Author's note: This story has been edited. I would recommend reading from the beginning as plot points and storylines have been changed for a better flow.
Wondering the empty streets of the city that never sleeps. Malcolm was searching for just that...
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“Morning.” The Profiler smiles walking into the kitchen while fastening his button down shirt. Badge, gun on his hip.
This felt wrong.
He was a detective...right?
“Good morning.” The blonde grins placing a tray of freshly baked muffins onto the island. “Blueberry, your favorite.” she smiles tearing off a piece feeding it to her husband. He grins, but it quickly turns to distaste.
“What’s wrong?” she asks taking off her oven mitts. “These are cherry. I thought you said they were blueberry,” he questions.
“They are,” she assures breaking off a piece popping it into her mouth. After chewing for a few moments she shrugs. “Are you feeling ok?”
His Surroundings seemed to blur, the lights in the room becoming too much. Closing his eyes holding onto the countertop for support. His head ached, the screeching of metal in his ears, the smell of copper. Was this a seizure, or stroke?
“m———…———….——colm…..Malcolm?”
“He was pushed down an elevator shaft,” Eve says. Opening his eyes he flinches violently seeing that he was now in his Mother’s dining room.
“A what?” Jessica shrieks causing him to hold his ear.
“How did I—” he trails off. What was happening? his mind tried to figure out.
“From how high?” his mother demands.
“Not very. Three, four floors.” he tries to downplay.
“Well, no wonder. You have a concussion. And the clinical term is jamais vu.” His father diagnosis,
“Jamais what?” Malcolm echos.
“The opposite of déjà vu, when familiar things appear strange or novel. It’s a common symptom of traumatic brain injury. Look here.” his sister explains directing his attention to her penlight. Checking his eyes.
“Yeah, but lucky for you, you are related to two of the best doctors in New York.” Jessica grins lifting a glass swan pitcher filling her son’s glass with water.
“Jessie, please. Ainsley’s the talented one. I’m a distant second.” Martin waves off.
“No evidence of cerebral edema. Eyes are perrla.” Ainsley notes.
“Oh, no.” Eve gasps gripping onto Malcolm’s shoulder.
“Which is a good thing.” Martin clarifies. “Like the fillets, you’ll be perfect after you rest a little bit.” he prescribes. “Speaking of which, dinner is served. Come on,” he announces as everyone takes their seats.
