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They’re close, so close to catching their suspect—a man who’s thought to have brutally murdered three children and kidnapped a fourth that's missing with no body yet found.
Malcolm has been working tirelessly to put together a detailed enough profile that they can find and stop the man before it’s too late for his most recent victim. And now, they’ve nearly gotten him.
It’s late, night falling fast, and the team as well as a support force are racing through dense underbrush across the overgrown fields of a long abandoned farm, converging on the dilapidated old house where Malcolm is certain the child is being held. If they’re lucky, the suspect will be there as well.
They’re moving quickly, and as silently as possible. Malcolm’s eyes are fixed far ahead on the dark, eerie silhouette of the sagging farmhouse, watching for any sign of someone coming or going. He’s not watching his feet as he pushes through the low bushes and tangled weeds that have taken over the landscape. Even if he was, though, he probably wouldn’t have seen the tangled mass of rusty wire through the thick vegetation until it was too late, anyway.
Something pulls at his ankle, pressure first and then a hot, searing pain. Whatever it is catches and holds and he can’t slow his momentum enough to keep from tumbling to the ground. He throws out his hands to help break his fall and as he lands he’s assaulted by sharp, stabbing, pain ripping across his entire body and scratching across his face. He slams his eyes shut, biting back on a cry of shock and pain as he falls straight into the pile of old barbed wire fencing.
Tears spring to Malcolm’s eyes and he jerks, body reacting on instinct in a frantic attempt to escape from the all-encompassing pain. But moving only makes it all worse; makes the spikes dig deeper and the wire tangle around him further, cutting through fabric and biting into his skin.
Malcolm lets out a shaky breath, moaning softly, struggling to gather his thoughts and regain his bearings. He cracks his eyes open, lifting his head slowly, and nearly sobs in relief when he finds that he can at least do that. He can’t see much, between the fast fading light and his limited range of motion, but a quick glance around shows that he’s surrounded by the wire for a foot at least on all sides.
He shifts, slowly, testing the freedom of each of his limbs as best he can. He’s able to free his right arm, wincing and hissing out a breath when he pulls free of the couple of barbs digging into his bicep, but it’s not that bad. His left arm, though, is completely entangled, wrapped in wire, with a barb pressing directly against his pulse point, and while he’s fairly certain the metal isn’t sharp enough to slit his wrist on it still feels like a threat, makes him wince in fear when he feels it scraping across the skin and tendons there.
His left leg, the first to have been entangled, is free except for the strand that has snaked its way around his ankle, but the other is somehow almost entirely encased in the wire, and moving his leg even an inch pulls at wire that’s wrapped around his chest as well. He nearly screams when he makes that discovery, unprepared for the level of pain the small movement causes. He’d expected that it might hurt his leg, of course, but then the wire tightens around his chest, the barbs piercing his thin dress shirt easily, tearing fabric and skin alike as the wire moves, dozens of barbs scraping lines of fire across his body all at once and stealing his breath from how bad it burns.
But it’s getting darker by the second, and even laying still the pain is excruciating. He wants out, right fucking now, and for a moment he thinks maybe it would be worth it to pull himself free, to just get it over with and endure the agony for just a moment if it means no longer being trapped. He reaches out with his right hand to pull at the wire wrapped around his left, but he can’t see now, and pulling at it only makes it worse. Malcolm’s face twists in a furious snarl and he jerks his left arm, yanking against the wire in a fit of pure desperation and rage. His vision goes white, the snarl turning into a scream that he muffles against his own shoulder.
Malcolm sags down against the ground, keeping his head up in case there’s more of the wire beneath him, though his shoulders and neck are beginning to ache fiercely. He’s never felt more helpless. It’s only been a few minutes since he fell, but already he’s exhausted, from pain and fear and frustration, and he lets out a low, keening sob.
“Bright, hey, Bright? Where are you?” a voice calls out softly through the gloom, and he can hear someone moving through the undergrowth towards him.
“G-Gil?” he chokes out, eyes straining to see in the dim light. “Here, I’m here, on the- wait, wait, be careful!” he warns, keeping his voice as low as he can despite his urgency. “There’s barbed wire, lots. I’m stuck.” His voice catches on the admission, the weight of his situation weighing down on him once more as he says the words aloud.
