolm had noticed how many human lawyers were unwilling to represent SN clients, he chose a new path in his life. It didn't take him long to get his qualification and, with that, his reputation skyrocketed. His name was everywhere for nearly three years. The publicity was intense, but it got more air time for Malcolm's cause and that made everything worth it. After nearly twenty-five years in the game, Malcolm had become a worthy adversary to all who challenged him.
"Coffee, Mal?" Arian roused Malcolm from his thoughts, lingering in the doorway of his office holding two steaming mugs.
"Thank you," Malcolm smiled, trying not to burn his hands as he took the mug from his brother, immediately feeling somewhat more energised when he sipped the boiling liquid, "you better not have enchanted this," Malcolm joked, having never allowed his little brother to forget the time he put a curse on him through a plate of pancakes. Harmless really, and with good intentions, just a little truth spell to make Malcolm spill whatever had been plaguing his mind back then.
"I learnt from my mistakes," Arian smiled weakly, not looking like his usual bright self. Disconcerting.
"How did your lunch date go?" Malcolm had hoped to lift Arian's spirits with that question, but the man's expression only grew darker, "did something happen, Arian?" the brotherly instincts in Malcolm piqued, that flame within him sparking up and spreading into his veins. Malcolm was protective over most that he met, it was in his nature to be, but he reserved the true concern for his little brother.
"He stood me up," Arian murmured with a bland shrug, his eyes averting to his hands, "I waited half an hour and he didn't show. He's dodging my calls now," Malcolm frowned, not liking the grim tone his brother was using.
"Well, fuck him, he's not worth it," once again, Malcolm had hoped for some iota of happiness to break through the blanket of misery that seemed to be shrouding his little brother, yet nothing came of it. Malcolm had known for years that Arian was lonely, he also knew how heavily it weighed on the man's shoulders. Arian didn't share the confidence that Malcolm had, he couldn't just walk up to another man and ask him on a date. As much as Malcolm knew the man wanted to sometimes.
"Ari, you'll find someone, OK?" Malcolm caught Arian's eye, smiling reassuringly despite the nonexistent response he received, "in case you haven't noticed, none of us seem to be doing well in the dating department, buddy, even Slate isn't contracting at the moment," finally, Malcolm got that chuckle he had been looking for, albeit weak, "it'll be OK. Think about it this way, in a year's time, you're still gonna have your looks, and your charm, and your enormous brain. It's me you should be worrying about, I'm getting old, losing touch."
"You only look thirty-four, Mal," Arian shared in a laugh with his brother as he walked back over to the door he had entered through, Malcolm's goal was accomplished.
"That's nearly ten years older than you, I'm practically geriatric," Arian merely rolled his eyes playfully, halfway out the door when Malcolm called out to him, "pick a colour," Malcolm motioned to the files in front of them, each tagged with a different colour at the corner.
"Red," Malcolm held up the two files that were both tagged with different shades of red, "cherry," Malcolm nodded, returning the other to the pile and bidding his brother goodbye with a fond smile. Some would say picking cases based off whatever colour attracted the most attention was wrong, but how else could it be done? High priority cases were brought to him in a different format, so they were dealt with first. Choosing his other cases based upon simple little aspects like a colour made his decisions far less biased.
"Murder, interesting choice," Malcolm muttered to himself upon opening up the file once he was alone.
Archer Moir, nine hundred and twenty-four, found slaughtered in a back alley by his little brother, Eden. Malcolm felt a twinge of sorrow, he couldn't imagine losing Arian, Eden mustn't be doing too well.
Archer had been an angel, stabbed by a golden knife that had been left impaled in his corpse and - Malcolm grimaced - the leading evidence that had found the accused murderer was the semen on Archer's shirt. Malcolm shook his head, letting out a hefty sigh, he didn't understand how humans could get off on death, it was sickening.
Malcolm supposed he was hypocritical with that thought, since he could completely understand how Reivon got off on death. He had been present at a number of Reivon's kills, had witnessed how it affected the vampire, but surely that was different. It was in Reivon's nature to desire the hunt, he had explained it once, it was like another side of him took over.
'The beast' a pretty common name for the more animalistic counterparts of the SNs Malcolm had encountered, one that linked every almost every creed together. Everyone had a beast, and every beast was different. In Reivon's case, his beast yearned for blood, for carnage, and it caused near insanity if the vampire didn't give it what it craved.
Maybe humans had 'beasts' too, or maybe they didn't. Maybe Kailen Henderson was just a sadistic sociopath who got off on pain and suffering. At least Reivon's beast was justified, he had to hunt to live. Kailen merely killed for fun.
Malcolm's mood darkened with every word he read, every report he skimmed over and every picture he forced himself to stare at. Archer looked as though he hadn't died a pretty death. He was tortured. Although the stab wound to his heart seemed to be the cause of death, he hadn't gone quickly. Archer, the poor boy, had been burnt alive beforehand, words like 'abomination' and 'monster' carved into his skin. He would have died alone and in agony. A fate Malcolm wouldn't wish on many.
