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Jessica didn’t want to call him.

But it was out of her hands at this point. She needed help. The very thought of being so vulnerable immediately sent a shiver through her. She wasn’t used to not being in control, of not being a model of restraint and dignity and perfection. Asking for help meant she had failed and Jessica Whitly did not fail at things.

Then again, this entire week hadn’t exactly been the most ordinary circumstances, she thought to herself. So maybe her mother's grating voice that always echoed through her mind whenever she felt she was performing anything less than flawlessly could cut her some damn slack.

Jessica took another sip of her gin, the card still pressed between the thumb and pointer finger on her left hand. It was plain; off-white in color, black numbers and letters scrawled out in neat handwriting. If she flipped it over she would see NYPD logo printed in dark blue ink. Jessica had seen enough of that symbol; almost every person she had interacted with in the past week had the symbol on their chest, their faces blurring together, but their badges always clear.

Except for his face. The face that had actually listened to her, comforted her, reassured her. The face that hadn’t made snide comments or looked at her with barely concealed disgust or spit out her last name as if the word hurt to pronounce.

“Gil Arroyo.” Jessica had remembered his name, how could she forget it, but seeing it written out on the card sent a rush of reality through her mind. Her husband was arrested. Her husband was in prison.

Her husband was a murderer.

And now she was contemplating calling the man who had taken him away from her. Who had ruined her, ruined her family. Who was the reason she needed help in the first place.

Jessica quickly shook her head, dropping the card on her vanity and taking another sip of her drink. That wasn’t fair. He hadn’t ruined anything. Martin had. In fact, Officer Arroyo felt like the only ally she had at the moment. She trusted him more than Martin’s quick talking attorney and certainly more than she trusted Martin himself. But that thought made her feel just as guilty as her earlier one of condemnation.

‘How dare you?’ The question was so loud in her mind she could have sworn she spoke it out loud, if not for the fact that she was looking at her, very still, face in the mirror. ‘What kind of a wife are you? What about your vows? You promised to stand by him for better or for worse.’

“What kind of husband was he?” She shot back. This actually was spoken aloud, as if the thoughts in her head were a completely different entity than her physical voice. “What about his vows? He said he loved us and he lied and it’s all his fault and I HATE him.”
It was taking all of her restraint not to throw her glass or smash the mirror or perform some other melodramatic action that might at least quiet the tempest in her head. She couldn’t, she’d wake the children, their rooms were right down the hall.

She was supposed to be strong for them. But she didn’t know if she could be.

Jessica took a steadying breath and picked up the card again. She really didn’t want to do this. It would be admitting defeat already. Telling the whole world that Jessica Whitly had failed as a wife and was now failing as a mother. She had one job, Officer Arroyo had told her her job, and she couldn’t even handle it. And now she had to tell him that and hope that he could help her in some way.

The phone had been off it’s cradle for the past three hours, taunting her, reminding her that she had been putting this call off since she told Louisa to put Malcolm and Ainsley to bed at eight. She had gotten herself the gin at 8:30, trying to work up the nerve. It was now nearly eleven and she was on her second glass. The late hour almost gave her an escape clause; he was probably asleep, how rude would it be to wake him? But she knew if she didn’t reach out now it would take days to work up the nerve again, and who knows how much worse everything could get in that time?

Jessica hung up the phone then picked the receiver up again, awkwardly holding the card as she typed in the numbers. It rang three times and when a tired “hello” answered, Jessica was spitting out her words before she could lose what very little composure she still had.

“Officer Arroyo! I am so sorry to bother you at such a late hour.”

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“It’s been going on for the past week. I thought it was just...nerves or something. God knows I didn’t want to speak to anyone that night either. And the police social worker told me it was a normal response to something like this, so I decided to just wait it out.” Jessica began to fiddle with her wedding ring, a nervous tick she had always found herself doing in uncomfortable social situations, before she realized she was just twisting around her own skin; the ring was gone, as was her engagement ring, both having been thrown into a jewelry box until Jessica could decide what in the world she was going to do with them. She wanted to destroy them, like she had destroyed all of her and Martin’s wedding photos as soon as she got home from the police precinct, but she couldn’t think of a way to do that, short of tossing them down the drain and praying they didn’t ruin the houses already ancient plumbing. Yet another thing she had to get sorted out.

Shaking her head to try and refocus herself, Jessica continued with her thought. All the words were rushed, spilling together. An accurate portrayal of the jumble her thoughts were currently in.
“I know I should have done something earlier but it’s just been so much. Paperwork and interviews and the press and nearly all the staff quit of course and Ainsley still doesn’t understand why Martin isn’t coming home and then there’s the police officers coming and going all hours of the day and up until two days ago all of us were only allowed in the guest suite since everywhere else was a crime scene. And I did try and talk to him, I did. I thought he was just overwhelmed by all the changes, but there’s clearly something wrong. He’s barely been eating either, and he never leaves his bedroom.” Jessica looked down, her voice dropping in volume. “I’m just at a loss.”

