+J.M.J.+
Through the Door in the Sky
By Matrix Refugee
Author's Note:
I do try to avoid abandoning this fic for long stretches of time, but it's been a doozy to execute. I know where I want it to go, but getting it onto the page has been hard; finding the time has been one challenge, escpecially since I had a verrryy temporary temp job that lasted all of two days when I was told it was supposed to last two weeks. Hopefully the fic'll pick up from here on.
Disclaimer:
See Chapter I. WARNING: character death. Believe me, I did try to avoid it, but Montressor, as always, had other ideas.
But first, the mock-up movie credits; Hey, I'm doing this fic…
Paramount Pictures presents
A Scott Rudin Production
A Peter Weir Film
The Truman Show II
Featuring
Ed Harris Otto Stuckmeyer Jude Law Joe Pantoliano
With Jake Jacobi as Montressor
And Themselves
Sylvia Thomas & Truman Burbank
Written by Andrew Niccol and R.C.H. Mulhare
Directed by Peter Weir
* * * * * *
Chapter VI: The Passionate Elopement
Someone shook Truman's bed at eight the next morning. He opened his eyes and looked up to find Jerry standing over him, grinning mischievously.
"Hey, I was having a nice dream," Truman groused.
"Time to get up and face reality," Jerry returned.
"Where's Dietrich?" Truman said, throwing back the covers.
"Oh, he had a few last minute preparations to take care of before you make your second big escape," Jerry said. Truman noticed Jerry's face looked a little drawn and dark circles showed under his eyes, as if he'd had a rough night.
* * * * * * *
On the stairs, Truman nearly collided with Sylvia "Ahhh!!! Get away! Get away!" He squawked, swatting at her as if he swatted at a bunch of flies.
"What?" she demanded, puzzled. "Oh." It dawned on her. She covered her face with her hand. "They just sent me to tell you there's a meeting in the main room."
"But someone forgot the bride and groom can't see each other the morning of the wedding," he said, leading her down the stairs, holding her hand between thumb and forefinger.
The crew had gathered in the front room when they got there. Tenniel went over the general plan, who was going in what vehicle. "You got your route planned?" he asked Jerry and Dietrich.
"I finished marking the maps this morning," Dietrich said.
Jerry tapped his forehead. "Got it all up here," he said.
"Hope it stays there," Marcus said.
"I can handle it: I've got a photographic memory," Jerry said.
"Just remember to load the film," Truman twitted. The laughter from the crew dispelled the tension starting to collect.
"We've had to move up our departure time," Tenniel said. "We'd intended you all to leave at dusk, but you're going to have to leave after the ceremony, which we've moved up to noon."
"Can I ask why?" Truman asked.
Tenniel looked at Jerry significantly; the younger man nodded.
"There's been a security leak: Montressor captured Merriweather last night," Jerry said. "He also cornered me, tried to get me to talk. But I kept my mouth shut."
"How come you're in one piece then?" Bettina demanded, incredulous.
Jerry smiled humorlessly. "My fatal gift of beauty served me well for a change: Montressor's smitten with me now."
"God preserve you from THAT!" Dietrich groaned.
* * * * * * * * * *
While Dietrich and Tenniel went into town to fetch the justice of the peace, Jerry brought Truman, with Sylvia tagging along out to the back yard to give him a quick course in gun use. Of course on the first few tries, Truman hit nearly everything else in sight but the coffee can on a tree branch Jerry had set up as a target--he almost clipped Jerry at one point--but finally...
Glonk! the can dropped from the branch.
"Next time you use that, remember you might have to shoot at a target that's shooting back," Jerry warned.
"I.E. Montressor?" Truman asked, clumsily sliding the gun back into the holster strapped to his shoulder under his jacket. "Tell me what he looks like so I can make sure I get the right guy."
Jerry rolled his eyes. "Errrr, where to start? He's short, he's thin, and he's dark except where his skin is blotched with albino skin, dead white. He's got one black eye and one red eye. Verry ugly, and the albino stuff doesn't help."
"Fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch coming down, eh? He shouldn't be too hard to miss. I just hope I reeeally don't miss, put him out of his misery...and put us out of our misery," Truman said.
"Dietrich would agree with you," Jerry agreed.
