Chapter Text
Program after program fuzzed in and out on the screen as he turned the television dial, his goal being to find something more suitable to watch for the remainder of the evening. An eye was kept on Finney at the same time, the boy continuing to sleep away peacefully on the couch after having drifted off on his lap a while ago. The younger male had obviously been bored with the news segment they were watching previously and, in all honesty, the outcome was not too terribly surprising. His aim, however, had been to spark something within Finney, give his captive a taste of what was going on in the outside world and maybe provoke a word out of the youth in the process.
What actually happened was unfortunately very different from what he imagined would, and the boy falling asleep so quickly as he had was almost insulting. He realised that most children were ignorant to the world out there, beyond their own little ones, but surely someone so disconnected from the outside would show a smidgen of interest. Then again, the evidence he witnessed tonight suggested that watching the news was sure to result in a repeat ending unless it covered something attention capturing for Finney.
Lesson learnt.
Fiddling with the dial for a moment longer, nearly to the point where every available station had been tuned in to, he eventually happened upon a program he did not expect to see airing. Oliver Twist, to be exact, a mildly entertaining curiosity of a film which he saw not since the early fifties, when it was first released in the United States. He did not recall coming across such a thing listed in the television guide beforehand, probably having skimmed over the blurb without a second thought at the time. Granted, the film was neither a personal favourite of his or overly special, so far as he remembered, though knowing that there was not much else worth a watch convinced him to leave the dial be.
A feeling of content swept over him when he returned to his place on the couch, his hand instinctively running through dark auburn curls once again. Never had he pictured his life reaching a point such as this one, the sinful pleasures and consistent sacrifices he experienced throughout the years only too plentiful—for better or worse. Thinking of it all was somewhat overwhelming in fact, particularly the memorable moments where a few simple yet impactful decisions had led to some of the biggest, most interesting changes. His eyes dropped to the person in his lap when he thought of the decisions which awaited him in the future, his lips twisting into a frown while he stared on in silence.
Change was inevitable, however annoying and depressing such a fact was to be repeatedly reminded of, but he was intent on savouring this little routine of theirs for a bit longer still. Besides, the stoke-fire challenge he undertook had only just begun, the excitement alone it generated encouraging him to stay the course in spite of the ever-present risks. In several ways, this challenge of his was also akin to a game, a unique one with a straightforward objective and not-so-predictable rewards, and there was no resisting that.
He really was an addict.
One sharp tug to the hair ripped Finney away from unconsciousness in an instant, the youth jolting awake in a panic before quietly settling back down once realisation kicked in. Dark brown eyes then settled on the television screen ahead, the current scene involving Oliver being presented to the board appearing to pull his captive in. A promising sight for certain, especially since it looked like the film was new to Finney, and he eventually found himself smirking at how easily the boy became hooked after just a couple of scenes.
Meanwhile, his memory of the plot was partially refreshed going forward, the parallels between Oliver and Finney growing more apparent with each passing minute. Another fitting coincidence in truth, much like every other instance when he compared the younger male to some fictional character during their movie nights. This tendency of his was becoming a pattern as well, a strange and otherwise ignorable one unless he bothered to examine it further, pick out some greater meaning where none probably existed. Naturally his thoughts were elsewhere, focused solely on how his captive may react to the film and a relatable youth of near similar age struggling to survive under the thumbs of wicked people.
Ever storybook.
Oliver was introduced as a timid individual, thin as a rake and often hesitant to objective to or take action against those older than him. How unlucky the main character was as well, having drawn the short straw and thereby being chosen as the one to beg his keepers for more food, mere gruel at that. The desire was understandable of course, especially when every workhouse boy had a front row seat of those very keepers feasting on finer, delicious meals which they could only dream of tasting. Proper food, nevertheless, was important and while the children were shown to get by well enough, for the most part, the same did not apply to real life as he had discovered whilst caring for Finney.