Gil watched Jessica curl more into herself, his brows drawn in sympathy. Although it was clear that she was making some kind of effort to appear collected, all Gil could see was the woman crying in front of him, telling him she was the reason her husband had been able to kill so many people. He felt weird about it, but he had been glad when Jessica had called him last night; he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the case. Which was understandable of course; it was by far the most high profile arrest of his career and he was still figuring out the details at work and dodging the press at home. But his thoughts weren’t about the praise he was suddenly getting for being the man to take down The Surgeon. They were all about the young boy who had saved his life.

So when Jessica had called him right as he was going to bed, asking if he could please come over the next day and try to talk to her son, he jumped at the opportunity. He already had been feeling terrible for what Malcolm was going through, but hearing Jessica tell him over the phone that he hadn’t said a word since his father was arrested only made his sympathy increase tenfold.

And, along with it, some guilt. Logically Gil knew he shouldn’t feel guilty for arresting Martin Whitly; he had murdered twenty three people, destroyed countless lives. Gil had interviewed some of the victims families over the course of the investigation, he knew the horror that man had inflicted first hand. Hell, he had almost been a victim himself. But between Jessica’s tearful interview and the pain and fear he had clearly seen in Malcolm’s eyes, Gil couldn’t bring himself to feel much pride in bringing The Surgeon to justice. He wished there was some way he could have completely divorced Martin from his family, so his arrest wouldn’t just ripple out into more pain and destruction, the impact of his choices falling on the people he claims to love the most.

Besides, he owed Malcolm his life. If he hadn’t decided to warn him about his father's plan, a choice Gil couldn’t imagine being placed on the shoulders of an eleven year old, he would be dead, disposed of like the other two dozen lives Martin had taken. Gil promised himself he would do everything in his power to make sure the kid was going to be okay. He had to.

Gil wanted to try and convey himself as someone Jessica could trust. He had honestly been a bit surprised that she ended up using the number he had given her; he wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to see him again all things considered. But here she was, being completely vulnerable and honest and asking for his help. And he wanted to help her. Gil couldn’t imagine what she was going through and he didn’t blame her for feeling the need to reach out.

“I’m sure you tried what you could Mrs. Whitly. I know you just want to protect your kids. This is what I gave you my number for.”

Gil tried to keep his tone light, despite the heavy subject matter they were discussing. He was already concerned about what Jessica had described and part of him was even more worried that he wouldn’t be able to get the boy to speak either.

Jessica smiled at this, taking his reply as her cue to stand up from her seat at the dining table. Gil followed her lead as she rounded back towards the door to the hallway. Before they could walk further, however, Jessica stopped and turned to the officer.

“Malcolm’s in the living room. It’s honestly a miracle he even came downstairs. I told him I had invited you over but he didn’t respond.” Jessica hesitated, her words wavering slightly from the confident and clipped tone she normally used. “He never responds anymore.”

Gil simply nodded. Jessica paused again before adding, “I appreciate you coming out here. I think...I hope you'll be able to reach through to him. It has to just be shock, I mean. Seeing you will...help him process this.”

Jessica knew the last part sounded like it was something she was forcing herself to believe. It was. She didn’t even want to entertain the idea that Malcolm’s silence could be anything more permanent, she couldn’t handle that. He had to open up to Gil.

The duo walked down the hallway before turning into the immaculately decorated living room. Gil didn’t even have a chance to gawk at the lavish decor; even in the sea of silk curtains and Victorian paintings, his eyes were immediately drawn to the kid on the couch. Malcolm looked so small, even smaller than he had on the first night Gil had seen him. His hands were resting on his knees and his head was down, eyes focused on the wooden floor. From what Gil could see of his face, his expression was completely blank.

The image broke Gils heart. Next to him, Jessica had to blink quickly to keep tears from forming in her eyes. She would never get used to that look on her son’s face.

“Malcolm?” Jessica stepped forward, hands folded and pressed against her skirt, hoping her voice would at least illicit some kind of response from her son. She waited a few seconds, but when he didn’t so much as tilt his heads toward her, she pressed on. “Officer Arroyo is here. Remember him? He was nice enough to give you that green apple candy you enjoyed so much.”

Gil walked a few steps to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jessica, offering Malcolm a wave and a soft smile. No response.

“I thought you two would like to get to know each other more!” Jessica hated the voice she was using. It was filled with the same fake happiness she used when introducing two associates to each other at a party she knew neither wanted to be at. “Officer Arroyo is very smart and he loves dinosaurs and outer space just like you do.”

Malcolm also loves human anatomy. Jessica is careful not to bring that up.

“I’m going to put Ainsley down for a nap.” Jessica added this as if the thought just occurred to her. “Officer Arroyo, would you mind staying with Malcolm while I do that?”

Gil hated how staged it all sounded. Poor Jessica was trying so hard to hold herself together, she was practically grinding her teeth through the smile she had plastered on her face.

He attempted to sound sincere: “Not a problem, Mrs. Whitly.”

