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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-Night outside of a building-
A well dressed man breathes unevenly. Hugging the bricks as much as he could, stepping around one of the corners, willing himself not to look down.
“Sorry!”
The man gasps trying not to lose his footing.
“This ledge is taken,” Malcolm informs.
“What? Who are you?” The well dressed man pants.
“Malcolm Bright. Charmed.” the Profiler waves nonchalantly.
“What the hell are you doing?” The man stutters.
“Out here? Oh, you know, ledge stuff. It’s been a hell of a year.” the Profiler shrugs. “For all of us,” he adds spacing out. “Got real dark for me, though. Family issues.” he chuckles peering over the ledge at the cars below.
“Careful, man!” the stranger exclaims.
“Yeah. Careful... It’s not really my thing.” Malcolm smirks. “It’s my father’s fault. All of this is. He’s in my head. Serial killers, they... have a tendency to do that.” he gestures around his temple. “You might have heard of him. Martin Whitly, The Surgeon.”
“Whoa.” the man sounds.
“Yeah. Whoa.” Malcolm echos.
“Tried to run away from it, deny it. You know, he’s my dad.” Malcolm sighs. “I AM THE SURGEON’S SON! YOU HEAR ME NEW YORK!” the Profiler screams out into the night. “He murdered my mother in law. The mother of my husband who I didn’t know would be my loving, handsome husband.” he swallows the lump in his throat.
“Small world.” the man gasps.
“Some would say faith or destiny.” The Profiler spat angrily stomping his feet nearing the edge.
“Careful man, your husband. What would he think knowing you’re up here?” he coaxes.
“I don’t think I could call him husband anymore.” he realizes. “We had a fight,” he admits. “First year is the hardest they said.”
“Just talk to him.” the man reasons.
“I broke our vow.” Malcolm shakes his head.
“If you really want this to work. You have to take the first step.” the man instructs.
“Thank you, Chester.” Malcolm smiles.
“How do you know my name?”
“I profiled you. That’s how I knew you’d come here tonight. To kill the Rose family. Slit their throats, like you did the Catlins last week. You’re the Penthouse Slasher. But when you got here tonight, something spooked you. So you ditched the knife, climbed out here, onto my ledge.” Malcolm deduced.
