The Lengths That I Would Go To

[abrightboy]

The killer was moving around the country. Malcolm Bright could see the pattern, but he wasn't working for the FBI these days and they weren't exactly taking his calls. Short sighted of them, but they did fire him on suspicion of being crazy. The NYPD's jurisdiction was New York. With the killer beyond its borders, they handed it upwards and left it at that.

Let it go, Bright, had been Gil's sage advice. You can't catch every killer in America single-handedly.

Challenge accepted, some part of him retorted, though he'd only nodded mutely and forced a smile. Gil knew he hadn't simply let it go, but he wasn't going to have him followed to stop him doing anything stupid, either. He didn't have the will or the resources to keep tabs on Malcolm Bright 24/7 and Malcolm Bright knew it.

His mother, on the other hand, had extensive resources, so he simply didn't tell her he was leaving town. He did arrange for Ainsley to feed his bird, so the truth would come out eventually, but he'd be several states away by then.

He rode the bus. There was something oddly comforting about the anonymity of being in a crowd of strangers who had no interest in him whatsoever. He stared out the window and watched the country go by. When he stepped off the Greyhound in Lexington, Kentucky, he walked to a nearby hotel and checked in, then headed straight to the US Marshals office. There was no point in trying to talk to the FBI. If he was going to stop a killer from killing again, he needed someone in law enforcement to listen to him. The pattern suggested the next murder would happen in one of the rural communities around Lexington and it would be precipitated by a young woman's disappearance. He needed law enforcement with local knowledge, specifically.

He wandered into the Marshals' offices in a tidy three piece suit, charcoal grey with a burgundy tie perfectly knotted at his collar. He got a few suspicious sidelong glances but nobody asked if they could help him. He cleared his throat.

"Um, hello? I'm wondering if there's anyone here I can talk to about murder." He held up his hands. "Stopping murder, specifically, not... like... smalltalk."

Comments

[abrightboy]

Malcolm frowned faintly and followed Raylan downstairs.

"You're... not sleeping upstairs?"

[tinstar]

"You ain't even bought me dinner yet," he replied with an amused look from under his eyebrows as he and his boots hit the landing. "Trust me, there isn't a couch I met I haven't been able to sleep well on."

[abrightboy]

"Right. Okay," Malcolm said, still lingering on the bottom step. "So...those rooms are all up for grabs," he confirmed, pointing at the ceiling.

[tinstar]

"Take your pick. Just let me know which one so I can run the sheets through the washer come morning. Do me a favor and don't look in any of the dresser drawers. Haven't quite gotten to clearing all of them out, so I'm also not completely sure what is in there."

[abrightboy]

"Okay. Sure. Um. Good night," he offered with a bit of a wave, then headed upstairs. He poked his head into the master, but that balcony was a liability. If he couldn't keep himself in bed, he could do a header right off of it.

The next room was in a corner and not close to the top of the stairs or, by his estimation, over the living room. It would do.

He took off his jacket, tie and waistcoat, hanging them over a chair in the room. Then he took off his shoes and socks, stuffing his socks into his shoes and putting them under the chair. Fewer tripping hazards.

He went around the bed, tightly tucking in the sheets like a hotel bed, hoping it was enough to keep him in. He carefully wriggled into the bed.

In the dark, he could hear the noises of the countryside. Crickets, cicadas. It wasn't long before he fell asleep.

It was only three hours later he began thrashing in his sleep. It wouldn't have been obvious elsewhere in the house at first, but there was a loud crash as he managed to struggle out of the bed, tumbling to the floor, then a scream.

Then he bolted blindly into the hallway.

[tinstar]

Raylan lazily saluted Malcolm as they parted ways and headed towards the porch. He wanted to finish his beer out in the quiet of the evening where he could mull the case they were working on over in his head. It had progressed fairly quickly and Raylan needed to process it all. Think about where someone like that was likely to take someone where they wouldn't be bothered.

Within 45 minutes, he was back inside and peeling off his boots and his button up plaid. After fetching a pillow and blanket from a closet, he laid out on the couch he'd spent too many nights on and slipped into an easy sleep.

The slight rocking of the bed made its way oh so faintly through the floor but it was the crash that woke Raylan up. "What the-" The scream that followed was more than enough to hurry along him throwing off his blanket and snatching his gun up as he ran up the stairs.