Jessica gave Gil another fake smile, as if Malcolm was even looking at the two of them, before turning back to her son. “Now you be on your best behaviour Malcolm. If you’re good, maybe Officer Arroyo will take you to get ice cream.”

She closed the gap between herself and Malcolm, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. No response. Jessica straightened herself, trying not to let disappointment and worry flood her face. She walked back to Gil, giving him one last nervous glance before exiting the room, leaving him and Malcolm alone.

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“Do you want to show me your bedroom? Your mom mentioned all the cool toys you have and I’d love to see them!”

Silence meet Gil’s question, just like silence had meet every one of Gil’s questions for the past hour. He had pulled up a chair so he could be close to Malcolm, without going as far as to sit on the couch with him. He still had no idea what the kid thought about him and he wanted him to have space to get away if he didn’t feel comfortable. Gil had made his voice as gentle as he could, using the same tone as he would with child victims or witnesses. He had been sure to wear civilian clothes, figuring Malcolm wouldn’t want to see anymore cop uniforms. But still, each attempt he made at conversation was meet with the same silence. Malcolm was barely even blinking.

Gil had tried everything. At first, he just talked about whatever came to mind; he told Malcolm about his wife, Jackie, and their cat and how sometimes he thought she loved the feline more than she loved him. He told funny tales from his childhood, trying to get Malcolm to relate to him in some way. He even listened off facts about outer space, purposefully getting them wrong, in some kind of bid to see if the kid was stubborn enough to correct him. But Malcolm remained silent.

When those methods didn’t work, Gil tried to ask Malcolm yes or no questions, hoping to get even a one word response from the kid. Do you like comic books? Do you want to get ice cream? Do you want to go to the park? He even told him if he didn’t want to say anything he could respond by knocking on the wooden armrest, once for yes, twice for no. Nothing at all. Malcolm hadn’t even looked up; Gil imagined his neck must be killing him, but if he felt any pain he didn’t show it.

Gil sighed, then immediately tried to cover it up. He didn’t want the kid to think he was frustrated with him; he wasn’t, he was just frustrated with the situation. But part of him knew Malcolm probably hadn’t even processed the noise, which was honestly even worse. He rubbed his forehead, as if the gesture would allow him to think of one, magic phrase that would get Malcolm to say a word, or at the very least, acknowledge his presence.

“Malcolm...I get it. I know you miss your dad.”

The words were slow and soft, even softer than Gil’s voice had already been. It was a last ditch attempt; Jessica had been very clear that he was not to mention Martin to Malcolm in any way. She was obviously terrified that even implying the arrest had occurred would shut her son off even more. But Gil didn’t know what else he could try and, if he was being honest, he thought bringing up the subject might actually help. Jessica wouldn’t even say Martin’s name in front of the kids; maybe what Malcolm really needed was a chance to process those emotions he was bottling up.

Gil noticed the tiniest shift in Malcolm when he said it. Only a blink and a slight twitch of his nose. But it was something and Gil couldn’t help but smile, despite still feeling so heavy with sorrow for the boy. Maybe this was the way to go about it.

“It’s normal to miss him, it’s okay to miss him,” he continued. “I can't imagine how hard and scary this must all be, but you're not alone. You have your mom to help you and I know you want to be brave for your little sister. And if you need to talk to someone else, I'm here. I promise I won't tell your mom anything you don't want her to know. But you can't make any kind of progress if you don't ask for help.”

Malcolm began to clench his hands together, hard enough to turn his small knuckles paler than they already were. Even more noticeable was his change in expression, that emptiness on his face giving way to a tight lipped frown.

Gil hesitated; maybe he shouldn’t push this far? The kid barely knew him after all, was it really fair to keep going on this line of questioning when he was clearly becoming agitated? But then Gil remembered the sadness and fear in Jessica’s voice, as she described how each day passed in silence, how withdrawn Malcolm had become, how worried she was. This process was not going to be easy for anyone in the family, but that didn’t mean they should just ignore everything that occurred. And Gil felt a responsibility to Malcolm. So, his heart heavy, he dug down further.

“Do you want to talk about what happened Malcolm?”

This earned him a sniffle. It was soft and if it hadn’t been accompanied by the tears welling up in Malcolm’s eyes, Gil may have thought he imagined the sound. A few of the tears had already started to fall, hugging his cheeks as they slid down his face. Malcolm made no effort to wipe them away.

Gil stood up, bridging the gap that had been between them as he knelt down on the floor, his knees creaking in protest. He wanted to be at Malcolm’s level, to show him there was nothing to be afraid of.

“We don’t even have to talk about that night...Why don’t you tell me more about your dad? What did you two like to do? Your mom told me how close the two of you were.” Gil added another smile with these words, ignoring the bitterness in his throat brought on by the image of this murderer being with such a sweet and innocent child.

