Rain pounded against the window in wind-swept sheets. Rory did not need to open his eyes to know that it must be around midnight. The pegasi had announced the shower in the paper and never went off-schedule. If only half the saps under his management had that kind of religious devotion to their work. Work . . .
Rory’s blood ran cold, images of that evening’s fiasco darting across his mind’s eye. Farthing’s cold corpse splayed open for all of Manehattan to see, his argument with Pinkie, those thugs . . . Why had he been such a fool? She could have easily handled the situation on her own, but he just had to come to her “rescue.” Some help he had been writhing on the street while she fended them off. And then there was the matter of his leg.
The bastard just had to snap his good leg. Now, not only would he have to deal with the repercussions on Dufaux’s end, but with the unbearable agony in his limbs. Undoubtedly, it would be well over a year before it fully healed and even then the pain would remain. The last time he broke his left leg, he had been left crippled. As run-down and sore as he was these days, he very much doubted he’d have the strength to fight through it. Nothing he said or did now made a difference.
It’s just pain . . . you’ve always been in pain. You’ll have it for the rest of your life so you had better learn to deal with it now. However, at that moment in time, neither limb hurt. In fact, a dull, slightly uncomfortable pressure had taken over his senses. Groaning, Rory opened his eyes to assess the damage.
In the dim light from the lamp, he could just make out a splint wrapped tightly around his left leg. How in Equestria? Then it came back to him. Pinkie. Why would she bother to—
“You’re up!”
Rory nearly started at the familiar, cheery voice. The shadowy outline of his secretary against the doorframe made his heart skip a beat. She stayed?
Before he could conjure up a viable excuse to dismiss her, she bounded over as if he had returned from the grave. “I didn’t think you’d be up so soon. How are you feeling?”
“Fi-fine.” He quickly averted his gaze to avoid her motherly stare. Seriously, I’m not an invalid. Well . . . okay, maybe a cripple but still, does she have to patronize me?
The bed sunk a little as she settled beside him on the covers. “I didn’t think you’d be up so soon, Mr. Scribe.” Her warm, sweet breath would have fogged his glasses, but they had been removed.
Oh, how he longed to push the impertinent mare away, but both his limbs were out of commission. So he settled for inching slightly away from her. “Why are you still here, Miss Pie?”
“I . . . watching you,” she murmured.
“You—it wasn’t necessary, you know.” Rory felt a twinge of guilt as her eyes fell forlornly to her hooves. “But . . . I suppose I should thank you. I doubt I could have walked home without your help. And,” he gulped, resting his head on the blanket, “I definitely couldn’t have set that leg.”
“No problem, Mr. Scribe. Though,” she gritted her teeth, “it’s kinda your fault you know.”
“Yeah . . . suppose so.”
Her voice raised an octave, “Why didn’t you have the common decency to let me know some low-life thugs were stalking me?”
“Because you don’t need to get involved with my problems!” For the first time in years, Rory didn’t care about hiding the truth. Having her understand the situation was far more important than his pride at present. “You're too damn soft for this city! I thought I’d change you, make you see reason. But, I was wrong, okay? You’ll never see reason. You . . .” his voice lowered to a whisper, “you can’t see ponies for who they are, Pinkie. You wouldn’t have believed me even if I told you. So I thought I’d fix things before they came after you.”
“Well, you did a piss poor job of it,” she snapped.
He flinched at the venomous quality of her voice. “Sorry . . . I . . . usually Dufaux doesn’t act that quick. I planned on resolving the matter the next day.”
A look of surprise flickered across her face before returning to frustration. “Matter? What matter?”
“Dufaux mistakenly believes I have some level of attachment to you . . .” Rory sighed, closing his eyes. “I have no level of attachment for anypony. You are my employee, and as such, I have a duty to protect you. There the ‘matter’ ends.”
“Oh.” The word was not harsh nor angry, but almost sad. “Wh-why? Don’t you get lonely?”
