Long Way from Tall Tales

by Trevor Rain

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Wonderbolts, Sad, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Nurse Redheart
Length: 4991

Investigating a body is routine, but not pleasant, especially so late at night. Spitfire, bound by arbitrary duty, finds herself once again faced with an undesirable question. One that she's become familiar with before.

A duty bound a duty fulfilled. There was an agreement between the close town of Ponyville and the nearby Cloudsdale to have a Wonderbolt take up the duties of a simple officer to boost moral. Having nopony else she believes competent enough to take up the task, Spitfire reluctantly takes up the night shift where she gets the call to investigate a supposed train accident. The report indicated a single fatality on the tracks of a train carrying coal freight near midnight.

Grumbling at the cold, she meets with the one witness and allows herself to be lead to the scene...
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Artwork done by http://spyroconspirator.deviantart.com/

Published 2014-07-19 06:00:07 UTC
Last updated 2014-07-19 06:00:07 UTC

Burning Question

Another cold night in another arbitrary patrol with the night guard near the outskirts of ponyville. The air bit into the flesh of one Wonderbolt captain. She pulled the thin blazer around her tighter, but that did little to ease off the night chill which she cursed with every wisp of breath that left her lungs.

“Its getting colder every winter. Almost like some conspiracy from Celestia herself to give us less time in the sun a little every year.” Came the shivered voice from the pegasus with the hide of yellow and mane the color of fire.

“Not much expectin’ a comment against the princess from a wonderbolt, Miss...” The low drawl from the conductor

“Spitfire, as ironic as it may be.” replied the mare as she shivered and watched another wisp of smoke escape her muzzle.

“I don’t seem to follow you...” said a dirty brown stallion who wore a striped hat and a vest The Pegasus had a hard time discerning where the dark grime ended and the stallion started. Spitfire could imagine him smelling quite unpleasant if her nostrils weren’t closed from the biting cold air.

“Forget it. Are we almost there?” she asked clearly impatient.

“Gettin’ a mite closer here. I stopped the train right quick when I saw the fella lyin’ on the side.” Spitfire did her best to ignore the stallion’s drawl at all the wrong words. He seemed to purposefully accentuate the right combination of words to cause Spitfire’s ears to twitch, mentally grinding her teeth.

“Right, alright,” expressed Spitfire, holding back a migraine and wishing she didn't leave her pain killer in her other blazer. Regretting again her ‘volunteered’ position, she began to ask more specific questions, albeit more rapidly. “Were there any other passengers on the train?”

“Well, no ma’am I-”

“What was the cargo?”

“Gee, I think coal from the far-”

“So nopony else saw this happen? Just you?” uttered Spitfire, happy to have found a weakness in the stallion’s phonetics.

“Now wait just a minute here!” said the stallion, voice squeaking as it reached past it’s peak at ‘minute’ causing Spitfire to flinch once more. “You aren't saying that I could have steered this thing, could ya? Why, I ain't never seen one train swerve none to-”

Spitfire could tell the conductor was going to go on a lengthy rant, adding so many words but saying so little. She mentally tuned him out, instead concentrating on her hooves as she stepped easily, but cautiously, over the rocks, coal, and uneven dirt that was strewn about the train tracks. The moon was bright enough to keep the Wonderbolt from injuring herself, but she still wished for a brighter night so she could at least see how much further she had to walk.

As if Luna herself was hearing Spitfire’s inner thoughts, she saw a flashing light ahead of her. Without paying any more (if she had at the start) attention to the conductor, Spitfire reached into the breast pocket of her vest and brought out a small flashlight. She clicked the light on and off a series of times, leaving a few small pauses between flashes while waiting for the light ahead to start and stop it’s own small dance.

“And ifn’ you think any sort of conductor would truly try to act in a way, by Celestia, I wouldn’t even imagine how-” any sort of rebuke was silenced by a very unexpected guffaw of laughter from the yellow mare. The conductor nearly tripped over his own forelegs from the mental strain of surprise and walking at the same time. It was only after that when he noticed the penlight that Spitfire held between her teeth as she walked.

“What in sam hill...” began the conductor, only to be silenced by a suddenly chipper Spitfire.