Malcolm was breaking. He still refused to meet Gil’s gaze, but he did bring his knees up to his chest, hugging them close to himself. The tears were silently falling by now. The boy shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Moments later, the first sob escaped his lips. It was clear Malcolm was trying to hold them back, but it wasn’t long before the choked cries gave in to wails. Gil visibly flinched at the noise; it was horrible, filled with a week’s worth of silence and emotions. Gil had heard horrible sounds in his line of work: mothers screaming when they found out their sons had died, people wailing in pain after being shot, victims describing their assault through tears, but somehow none of them compared to how heart wrenching Malcolm’s cry was. It was the cry of a child, scared and desperate and alone.

In hindsight, Gil realized he shouldn’t have pushed it this far. But in that moment, he could only feel encouraged by the display of emotions, as depressing as they were; anything seemed better than that dead eyed stare occupying Malcolm’s face just moments earlier. At least he wasn’t holding it back now. And he was just so damn worried about the kid and desperate to try and find a way to ease even a bit of his suffering.

“Do you want a hug?” Gil reached out to touch his shoulder, mimicking the gesture he had done the first night they meet. He hoped Malcolm would recognize it and feel more secure.

Instead, as soon as Gil’s palm meet Malcolm’s arm, he let out a scream, slapping the hand away. Gil immediately recoiled, instinctively grabbing his hand back to his chest. It was already stinging; Malcolm could hit hard. Before Gil could even process what was happening, Malcolm’s sobs grew even louder than they had been before, and were now being interwoven with horrible screams. If Jessica hadn’t already been rushing down at the sound of his crying, Gil knew she would be soon. He wouldn’t even be shocked if Malcolm’s screams penetrated the brick walls of the home and caused those walking by to stop in concern. Against his better judgment, Gil reached out to try and grab Malcolm arms, worried he was going to hurt himself or fall off the couch.

“Malcolm, hey kid, it’s okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Malcolm immediately began screaming even louder, kicking and pushing against Gil’s arms until the cop was forced to stand up. Even over his wails, Gil could hear the clicking of heels rushing down the hall. A moment later, he looked up and Jessica was in the doorway, a horrified expression on her face.

“Get the Hell away from him!” She rushed in between the two, pushing Gil back further, before turning back to Malcolm. Her son was curled up defensively, pushed back against the pillows. Jessica’s first instinct was the same as Gil’s; she just wanted to comfort the boy.

But, like Gil, her attempts to pull Malcolm close to her, tell him it was okay, were met with more lashing out. Jessica tried to grab his shoulders to at least steady him, but he immediately pushed her back. She stumbled a bit, surprised by Malcolm’s strength, and nearly bumped into Gil. She could only stare, stunned that this was coming out of her son. Her son who had always been so quiet, so cheerful. He hadn’t even cried much as a baby and these screams were worse than any tantrum he threw as a toddler. Jessica couldn’t even find a silver lining in the fact that he was at least showing his feelings in some way, she was too overwhelmed with the terror in her child’s screams. The terror and the anger and the sadness.

Malcolm took the duo’s momentary stillness to jump up from the couch and rush into the hallway, cries echoing throughout the whole first floor. It didn’t take long for Jessica and Gil to snap out of their haze and run, tripping over each other, to go follow Malcolm. He wasn’t in the hallway anymore but it wasn’t difficult to figure out where he had gone; his sobs acted like a siren, alerting them to his precise location.

Moments later, the two adults were standing outside Malcolm’s bedroom. He hadn’t even closed the door, he was in so much of a rush to just be alone. Jessica’s first reaction was to run into the room, but Gil stopped her. He knew the kid didn’t want to see either of them.

So they stood in the doorway, Jessica holding her hands up to her chest, tears welling in her eyes, while Gil examined the child curled up in bed. Malcolm had his pillow hugged to his chest, face buried in it so much Gil was almost worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe. But he knew he still was, if only because his cries hadn’t stopped. They were muffled by the fabric but they still vibrated against the walls, filling the room with a heavy sense of sorrow. It was obvious that Malcolm had been holding all this back for the entire week. The screams and sobs still sounded as clear as they had been in the living room. He showed no sign of tiring himself out any time soon.

“What happened?” Jessica choked the two words out. She turned to face Gil and he saw how wet her eyes were. For a moment, however, the anguish was replaced with bitter frustration, her next words spoken in a harsh whisper. “What did you do to my son?”

“Mrs. Whitly...” Gil sighed, not knowing where to start. He knew it wouldn’t be fair to keep the truth from Jessica, even if there was the possibility she would tell him to leave and never come back. He told her he wouldn’t ask about Martin and he betrayed her trust.

“I asked him about...his father.”

Jessica balked and if there had been more room in the doorway she probably would have backed up. Her eyes were already flickering with anger and her lips were drawn tightly together, as if she was trying to keep herself from screaming at Gil, if only because she didn’t want to do it so close to Malcolm.

“Mrs. Whitly, I am so sorry. I had no idea he would react like this.” The apology was rushed, but genuine. Gil really did think his line of questioning would help the boy open up. He had expected tears, but nothing like the blow up that actually occurred. “I just thought...He needs to be able to process what happened. Pretending like the arrest didn’t occur isn’t going to help anyone.”