* * * * * * * *
The sky had clouded over and drops of rain started to spat intermittently against the window panes of the front room. This made little difference for the wedding, since they were having it indoors in the front room.
"But isn't it bad luck for it to rain on the wedding day?" Truman asked Bettina. "That's what...I was told before."
"No, actually it's good luck if it rains a little on your wedding day," she said.
"And we could use that," he agreed.
Just at noon, he sat on the top of the stairway, waiting. Sylvia was downstairs with the others, getting ready. He clasped in one pocket the two rings Bettina had scared up for them.
He suddenly felt nervous, wondering if this was the right thing to do. What about Meryl, wasn't she still...? No, no, that wasn't real...that was never real. That first wedding, the bit splashy affair Meryl had insisted on and "Mother" had allowed, that was just one big sham, just a farce to sell designer wedding gowns and junk like that. This, for all its simplicity, was real.
"Truman, are you ready?" Dietrich's husky baritone asked from the bottom of the stairs.
Truman looked down and rose. "Nope, I didn't chicken out and run away yet," he said, going down to meet him. Dietrich stood just at the bottom of the stairs, clad in his long black leather jacket, the skirts hiding the holster strapped to his right thigh. He put a large, brotherly hand on Truman's shoulder and gave him one of his rare warm smiles as he led him into the front room.
The justice of the peace, Marion Kramer, a short, stocky woman stood before the picture window, Tenniel at her side, Jerry behind them, watching the window, clad in a jacket almost identical to Dietrich's. Truman stepped up before her hesitantly, his eye scanning the group in the room, looking for Sylvia. He glanced back at Dietrich, who squeezed his shoulder gently and released him, staying just behind him.
"Never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd meet you in person, Mr. Burbank," Ms. Kramer said. "But if someone told me I'd be officiating at your real wedding, I'd question their sanity, or mine."
"God preserve me from the fans!" Truman groaned.
A rustle rose at the back of the room. Bettina led in Sylvia, clad in a white blouse and a cream-colored skirt, her hair pulled back with a few flowers tucked in. This was as simple a wedding as you could get, and she was dressed more for travelling than for her own wedding, but Truman was not about to complain. In his eyes, he had never seen her so beautiful, since that night on the beach when she had tried to tell him the truth.
Sylvia smiled at him as she came up to join him. The last of the uncertainty left his heart.
A few moments later, after Truman and Sylvia had exchanged vows, Ms. Kramer looked over the gathering, pausing for effect.
"By the powers vested in me by the State of California, Burbank County, I pronounce you man and wife." She looked at Truman, a faint sparkle in her eye. "You may kiss the bride."
Truman leaned down slightly to Sylvia as they drew each other close. He kissed her feeling her quiver with excitement, but she relaxed under his touch.
A sigh rose from the gathering, quickly drowned out by cheers and applause.
Tenniel raised his hands for quiet. "It's time we left. We don't know what lies ahead for any of us. But may God--however you see Him--be with all of you."
They filed out of the room. The decoy group went out first. They'd have a good twenty minute head start on the van carrying Truman. With Dietrich and Jerry on either side of him, Sylvia and Cristoff at their heels, Truman went out into the rain, which had started falling in earnest now, dodging the rain drops on the way to Jerry's van.
They piled in and headed our, heading roughly north east, away from the city and into a less thickly settled area, Jerry at the wheel, Dietrich next to him in the front seat, Truman in the back seat between Sylvia and Cristoff.
"Why's everyone so somber?" Jerry asked, twitting. "I mean, that was a wedding back there, not a funeral."
"If I let out a peep Montressor'll hear me," Truman said in a "scared widdle kid" voice.
"Almost seems that way," Jerry said. "Seems like the kind of guy you might or not want to introduce to your worst enemy, depending on how badly you wanted to get rid of them."
"From the sound of things, I don't think you'd want that," Truman said. "If I wouldn't survive meeting him, you wouldn't survive it, unless you're made of steel or something, but even then I don't think you'd hold out. But either way, the world would be rid of one ugly face, make way for mine."
"The public's seen enough of that, thanks to me," Cristoff said, trying to sound humorous but somehow not succeeding.
"Dang," Jerry muttered, his eye on one of the dashboard gauges.
"What?" Dietrich asked.
"Oh, in our haste to be off, I forgot to gas this thing up."