“Come on, we’re almost there. The train is just ahead. See that light?” Spitfire motioned a hoof forward.

“Ugh, I reckon so.”

“Yeah, that must be the coroner. A smart one at that! Here I thought it was going to be another boring night.” the Wonderbolt picked up the pace, easily trotting up the path, leaving a fumbling stallion in her wake. He did his best to keep up with the lithe pegasus, but his legs could only do so much to keep up with the pegasus' steps without stumbling. Spitfire paid little mind to the struggling stallion, instead only chuckled inwardly at the funny way the conductor swore when he kicked a rock with the wrong part of his hoof.

Spitfire had seen many of the trains that went across Equestria, though never rode one before. The most that she, and many other citizens, recognized were more colorful and designed with hearts and decor that ranged on the lightish red end of the color spectrum. She would see them crawl across the ground, sounding like an Ursa Minor with a sleep disorder and spewing black smoke (which turned white at some point, she could never figure out why) which would choke her if she ever were to venture too close.

What many other ponies never saw were the night trains that carried coal and the occasional hidden gem stash across the land. No one unicorn had the power to magically shift cargo cross-continent, and few earth ponies would brave the badlands and unguarded roads to deliver but a single cart load of goods. No, what few parts of Equestria that weren't self-reliant depended on an outside source. They were dependent on the trains.

Spitfire was never a fan of trains that burned the noxious rock. Smelling like death and stealing the breath from the lungs, and was a pain to get out of fur. She swore it would cause a war one of these days.

Spitfire approached the engine, hardly winded from the quickened pace. From what little she could see in the moonlight, the carts were covered in blackened soot that long ago replaced whatever paint lay beneath. She lifted a hoof to the side and grimaced at the thick residue that tarnished her yellow fur. Heavy breathing heralded the arrival of the stallion conductor who had hurried to catch up to the speedy pegasus. With hardly a thought, she brought her hoof against the stained coveralls that he wore and wiped off what she could of the smudge. The conductor didn’t seem to mind too much.

Eyes dilated and hooves raised to shield themselves when the dimmed light from the train turned a corner and shown on the two ponies that were shrouded in moonlight. Spitfire hissed while the conductor yelped in surprise.

“Look fella, you either take that thing out of my eyes or I’ll find a place to shove it where it won’t blind anyone anymore!” threatened Spitfire, eyes narrowing at the glare.

“Spitfire? Oh, why am I asking? Nopony else would introduce themselves that way.” came a stern but pleasant voice which she instantly recognized. The flashlight was lowered, proving Spitfire’s suspicion. A stark white mare stood before her. A quick summary, simply out of habit, shown no horn nor wings but she knew this earth pony more than she would have to admit. Redheart was always the pony they sent when things weren’t pretty. She had earned herself some unflattering nicknames when she finished her postmortem courses and added “coroner” to her growing list of expertise.

Whenever a rookie made their last rookie mistake over ponyville, it was always her that would be greeting the Wonderbolt captain with grim news and an explanation. She knew this wasn’t the case, as any recruit could only dream what she’d do to them if caught flying at night. Birds don’t fly after dark, neither should a rookie pegasus try and do an outside loop in the pale moon light.

No. Ponyville and Cloudsdale had this agreement that a Wonderbolt would take on officer duties every month to boost morale. As much as she despised the night watch, there was nopony else free that she could trust to do the job right. Yes. Spitfire had seen more of the mare than she ever wanted.

She knew there was more than the smell sulfur that clung to the air.

“Sorry Red, wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Nor I, you. Wonderbolts seemed to have stepped up their safety concerns since we last met.” Redheart commented.

“Thanks for the input on that, by the way.” Spitfire replied, annoyance trailing into her voice.

The mare simply nodded and looked towards the stallion next to Spitfire.

“And you’re the conductor responsible for this?” she inquired, keeping a neutral tone.

The conductor stepped back, eyes narrowing in shock at the inferred accusation. “Now see here, I ain’t done nopony harm any darn time in my life! Juss’ who are you anyhow to be sayin’ such things?”