“Of course I do.” Every damn day. “But, if I got close to anypony, they would suffer as a result. I couldn’t—I can’t do that.”
The bed sprung back as she stood. He listened to her shuffle with something on the endtable. “I can’t have any more morphine, I’ve—” When he opened his eyes, he was staring at a large bowl of water held in her mouth.
She placed it on the covers, motioning for him to drink.
Too thirsty to protest, he quickly took a sip. It’s cold . . . feels good. Without another word, he drained the entire bowl. His stomach ached a little when he finished, but he felt a little more relaxed. He took a good long look at Pinkie. To his surprise, she looked nearly as exhausted as he felt. “Miss Pie? Did-didn’t you get any rest?”
“No . . .” she looked away, pawing at the ground. “I was worried ‘cause you were whimpering so much. I’ve never ever seen a pony in that much pain before. That and,” she eyed his clearly visible ribs, “I might have given you a bit too much morphine. I didn’t know how much you weighed.”
“So you overdosed me,” he deadpanned, glancing down at his legs. “Well, I can’t really complain. They certainly don’t hurt anymore.”
“That’s good.” She settled back down beside him. “You want something to eat? You’re super thin you know.”
Eat? Rory despised the very word. Of course, he had not eaten in over two days, but it had not reached the point he had to worry about starving. “I’m . . . I’ll be fine, Miss Pie. The water filled me up . . ."
He felt her hoof stroke his back. Generally, he would have pulled back, hell, he wanted to now. However, the gentle quality of her touch made him lean in rather than away.
“You’re hurt. You need to eat to get your strength back,” she breathed.
“That would be assuming I had any strength to begin with.” He shifted, avoiding her questioning gaze. “My parents saw to that.”
“You-your parents? So it wasn’t just your dad?”
“No, though I wish some days it was.”
“That’s just evil!”
He turned back to her, staring into her eyes. No matter the time of day or the situation, they always sparkled like azure pools. A confidence that had never been broken. In those eyes, there would always be a right and a wrong. Why should he expect her to understand the grey areas? “Evil? Is it really? I wonder . . .”
“Wonder?”
Should he tell her? If he didn’t, she would find out the truth for herself in time, and he far preferred it be he who introduced her to it. “Would you . . . would you like to hear what really happened to my leg, Miss Pie?”
There was the slightest hesitation before she jerked a small nod.
“It won’t be a happy story. I imagine it might shatter that illusion you live under. Is that okay?”
She bit her lip, “Yeah, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? So you can break apart my ‘illusion?’”
“I suppose.” For a moment, he considered stopping there, allowing her to leave this godforsaken city and go home. But no, he had made the decision long ago. Miss Pie must fold to reality, and he would be the one to give her the final push . . .
Rory hated gym class. What part of running around the school getting sweaty and public humiliation sounded fun? Every class it would be the same. Try as he may to keep up, he would always tire before anypony else, even the mares. An earth pony colt who let fillies beat him in every game. Father always complained to him about it, labeling it as just another sign of his inadequacy.
Inadequacy his hoof. Rory knew the source of his problem, but nothing he did would change it. A dish of oatmeal once a day—well, most every day—could hardly constitute a balanced diet for a growing colt. He had not grown so much as an inch in the past year and was smaller than most of the fillies.
None of them dared to make fun of it for him, they knew better. But, the chances of getting to play with any of them went from slim to nonexistent. They avoided him and he avoided them. The system worked . . . at least for the teachers and his parents. Today proved no exception.
After yet another pointlessly drawn out game of kickball, he had successfully managed to get bludgeoned by no less than five balls. His attempt at kicking one resulted in it gently bouncing off of the coach. The “punishment”—no adult was stupid enough to actually punish the son of Scribe Incorporated’s CEO—had been to organize the gym supply closet for the rest of the period.
That blessedly, involved little physical effort. Though, even shuffling around the balls and floor hockey sticks proved exhausting. Rory wanted to remove the sticky, overlarge t-shirt covering his sides but knew the kind of trouble he would be in if he did. It hid his ribs, and that was all his mother cared about.
