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Malcolm followed his dreams just as he said he would. He started doing free magic shows in the park for kids. He began travelling and taking on small paid shows at various restaurants and bars. And before long, Malcolm Bright became a rather well-known family name when he was contacted about making a television show alongside other amateur rising-star magicians. “Beyond the Illusions”, as the show was called, debuted in August and ran three successful seasons, each episode following the lives of these magicians as they went about their year. None of the show, to Malcom’s relief, centered on anything in the stars’ pasts, for which he was grateful. But by the end of season three however, Malcolm was ready to move on and said goodbye to the other magicians and studio production team that had become like family to him.

Malcolm Bright’s fame grew larger from there, and he soon became a national hit, playing shows in Las Vegas, New York, Miami, and even in the White House itself. Of course, playing at the White House had resulted in a rather interesting conversation with the FBI who had discovered his rather unique upbringing and gruesome past, but once he was cleared by security, he’d had a blast meeting the President, Vice President, and their guests.

Of course, all of this traveling kept Malcolm fairly busy. His love for making the crowds believe in things they couldn’t explain was his source of pride, but sometimes he needed time for those who centered him at his core. Gil and Jackie were basically his parents, and he called them every week on Saturday mornings, checking in on them and their lives, and promising to visit sometime soon. Ainsley, who was still attending debutante academy, was a little harder to get in contact with, but both made time every other week on Sunday evening to chat for an hour or two. As for his mother, he called her once a month, but the two of them weren’t close. He loved his mother, but his irrational fear that she had known about his father’s murders still haunted his mind, and he could never bring himself to fully trust her.

That was another thing. The past didn’t just up and vanish for Malcolm, despite his hard-earned fame. Some places discovered his roots and wanted nothing to do with him despite his role as a victim. Others pitied him, which he hated even more. And then there was the third type who knew of his sketchy origins but tried not to let it sway their judgement of him. He respected that. Still, night terrors, though less frequent, still occurred now and again and often resulted in the hotel he was staying at calling or sending someone to check on him out of fear of his having been murdered in his sleep -it was that loud of a scream. This always resulted in embarrassment for Malcolm, but nothing money couldn’t handle to keep the hotel and its staff quiet.

His therapy sessions with Gabrielle continued because of these lingering episodes, usually over skype rather than in person. Malcolm had been officially diagnosed since childhood with Complex PTSD, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Night Terrors, Reactive Attachment Disorder, Acute Stress Disorder, and Bipolar Disorder with depressive episodes. All of which he took pills to combat. His life was not easy, but he made the most of it.

After traveling the world once more, this time as a famous Magician, Malcolm began to turn his interests towards helping victims. It had always been his dream as a child to stop bad guys. While being a magician brought joy to the people and himself, Malcolm wanted a more active role in helping men like Gil put away people like Martin Whitly. As he’d told The Surgeon last time that they met almost 5 years ago, he had no interest in murder, however… if it meant being able to save lives, perhaps he could admit it, if only to himself, how alike they were when it came to being able to read the human body and its hidden languages.

And so, his mind made up, Malcolm joined Harvard University’s online Psychiatric program and earned himself a Doctor of Medicine degree, majoring in Biochemistry and Psychology and specializing in Behavioral Sciences, all of which he completed in a record breaking two years. He then completed his residency at Saint Thomas’ Hospital in London, England where he was doing magic shows on the side in various stadiums throughout Europe.

Now a doctor in his own right, Malcolm Bright decided perhaps it was time to return home and visit family. He never realized how much this decision would change his future.

Gil was restless as he sat in on his meeting with the higherups. He could barely stay seated, his body needing to move as his thoughts churned. Malcolm was coming home. He hadn’t seen his kid in nearly ten years. The boy had only been eighteen when he’d left home, just a child still, but finally he was returning and this time as a man. Gil couldn’t imagine what he must look like now, almost twenty-eight. Sure, he’d seen videos and pictures sent to him by Malcolm of the kid’s shows, but it wasn’t the same as seeing his son in person. And yes, that’s exactly what Malcolm is to him and Jackie, their son, blood related or not. He couldn’t wait to hold him in his arms.

Still wrapped up in his own thoughts, Gil didn’t even realize the meeting had been ended and everyone dismissed until Chief Holcomb gently touched his shoulder.

“Gil, you seem distracted, which is very unlike you. Anything I can help with?”

Gil let out a breath in apology, shaking his head.

“Sorry about that Ray. I just… Malcolm’s coming home tomorrow.”

Chief of Police Ray Holcomb who had once been Gil’s Captain knew Malcolm about as well as Arroyo himself. The Chief was like a grandfather to Malcolm and communicated with the boy regularly through email. He hadn’t been aware however, that Malcolm was set to return home so soon.

“Oh? Well, isn’t that good news?” he grinned, joyfully slapping the other man’s shoulder.

Gil chuckled, nodding. “Very, just… excited, I guess. Nervous. You know he told me he got a medical degree while traveling the world.” Gil snorted. “Dr. Malcolm Bright, Psychiatrist,” he shook his head.

Holcomb hummed. “Suits the boy I think.”

Gil sighed, but nodded in agreement. “He always did want to be a superhero. Guess he found his path.”

Gil walked out of the meeting room and into his office. A knock on the door had him peering up at the two detectives he himself led personally within the Major Crimes division that he was the Lieutenant of.

“JT, Dani, any updates on the case?”

“Nothing yet boss,” JT shook his head, settling down into the nearest chair, “Edrisa’s still looking over the newest body for any clues into the killer.”

“You still think a Surgeon Copycat is the likeliest possibility?” Dani asked her boss.

Gil grimaced but nodded. “Yeah. I’ve seen his handiwork in person many times. The precision, the style, its all the same. All except the strange looking rope patterns on the victim’s right arms.”

“Still looking into that boss,” JT assured him.

Gil sighed, running a tired hand over his eyes. He peered blankly down at the picture on his desk. The one of him and Jackie and Malcolm when the kid was sixteen, just after changing his name legally to Bright. God, he missed that kid.

“Boss?” Dani called.

Gil looked up, having almost forgotten they were still in the room.

“You okay?”

JT looked just as concerned, watching him.

Gil smiled. “Fine. I just received word late last night that my son was due to arrive early tomorrow morning. Guess I just didn’t sleep well.”

Dani smiled, glad to know it was good news. JT just looked curious. He wasn’t new to Law Enforcement, but he was the newest addition to the team, having only arrived a year and half ago. He’d seen the pictures on Gil’s desk of course, but he hadn’t realized the boy in the photos was the man’s son. He didn’t think Gil and Jackie had any kids.

Reading JT’s facial expression, Gil chuckled. “Foster son, I guess you could say.” He sighed. “Jackie can’t have kids due to medical reasons. Malcolm is the closest thing we have to a son. He… we took him in when he was eleven and mostly raised him as our own. He’s an acquired taste, a bit blunt with his words and has a rather morbid sense of humor at times, but…” Gil smiled, his entire expression brightening, “he’s our little ray of sunshine.”

JT looked a touch uncomfortable. He and his wife Tally were considering being parents, but he still wasn’t sure if he would make a great dad. He wondered if it did happen, whether he would be as over the moon for the kid as Gil seemed to be for his foster son.

Gil cleared his throat. “Anyways, yeah, Malcolm’s coming home and I’m just a little…”

“Nervous,” Dani clarified with an amused smirk.

Gil huffed. “Yeah, a little. I haven’t seen the kid in almost ten years. God, I can’t imagine how much he’s changed.”

Dani had heard her mentor speak of his son before, but he rarely shared much about the boy other than that Malcolm was out chasing his dreams.

“Can’t wait to meet him,” Dani grinned.

She just didn’t realize how much meeting Malcolm would change her entire life.

When the plane touched down in JFK airport, Malcolm wasn’t surprised to find himself enveloped into a hug almost immediately upon stepping out of the gate. He was surprised by who was there hugging him.

“Ains?”

His baby sister, no longer a baby anymore, grinned up at him. “Welcome back big brother.”

“Malcolm.”

He stiffened at the familiar voice before allowing himself to relax. Turning, he smiled politely in the director of Jessica Whitly. “Hello Mother,” he greeted.

“Oh Malcolm,” another familiar voice caught his attention. He turned and had to steady himself when Jackie plowed into him right next to Ainsley. Both of whom were unrelenting in their hold. Chuckling, he pulled the two in as tight to his body as he could. “I missed you,” he breathed.

Jessica, if she seemed upset that he hadn’t embraced her as he had the other two, didn’t show it. If anything, she seemed resigned to the fact. While the two of them were not particularly close, it didn’t mean they weren’t family. Jessica’s eyes locked gazes with Malcolm’s own, and a silent conversation passed between them. She smiled, relieved, and Malcolm smiled back. She was still his biological mother after all.

“You look so handsome,” Jackie grinned, her eyes watery as she swept his long bangs back from his eyes and took in the changes that had occurred over the years in her foster sons features.

The tiny addition of wrinkles around his eyes. The scar that had once stood out in bright crimson upon his face, now faded to a dull red. And his neck, where the obvious ring once sat that showed where his throat had been slashed, was now hidden within the tattoo that stretched up to just beneath his chin and reaching down all the way to his waist, hiding the other scars that would never fade despite the passage of time. Jackie wanted to see them all in more detail, but she knew that would have to wait. For now, she was just happy her son was home.