There was no reaction to the gruel, so far as he could tell, but his captive was none to happy seeing Oliver locked away after attacking Noah, an apprentice working for Mr. Sowerberry, his new keeper. It was easy to guess what the younger male was thinking while watching that scene play out, and when the main character received a handful of lashes as punishment for his violent outburst. His lashings were never so lenient, on any of the six boys he kept, and Mr. Sowerberry should count himself fortunate that Oliver was so effortlessly subdued. Discipline meant little if the message it held was not effectively sent across though he knew firsthand that some children remained defiant despite getting the worst of it.
He noted the faintest glint of hope appearing within dark brown eyes after the main character successfully escaped to London, leaving behind those who mistreated him so. Curiosity and wariness emerged once Fagin, a veteran pickpocket, entered the story and yet he swore Finney almost cracked a smile when the elderly man went about teaching Oliver the art of a successful steal.
Choosing not to gag his captive this time around was a late decision, one which was guaranteed to backfire should his attention slip. Although, weighed against his ability to quickly silence the youth and the potential for greater reward, the risk involved hardly seemed worth the worry. Finney, too, had to know how useless screaming was and how badly he would be punished should he even manage to let a good one loose. In any case, to see whether the younger male actually tried to yell, or speak really, was the main reason why he forwent the gag, the thought of either happening sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.
Uneventfully, however, did the next few minutes pass by, with Finney seemingly having become lost in thought since Oliver was shown hitting the city with two other young pickpockets, Dodger and Charlie. The boy did appear to brighten up a bit when the main character was spared arrest and taken to live with Mr. Brownlow, a kind soul much the same as his housekeeper, Mrs. Bedwin. Only after Oliver was abducted in the streets and forcibly taken back to Fagin did his patience start to really pay off and the reactions he witnessed, subtle as they were, did not disappoint. Most entertaining was how anxious his captive became when the main character was being questioned by the veteran pickpocket, but a wavering Nancy intervened before things turned violent.
Her change of heart was better explained after she revealed her past, one tainted with thievery at a young age courtesy of Fagin himself. Nonetheless, her concern for Oliver was clearly enough to shake her loyalty to Fagin and her boyfriend Sikes, and her decision to help the poor boy was made simpler once she learnt of their sinister intentions. She foolishly left herself open to suspicion though and later wound up being killed by Sikes for it, her frightened pleas and pained screams at the time causing Finney to tense.
Discretion was key in many situations, as he knew, and she should have known her outburst would be remembered, enough so to paint the beginnings of a target on her back. Keeping her intervention to a minimum, or never having gotten involved in the first place, and then later meeting with Mr. Brownlow was the smarter move, let Fagin and Sikes belief her to still be trustworthy in the interim. Emotion had a nasty habit of clouding judgement though, and he was only too familiar with how easily it could be used against a person—himself included. Nancy, unluckily for her, was never given a chance to live after experiencing the full brunt of that lesson, her short excuses falling on deaf ears before her boyfriend struck her down. He was usually no different when the last stage of his favourite game rolled around, his victims receiving not the slightest sliver of mercy as he slashed and stabbed the life out of them.
Except for Finney.
In regards to the film as a whole, a huge chunk of this craziness—inheritance schemes, kidnapping, murder—could have been avoided had Oliver steered clear of the wrong people. Rare, however, was there a child possessing such smarts and one as innocent as Oliver never truly understood danger until it was staring him dead in the face. Worse was how the main character clung to the possibility of experiencing better, jumping readily at any opportunity which held even a shred of promise. Some might view this as greed, with Oliver wanting what was neither deserved or owed to him, but the life he was denied, thanks to Mr. Bumble and Mrs. Corney, begged to differ.
Alternatively, another couple of years spent working a trade and the main character may have earned himself something better—advantage, title, quality standards, and the like. If nothing else, the value of discipline and hard work would thoroughly sink in though without any meaningful gain, Oliver was sure to amount to nothing more than a slave labourer. He would have attempted to charm the right person, had he been in the boy’s shoes, play off their generosity and learn whatever skills he could before leaving to carve his own path. Doing so was necessary in opening up more doors with wealthier living on the other side, assuming everything played out accordingly and nothing happened to reset his progress of course.
