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

[tinstar]

"Some I feel like she left with my measurements, which is something I don't even know." Raylan blew out his cheeks and took another pull of his coffee. "She didn't even say what it was for. Does that matter?"

[abrightboy]

"She's worked with a lot of prominent charities over the years; it'll definitely be above board. Just." He took a breath and let it out. "High society attends these things. And we're pariahs. It won't be the best scene, sitting at our table."

[tinstar]

"Somehow I don't imagine your worst scene at the table being worse than mine," he assured. Sighing again, Raylan shook his head and drained his cup. "I guess we better hope that this is tied up tomorrow night. Lemme go grab a shower and if possible a second cup of coffee. If not, I'll survive somehow." With that Raylan walked over to his overnight bag and started to get into it.

[abrightboy]

Was Raylan honestly considering attending the charity dinner? Malcolm hadn't been expecting that.

By the time Raylan emerged from the shower, there was a fresh cup of coffee waiting on the counter and Malcolm was dressed in a crisp charcoal suit with a pale blue tie.

[tinstar]

It might be nice to sample the way the other side lived, if only for a few hours and the elite of New York was something not to be missed, if the opportunity presented. Coming out in a fresh ribbed shirt that stuck to him in the spots where he hadn't dried as well as he thought, and a handful of his dirty clothes under his arm, Raylan glanced at Malcolm and the coffee with a pull of his smile.

"Thank you." Rummaging through his bag, Raylan held up a couple of shirts, one after another before picking one and random and slipping it on, leaving it unbuttoned as he tended to his shoes and socks.

"You think your dad will be surprised to see you show up with company? Does She know about these.. little get togethers or am I going to have to figure out how to lie to that?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm's focus was largely on pretending not to notice just where that undershirt clung.

"He'll be surprised and probably delighted," Malcolm said. "He gets so few opportunities to manipulate new people these days."

He glanced towards the door his mother had departed through and shook his head. "She knows. She doesn't love it but I think she pretty much accepts it now."

[tinstar]

"Glad to pretend to be of service," Raylan joked as he pulled on his second boot, fully confident that Malcolm's father would find him a little harder to read then most.. As long as he kept his temper in check. He stopped to take a sip of his coffee before starting on his buttons.

"Good. Pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get 95% of one past her." He couldn't help but glance at the door too, almost concerned that Jessica would sweep back in at the mention of her. "Has she always been so...."

Was there a word for that? He wasn't sure so he let an idle useless gesture fill out the rest of the question.

[abrightboy]

"Intrusive? Overbearing? Controlling? Um. Yes," Malcolm replied. He pointed to the floor. "She owns this building so it's partly my own fault that I agreed to rent here when I came back, but look at the space." He half-shrugged. "I tried changing the locks once. She told me if I didn't have a new key to her by the end of the day, she'd turn my apartment into a Panera."

[tinstar]

"Now that, I believe," Raylan laughed as he buttoned his wrist and started tucking the shirt in. The height of the counter top let him unbelt and button to get everything squared away. Next was his gun and a back pocket comb to tame his hair, speaking as he continued.

"She feels like your version of Helen. Unstoppable, with or without a gun in her hands."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm had believed her, too. She had a key by the end of the day. Hence that morning's disaster.

He smiled when Raylan compared her to Helen, though. He knew how much Raylan respected and admired Helen.

"Not to say she hasn't had a gun in her hands. I believe she keeps one hidden in a book on her bookshelf, just to be as dramatic as possible."

[tinstar]

"I believe that too," Raylan said with a deep breath and a lift of his eyebrows. "Considering what your bookshelf has in it." He jerked his head slightly towards Malcolm's living room wall before popping his collar and slipping his pre-tied tie over his head.

"Here's hoping your dad isn't following suit. And I'm basically ready, so when you're ready.." He'd busy himself with getting down what was left in his cup real quick.

[abrightboy]

"Security at the maximum security hospital prison for the criminally insane is slightly better than that," Malcolm said, slipping his highly shined shoes on. He walked over to the rack by the door and pulled his coat on, opening the door for Raylan to lead the way down to his car.

"It'll take about twenty minutes to get there at this time of day," Malcolm told him.

[tinstar]

Raylan's expression was one of amused doubt. He'd heard the stories. Maybe the mental institutions were the exception to the rule. Leading the way out and down, Raylan nodded.

"You tell me where to go, I'll drive," he said, fishing out his keys and unlocking the car. "We'll see if it takes 20 minutes with someone who doesn't know where the hell I am, functionally speaking."

With a turn of the key, the car sprung to life and Raylan pulled them out into traffic.

"Will he know we're coming?"

[abrightboy]

"He'll know someone is coming when the staff put him in his restraints and he'll probably guess that it's me, but he won't know, no," Malcolm answered. "I'm sure they'll tell you the rules when we get there, but... it's really important to stay behind the red line, okay?"

He might not have said anything, except for Raylan's penchant for crossing lines. His insistence on intervening in Malcolm's night terrors scared Malcolm a little, but not as much as him potentially underestimating the Surgeon's... creativity in harming people.

"He kills people in horrible ways for fun."

[tinstar]

Raylan nodded at the first and glanced at Malcolm sidelong at the second, trying to gauge his intent around the warning without crashing them in the narrow streets.

"What happened to the faith in security at the maximum security hospital prison for the criminally insane? Cuffed and chained, he's not killing anyone, boring ways or not. Now I'm not saying I'm gonna poke the bear-" He was going to poke the bear. "-but he can't do much of anything in there."

