I made my decision, snapping my attention right around to the hallway I had just came down. I glared at the corner, expecting the owner of the running hoofsteps any second now. Why do I always have to do things the hard way? I could run; I probably should. Yet, there in my head, in that creepy little dark corner few dare tread, I know why: If I run, they might follow. I don't want to end up down a dead end with some crazy pony trying to put a knife in my back. I'd rather go ahead and face them now, on MY terms, while the adrenaline is in full force.
Such a fascinating chemical, adrenaline. The effects are most invigorating. Each time you experience that wonderful rush as the neuroreceptors in your brain are flooded with adrenaline, you change. Not a change as in 'I think I like apple juice more than orange,' or some junk like that, something more fundamental. You never emerge the same. You suddenly realize how fleeting life is, how pointless and futile it is, how death might be a wondrous release from this drawn-out agony that is survival.
I am far too morbid for my own good.
Yet in beautiful irony, adrenaline is your mind's way of defense. Heart rate escalates, increasing that blood flow throughout your body. Respiratory action in your muscles maximizes, allowing incredible feats of strength for a short time. Sensory input is more finely tuned. Every smell, sight, sound and scent is overwhelming, and you better believe I was about to put it good use on whoever was silly enough to chase me.
I was so focused on the hallway in front of me, so caught up in the tension of waiting, that I actually paused when that pony finally came flying around the corner. Good thing too, as it turns out that it would have been regrettable if I had unleashed a magical barrage without first identifying my target, who let out a shout as he careened to a halt a few paces from me, gasping for breath. "I thought I would never catch you!"
"Beam? What are you doing here?" I glared at my relatively new friend from Ponyville as he panted, wings hanging limply by his sides. "Hurry up, you have any idea why I'm here?"
"I know exactly why you're here, and I'm telling you it's a lie!"
I'm not going to lie, when he said that, I completely missed the point. I stomped a hoof and shook my head. "My wife is in here somewhere, and I'm trying to find her! Either help me, or go home!"
I give him credit, Beaming Light is a persistent bastard when he needs to be. "I told you, it's all a lie!" He shouted again, reaching back to a small saddle bag and removing a sheaf of papers, throwing them in my general direction. "Those are letters, from your wife to some scumbag in Canterlot. Here, this one," he growled lowly, walking forward to stuff a certain piece of paper in front of me. I glared at him again, before beginning to read. It was definitely my wife's writing, I could tell. The letter was short and lacking any preamble, leaving the recipient's name unknown.
"Everything is going fine. We have lived in Ponyville for a few weeks now, and he is fairly easy to live with. I think we might be able to succeed, given a few months. The only problem is that he has been estranged from his father for a time now, and has no idea the wealth his family name now carries. I think he should be educated, less our ruse fail. I can promise your patience will be rewarded.
- Maybelline."
I blinked and shook my head. "What in hellfire is this all about?" I stared at Beam, expecting him to stutter something about snooping about while working at the mail room, as he does when bored, but instead he grew more agitated.
"It's a scheme! Your father, you mentioned a few weeks ago that you spoke with him for the first time in years. You said that he had started a freight company, and is now one of the most successful business ponies on the western coast. You see now?"
I did in fact remember telling him about that. Maybelline had told me that I should try to contact my parents again, after several years of no contact. I shook my head again, dropping the letter and grabbing other from the floor in front of me, reading each in a growing frenzy. Here I was, in the middle of a desperate rescue mission, and now some pony just comes along and messes it all up with evidence that it was fallacy.
"No, no, nonono, this is impossible," I mumbled as I scanned the letters. Each was some sort of progress update, letters from Maybelline to some anonymous pony, usually about how "Everything is going as planned." A few had more details, but they were almost always about my father, or how easy it would or wouldn't be to convince me to go to unspecified locations. I felt a burning in my cheeks, and realized that for some idiotic reason, I was blushing.
After another moment of frantic reading, I realized why I was blushing. I was embarrassed at being played a fool. The more I read, the more I understood, or so I hoped. The past several months had been lies, possibly even more. I shuddered at the possibility that two years of my life had been spent in vain, devoting all my time and bits to a false cause. I sat among the papers, staring blankly. Beam walked up to me and placed a hoof on my shoulder.