"How much gas do we have left?" Dietrich asked.
"Uh, hopefully enough to get to the next gas station," Jerry replied.
"Oh boy, this sounds encouraging," Truman groaned.
They came upon a small station at the side of the road. As they started to pull off, Truman covered his face with a tabloid magazine (with his picture on the cover, no less) and settled back pretending to snooze.
Jerry started to get out, but Dietrich spoke up. "Let me do this," he said.
"Okay, but just watch your back out there," Jerry said.
The door opened and Dietrich got out. They heard him rummage about for a second, then silence tempered by rain drumming on the roof.
A black sedan suddenly plowed into the lot.
Something cracked, three small explosions in succession. Truman jumped, the magazine falling off. More gunshots shattered the steady beat of the rain. The sedan screeched away.
Jerry flung open his door and bolted out, running for the cashier's booth.
"What was that?" Sylvia cried.
"I'm about to go find out," Truman said, climbing over Sylvia's lap and reaching to open the door.
Cristoff grabbed his arm. "Truman, don't go out there," he ordered.
Truman shook him off. "Don't tell me what to do." And he rushed out into the rain.
Dietrich sat on the wet pavement, slumped back against the cashier's booth. His gun had slipped from his hand, and a huge red smear had trailed down the wall, where he had slid. Jerry was helping him to lie down.
"Dietrich," Truman said, sinking onto his haunches, his eye on the wounds in the big man's torso, which bled steadily. He slid his arm under Dietrich's head, ignoring the blood that got on his sleeve and the rain that beat down on the three of them. He started to withdraw, wondering if he only made it worse.
"Leave your arm," Dietrich said.
"I don't want to make you pain worse."
"Doesn't matter: mortal wounds...no pain."
"Please don't talk like that."
"It's true... the awful truth..."
"Truman, we gotta get out of here, they may come back," Jerry said, tugging on his arm.
"Listen to him," Dietrich said. "Kiss Sylvia for me...when I'm gone..." Then in a faint voice "Mutter Gottes....hilfst mir in das Stunde vom Tot...[Mother of God, help me in the hour of death]" His eyes rolled back in their sockets. The blood flowing from the wounds in his chest stopped, washed away by the rain.
Truman felt the full weight of Dietrich's slack body lean on him. He laid him down on the wet ground, looking down into that lightless face.
Jerry grabbed him by the back of his coat and dragged him to the van. "Leave him, he'd want us to go on."
"We can't--" Truman pleaded, looking back.
"LEAVE HIM!" Jerry snapped, opening the rear door and shoving Truman in.
They pulled out of the yard slowly and headed down the road. But as if from nowhere, a black sedan plowed in behind them.
"Sylvia, get in the front. You may have to steer: We got company," Jerry said. Sylvia obliged. "Truman, get down."
Truman dove onto the floor, figuring that was the safest place as any, out of the range of the windows. Cristoff leaned over him covering him.
The wind grew louder as Jerry opened the driver's side window. Shots whizzed past them. Truman hazarded a peek up. Jerry leaned out the window, and fired behind them several times.
A shot smashed the driver's side mirror Jerry had been using. He dove back, avoiding the flying glass.
"Sylvia, we're coming up to an intersection, the road that follows the river," Jerry said. "I want you to drive straight for the river. At the last second, swerve her to the right."
"Are you crazy?" she demanded.
"I've got an idea...Okay... Floor it! NOW!"
Truman peered up over the back of the seat in time to see them heading straight for the guard rail fringing a river. Just before they hit, they swerved to the right.
He looked back to see the black sedan hurtle toward the guard rail. It hit the fence and went over the embankment. The car hit the water with a loud splash and sank, nose first.
"I sure hope Montressor was in that car and he doesn't know how to swim," Truman said. "Not nice of me to say, was it."
"No, but I had similar thoughts," Cristoff admitted, helping him up onto the seat.
* * * * * * * * * *
They drove in silence the rest of the day. A pall heavier than the clouds overhead had settled in.
Well past nightfall, they pulled over at a faceless motel and put up for the night.
"Dietrich had a long talk with me this morning, told me that if anything happened to him I was to tell you his whole story, what you don't know," Jerry said, as they mulled over their half-eaten supper. "I'll keep it as PG-13 as possible, which is no easy task."
