don't get me wrong () prodigal son SLOW UPDATES

Four

Their voices carried, though she tried to ignore what they were saying. But from the gist of it, it was the same thing his mother usually talked to him about.

His health, if he's been sleeping. And then go on to tell him whatever he thought about his father wasn't true— or something like that. Though, when she was near it would end with snark comments about herself.

"I made tea." Her voice shouted, "Chamomile. Drink it up."

Theodora hopped of the chair and slid the door open a bit, peeking her head out.

Malcolm swivelled on his chair and glanced at her, a small smile on his face.

"Tea?" Theodora mouthed.

He turned back to face his mother who seemed to be at the top of the staircase.

"Oh yeah?" He questioned, "What's it laced with?"

"Love."

"Mhm."

"Though I wouldn't recommend drinking all the pot." Her voice faded, "Your friend on the other hand—"

"Goodbye, Mother!"

The door slammed and Theodora stepped out, padding her way to the kitchen where a full tea cup sat in front of Malcolm.

"I wouldn't taste it, if I were you."

She sniffed it, making a weird face as she stood up again. "Dump it?"

He nodded. She laughed picking it up, dumping the liquid into the sink then placing the empty cup in the dishwasher.

"Why is your mother always offering you new pills?" She questioned, "Isn't that... illegal?"

He snorted, rubbing his eyes. When he looked at her she could see the dark bags under his eyes, and they way he seemed to carry himself all of a sudden.

"You haven't been sleeping."

He frowned, swiping hair from his eyes. He sat up, crossing his arms. "Yes I have."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him, lips pursed.

"Lets go start the profile."

He was off his chair, racing towards his office. Theodora sighed, following him.

He was knelt down by a chest of drawers towards the back corner, using a key to open the bottom drawer. When it opened he pulled out a large wooden box, placing it into the desk with a thud.

"Is that—"

"Everything I could collect about my father's murder spree." Malcolm clicked his tongue, "Yes."

Theodora found herself next to him, watching as he pulled article after article out of the box. Newspaper clippings, photos of all the court appearances. Anything that had been published about his father was in that box, even the ones about his mother and sister. The ones about himself.

"Are sure you want to do this?"

He made a gross noise, tossing a pile of newspapers onto the table.

"Our killer is probably older. A serial killer super fan."

"How do you already know that?"

He flopped down onto his chair, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling things down.

Theodora glanced at the clock. 1:37 A.M.
No wonder why she felt tired.

"Probably White, right? And a guy." She asked taking a seat on the floor, eventually laying down on the rug.

"Yes. Average looking, blends in."

"A high functioning psychopath."

Theodora sighed, closing her eyes.

"All the victims are white women, over forty and wealthy."

"What a very obvious conclusion, dear Malcolm."

A chuckle, "Obvious but important."

A few silent moments later, Theodora pursed her lips. "I bet he's bald."

His chair swivelled, and she knew he was watching her.

"Why do you say that?"

She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. "Don't know. I'm just assuming. I bet you he's a guy and he's bald."

When he turned away, leaning back on his desk she closed her eyes again. Sleep tugging at her like a moth to a flame.

"He somehow knows all the victims. They let him in willingly, they all trusted him."

"Mmhmm."

Malcolm chuckled, "You're welcomed to stay the night, Theo."

"Already planned on it." She mumbled back, "You have very comfy rugs."

She didn't hear his retort, as sleep had already won and dragged her down with it.