"See, my friend? All a scheme. She's pretending to be kidnapped, and they're hoping you'll pay some obnoxious amount of bits to get her free. She'd probably divorce you after that, and run off with this other stallion, rich for the rest of their days. I have not much more to give you than these letters, but if you want my help, I'm here."
I sat silently for a few more moments, overcome by indecision. I couldn't believe this, I didn't want to accept what these papers told me. I stared at the writing for a short time, trying to find any evidence that these were not in Maybelline's writing, but they positively were. There was even the familiar faint oval impression on some of the papers, left by the small oval indention of the writing desk in our bedroom. I remember walking in on her writing something that she quickly hid, claiming it was "girl talk" with some of her mare friends and it wasn't for stallion eyes. Such glorious bullshit.
I sighed and leaned my head back, looking at the ceiling. Beam smiled at me encouragingly. I met his gaze evenly. "Take these, and go back to Ponyville," I said. "If I'm not back by morning, take them to the authorities." Beam's smile faltered a bit. "Are you sure? I'm already here, you might could use a second set of hooves in case things get rough." I had to smile at that. Beam, loyal to the last. "I'm sure. I'll help you gather them."
We began to collect the letters from the floor in silence, which turned out to be a good idea. Not a second after the last letter was reunited with its brethren in Beam's bag, hoofsteps could be heard coming from down one of the halls I had been so panicked in choosing between a few minutes ago. Shushing Beam once more, I motioned for him to leave silently, which he thankfully did. A moment later it was just me, the shadows, and the echoes of steps on the hardwood floor.
Picking a position in the dead center of the hall, I sat down and did my best to appear nonchalant. I waited as patiently as I could for the approaching pony to come into view, but the past few days had stretched my nerves to the absolute limit, and I found myself almost calling out for them to hurry up and let's get this over with.
At length, I saw a shape, a vague silhouette as a pony passed near to one of the candles mounted on the wall. He was still a ways down, coming form the right passage, so I sat tight. I could tell when he noticed me by when the hoofsteps faltered for a moment, then resumed. I waited for him to walk in front of another lamp, but he must have been hugging the far wall, as the candles didn't quite illuminate the entire width of the floor. Finally, he emerged from the darkness and I got a good look at him.
He looked like a thousand other boring Canterlot snobs I used to know. A steel grey coat, a slick black mane, silver spectacles, a pretty polished horn, and a red bow tie around his neck. I could have seen him a hundred times and never remembered him, but he seemed to remember me.
"Ah, the savior has arrived at last. Tell me, how goes your heroic rescue?" He giggled a bit, finding his quip incredibly humorous. His voice was the exact oily tone I grew far too accustomed to in Canterlot. I decided to be frank, if nothing else.
"I know about the scheme. You'll get no bits from me."
He was good, I give him that. That irritating smirk barely shrunk as he eyed me. "So, it would seem we are at an impasse." he hissed. "Wouldn't you like to see your lovely wife again?"
Now it was my turn to smirk, and I could tell that caught him off guard. "Oh, I know about all her involvement as well," I growled. His smirk all but gone, I saw him try and fail to swallow the lump in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. Opening it again, he managed to get some words out this time. "Well, I must admit I did not expect that," he choked out.
I thought about talking some more, but I decided on an alternate course of action. Dipping my head in his direction, I turned and began walking back down the hallway I had been frantically skidding down minutes before. I felt strange melancholy, the kind you feel when you know your life fell apart but you couldn't care any less. As I left the mansion, I held my head high, as I felt I was the victor in this circumstance.
One last thing....
My smirk grew into a demented grin as one last idea popped into my head. Turning, I approached the front door, a large wood affair. Igniting my horn, I set a patch of fire at the base. Stepping back, I fueled the fire with magic until it engulfed the whole door, then let it loose. The blaze was now large enough to continue on its own, and it grew with a magnificent appetite. Before too long, I was sitting a fair distance back as to not lose any hair from the heat. The entire place was burning pleasantly. All I could think about was that I hoped that the two scheming fools could not escape, and were now roasting, leaving naught but ash.
Sometimes, I think I'm too morbid for my own good.