Authors Note: The Italics are Tony Gordon's thoughts (you know when you talk to yourself in your head)… Hope you enjoy. Influenced by 3 Tony Gordon videos on (if you have seen them, maybe you will get the slight connotations…) Set in between Tony rescuing Roy Cropper from the canal and going to the police station.
XxXxX
You know…you are pretty stupid…you know why…
A male figure sat passively by an oak desk, the lights turned out and the electronic buzz of computers and coffee makers switched off. The only brightness that entered the room was the soft radiant glow of moonlight – its innocent illumination contrasting the harsh darkness inside the office. He sat there – the boss of Underworld, a highly successful lingerie business, with unease.
Stupid…stupid…STUPID!
He gripped hold of a lonesome pen that was strewn on the desk – rolling it around in his strong hands, his eyes fixated on the navy blue ink tunnel within.
Write a confession Tony…go on, tell Maria everything. She will still love you…
Opening the top drawer to the desk, his hand carelessly rummaging around to find a piece of paper, his finger pricked on a pot of drawing-pins that had chaotically sprawled themselves at the back of the drawer. Tony grunted in anger as his hand quickly recoiled out of the drawer, his finger now possessing a small maroon droplet of blood…
Slipping away Tony…
His eyes began to glaze over, a red mist descending in fury, as suddenly he rushed up from his chair, sending it crashing back into the office wall. With a furious motion, his hands swept over the desk; pushing pens, notes, a mobile and even his leather briefcase onto the floor. Crying out, his hands clenched into tight fists, he pounded the oak table in rage as his face became an expression of immense attack.
Screw you!
Tony uttered a slight whimper as he looked at the mess he had created – notes all screwed up, a mobile phone now cracked and damaged…a broken photo-frame. With a stuttered grace, he made his way from the desk over to the rectangular memory that lay broken on the floor – a photo of him, Maria and Liam tight together, smiling in an embracing cuddle. Crouching down, picking up the photo frame as his fingers traced their way around the gold edging, Tony's eyes began to well up into a clear ocean, as one salty raindrop trickled its way down his cheek. His knuckles had already begun to bruise as his fingers began to run down the photographic face of his fiancée – the gold band of his engagement ring matching the golden border of the frame – a Fool's Gold…worthless.
Maria, it wasn't my fault.
Placing the photo frame on the desk, his hands carefully putting it down, he sighed deeply – a sigh that tried to repress any kind of extreme emotion.
It was all Roy's fault! He is to blame, not me…NOT ME!
Walking around the huge desk, pacing up and down impatiently, Tony's thoughts began to overload his mind, as his hands rubbed against his thighs.
Why did you save him? He made you lose everything! You could be a killer Tony…a true cold blooded killer…and if you were made to kill him, well…Roy would only have himself to blame!
Tony, pausing in his tracks, looked towards a large mirror that hung proudly on the wall – put up by Rosie Webster herself, in her pathetic vainness.
Making his way over to the mirror, he could see only the moonlight in its reflective glass, making him a shadow – out of mind, and completely unnoticeable…the perfect attacker.
What's the last thing I said to Hayley?...
…I'm going to sort you out…
Tony could now see his reflection – the way his face looked tired and worn, lines of anger etched into his skin as his eyes looked old and exhausted, smeared with the salty drops of tears. He regarded himself now sternly.
You!!! YOU!!! You made me like this!!!
Tony pointed at the fierce reflection in the mirro r, his finger an ever waving symbol of anger.
It's all your fault!!!!! You turned me into something......evil!!!!!!!!!
Suddenly without warning, Tony's hand unleashed itself, smashing into the brittle glass fibres of the mirror, the glass shards cascading onto the floor chaotically.
You bastard.... His face, now imprinted with the wet tracks of warm tears, looked up into the one remaining shard clinging into the mirror frame. You....fucking bastard...
Across the other side of the office, three metal shelving units stood tall, boxes of all shapes and sizes bundled together, all neat and orderly. Tony walked towards them fiercely, tripping over the discarded briefcase that he had thrown on the floor earlier. As he turned back in absolute bitterness, the briefcase seemed to mock him, laughing at him through the leather casing. Tony regained his posture as he continued to walk towards the boxes, a suddenly urgency in his stride. Cardboard; metal; plastic…all different containers scattered around the office as Tony desperately tired to find the right one – a silver metal case, much like a toolbox, but completely hollowed out, which contained something deadly and sinister. Locking eyes towards the right box, his hands reaching out to prise off the lid, his eyes became bloodshot and intensely dry, as his tears washed away and the only emotion that remained was complete emptiness. His right hand reach down inside the box, his fingers touching something cold, hard and made of smooth, strong metal. Gripping hold of it tightly, one finger placed on its trigger, Tony pulled out a gleaming silver handgun – the same handgun that Tony had set aside to kill Liam with in cold blood, before he made plans with Jimmy, the hitman that ended Liam's life.
Go over and shoot Roy…Hayley…
You were stupid to let them go…maybe end poor Maria's life… maybe she is too corroded with grief to live any…
NO!
Don't ever think like that again…the only person that can die Tony…is you! You Tony! YOU!!
Tony's hand gripped the gun even strongly as he made his way back over to the desk, his other hand bringing over the chair that crashed into the office wall. Sitting down calmly, scooting the chair so that his legs were firmly under the desk, Tony gazed at the weapon in front of him, one hand still holding the gun, the other hand tracing over the barrel – its deathly tunnel ever ready to fire the bullets…
End it all Tony…
The safety lock was already off…
Go on Tony…
His right hand slowly raised, gun poised, to his temple. The cold steel touching his skin like constricting ice…
Pull the trigger or go to jail Tony.
A shaky finger now placed softly on the trigger….waiting…
What's your choice?
Note: Hope you like the ending which is left to your interpretation. Did he kill himself, would he be capable? Or would he go to jail? (obviously disregarding what Tony actually DID do in the end…)