“Come, I’m sure your starved. I made your favorites, lemon-lime pudding and black bean licorice soup. Ainsley even helped.”

Malcolm grinned, peeking at his sister who blushed, ducking her head. Shrugging, she pulled away from him a bit and swung her arms like she always had as a child. “Just being kind.”

“Sure,” he grinned, shaking his head as he reached out and ruffled her hair.

She ducked away from him, laughing, and Malcolm laughed with her. It was good to be home.

Though Malcolm knew he could wait and see Gil later that evening when the man was off work, the precinct had always been a second home to him growing up, and he decided there was more than just Gil he needed to greet while back in New York.

Not a lot about the station had changed since he was a kid. The most obvious things being technology and newly hired officers, but standing at the front desk per her usual, was the elderly Mrs. Juanita De Leon. She had been around when Malcolm had first arrived with Gil as a child, and there she stood, as poised and cheerful as ever.

“Well bless my heart,” she smiled, “Malcolm Bright.”

She hurried around the desk and hugged him. Malcolm laughed and hugged her back just as ferociously. The woman had used to sneak him candy the moment he walked in with Gil as a boy. Things apparently hadn’t changed much, because not a moment after releasing him, she hurried back to her desk and grabbed an entire handful of hard candies, gesturing for him to take them, making him promise he would keep this a secret between the two of them.

Promising, he took the offerings with a word of thanks and smiled as he made his way deeper into the halls of the precinct. Some faces were new, but he was relieved to find most familiar. Several were quick to greet him, shaking his hand, patting his shoulder. Others smiled or nodded in his direction. Others still seemed to realize he was familiar but couldn’t remember how. He knew before long word would spread that The Malcolm, the boy they had all helped raise with Gil, had finally returned.

Malcolm was just swinging around the corner, nearest Gil’s office, when he stumbled into a person, causing said officer to lose their balance. Quick on his feet, Malcolm was there to catch them, and found himself staring in startlement down into one of the most beautiful pairs of eyes he’d ever seen.

“Uh, hi,” he choked.

“Hi,” the woman spoke, her eyes narrowing, “thanks for the catch, but mind letting me go?”

Realizing he still had his arm around her waist, he blushed and hurriedly released her.

“Right, sorry, I… I didn’t see you there.”

“I noticed,” she replied, her eyes looking him over. “Are you… visiting someone, or…”

“Oh, yeah, right, sorry, I guess I forgot to grab a visitors’ badge. I’m uh Malcolm, Malcolm Bright.”

He held out his hand for her to shake. She stared at him, wide eyed.

“Oh my gosh, your him. Your that kid!”

Malcolm’s smiled faded. That kid? Did she know about…

“Your Gil’s son!” she continued, her expression brightening.

Relieved, Malcolm chuckled, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, that’s me,” he agreed. “How do you…”

“How would I not?” she smiled, “Gil used to talk to me on stakeouts about you all the time. Always telling me about his son who was off traveling the world following his dreams.”

Malcolm laughed. That sounded like Gil.

She cocked an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Though he never did tell me what that dream entailed.”

Malcolm blinked, his cheeks reddening. Was she… was she flirting with him? Or just digging for answers?

“Uh, Magician. I’m a professional Magician.”

The woman blinked, clearly not expecting that to be the case.

“Oh, wow, that’s… that’s so…”

“Strange?” he offered.

“Unique,” she argued, her eyes suddenly raking over him with more interest.

They settled on his face and he watched her eyes as they catalogued his facial scar and the dark tattoo that ran over his neck and vanished beneath his shirt collar. He knew she wouldn’t realize the significance of those wounds unless she had read his casefile or asked around about his past. By the way she spoke though, he knew that wasn’t how it was. She was just honestly interested in him, and he found himself somewhat intrigued in kind.

“I never did catch your name,” he told her, his blue eye staring into her own dark brown.

“Dani, Dani Powell. I’m a detective on Gil’s team.”

Malcolm smiled. “Well Dani, I have a feeling we will be seeing more of each other over the next few days.”

The detective grinned, her eyes flashing. “Can’t say I mind.”

The two parted ways, but Malcolm couldn’t help sneaking a quick glance back. Maybe there was more reason to visit than he initially imagined.

Shaking his head at his own crazy imagination, he knocked on the door that was marked by a plaque that read ‘Lt. Gil Arroyo, Major Crimes Division Head’.

“Enter,” the familiar voice shouted.

Malcolm took a deep breath and walked inside.

Gil knew Malcolm was getting in today, but he hadn’t expected it to be his son to enter his office when he had heard a light knock on the door. Staring up at the figure, he took a moment to just take him in. The kid had gotten tall, but still lean as ever. His hair was a little wilder than before, nearly touching his shoulders. He was wearing a designer brand black leather jacket with a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of black faded jeans and black boots. Gil could see the tattoo crawling up his neck and vanishing beneath the hem of his shirt. He’d been told about it by Malcolm over the phone, but to see it in person was entirely different. He smiled, rising from his chair and walking, arms outstretched, towards the boy he loved like his own.

“Malcolm,” he breathed.

Malcolm was quick to launch himself into Gil’s arms, his entire body heaving its own sigh of relief at the familiar presence now surrounding him. Comforted. Safe. Home. Gil was home to him and always would be.

“Hi dad,” he choked out.

Gil’s eyes misted and he barely kept the tears back as he clung that much tighter to the boy in his arms. Ten years he hadn’t seen Malcolm, and yet it felt like only yesterday the boy had been following him around like a shadow here at the station, only eleven years old.

“Welcome home son.”

Many people entered Gil’s office to say hello to Malcolm once they’d heard he was back. Among those was of course Chief Holcomb who greeted Malcolm not unlike Gil, wrapping the boy in a quick tight hug. Malcolm was happy to chat with anyone who wanted to and didn’t mind answering any questions aimed at his personal life. Of course, not many knew about his recent residency as a Psychiatrist in England, but almost everyone had heard of his fame as a Magician. And so, it was not unexpected when he was asked if he might put on a show for the precinct sometime. Holcomb of course thought it a fabulous idea, and Malcolm couldn’t say he minded. He agreed to it, and a time was arranged for an upcoming Saturday night at the local bar who was more than happy to host a world-famous Magician like The Malcolm Bright, especially when the owner was pleased to find out Malcom was a New Yorker.

It was a good day for Malcolm, being back home with his family and friends. He didn’t think anything could ruin a day like today. That was until, Gil received a phone call.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his tone serious.

Malcolm looked up from where he had been texting Ainsley. His sister had only just recently gotten a job as a reporter and was filling him in on her latest news piece.
“Okay,” Gil sighed, frowning. He rubbed his eyes. “I understand. We’ll be right there.”

Gil clicked his phone off and tossed it onto the desk in front of him. Malcolm frowned, concerned. He could easily read the stress his father figure was attempting to conceal. The worry, the frustration, the… the guilt. Guilt?

“Gil.”

Arroyo opened his eyes, peering at Malcolm who stared back at him. He could of course attempt to lie, to say it was nothing. To tell Malcolm it was only police business, but it wasn’t. Whoever this copycat killer was, they were near perfect. Too perfect. It could only mean one thing. The Surgeon was helping them.

“Gil, what’s wrong?”

Malcom’s gaze was questioning, but not pleading. He wouldn’t beg Gil to tell him, but since when did Gil keep secrets from his kid? Especially not secrets that could somehow involve Malcolm or his biological father.

“Lately we’ve been finding victims related to Martin Whitly.”

Malcolm stiffened; his eyes narrowed. “How so?”

“The Quartet Killings. That call was about victim number three that was just found dead in her home. It’s the same as how he did it, with the exception of some markings on the victims’ right arms.”

Malcolm was silent, waiting for more. He knew Gil had more. He could see it in the restlessness of the man.

“I…” he hesitated, his eyes flickering up to meet Malcolm’s. “It’s a lot to ask, but…”

“You want me to take a look and see if I can’t profile the killer,” Malcolm finished for him.

“I know your not officially a profiler, but you’re a doctor in behavioral sciences, and…”

Malcolm nodded; his lips pressed thinly together. “I’m the resident expert on all things related to Martin Whitly.”

The kid had been taught since he was young everything his father had recorded and learned through his ‘medical experiments’. He’d just never realized as his father talked and showed him his drawings, that all of these had been crafted at the expense of lives. That Malcolm, as a young child, had been looking at and studying and memorizing, the very tortures those souls had gone through at the hands of his own father. It made him sick to look back on it all now, but Malcolm had always had a near perfect memory recall. Every detail, every fact, every written word or drawing he’d seen, he remembered. It was why he had so many disorders he was told. His own torture, despite it being hazy in a few places, he remembered nearly all of it as clearly as though it happened yesterday.

“I can take a look.”

And Gil breathed out a sigh. It wasn’t one necessarily of relief, but Malcolm understood. He himself had mixed feelings about offering support on anything related to Martin Whitly, but if these killings were related to his father, he couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

The crime scene was packed with people by the time they pulled up to the high-class apartment building. Waiting for Gil at the front doors was a very familiar face. A face who looked shocked to see Malcolm’s own.

“Uh, why is he…”

“Long story,” Gil interrupted, “I assume you’ve met based on your reaction.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Malcolm is a psychiatrist and I wanted to see if he could give us a possible profile on our killer.”