After gym class, the rest of the day went by in a daze. He heard the teacher’s words, but couldn’t put them together in any logical pattern. As soon as the bell rang, he shuffled outside, watching the other colts and fillies break around him as if he were a rock on the coast. Last year he might have tried to run with them, but not now.
He took the long route through the park. Technically, Mother had forbade him from stopping on his way home, but she had not specified which route he had to take. So he dragged his hooves as slowly as physically possible, just to take in the fresh air.
Generally he took to pony watching as soon as he entered the park. Today, he focused on not falling over. His legs felt limp and weaker than ever. A week in the box always left him that way. Rory really could not remember what had set them off this time, but Mother had seen to it that he remained locked inside it as soon as he got home each day.
There would be no discussion, and so he remained silent. Yesterday she had finally let him stay out, only to snatch away his oatmeal when he had not eaten fast enough.
Rory ran his tongue over his teeth, wincing. Judging from the blackened tips, irritated gums, and nasty smell, they were rotting. Oats had too much sugar and not enough fiber, at least that’s what he read. That caused cavities and the texture weakened the gums. He smirked a little, remembering the big reference book he had gleaned the information from. Not so dumb after all, am I, Mother?
Still, though he had pulled out the worst teeth, eating became more and more difficult. Rory found that he really did not care anymore. If he let himself get sick enough, she’d have to take him to the doctor and they’d have to feed him better.
Halfway through the park, he stopped to rest. Finding a suitably inconspicuous place between some tall bushes, he watched a group of colts playing on the jungle gym. Really, what a waste. They could have easily been harnessing that energy for productivity, instead, they wasted it on frivolous games.
The longer he lay there, the less resolve he had to move. He still ached from being forced into that box for so long. And . . . His stomach growled loudly. He lowered his head, focusing on the grass. Grass, huh? Nopony ate grass. Grass was for cows. But they ate it and were healthy.
Realization dawned on him. Food had been staring him in the face this whole time! Why had he been so dumb? Without hesitation, he lowered his muzzle to the blades, smelling. It didn’t smell all that different from lettuce.
Biting it released a shockwave of wonderful flavors. After years on oatmeal and cashed-in favors, having something-anything different was a treat. His teeth ached, but at least he had food again. So he stood, cropping at the grass and savoring the freedom of having as much as he wanted to eat right in front of him.
The only frustration he found was that it did not come close to filling him up. He had to work for each tiny bite. Soon his gums started to bleed as his jaw began to ache. But the motivation of having something to fill his stomach made him continue. Finally, after what might have been an hour, he stopped, lying down again.
Rory watched the blood drip slowly from his mouth to the grass. I never thought grazing would be so hard. Groaning, he glanced around him. Though he made a sizeable dent in the patch of grass, he hardly felt any fuller. The tolling of the clock tower made him jump. Oh no. Was it four o’clock already?
Getting to his hooves, he staggered back to the apartment. By the time he arrived, it was nearing five o’clock.
Sure enough, she met him at the door, face as stern as ever. “Where were you?”
Rory twitched, looking down at her hooves. “At the park . . . studying,” he added as an afterthought.
“Like hell you were.”
Rory wanted to explain further. That his teeth hurt, that he couldn’t do well in gym because he didn’t have the energy, but his jaw simply ached too much.
She leaned down, icy eyes boring into his soul. “Well? What were you doing?”
“I—” he tried to speak, but the blood got in the way, dripping onto the floor. Oh no. His ears lowered submissively as she advanced.
“What? You biting wood now for entertainment? How pathetic are you?”
“No—”Another mouthful of blood, then, “I-grass.”
Starlight froze as if he had let out a string of curse words. “What did you say?”
“I was . . . eating grass. Hungry,” he squeaked.
