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Malcolm picks out the phone, watching Martin and the girl with indecisive eyes. With hurting eyes. Savoring the feeling of having rescued her. Of having saved the girl in the box, this time. Of having been on time to find her. To bring her back to her family.
„The bad man is gone now.“
He’s lowering his gaze and looks down at the phone in his hands, playing with it, keeping his fingers busy. Hesitating. Contemplating.
„You’ll be safe with us.“
He can’t look at him. He can’t look at his father who sounds so severe in telling her that she’s safe now. Safe with them. With him. How can he say that, how can he sound so serious, so honest, so caring…?
He opens the phone and starts dialing.
„What are you doing?“
Now he does look at him. At his dad, who seems seriously irritated at what Malcolm is about to do. Because of course he’s still keeping an eye on his son. He can’t be sure of what Malcolm would do. Never could be.
„My boy… we saved her.“
Martin becomes nervous, carefully moving closer to him. He doesn’t want to scare him off, doesn’t want to push him into doing something he’s going to regret. One way or another.
„Let… Let’s stick to the plan.“
What plan, exactly?
„Can… can we… can we talk?“
Malcolm slightly shakes his head and puts the phone to his ear, chewing on his lips, looking his dad in the eyes. Determined, somehow. He has to do this. He can’t not do this.
But he’s also hurt, unsure, still contemplating. But he has to. He has to.
„911. What is your emergency?“
„This is Malcolm Bright. I have Jeannie Larkin and The Woodsman.“
Still watching his father. Searching, hesitating again. Martin remains nervous, his eyes pleading, trying to stop his son, to convince him. He just wants to talk first, wants the chance to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this. Malcolm doesn’t want to. His voice stuck in his throat because he really doesn’t want to do this. He doesn't!
And then he finally breaks eye contact with him.
„And Martin Whitly.“
He turns away. Literally and figuratively. Turns away from him, again, calling him in, betraying him. A part of him is breaking in this very moment. He can’t look at him. Not anymore. Not ever again. For a moment, he closes his eyes, forcing away the wetness.
He focuses on listening to the voice on the other end of the line. Giving up their position. Giving up his father. His dad. He hears the rustle of the leaves behind him. Waiting a few moments, giving Martin some seconds to react, to do whatever he intends to do. He doesn’t think about the girl being in danger, doesn’t expect his father to waste his time with hurting her instead of running. So, after taking a long, deep breath, he turns around, to Jeannie, alone and afraid, before glancing in the direction she’s pointing to. He gives her the phone and starts running.
It's not long until Malcolm catches up to Martin. “Dad.”, he calls. Watching him stop fleeing, leaning against a tree and catching breaths. He’s not as young anymore, he’s hurt, and he can’t get away anyhow. Not with Malcolm standing right behind him. Waiting for the cops to catch up on them. To arrest him again. To put him back to Claremont. No, probably not even that. Rikers would be next, wouldn’t it? Martin turns around, breathing heavily.
Malcolm is taken aback by how hurt, how betrayed his dad looks at him. But he doesn’t show it. He can’t, because his own pain is so much stronger. It has to be, right? Because Martin can't feel hurt. Not really. He can feel betrayed, he can feel disappointed. But this? This is sadness. This is pain. This is sorrow. No anger, no determination because he has to face his son now, convince him, fight with him, hurt him… no, there’s nothing of that. Nothing of that at all. “This is it then, isn’t it?”, he simply says. There’s even the tiniest hint of a smile. A sad smile, but a smile all the same. Malcolm swallows heavily, making himself ready to…
No, he can’t. He can’t do that to him. Not again. Not like this. Not after what he asked of him, only a few hours ago. He’s as guilty as Martin, he can’t just turn him in now and walk free for himself. He can’t. He doesn’t want to. So he makes a decision. A decision he is going to regret, one way or another. Because regret is all he knows by now. He closes his eyes.
„Run.“ And with that, Malcolm breaks, just a little bit more. One way or another.