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He never thought it would end like this.
Whenever he’d pictured his and Alice’s futures, he’d always seen something hopeful. The pair of them finishing their therapy and escaping Houndsditch Home. Leaving this nasty, dirty city behind. Finding someplace nice and quiet to live, where they could thrive in clean air and green grass. Discovering how to smile and laugh and be happy – truly happy – again. And maybe – if he was in an especially wishful mood – the two of them getting married and having children together. His imaginings had always been bright and happy.
They’d never included her lying dead by his hand in Moorgate Station.
Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d done it. Couldn’t believe that he’d let Bumby order him into doing it. How could he have let that bastard into his mind? How could he have not snapped out of it while she was screaming and begging for her life?
How could he have let himself become a monster?
Well, he was going to make up for it now. He looked down at Bumby, struggling beneath him as they lay on the railroad tracks. The doctor was trying to wrestle him off, but Victor’s grip held. “You idiot!” he yelled. “Don’t you understand we’ll both die?”
Victor just looked at him. Bumby went still as their eyes met. He could see in the dawning horror of the doctor’s face that Bumby finally got it. Victor did understand.
Victor just didn’t care.
He heard the train coming, racing along its tracks, and closed his eyes.
Time to show Alice he would still do anything for her.