“So you’re a psychologist now? I told you not to mention him, you promised you wouldn’t mention him!” Jessica had to step in the hallway, she had to get away from Malcolm’s cries. Of course only Martin Whitly could bring out any emotion from her son. This was her life from now on, her husband controlling Malcolm, even from his cell. She wanted to cry but she was too angry, too angry at Martin, too angry at Gil, too angry at herself.

Gil followed her to the hallway, while still making sure to keep a distance between them. He wanted to defend himself but he knew he had messed up. He weakly retourted: “When were you going to bring it up then?”

“It doesn’t matter when I was going to bring it up, it just matters that it should have been me who did it.” Jessica honestly hadn’t even thought about how she would broach the topic to Malcolm. She knew it would have to be brought up eventually, but her mind was still in the denial stage of grief. If she just ignored it, it would go away.

Gil clasped his hands together, looking down. There wasn’t a point in arguing, he knew she was right and he accepted her reprimand. “You’re right, Mrs. Whitly. It wasn’t my place. And I’m so sorry, I know I overstepped. If you want me to leave, I’ll go.”

The last part physically pained Gil to say, but he knew he had to offer. Even if his intentions were to help Malcolm, he still betrayed the trust Jessica had afforded him.

Jessica sighed, glancing from Gil to Malcolm’s still opened door. Her head was beginning to throb, between the screaming and her own tears and anger. She didn’t know how to respond; she did feel betrayed, but she also didn’t want Gil to leave. And if she were being honest, she understood his reasoning; she knew she would have to acknowledge the arrest sometime, that she couldn’t divorce Malcolm’s silence from the fact that the entire week she had been trying so hard to make everything appear normal, when they both knew things would never be the same again.

And while it made her feel terrible, she also knew that a part of her was glad that it hadn’t had to be her to open that wound.

Gil just wanted to help. And he had done his best, given the circumstances. If he hadn’t been the one to trigger this, Jessica knew she would have eventually. Even if she never mentioned the name Martin Whitly again, Jessica would never be able to keep Malcolm from feeling so hurt. He had been a time bomb since his father was arrested and a meltdown like this was only inevitable.

“I appreciate you apologizing,” she started, taking a breath to calm herself, as she forced her voice to return to a more clipped and put together tone. “You’re right...it wasn’t your place. But I don’t want you to leave.”

Jessica left out the part about how she knew that if left alone, she would only spiral more.

Gil nodded and glanced into Malcolm’s room again, heart heavy as he watched the kid’s side heave up and down, trying to get the air in that was necessary to sustain his lament. “Hopefully some good will come of this. We just need to give him space, he needs to get this out. I know it's painful, but it must be progress that he's at least emoting in some way.”

Gil said the last sentence with all the conviction he could muster, but he knew his words were still falltering. What if this was the opposite of progress, what if Malcolm shut down even further after this? He wouldn’t express this to Jessica now, but the thoughts still swirled in the back of his mind.

Jessica walked back to the doorway, leaning her hand on the frame as she watched Malcolm. It felt nearly impossible to look at her child in this state. Her child who she was unable to even comfort. She was failing him at every turn. She could only pray that Gil’s assessment was right, that this was just things getting worse before they got better.

That there was a reason for Malcolm’s pain.

The two stood in silence for what felt like an hour, even though the clock visible from Malcolm’s desk told them it had barely been three minutes. For a while, the only sound was Malcolm’s tears, but eventually they were intercut by a yelp from the room around the corner of the hall.

“Mommy!”

Jessica snapped her head up, as if she had been sleeping and someone threw a glass of cold water on her face. She stepped out of the doorway to look down the hall.

“Ainsley’s awake. I have to...I gave Louisa the day off-”

“Go.” Gil said. “I’ll wait with Malcolm. I’ll make sure he’s safe.”

Jessica hesitated, Ainsley’s whines only growing in their volume, and turned back to Gil. She didn’t want to leave Malcolm while he was like this, but she also knew Ainsley wouldn’t quiet down without her, and she didn’t want to risk her coming out from her room and possibly seeing her brother in this state. Jessica was honestly shocked her daughter had slept through this entire ordeal.

“Are you sure?” Jessica started, her glance traveling from Gil to the direction of Ainsley’s cries. “I can-”

“She needs you too.”

Jessica hesitated again, her face still looking distraught, but finally turned fully away from Malcolm’s door and began walking down the hallway to Ainsley’s room.

‘At least I have one child I can help,’ she thought bitterly.

Gil watched Jessica until she disappeared around the corner. He then focused his attention back on Malcolm. The cries were still audible, but Gil had been listening to them for so long it now felt more like background noise. Malcolm hadn’t moved from his position on the bed. Gil wanted to go in and at least pull the covers up over the kid, but didn’t want to risk agitating him more. He took one last glance at the shaking figure on the bed before stepping outside the door frame and sliding down against the hallway wall, until he was sitting. The dark, wooden floors were gorgeous and the silk rug running across the floor probably cost more than every piece of furniture in Gil’s house.