Dani blinked, stunned. She looked from Gil to Malcolm with obvious confusion.

Malcolm cleared his throat bashfully, scrubbing the back of his neck with nerves. “Ah, yeah, I wasn’t lying to you, I swear. I am a professional Magician, but I’m also a psychiatrist, specializing in behavioral science. I suppose Dr. Malcolm Bright would be the appropriate introductory title.”

Dani gaped as the elevator doors closed shut.

When the doors reopened, Gil was ignoring the obvious drama happening behind him as they made their way into the front entrance where the body was located.

“Hey boss, so…” JT stopped when he noticed the unfamiliar face standing behind Gil and the odd look Dani was giving said unfamiliar face. “Who is…”

Gil sighed. “JT, this is Malcolm. Malcolm, JT.”

“Pleasure,” Malcolm smiled before pushing his way past towards the body.

Dani followed Malcolm, observing him curiously. JT watched them both before turning to Gil with a cocked eyebrow. “Malcolm? As in the son your always talking about?”

“One and only,” Gil nodded.

JT just shook his head and turned to observe the prodigal son he’d heard about since joining the team. Malcolm Bright, an enigma if ever there was one.

Malcolm was oblivious to the curious looks he was getting from various members of the team. Instead, his entire focus was on the dead woman. He took in her mouth, her eyes, her body’s posture, the way she was laid, the broken glass near her head. He observed the needle injection site. Why not knock her out? I mean he knew the killer was copying Martin Whitly, but it was a thousand times harder to cause paralysis rather than unconsciousness. It meant however this as had medical skills and plenty of resources at his disposal. Someone who was intimately familiar with his father’s work. Or perhaps, had been taught by the Surgeon himself maybe? No, his father had been in prison now for almost 20 years. That wouldn’t have been possible, because if so, why wait so long to act? No, it was only logical to assume that meant it was a more recent development. But clearly it showed there was a certain level of contact being had with Martin Whitly. But the only ones allowed around his father were… oh. That made sense then.

Malcolm lifted his eyes, looking at Gil for a moment in silence.

“Well?” Gil prompted.

Malcolm took a deep breath. “Your right, definitely a Surgeon copycat. I would say based on the details I could see, near perfect. This tells me the killer is obviously quite skilled with his hands. Possibly even has prior medical experience himself or has been around it enough to be able to remember and practice those skills, making them his own. I would definitely say that the precision with which they followed The Surgeons methods tells me they’ve probably had recent contact with Martin Whitly. The only people who should be able to have any contact with him are his family, the police, Claremont staff, and lastly,” he eyed Gil, “his former patients who still contact him regarding consultations.”

JT and Dani wrinkled their noses.

“People actually continue going to that psycho, despite knowing who he is and what he’s done?” Dani voiced.

“Horrifying isn’t it?” Malcolm smiled grimly.

“Yeah,” JT breathed.

Gil frowned. “So your saying you think it’s a former patient of his?”

“I would say so, yeah.”

Gil nodded. “I’ve looked at his records though, Malcolm. Those that still consult the Surgeon, there’s at least fifty of them. Doesn’t narrow down our search that much.”

The boy frowned, his eyebrows creasing. He looked back at the body. “Can I see the other two victims? I may be able to narrow it down further. Also…” he hesitated, “I need The Surgeons patient records. The one’s he allowed to keep with him at Claremont.”

“I can get them,” Gil agreed. “Anything else?”

Malcolm’s hand trembled. An acute stress reaction. Gil noticed it and his eyes softened.

“Malcolm…”

“I’m fine,” his son interrupted, “I’m fine. I just… I need to see the other bodies.”

“Alright.”

Gil sighed and looked towards JT and Dani who obviously weren’t quite able to follow the conversation.

“Dani, can you take Malcolm to see the bodies? JT, you are with me. We need to stop by Claremont after we procure a warrant.”

JT nodded and the two turned to leave. Malcolm took one more look at the woman on the floor and then followed Dani out to the street.

Dani didn’t say anything until they were inside the car heading back to the precinct. Beside her, Malcolm was completely silent, caught up in memories and his own twirling thoughts.

“You okay?” she finally spoke.

“Hmm?” he turned, blinking, and then sighed. “Yeah, sorry Dani. I’m fine, just…”

“First dead body?”

Malcolm scoffed. “No, actually. Just…” he sighed. “What have you heard about me from Gil?”

Dani frowned. “Not a lot actually. He told me about his foster son, a kid he helped raised with Jackie. A kid who always wanted to travel the world and chase his dreams. He always told me stories about you guys doing things together when you were young. Also told me stories about Jackie and him and you. Really, I didn’t get a lot of details, just… stories. Why?”

“That’s all huh?” Malcolm nodded, not entirely surprised. Gil had always been good about keeping Malcolm’s trauma under wraps.

Dani nodded in reply.

Malcolm hummed, but didn’t say anything more and though Dani wanted to push, she stayed silent. Her interest in Malcolm Bright was growing however, and she was beginning to realize there was more to this mysterious man than meets the eye.

Upon arriving back at the precinct, Dani led Malcolm towards the Morgue where Edrisa, their resident medical examiner was located. Upon entering, they found the other two bodies already out and awaiting their arrival.

“Gil called to tell me you were heading this way,” the woman, who Malcolm assumed was Edrisa, greeted. She took in Malcolm for a moment in awe before hurrying forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Dr. Edrisa Tanka, err, but you can just call me Edrisa or Tanaka or…” she took a deep breath, taking in his athletic physique, flawless skin, and chiseled features. “…whatever you want to call me is fine.”

Malcolm laughed, albeit a tad awkwardly, “Dr. Malcolm Bright, but you can just call me Malcolm.”

“Malcolm…” she whispered, her hand still clutching his.

Dani cleared her throat. “Edrisa…”

“Right, yes,” Edrisa reluctantly let go. “So, these murders,” she giggled, “they are amazing. Truly. I mean I’ve seen The Surgeon’s methods in textbooks, but to see it carried out in person is a real thrill.”

Malcolm frowned, but didn’t allow his upset to show. Dani however noticed his mood drop and her eyes narrowed with wonder.

“So, three victims, based on the toxicology report, each one was injected with a different cocktail of paralytic agents that shut their bodies down one system at a time.”

“It must have been agony,” Dani frowned.

“It was,” Malcolm spoke up.

The two turned to him in surprise. He looked away, turning to study the farthest victim. “I imagine anyways.”

Malcolm looked over the body, taking in the detailed sutures. “Wow, this suture work is amazing.” He turned to Edrisa who was making her way towards him. “These Y-incisions, your like Picasso with formaldehyde.”

Edrisa blushed. “Wow, thanks,” she chuckled, ringing her hands, “and your…” she struggled, trying to find the best way to compliment him. She felt her brain short circuit when he looked back at her. She had never met anyone so handsome. “And you’re… very slender.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, well, most foods make me sick.”

Dani shook her head. “What is happening here? Look, can we get back to the case?”

Malcolm nodded and swung back towards the body. “I would say your suspect is a serial killer superfan, obviously someone very taken with the surgeon. As I said previously, I would think someone who has access to Martin Whitly directly with details such as these. He’s probably a white male. I would say he blends in, probably doesn’t want to be seen by many people. He’s more than likely average size, average height, and smart. He’s a high-functioning psychopath.”

Dani snorted. “Sounds like me ex-boyfriend.”

Malcolm smiled at her, unsure of what to say to that, so he continued on with his explanation as though she hadn’t spoken. “He’s also inadequate.”

“Definitely Khalil,” Dani smirked.

Malcolm filed the name within his mind without really meaning to. Khalil huh?

“He can’t craft his own murders, so he mimics The Surgeon. His victims, based on the obvious, are white, over 40, and wealthy.”

“They’re also strangers,” Gil spoke up, stepping into the room with JT. “Nothing connects them that we’ve found.”

Malcolm relaxed a bit at the sight of his father figure.

“Except these,” he continued, pulling back the blanket covering the nearest victim. “These marks, the third victim had them too. All three have bruising on their wrists and this does not match The Surgeon’s methods.”

Gil frowned.

JT spoke up. “Maybe our guy handcuffed them?”

“No,” Malcolm shook his head, “these aren’t from metal. Based on the patterns, my guess is quarter inch-thick Japanese-style bondage rope. Simple, but effective.”

Edrisa chuckled. “Exactly.”

Malcolm eyed the examiner with interest. She was an odd one.

The woman blushed. “I m-mean, I agree about the rope and it’s effectiveness, a-an everything else that you said.” She looked away, clearing her throat before continuing more professionally. “Also, these bruises don’t match the time of death. They’re from earlier. Three days at least. So the women were all restrained, but not on the night that they were murdered.”

“They were into a Fifty Shades type thing, I got you,” JT nodded.

Dani hummed and Gil was silent, thinking it over.

“So,” Malcolm picked up where Edrisa left off, “We have three victims all presenting bruising consistent with BDSM. What if our killer was a dom? A professional dominant?”

“He was seeing all three of them,” Gil realized, eyes widening.

“Exactly,” Malcolm agreed.

“If he’s a pro, that means that they paid him,” Dani spoke up, “I’ll track down the bank records.”

“I’ll see if I can’t get a hurry on our warrant for the Surgeon’s files,” JT replied.

Gil and Malcolm watched them leave before they met eyes from across the room. Edrisa picked up on the tension and gave her own excuse, slipping from the room.