“Eating grass?” She barked an unfeeling laugh that chilled his blood. “I knew you were an earth pony pig, but a cow? That’s news to me.”
Without a word of warning, he felt her magic forcibly open his mouth. He whimpered as his jaw stretched until he thought it might snap. After stepping closer, she gagged, stepping back. “They’re rotting,” she murmured more to herself than to him. Then she slammed his mouth closed until his teeth knocked together. “What? Have you forgotten how to brush?”
He bit back the tears, rubbing his now unbound muzzle. “I . . . I brush. It doesn’t help . . .”
She sighed theatrically, looking from his sides to the kitchen. “I told Storm it would cause problems. But he just had to have it his way,” she growled under her breath.
Rory flinched as she rounded back on him. “You will never eat grass again, do I make myself clear?”
All thought of disobedience vanished at her withering stare. “Ye-yes, Mother.”
“Also,” her voice softened ever so slightly, “you will eat what we do from now on, three times a day. After us, of course,” she added. “I will take you to the dentist tomorrow. I cannot have any rumors starting up . . .”
Rory held back the urge to prance with excitement. Maybe things were looking up after all . . .
“Huh? But why?”
Rory turned to her, nearly chuckling at the dumbfounded look on her face. Really, I haven’t even gotten to the main event yet . . . “Why what, Miss Pie?”
Pinkie lowered her ears, “That bitch fed you oatmeal once a day for years, then all of a sudden, she decides you’ll get what she eats.” She waved her hooves in exasperation. “You keep telling me about all the bad stuff she did, so why was she willing to treat you better without a struggle?”
Rory sighed, attempting to shift his weight to find that there really was no other way to rest given his current limitations. “She’s selfish, arrogant, and takes pleasure in my suffering. However, she-she’s my mother . . . I’d like to believe that she . . . she had some level of concern for my well-being.”
Judging from her sour look, Pinkie did not buy his explanation. However, she leaned in a bit closer. “Did things get better after that?”
“Well . . . yes and no. I wasn’t hungry anymore, but I started to get stronger.”
“Why’s that a bad thing?”
“Father . . . Father didn’t appreciate that.” Rory shuddered at the memory of it all. “Once I outgrew the box, he went back to beating me around.”
“Back to? You mean he did it before?” she squeaked, gripping her leg.
“Yeah, when I was really little, but Mother thought up the box. Said it’d be more humane. I think she worried about my teachers finding out what they were up to.”
“The box? You keep saying that. Is that a metaphor or—”
“No. It was a box. A simple, sturdy wooden box, painted black with a few small holes for air.” Rory pointed to the hoofboard. “About as long as that but very narrow and low. They locked it with their magic so I couldn’t get out. Kept me in there for hours or days depending . . .”
The blank horror in her eyes made his heart sink. “It’s-it’s okay, Miss Pie, really. I mean, it was painful and horrifying, but . . . I survived.” He gave a weak smile, “It took years of practice, but I can deal with the dark and tight spaces again. It’s just . . . just a bad memory now.”
Tears trickled down her muzzle as her legs began to shake. “That’s horrible. Nopony deserves that, let alone a little kid.”
Rory twitched, looking away. “I know . . . I know . . .”
A silence, then, “So he-he started to beat you after that?”
“Yeah. For a while, it wasn’t so bad. He always picked placed where nopony would notice. But,” he took a long, slow breath. “I was still a colt. And colts can only take so much before they snap . . .”
“Do you know what this is?”
Rory backed into the closed door of his father’s office, staring at the piece of parchment eveloped in his green magic. “A-a note from my teacher . . .”
Storm sneered in that condescending way he reserved just for earth ponies. “And do you know what it says, Rory?”
“I-I . . . it’s about my cutie mark, sir,” he mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
“And why are you the only colt in your grade without one, hmm?”
The words dug at his heart. Rory knew exactly why he couldn’t find his cutie mark. Cutie marks were about finding what made you happy. As far as he knew, he never had been happy.