“This is our coroner, arriving on time as always.” pointed Spitfire with a facetious bow ruined only by a large yawn.

“Going off the caffeine there, Spitfire?” commented Redheart. Spitfire only grimaced back in response.

“So you’re the nurse Bloodred I was told they were sendin’ over here?”

Spitfire brought a hoof to her forehead while Redheart’s eyes bore daggers into the stallion’s own.

Cornered, the stallion took another step back, sweat obvious on his forehead. “Ughh...?”

“Redheart. Nurse practitioner, Redheart. I suppose there were a few at the hospital who gave you that name?”

The conductor nodded.

“Right.” Redheart turned away and started walking parallel to the train, taking no time to wait for the other two to follow. Spitfire was quick to pick up on her trail, but paused momentarily to grab one of the straps from the conductor’s overalls to get him moving. It appeared that Redheart was following the glow of another light source, casting a long shadow that disappeared into the darkened ground across from her as she passed it.

Spitfire had begun to realize just how quiet everything was here. No crickets, no other insects to hear, only the sound of rocks being kicked against each other and the scraping of hooves. The only other sound was the gasp of the stallion next to her after they rounded the protruding train car to a gap in the line where two carts had to be decoupled in order to better view the scene. Redheart set her flashlight next to an oil lantern which rested between the gap...

And a tarp laid over a rail, half protruding across the rock and dirt. Spitfire spared a glance at the train conductor and found his eyes fixated on the dried brown stain at one end of the tarp closest to the rail. She looked back in time to see Redheart crouching next to the tarp, pulling at the edge with a covered hoof. She didn’t pull it over half way before the conductor quickly excused himself and ran back between a train car transition, sounds of retching followed his passing. Spitfire let him go as she felt her own stomach start to strain at the sight.

“Male. Age is mid twenties. Death caused by... well that’s obvious enough.” Redheart pulls back the rest of the tarp and gently lays it to the side.

Under different circumstances, Spitfire would have laughed at such a gross understatement, but bile threatened to escape her throat whenever she opened her mouth. The dark-colored pony below her was nearly in two pieces. The part of the tarp that lay between the rail and the ground was covering the stallion’s head. Though she was used to seeing broken bones and the occasional cut, this was another sight altogether, and it made her stomach churn and it took some of her training to keep from contaminating the scene.

“Death was most likely instantaneous. Severed aorta and a crushed spinal column.” Redheart said while hovering a hoof over the remnants of the once-stallion. “Curious thing is that, aside from some bruising on his knees, there are no other defensive wounds I could find.”

Spitfire swallowed hard and took in a deep breath to regain her composure. She stepped next to Redheart and looked closely at the part of the body that was, more or less, intact. “So, whoever did this would have had to carry him here. Must have taken the poor guy by surprise if he didn’t put up a fight.” Spitfire stood and took the flashlight from her pocket and shines it on the ground around them.

“Have you found out who he is, Redheart?” Spitfire asked, occupying her time as she searched around.

The coroner simply shook her head before replying. “No pockets, so no I.D. I won’t be able to look for records of his description and mark until I get him to the hospital.” She pointed at the stallion’s flank, the only real noticeable detail about the deceased. Every mark was unique, of course, but they all seemed to fit the area which they lived. A place like ponyville saw many agrarian-style marks. Bees for beekeepers, roses for flower cultivators.

This one had a lighthouse. Black and white striped with yellow lights at the top.

“There’s no missing ponies report fitting that mark at the station.” said Spitfire, eyeing the ground around, gingerly stepping over the body as if it might come alive any second. “Haven’t seen a homicide this aggressive before. What kind of pony would drag an unconscious body to the train tracks?”

“What makes you so sure he was dragged here?” Redheart pulled the tarpaulin back over the body, taking great care when it came to covering the head. “Couldn’t he have been carried?”

“Doubt it.” Spitfire continued to sweep the area ahead of her with the flashlight she brought. “No drag marks that I can see." She cursed her earlier assumptions. "There's only one set of hoofprints besides yours. They don’t seem all that deep either."

“What does hoof depth have to do with bodies?” Asked Redheart, pulling herself to a stand.