"Just censor the parts dealing with Montressor," Truman said.
"Dietrich, or rather Amon Tesh, was born somewhere in southern Germany, working class family, dirt poor. He was the youngest of six kids, with a shiftless drug addict father and a mother who put up with it, even selling herself to support her husband's habit. Amon ran away from home at age sixteen, went to Berlin, worked a lot of nothing jobs, none of which worked for him, so he was forced to sell himself on the street, which was how Montressor found him. Story has it, Montressor gave Amon his weight in gold as an invitation to work for him: mind you, that would have been less than it is now, but it still would have been a princely sum. Amon was half-starving, and the pay he was promised was good, plus he wanted to go into acting anyway. He just didn't know what kind of acting it entailed.
"Montressor established Amon as his companion, trained him up, turned a guttersnipe into a prince, in his estimation. But the attention and the support came at a price: Montressor needed, as he later told the publicists, a throwback to the old Nazi propaganda poster image of the Nordic youth for a series of racist porno films he was filming over here. At first Amon was appalled, but he was told time and again if he didn't comply, he would be turned out onto the street again, in a foreign country.
"One film, late in Amon's career, featured the gang rape of a Jewish girl. But Amon refused to comply, not because of his orientation, but because he'd had enough. Montressor had one of his henchmen give Amon 'a little talk' in another room, but from my understanding, the goon never came out alive. Amon later told me he only acted in self-defense, but Montressor made sure the papers heard that Amon Tesh had killed the other man in cold blood. The court sentenced Amon to five years for involuntary manslaughter.
"Amon cleaned up. He made himself right with the All Mighty; with the help of an American lawyer, he had his record expunged and got his citizenship, changed his name to Dietrich Hohenzoller, altered his appearance so Montressor would never know it was him. He enrolled in the police academy, but he never was able to qualify, so he settled as a private investigator, specializing in finding missing persons."
They sat in silence a long time. Truman sighed. "I just wish he could be here now. He was the first friend I ever made, the first real friend."
"And he was the best you could have," Jerry said. "Not many guys woud have sacrificed themselves the way he did. Even when he was morally at his lowest, he still helped others. He gave away most of what he made when he worked for Montressor. I think that's one reason why Montressor started to hate him. He wanted Amon to be as low as he was, but Amon just didn't give in to that.
"One last thing, and even he was embarassed to admit it to me when he told me what to tell you in case he didn't make it for some reason. He had a crush on you, Truman. It was never more than that, but he couldn't deny these feelings existed. And they developed: He had compassion for you. He knew what it's like to be hemmed in against you will, without even really knowing quite what was going on."
"But why did it have to end like this?" Truman said.
Sylvia leaned between the seats and took Truman's hands in both of hers. "Tru, Dietrich gave his life so your life could go on. Not many people would do that. He may not have had the most honorable life. I knew him well enough to know he'd be the first to admit to that. But he was a man of honor."
That night, Truman and Sylvia shared the same bed, but it didn't go beyond that. With Dietrich gone, it didn't seem to right thing to do. Cristoff and Jerry kept watch at the window, dividing up the night between them. Now that Dietrich had been taken, they had to shoulder his share of the watch.
* * * * * * * * *
They drove for most of the next day, passing it in silence, Cristoff resting, riding shotgun with Jerry, Truman and Sylvia sitting close together in the back.
About sundown, they passed into Nevada, where they put up for the night at the Desert Star Motel.
"I guess Cristoff and I had better cut you some slack tonight, let you have some time alone," Jerry said to Truman.
"We weren't in the mood last night," Truman admitted. "I don't know if it would be right, what with Dietrich gone."
"If he were here, he'd want you to; I think he'd want you to do what you would have done if he had made it this far," Jerry said.
"Besides, we both saw you and Sylvia holding hands in the backseat this afternoon," Cristoff said, heading outside.
"Well, when you think about it, it might be the best way I could assert my independence from the mighty TV god Criss Toff," Truman said, giving Sylvia a mischievous grin.
"And then some," she said, turning down the covers on one of the beds.
* * * * * * * * *
Jerry stepped outside and pulled one of the iron lawn chairs--the kind with a seashell design on the back that leaves a mark on your back even through a shirt--and sat down opposite Cristoff, who sat in a similar chair on the other side of the doorway.