He could tell Malcolm was still scared of his father, and for good reason. Raylan would agree to that in a heartbeat but the leggy man wasn't keen on his own fear and tended to grind it into a dust.

[abrightboy]

"Cuffed and chained, he's not killing anyone who keeps their butt behind the red line," Malcolm insisted firmly. "That is the security. He's tethered to the wall." He looked at Raylan. Yes, he was afraid of what his father was capable of. Almost as much as he was afraid of whether he was capable of it, too. "Please don't underestimate him. He's a volatile predatory psychopath and he hasn't had the opportunity to kill anyone in twenty years."

[tinstar]

"This isn't my first ride around the block," he reassured, glancing over as he could to Malcolm's worried gaze. "I'm not underestimating anyone." Including himself. "And I'm not planning on giving anyone any chances to do the same, don't worry."

He half expected Malcolm to wrest a promise out of him, at this rate. It really spoke to how deeply held Martin Whitly was.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm huffed a small sigh at that, like he wanted to say anything but couldn't see pushing it any further. He looked out the window, wringing his hands, his right leg bouncing faintly as he tried to swallow his anxiety and preempt his tremor. It wouldn't do to walk into Dr Whitly's cell already displaying a stress reaction.

[tinstar]

"You're still worrying," Raylan accused with a playful faint lift of his eyebrows. "You've come with other people, right? This isn't a new thing for you and him? He attempted to kill any of them?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looked over. "Funny story: my sister did an interview with him for television - I don't know if you caught it - and he'd manipulated another inmate into causing a lockdown at the facility and her cameraman suffered a thoracic stab wound and almost died. I mean, we have the element of surprise compared to them, but even then we all stayed behind the red line."

He looked out the window.

"I usually go alone."

He usually did most things alone.

He clenched his right hand into a tight fist.

[tinstar]

Raylan opted for silence, mulling the immovable idea that Martin wasn't secure where he was. Malcolm's insistence was telling but Raylan wasn't sure if this was something that applied to everyone, or if it had something to do with the firmness Malcolm had used when talking about where Raylan should keep his butt.

There was an impulse to somehow 'properly' reassure Malcolm, but Raylan wasn't sure about how to put it into practice now that he'd already gone through his usual steps. A lot of people worried about what Raylan Givens would do in any given situation, but not normally to this extend. Maybe Winona; she'd used a similar tone with him more than a few times during their marriage.

"Okay, I promise to stay behind the line, alright?" Would that make it better?

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looked over sharply, examining Raylan's profile. He nodded, flexing his hand and then going back to wringing them, but a little less fiercely than before.

"I'd appreciate that."

Claremont soon loomed in front of them and Malcolm pointed to it.

"There's parking around the back."

As Raylan parked the car, Malcolm took a couple of deep breaths, centering himself and calming his anxiety symptoms. When he got out of the car, he put his hands in his coat pockets.

[tinstar]

With a few glances, Raylan seemed satisfied that his promise had worked as intended. Good. Now all he had to do was try and keep that promise. Following Malcolm's indication, Raylan pulled in and parked, stepping out himself and wishing he'd brought his hat all over again.

Stepping up beside Malcolm, Raylan took a deep breath himself and looked over.

"Let's go ask Daddy Dearest some questions and then go find some breakfast."

[abrightboy]

That suggestion made him smile despite himself and he ducked his head as it brightened his face.

"Sounds good," he said.

They reached the doors and Malcolm led the way with the practiced ease of someone who'd been to the registration desk and through the series of increasingly thick locked doors many times.

Finally they stepped through a locked door into a short empty hallway that ended in another locked door. A very tall guard nodded to Malcolm before leading the way down the hall, reading Raylan the Dr Whitly Riot Act.

Then he opened the door and Malcolm stepped in first, though Raylan was a head taller than him and hardly concealed behind him.

The unassuming man inside, dressed in inmate whites and a cozy beige cardigan, got up from his chair with a welcoming smile.

"Malcolm! My boy! What a pleasant surprise."

Malcolm's expression remained carefully neutral. "Dr Whitly," he replied formally.

"And who's your friend?" Martin asked, looking the taller man over.

"This is Deputy United States Marshal Givens," Malcolm explained, stepping aside. "He has some questions about an acquaintance of yours."

"Ooooh a Marshal." He all but rubbed his hands together. "They never tell me anything in here. Has someone escaped?" he asked eagerly.

[tinstar]

Raylan had found that sometimes, a very rare sometimes, short range plans were a good thing. A decent breakfast was more than enough to motivate Raylan to get through it. Even if he didn't need any additional motivation beyond what Malcolm had already put under his belt.

"Nice place," he quipped sincerely as they made their way through the hallways, giving up his gun to the attending guard in the outer layers with a promise that he'd be coming back for that. Raylan glanced at Malcolm as the Riot Act of rules was read to him, faintly lifting his eyebrows in something akin to being impressed. This place was just as worried as Malcolm was.

Finally, they were let into the end room and Raylan only gave Martin a once glance over before his eyes were busy with the rest of the room. "Another bookshelf," he muttered, ambling over, one hand propping on his hip as he started to run a gentle finger over the spines. He reacted to the hum with a half distracted glance over his shoulder before responding.

"Not this time. Least not yet," he addendum with a faint facial shrug as he moved on to idly picking over Martin's desk with a critical eye. "You got a lotta papers here. I'm gussin' surgical records? I hear you're still big in that department, despite your.." Raylan glanced around, one finger turning to gesture broadly to the room. "Living arrangments."