“Well, if our friend was carried, then the extra weight would mean deeper hoofprints, but sometimes its hard to tell.” Spitfire bit down on the padded end of the flashlight, bending down on knee to get a closer look at the thin gravel. “Wheip...” the wonderbolt took a metal rod out of her pocket and extended the end a few inches before laying it next to the print. The coroner gave an inquisitive glance at Spitfire, opening her mouth to question, only to be distracted by the distressingly loud sound of sick from across to the other segment of train. With a sigh, the now nurse pulled a small bottle out of a saddle bag beside the body before disappearing around the train car.

Spitfire paid no mind to the sudden solitude. Collapsing the rod just a bit, she picked it up with a hoof and stuffed the flashlight under her wing. “Always forget I have this when I’m giving a lecture; finally put some use to it,” the captain thought out loud as she trotted back to the covered body. Revulsion momentarily replaced by curiosity, Spitfire drew back the bottom tarp before placing the rod next to the colt’s hoof.

“Well...” came her breathless reply. “That doesn’t make sense. Redheart I-”

Looking around, the captain found the nurse assisting the conductor whose face showed a dark tinge of green in the ambient light. The stallion didn’t make a sound as the nurse gently helped him to his haunches before handing the conductor a flask of water from her side. He nodded in thanks and continued to take sips of the water.

“Found something?” asked the coroner, walking closer to look over Spitfire’s shoulder.

“Is he going to be alright?”

Spitfire could see the conductor raise a hoof, but never stopped guzzling water from the flask. Reheart nodded, “Yes, he just needs to keep drinking.”

“Well, hoofprints. They’re his. A perfect match.” Spitfire points to the canvas tarp with the rod before collapsing it against herself. “He walked here.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Redheart plucked the rod from Spitfire’s hooves before grabbing the nearby lantern with her mouth and walking away. The captain offered no complaint, only staring at the body in her own contemplation. The nurse blocked her view for a moment, and then a moment more as she compared the sizes. Leaving the lantern next to the blood, the nurse stepped back and fell on her haunches next to Spitfire, joining in her view.

“Maybe whoever did this covered their tracks?” asked Redheart.

Spitfire shook her head.

“Maybe he was drunk, I...” pleaded Redheart.

Again Spitfire shook her head.

Spitfire’s mind was full of questions, but they were only to try and find another answer besides the truth. Everything before her pointed to a fact that herself and Redheart wanted to will away.

“He wasn’t dragged here...” Spitfire spoke, her voice hardly a whisper, though she knew Redheart could hear by the twitch of her ear. “He didn’t stumble here; the tracks were too even.”

“Maybe he-” Redheart was losing the professional demeanor that had characterized her before. Spitfire had the impression that the young nurse, though used to death, wasn’t used to an end such as this.

The captain held out a lethargic hoof to silence the mare. “Let’s just stop with stupid questions. We both know what we’re staring at.”

Spitfire leaned forward and pulled the tarp away from the body completely. She heard the hard retching of the stallion behind her, but paid it no mind. Instead, pointing to the area around the wound.

“He wasn’t thrown there. Wasn’t dragged here. He laid here. Redheart?” the coroner looked up from the dark dirt she was fixated on. “Was his eyes closed when you found him?”

Redheart nodded solemnly.

Spitfire haphazardly threw the tarp back over the fallen stallion, still leaving him half exposed before walking away and towards the nurse.

“This was a suicide, not a homicide.” She sat down, away from the body. “He laid here and... he waited for the train.”

Their job was done. Cause of death was found. No signs of hostile intentions, so there shouldn’t be any questions.

But there was one.

Its always the first question that’s on the tip of anypony’s tongue when the realization hits like a buck to the head; bruising and swelling, leaving a nasty reminder. Spitfire hated these. Hated hearing them in the news, or the one time she found that trainee...

She hated them for the one word that asked two questions.

“Why?” came a rasp from the side. “Ah’ don’t rightly understand here. Why go and do that to yourself?”

Nopony answered him, of course. There’s no real answer.

Why would he? And would I?

