abrightboy | (Reply)

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Malcolm nods, clutching his pants, socks and underwear in a bundle to his chest.

As soon as they were dressed, Malcolm hurries them out the door and into a cab. Walking into Claremont, he takes a breath as they're led into a maximum security cell.

A wild looking man turns around and smiles unsettlingly.

"Little Malcolm Whitly, all grown up. Son of the Surgeon."

Malcolm looks at him oddly.

"My father's a Surgeon, not the Surgeon."

"Then why did you call the police when you were a little boy and say 'my daddy is a killer'?" he mocks.

Malcolm frowns, backing up a step. "That didn't happen." But he doesn't sound certain.