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“What just happened?”
Clothes. She needs to change clothes.
Malcolm carefully steps over the bloody pile of Nicholas Endicott to get to Ainsley. He grabs his sister by her wrist and gently guides her to follow. “We need to get you out of those.” She dimly nods, complying, allowing her body to be moved.
Before he pulls any further, he notices her stained shoes. Malcolm kicks off his own shoes, kneels down to grab her left ankle and tugs on it. “Lift up,” he says, cautiously watching her.
She does, barely lifting her foot off the floor just enough for him to take her shoe off. He follows with the right, rolls up the hems of her pants and stands, taking her wrist again. He pulls, watching, making sure she doesn’t step in any splatters. They were walking through a minefield of their own making.
He guides her upstairs into her room. “Stay right here, don’t touch anything.”
He leaves her standing by the door, cold and wet. Malcolm sifts through her closet for any clothes she might’ve left recently. He goes through her drawers, pulling out a shirt and a pair of jeans from the closet, setting them on the bed next to a pair of socks, bra, and underwear.
“You need to shower, wash everything off, every trace of him. Come on,” he grabs her wrist again and marches out of her room.
Malcolm notes how quiet she is. The news anchor who’s been stunned to silence; the longer she goes without talking, the more he worries. He can’t imagine the kind of things running through her head right now.
He opens the door to her bathroom, pulling her in, locking the door behind them. He lets her go to start the shower, opening the shower door so he could turn the knob.
“Malcolm...”
He steps out of the shower to turn to her, unconsciously on edge. She slowly takes inventory of her body, the stains on her clothes, the pool of blood soaking her hands, the hair sticking to her face.
Her eyes widen when it all starts to add up, flooding in all at once, overwhelming her when she can’t process it. She looks up to Malcolm with a fearful, desperate expression, her breath starting to come out in short gasps. It finally hits her.
“What did I do?”
Malcolm watches Ainsley start to shake, hugging herself just a few feet away with him. As much as he wants to hold her close, to tell her that everything was going to be okay, that they were finally free of the man who’s soiled their home, he knows he can’t. Reality is cruel and unforgiving. There’s no turning back.
His brows dip in sympathy, hurting for his sister. They can’t run from this. The evidence is abundantly clear but he’s having a hard time telling her the truth. Is this how the team felt when they arrested him?
“He’s dead, Ains. You killed him,” he says softly. She stares at the floor as if the wind got knocked out of her. They stand in silence, letting his words really sink in.
There’s no easy way to say it.
“When you’re done, just leave your clothes here. I’ll pick them up.” He doesn't have time to sit and think about what just happened – he needs to come up with a plan, their next move. Malcolm bows his head and walks away, reaching for the door.
Ainsley stops him, gripping his sleeve with force. Her eyes meet his, and he can sees tears forming, her lip trembling with the same fearful, desperate look.
“Please,” she swallows the lump in her throat, pleading, “please don’t leave me.” It throws him for a second, but he remains standing.
His expression saddens when he looks at her, knowing that she has to live with this aching feeling forever.
She doesn’t deserve this.
He should’ve killed him when he had the chance. But he hesitated, he froze when it mattered the most. Now she has to live with herself and it wasn’t fair. He’s nothing like his father, no, he’s even worse – a coward.
“I won’t,” he says, reassuring her, “I’ll be outside the door. Wait here,” he gently pulls away from her to slip back into her bedroom.
He comes back with her clothes and lays them across the sink. “I’ll be right outside this door. I’m not leaving you, Ainsley.” He flashes a small smile, still keeping his distance.
She swallows again and nods, not moving from her spot. “I’ll be right here. Call me if you need anything.” With one last glace, Malcolm shuts the door behind him.
A heavy sigh escapes his lips. His adrenaline is starting to fade, fatigue and exhaustion taking over. He tries not to think about it.
He tries not to think about her face when she dragged the knife across Endicott’s neck, cutting him deep.
He tries not to think about her driving the same knife into his body seven times, relentless, brutal, fatal, smearing red all over their mother’s rug.
He tries not to look at the haunting look on his little sister’s face when she killed that man. Instead, he focuses on the running water behind the door.
A small knock on the door brings him out of the depths of his mind.
He opens it, Ainsley leading with the door in fresh clothes, coming out from behind her door with her head down, resigned. She staggers to her bed and sits on the edge with her hands in her lap, clasped together. Malcolm joins her.
They sit for a minute. Malcolm gently pulls her head onto his shoulder, her damp hair soaking his shirt. He wraps that same hand around her arm to pull her in, using his free hand to hold her hand in his. His thumb slides across her skin, running soothing circles on the back of her palm. His other hand does the same.
“What’s going to happen now?” she quietly asks. He’s too tired to come up with a lie, unable to come up with any false sense of hope for her. “I don’t know,” he whispers. She’s quiet for a moment.
“Are you going to arrest me?” He looks down at her but she keeps her head on his shoulder. At the end of the day, even after what she did, she’s still his baby sister.
She's always been there for him, even at a young age when the world didn't make sense. He couldn't imagine abandoning her now.
“No,” he rubs her arm harder, pulling her in even closer, “no, Ains. I’m going to protect you. No matter what, I’ll be there every step of the way. You did what you felt like you had to do. I’ll figure it out, okay?”
Malcolm wants to reassure her. To make her believe that she is no Surgeon, that she had motive, a reason for what she did. She did this to protect her family.
She’s no cold-blooded killer.
However, deep down under all of the guilt, he doubts himself. A part of him wonders if she is capable of doing it again. Anyone can be pushed to murder, given the right circumstances; but the nature of Endicott’s brutal death has Malcolm looking at her in an entirely different way.
She moves to get comfortable, resting her head in the crook of his neck. Everything is a blur and she feels so empty, so numb sitting next to her brother, promising to clean up after her.
It’s the first rule of killing, after all.
“Okay.”