Martin Whitly didn’t realize how lucky he had it. A successful career, a perfect wife, children who adored him, and a house that could put the manors of England to shame. And he threw it all away for whatever sick kind of gratification he got from inflicting pain on others. Gil knew he shouldn’t attempt to understand him, he couldn’t be understood, none of his choices could be explained by logic or reason, but he still spent many late nights agonizing over the man Doctor Whitly was.

‘Or the man he is,’ Gil thought, looking over his shoulder and into Malcolm’s room. He could really only see the edge of the bed from this angle, Malcolm himself was obstructed, but he still heard the cries. ‘He’s behind bars and he’s still hurting people.’

For the next hour, Gil sat there, listening to Malcolm choke and sob and scream. He occasionally glanced into the room, just in case he had gotten up and Gil hadn’t heard it, but for the most part he simply waited out the storm.

Gil had no idea how Malcolm could keep on going. He never seemed to take in a deep breath or even hesitate between sobs. The kid must have been running on raw emotions; frustration and rage and misery and hopelessness.

Keening for his lost father.

Eventually, Malcolm’s screams became more raspy and strained. They grated against his throat and Gil found himself wincing, imagining how horrible it must feel. The screams eventually faded to choking noises before stopping completely. And then the sobs turned into hiccups. And the hiccups turned into gasps and the gasps turned into silence. Gil waited for a few moments before standing, wanting to make sure Malcolm had actually stopped before he went inside.

Just as Gil suspected, Malcolm was asleep, still clutching the now tear soaked pillow. His face was bright red from crying and his cheeks were so wet it looked like he had just run a marathon. Even in sleep, his expression looked worried and every now and then he’d sniffle or hiccup. The kid looked so small, so fragile and for what must have been the fortieth time that day, Gil felt his heart break for him. He couldn’t imagine how tired he must have been and he hoped Malcolm would have a long, peaceful, sleep. He deserved that much.

Before leaving, Gil took the quilt at the foot of Malcolm’s bed and pulled it up to his chin, tucking him in loosely so he could still hold on to his pillow. He made sure to keep his touch light so he didn’t wake him up. After that was done, he turned off all the lights in the room and closed the curtains. He really didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want Malcolm to wake up alone, but he knew it wasn’t his place. So he left, leaving the door open a crack, just in case, and cast one last sorrowful look at the kid.

Praying that when he woke up, he’d feel better.

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Jessica was drinking.

Of course she was, how else was she supposed to deal with the nightmare her life had become? She knew she shouldn’t, at least when the kids were still at home and Malcolm was still so...fragile. But it was the only thing keeping her sane; it steadied her nerves and actually allowed her to focus, as contradictory as it sounds. So after finally getting Ainsley back to sleep (only accomplished by reading The Cat in the Hat at least a dozen times) she went to the dining room and made herself a gin and tonic.

And then another one.

It wasn’t until her third glass that her hands finally stopped shaking. She felt guilty for not going back to Malcolm, or even checking in with Gil, but she just couldn’t bare it right now. She had still been hearing Malcolm’s screams when she went downstairs. Ainsley had been worried about her brother, but thankfully Jessica’s explanation (“he’s not feeling well sweetie”) had been believable enough to keep the five year old from pressing on. Jessica figured that even at such a young age, her daughter intuitively knew the subject was upsetting her. Ainsley didn’t even complain about the noise in the background while she read to her; Jessica, on the other hand, could hardly keep her focus on the words on the page, the majority of her mind still focused on Malcolm’s weeping.

Jessica had started crying herself at some point, her tears silent and slow, but they still stung her cheeks. She could feel the eyeliner she had so carefully applied this morning, in a bid to return to any sort of routine, running down her face. She was too sad to be embarrassed, she didn’t even hear her mother's voice, snapping at her for allowing herself to cry while wearing makeup.

By now, the cries from upstairs had stopped and Jessica found herself sinking further into her chair, finally feeling a tinge of relaxation. At least the cocktail was working.

She must have drifted off for a few minutes because when she refocused her eyes, Gil was taking a seat across from her. He was exhausted; his eyes were heavy and he immediately put his elbows on the table so he could prop his head up with his hands. Neither of them spoke, the silence now feeling more like a punishment than a reprieve.

“He fell asleep.” Gil offered, feeling like he should at least say something.

“I assumed as much.” The reply came out much more bitter than Jessica had intended, but she was so exhausted at this point she didn’t even care that all her defenses were falling apart around her. She couldn’t be the perfect wife and mother and hostess tonight. That Jessica died a week ago. Martin could knock his tally up to a round twenty four.

“I’m so sorry, again. I really do want to help...I mean the kid saved my life, I owe him everything.” Gil rubbed his beard, eyes drifting from Jessica, to her glass and the empty bottle of gin off to the side, to the paintings of those long dead that covered the walls. He had noticed Jessica’s face was wet with tears, like Malcolm’s had been when he saw him just moments ago. He wondered how long she had been down here, how long she had been crying. “Thank you for calling me, I was worried about you and Malcolm and Ainsley. And I am here if any of you need anything. You are going to get through this.”

