“...Maybe for you sadistic fucks. I bet Mark is internally frothing at the mouth at the idea of giving me false hope.” Adam grumbled, trying to blink away the prickling sensation coming to his eyes as, once again, the sounds of bones crushing and viscera splattering popped into his mind, the memory of the metallic scent and the cooling blood covering him not far behind--

Breathe in, breathe out.

Not now. Not in front of a fucking Jones.

“Hm? Oh, right, Mark told me you think he was the one being the whole thing...”

“Who else would want to kill my mom?” Adam questioned, squeezing the toy.

Bones went quiet for a second, taking another can out of, what by the sound must have been, a mini fridge under the desk, and cracking it open. Was the guy trying to go into cardiac arrest on his first day on the job?

“Honestly, off the top of my head, I can come up with a few people. But, after you look into the facts, the crime just doesn't fit any possible motive. Mark included.”

“Oh yeah? Then tell me, Mr. Moonlighting as a hitman, why would your Machiavellian freak of a cousin not want to murder my mom to TORMENT ME?!” Adam asked, banging on the table with fist tight around a marterised rodent.

“...Adam, you're supposed to squeeze and release.” The man said nonchalantly, pointing at the toy.

Adam glared at him and sat back down, sinking into the chair with his arms crossed, his hand slowly easing the tension and squeezing the toy again as instructed.

...

It was actually... kinda relaxing.

He wanted to put all of their heads on pikes still.

“Adam, how does Mark keep people in check?”

“...He threatens them, the people closest to them, their parents' income, their housing, etc. It depends on the person, I guess? In my case, it was always my mom. He'd always go on about how dark and empty the streets she walked on the way home were, how it probably hurt her a lot to lose a finger or two... And then, he began threatening David, how it'd be easy to frame him and get him sent to prison, unless I was willing to suffer in his place. And now, he's threatening Cassie too.”

“...So, he threatens whatever the person holds dearest. Either it be their own safety and stability, or their loved ones. In your case, your loved ones.”

Adam nodded. Where was he going with this?

“So, tell me, why would Mark get rid of his ammunition against you?”

“Killing my mom wasn't him getting rid of ammunition, it was him firing it.”

“Did he ever threaten to kill her?”

Adam lowered his gaze.

Thinking about it. He never outright threatened anyone with death. Extreme bodily harm? Yes. Getting put in risky situations that might lead to death? Also yes. But straight up death? Not that he could recall... But that was probably just him covering his own ass! It'd be suspicious if he said he was going to kill someone and then that someone died, right?

“Adam, Mark already told you about Alex, right? You think he wouldn't be the first suspect to get crossed off of any list?”

He would and that's-- Oh, so their inside man was named Alex... He'd have to look him up later. Alex Jones. He couldn't let himself forget that name.

“Well... Maybe he got rid of her because now I had David.”

“David, the orphan who could, at any moment, get adopted and taken far, far away? Come on, Adam. Even if he was that sure David would be a permanent fixture, why would he get rid of your mom? Two bullets in the chamber is better than one.”

He... did have a point.

“Adam, Mark really had nothing to do with your mother's death. I understand that you're still grieving, and have a lot of questions such as why or who killed her, and it's normal for you to point fingers at the first person that comes to mind, but Mark really had nothing to do with it. Goodness, even if he wanted to kill her, which he wouldn't because that would mean risking you getting taken away, he still couldn't order me to do it. He just doesn't have that authority yet. At worst, he could get her framed, arrested, and subsequently deported.”

Adam stared at him, his brain processing his words like raw material into a misshapen mound of questions. But one stood out from the pille-up.

“Why should I trust anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“...Why shouldn't you?”

“Because you're a Jones.”

“And I didn't have to tell you that. In fact, I didn't have to show you my face, or even let you know it was me.” He said, pointing at the plaque. “I could be here with fake face, a more normal name, and another voice.” He said, taking Adam aback with an uncannily convincing female voice, with a light Scottish accent to boot. “I could appear here with a mask, a wig, and a dress, and you'd probably not notice a thing.”

He... was right, he didn't have to-- Why was he being so... transparent?

“Why did you then?”

“Hmmm...” The man seemed to pause at the question, leaning back and looking at the can as his finger circled the opening, slicing itself in the sharp edge and coating it with blood... Then he looked at him, and drank, his stare dark and... morose. “Let's just say… that you're already way too deep in the rabbit hole to claw yourself out, Adam, and you're actively being dragged further in. I thought I'd let you see the dirt and vermin that are about to bury you alive. We're going to be partners from now on, right? Might as well show you some comradery.” He said, keeping up the cheery voice flawless and seemingly effortlessly, with a torn smile..

Adam lowered his gaze and looked at his hands, feeling the ghost of that rubbery textured weight on his hands, the forever immortalized images of Alice's last moment and corpse flashing within the darkness of his blinks, the weight of a 10th of her and here family lifes' worth echoing against his chest.

Partners for now on? So, it wasn't a one time thing? Of course it wouldn't be. He owed Mark a lifelong debt, not only on his life but also David's OF COURSE HE WOULDN'T LET IT GO AFTER ONE JOB! THIS WAS IT! THIS WAS HIS NEW LIFE NOW! HE WAS GOING TO BE HIS FAMILY'S HITMAN ASSISTANT AND MARK COULD MAKE HIM DO WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTED-- FUCK NO! HE REFUSED! HE WAS GOING TO KILL THEM, KILL THEM ALL, AND EVERY OTHER SICK PARASITIC FUCK WOULD FOLLOW! HE WAS GOING TO BURN THEM! DECAPITATE THEM! GUT them... Strangle them and... He...

Adam continued to tortu the toy, feeling his breathing and heartbeat slowing down to a more comfortable speed, as the furnace in his chest slowly came to a pile of shy ambers.

Holly shit, that toy was really effective. How were anger issues still a thing when those existed.

Right. He needed to focus. He was in the counselor's office and Bones was trying to convince that Mark totally didn't have anything to do with his mom's death... Why was he even entertaining the matter? It was useless... He couldn't trust him. He was a murderer and a Jones. Which was kinda like saying a murderer and murderer, but at least some murderers had a decent reason besides money--

Oh, right. The wall clock was gone.

Adam sighed. Whatever, time would still go by faster talking rather than sulking.

“Ok, so. Mark can't order you to kill. Let's assume I believe that. He could've still hired someone--”

“Let me stop you right there. No, he couldn't. He gets a hefty salary plus bonuses, but hiring a hitman is way beyond his budget. Not to mention, risky. There's a reason they have me, a member of the family, doing the dirty work. Those mercenaries out there? Way too untrustworthy for what they charge, and you never know when they're a fake who'll just disappear with a down-payment or try to blackmail you...” The man sighed and took another sip of his drink.

“...Mark has a job?”

“Oh. Yeah so, basically my uncle, Mark's father, wants to make sure none of them grow up to be 'irresponsible with money'. It doesn't matter how much money you make, if you go around being irresponsible with it, it won't last, you know? So, instead of an allowance, they get a salary. If they want something beyond the bare minimum, such as expensive clothes or snacks or whatever, they have to budget for it. And if they score upwards of 90% on a test and stuff, they get a bonus.” Bones explained.

“Oh, ok.” Guess Oliver Jones had the good sense of teaching his kids financial responsibility at least. Now, if only he had the good sense to teach them to not be menaces... “Ok. Who is the scar-man, and why did he kill my mom then?”

The man stayed quiet for a second and then... he shrugged.

“We don't know. And honestly, we-- Well, Mark, would like to know.”