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Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Two:

"They're ready for you now."

Malcolm jumped up, Theodora following seconds later. He was off, determined to speak with his father. Theodora stayed a few steps behind, giving him room to breath. Each hallway seemed double the length than the last time she had been here, and the guards lining the walls seemed even more dull and dreary.

Even from behind Malcolm, she could sense the mood change. The air around him shifted, and he carried himself different. He was determined and focused, knowing what he wanted and expecting to get it. In front of his father he couldn't be himself, couldn't show any weakness because Martin Whitly was already ingrained in his mind and Malcolm wasn't letting him take over anymore than he already had. His guard was up, showing no emotion as he stopped at the closed door.

"What are you doing here?" Martin's main guard questioned, "You're not supposed to be here."

"I'm talking to my father." Malcolm walked around him, staring through the small square of glass. "I just need five minutes." He banged on the window. Theodora peeked over his shoulders, standing on her toes. 

Martin was sitting at his desk, an open book balancing on his knee. He looked at the window, eyes widening when he spotted Malcolm. He raised his hands, closed the book and got up. "What's the point of taking away visitation rights when you're not going to listen? Your mother's gonna kill me."

"Why did you agree to help her?"

Martin was right against the glass, sighing loudly. "We'll the first rule of co parenting is listening to your partners needs."

Malcolm's hand shook violently, he closed it into a fist. "Oh. Aw." Martin exclaimed, "You feel rejected. Oh, I should've known."

She wrapped her hand around his, glaring at the man on the other side.

"You're a profound narcissist. You have no idea how I'm feeling."

"I think Malcolm, I might understand you a little bit more than you give me credit for." He chuckled with a shrug, "I mean, you do keep coming back."

Malcolm took a deep breath, "Did she know about your murders?"

His father's eye narrowed, then he pressed his ear against the glass. Voice loud, "Come again?"

Malcolm raised his voice, "Did my mother know you were a serial killer before your arrest."

"Ooooo." Martin's eye's were filled with glee, "That's a big accusation. And it presents a bit of a conundrum... if I say yes, you won't believe me. If I say no, you'll be relieved. But, apart of you will remember I've been accused of being a pathological liar. You tell me, which answer do you want to hear?"

"The truth." Malcolm replied, defeated.

His father clicked his tongue, "The truth? Oh, well, that takes time. And it can't be shouted through protective glass." He tapped on it, slowly backing away. "You and your mother need to sort out your issues first and I don't want to get in the middle of that. No, thanks."

Malcolm was breathing heavy, and his hand shook with more force her hand moved with it. She nudged him out of the way, peeking through the glass. "Can I talk to you. In private, please."

"What are you doing?" Malcolm whispered. "I don't want you alone with him."

"I'm trying something."

Martin approached the door once again, "Perhaps." He motioned at the guard behind them, and the man vanished for moments before a buzzer went off and the door opened. Theodora walked in, the guard close behind, leaving Malcolm in the hall alone.