Did anything in life ever work out that smoothly?
Quietly did he laugh at the obvious answer while continuing to stare at the screen, the action intensifying with the introduction of an angry mob. Finney, still hooked, looked distressed by what was going on, those dark browns widening a faction when Sikes whisked Oliver away to the roof, the man no doubt aiming to use the boy as a hostage. Naturally it took something as simple as a chimney pot coming loose to alert the mob to their location and ruining whatever chance Sikes had of escaping the law unnoticed.
A soft sigh of relief was heard from his lap when the man fell from the roof, a bullet to the back taking him down and the rope around his neck leaving him hanging. How ironic that the tool Sikes had brought along to climb down the building with became his own personal noose instead, resulting in an unintentional yet fitting execution. Considering the position the man was in moments prior, death via hanging was probably a kinder, swifter way to go as opposed to being captured alive by the mob.
Funny how things fell into place sometimes.
His captive looked totally at ease with Sikes and Fagin finally gone, the latter of the two having already reluctantly surrendered to the authorities after the mob came bursting through the barricade. No sooner was Oliver then rescued and seen happily reuniting with Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin, the three of them all smiles while returning home, presumably to live the rest of their days in peace.
Such a picturesque little moment it was, one he immediately lost interest in upon looking down at his lap, the sight of an upturned lip causing him to do a double take. Evidently, said moment was tender enough to bring out a smile from the youth, and his first impulse was to see how well it actually held up.
“Pretty picture, huh?” he quietly remarked, a long sigh following close behind. “Shame it’ll never last.”
Unconsciously did his grip tighten on Finney when he thought of the damage children were capable of, his voice developing a harder edge as he resumed, “Naughty boys like him always take what they have for granted. Too greedy and ignorant for their own good.”
There was plenty left to add, a number of sensitive buttons still to press, but all was forgotten once he heard the younger male, ever so softly, whisper that he was wrong. Any surprise which spawned from that immediately shifted to doubt because of how inaudible those words were, what was said possibly having been a mere trick of the ear.
“Something to say?” he prompted as his uncertainty grew, wanting badly to hear something concrete from the boy.
Disappointment set in the longer he continued to wait for a response, his patience rewarded with nothing but deafening silence and wasted excitement. His hands twitched at the thought of turning to another approach, using violence and stopping only once Finney, loudly and clearly, begged him to do so. Repeatedly choking the youth within an inch of his life, be it with his hands or cock, was definitely among a handful of tempting ideas, or dragging out another of his usual lashings.
Every option practically promised to produce a notable result, and then some, though they all shared one undesirable thing in common. Specifically, each undermined the purpose of the challenge itself and despite the cries of his impatience, he knew there was hardly any fun in outright demanding that his captive talk. What reactions he witnessed tonight were satisfying enough besides, and he was never going to deprive himself of the pleasure to be had in getting physical, with time aplenty to do more of that.
If work ever left him with the energy to do so and to properly enjoy it.
Finding that same smile still lingering on Finney’s face did somewhat irk him, his earlier jabs clearly having no effect in flipping it upside down. This particular smile was a rather special gem too, something soft like the thinnest blanket of freshly fallen snow and yet it held strength enough to remain visible, neither lip quivering or drooping whatsoever. He had seen the odd smirk or over-proud smile in the past, during times when the boy was at his most confident or high on some victory. Although, an expression like this was unlike those and any other besides, brimming with undisguised hope which shone like a vibrant star on a cloudless night.
He was going to be sick.
