Darker London

( In Progress - Backdated like a lot )

It had taken far longer than anyone had anticipated - a week and a half - for Peter to be able to get out of his hospital bed. Whether it was all physical, or some of it was just not wanting to face the reality that something in his wife's head had made her beat the shit out of him though was up in the air really.

But he did have to face it.

( The agreement )

The room Peter found himself in was dim, lit only by flickering candlelight. The chill bit at his skin, his fingers stiff and cold. The walls were carved stone, thick and unrelenting. The air in the cell was stained with damp, making it all the more heavy to breathe. He was sitting on a bed, if it could be called that. It was little more than some wooden slats and a thin mattress made of straw. On the floor in front of him, Thomas was stretched out, topless, his back against the cold concrete. He looked thinner than normal, something which pained Peter to see. Thomas' fingers spidered out across the skin of his chest, as if he was counting his own ribs. Then he pressed the palm of his hand flat against his stomach and groaned-

( Oh god )