The Price of Mercy

1164 words

The Price of Mercy

Suzanne Baldacchino

The Price of Mercy

The cold air smelled of damp earth and rotting wood as Rebecca Hayes crouched behind the rusted chain-link fence, her breath forming pale clouds in the darkness. The old warehouse on the edge of town loomed before her, its windows shattered teeth against the night sky. Inside, muffled yelps and growls sent shivers up her spine.

She wiped her palms on her jeans and pulled a pair of bolt cutters from her bag. "Last time, Becca," she whispered to herself. She'd said that after the last three rescues. Yet here she was again, standing in the shadows, about to break the law again.

She hesitated only for a moment before slicing through the fence. A piece of metal snapped free, rattling against the concrete. Rebecca held her breath. The warehouse remained silent except for the occasional bark.

She slipped through the gap, creeping toward the side door. Her fingers trembled as she twisted the handle. Unlocked. Sloppy, Whitmore.

Inside, the stench hit her first—sweat, blood, and the acrid tang of fear. A row of cages lined the far wall, each holding a dog with wide, untrusting eyes. Some had fresh wounds, others bore the scars of past battles.

"You're safe now," she murmured, kneeling beside the first cage. A pit bull, ribs protruding, flinched at her touch.

She worked quickly, unlocking latches and slipping makeshift leashes over their heads. "Come on, let’s get you out of here."

The dogs moved hesitantly, their paws cautious on the concrete. Rebecca guided them toward the open door when—

"Did you really think you could keep this up forever, Rebecca?"

Her heart slammed into her ribs. She turned slowly. Charles Whitmore stood in the shadows, arms crossed, his usually charming smile replaced by something colder. Beside him, Sophie—her best friend—clutched her coat tight around herself, guilt flickering across her face.

"Sophie?" Rebecca's voice cracked. "You—"

"I didn’t want to, Becca," Sophie whispered. "But—he told me everything. You’re breaking the law. You could go to jail."

Rebecca swallowed the sharp sting of betrayal. "So instead of helping me, you helped him?"

"You don’t understand," Charles interjected smoothly, stepping forward. "You think I'm the villain? This isn’t about money or cruelty. It's survival."

Rebecca let out a bitter laugh. "Survival? For whom? You? Your bank account?"

Charles exhaled, shaking his head. "You think I started this? I’m just a pawn. Someone else pulls the strings. And if you keep digging, you won’t like what you find."

The words coiled in her gut like poison. "Who?" she demanded.

A slow, measured smirk spread across his face. "Marjorie Kensington."

Rebecca’s breath hitched. That name held weight. Marjorie funded nearly every charity in town—including Rebecca’s struggling clinic.

"No," she whispered. "That can’t be true."

Charles took a step closer, voice low. "You expose this, you take her down—along with your clinic. Along with the shelters she funds. Along with everything you’ve been trying to protect."

The warehouse felt smaller, the walls pressing in. Damn him. Damn him for making her doubt.

"So ,what’s the play here, Becca?" Charles asked. "Are you going to be the hero and burn it all down? Or are you going to walk away, let the dogs go, and let the town keep functioning?"

Her hands clenched into fists.

Sophie reached for her. "Please, Rebecca, just—just stop."

For a single, agonizing second, she considered it. She thought of the clinic, the animals that still needed her, the lives she could save if she just stayed quiet.

Then, she thought of the scars, the empty eyes, the soft whimpers in the dark.

Rebecca met Charles’ gaze and chose.

Rebecca met Luigi Carter when she was nineteen, fresh-faced and full of reckless idealism. He had been her anchor, the steady force who kept her from spiralling when the weight of veterinary school and her activism threatened to crush her. They’d spent late nights in the clinic, her tending to injured strays, him leaning against the counter with a coffee, watching her with quiet admiration.

"You’re going to burn yourself out," he’d warned one night, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You can’t save them all."

She had smiled then, stubborn as ever. "Watch me."

They had loved each other once, in the way that two people who dream too big and fight too hard inevitably do. But life had a way of pulling them in different directions. She threw herself into rescues. He went into investigative journalism, chasing corruption with the same relentless passion she had for saving lives.

And yet, despite everything, he always showed up for her.

The trial was a spectacle. The town divided between those who called her a criminal and those who hailed her as a saviour. The evidence Luigi had gathered—photographs, financial records, testimonies—piled up like bricks in a collapsing house. But Marjorie Kensington was untouchable.

In the days leading up to the verdict, Rebecca found herself followed. A black car parked outside her clinic. Her phone buzzing with unknown numbers. The threats started small—subtle warnings, reminders of what she stood to lose. Then, one night, she came home to find her apartment ransacked. Papers scattered. Drawers overturned. And scrawled on her bathroom mirror, in something dark and sticky—

WALK AWAY.

She gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. "Cowards."

Luigi stormed into the room, eyes scanning the chaos. "Becca, you can’t stay here."

"I’m not running."

"They’re trying to scare you."

She turned to him, her gaze steady. "It’s working. But I’m still not stopping."

In the end, Charles took the fall. A deal was struck. He would serve time. The ring would be dismantled. But Marjorie? She vanished into quiet exile, her name still gilded in bronze plaques across town.

Rebecca sat in the courtroom as the judge delivered her verdict. Probation. Community service. A criminal record.

She exhaled, fingers tightening in her lap.

Luigi nudged her shoulder. "Could’ve been worse."

She turned to him, exhaustion and something unreadable in her eyes. "Could’ve been better."

He gave her a half-smile, reaching into his pocket. "Speaking of better—how about dinner? Or, I don’t know… forever?"

She blinked. "Are you seriously proposing right now?"

"I'm serious about you," he said simply.

For a moment, the idea of a quiet life, of something easy, tempted her. But the fight wasn’t over.

She placed a hand over his, gentle but firm. "Luigi... I can’t."

Understanding flickered in his eyes, even as disappointment set in. He nodded. "So where are you going next?"

Rebecca glanced out the window. "Wherever they need me."

Weeks later, at the airport, she knelt beside a golden retriever with a scar running down its flank. She scratched behind his ears, murmuring softly. "Ready, buddy?"

The dog licked her hand. She smiled.

As she boarded the plane, her heart felt lighter, despite everything. She had no fortune, no safety net, no guarantees.

Just a one-way ticket.

And a purpose.

THE END