2:21 Killing The Doctor
#21 of The Underground Part 2: Pitch Black
Pitch Black is the second arc of The Underground series
Chapter 21 of 22
Killing The Doctor
This world can take you and make you into someone you don't even recognize anymore. In our world we see the worst of people every day. They all try so hard to drag you down with them. But its up to people like us not to let ourselves become the very enemy we fight against. And I know you; I know they can't touch who you are.
"Can I make one request?" He asked looking over his glasses.
His guest nodded.
Turning back around his eyes went back to his fire. "Be quick about it." The otter asked.
Dr. Robert K. Openshaw had led a full life. He experienced love, and loss, joy and sorrow. He did not regret anything that he had done in this life. Perhaps the only thing he would have liked to do before his final moments was to call his ex, and let her know he forgave her. Maybe somewhere in her heart of hearts, she knew he had. That he had years ago, but his pride wouldn't let him say so.
"Well?" The otter asked, gripping his glass tighter in anticipation. He heard the floorboards creek as his guest moved around. The sound was then exchanged with that of metallic clicking, followed by the ping of a bullet readied in a gun. It was a sharp sound; one that seemed to cut through the air, as though it were a sharp knife ripping through a thin cloth. He felt the electric jolt of a shock flash through his body as his mind began to accept his current reality. However, he wasn't going to run, or plead, or even fight. He had too much character to lower himself to those levels. The Doctor wasn't self-righteous; he simply had a code of morals that he chose to live by. One of those morals was accepting responsibility for his actions. And now the reaper, quite literally, had come to collect. The way Openshaw saw it, he had just as much part in all this coming to be as anyone. So, if this was the way he chose to extract revenge, then Openshaw shared as much blame as anyone. Now that he had the location of Waverly Hill, his guest didn't need to keep Openshaw around any longer.
Two loud pops, like hardback books dropping on the wooden floor, broke the silence of the night. The room flashed with bright light as the bullets exploded from the barrel of the gun. The loud cracks of the pistol caused Openshaw to jump off his seat in shock.
Shock that he was still breathing.
The Doctor got up, and turned around looking back at the dark figure that stood there, with his suppressed pistol at his side. Turning around, Openshaw saw where the two bullets had drove themselves home in his wooden fireplace mantle. He then turned back around, looking at his would-be assassin. Rob scowled in confusion, not understanding why his guest had intentionally missed.
Twice.
"You want to be dead?" He asked in his dark tone. "Fine." He replied to his own question. "Now you're dead."
Openshaw did a double take at the bullets in his mantle. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked confused out of his mind.
His guest had already turned and was walking out of the study, and into the darkened hallway. He stopped, and turned around, his green eyes were all that stood out against the black surroundings.
"You've got two bullets fired from the same gun that killed the others and Plaz Preston!" He shot back hotly. "You're a smart man; figure it out!"
And with that, his guest disappeared into the night, closing the door behind him.
"Wait!" Openshaw called, running around his couch to the door. Slamming into it and forcing it open, the otter dashed out into the dark hall. At first he couldn't see anything, and by the time his eyes adjusted to the darkness, there was nothing to see anyway. His guest, and old friend was nowhere to be found.
Openshaw had started reading about the deaths and investigations of the others; the last that remained who knew as The Doctor did. Openshaw wasn't sure it had been him until after the second murder. However, the skill, the style, the ambiguity as to who had done it; all the details of the murders left a ghostly chill with Openshaw. Until that point there was much question in the otter's mind as to if he was even still alive. Long years had passed without so much as word one about his condition. The Underground had done its job, and allowed him to fall into the cracks. By the time Ursprung caught a few bullets in her chest it was clear he was very much alive and on a vendetta mission. It was obvious that there was little in this world that would stop him.
Perhaps if he remembered, perhaps if he knew everything that happened those last few days things would be different. However, when Openshaw looked into his eyes, he could tell that he remembered nothing, saddening him greatly. The Doctor walked quietly over to a set of French doors. Opening them, he stepped outside into the chilly air, looking around at what his life's accomplishments had bought for him. His estate, his fame, his fortune, all were the indirect result of the torment they had put him through. All of this seemed to be built off a body of lies. He would enjoy it for tonight, because by tomorrow, Dr. Robert Openshaw will have been shot in his study; completing the circle.
Still, questions lingered. Questions roamed throughout Openshaw's head as to why he had left The Doctor alive. Tonight went against the very essence of his nature, and negated the reasons for his actions. However, with the borrowed time Openshaw now found himself in possession of, he could possibly answer these questions.
But that would come later. Sighing deeply, the otter adjusted his glasses and looked up into the night sky, overcast blocking the moon's light.
"Thanks for the second chance." Openshaw whispered graciously, letting his voice go up into the night for any who would hear it, "I think our paths will cross again soon..." he smiled forlornly to himself,
"Alias."