Before I Ran || Perrentes

Chapter 20: The Dying Man's Mistake

The car was ready to go.

On Saturday night, Tony didn't sleep. The thought of leaving this snug, cosy, family-like corner of Baltimore was making him feel a little sick, and the pasta bake Alex and Jack had made for dinner wasn't settling on his stomach so well. So, pulling a Star Wars hoodie over his head and taking a torch with him, Tony made his way quietly out of the house and down the sandstone path at the back, entering the stables without making so much as a sound.

He only turned on one of the lights so the intensity wasn't so bright. As the gentle yellow of the light fixture flooded the barn, Tony spotted a mouse skittering across the floor and out of sight into the hay bales. There was a rumbling snort from Sandy's stall as Tony approached, and he smiled into thin air, holding out his hand for her to smell. She seemed calm enough, despite still looking frisky and highly wired, and Tony stroked her neck a few times before moving over to Dust's stall, where the Friesan hung his head over the gate and gladly accepted the affection. Tony stroked him tentatively in between his eyes and down his nose, and he sighed into the nothingness.

"I'm scared, Dust," Tony confided in a whisper, and Dust's ears swivelled. Considering his thoughts, Tony huffed with laughter. "I kind of want a hug from Cassadee. For half a day she was more like my mom than my actual mom."

A breeze drifted in through the stables and Tony shivered, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands. More confused, afraid and dizzy than he'd ever felt before, Tony unbolted the gate of the stall and stepped in, closing it behind him and pulling a tall stool up to Dust's side, busying himself by stroking a patch of his sleek black coat on his shoulder. Dust was a barrel of safety and comfort - all muscle and gentle stares - and that was perfect for a night like this.

After a while, Tony heard the stable door creak open and frowned, wondering who else was up at this hour. His question was answered when, a few seconds later, Vic appeared around the corner of the stalls, hands in pockets of his own Tim Burton themed sweater. He half smiled as he spotted Tony and made his way over. "Weirdly, I thought I might find you in here."

"You're up late," Tony said quietly as Vic tentatively offered Sandy a hand to sniff. He raised an eyebrow.

"Speak for yourself, Perry. What's up? Can't sleep? I can't sleep."

"Yeah. Same."

Vic nodded, understanding without needing an explanation. He just stayed quiet and ran a thumb across Sandy's jaw, careful and timid, wary of startling her. Not wanting to stop being stroked, Dust slowly stretched his neck out to munch on some hay but did not move from his standing spot.

"Tony," Vic started eventually, tickling behind Sandy's ears, "You're easy to talk to. Can I talk to you about something?"

Tony raised his eyebrows and crossed his legs. "Sure."

"Okay. You know, I've said it before, but I really hate my job. I despise it. Yeah, we help people, we save them, and that's great...but it feels so wrong to me that I can travel across this country with my brother and a loving boyfriend and I can meet up with people I am happy to call friends, perhaps even family...and in all that, we act and are treated like we don't have so much blood on our hands."

Tony frowned and tilted his head, sympathetic. "You never killed someone innocent. You never killed for fun, or for the sake of it. I've seen you spare people you could have shot dead."

"Thou shalt not kill," Vic muttered darkly, brow furrowed. "I'm not religious by any means, but having been raised on the bible, one or two things stick. Nothing ever justifies killing."