The hollow sound of footsteps reverbrates through the darkness,
Mixing with the harsh, tentative breaths and too-loud heartbeats.
He's there, somewhere, in the blackness,
Bleeding,
Dying,
And it's his fault.
I couldn't trust him- I shouldn't have, either.
Though he didn't steal the art- true to his word,
He knew where it was.
Plotting,
Deceiving,
And now he's paying for it.
But he made a choice, even before the call,
The one that confirmed the truth.
He took my wife,
Shock,
Pain,
Damn that cursed treasure!
He tried to pull one last con to get her back,
To right the wrong caused by his guilt.
A deal was struck, too late,
A shot,
A gasp,
Blue eyes close.
My first attempt at writing WC. From Peter's POV obviously. I leave the meaning of the ending up to you.