Misc.

prodigal son 1

"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.