“Doesn’t matter.” Spitfire stands, pulling lantern close to her. “I’m going back to the station to give my report.” The captain stepped over to the conductor, lightly pulling the stallion to a standing position before pushing him on. She turned her head towards Redheart, who still hasn’t moved.

“Are you coming?”

The coroner shook her head. “No... no. I still have a few details to sort out before leaving him. Besides, somepony has to stay with the body until it can be moved.” Redheart placed a hoof on the tarp, pulling the corner away one more time. “Send somepony with a cart to help me with him.”

Spitfire nodded before giving the conductor another nudge, who solemnly complied. The captain knew of two ponies who still owned the kind of cart Redheart needed. She also knew it wouldn't be the first time they had used it either. Might kick up a fuss about waking them, but sure they would help after an explanation.

“I said I didn't mean to... I swear I didn't mean to. He just...” The conductor mumbled, to himself more than anypony who might be listening.

Spitfire said nothing.

Because there was nothing to say.

[break]

The question always lead to this.

Spitfire cursed the piece of paper that held a slightly legible scrawl. She had always wondered why she let such a pony with such sloppy penmanship handle the telegraph. Still, hard to mistake the address from the pony that it belonged to. A small house, which was less of a home but more than a hovel, only a mile away from the railroad tracks. A mile away from where the previous owner took his last breath.

Asking around didn’t yield much information. Ponies who had seen him before didn’t know his name and those that did didn’t know where he lived. The Apple family, who had been here for, arguably, the longest out of all, could only tell Spitfire that the young colt had drifted in a few years ago and found a way to be under the radar of nearly everypony in town.

Spitfire hated that question. The one that she could never find the answer to. In part, it was because she couldn't help herself from trying to find out why. She hoped that finding the home of the Earth stallion would yield up some of the answers that might quiet the unending unease that the question wouldn't stop causing her. Why did he do it? Why would anyone take their life? It was just so confusing, so maddening to her!

Spitfire tried the door in front of her, finding the knob to be locked fast.

"There was no key on or around the body," Spitfire surmised, taking a quick look around the shoddily constructed wood and stone steps. "Might have it hidden somewhere around here, if I cared to look, but I just don't have time."

Uncaring about any code of ethics that may exist about entering a dead colt's home, Spitfire gave a rapid turn and brought her spinning momentum into a kick that brought the door to assorted splinters. A couple more cursory kicks cleared the hanging wood away from the frame and more out of her way. Worse anypony could do to her was take her off the Ponyville's officer roster. Though she suspected that, with her fame, she could have left a trail of hair and sunglasses, even a note with her signature, and nopony would believe it was her.

Taking her flashlight out once more, Spitfire brought it forward and switched it on.

It was dead.

With a sigh and an uttered common pegasi curse, she placed the penlight back into her captain uniform's pocket and soldiered on inside.

There were only a few windows to speak of in the room, but they did very little to illuminate the inside. Most of the light was from the damage that the captain had unleashed on the door. She could just barely make out a single pony-sized bed in the far corner with an oil lamp inside.

Surprisingly, aside from the myriad of splinters covering the floor, the room itself was uncluttered. Spitfire made her way across the way towards the lamp, finding a book of matches next to it. Striking the match against her hoof, she carefully brought the flame to the oil wick, watching it come to life instantly, eager to shine again after days of disuse. With a satisfied smile, Spitfire turned to get a good look at the room.

And that's what it was. A room. Aside from an alcove where a pony may do their business, there was no other rooms or adjoining hallways. The bed itself was at the very limit of the house's length. Next to it was a desk that seemed out of place compared to the rest of the room. A three-tiered bookcase with leather bound novels, though the binding seemed to be done by hoof from what Spitfire could see from her position. But again, that desk. Spitfire took a closer look.

Around the wood were etchings of waves and rocks. Though the flickering shadows made it hard to make out, the captain could just make out the impression of a lighthouse on a rocky bank. The wood itself must have been made by Earth Pony hooves, as it was perfectly lacquered and even the few flaws it had seemed to add to it's quality rather than seem like a glaring imperfection. As long as the captain lived, she had rarely seen a pegasus or unicorn churn out something like this.

