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"Mind telling me what exactly you're trying to do here exactly Jane, or are you just gonna keep sending me out like an attack dog just like your daddy did."
"That's not pertinent information for you to know to be able do your job, Animus."
"Maybe I'd be more forthcomin' if ya didn't call me by my fuckin' project, Janie," He spits every word, hissing her name like a threat, "You know full well it hasn't been active in 25 years."
"Oh, who taught you that name-calling would help you? Was it your junkie mother or did Nathaniel tell you that so he could better bend you-"
"Don't you say another godforsaken word. You don't get to talk about that - you don't get to talk about anythin'."
"Did I hit a nerve?" Jane says with a smile.
"I wasn't 'gainst biting you when we were kids, ain't 'gainst it now either."
"I'm so intimidated," Sarcasm drips from her lips like venom.
He knows for a fact that the woman's soul tastes of poison. Bitter and dark.
"Fuck you, Janie."
"Very original," She seems to relish in the sound of loafers clicking on tile as he walks away, "Oh, and Animus?"
"What," His voice is more bite than tone.
"Hunt him down for me would you."
"All dogs break their leads 'ventually Jane. When'dya you think I'll break mine?"
"When you're dead, Redmond."
She looks him in the eyes as she says it. Purposeful. Her gaze is this wine-dark thing, pit-less, relentless.
Perhaps, if Nielton were still here, he'd march up to Jane's desk and wrap both hands around her neck. Squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until all breath and life left her entirely. But Nielton isn't here, and Canis is dead.
It's a pity, isn't it. Redmond Bright, hunter for the Good Doctor. Man of Death. Wane, decay, assurity. His was not a simple job, nor one oft envied. He took pride in his furthering of the great, good work.
Now, he's, at best, a dog.
Mr. Everett used to call him that. He used to tell him that he was a good dog. In a vivid way he can still picture his voice, uneven, right near his ear. As a youth, he’d hated most things about Mr. Everett, his voice, his eyes, his stare, his goddamnable fucking hands-
•-•-•-•-•
He's sitting in one of the leather wingback armchairs in Mr. Everett's office. The dusty velvet curtains are thrown open, the sun shines outside the windows, the sky a postcard of summer, yet, the office remains as still and cold as ever.
"Good dogs don't bite people, Animus."
He knows that Mr. Everett doesn't think of him as a person. That he doesn't think any of the Cuckoos are people. It's alright, he supposed. He's never much liked people anyway.
"'s not like they didn't deserve it."
"I'm not disagreeing with you my boy, however, you and I both know that if you keep this up, Amos will have you gagged. I know you didn't like that last time, now did you."
"No sir."
"Exactly. Listening to me is easier."
He nods absentmindedly, thinking about the boy Mr. Everett assigned to look after him, the boy he found a week ago. He saw him for the first time last night, he was walking around the halls, pacing back and forth across the ancient oriental floor runner. He was tall and dark eyed, counting under his breath, the steps from his bedroom door to the top of the staircase. Until he heard the counting, he had thought the boy was sleepwalking, like Nocturnus does, except now they keep Nocturnus's door shut at night. He has to assume Nocturnus still sleepwalks, just in the confines of his quarters.
"What was that, Animus?"
He doesn't like Mr. Everett's eyes, how they look, the way they… they unsettle him. Nothing else had ever unsettled him before, until he met Mr. Everett. He was everything the Good Doctor wasn't.
"What's the boy's name?"
"Susurro."
He wondered to himself what the boy's real name was.
Mr. Everett paces and thinks, and paces and thinks, and it makes him want to chew glass. At least when Mr. Everett speaks he can be distracted by the pit that forms in his stomach at the thinly veiled disgust on the man's face whenever he makes eye contact with him
"Can I leave yet?"
"You're not allowed to bite Susurro either, Animus."
"Didn't think I would be, Mr. Everett."
"Don't be smart."
His Mamma always told him that. She probably said it at least once a week by the time he was tall enough to boil water. But Mr. Everett always says it wrong, replacing get with be. His Mamma would say, "Don't get smart." When she said it, she sounded like she was knocking him down for mouthing off, but when Mr. Everett said it, demanded it, more like, it always seemed to have a different connotation; Don't question me.
He doesn't want to be gagged again, in fact, he rather likes being able to speak and breathe easily.
"Yes sir."
•-•-•-•-•
It was agreed, many years ago now, that this all would continue, no matter the cost. It had existed before any of them were born, where even twinkles in their fathers eyes. Surely, as all great, good works did, it would continue.