"You never told us, why did you put the brakes on the Truman/Sylvia relationship?" Jerry asked, loosening the gun in his holster.
"I'd think you'd know the answer to that, what with all the books that were written on the show," Cristoff said.
"Never read any of them, I'm afraid," Jerry said.
"I could see what Sylvia thought and felt about Truman. If you recall, I wanted all my actors to remember they were just actors in a realistic dramedy. I felt she was taking it far too seriously."
"But you didn't take human nature into consideration," Jerry pointed out.
"No, I didn't. That was a variable I forgot to include in the calculation," Cristoff admitted. He regarded Jerry sidewise. "Why do I have the feeling you're on to something else?"
"You're keyed up from keeping an eye out for Montressor," Jerry said.
"You had feelings for Sylvia. You wanted her. There's a part of you that wants to set Truman adrift and let Montressor catch him."
"Cristoff, I got molested by Montressor. I wouldn't subject my worst enemy to that."
"All right, if Sylvia hadn't tried to tell Truman about the real world, your character would have married Sylvia."
"EEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!" Jerry groaned
Cristoff regarded this reaction witha sober smile. "Why do you have the feeling you're just acting?"
"I'm not," Jerry said.
Cristoff tilted his hat over his eyes and settled down in his chair. "I'm still not convinced, Peik."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Jerry leaned back in his chair, listening to the night sounds, crickets chirping in the grass, the saw buzz of a far away cicada, a car swishing by on the highway, a television nearby. He recognized the themes song to "The Truman Show".
Then he heard more sounds, coming out through the window behind his head: yelps of delight, giggles, bedsprings creaking. He closed his ears to it, but the sounds came uninvited.
Tears started from the corners of his eyes, but he managed to force them back. They didn't have to hear him and he couldn't afford to lose focus.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Hoo!" Truman breathed, afterward.
"Was she as good?" Sylvia asked, oddly innocent.
"Who? Meryl or whatever her name was? No...it wasn't real. Not like this...not like this."
They cuddled together for awhile. Truman dozed off first. Sylvia nestled her head over his heart, listening to its steady beat. He was right: this was real.
Dimly, as she fell asleep, she heard Jerry and Cristoff come in.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Jerry took off his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair before sitting down to keep watch. He watched the window, keeping just out of its range, his hand on the stock of his gun.
Cristoff sighed in his sleep, but Jerry hardly took note: the sounds outside mattered more.
Headlights flashed across the window. Jerry leaned forward to get a better look. Two non-descript stocky guys about middle height got out of a Lexus SUV that had pulled up, lugging a large box between them. Jerry overheard them talking. He broke out in a cold sweat: one of the voices definately matched Sweyk's.
He got up and nudged Cristoff, letting him know it was his turn to keep watch. But even as he rested, Jerry kept one eye open.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
At dawn, Truman felt someone nudge his shoulder, but he figured it was Sylvia nestling against him. He turned over and fell asleep.
He dimly heard water running, but took no notice of it. A shadow stepped close to the bed.
SPLOOK!!!
Water splashed all over him, drenching him, the pillows, the mattress, everything. Hearing Syliva laughing, Truman jerked upright and looked up.
Jerry stood over the bed, holding the ice bucket upside down over him. He set it down on the night stand with a bang.
"Hey, you're supposed to play the pranks on the honeymoon couple on their wedding night, not the morning after," Truman said.
"That wasn't a prank: I've been shaking you a whole bloody fifteen minutes. You'll have to continue the honeymoon when we get to Bear Track," Jerry said.
"Sorry, I guess I got too cozy," Truman said, reaching for his pants and pulling them on before he headed for the bathroom, Jerry at his heels. "What, checking to make sure no one put a bomb in the bathtub?"
"Look, we have to get out of here quick, so just throw some water on your face and take care of nature," Jerry said.
"Can't I even shave?"
Jerry slammed down a newspaper on the edge of the sink, showing the missing persons photo. "It's better if you don't." He pointed at the picture. "That's what they're looking for, a clean-shaven guy. Let the stubble grow till we're over the border." Truman noticed Jerry hadn't shaved either.
"Yes sir, general sir," Truman said with a mock salute.
