Chapter Text
It started with an argument.
And it ended with an apology.
The freaky phenomenon that had transpired between Dr. Martin Whitly and his adult son concluded in a matter of days. In the weeks that followed, life returned to normal.
Dr. Whitly never found much pleasure in ‘normal.’
Nonetheless, he succumbed to the same dull, numbing routine that he’d been following for twenty years whilst serving his multiple life sentences in Claremont Psychiatric Hospital. Breakfast. Meds. Physical therapy. Recess. Lunch. TV time. Group therapy. Dinner. Lights out. Repeat.
Boredom. Loneliness. Repeat. Excruciating boredom. Excruciating loneliness. Repeat.
This routine --this curse-- could only be broken by the rare miracle of a visitor. Dr. Whitly hadn’t seen his son since that fateful Friday (although Martin couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t visited.) But today, more than a month later… somebody else visited. And thus, the cyclic curse was miraculously broken.
“Ainsley!” Dr. Whitly’s face lit up when his daughter entered his cell. “Your arms are healed, I see.”
Ainsley folded said no-longer-injured arms. “No thanks to you.”
That gave his smile pause. Did she know about The Switch? Did she know that it had been him who’d thrown her out the window of her apartment, not her brother?
As David Attenborough would attest, some creatures --when threatened-- played dead. Martin Whitly, however --when threatened-- preferred to play the victim.
Dr. Whitly’s face winced into an offended and wounded expression. He spread his own arms to gesture at the prison cell --specifically the rear wall which his padlocked belt was tethered to.
“Well, I haven’t exactly been available,” he reminded her of the obvious. “Not that I could have helped much even if I had been. Orthopedics are not my specialty.”
“No, but causing trouble is,” she accused.
“And… murder,” he reminded her. It was very important that she didn’t forget that. He did not want to go down in history as a mere ‘troublemaker.’ He was so much more than that.
Ainsley wasn’t eager to give him his glory. Instead, she dove straight to the point of why she was so upset with him. “What happened between you and Malcolm?”
Dr. Whitly hesitated before chuckling. “Could you be more specific? Your brother and I have a very off-again, on-again relationship. Sometimes it's rather difficult to keep track of our little… spats.”
“A month ago,” Ainsley answered. “When you and Malcolm had your last,” she formed air quotes with her fingers, “‘ spat.’’ ”
“Oh. Well… that’s… all that it was. A spat. An argument,” her father assured with a disarming grin.
“I’m not convinced.”
“Okay, well,” Dr. Whitly laughed. Nervously . “I’m not sure what you want me to say, sweetheart.”
“What I’ve always wanted you to say,” she emphasized impatiently, “The truth.”
“That is the truth.”
“It’s not the whole truth, and you know it.” Her crystal blue eyes bore into him from across that painted red line on the ground. Her orbs were simultaneously icy and searing.
Dr. Whitly didn’t say anything in response to that, simply taking in a breath to prepare for a thorough and tiresome interrogation.
Ainsley began her interrogation. “How did you know what Malcolm said to me that night he threw me out the window?”
“I…” Dr. Whitly shook his head and chuckled. Again, nervously. “I didn’t.”
“On the phone, in the hospital, you practically recited what we said to each other just hours before.”
“Maybe he told me what you said to each other,” he theorized --somewhat sarcastically.
“Did he? When?”
Martin’s tone remained sweet and forgiving as he explained, “He came here to see me before he went to visit you in the hospital.”
“Oh, that’s strange, because… I already asked Mr. David… and he said Malcolm didn’t,” Ainsley said with feigned confusion. The reporter tapped a finger to her chin, humming thoughtfully. “I wonder who could be lying,” she mused --somewhat sarcastically.
Martin glared at the red door behind her, suppressing an irritated sigh. Of course, the one time he did tell the truth, it was shot down as a lie, thanks to Mr. David diligently covering his son’s tracks.
“I know something happened between you two,” Ainsley declared, an authoritative anger coloring her voice. “You guys are keeping secrets again, and I’m sick of being pushed aside and treated like I’m too stupid to see it.”
Dr. Whitly took a breath and slipped his hands into the pockets of his knit cardigan. This was not a good place to have an argument. Both he and his son had learned that lesson before.
“It doesn’t really concern you, sweetheart,” he informed her carefully.
“Oh, it never does. It’s always you and Malcolm. You’re hiding something. Both of you are, and I’m going to find out what it is,” Ainsley vowed.
“Well, keep arguing with me, and you just might,” he chirped with a lift of his brows.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is that a threat?”
“Noooo, but… it… could…. be a… warning…” he eased patiently, struggling to keep a sweet expression on his face.
As he expected (and feared,) Ainsley continued arguing. “I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth --the whole truth-- about what happened between you and Malcolm that night. I know the shrooms were an excuse. I’m not an idiot, dad!”
“Mr. David!” Martin called gently, summoning his guard like the man was late to the dinner table.
The security officer unlocked the red door with a loud thunk that rang above Ainsley’s angry voice. As his daughter continued to berate him, Dr. Whitly scrunched his nose and nodded to Mr. David. “I think we’re done here.”
“No!” Ainsley argued, shooting a heated glare at Mr. David. “We’re not done. I’m not done!”
Dr. Whitly smirked, clearly humored by her stubbornness. With a gentle murmur, he told her, “Time to go, Ains.”
Mr. David hesitated, unsure what to do. He lingered awkwardly, hovering with half a mind to escort Ainsley out if she got too hysterical. She was well on her way to becoming utterly unruly.
“You wouldn’t do this to Malcolm!” the blonde testified, fed up with the blatant favoritism which her brother received. “You wouldn’t kick him out of your cell if he came to you with a question! You’d do whatever it took to keep him here as long as possible, but when I come to you with a question you call your bouncer and give me the boot!”
“That’s not what’s happening, Ains,” Dr. Whitly assured. “Trust me, you need to leave.”
“I’m NOT leaving!” she cried, taking a step towards him. The toe of her boot landed over the red line, and Mr. David put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from advancing any closer to the tethered serial killer.
“ Malcolm has always been everything to you!” she screamed at her father. “And I have always been nothing!”
On that note, the lights went out, plunging all three of them into darkness.
That was when it happened.
Again.
The ‘switch.’
A low hum, or zap, or even a rumble resonated through the air. The entire psychiatric hospital lost power, and apparently the backup generators did, too. There were no emergency red lights, no wailing sirens, no instant lock-downs.
Ainsley could have sworn the building trembled around them, like they were experiencing a sudden earthquake. Only God knew how old this dump was, or if it would survive such a brutal shake. She screamed and brought her hands up to cover her head --but her scream was not her own, and her hands touched short, curly hair instead of silky, long locks.
The sounds of a brief scuffle erupted in the darkness --a swish of moving clothes, a dull thud of a hit, a masculine grunt. There was a flash of electric blue and the harsh tk-tk-tk-tk sound of a taser. Then, the audible slump of a collapsing weight.
It all happened so fast. It all happened before the building’s rumbling had even stopped. And it was all in the dark. Before Ainsley knew it, someone was directly in front of her, grabbing the tight thing around her middle --the pressure released with the click of an opened padlock.
“What’s going--?” She stopped her question short. Who said that? Was that her voice? Why was it so… deep?
“I told you it was time to leave. You didn’t listen. Now it really is time to leave. Come on.”
That was her voice, but Ainsley hadn’t said those words.Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her through the darkness --through the still-open door of the cell and down the hallway.
Ainsley tripped on something along the way.
It felt like a body.