There wasn't time to say anything - not with Malcolm hurtling towards him. Raylan did the only thing he could think of. Tackle first, ask questions later. The gun was dropped onto the floor as he launched himself forwards; he wasn't gonna be shooting any guests today, if he had anything to say about it and he sure as shit wasn't looking to get shot by them either.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm, still asleep, still trapped in a nightmare, was suddenly constrained by Raylan's body. He stuggled, though what he seemed to struggle against didn't really match what was happening.

"Open this door!" he howeled. "Let me out!"

[tinstar]

With Malcolm down, Raylan slid over his chest to keep Malcolm from turning or thrashing too much as he grabbed each hand as it swung at him. "Hey, hey hey hey." The word came out louder and louder as Raylan tried to wake him up, his name slipping in between the 'Hey's.

"Malcolm!"

What the fuck was going on? Raylan had heard of nightmares, he'd had a few himself, but nothing like this.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm suddenly seemed to startle awake, wide-eyed and breathless in fear, looking around for whatever had been assailing him and seeing nothing familiar.

His eyes found Raylan's face and he blinked, then, finally seeming to understand what was happening, he let his head drop back to rest on the floor.

"Sorry," he said, swallowing hard. "I woke you up, didn't I."

[tinstar]

Raylan waited a second, wild eyes searching Malcolm's face and slowly let the man's wrists go before dismounting from his straddle and flopping down on his ass to rake a hand through his equally wild hair.

"Normally I save sleep for after screamin' and thrashin'." Yeah, that softly dissatisfied pinch of his face was going to be there for a few minutes.

"Did you break anything in your attempts to get through the floor the old fashioned way? You wanna tell me what all this is?" As he asked, that index finger came back out to circle uselessly towards the floor.

[abrightboy]

"Pavor nocturnes," Malcolm said as he pushed himself up to sitting, flexing his left arm slightly; yeah that was probably where he'd landed. He looked at Raylan, tossing his head to throw his hair out of his face. "Night terrors," he translated. "It's a symptom of complex PTSD. My medication doesn't mitigate them. It didn't happen because of that," he assured the other man.

[tinstar]

Like the vets that came home from war. Tim didn't have them but he'd told Raylan of plenty of guys who had. His expression relaxed a little with a gentle double nod of his head as he scratched his eyebrow with the nail of his thumb.

"I've heard of it. Never seen it before. It happen every time you fall asleep?"

There was the unasked question beneath it of 'How are you alive with no sleep?'

[abrightboy]

Malcolm shrugged a shoulder.

"Pretty much. Though sometimes I can get four or five hours in before... it starts. But I also use restraints at home. I cuff myself to my bed, so I can't walk."

Walk, run, fight....

[tinstar]

"Hell, I don't blame you. Five more feet forward and you would have gone down the stairs." Sighing, Raylan pushed up to his bare feet, padding over to collect his discarded gun.

"You go back to sleep or do you stay up?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm turned and noted the stairs. It had been close, though he'd fallen down the stairs before, when he was fourteen. Before the restraints.

"Sometimes I go back to sleep but... I won't tonight. Not here."

He pushed himself to his feet, flexing his right hand.

"You can. I'll work on my notes. I'm used to keeping myself occupied."

[tinstar]

"I could always tie ya to a chair," Raylan offered innocently, but his brain quickly caught up, evident in the pinched, slightly offended at himself expression. Phrasing, goddamnit.

"Kick you if you start twitchin." But whatever happened, it was happening downstairs, and Raylan headed that way, 98% sure Malcolm would politely decline, as he had much more reasonable things like food and beer.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm offered a tight smile in response.

"I have to be able to release myself," he said in explanation. "I'll just... stay up here. I'll be quiet. Don't worry. I can't... I can't sleep now anyway. Nothing is going to happen."

[tinstar]

"Suit yourself. Ain't like I'm getting back to sleep after that," he said as he disappeared down onto the first floor. There was something about upstairs that bothered him, something else he wasn't willing to look too closely at.

Once he got back into the kitchen, he set the coffee pot to start filling and leaned against the counter, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Tomorrow was going to be a long day and coffee with a shot of whiskey was going to be what got him through it.

He was sure he could catch a nap.. at the office.. in his car..