Sylvia had gathered their things in the meantime. "Jerry, want me to load the truck?" she called.
"I'll do it," Cristoff offered.
"No, either we all stay in or we all go out together," Jerry said.
"Why, what's going on?" Sylvia asked.
Jerry glanced out the front window. "We got company. They showed up late; I think they're still asleep. If we're gonna go, we're going now."
They finished packing and went out to the truck in a group, leaving before their neighbors did.
After a mile, Jerry pulled off into the bushes and studied the map, making some changes to the route. "I might have to change it again," he said.
"What I want to know is how they seem to know exactly where we are. It's like they got us bugged," Truman said. He eyed Cristoff. "You know anything about this?"
"No," Cristof replied.
"Bugged," Jerry repeated. He tore the top button off his jacket and studied the black disk. He pried at it.
Inside was a tiny wireless camera. He looked at Cristoff. "Montressor's got your technology."
"Oh God," Sylvia said, clasping Truman's arm tighter.
Truman looked at Cristoff, suspicion clenching his heart...
To be continued....
Through the Door in the Sky
By Matrix Refugee
Author's Note:
I do try to avoid abandoning this fic for long stretches of time, but it's been a doozy to execute. I know where I want it to go, but getting it onto the page has been hard; finding the time has been one challenge, escpecially since I had a verrryy temporary temp job that lasted all of two days when I was told it was supposed to last two weeks. Hopefully the fic'll pick up from here on.
Disclaimer:
See Chapter I. WARNING: character death. Believe me, I did try to avoid it, but Montressor, as always, had other ideas.
But first, the mock-up movie credits; Hey, I'm doing this fic…
Paramount Pictures presents
A Scott Rudin Production
A Peter Weir Film
The Truman Show II
Featuring
Ed Harris Otto Stuckmeyer Jude Law Joe Pantoliano
With Jake Jacobi as Montressor
And Themselves
Sylvia Thomas & Truman Burbank
Written by Andrew Niccol and R.C.H. Mulhare
Directed by Peter Weir
* * * * * *
Chapter VI: The Passionate Elopement
Someone shook Truman's bed at eight the next morning. He opened his eyes and looked up to find Jerry standing over him, grinning mischievously.
"Hey, I was having a nice dream," Truman groused.
"Time to get up and face reality," Jerry returned.
"Where's Dietrich?" Truman said, throwing back the covers.
"Oh, he had a few last minute preparations to take care of before you make your second big escape," Jerry said. Truman noticed Jerry's face looked a little drawn and dark circles showed under his eyes, as if he'd had a rough night.
* * * * * * *
On the stairs, Truman nearly collided with Sylvia "Ahhh!!! Get away! Get away!" He squawked, swatting at her as if he swatted at a bunch of flies.
"What?" she demanded, puzzled. "Oh." It dawned on her. She covered her face with her hand. "They just sent me to tell you there's a meeting in the main room."
"But someone forgot the bride and groom can't see each other the morning of the wedding," he said, leading her down the stairs, holding her hand between thumb and forefinger.
The crew had gathered in the front room when they got there. Tenniel went over the general plan, who was going in what vehicle. "You got your route planned?" he asked Jerry and Dietrich.
"I finished marking the maps this morning," Dietrich said.
Jerry tapped his forehead. "Got it all up here," he said.
"Hope it stays there," Marcus said.
"I can handle it: I've got a photographic memory," Jerry said.
"Just remember to load the film," Truman twitted. The laughter from the crew dispelled the tension starting to collect.
"We've had to move up our departure time," Tenniel said. "We'd intended you all to leave at dusk, but you're going to have to leave after the ceremony, which we've moved up to noon."
"Can I ask why?" Truman asked.
Tenniel looked at Jerry significantly; the younger man nodded.
"There's been a security leak: Montressor captured Merriweather last night," Jerry said. "He also cornered me, tried to get me to talk. But I kept my mouth shut."
"How come you're in one piece then?" Bettina demanded, incredulous.
Jerry smiled humorlessly. "My fatal gift of beauty served me well for a change: Montressor's smitten with me now."
"God preserve you from THAT!" Dietrich groaned.