Jessica rubbed her finger across the rim of her glass, not meeting the officers eyes. She was feeling increasingly on edge, her skin prickling as Gil spoke. She must have stopped crying when he came in, but the tears still welled up in her eyes were threatening to fall again. “I wish I could believe that. I don’t even know where to go from here. Malcolm will need to go back to school soon but how can he do that if he’s not even talking to me?”

“It’ll take time. And it won’t be easy. But I know with your help, Malcolm with be okay.”

“I can’t help him!” The words were so sharp and sudden, Gil nearly jumped out of his chair, as if Jessica had pulled a knife on him. The tears that were already welled up in her eyes began to fall again and suddenly Gil was thrust back into that interrogation room, watching her fall apart right in front of him.

“Malcolm is not okay and I can’t help him!” Jessica couldn’t believe she was letting herself cry in front of this practical stranger again. But it was all too much. She had been replaying Gil’s words in her head all night, about how he said her kids would be okay, about how she would be able to handle it. It wasn’t true. Maybe she could help Ainsley; she had been confused and upset of course, but she also was still so young. She might not even remember the night Martin was arrested one day.

But Jessica knew she and Malcolm were going to be forced to replay that scene in their head everyday for the rest of their lives.

Jessica couldn’t help herself. How the Hell could she help her son?

“Mrs. Whitly, of course you can help him-”

“You don’t get it, Officer Arroyo, you don’t know Malcolm.” She raised her hand in a dismissive wave, not caring if the comment would offend. “He always prefered Martin. He worshiped him. Everything he said was the word of God. You should have seen the two of them, even just a month ago. Always joined at the hip, whenever Malcolm wasn’t at school he was with Martin in his...his study.” She hesitated, before adding softly: “I still can’t believe he turned his father in.”

A moment passed, Gil unsure of how to craft a response to everything Jessica was telling him.

“I can’t help him,” Jessica finally repeated, her voice dropping an octave as she tried to make herself sound firm, but through the tears it just came out in a pathetic choke. “He will never get over this. I have been with him every day and he is just a shell. Ainsley asks him to play and he doesn’t even flinch. Louisa makes his favorite meal, he doesn’t even touch it. I tell him how much I love him, I can’t even get a smile. I am losing him...he is almost gone. I know it hasn’t been that long but I have barely made it through these past seven days with him. What am I going to do if he never gets better?”

Jessica took another sip of her drink, hands shaking again. She couldn’t look Gil in the eye, she knew he must be thinking only about what a horrible mother she was. To give up on her son like this when barely a week had passed since the arrest? He must have thought she was more of a monster than her husband.

Gil took Jessica’s confession in, trying to process how much of it was actually true and how much was exaggeration caused by stress and exhaustion and alcohol. The fact that all the statements seemed like they were something Jessica genuinely believed sent a pang through his heart. He remembered what he had told her, about how she was only responsible for two lives, but he had forgotten about her own. She wouldn’t be able to help her children if she was already doubting her abilities as a caretaker.

Before he could voice any sort of comfort or advice, Jessica was speaking again, faster this time, as if the words she said came out quick enough she wouldn’t have to think about what they actually meant.

“I don’t think Malcolm should stay here. It’s not fair for him to have to be in this house.”

“What do you mean-”

“You know damn well what I mean, don’t make me explain it.”

Gil balked at Jessica’s sudden anger. He had felt a quiet rage boiling beneath her anguish, but he hadn’t expected it to jump out so suddenly. But she was right, Gil knew exactly what she meant.

“He doesn’t need that-”

“I can barely help Ainsley and she talks to me-”

“He needs to be with his mother, with his sister, in his home. It hasn’t even been a week yet! For all we know, when he wakes up, he’ll be chattering like before. He just needs time-”

“You don’t know my son, stop acting like you understand him more than I do!” Jessica knew she was being harsh, but she didn’t care. She spit the words out like venom, almost taking pleasure in the fact that she knew how much they would sting Gil. Only two interactions and she could already read him like a book.

Gil was honestly getting fed up. Maybe it wasn’t fair, he knew how much turmoil Jessica was going through, but God Damn it she had been the one to ask him for help and now she had the nerve to act as if he didn’t understand? As if he hadn’t spent his entire afternoon listening to Malcolm’s broken sobs? It was true, he barely knew them, and logically he realized he had no say in any of their personal choices, but he cared about the Whitly family and he wouldn’t let Jessica make a decision he knew she’d soon regret.

“You’re right Mrs. Whitly, I don’t know your son that well,” Gil started, forcing himself to acknowledge the point she had made. “But I do care about him and I want to help him.”

“If you really want to help then why don’t you make yourself useful and call that damn social worker they brought over here that night, tell her what a horrible mother I am, have her take the kids away now and save everyone the trouble. I know that’s what you want.”

Jessica couldn’t stop herself from spitting the words out. The idea was just a projection of her own insecurities, but at the moment she didn’t have the capacity for that kind of self reflection. She was scared and alone in this world and that was the only thing she could focus on.