[abrightboy]

In his relatively flustered state, it took Malcolm a moment to realize that the upstairs was making Raylan uncomfortable at least as much as Malcolm was and, as Raylan retreated downstairs, Malcolm, also barefoot, followed him.

Lingering in the kitchen doorway, he watched Raylan put the coffee on.

"What happened up there?" he asked curiously. "Is that where he punished you?"

[tinstar]

Water into reservoir, grounds into filter, button pressed. Wasn't technology great?

Raylan hummed in question as he looked over, squinting faintly. "You do this to everyone?" Sighing, he shifted, putting his back to the counter as he crossed his arms and ankles, casually comfortable in his standing.

"That's where I was sent when he was laying into my mama. Any night that Arlo came home drunk was ripe for him getting pissed at her for one thing or another and trying to beat her within an inch of her life or until he got tired. It got so bad after a while, she started running off to Noble's Holler. Arlo and his bluster wasn't getting past Limehouse and his well armed friends, and they were known for taking in white women for protection."

If Raylan went up to the hollar, he'd get one good favor outta Limehouse in exchange for the fondness of his mother. Social currency at it's best and better not used at all.

"My face pressed up against those wooden rails, listening to him hit her again and again and again..." He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet uncomfortable in the retelling. "Arlo didn't kill her, but he sure as hell tried."

[abrightboy]

In response to Raylan's first question, Malcolm huffed a laugh and glanced down at the floor.

"Yes."

He did it to everyone. Everyone hated it.

Malcolm listened to Raylan carefully, nodding as he wrapped up. He would guess that Noble's Holler was a Native reservation. But the earlier crimes of Arlo's that Raylan had casually described hadn't touched wife-beating in severity. Of course Raylan didn't want this house.

And yet he used it when convenient.

"Did he beat his second wife?" Malcolm asked.

[tinstar]

At least Malcolm recognized it. Raylan put on a good face, but it could be worse. Maybe he was just used to being given shit by Tim and others.

The idea of Arlo getting a solid swing on Helen made Raylan huff a chuckle, mouth morphing back into an amused smirk. "I remember the first night he tried. Helen pulled her shotgun and threatened to blow his nuts into chunks for his next dinner. There's a reason there's a bat in the kitchen. A few of 'em."

Said bat was to Malcolm's left, leaning against the counter and the doorframe.

"Aunt Helen didn't take shit from anyone, least of all Arlo. She couldn't stop him from being a murderer and a crook but.." He sighed deeply. "She loved him, for some reason or another. Dealt with all the bad blood and luck he brought to his door and helped handle him when I pissed him off. Which was a lot when I was a teenager. I think she woulda liked you, actually."

Mainly because a good smile from Malcolm would have any red-blooded woman pleased to have it.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm followed Raylan's gaze to the bat and stared at it a moment.

At Raylan's final observation, he looked at the other man's face.

"She would have liked me?" If he sounded a little surprised, it was because most people didn't. "It sounds like she was... very capable," he concluded. "That must have made your life easier. But I expect you left as soon as you could. How old were you?"

[tinstar]

He nodded. "Yeah. She liked perceptive people. She liked messin' with 'em too." And oh the fun she would have had with Malcolm. "Kept her sharp."

Helen was a woman to be admired. She was tough, scrappy, cooked a hellva dinner and was a wry business woman to boot, though not in the traditional way that someone like Malcolm might think of. Raylan had loved her, did love her, even if those weren't the kinda words to pass his lips.

"I was 20 when I decided to join the Marshal's service. After the coal mines and the good ol' boy bullshit that comes with this place, I bucked. It was worse than joining the army; becoming anything close to law enforcement. An utter betrayal of everything he tried to teach me."

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen, crickets of 1 am still rubbing their symphonies with no sign of easing. It was the warmer air, it made everything feel alive, even now.

[abrightboy]

"He wanted to make you in his image," Malcolm surmised. "He wanted to apprentice you into his trade." He nodded. "Some fathers are like that," he allowed, and if his tone seemed heavy, it was because he knew it well. "But it was your life to live and there's nothing that obliges you to be like him, no matter what he said."

Oops, maybe he got a little too heartfelt in that message, but only because it was close to his heart.

He heard it, though.

"So her bats are still all over the house?" he asked conversationally.

Smooth change of topic, Bright, he mentally admonished himself.