“Well?” The dangerous, icy quality of his voice chipped away at Rory’s confidence. “Are you really so imbecilic and useless that you cannot find a single talent at the age of ten?”
Rory never felt like kicking his father as much as he did then. “How can I find one? You make me come home at the end of school every day! You won’t let me join any clubs or play with the other colts. You lock me in my room whenever I get back and don’t even let me walk around outside!”
From the moment he let the words loose, he knew there would be trouble. However, he had taken Father’s attitude for long enough. There was no justification for how he treated him. “I can’t find my talent because you and Mother treat me like a prison inmate! If you let me out once in a while I’d—”
“You’d what, Rory? Spontaneously become useful? As if!” Storm advanced towards him, ears flattened. “I could have killed you the moment you were born, but I let you live. You, a filthy earth pony. And your pissing and moaning is all I get as thanks?” His horn lit up, and Rory knew what would come next.
Not this time. Gathering up what strength he had, he wheeled around and bucked his hooves straight into Storm’s chest. The unicorn took a satisfactory arc, landing in a heap by his granite topped desk. Rory pinned his ears, snarling, “You’re just an arrogant unicorn who can’t do anything without his magic! I’m not going to take it anymore!”
For a moment, Rory imagined he had won, that Storm would finally acknowledge he had been wrong and all would be set right. But, he merely stood, glowering at him with a look that went beyond loathing. An immediate chill went through his spine as the realization of what he had done struck him all at once.
Before he had time to so much as brace himself, Storm had lifted him in his magic. The pause following this made his heart race. A small smirk parted Storm’s lips right before he made his own move.
Generally, the magic his parents used was slow and purposeful. This however, came as a great whiplash, so fast Rory did not have time to scream. Storm slammed him against the corner of the heavy desk with all the force of a wrecking ball striking brick. The resulting shockwave of pain made him cry out before Storm repeated the maneuver again and again.
The fifth time, Rory felt the unmistakable crack in his right leg. Then Storm slammed him into the wall, allowing him to drop like a dirty rag. “So,” he breathed, eyes glinting manically, “you want to get physical, do you boy?”
Rory wanted to beg for forgiveness, something, anything to make the pain stop. But, he could hardly breathe, let alone find the words. Storm continued to advance, lowering his head to allow the wicked point to catch the lights outside the window.
All the years he had been alive, Father never so much as touched him without his magic. It, like so many aspects of his life, had been set in stone. So he was utterly unprepared when the sharpened tip of Storm’s horn dug into his chest. With the motion of rendering a sheet, he dragged it in a great arch. A sharp, searing pain followed the motion of the horn as it slashed again and again.
Trying to escape led to his being pinned down by his magic. Rory screamed louder than he had in his life, but knew there would be nopony to answer him. Then, just as he started to fade out, a palomino blur charged forward, pushing Storm back. Mother?
Sure enough, the mare stood huffing, over him, horn surrounded by the familiar amber aura. “What’s wrong with you?” she screamed, loud enough to make Rory flinch.
Storm however, remained as cold and unfeeling as ever. “Do you really have to ask, Starlight?” he practically purred. “There is everything ‘wrong’ with me. You acknowledged that fact and embraced it years ago.”
“So I should have let you kill him? Kill a child who can’t even defend himself? What kind of sick bastard does that!”
“Do not lecture me, bitch!” Storm glowered at him through Starlight’s legs. Rory’s stomach churned at the sight of the blood—his blood—dripping from the horn. “That earth pony filth needs to know his place.”
“He knows it well enough, Storm. Let it go,” the icy determination in her voice startled him. No matter what the circumstance, she had always sided with Father. Now . . . now she had taken his side.
Storm snarled, taking a step forward. In response, Starlight lowered her own head, equally sharpened horn pointed at Storm’s chest. “One more move, and I’ll gut you,” she growled.
Silence. Unnerving, unwavering silence. Then he stepped back, eyeing both of them with disgust. “Very well . . . I shall let you play mother, Starlight. But you will not take him to the doctor or I’ll make an example of him, understood?”
