9. Silver
I took the City of Justice. I shrank it and made it my meal. The only meal I ate today.
The white horse moved silently in the shadows. Its delicate colors drenched in darkness, like paper in ink. Peter Lake had his lips pressed together, like a little boy fighting the urge to giggle. Dark eyes hidden under his cap. Escaping the velvet night sky.
And tonight I'll take the moon between my teeth and crack it like a chocolate truffle… and feel the ooze of silver on my tongue.
He dismounted once or twice. Skulked away. Slithering under windows and through recklessly-unlocked doors. Emptied homes. Dusty floors. In the cases he heard a snore, or the whimper of a hound, or the trembling breaths of a child, he would go back the way he came. Return to his companion and find some other place.
He didn't take much from the houses he chose. These were empty houses. Families who had gone on vacation, people who had left altogether. Houses with no current owner but himself. And he took what he needed. A silver tray. Silver knives. Practical, in the case he needed them, as well as valuable.
In one particular case, finding no interest in the items left in the open, he found himself drawn to the safe in the study.
Silver…
He pressed the side of his face to the freezing metal.
What would silver taste like?
Moved his fingers slowly in the darkness. Gaze owlishly fixed on a wrinkle on the wallpaper. Turned and turned the little dial. Heard the tiny heartbeat of the safe. The mechanic tapping, small and timid, on the other side of the door.
Sugar… and milk…
Peter danced to the rhythm. His fingers working their magic. The little heartbeat sharpening. His hand moving side to side. Slowly.
And a whisper of honey… and cream cheese…
And the numbers gave in and surrendered under his touch.
And guilt.
The heart stopped beating and he opened the safe. He found some certificates. Births and deaths. Wills. A small sum, in a bag. A little picture. A little boy.
"Well, damn."
Peter Lake closed the door, sealed it shut. Abandoned his dance.
"You have little to offer and so do I. What could become of us?"
He went outside. The white horse welcomed him with a soft little noise.
"I need to say goodbye to John."
He mounted the saddle, took hold of the reins. The tray and the knives shook loudly from the satchel.
And for a split second he remembered the fence. The sound of it. The body he threw to force it open.
Peter trembled in the breeze. His breath rising, a white flower, in the half-light.
"He deserves to know I'm going. He… Well, you'll see. I'm sure you and him will get along well."
The horse was moving slowly. Leisurely. Its hazelnut eyes were absently delineating the houses at the other side of the street.
"I know it's early, but he's awake. He's a fisherman… and clam digger. He… heh. He fished me out, once, you know, horse?"
The white horse stopped walking, the hooves clacking firmly on the concrete. Peter Lake put a hand on the animal's thick neck.
"Look, I know you're tired, but we have no time to lose. I promise you'll rest when we get out of the city. I'll- I'll grab you some carrots, too."
The white horse turned, faced the street opposite to theirs. Lifted its head to the tall dark house directly in front of them.
"What? What are you saying?" Peter Lake let his eyes fall down the sharp corners of the house. Its walls. Its windows. "Hey… Look, we have enough goods to make it to Florida. We have no need for more. Do- Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
The white horse made a strange noise that somehow resembled an affirmation.
"I… I need to say goodbye to John. I can't waste my time…"
He tried to gently lead the horse to the side. Away from there. But the hooves were rooted to the ground. The street was empty, but not for long. The fog of daylight was beginning to breeze through the city.
"I want him to know that I will come back… That I'm not abandoning him…"
The white horse nodded. Toward the house. Peter Lake felt it again. A hum of discouragement, deep in his belly. The same hum he had felt before his first flight. Before he could taste the city.
"Well... you are a special horse," he whispered. "I guess I ought to listen to you…"
He dismounted, slowly, and took off his cap. He put it in the satchel, alongside the tray and the knives. The clatter returned. So did the black bars of the fence. The body of his friend, what was once a friend, becoming limp in his arms.
The red petals of blood, floating.
"You are a special horse…" he said again, his voice soft. His body was shaking.
"I need to say goodbye to John..."
The white horse moved its head, almost in an attempt to hug him. Peter stopped trembling. He closed the satchel. Breathed out smoke. Felt the chill on his lips and the tip of his nose.
"I won't be long..."
And he diligently went across the street.
Author's Note: Peter Lake is starting to show some remorse, now, isn't he?
He did kill a man that may have been his friend in his former life, someone who, at the time of his death, was begging for mercy. He killed him because otherwise Peter would have died, I know, but that doesn't excuse his cold-blooded reaction to killing a man who was begging for his life in his final moments. In the movie this act is simply shrugged over, but I want it to be one of the things that'll be eating away at Peter's conscience as he redeems himself and falls in love.
Another thing I wanted to improve from the movie was Peter's father-son relationship with Humpstone John (Graham Greene's character). In the movie they have one conversation that comes out of nowhere, Peter didn't show to have plans to meet him before riding off to Florida and only met with him after meeting Beverly, which is strange given their history. So in here I decided to have Peter make plans to say goodbye to John before leaving, since it makes more sense and also shows that he cares about him. After all, John was the first person to discover him as a baby. He's basically a father figure to him. So he would realistically want to let him know that he's going away.
Well, anyways, this is all I have today. So thank you for reading!