Worst of all, his wings had been mutilated. By instinct, an angel will wrap its wings around itself as a form of defence. They aren't malicious creatures, not like vampires and wolves could be perceived. They are passive, believers of peace, kind-hearted. Pure. They don't really have any offensive powers, hence why reapers tend to provide security for them if required. Angel wings are sacred, and it damn near infuriated Malcolm when he read of what Kailen had done to Archer's.
Archer would likely have had to have been terrified for his instincts to kick in and bring out his wings against his conscious will. And, instead of leaving the poor defenceless boy alone, Kailen, joined no doubt by others judging by the wounds inflicted, just continued on with their assault. Likely unable to pry Archer's wings apart, Kailen had slashed that knife through them, turning them to bloodied shreds. Then, after listening to Archer's screams of agony, Kailen simply held down one of the boy's wings, and cut it right off his body.
It was in cases like that, cases of malice and of true depravity, that Malcolm wished he still lived in the darkness. He wished that he had never led the cause to step out of the shadows, wished they still shrouded him and his kind, since they were more than useful for one particular act. After all, nobody ever believed the boy who cried wolf, or the tales of the monsters in the closet.
"Someone needs an early night," Malcolm scowled at Slate, who had caught him trying to stifle his yawn, "I can give you a massage if you like, it'd put you right to sleep," Slate smirked wickedly, trailing his finger over Malcolm's shoulder as he passed him.
"I wouldn't trust you not to stray," Slate chuckled lowly, collecting some plates from the cupboard and placing the stack on the corner of the dining table.
"Mal, if you just took me up on my offer, I could give you one of the best nights of your life. Just ask Rei, he was pretty satisfied last week," Malcolm's eyes snapped to Reivon's, who glowered at Slate from his seat at the head of the table.
"You actually let him fuck you?" Malcolm gawped almost as much as Leon, who seemed to have forgotten all about whatever he had been frowning at on his phone. Slate simply remained where he stood, that hungry expression on his face and that dark glint ever-present in his bright eyes.
"I've been out of wedlock to Vinni for quite some time, old habits die hard, I suppose," Reivon shrugged nonchalantly, acting as though he didn't care that they knew, although his expression said otherwise, "I wanted to know if he lived up to the image he's made for us."
"And did I, pet?" Slate tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, his eyes never straying from Reivon's, scrutinizing the vampire's expression.
"You were..." Reivon paused for a second, yet didn't break the eye contact with Slate, "good enough," Slate chuckled, stepping closer to Reivon and picking up the knife next to him.
"As long as 'good enough' keeps you coming back for more, it was quite an interesting night for me, I wouldn't mind a repeat," Slate ran the knife across his wrist, slicing through the flesh with ease and not flinching in the slightest, allowing his blood to drip into Reivon's empty glass. Reivon gripped Slate's wrist, bringing it closer to his mouth, staring up at the wolf with innocent eyes. As innocent as he could make them anyway.
"I prefer to drink from the source, do you mind?" Reivon's voice was awfully breathy and Malcolm had no doubt in his mind that both of the men were likely sporting some serious erections. If they weren't fighting, they were flirting. Mercilessly.
"I'm not drunk enough to watch this," Leon muttered, rising from his seat opposite as Reivon sank his fangs into Slate's wrist, causing a soft growl from the latter, "another drink, Mal?"
"I'll join you in the kitchen actually," Malcolm knew when to leave Slate and Reivon alone to their own devices, he had learnt that the hard way.
"Dinner'll be five minutes," Arian said when Malcolm and Leon entered the kitchen, obviously assuming they were getting restless.
"Make it ten," Arian glanced over his shoulder, frowning at Leon's request until realisation set in.
"I swear to God, they better clean up this time. It's pretty difficult explaining to a maid who knows you don't get laid why there are cum stains all over your damn living room," Malcolm chuckled, opting out of another glass of red wine when Leon offered, choosing tap water instead.
"Was it a clean win with Isiah's case then?" Leon asked, leaning on the counter opposite Malcolm, both trying their best to stay out of Arian's way.
"For the most part," Malcolm nodded, "there wasn't much physical evidence that he'd actually assaulted the woman, other than vampire bites and heroin residue. The woman was a pretty shit actor too," Malcolm sighed, shaking his head, "it pisses me off. How do people think they can do this to us? Why do they think it's acceptable to ruin someone's life like this? All for a few thousand dollars in retribution? It's driving me insane."
"They're not all like that. You just deal with the minority that are. Don't lose your faith," Leon was an optimist. He saw the beauty in the world and tried his best to avoid the ugly. Malcolm wished he had that option.
"I won't. I'm still as committed as I was thirty years ago. It just gets to me sometimes."
"It gets to all of us, Mal," Arian contributed, serving the pasta dish he had made on the plates Slate was supposed to have brought in before he got too distracted. Luckily, Malcolm had thought to pick them up before he joined Arian and Leon in the kitchen.
"We can't act like we're entirely not to blame either," Arian continued, "we may have believed what we all did was for survival but, under the law we abide by now, we're the worst criminals out there," Malcolm knew Arian was right, he had no viable argument against his little brother, so, for once, he just remained quiet.