don't get me wrong () prodigal son SLOW UPDATES

Two

Chapter Two:

Theodora sat on the granite countertops of her friends kitchen, eating left over Chinese food she had dug up in his fridge.

Cross legged, her legs began to cramp, but she refused to move because that would mean... well, moving.

The door opened downstairs and heels clicked up the steps, only for an older women to pop her head out and frown when she realized it wasn't her son that was home.

"What are you doing here, Miss Fletcher." The women asked, crossing her arms. "There is a dining table, you don't need to sit right on the counter tops."

She shrugged, plopping a chicken ball into her mouth. "Malcolm isn't home." She mumbled, food still in her mouth. Maybe if Theodora was acting 'inhuman' as his mother liked to call her, the women would leave.

Of course, they both had different beliefs on what inhuman meant. Shame on Theodora if she spoke with her mouthful, but her serial killer ex husband, no, he was just that. Her ex husband. Never to be mentioned or else she may have a meltdown.

"When did he leave?"

Theodora glanced at the clock to her right, slowly bringing her focus back onto the ridiculously well dressed women.

"About two hours ago."

She huffed, "Well, tell him I stopped by. Shall you?"

"I shall." Theodora replied in a fancy voice, "I most certainly will mention it."

"Tell him I'm expecting him to be home at 6 sharp for a family dinner!"

Her heels clicked all the way back downstairs, and Theodora was surprised she was leaving without a bigger fight.

"You, my dear, are not invited."

The door slammed, and she finished chewing her food. Taking a big gulp of water from the cup beside her, she sighed, picking at the leftover rice that remained.

"Don't let her in." She mimicked Malcolm's voice, "Whatever you do, don't let her in."

She shook her head, "How could I forget she had a key? That women is crazy—"

The doorknob jiggled, echoing up the stairs. Theodora covered her mouth, praying if it was his mother she hadn't heard her. Instead of the clicking of heels, the sound of flat shoes scrapped up the stairs until Malcolm rushed into view, stopping only when he noticed her.

"Are you seriously sitting on my countertop?"

Theodora shrugged, "Why not?"
"You're mom stopped by."

He grumbled something, as he disappeared into his room, only to come out seconds later with a new trench coat on and grabbed her arm. She slid of the counter and landed on her feet, trying to keep up with him as they trampled down the stairs and back out the door.

"What the hell is going on!" She yelled, yanking her hand away. "Mal—"

"I got a case."

"The one you were talking—"

"No!" He grinned, locking his door and turning on his heel across the street. "I'm helping the NYPD."

She ran after him, "I need more information than that!"

"They need a Profiler."

"How did this happen?" She questioned walking quickly next to him. "I mean— do they know the F.B.I fired you?"

He glared down at her, "Don't know. But I thought you'd want to come, you're pretty good at murder investigations."

Theodora snorted, "Of course. With all my intense training."