Starlight nodded. Then she turned back to Rory. There, stretching across her face was a smile. A genuine, soft smile he had only seen other colts’ mothers give. He started when she slung him over her without magic, walking out of the room.
Despite the shock and pain, he could not bring himself to cry or speak. If he cried, she’d be mad and drop him. Rory did not want to waste the moment on that. For the first time in his life, his mother was touching him as if he were as important as a unicorn. He burrowed his muzzle into her mane, taking in the sweet, honeysuckle laced hairs.
All too soon, he felt her roll him onto the bed, and just as quickly, the illusion vanished. Pain like he never imagined possible coursed through his body like poison. Celestia, how he wanted to cry out, but he knew better. So he watched her examine him under the light of her magic.
Sighing, she stepped away towards the door. “I will return.”
Rory waited and waited. Try as he may to stopper the sobs, he eventually broke down. The more he looked at the now horribly bent limb and pooling blood, the sicker he became. It hurt, hurt so bad he thought he might die from it. And yet, no matter how much he begged for them to help, they didn’t return.
After what must have been over three hours, she came back. A cold, familiar glare had replaced the earlier warmth. She stood over him, lighting her horn. Without so much as wiping the excess blood off the cuts, she began to wrap his chest loosely in bandages. Then, glancing at his leg, she opened a bottle of maroon pills and magicked his mouth open.
Rory almost never got medicine, but when he did, he took it willingly, after all, it made him feel better. However, having his mouth forced open as she poured what must have been half the contents into it hardly constituted as pleasant. He gagged and pulled back, but ended up swallowing the pills to make her stop.
He panted, gripping his throat. Thankfully, she placed a bowl of water in front of him and he drank. Instead of feeling better, Rory became unnervingly dizzy. “Mo-mother? I don’t feel so good . . .”
Starlight glanced down at him, expression unreadable. “That means it’s working, Rory. Get some rest . . . you won’t be in pain when you wake up.”
“Uh . . . okay,” he breathed, closing his eyes. Something felt wrong about her words, but he found himself too tired to try and figure out what it was.
Rory stopped there, glancing down at his bandaged limb. Why? Why did telling the truth hurt so much? She had listened quietly, patiently, though her disgust and outrage could not have been more obvious. To somepony like her, it must come as a shock. Perhaps ending it there would be for the best.
“So . . . he broke your leg on that desk and,” she gulped, pawing at the blanket, “cut you with his horn . . .”
“Yes. But . . . maybe, maybe I deserved it. If I had just listened to him I’d—”
“No!” Her volume took him back as did the fire in her eyes. “Nothing justifies a father doing that to his own colt. It’s wrong.” She snorted, “And your mother’s just as bad. That was a lot of medicine! It could have killed you. How can you say she’s not evil?”
There she went again, making the world out to be black and white as always. Rory sighed, glancing down at his warped leg. “Pinkie . . . do you . . . do you realize how much pain I’m in every day?”
“I-well . . . a lot?” she stammered, avoiding his gaze.
“Ever since that night, I’ve spent just about every waking minute of my life in agony. The leg didn’t heal quickly, and when it did, it continued to break with the slightest irritation. That and Father did not see the need to stop beating me.”
He took a long slow breath, “I’ve had to keep acting as if nothing is wrong and remain fully functional despite the nearly maddening pain. So I took to the pills just to remain sane. I’ve overdosed on them so long, they really don’t work anymore . . . So, yes, it hurts quite a lot.”
“When you say my mother was evil for trying to kill me with an overdose, consider this. Even with her twisted reasoning, she knew what would happen to me. Father . . . Father made it quite plain that he had no intentions of letting me recover. My strength was the only real weapon I had against him, so he took it away.”
“She-she poisoned you so you wouldn’t be in pain anymore?” Pinkie asked incredulously. The righteous anger in her voice had all but vanished now. “But why didn’t she leave? Take you with her and get you treated anyway? That’s what a good mother would do!”