“Okay kid, it’s okay,” Gil’s voice, familiar and soothing, comes again, closer now.
Malcolm still can’t see him, can barely even keep his head lifted. The muscles in his neck are starting to cramp and he’s so, so tempted to drop his head to the ground, wire be damned.
A light cuts through the dark, landing to the side of where he lays but then sweeping across the ground and coming to rest on him.
“Gil, wait, what if he sees?” Malcolm hisses out, immediately concerned that the light will alert their suspect of their presence.
“I think he probably knows by now, kid. They’re practically at the house now, not much hiding anymore,” Gil explains. He comes into view, finally, nothing but a dark shape with a pinpoint of bright light from Gil’s flashlight, but he’s there, solid and real, and Malcolm isn’t alone anymore.
He’s there, here, and not…
“You should be with them, you should go!” Malcolm chokes out. “They’re down two people now, what if—”
“Malcolm,” Gil says, voice firm, raised just enough to be heard over Malcolm’s own ramblings. He stops about a foot away from Malcolm, lowering himself into a crouch, dropping the light so that it illuminates the ground at his feet and no longer blinds Malcolm as much as it had. “Christ, Bright,” he breathes, sweeping the light all around, taking in the situation.
“Oops,” Malcolm whispers.
“Are you okay?” Gil asks softly. “You’re bleeding.”
“Oh? I can’t tell. I’m fine. Hurts though,” Malcolm admits. “Can’t get free.”
“Yeah, you’re. You’re pretty tangled up there. What’d you do, roll around in it?”
“No! Just fell!” Malcolm insists. “It just happened.” He groans, frustrated and tired, and aching.
“Okay, Bright. Okay. Just hang in there, kid. I- I don’t think I can get you out. But I’m going to call for a bus and wait here with you, all right? Just hang on for me.” Gil sits on the ground, and Malcolm can see the light from his phone.
“Wait- wait until. ‘Til you’re sure they got him, please!” Malcolm insists. “No bus till they clear the house.”
“Bright, I swear-” Gil hisses. “I’m sure by the time it gets here they’ll have the house cleared. I don’t want you waiting here any longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Good point. Me either,” Malcolm hums, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. “‘M so tired.” He starts to let his head drop, unable to keep it held up any longer, the pain in his neck far worse than anything the barbed wire could cause.
“Hold on, kid,” Gil says, shrugging out of his jacket and folding it up. He leans forward, moving as close to Malcolm as he’s able before reaching the tangled mess of wire, and stretches his arm out the rest of the way, sliding the jacket beneath Malcolm’s head. “There. Go slow, that should protect you.”
Malcolm whimpers, tears filling his eyes at the small act of mercy, the simple offer of comfort. He moves as slow as he can, gasping as the muscles in his neck scream at him, as even the slight motion of laying his head down makes the wire around his chest pull and stab. But then, finally, he’s able to rest his head on the jacket, to fully relax his body. It still hurts, though the sharp, burning pain is dulling into a familiar ache now, as long as he keeps still.
Malcolm isn’t sure how much time passes, how long he lays there, aching, bleeding. Gil updates him on the situation—the child is safe, the suspect secured—but Malcolm feels little more than a passing sense of relief, too tired and spent to feel anything more.
Finally the paramedics arrives, armed with bolt cutters and thick blankets that they spread out all around him before moving in to start cutting at the wire.
He doesn’t bite back his cries of pain, this time, as they carefully pull the barbs away from his skin, whispering apologies and reassurances that it’s almost over, nearly done. They cut the last wire free and then Gil is there beside them, helping him to his feet. Malcolm can barely stand, but the ground is too rough for them to get the stretcher to him. So, he slumps heavily against Gil as he’s guided carefully away from the wire, towards the flashing lights of the ambulance, and he doesn’t even have the strength to argue about a trip to the hospital. He’ll need a tetanus shot if nothing else, maybe even stitches. Gil supports him every step of the way.
“Thank you, Gil,” Malcolm whispers, resting his head against Gil’s shoulder.
“Of course, kid. I’d never leave you behind,” Gil promises.
He’s helped into the ambulance, his eyes falling closed from exhaustion almost as soon as he’s laying down.
The last thing Malcolm sees as he gives into the heaviness that comes over his body is Gil climbing in after him, sticking with him even still.