Dangerous Territory

Eight

Twenty-four hours passed and Mala had only been able to find one other article on Auden. It had been a screenshot from a webpage that was fifty-six pages into the google search and Mala had become livid at the sight of it.

There was no doubt about it, somebody had tried very hard to erase all the information about Auden from the internet.

The only thing she could think of was that someone else had tried to cover up his crime, make it look like it had never happened. Nothing else made much sense beyond that.

The screenshot dated back over ten years ago to the week before Auden stood trial: information about the murder, drug affiliation and assault charges laid out in a painfully ambiguous manner. There was another picture attached to the page, too small for Mala to make out.

The previous day of work had left a bitter taste in her mouth and she'd found herself researching about criminal journalism, suddenly incredibly curious about it. She had actually done two years of journalism and criminal studies in university, at the time not decided on which career path she wanted to pursue.

After a restless night of sleep and waking up mid-transformation once again, a more precise idea had wormed its way into her mind.

Break Auden out of the penitentiary from the inside.

There was no chance of that ever working, and she hadn't forgotten that he was a literal killer, but she had least come to the acceptance that she had to see him again. She couldn't deny that her new career interest had something to do with that, the idea of studying and reporting on criminals of a much greater interest to her since she knew her mate was one of them.

Another reason why the idea would never work was because Mala wasn't planning to do something worthy of Irongate imprisonment, just to get inside the gates.

Never the less, the bond was unwavering in its desire.

The white chord never stopped its anguished tugging.

She wanted to give in to it.

She found herself in Bateman's office a couple hours later, regarding him warily even though she had been the one to ask for an audience with him.

By request, she strolled right on into his office just before the day was over, ignoring the fact that he was already in conversation with someone and taking a seat in front of his desk.

She knew that he didn't mind her unannounced entrance because he had told her, when she had first started her probation, that she was welcome to walk in at any time. It was the first time she had been bold enough to take him up on that offer. Usually, she would double check with him beforehand.

Observing the room, there was nothing that she could see amiss. Nothing that would suggest he was on to her.

The walls were still a muddy brown, rows of metal cabinets lined up against the wall, filled to the brim with files and loose papers. His desk was the best of the best: thick, hand carved oak, adorned with Bateman's many medals. There were no pictures of his family and Mala assumed that he didn't have any children, or at least if he did, they weren't very close. Usually, men like him had a couple pictures of their kids around the office, their wedding or graduation photos, pictures of them as tiny tots making a mess on themselves.

No, Bateman definitely wasn't a family man.

Come to think of it, she had never seen a ring on his finger or heard him allude to a wife, or ex-wife, of any kind.

He's probably worked his whole life. Never had a chance to get married and settle down.

She didn't think that was a bad thing. Not everybody had the desire to get married. Even she didn't care much at one point.