“Maybe, but . . . in her own way, I think she thought that was the right thing to do.” How could he possibly explain this to her? “Mother . . . Mother doesn’t have confidence in herself, Pinkie. She’s weak, and all the ‘confidence’ she puts on is just gilding over the reality. I think she married Father because she saw his confidence and wanted to take some of that for herself.”
He sighed, “She never got any confidence from him. Father relishes breaking her spirit every chance he gets. She feels trapped and powerless to leave. So . . . in a way . . . she’s treated as badly as I am.”
Pinkie opened her mouth to say something, but he continued more forcefully. “Yes, a mare trying to kill her own colt is wrong, but . . . Mother saw it as the only way to set me free. Despite the odds, I survived, and there her attempts to 'free' me ended.”
The words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he could not deny their validity. “It might have been better if I,” his throat grew uncomfortably tight, “if I died after all.” As much as he longed to keep his composure, either the morphine or the situation shattered it.
“Do you know what it’s like? Growing up without ever being touched by your own parents? Not once!” He choked back the sobs as best he could. “Locked in a box and starved when you cried or acted like a child. Continually treated like a dog, all the while believing that you really were as worthless as they said.”
“And as damned foolish as it was, all I wanted, all I needed was for her to acknowledge that I had some value. That somepony in all the world was happy I existed . . .” Rory could not find the strength to continue. Nopony wanted him around. For all intent and purpose, he had become a harbinger of death and suffering.
“Rory—”
The sound of his own name made him cringe. “Don’t call me that . . . I hate that name.”
“Why?” Her hoof stroked his back in that gentle way of hers. “It’s your name isn’t it?”
“Names are something given out of love. Mine . . . mine was given out of obligation, to tie me to him and make sure I’d keep in line. Tell me, what love is there in that?”
“I—”
“The only reason I keep that name, the only reason I keep on living is to see that bastard taken down.” He glanced down at his mark. Numbers. Always with the numbers. Celestia, how he hated them. “It’s the only purpose I’ve ever had or will ever have in life, Miss Pie. If anypony can tear down his corrupted little empire, it’s me. Numbers are his language, and suffering his lifeblood.”
A wolfish snarl stretched across his face, “I’ve learned to use them both, and soon I’ll swing his own weapons against him. One sharp, decisive blow and that will be the end of it.” The end of me . . .
Pinkie looked as if she might argue with him, but he held out his warped hoof. “Go home, Pinkie, you need the rest.”
“But what about you? Your leg’s still hurt.”
“I’ve dealt with pain before, I’ll be fine.”
“You can’t be thinking of going to work tomorrow. You need to rest,” she pleaded.
Rory rolled his eyes. She had a very good point, but one that did not hold up to reality. “I have to work. If I don’t, Father . . . there’s no telling what he’d do. You saw what happened to Farthing, you know what he’s capable of!”
Pinkie gasped, clasping a hoof to her mouth. “But, Farthing committed suicide, didn’t he?”
“No telling,” Rory growled. “I wouldn’t put it past Father to drive the nail in his coffin.” Seeing her horrified look, he amended, “However, this stinks of suicide. There’s no point in Father killing the poor sap. Farthing kept his muzzle out of Father’s business and did his duty. Killing off ponies is risky even for him. No, Pinkie, Farthing chose his end fate.”
“Uh . . . okay . . .” She stood, walking slowly to the door. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
“As ‘okay’ as I ever am, Miss Pie.” With that, he closed his eyes, listening to her hoofbeats fading away. At that moment, he found himself wishing the pills had killed him that night. Then, Farthing would be alive and Pinkie would have remained as innocent as ever. For a brief moment, he considered ending before any other ponies suffered on his account. But what would that accomplish? He had a mission, one that no other pony could hope to accomplish. After that finished, he'd set himself free for good. Just a little longer, Rory, just a little longer.