In the Beat of a Wing {boyxboy}

Chapter Sixteen

~Monday 11th February 2013~

Malcolm sat heavily in his chair, placing his briefcase on his desk with a sigh. He was distracted, far too distracted to work. There was too much on his mind, too much that he couldn't work through in his head. He had tried. Had spent the past two days trying to figure everything out on his own, trying to find some sort of solution to the ten thousand problems plaguing his mind. He simply couldn't, thinking wasn't enough.

Rising from his seat, Malcolm walked over to the filing cabinet next to the door. He crouched down, unlocking the bottom drawer with a key he had hidden behind a piece of the skirting board next to the cabinet. He took out the ingredients he needed, and the white marble bowl, locking the drawer and returning to his desk. It only took him a few moments to combine the ingredients, having memorised the ritual years ago.

Blue smoke seeped out of the bowl, billowing out onto the carpet, writhing and coiling as it moved. The tendrils made their way to the chair across from Malcolm's desk, drifting up over the chair opposite, consuming it whilst they curled together, making a new form. Malcolm placed the bowl on the floor, sitting back in his chair, waiting for the ritual to be completed.

"You haven't done this in a while, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me," the smoke said once it had formed a complete person. That person wore Malcolm's smirk, wore his face too, but where the real Malcolm's eyes were a bright ice blue, the fake's were a stark, soulless white.

"I don't like doing this, I certainly don't want to make a habit of it," Malcolm rested in his hands in his lap whereas the fake crossed his legs, settling right ankle on his left knee.

"That's because you're boring, Malcolm, you've always been boring, your name quite literally spells it out. Our little brother took a unique name but you wanted to blend right in, wanted your personality to stand out, rather than your title. You took Malcolm because, despite being the forefront of this stupid little scheme of yours, you still like to dwell in the shadows just as much as you used to," Malcolm rolled his eyes, wondering if maybe this had all been a poorly thought out idea.

"I didn't waste my energy to debate my personal choices. I need to talk and, sadly, you're the only one who'll listen."

"Because you don't really want anyone else's advice, you want your own, you know that only you can make this decision. You don't want anyone else's interference because they have no idea what you're going through," the fake chuckled lowly, still wearing that smirk that Malcolm hadn't used often very recently, "you act like the big brother, Malcolm, act like the protector, the goddamn judge, jury and executioner, but really, you don't trust a single person around you. You don't even trust your own blood."

"This was a mistake," Malcolm muttered with a sigh, leaning forward to end the ritual.

"OK, OK, wait," the fake held out his hand, his attempt at using Malcolm's power failing miserably. Malcolm wouldn't be as stupid as to give that side of him any degree of power. The fake couldn't even stand up from that chair, couldn't be heard by anyone else, couldn't be seen. It was powerless, essentially just a figment of Malcolm's imagination. That dark part of his soul simply toeing the line of the tangible, physical realm. A spirit, if you will.

"I'm listening, I'll stop," the fake muttered with a roll of his eyes, "how about we start with Saturday, last Saturday? Have you spoken to Eden about what happened yet?" Malcolm settled back, letting out yet another sigh.

"No, he didn't want to talk about it before, I'm not sure a week is going to have done much difference for his psyche."

"You're underestimating that boy and you know it. He's dealt with the death of his own brother, in fact, he witnessed it, are you going to bring that little tidbit up or leave that out too? Have you ever thought that maybe your emotions are clouding your ability to ask the right questions on this case?" Malcolm shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable despite knowing it was all in his head. The fake was right, Malcolm's emotional state towards Eden, his uncontrollable feelings for the boy, they were impairing his judgement. He was avoiding questions because he didn't want to upset Eden, when really the answers were imperative. If it had been any other case, Malcolm could have forced out those answers, instead of letting them stay hidden in the darkness.