Thinking it the best place to start, Spitfire started pulling out the various drawers and opening the small cabinets that made up this writing desk. In one, she found a full bouquet of red and yellow roses which were no longer fresh and had long since dried, but they kept their aroma and appeal, perfectly bound in what seemed like pony hair. The color was too dark for the captain to make out.

The other drawers held nothing but ink pots and loose sheets of paper. Though a smaller cabinet on the right hand side yielded something unusual. Opening it lead to a single notebook with a fountain pen next to it, gently rested on a slanted shelf as if it was created just for holding the book. Grabbing the notebook, the Wonderbolt captain flinched as a picture fell out from between the pages. Squinting at the light, Spitfire could just make out a mare with a light hide and a dark red mane. Though she wasn't posing for the picture, it caught her full profile as she was handing out a couple of... orchids?

Spitfire wasn't so good at identifying flowers, but that was hardly the focus of the picture. She slid the photo away, trying not to pay attention to the knot in her stomach. She had to make her mind draw the conclusions.

She quickly flipped open the small book, taking note of the neatly scrawled name on the front cover. ‘Lamplight’ it read. “Must be the name of the victim,” thought Spitfire “Considering his mark. Must have had a talent for keeping the lights burning.”

The captain flipped through the pages of the book, noticing that It had dates written neatly on the top right of nearly every page. Spitfire came to the conclusion that it was a journal of some kind that the pony must have kept. Somewhere, a more studious pony cringed as the captain immediately skimmed to the last page of the book, getting closer to the oil lamp in order to better read the words.

A ring! She has a ring. Had I known all this time... I probably would have still been a fool. It pains me to no end to imagine her in bed with another. All this while, toying with me. That smile-

Spitfire had read enough; never the one for prolonged romance stories, she placed the book in the pocket of her uniform before looking around the rest of the room. Though everything else was as spartan as the bed, the most noticeable thing was an array of pictures nailed into the wall of the hut. The captain brought the lantern over and saw three separate photographs without a frame. The first held a family on some sort of grassy knoll. A fair furred mare with a mane that had a swirled color which reminded Spitfire of fizzy cola. Green eyes showed through a large smile.

Next to her was a stallion who wrapped a hoof over her. Dark brown hide with an even darker mane. Spitfire swore he'd be practically invisible during a new moon, were it not for the blue eyes that seemed to shine just like, what she assumed to be, his wife's. Below the two were a couple of very identical looking fillies.

No, Spitfire corrected herself, a filly and a colt, by the shape of the muzzle. Near perfect twins, it seems. Very rare, though not unheard of for ponies, especially Earth ponies. Though it did her no favors to see that the colt's description perfectly matched the deceased who once owned this hovel.

So, the stallion did have family, one situated on coastal ground. Judging by the lighthouse behind them, it was close to civilization. Manehatten? No, seemed too clean. Maybe Tall Tales? That would explain the cliffs in the background.

Well, now she had a justifiable reason to be here. Never occurred to her till now that the stallion had next of kin that might want to know about their son.

But the next picture gave her seconds thoughts. It was a photograph of the Canterlot memorial which was what Spitfire would always consider the epitome of bittersweet. It was erected in honor of the princess of love's wedding, but also in remembrance of the changeling attack where a few dozen ponies went missing. A few turned up here or there but they had long since called off the searches. Judging by the charcoal rubbing of two names pinned next to the photo, Spitfire hazard a guess that the victim's parents were a part of those that never returned.

The mare let out a sigh, trying her best to keep her anger at the question burning, though it was failing. She had showed up to the doorstep of parents in the past, but it was always the siblings that caused her to hesitate at each doorstep. Though her blood did begin to boil at the thought of this colt leaving his sister alone in the world, she couldn't imagine a situation in the world that would justify that.

There it was. That damn question again.

The captain rolled her shoulders and let out a breath of air. She had found everything she needed to here, and more. Tapping the bulge in her pocket where the journal now lay, Spitfire turned back towards the door, gingerly stepping over the splinters. She hung the oil lamp on a small nail that jutted by the once-door before turning to take one last look at the home.

Spitfire then blew out the lamp and left. The last visitor for a very long time.