“Malcolm…” Gil sighed, “I’m sorry.”

Malcolm frowned. “Why?”

“For pulling you back into this. I know you don’t want anything to do with your father or his murders or…”

“No, it’s okay Gil,” Malcolm raised his hand, silencing the man, “I… it’s true, I don’t want my life to be centered around death, but I didn’t become a psychiatrist who can get into the minds of killer for nothing. I wanted to help, to… to save others from ever having to experience what I did. What I’m… still going through.”

Gil’s heart went out to his boy, wanting nothing more than to wrap the kid in his arms and never let him leave. He wanted to protect him, but he knew it wasn’t’ that simple. Malcolm Bright was an adult now, and Malcolm Bright did what Malcolm Bright wanted. Always had.

“Okay kid, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad to have you on the team for this.”

Malcolm smiled. “And I’m always glad to help, anytime you need me to.”

When they finally got a name and address of a suspect that had been seeing all three women and was paid by all three women, Gil began the process of gaining a warrant to enter the premises. In the meantime, JT, Dani, and Malcolm went ahead to investigate and try to speak to their suspect without the need of a warrant.

“Here it is,” Dani motioned to the apartment door on the fifth floor, “5J.”

JT knocked hard. “Nico Stavros, NYPD, open up!”

They listened but didn’t hear any movement. JT frowned, peeking through the crack of the door. He turned to the other two.

“Lights are off.”

“Gil said to wait to enter if no one responds. He’s working on that warrant.”

Malcolm pulled out his phone. Dani and JT eyed him curiously.

“You calling Gil?” Dani questioned.

“No,” Malcolm snorted, “Nico. His number was in the file you showed me. Maybe he’s available for a quick psychiatric session.”

JT frowned. “Dude, you only had that file for like a minute in the car. What did you do, store it in your phone the moment you saw it?”

Malcolm chuckled. “Nah, I just have a really good memory.”

Dani snorted. “Lucky.”

Malcolm chuckled bitterly. “Not really.”

He held the phone up to his ear. They all listened. The phone began to ring within the apartment and then suddenly, far to quickly for it to have done so automatically, the phone went silent. Malcolm nodded at the two detectives; his expression severe.

“He’s home.”

That was enough of a reason for JT. He turned and kicked in the door with a single hit. Malcolm followed the two officers as they led the way, their weapons drawn. As they looked for any sign of their suspect, Malcolm turned his attention to the room around him.

“Huh, this isn’t just a copycat,” he whispered to himself, his eyes drawn to the table full of scientific tools and various chemicals. “He was building electronics, compounding his own drugs. Much more than just a copycat. The profile’s wrong…”

The sound of someone groaning drew their attention to the back of the apartment where a large thick plastic tarp separated the room.

JT reached out and swiftly jerked it down in one fell swoop. And suddenly a victim was seated before their eyes, his mouth taped shut, his body nearly bare where it seated upon a chair he was handcuffed to. The victim groaned and the two cops hurried forward, attempting to help. His eyes twitched to the right. Dani followed his gaze.

“He’s still here?” she whispered.

He nodded.

She and JT lifted their guns. Malcolm raised his flashlight down the darkened hall.

“NYPD!” she started to shout, but the cloaked figure suddenly turned and fired. JT and Dani dropped down while Malcolm jumped back behind the corner of the wall. The victim hollered in fear, ducking the best he could where he still sat, locked in place.

Dani hurried to her feet. “We good?” she shouted back at her team, worried but knowing she had to go after the perp before he got to far.

“Fine, get going,” JT grunted.

“I’m good,” Malcolm assured her, “go.”

Dani nodded and took off. JT and Malcolm turned their attention back to the victim. The guy was shaking, but uninjured as Malcolm reached up and ripped off the tape. The guy whimpered at the pain it caused but was relieved to be able to breathe again. His tongue dipping out to moisten his dried lips.

“Why did Nico do this to you?” Malcolm questioned him, “were you one of his clients?”

The victim frowned, confused. “I’m not his client man,” he whimpered, “I’m Nico! He made me call those girls and set up dates. He’s a psycho man!”

Malcolm frowned. “Who did this to you? Did you see what he looked like, did you…”

“I didn’t see his face,” Nico shook his head, desperate. “Please, I’ve been in this chair for days. Get me out!”

Malcolm nodded in agreement. He ducked down with JT and the two began working to try and find any way to easily slip him out of the cuffs, but it was a metal chair, so that didn’t make things very easy. Malcolm shined his flashlight to try and see what they had to work with a little more, but then his eyes widened, taking in the flashing yellow numbers stuck to the underneath of the chair their victim was strapped too.

“Uh JT, little problem here.”

“Oh man, that ain’t good,” the detective whispered.

Malcolm could only nod his head in agreement. Now what?

JT sighed. “It’s not just my imagination, right?”

“Nope,” Malcolm confirmed, wishing it was. “It’s a bomb stuck to the chair that out victim is sitting on, which also happens to be locked to the ground.”

Nico, who’d been listening and hoping for good news suddenly squawked, his panic rising. “WHAT?!”

“Come on man, he didn’t need to hear that,” JT scolded.

“He was going to find out in a minute and thirty seconds anyway,” Malcolm shrugged, running a nervously twitching hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, trying to think.
“We need a screwdriver,” JT shouted after Malcolm who had stood to his feet, “maybe I can pick the lock.”

“There’s not enough time, but lucky for you, I happen to be a professional Magician.” Squatting down next to his victim, he studied the cuffs. They were snug, barely any wiggle room, but just maybe it could still work. He looked up at Nico. “Alright, I have a plan, but it’s going to require me to break your thumb.”

The man’s eyes widened, panicked.

“It will hurt, but it will heal. It’s either that, or we cut your hand off.”

JT’s eyes widened. “Bright…”

“What? I mean reattachment surgery has come along way, as have prosthetics, I should know, but…”

“No,” Nico cried, “Alright, alright, do it. Break my thumb. Just please… please… get me out of here.”

Malcolm nodded. He looked at JT. “Kitchen, see if you can find me any soap.”

The detective hesitated but nodded, hurrying to find what the crazy psychiatrist apparently needed. In the meantime, Malcolm went back to studying the best possible way of doing this.

“No soap bright,” JT hollered, “anything else work?”

“Uh…” Malcolm sighed. “Does the water work?”

JT turned the handle for the tap. Nothing happened. “No!”

“Damn it,” Malcolm sighed. “Alright, find me a knife then.”

“Knife?” Nico cried, his voice catching with obvious fear.

“Not for you, for me,” Malcolm assured him.

The man’s eyes were desperate, his body shaking. Malcolm felt bad for having to do this, but there weren’t many options left to them. They could try and have JT lockpick the cuffs and yeah, normally Malcolm could do the same quite easily, but these cuffs were rusted, and he doubted it would work if all they had was a screwdriver at their disposal. Plus, he didn’t exactly carry a magician toolbelt on his person 24/7, especially not after coming straight from the JFK airport and passing through a dozen stages of complex security. Might be a little frowned upon.

“Alright, here goes,” he bent down and studied the man’s hands. “It’s okay to cry, Nico,” he assured the man, and then, taking the heavy flashlight by his side, swung it down and snapped the thumb on the man’s left hand. Nico cried out, his body spasming in pain. Malcolm winced.

JT rounded the corner and handed Malcolm the knife, his eyes wide. “This better work Bright.”

Malcolm smiled. “It will. I think.”

JT did not look very confident, but Malcolm had done this plenty of times. On himself. Doing it on a victim who was obviously already quitter traumatize and strapped to a ticking time bomb, that was new.

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm lifted his sleeved and cut a rather deep slice of his upper arm, just above the wrist.

JT, who was watching the entire thing with eyes that told Malcolm he was obviously a madman, noticed the metal contraption around the psychiatrist’s wrist and cocked an eyebrow, intrigued, but not enough to ask. Malcolm didn’t bother offering him any details either. Those could come later. For now, they had a victim to free. As long as one hand could slip out, the other could remain in the cuffs until a professional took them off the correct and painless way, just as soon as they fled the building without being blown to smithereens.

“Deep breaths Nico, this will hurt a little, but the hard part is already done. Mostly.”

Stretching out his wrist above the other man’s hand, he allowed his blood to drip down and coat the victim’s fingers. While water could have worked, if they didn’t have any, blood was the next best thing. Or saliva, but blood was easier to get a larger amount of in a shorter period of time. The next most obvious thing was urine, but well… only for desperate measures and they weren’t quite that desperate yet.

“W-What…” Nico frowned, his breathing heavy as he felt the strange wetness running down his hand.

“Your fine, nothing’s wrong, just need a little lubricant is all,” Malcolm assured him, grunting as he kept the awkward position for another few seconds before finally pulling away.

The bomb read 45 seconds remaining. This would have to be quick.

“JT, get ready to grab him and run as soon as he’s free!”

JT nodded; eyes wide.

Grabbing Nico’s fingers, Malcolm began to work the man’s hand, coating it in his blood and sliding the slender digits against the inside of the cuff. Nico cried out in pain at the resistance it offered, but slowly, his hand slid free.

“GO!” Malcolm shouted.