--------------------
Whatever hold sleep had on him was instantly shaken loose by several thundering knocks, their unwelcome and echoey noise pulling an unhappy groan from him. A brief peek at the clock nearby revealed the time to be a couple of minutes after six in the morning, an hour too early to be awake on one of his days off. Mumbling a curse or two, he proceeded to sink deeper underneath the sheets, intent on falling back asleep and ignoring the persistent disrupter at his door altogether. However, catching the vague voices of two familiar pigs reluctantly got him out of bed, his movements sluggish while dressing in whatever was conveniently within reach.
It just had to be them, of all people.
Neither Durango officer was surprised by his less-than-presentable appearance and nor did he bother to hide his displeasure when he finally met them at the front door. “Good morning Mr. Shaw,” he listened to Ward say, the man regarding him with an apologetic look. “We apologise for disturbing you so early in the day.”
“We’re on a bit of a tight schedule,” Bailey explained after giving his own quiet greeting.
Already knowing the drill and wanting this to be over with quickly, he wordlessly invited the officers inside, the three of them moving to take their usual seats in the living room. His mood further soured when Ward started things off by commenting on the absence of barking which he, in turn, offered but a curt, “Samson died.”
Inwardly rolling his eyes at their condolences, he slipped into the appropriate act before steering the conversation towards business. “I’m guessing you still haven’t found my brother.”
Ward regretfully confirmed his assumption while Bailey went on to inform, “We did go back and re-interview several individuals since we last spoke—the tenants in your brother’s apartment, cab drivers, dispatchers.”
“None of their stories have changed since,” Ward added shortly afterwards, his tone developing a faint note of suspicion to it. “No neighbour or the landlord has seen your brother since he last left Durango to visit you, every dispatcher said there was never a driver sent to this residence on the date you claim he left, and no driver remembers giving him a ride around the time of his disappearance.”
Most of those details were of zero interest to him though he did stiffen slightly at the mention of dispatchers, a group he failed to recall ever hearing about before today. He assumed that such information had been withheld for the sake of the case at hand, among others, but suddenly hearing of it now did not bode well.
“As we see it,” Bailey picked up, “everyone’s either lying or telling us the truth.”
If these pigs were leaning towards the whole everyone-telling-the-truth bit, as true as it was, he was never going to be free of their suspicion. He had banked on Marquez, or accomplices of his, taking the fall for Max’s disappearance, especially considering that the word of some shady drug supplier was not to be taken seriously. Unfortunately, the officers were exploring different, less obvious individuals instead of pointing fingers strictly at the criminal, their small move away from incompetence both unexpected and dangerous.
“There are also other possibilities involving your brother to consider,” he heard Bailey resume, “like him leaving your residence with someone else you believed to be a cab driver.”
Another shot in the dark, something more plausible in comparison to others for sure though he still responded to it with a fake scoff of frustration. “Great. More speculation.”
“Mr. Shaw,” Ward suddenly said, the sharper shift in his voice and the seriousness of his demeanor commanding attention. “Once more for the record, walk us through exactly what happened up to the point when you last saw your brother.”
Tightness squeezed at his throat as panic crept up on him, the feeling forcing him to take a calming breath before he could say anything. Despite this, he managed to describe every event with relative ease, the details he remembered providing during previous conversations being repeated to maintain consistency.
Upon finishing up his story, a handful of truths caught up in a blizzard of lies, the men exchanged a subtle look before Ward carefully posed, “And there isn’t anything else you’re not telling us?”
“I’ve told you everything I know,” he answered slowly and without delay, the raw emotion etched on his face seeming to chip away at the suspicion each pig still wore.
Satisfied for the time being, Ward then produced a folded piece of paper from his jacket and presented it with an outstretched hand. “One last thing, Mr. Shaw,” he listened to the officer say while accepting the paper, the opening of its folds revealing a second search warrant, one which caused his heart to skip a beat. “For your property across the street. Merely standard procedure again.”
Biting at the inside of his cheek served to keep his composure in check, his words thankfully devoid of anger and anxiousness when he eventually asked, “Why didn’t you do this along with your first search?”
“Until recently, we were unaware that you owned a second home,” Ward explained, “and it took us some time to procure a warrant.”
