Jack pressed his fingers to his lips, his eyes staring intently at the metal object he had placed on the low coffee table in his living room. A chink of the moon's ray filtered through the space in the blinds and cast its light upon it. The silver of the gun glinting in reply.
An hour earlier he had slipped out of the bedroom, leaving Ronnie to sleep as best as she could. He had ventured into his living room and took away the panel in the wall that the safe was hidden behind. His fingers punched in the security code and his hand delved into the secrets of the safe and pulled out the gun.
"I want him dead." That's what she had shouted before her body had succumbed to the agonising pain that sliced through her as Ronnie's unborn child bled from her. As soon as he'd gotten her home, she had lain so still on the bed, her eyes closed but not sleeping. Until the pain had made her sick.
Jack had rubbed her back and lifted her blonde hair from her face and soothed her. And all the while, he couldn't help but think: "I should be doing this whilst our baby's growing, not dying." Ronnie had shuddered beneath his gentle touch, the most delicate of affections seeming cruel and harsh. And painful beyond measure.
They had lain together on his bed, their bodies curled into each other's Jack's arm forming a protective barrier between Ronnie and world. But what good was it now? The world had already got to her, Archie had already hurt her. Stolen another precious life from her.
His hands reached for the gun, the tips of his fingers moving noiselessly against the smooth lines of it. Jack picked it up and flicked open the barrel. He looked inside before spinning it closed. He laid it across his palm. A tiny little hand gun. That's all it was. But the damage it could inflict was irreparable. That's what Jack was betting on, at least.
Getting up from the sofa, he put on his coat and scarf before slipping on a pair of black leather gloves. Making sure the safety was on, Jack dropped the metal object into a pocket on the inside of his coat. Instantly it became heavier.
Picking up his keys from the kitchen counter, Jack walked to the flat door. He stopped, sighing and turning around. He couldn't leave her. She was sleeping, but what would she think when she woke up? Would she think he'd left?
Stepping back into the living room, Jack hurriedly wrote a short note on a scrap piece of paper and placed it on the kitchen counter. He stopped for a moment, his heart telling him to return to the bedroom and take Ronnie in his arms. But Jack his head. He couldn't do that. Not until the man that had ripped away everything from her was dead.
The freezing air hit his face as soon as he stepped out of the flat, a shiver coiling at the base of his spine and making its way up to his neck. Jack walked purposefully through the Square, his eyes scanning for any movement or people. But there none – who in their right mind would be wandering through the Square in the middle of the night on Christmas Day? Nobody sane.
He reached the double red doors of the Vic, but instead of pushing through them, he ducked into the alleyway and silently made his way towards the back door. He took Ronnie's keys from out of his pocket and slipped one into the lock. It turned effortlessly and then he was inside.
Walking the short distance from the back entrance to the bar, Jack's mind was filled with memories of him and Ronnie. That was the place he'd proposed to her, they'd shared their first kiss behind the bar. Everything about this place reminded him of her. But instinctively, he ducked back into the shadows at the sound of voices.
"I've been expecting you," Archie said.
"What have you done, Dad?"