JT didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Nico in a fireman’s carry and took off, trusting that Malcolm was right behind him. Bright followed at steady pace, yanking his leather jacket back down over the cut in his arm. It was still bleeding rather heavily and would need stitches more than likely, but he wasn’t too concerned. If being dismembered and openly dissected as a child hadn’t killed him, a small cut like this was basically nothing. Still, he wasn’t stupid. He made sure to keep pressure over top of it as he ran.
They had just reached the alley side door when the floor above exploded, glass reigning down around them and smoke billowing out into the street.

Dani was running, trying to get back to the apartment building after having lost sight of their suspect when the squealing tires of a car caught her attention. Gil.

“Dani!” he shouted, pulling to a quick stop in the middle of the road, “what happened? Where’s Malcolm and JT?”

“Still inside the apartment, I…”

Suddenly the apartment exploded, debris reigned down causing Dani to crouch, staring up in horror. Gil felt his stomach drop out of him, his heart pounding. Malcolm was in there?

People around them screamed, panicking, questioning what was going on. Gil and Dani could only stare up at the apartment before both jumped into action. Dani took off at a run and Gil wasn’t far behind her.

She slowed to a stop the closer she came to the building. It was obvious anyone who’d been up there was now dead. Running her hands through her hair, she could only gasp a silent ‘no, oh God’ as Gil stepped up beside her. His own eyes were just as wide and she suddenly remembered that was his son in there. “Gil, I’m so sorry, I…”

Sudden movement pulled both of their attentions to the side alley.

“Hey,” she gasped, her breath catching in relief, “hey! JT! Bright!”

JT looked up at the sound of her voice and gave her his own look of relief. He’d been worried, sending her off on her own like that. Giving her a nod, he hurried past her towards the ambulance that had just arrived with the victim still thrown over his shoulders.

“Bright?” Dani called.

Malcolm’s eyes were wide, his body trembling as he stared up at the fifth floor that was still billowing with thick black smoke. That had been close. Far, far too close. Any later and they would have all been…

He swallowed, closing his eyes.

“Bright, hey, you okay?”

He opened his eyes, staring up at Dani for a moment, trying to remember how to talk again.

“Yeah, uh, just… yeah.”

She studied him, uncertain. Malcolm’s attention turned away from her, his expression faltering as Gil stepped forward.

“Are you sure your okay?” the older man questioned; his voice more deep than usual.

Malcolm felt his nerves calm. He’d scared him.

“Yeah, nothing a few quick stitches can’t fix.”

Gil breathed a sigh of relief. Malcolm wouldn’t lie to him. Not about something like that.

“Come here,” he beckoned to Malcolm and it didn’t take much for him to fall forward into Gil’s arms. Safe.

Dani smiled and turned away, letting them have a moment. Instead, she made her way over to the ambulance where their victim was having his hand looked at and his vitals taken.
JT watched her approach, his gaze flickering between the two in the distance and his nearing teammate.

“The kid okay? I didn’t have a chance to check on him after everything happened.”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Gil’s got him.”

JT nodded. “You know, the dude is a bit of a psycho himself, not gonna lie, but…” he hesitated, “the man saved our vic. There weren’t a lot of options, but he stayed calm and did what was needed to be done without any real collateral damage to either of them.”

Dani frowned. “Them?”

JT nodded towards the victims hand. Dani took a closer look. The victim’s thumb seemed to be broken, but the blood it had smeared across it… that was odd, there weren’t any bleeding wounds on their victim, just bruising and some light scrapes.

“Bright cut himself and soaked the victims hand in his own blood to free our vic before the bomb went off under the chair he was in.”

Dani snorted. “Course he did. That’s kind of extreme though.”

JT huffed his agreement. “Yeah, but… there wasn’t any soap and running water in there. I checked. And honestly, I don’t think we would have gotten Nico out had he not acted as quick as he did. That bomb was counting down fast.”

Dani’s lips twitch, her gaze falling once more on the mysterious Malcolm Bright who was slowly walking up with Gil, his sleeve pulled back to show the other man the deep cut that was still dripping blood down his arm.

Her eye was drawn to the metal contraption on his wrist. A bracket?

If he noticed where she was looking, he didn’t say anything when they walked up to the ambulance. The nearest emergency responder took one look at the cut and told them what they already knew. It would need stitches.

Sighing, Malcolm nodded. “Guess I’m going to the hospital.”

Gil placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Not for long. I’ll see you back at precinct.”

Malcolm nodded before turning back towards JT and Dani. “See you both soon.”

He climbed into the back of the truck next to Nico and soon the double doors were closed and off they went.

Hours later, Malcolm met back up with the team in the precinct’s conference room.

“Our Killer’s motive, I believe, is revenge.”

Malcolm eyed each member of the team, his back to the crime board.

“He wants to inflict as much pain on them as humanly possibly before they die. That’s why he’s using the Surgeons Quartet. The Surgeon was known for his gradual and extremely painful deaths. Hence, these previous deaths were an experiment to find the most agonizing way to kill someone.”

“That’s motive,” Gil spoke up, taking a sip of coffee as he listened, “What else did you get from all this?”

Malcolm hummed. “Well, he’s white, maybe 40 or 50 years old. Rich, likely bald, and a romantic.”

Malcolm paused when his phone began to ring. He looked down, frowning when he saw Ainsley’s name pop up. He considered answering but knew now was not the best time. He hit ignore.

“Wait, go back,” Dani waved, “how do you know he’s bald?”

Malcolm huffed and scratched his chin. “Well, I don’t, not exactly.”

She hummed. He chuckled.

“His psychology implies dysmorphia. He hates his own body. Yet, we saw an imposing man at Nico’s apartment, so I’m thinking bald.”

A sudden text message alert went off on his phone and Malcolm sighed, swiping the message to open it. He frowned at what he saw written there. Gil watched him, concerned.

“Kid?”

“Hmm?” Malcolm looked up, “that’s it. Look I uh, it’s Ainsley, I got leave for a bit. I’ll be back.”

Gil nodded, watching Malcolm vanish out the door.

“Whose Ainsley?” Dani asked, picking up the scattered files on the table.

“Ah, his sister,” Gil smiled, “he’s a bit of an over-protective brother at times.”

Dani huffed. “Wouldn’t have guessed.”

Gil chuckled.

Malcolm arrived at the restaurant he had agreed to meet his family at for dinner. While he could finally face the house that he had been initially raised in, he didn’t like being there, and certainly not for any true length of time. Hence the restaurant.

“I lunched with the Egyptian ambassador last week,” his mother commented, her eyes twinkling as she looked at her son, “he has a lovely daughter. A bit curvy, but acceptable.”

Malcolm hummed, but his attention was stolen away by the message on his phone. Gil. He sighed.

“Am I keeping you from something dear?”

Malcolm blinked, startled. “Huh, uh no, just… no. Chatting with Gil. Sorry, you were talking about… Egypt?”

Jessica Whitly smiled mockingly. “Malcolm.”

“Hmm.”

“What are you not telling me?”

He stared at his mother, glanced at his sister, and then back to his mother again. Both were silent, waiting. He didn’t want them to worry about him.

Jessica sighed at his lack of response. “Ainsley, give.”

“He is working with the NYPD on their new serial killer investigation.”

Malcolm’s eye widened, his expression faltering.

“What?” his mother gasped, horrified.

Ainsley frowned. “Don’t you watch my reports?”

“Not with the sound on,” her mother responded without thinking.

Ainsley’s frown deepened. Malcolm caught it and sent her an empathetic look.

“Malcolm, I thought you said you would never get caught up in this murder business. You’re a Magician darling, and a damn good one. We finally moved on from all of this, why bring it all back into our lives again?”

Malcolm took a deep breath. She deserved to know.

“Because, um, this new killer is…” he sighed, knowing how well this would go over with her. “Copying The Surgeon.”

Her eyes widened as her hands clenched. Even Ainsley was shocked, her expression grim.

Jessica Whitly let out a shaky deep breath and stood up, dropping her napkin down onto her plate as she made her way towards the public bathroom. She couldn’t sit there any longer, she needed to get away for a moment.

Malcolm watched her go with understanding, and a small trace of bitterness. She never could stand to hear the truth, even when it was necessary.

The reporter in Ainsley came out immediately. “Way to bury the lead. Is dad a person of interest? Are there others?”

Malcolm glared at her, making sure to keep his voice down despite the emptiness of the space around them. “Maybe. I don’t know. Ains, you can’t cover this. It would cause panic!”

He took a deep breath, calming himself down. His sister watched him, waiting.

“I know your too young to remember it, but our father… he was like the boogeyman. People feared he was always around the corner, watching and waiting. He killed, at random, no real reasoning behind his methods, just pure madness. A total of twenty-three murders were proven, but I’m certain there were more. He’s dangerous, and if people think another person out there is just like him, copying him, it would be mass chaos.”

His sister hesitated, unsure of what to say. She knew her brother had been their father’s final victim. The very thought still horrified her. She couldn’t remember a lot of Malcolm’s recovery, but she could remember visiting him in the hospital when she was still quite young. And when he was living with Gil, she could clearly remember visiting and seeing his scars, bold red against pale white skin. His hands and leg, his arm, his eye…

She shivered.

“Mal, I’m sorry, I just…”

“People should panic,” their mother interrupted, sitting back down at the table with a new bottle of amber. The strong stuff.

Malcolm shook his head. That was always her solution to every problem that arose. Alcohol.

She turned her gaze back to Malcolm. “What did you mean he’s copying him?”