“I would never do that, I know you love your kids more than anything in the world, I know you’re a good mother. And that is why I’m telling you you have to be patient with Malcolm. There are resources out there, I can get a recommendation for a therapist who specializes in childhood trauma, you aren’t doing this alone-”

“Malcolm hates me!”

Jessica’s voice was so loud and over powering, Gil half expected the chandelier above the table to start shaking. But nothing that dramatic happened. Jessica simply leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.

“Can you fix that, Officer Arroyo?” She tried to make the words sound cutting, but her disposition made it impossible to listen to her with anything other than pity.

Gil paused, not knowing how to respond, but also understanding that if he said the wrong thing he could make the situation even more tense. All he could settle on was the truth.

“Mrs. Whitly, Malcolm doesn’t hate you. You know that.”

The words hit Jessica hard, feeling as if they knocked the wind from her lungs. Of course, she knew he was right. Jessica wasn’t naive and even her insecurities didn’t fool her enough to make her genuinely believe son hated her. But the phrase, hyperbolic as it was, conveyed what Jessica did know; Malcolm would always love Martin more. She would never replace Martin. And that concept terrified her.

When Jessica didn’t respond to Gil’s reassurance, he continued, attempting to soften his voice, but it did little to hide the pain and exhaustion behind his words. “Jessica...Mrs. Whitly, it’s getting into the evening. This day has been taxing on the both of us. I can come back tomorrow if you’d like to talk more, but you shouldn’t be making any kind of permanent decisions in this state.”

Gil went to stand, feeling awkward leaving Jessica as she was, but also beginning to realize he may have overstepped his boundaries, in more ways than one, today. Maybe he shouldn’t have even come over in the first place. Maybe getting this close, this emotionally involved in a case, was a mistake.

“I don’t want to lose my son.”

Gil stopped standing, moving his feet back under the table so he could sit down again. Jessica was staring right at him now, a new look of determination just barely peeking through the sorrow on her face.

“I want to help him,” she continued, her voice still shaky from the tears, but an effort was clearly being made to inject some firmness into them. “I will help him. But you’re right, I can’t do it alone.”

Jessica hated to ask for help. After calling Gil last night, she didn’t sleep at all. Her mind raced, scolding her for being so weak and reaching out to the officer. And when she had failed at calming Malcolm down earlier (‘You can’t even control your own child’) she spiraled again. It almost convinced her that Malcolm was a lost cause and she might as well hand him off completely to someone who could care for him. It was admitting defeat, but it was somehow more acceptable than the long process she knew was ahead of her; the cycle of trying and failing to understand Malcolm, to help him, to see him get worse, no guarantees that he would ever get better.

She was now feeling extremely guilty for the thoughts she had, the thoughts she had spoken out loud, just moments ago. But as much as those ideas were based on her insecurities, they were also based on her love for her son; Malcolm deserved better than her. She was self aware enough to realize she wasn’t in any position to help someone heal when she was she was so broken herself. Getting Malcolm away from her would be the best thing she could do for him.

But now she was beginning to process the concern Gil had shown all day. Jessica had never felt as lonely as she had this past week. The police she interacted with clearly had no sympathy for her and barely any for her children. After all, it was only three people, nothing compared to the hundreds of lives directly and indirectly destroyed by her husband and their father. The least they could do was have some shame.

Gil hadn’t been like that though. Jessica had seen the way he looked at Malcolm that night, the way Malcolm seemed even slightly less uneasy around him. If she had to accept help from someone, she wanted it to be from him.

“I know you don’t, Mrs. Whitly. I know how much you love Malcolm. And I know how much he loves you.”

Jessica smiled slightly at Gil’s kind words. She wished she could quell that voice in her head (‘How could he possibly know how you feel? How Malcolm feels?’) but she knew it would take time. And Gil clearly didn’t mind being a part of what she knew would be a long process for all of them.

“You should come over tomorrow, for lunch. If you have the time I mean.” Jessica paused to stand up. “I really do think Malcolm would like to get to know you more.”

Gil returned her smile, feeling overjoyed at the prospect. He followed her lead in standing, speaking while the two began to walk out of the dining room. “Of course I have time. Would you mind if my wife joined us? Her name’s Jackie. I think Malcolm would really like her.”

“She is welcome.” Jessica and Gil turned down the hallway until they reached the front door. It felt weird to stand there again, Gil mused to himself. It felt different; no flashing lights, no radio static, no chaos. Before he could get lost in his own thoughts, Jessica was turning back to face him.

“Thank you, Officer Arroyo for your help.”

Gil shook his head. “I made your son cry, I don’t know if I’d classify that as helping.”

“It’s a start.” Jessica was trying to be positive, trying to hold on to whatever bit of confidence she was slowly regaining. “And I will take those recommendations you mentioned. Of therapists for Malcolm.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Gil smiled at Jessica. “I stand by what I said; you three are going to get through this.”

Jessica still couldn’t bring herself to believe him fully, but at least she was confident in the fact that she had some support system. If only out of spite, she was not going to let Martin Whitly destroy anymore lives.

She wasn’t going to let him take her son away from her.