DREAMSHARE 1: OPEN TO EVERYONE
The room was pitch dark, and small. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he could detect the change of texture in the shadows. There were three people. Two were at the door, and the third was in front of him.
"For gods' sake, men, light the candles."
"Sorry, captain." This came as a mumble. There was the sound of the man fumbling with the packet of matches, and the room sprang into light as the candles lining the room were lit. Once they were all lit, Vimes finally got a good look at his surroundings. It was non-descript as rooms went. A cold floor, four walls, and a table. The two men by the door were watchmen and their faces were obscured by the shadows of their helmets. The third person was seated at a table, and was nota man but a boy.
"All right, that's enough. Go on, you two are on your break. I can handle it from here." He took a seat.
Had he been in possession of all his memories, perhaps Vimes would have recognized the boy sitting across from him as himself. Perhaps not. Time changes everyone, and time has certainly changed him. As it was, the resemblance was small. There was a certain brightness to the eyes, a certain largeness to the ears, a certain innate grubbiness that has never left him and that was all. He was clad in simple clothing, very clean but very worn. He was very thin, and his face was dirty.
Vimes looked down at himself, well fed, well clothed and by all means quite comfortable. He felt ashamed of himself.
The boy spoke. "Me mum's dead."
The case suddenly flooded back to Vimes, as if he had known it all along, as if he hadn't been bewildered when the dream had begun. This was the way of dreams. "Yes," he said gravely. There wasn't much to say. "She is, son."
"Nothing can bring her back. Right?"
Vimes shook his head. "Nothing. I'm sorry."
The boy stared down at his filthy knuckles. Vimes could feel the anger coming from him in waves. It was as if it was coiled within him, bursting to get out in whatever way possible. Something in Vimes expected the boy to suddenly burst out with a scream of rage, but instead he began to cry.
"We caught the man who did it."
"The man I said who did it," the boy said, as sullen as ever and stubbornly ignoring the tears trickling down his cheeks.
"Same thing. Isn't it?"
"No." The boy sniffed. "'Cause if people listened to us in the first place, then she wouldn't be dead. I'm going to kill him."
"You're not going to do anything of the kind."
"He killed my Mum. He deserves to be punished."
"He will be."
"How?"
Vimes hesitated, but wasn't sure why. This boy wanted to kill the man. He wouldn't be fazed by something like this. "If the court finds him guilty, he will be hanged."
Perhaps this boy was young, but something in his face held shadows of someone very old, someone who had seen far too many things. "But he won't be found guilty. It doesn't matter how much evidence you got, or how much I say it was him. He was rich, so they'll let him go. And he'll go on to kill another poor woman, an' nothing will be done."
"I'll do everything in my power to make sure he sees justice."
"You can't do anything."
Vimes raised a brow, said nothing.
"He's got money. He'll bribe the judges. Don't say you can stop that, 'cause you can't, I know you can't. And then he'll get off, 'cause if he doesn't all the nobs will raise a big fuss and he'll get off some other way, like being a loony or maybe he'll just be guilty of havin' too much time on his hands an' he'll be sent out to the country or somethin'."
"We've got evidence. And we've got you. He'll--"
"My Mum will still be dead, and he'll be out there. I'm going to kill him."
Vimes couldn't argue. "You will not."
"What he did was wrong."
"Yes, it was."
"So he must be punished."
"He will be, somehow."
"How? If I don't kill him, everyone will go along their way like normal, because they don't want to be killed neither, but if they say somethin' then if they're not hanged they might get fired, and we're all starvin' as it is, and we don't wanna be under the boot of some nob. I'm going to kill him."
"Then kill him." The words slipped out before Vimes could help himself. He stared at the ceiling and counted slowly to five. "No. Don't kill him. That would be wrong."
"But it's not wrong if you kill him."
"What?"
"You said he'll be hanged. So if I know he's guilty, and then if people saw the truth he'd be killed anyway, then why is it wrong for me to kill him?"
Silence.
"Can't you answer, lawman?"
"Because you can't decide these things all by yourself." The flames on the candles around them were going out, one by one. Slowly. It was hard to notice unless he looked. "It needs to be the decision of many."
"But the many are wrong."
"Yeah. They can be."
"Is that all you can say?"
Vimes took off his badge, and set it gingerly down upon the table. AMCW 144. 144. That was who he was. Sometimes it didn't feel like enough. "I can say a lot of things, kid. The law isn't perfect. I don't think it ever will be. Your mother's dead, and nothing can bring her back, and I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry about a lot of things. But killing that nob won't do anything but put you in a bundle of trouble. I can't promise you that the man who killed your mother will be brought to justice, but I'll try. That's all any of us can ever do."
"He's evil."
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
Vimes shrugged. "Sometimes bad people can be good. Or good people can be bad. Life's not simple, kid. You find something to stick to, and for me, that's the law. You choose something too, but you make sure it's something good. And you'll get by. You will."
The last candle went out.