“Mom,” Ainsley tried, but Malcolm waved her off.

“It’s fine, Ains. He’s using the Quartet. The, uh, first three…”

“Alexis Scott, Sharice Baker, Lyla Thompson,” his mother whispered.

Malcolm and Ainsley sat there, both silent.

“He took their lives,” Jessica continued sadly, “stole them from their family…” she looked at her son. “And then he tried to steal you.”

Jessica ran her eyes over Malcolm’s facial scar, his tattoos hiding the worst of his wounds. She glanced at his hands, his leg, his eye. Martin had very nearly stolen everything.

“Mother,” Malcolm leaned forward, his expression genuine. “He didn’t, I’m here, and I know I said I wouldn’t be caught up in his world, but I went to school for Psychiatry to help people. To stop others from doing what Martin Whitly did to me. I won’t see him. He won’t become a part of my life ever again, I promise, but I must do this. If not me… who?”
His mother scoffed. “Careful, Malcolm. Don’t keep promises you can’t keep. Your father would love to know you were doing this, trying to catch the killer who was copying him. If all of this does somehow tie back to that man, then what? You’ll just ignore the lead? Let someone else handle it?”

Malcolm was silent and Jessica laughed bitterly. That was answer enough.

“He’s a cancer Malcolm, he destroys everyone and everything he touches.”

Malcolm, tired of this same argument, slammed his hand against the table. The dishes rattled and Ainsley jumped, startled. His mother stared, for once completely silent.

“Don’t you think I know that better than anyone?” he hissed.

Closing his eyes, Malcolm Bright took a long, deep breath.

“Mal…” Ainsley started to speak.

“I need to go,” he stood and didn’t look back as he made his way out of the restaurant and out into the street.

“Well, that went well,” Jessica Whitly snarked as she grabbed her glass and gulped down a large swallow of alcohol. “Glad we have these family dinners.”

Ainsley just sighed, her head resting in her hands as her mother stood and motioned for the check.

Back at the precinct, Malcolm sat in the conference room, his nerves on edge. His eyes looked over the crime board again and again, trying to find anything. A single clue that would somehow help him better narrow down their search.

The voice of his father, long silenced, returned within his mind. The things Martin had taught him as a child. The picture’s he’d shown him, drawn by The Surgeon himself. Images he had never known were of tortures used on victims. He remembered it. he could see it, even now, as clearly as though they were sitting before him.

‘The median nerve travels from the brachial plexus all the way down through to the fingertips, and that’s how we feel touch. They call it the “eye of the hand”.’
The young Malcolm within his memory smiled. ‘It’s amazing,’ he had praised.
His father had chuckled, poking his belly playfully. ‘Well, then it’s just like you. Okay, you go finish your cocoa upstairs and I’ll clean up down here, okay?’
Little Malcolm had smiled, nodding. ‘Goodnight, Dad’.
His father grinned. ‘Good night, Malcolm.’
A woman’s groan pulled his attention away from the main hall leading upstairs. A box, sitting in the distant corner.
‘Dad?’ he called.
The woman continued to groan.

In the actual precinct, Malcolm Bright had fallen asleep. Dreams and memories clashed, and his head moved back and forth, fighting, struggling against the images it was seeing. That moment when he found her. The girl in the box. Or a rendition of that moment.
“Don’t… don’t-don’t open it…” he jerked; eyes closed.

His younger self continued forward, mug in hand. ‘Dad, what’s in here?’

“Don’t…” Malcolm trembled, his body flinching minutely in the chair he was seated within.

His younger self continued towards the box.

“Don’t open it!” He shouted.
From the other room, Dani heard the shout and peeked into the conference room, concerned. “Bright?”
“Don’t… don’t open…” Malcolm continued muttering, his forehead glistening with sweat, but his dream continued despite his stress.

The boy opened the box and screamed as the girl within was revealed.

In reality, Malcolm also screamed and took off running. He had to get away from his father! He was coming! He knew he had opened it! He had to run!

His young body crashed into something, holding him back from his escape. He fought to break free. He dreamt it was his father grabbing him, taking him once again to the cabin in the woods.

In the precinct, each officer drew their gun as Malcolm slammed into Dani, knocking her to the floor. Dani grunted, attempting to sit up as she tried to calm the struggling man in her arms. She could see he wasn’t quite conscious.

“Relax, Bright, Bright, stop, relax!” She struggled to calm him. To wake him.

Those around her who knew Malcolm and his history immediately lowered their guns, but the newer officers hesitated, uncertain. Many hurried to reassure those few as Dani continued to try and break through to Malcolm. Those who were still holding their guns, she hurried to reassure.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, he’s just asleep. It’s okay.”

The man in her arms calmed, his entire body trembling as he clutched her, his fingers digging painfully into her shoulders.

“It’s okay, it’s just a bad dream, just a dream,” she whispered.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?” a voice thundered.

Everyone turned, spotting the Chief of Police Ray Holcomb, Captain Randy Shaw, and Lieutenant Gil Arroyo walking into view.

“Malcolm!” Gil hurried to his son’s side as Dani slowly drew back.

“There’s nothing to see here, get back to work!” The Captain boomed once more.

Holcomb watched as Gil whispered to Malcolm who nodded and slowly released Dani. Poor boy didn’t look at anyone, not even Gil, as the Lieutenant helped him walk out of the bull pit and towards his office.

“As you were,” Holcomb dismissed those still standing around.

Dani watched them go, her eyebrows furrowed with a mix of concern and curiosity.

Once Malcolm was calm, Gil sat beside him on his couch, a reassuring hand upon his kid’s shoulder.

“Night terror?”

Malcolm laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I…” he frowned, “I haven’t had one in a long time. I’ve been sleeping better, but this case…”

Gil nodded guiltily. “Yeah, when I told Jackie you were helping us with it, she…” he sighed.

Malcolm snorted. “She didn’t take it well, huh?”

“Understatement.”

Malcolm smiled to himself for a moment before it faded, turning to spy out Dani who was chatting with JT.

“I didn’t hurt her, did I?”

Gil snorted. “Nah, she’s like Jackie, from the Bronx. Tougher than both of us.”

Malcolm’s lips twitched.

“Look kid… Malcolm, you don’t have to dig back into this. I know what your father did, I was there. No one expects you to be okay with all of this going on. You can stop, you already did more than enough.”

Malcolm snorted. “What did I do, huh Gil? Three more women are dead. I wasn’t able to do anything.”

Gil frowned.

“I need to see this through. To the end. There’s a fourth victim somewhere out there, and I can save her. I have to.”

The lieutenant sighed. “Alright, but if it becomes too much, you’ll tell me?”

Malcolm snorted. Gil huffed. “Yeah, I expected as much.”

The two shared a look, one of born from understanding and experience.

“So, while I was out at dinner with the fame, any new developments you were going to fill me in on before my impromptu nap?” Malcolm asked.

Gil hesitated. Malcolm sat up, his stare piercing. “There is, isn’t there?”

The lieutenant groaned. “Yes, but… this counts as being something you must tell me about if it proves too much.”

Malcolm was silent, imploring. Gil sighed and drew out four metal tubes from a box that had been hidden beneath his desk.

“FID pulled these out of Nico’s apartment.”

Malcolm opened the first tube and slid out the paper within. He unrolled it and studied the design. A very horrifyingly familiar design. HE glanced up at Gil before opening the next two. He didn’t bother with the fourth.

“Gil, these are my father’s drawings, his own sketches that he did to showcase the Quartet.”

“I know,” Gil answered, his tone dismal, “but how did our killer get them? Martin Whitly is still locked up at Claremont.”

“Yeah, but this makes sense. I said it was probably one of his former patients whose our killer. My father probably gave these too him. Any luck on the warrant needed to release those files he has in his cell?”

Gil frowned. “Unfortunately, no.”

Malcolm nodded, his hands trembling. “I can get them. He’ll give them to me if I ask him.”

Gil’s eyes narrowed. “No Malcolm, your not going back to him. Never again. Your promised, remember? There must be another way.”

“There isn’t. You know as well as I, he won’t speak to anyone but me.”

Gil was fuming. He hated that he knew his son was right, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“Malcolm…”

“I need to do this Gil. Let me do this.”

“…Alright, but your not going alone. I’ll go with you, just like before.”

“If he sees you, he may not let me have them.”

“Your not going in there alone!”

“I’ll have Mr. David go in with me. It will be fine Gil, I promise.”

Arroyo was less than satisfied, but he knew Malcolm was right.

“Okay, but the moment he tries to tie you into anything, you leave. No exceptions.”

Malcolm nodded his agreement.

“Alright then.”

To say he was nervous was an understatement. He had told himself he would never come back here. Never allow himself to be caught in his father’s web. And yet, here he was, ten years after their last conversation.

“Don’t worry kid,” Mr. David assured him, “I’ll be right outside the door, watching.”

Malcolm nodded and took a deep breath. When the door opened, he stepped through into the large Claremont cell. It was far nicer than Martin Whitly deserved, and no doubt a perk of one of his loyal, wealthy patients who continued to call upon The Surgeon, or so Malcolm assumed.

His father hadn’t changed much since that day when he was eighteen. A little grayer, but no less spry. He hated it.

“Malcolm,” his father’s voice cut through the silence.

Malcolm stared the man down, his expression controlled. “Dr. Whitly.”

