Twenty Eight

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Chapter Twenty Eight:

"Theo."

"Theo!"

Theodora grumbled, eye's remaining shut.

"Theodora!"

She sat up, eyes barely open in the dark. Her vision focused on an alarm clock that read it was only four o clock in the morning. Malcolm was standing up, looking over her.

"What?"

"My mother saw me opening the box."

"What box?" She took a deep breath, mind clicking information together. Her eyes went wide, "Wait—"

"I saw the women then she yanked me away and told me to stay out of his things." Malcolm said slowly, as if not believing it himself.

"How do you know?"

"I put Chloroform on my pillow—"

"You what!" Theodora slid off the bed, standing just in front of him. "Are you insane!"

"I think my mother has been dosing me with it. In the tea she always makes, the chamomile."

"Where the hell did you get a bottle of chloroform?"

He shrugged, "I know people."

Theodora stared at him, mouth forming a straight line. "Where did you think to even—"

"Dr Brown. I spoke with her before I clued things together. She told me about it and it sounded familiar, the notes of it, I mean. And said that if I'd been dosed before, doing it again might unlock the parts of my brain that have been forced to close."

She sighed, "Are you... alright?"

Malcolm pursed his lips, eyes darting all around the room. "No. No!"

Theodora's eyes widened, watching as his emotions shifted. As if his brain was replaying everything, letting it settle in. His hand began shaking, his eyes unusually bright.

"She knew. My mother." He mumbled, "She yelled at me as if I was the one who did something wrong—"

"Hey, calm down. Deep breaths."

He paced around the room, rubbing his temple. "She knows about the girl in the box! She's been telling me all these years that I saw nothing, that it was just my imagination!"

"Malcolm—"

"It's too much." His voice dropped, shaking his head. He flopped onto the mattress, holding his arms around himself. "I can't think."

Theodora sat beside him, "It's okay. Thinking sucks, anyways."

He glared at her, dropping his hands into his lap. One began to shake, and he just watched with a frown.

"We'll get answers. Not now, maybe not in a few months but eventually you'll get your answers."

"Eventually is to long."

His hair fell onto his eyes, but he stayed put as if he was frozen. Theodora frowned, not knowing what to do. Usually she did, yet right now her mind couldn't process a solution.

"Maybe it wasn't real, Mal. I mean, dreams can be tricky."

"She was wearing a red dress. I opened the box half way, saw the woman... I stumbled backwards and the lid shut. She was there, she had grabbed ahold of my arm and started yelling at me." He whispered, "Said I knew better than to snoop at my father's things."

Theodora took a deep breath, "Your mother is a lot of things, Mal... but I don't think she'd be capable of something like that."

He glanced at her, "I don't believe you."

She rolled her eyes, he knew her to well.

"Go back to sleep." She told him, "Go see your therapist in the morning, talk through it with her."

"Yah." He nodded, "That's what I'll do."

She smiled, moving the hair from his eyes. He moved closer and leaned his head on her shoulder, "Thank you."

"Go to bed, loser."

He huffed, "You go to sleep, too."

Theodora snorted, crawling to the other side. "I will, thank you very much."

•••

Malcolm sat across from his therapist, the same one he'd been going to since that night as a child. The women stared at him with a worried gaze, a look he was used to reviving. His hands shook, and no matter what they couldn't stop. He grabbed onto one with the other, but then they both would begin to shake.

"She knew." Malcolm began, "She saw me open that box..."

"Malcolm, that was only a dream."

"I've been seeing the same thing for years. Now the events continue, this isn't just a dream. It's my subconscious finally revealing another part of the same event—"

"Malcolm, you need to take a breath."

"I am fine!"

Deep breaths. Theodora had told him when he'd awoken her. Thinking sucks, anyways.

He laughed, rubbing his eyes with one hand while gripping a glass cup in the other. The glass was almost empty, and he took a shaky sip of water.

"Malcolm, we can get through this. We've done this work before... but I need you to talk to me."

Malcolm looked up, "Tell me about my mother."

Her eyebrows knitted together, nodding slowly. "She's, Uh... a complicated women."

"Complicated like she's hard to figure out or complicated like she has 23 murders on her conscience?"

Her eyes widened, but her lips remained shut.

He raised a finger and pointed it at her, "I told her about the girl in the box before I called the police on my father. She shut me down, she got angry at me like I'd done something wrong!"

"But you didn't—"

"Maybe I did! What if— what if she didn't want me to call the cops... if my mother knew what my father was doing she was complicit and they would've arrested her too."

"Remember, you're taking all of this from a dream. You're starting to sound a bit obsessive—"

"Because I am!" Malcolm shouted, the glass gripped tighter in one hand. "My parents are the Whitly's! The perfect couple, the world on a string— my mother's dream. What wouldn't she do to protect that? What wouldn't she do—"

Glass smashed and hit the ground, a stinging sensation coated his hand. Malcolm jumped up, a panicked noise escaping his lips. Blood dripped from is palm, tiny shards of glass puncturing the skin.

He grabbed three tissues from the table nearby, jamming them onto his palm.

"Maybe we should talk about adjusting your medications—"

"My meds are fine." He huffed, charging for the door.

"Malcolm, you cannot walk out of here." She called after him, "You're in crisis."

He turned to face her, waving a shaking hand. "Finally. We agree."

His phone buzzed in his pocket, he prayed it was Theodora. She'd have something to say to calm him down, she always did.

He slipped it from his pocket and clicked answer, holding it to his ear. "Bright."

It was Gil, but no matter what, it was an excuse to leave and something to pull his mind away from his dream. He sighed, "Thank god. Gil, what do you got?"

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