Ghosts of Our Past | Thomas Shelby

A Broken Promise: Part Eight

Ghosts of Our Past, A Broken Promise: Part Eight

It was Alfie's booming voice, echoing off of the hospital walls, that woke me up from the drug-induced slumber that I had been pulled under for days on end.

When I first heard him screaming, I thought that it had all been a nightmare.

In my groggy state, I thought that I had just fallen asleep at the bakeries after a long day of exhaustion and he was screaming at me to wake up.

It would have meant that everything that happened on the cold streets of Camden Town had been just one intense, terrifying dream.

But as my consciousness gained strength, I realized that he was screaming at the man that I had cried out for, just days ago: Thomas Shelby.

And they were arguing over me.

As I opened my eyes, I saw the two of them engaged in a deadly standoff with one another.

The irony of it all wasn't lost on me: the two men that may have loved me most in the world were prepared to kill each other over me.

Over what they thought was best for me in the outbreak of the escalated war between the Blinders, the Jews, and the Italians.

Some protection they were: they didn't even notice that I had woken up.

Filled with rage, I did the only thing that I knew would end the standoff without blood being shed.

I took the stitching scissors, the ones that I had swiped from an orderly staff in the event Sabini's men had come for me, out from underneath my pillow. I sent the scissors sailing through the air, crying out with pain as I did.

It wasn't my best throw, but the point came across loudly and effectively, as they became lodged in the drywall.

As the two men turned towards me, their eyes were wide with shock. Each man seemed to speak in succession, Tommy being the first to acknowledge me.

"Toni."

"Tonya."

Despite their acknowledgements of me, neither of them dared to move a muscle, as the barrels of their guns were ready to find their mark between one another's eyes. Each returned to look at the other.

I snapped even further, beginning to scream.

"I swear to fuckin' God, I will kill the two of you where you stand if you don't put down your fucking guns!"

Not bothering to lower his weapon, Alfie looked to me, raising his eyebrows.

"Don't think you're capable of killin' anyone in your state, love."

Taking the glass on my bedside table, I prepared to launch it in their direction, until Alfie put his hand up.

"Alright, alright, stop destroyin' everythin' in this room, I don't need this petty shit on the bill."

Looking to Tommy, Alfie lowered his weapon. Tommy followed in suit.

I didn't bother to place the glass back on the bedside table, until I knew that their guns would return to their holders.

Finally, albeit reluctantly, they each put their guns back in their holsters. Alfie looked at Tommy's face, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket. He threw it to Tommy, Tommy catching it and nodding at him in gratitude. Tommy put it to his nose, wiping the blood away from it.

They turned to me, failing to look me in the eye.

It was if they were children, caught in the act of doing something that they knew that they shouldn't have been doing.