His father chuckled. “So serious my boy. Or should I be calling you Dr. Bright, now?”

Malcolm’s lip twitched, fighting a snarl. How did he know about that?

“God I can’t believe it,” His father continued on, “ten years.”

The two were silent.

“Your eye,” he walked forward, and Malcolm stiffened, fighting the urge to step back. “You look exhausted.”

Malcolm grimaced. “And you look fresh as a daisy. Funny how that works.”

His father smiled bashfully. “Well, I’m a vegan now, and I haven’t seen your mother in 20 years.”

He snickered, but Malcolm didn’t laugh, so the sound faded.

“Uh, please have a seat, take a load off,” Martin motioned towards the distant chair sat safely as far back from the line as possible.

Malcolm glanced at it, annoyed.

“How’s your sister, by the way?”

Malcolm huffed. It was time to just put it out there. Besides, he wouldn’t tell this monster anything about Ainsley. Not if he could help it.

“You have a copycat,” he lifted the folder he held that housed the drawings.

His father looked ecstatic. “Wha-really?” he laughed, “Well, I’m-I’m flattered.”

Malcolm scoffed. His father cleared his throat. “And deeply concerned, obviously.”

“Save it, just tell me who it is. I know you’re helping him.”

He held the folder out so Martin could see the drawings for himself. The man frowned, glancing from the papers to his journals tucked away safely on the shelf.

“Those are my drawings; how did you get those?”

“From our killer. Who is he? Why are you helping him?”

“I’m not,” his father emphatically denied.

“You are,” Malcolm stressed the words, “you drew these for him, this is proof!”

“No, they’re from my study. Journal 19, top shelf.”

Malcolm frowned, glancing to the shelf and back towards Martin who motioned him to go on and take a look. Slowly, he did as he was told. Dropping the folder onto the chair in the corner, he grabbed the journal and began to flip through it until he found a section where the pages had been ripped out. Sure enough, the papers he held in his hands fit perfectly.

“See, I was robbed. This is an outrage!”

Malcolm glared at him. “Three women have died.”

“Sure, yes, that’s an outrage too,” he shrugged. “There can be multiple outrages.”

Malcolm ignored him. “I know it was a former patient of yours. I need to see your files.”

He stepped over the line and his father’s eyes widened. “Malcolm, what are you doing?”

Mr. David stepped into the room; his expression firmly locked on Martin. Malcolm ignored all of this as he began dumping the fifty-some files out onto the desk’s surface. His father watched him curiously.

“Mostly men, wealthy, powerful, morally suspect. I had narrowed it down and most of these,” he lifted the files, “fit my profile.”

“Sounds a bit judgy. How is your mother by the way?” Malcolm continued to ignore the man. “Malcolm, there are more than forty cases in there,” his father warned.

Malcolm’s eyes swept over the files as quickly as possible.

“Alright, these are too young. Too old,” he tossed them to the side. “Not divorced. Not obese. These men died on the table.”

His father snorted. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“No, no, no…” he stopped, hesitating between two.

Martin Whitly watched him, expression one of awe. “You winnowed all those down to just two? Well tell me Malcolm, on the edge of my seat. Who is the killer?”

“I don’t know, not enough details,” he looked up, realizing he was answering the man unconsciously. His defenses quickly re-raised when he realized just how far he had let himself relax in front of this killer, his own torturer. “I can find out more back at the precinct.”

His father’s expression tightened, and Malcolm stepped back, tossing the files onto the desk. He didn’t need them anymore. He could remember their information just fine without them. He turned to leave.

“Malcolm, wait, you can’t go!”

He froze, turning back, his glare heated. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, please, we lost ten years. I know I should have supported your dream of being a Magician more than I did, but son, I just want to get to know the man you’ve become.”
Malcolm snorted. “You mean the man you nearly stopped me from becoming.”

Martin Whitly’s pleading smile faded. “Malcolm…”

“I’m not your son. The day you placed me on the table… no, even before that. The day you took your first life, you became less to me than the dirt I walk upon.”

Martin Whitly stood there, shocked. His fingers curling. Malcolm knew the sign. His father was angry. Good. Let him stay angry. Malcolm wasn’t his toy and never would be again.
Knocking on the door, he waited for Mr. David.

“Malcolm please, I can help you, future cases… even this case! Carter Burkhead, the developer, his heart attack was caused by whipping some submissive in a sex dungeon!”

Malcolm took a breath and turned back, his expression one of severity.

“Thank you for the information, but I don’t plan to become involved in anymore future cases. At least none that have to do with you. This is goodbye, Dr. Whitly.”

“That’s what you said last time, and yet, here we are,” his father reminded him.

Malcolm didn’t turn back around as he left, but he could swear he felt his father’s eyes on him the entire he walked until the moment he got into the back of a taxi.
Grabbing his phone, he dialed Gil who he knew would be waiting restlessly for his call.

“Gil…”

“Malcolm! Thank God! Are you okay? Where are you?”

Malcolm took a breath, further calming himself before he answered. “I’m fine Gil. I’m leaving Claremont now. I know who the killer is.”

Malcolm met Dani at the socialite gathering happening at the Burkhead building downtown.

“There you are,” she greeted, “Gil and JT are still with Nico.”

“What is this gathering for?” Malcolm questioned, suddenly realizing he recognized several people standing around in the halls.

Dani shrugged as they walked towards the main hall, filled with dozens of wealthy patrons. “I don’t know, some charity event that the Burkhead’s hold each year for their club.”

Malcolm flinched, stopping her. “Their club?” he questioned before whispering, “which club?”

She frowned. “I don’t know, why, what’s the matter? You a member or something?”

Malcolm huffed. “I hope not. What do we know about Carter Burkhead?”

Dani pulled up the file on her phone. “Old money, lots of it. This is a picture of him and his wife Blair.”

Malcolm hummed. “Huh, so he is bald.”

Dani snorted.

“Let’s go find him.”

The two hurried into the grand hall, their eyes searching for any sign of their suspect. Malcolm’s expression however turned grim when he noticed a rather familiar looking lady in the distance.

“Crap, detective, we’re in trouble.”

Dani’s expression turned guarded, her hand immediately reaching for her gun at his panicked expression.

“No, not that kind of trouble.”

Malcolm grimaced. Dani frowned. “You okay?”

“No. Look, do you see that woman behind us in the blue dress?”

Dani peered past him curiously. “Yeah?” She didn’t look like a threat.

“That’s my mother.”

Dani blinked. “Your mother?”

“Yeah,” he winced, “is she looking this way?”

“Uh,” Dani shook her head, trying to clear her confusion, “Yeah, why are you…”

“Great," he groaned, "Maybe you should draw your gun.”

He winced, and Dani stared at him, perplexed.

“Let’s split up.”

Before she could refute the idea, he was gone, and Dani was suddenly alone and more than a little annoyed. Heaving a sigh, she set out to find the suspect herself.

Malcolm had successful evaded his mother, but he had lost track of Dani. Berating himself didn’t help a lot, but it made him feel better. Why did he leave her alone when a possible killer was on the loose? Foolish. Stupid. All because he didn’t want to see his mother after their last dinner fiasco.

Suddenly his phone began to ring.

“Hello?”

“Malcolm. Nico just woke up. Carter’s wife Blair was one of his client’s.”

“She was cheating on him with another dom,” he nodded, that made sense. “Then that means Blair is the fourth victim.”

“Don’t do anything rash! We’re on our way.”

Dani. He needed to find her!

Following his gut, he made his way out of the grand hall and through the dark passages of the mansion and soon he heard something in the distance. Voices from a closed room. He crept closer to listen.

“Carter, what are you doing?! You said you were hunting.”

The sounds of struggles were heard. Malcolm knew he needed to act. Opening the door, he slowly, very slowly, made his way inside. The sounds quieted and he watched as Carter lowered his wife to the floor and turned to grab his paralytic drug.

The sound of Dani grunting drew both of their attention. Malcolm grimaced. She couldn’t wake up. Not yet.

Carter obviously feared she would and grabbed the gun off the floor. Malcolm knew he had to act now.

“Decisions, decisions.”

The gun clicked and Carter turned, the weapon raised threateningly.

Malcolm continued talking. “How are you going to do it, huh? Gun’s too loud and I’m guessing you don’t have enough paralytic agent for two.”

“Who are you?” Carter demanded.

Malcolm winced. “Name’s Malcolm Bright. I’m unarmed,” he took off his jacket, patting himself down to show his words were completely true. “I’m a psychiatrist Carter. Don’t worry, your still in control.”

Burkhead sneered. “Psychiatrist. You think this is about Control?”

“Yes, I do,” Malcolm nodded, eyes shining with adrenaline, “Controlling yourself. Your passion, what you want, what you desire, you have to cause it pain. Especially your wife. You dominated Blair like everyone else. And then came your heart attack, and at your weakest moment…”

“She betrayed me with Nico,” Carter agreed.

“You lost control,” Malcolm continued, his expression showing he understood this killer as he spoke emphatically. “You had to punish her, make her feel the most pain imaginable. It only makes sense that The Surgeon saved your life.”

By his feet, Malcolm glimpsed the knife Dani was pulling from her pocket. He ignored it, focusing his attention completely on Carter. The click of the knife being opened, however, could not be silenced entirely. Carter heard it and acted, his shoe slamming down on Dani’s hand before she had a chance to act. She whimpered and Malcolm winced, wishing he could move to help, but knowing it would break the enchantment if he acted out character. He had to convince carter he wasn’t a threat, but an opportunity re-imagined.