“You never asked,” he pointed out, referring to the existence of his other property.
Evidently, illegal substances were still relevant in their minds and with their fixation on them having been established long ago, the warrant was less of a surprise. Procedure demanded as much besides but it was almost as though these two were pushing for something else, maybe to notch a good bust under their belts for their records.
Greedy pigs indeed.
Happy to disappoint them either way and with no option to refuse, he threw on a jacket and proceeded to accompany the officers across the street without fuss. The icy chill of the outdoors took care of his little sweating problem, something his panicking had brought on earlier, but it soon returned while watching Ward and Bailey comb through his secondary residence. Casual comments on the somewhat minimal furniture around and the uses of such a house prompted an answer but otherwise he stayed totally silent throughout their search.
In spite of having less to check, the pigs spent a whole two hours on the main level, their findings yielding nothing of interest save of course for the concealed door. Without waiting for them to ask, he went ahead and moved the cabinet out of the way, his heart pounding away in his chest as the door became exposed. Finding valuables on the other side answered their question of why he hid the small room behind the safety of a cabinet though the use of the space itself remained a curious thing to them.
Clenched fists were tucked inside his jacket pockets whilst he did his damnedest to look natural, his nervousness gradually rising as the officers rifled through his belongings in there. The handles used to remove the false wall were tiny and fairly difficult to spot, blending in with the shelving supports as they were, but with the officers taking an honest look, they may actually be discovered.
What to do in the event of their discovery was left up to his imagination, scenario after scenario flashing through his mind as he stared blankly ahead. Removing that false wall was non-negotiable should either pig discover its existence, and no explanation was going to save him once they saw what he was housing down below. Moreover, knowledge of the graves alone demanded the use of drastic measures, the necessity to act if the time ever came something he was wary about having to do.
Killing an officer of the law, two in fact, may prove challenging and their disappearances were guaranteed to attract greater attention than a bunch of missing children. There were obviously ways of besting them, one being to wait for their backs to be turned, deal with the closest pig and then move on to the second before any firearms were drawn. Burying their disappearances, so to speak, was less doable by comparison and with their last known location being here, the authorities were really going to tear his properties apart.
Was he truly willing to do everything within his power to protect his dark secrets?
“Mr. Shaw.”
Only after his head jerked at the utterance of his name did he realise that he had tuned out for a minute, a mistake too dangerous to make with these officers around. His failure to respond right away did concern Bailey at the very least, the man standing by his side while seemingly waiting on something from him. “Pardon?”
“Is there a basement to this house?” the officer repeated somewhat impatiently. “I couldn’t find an entrance outside.”
Hearing this better explained why Bailey looked chillier than before and why there was suddenly fresh snow sticking to his gloves. Apparently he had been a little too engrossed in his thoughts, enough so where he completely missed the man disappearing to take a peek around the outside of the house.
Determined to avoid further mistakes in spite of the growing struggle to maintain his cool, he forced himself to remain in the present, his dread-fuelled thoughts fighting him for every second. “Not in this one, no.”
The shakiness of his own voice disgusted him but he barely had time to acknowledge it with Ward moving to join them. “Then I believe our business is finished here,” the officer said in the midst of zipping his coat back up and sharing a nod with his partner.
Blinking in surprise, he proceeded to wrestle with his disbelief as Ward and Bailey began expressing their gratitude for his cooperation and apologised for the inconvenience they caused yet again. How neither one of them managed to find the handles in the hidden room was beyond him, so much so where even shaking their hands and seeing them off felt equally unreal. Were those two genuinely blind or was their incompetence on a whole other level entirely?
Relief washed over him when they eventually drove away, the feeling gradually erasing the suffocating pressure which had been bearing down on his insides. A weak yet incredulous laugh, in fact, escaped him whilst he stared at the corner of the street where their vehicle had last been seen turning, the reality of what just occurred finally sinking in.
If this was the best the authorities had in their employ, then the public should be fearing those pigs and not someone like him.