Happy Holidays
24 Dec 2019 23:11For ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thatsfascinating.
"Of course you'll be joining us for Christmas dinner tomorrow," his mother had said on the phone. He may have sighed softly because she added "Don't give me that. It's been ages since you've been home for Christmas. Your sister is coming. What else are you going to be doing on Christmas Day anyway?"
Well. Possibly having a lowkey holiday dinner with a woman who didn't mind if he only ate steamed rice and probably knew a lot of macabre facts about turkeys. But he hadn't quite broken that news to his mother. She'd been not so subtlely hinting that he should go out with Eve, the human rights crusading lawyer who was in every way much more the sort of woman she thought he should be with. Getting married. Joining her country club. Having well adjusted heirs to the family legacy. She hadn't given up on the expectations she was taught to have, despite the large Martin-shaped stain on the family legacy. In fact, she'd come to cling to them much more tightly. And she made no secret that she found it distasteful having to admit what Malcolm's career was to people in her social circle that asked. She wanted a daughter-in-law whose career she could brag about so she could pretend Malcolm was normal and not a jumbled collage of broken pieces loosely held together with scotch tape and spit.
And so, on Christmas Eve, he set a bottle of white wine in the fridge and waited for Edrisa to come to his flat after work. He wasn't going to suggest that she'd be coming to his mother without letting her know what she'd be in for and asking if she wanted to go through that first.
thatsfascinating."Of course you'll be joining us for Christmas dinner tomorrow," his mother had said on the phone. He may have sighed softly because she added "Don't give me that. It's been ages since you've been home for Christmas. Your sister is coming. What else are you going to be doing on Christmas Day anyway?"
Well. Possibly having a lowkey holiday dinner with a woman who didn't mind if he only ate steamed rice and probably knew a lot of macabre facts about turkeys. But he hadn't quite broken that news to his mother. She'd been not so subtlely hinting that he should go out with Eve, the human rights crusading lawyer who was in every way much more the sort of woman she thought he should be with. Getting married. Joining her country club. Having well adjusted heirs to the family legacy. She hadn't given up on the expectations she was taught to have, despite the large Martin-shaped stain on the family legacy. In fact, she'd come to cling to them much more tightly. And she made no secret that she found it distasteful having to admit what Malcolm's career was to people in her social circle that asked. She wanted a daughter-in-law whose career she could brag about so she could pretend Malcolm was normal and not a jumbled collage of broken pieces loosely held together with scotch tape and spit.
And so, on Christmas Eve, he set a bottle of white wine in the fridge and waited for Edrisa to come to his flat after work. He wasn't going to suggest that she'd be coming to his mother without letting her know what she'd be in for and asking if she wanted to go through that first.
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."
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."