“After he saved me,” Carter spoke, “I became obsessed with his work. I studied him. He inflicted pain like no one else. That’s where I learned to do this,” he turned, the gun at the ready as he aimed towards Dani.

Malcolm was quick. He dashed forward, grabbing the needle. “No, don’t!” He stuck the need near his right wrist. The room was dark and Burkhead would have no way of knowing that this arm wasn’t real. Not unless he looked at it up close and personal. “You want to live up to The Surgeon?”

“No…” Carter stared at the needle.

“You want to be the perfect student?” Malcolm demanded.

“No, that’s for Blair!” Carter shouted.

“Shooting her doesn’t cut it!” Malcolm continued. “You need to finish the Quartet.”

“You don’t deserve it,” Carter whined.

“That’s the thing Carter, I do. I do deserve The Surgeon’s pain.” He hesitated, glancing at Dani before speaking his next line. “Because I’m his son.”

Carter stared at him, stunned. Dani too as she met Malcolm’s gaze, her eyes filled with shock and horror.

“I’m his son,” he repeated for her sake before turning back to Carter. “My real name… is Malcolm Whitly. I changed it because I wanted to get away from him. See, I always thought I was afraid of my father and everything he taught me.”

He glanced at Dani who was listening, her expression unreadable.

“But really I was afraid of me. So, I betrayed him. I became a psychiatrist and hunted down people like him. So now is your chance, Carter.”

Malcolm stood from where he had been kneeling, the needle still held against his arm, but not pressing. “Now is your chance to kill me, his prodigal son. Something even The Surgeon failed to accomplish.”

“Bright, no!” Dani shouted from the floor, her head spinning from the hit Carter had landed against her earlier.

“I’m willing to let go,” he continued.

“Bright!”

Carter glanced at Dani, but his body was shaking with want. With need. And Malcolm knew exactly what this killer would choose.

Malcolm nodded at Carter who slowly lowered the gun and began to reach out for the needle. Malcolm did nothing to stop it, his breathing heavy. Dani could only watch in horror, and just as Carter started to push against the plunger. To force the needle down into Malcolm’s wrist, a shot echoed through the room.

Malcolm flinched as Carter dropped where he had stood, dead. Shocked and coming down from an adrenaline high, Malcolm followed him down, collapsing to his knees as he released the needle and allowed it to roll onto the floor.

Dani was quick to crawl to his side. “Bright? Bright?!”

Malcolm looked up. He could see the fear in her eyes. “You weren’t really going to let him do that? Were you?”

Malcolm stared at her, his breath trembling.

“Were you?!”

“Not at all,” he spoke, trying to reassure her, “that would be insane.”

Somehow, he didn’t think she believed him as she grabbed the needle and stumbled to her feet. As she vanished, a new presence took her place.

“Aw Kid.”

“Gil,” Malcolm breathed and collapsed forward as the man’s arms welcomed him home.

Outside, Ainsley was reporting on the death of Carter Burkhead who is being charged with three homicides and the attempted murder of three more at his own charity event. Information that Malcolm had shared with her as he had left the premises, needing some fresh air to clear his head.

At the ambulance where Dani was getting checked out, a different sort of conversation was taking place.

“Gil, you know I love you man, but The Surgeons son? That’s a bridge too far.”

Dani watched her mentor’s expression. It was trouble. Desperate even.

“Gil, who he is? Who is he to you? I mean I know you told us he was your foster son, but The Surgeon? Why? How?”

Gil hesitated. This wasn’t his story to tell, but he knew these two needed more than just a hasty reassurance that Malcolm wasn’t anything like Martin Whitly. They needed to know, at least the bare basics.

“I worked the Upper East Side in ’98. Not far from here. One night we got a call about a body in a basement. Some kid, a prank, or so we thought. I went to check it out. When I knocked on the door, no one answered. But then I found blood. I broke down the door and found out no one was home. I followed the blood trail and it led me downstairs. Sure enough, locked in a trunk was a young girl, barely alive. When I called it in, backup arrived, and we soon discovered an entirely hidden wing where The Surgeon had been taking his victims and prepping them for transport.”

Gil took a moment to breathe as the other two were silent, listening. “Malcolm was that kid.”

“He called the police on his dad?” Dani asked, surprised.

“Yeah, saved a lot of lives too, all at the expense of his own. I can’t and won’t go into detail, but… The Surgeon was furious and took Malcolm out to a cabin where he kept him for forty-eight hours as we searched for any sign of the kid or the man who had him. When we did finally find him, it was… not good. Malcolm almost died. We were able to arrest Martin Whitly, but the damage had already been done.”

“He was a victim…” Dani whispered in realization.

Gil nodded. “The final victim, and all because of a child’s decision to do the right thing. Look, I won’t say Malcolm isn’t different. He is. He’s been through a lot and he’s got a lot of trauma to deal with, but that kid, he’s a hero. And I wont be forgetting that anytime soon, and I hope you don’t either. He’s been judged for years based upon his father’s previous actions, and I request you at least take the time to get to know him, before you do the same.”

Gil sighed; the conversation deeper than he’d intended for it to go. The other two looked confused, obviously unsure of what to think about all this. He couldn’t force them to understand Malcolm, but he hoped they wouldn’t pass judgement until they knew the truth about what happened.

“Look, you two get some rest. I’ll see at the office in the morning.”

Gil didn’t look back as he left. Instead, he made directly for his car. He had a kid to find.

Malcolm was still walking around the city all while sucking on a piece of hard candy when Gil pulled up beside him.

“Need a lift?”

Malcolm laughed, opening the passenger side door before he plopped down into the seat.

“Jackie call you?”

Gil grimaced. “Yeah. You too?”

“Yup. I think we might die tonight.”

“Should I call for backup.... or maybe start writing a will?” Gil asked him.

Malcolm chuckled. “Not sure yet. Too soon to tell.”

Gil snorted as the two shared an amuse glance. Still, the kid wasn’t entirely joking, he knew. Jackie would probably be furious with the both of them, but especially Gil himself for getting Malcolm caught up in all this.

“Time to face the music.”

Epilogue:

Jackie was beyond furious with them, but she had yelled at them, then cried with them, and then said goodnight and didn’t come back out of her room until morning. They had scared her and did all they could to make it up the following day.

When the time came that Gil needed to head back to the precinct, Malcolm went with him. Gil had told him what he’d told JT and Dani, and he knew they needed to hear it all from him themselves. Seeing was believing after all. With his permission, Gil had given them a copy of Malcolm’s own file depicting the Surgeon’s crimes against his own son. As they read, Malcolm talked, explaining to them from his own perspective what had happened that night. As they slowly closed the file and looked up at him, he could see the anger in their eyes. Not anger at him, but on his behalf.

“It’s why I changed my name,” he explained, “I didn’t want to be associated with that.”

He turned to Dani, his expression apologetic. “And no, Dani, I was not going to allow Carter to kill me. I have more sense of self-respect than that.”

He sighed and began to unbutton his shirt. JT and Dani’s eyes widened, startled. Gil snorted from the corner of the room as Malcolm chuckled in amusement at their antics before all of them because serious, their eyes drifting over the expanse of his bare upper torso. His right arm had a bracket just below the elbow. His left had a bracket at the wrist. The same bracket JT had spotter earlier at Nico’s. As for his torso, a dark tattoo depicting the grim reaper was stretched across his stomach and chest and up his neck. Several other smaller depictions were illustrated within its boarder, but the reaper was the most obvious one. And the biggest. Except this reaper didn’t hold a scythe, but rather a scalpel.

“I changed my name, but I never forgot who I am or what he did. I can’t. He tried to ruin me, but I didn’t allow that to happen. Instead, I embraced the fear and the pain and made it something I control.”

JT stood up, his eyes taking in the dark red line that ran down the center of the tattoo. He then took in the line that cross over Malcolm’s throat almost in a T shape. Dani too took in his arm and hand. The scar across his face.

“Your eye…” she whispered, “I didn’t realize.”

Malcolm huffed, but nodded. “My right eye, my right arm from the elbow down, my left hand, my left leg from the knee down. He took them from me. Left me split open upon a table at only ten years old, using a paralytic agent not unlike he did in the Quartet.”

Dani flinched, suddenly understanding. Even JT looked sick.

“That’s why you did this. Why you stuck with the case. God, Malcolm…”

The psychiatrist shrugged. “One of the reasons.”

“So now you know. I may be his biological son, but Martin Whitly is no father of mine.”

He turned and picked up his shirt and jacket, slipping them back on before he turned to Gil.

“I’ll see you at home.”

Gil nodded and watched as his son walked out.

“Gil, I’m sorry,” Dani started.

Gil held up his hand, silencing her. JT hadn’t said anything, but Gil could tell he too was regretting thinking Malcolm was anything like that monster.

“You didn’t know the details and sometimes knowing the full story does make a difference. He’s had it rough, but he’s strong. He’s a survivor. He told you this because he wanted you to trust him, not because he wanted your pity. I suggest you keep that in mind if you meet him again in the near future.”

Both were silent as their boss left the room and both couldn’t forget any of what they’d learned as they fell asleep late that night, because Gil was right. Malcolm Bright was a hero, and they would do their upmost to treat him like one from here on out.