* * * * * * * * * *
While Dietrich and Tenniel went into town to fetch the justice of the peace, Jerry brought Truman, with Sylvia tagging along out to the back yard to give him a quick course in gun use. Of course on the first few tries, Truman hit nearly everything else in sight but the coffee can on a tree branch Jerry had set up as a target--he almost clipped Jerry at one point--but finally...
Glonk! the can dropped from the branch.
"Next time you use that, remember you might have to shoot at a target that's shooting back," Jerry warned.
"I.E. Montressor?" Truman asked, clumsily sliding the gun back into the holster strapped to his shoulder under his jacket. "Tell me what he looks like so I can make sure I get the right guy."
Jerry rolled his eyes. "Errrr, where to start? He's short, he's thin, and he's dark except where his skin is blotched with albino skin, dead white. He's got one black eye and one red eye. Verry ugly, and the albino stuff doesn't help."
"Fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch coming down, eh? He shouldn't be too hard to miss. I just hope I reeeally don't miss, put him out of his misery...and put us out of our misery," Truman said.
"Dietrich would agree with you," Jerry agreed.
* * * * * * * *
The sky had clouded over and drops of rain started to spat intermittently against the window panes of the front room. This made little difference for the wedding, since they were having it indoors in the front room.
"But isn't it bad luck for it to rain on the wedding day?" Truman asked Bettina. "That's what...I was told before."
"No, actually it's good luck if it rains a little on your wedding day," she said.
"And we could use that," he agreed.
Just at noon, he sat on the top of the stairway, waiting. Sylvia was downstairs with the others, getting ready. He clasped in one pocket the two rings Bettina had scared up for them.
He suddenly felt nervous, wondering if this was the right thing to do. What about Meryl, wasn't she still...? No, no, that wasn't real...that was never real. That first wedding, the bit splashy affair Meryl had insisted on and "Mother" had allowed, that was just one big sham, just a farce to sell designer wedding gowns and junk like that. This, for all its simplicity, was real.
"Truman, are you ready?" Dietrich's husky baritone asked from the bottom of the stairs.
Truman looked down and rose. "Nope, I didn't chicken out and run away yet," he said, going down to meet him. Dietrich stood just at the bottom of the stairs, clad in his long black leather jacket, the skirts hiding the holster strapped to his right thigh. He put a large, brotherly hand on Truman's shoulder and gave him one of his rare warm smiles as he led him into the front room.
The justice of the peace, Marion Kramer, a short, stocky woman stood before the picture window, Tenniel at her side, Jerry behind them, watching the window, clad in a jacket almost identical to Dietrich's. Truman stepped up before her hesitantly, his eye scanning the group in the room, looking for Sylvia. He glanced back at Dietrich, who squeezed his shoulder gently and released him, staying just behind him.
"Never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd meet you in person, Mr. Burbank," Ms. Kramer said. "But if someone told me I'd be officiating at your real wedding, I'd question their sanity, or mine."
"God preserve me from the fans!" Truman groaned.
A rustle rose at the back of the room. Bettina led in Sylvia, clad in a white blouse and a cream-colored skirt, her hair pulled back with a few flowers tucked in. This was as simple a wedding as you could get, and she was dressed more for travelling than for her own wedding, but Truman was not about to complain. In his eyes, he had never seen her so beautiful, since that night on the beach when she had tried to tell him the truth.
Sylvia smiled at him as she came up to join him. The last of the uncertainty left his heart.
A few moments later, after Truman and Sylvia had exchanged vows, Ms. Kramer looked over the gathering, pausing for effect.
"By the powers vested in me by the State of California, Burbank County, I pronounce you man and wife." She looked at Truman, a faint sparkle in her eye. "You may kiss the bride."
Truman leaned down slightly to Sylvia as they drew each other close. He kissed her feeling her quiver with excitement, but she relaxed under his touch.
A sigh rose from the gathering, quickly drowned out by cheers and applause.
Tenniel raised his hands for quiet. "It's time we left. We don't know what lies ahead for any of us. But may God--however you see Him--be with all of you."
They filed out of the room. The decoy group went out first. They'd have a good twenty minute head start on the van carrying Truman. With Dietrich and Jerry on either side of him, Sylvia and Cristoff at their heels, Truman went out into the rain, which had started falling in earnest now, dodging the rain drops on the way to Jerry's van.
They piled in and headed our, heading roughly north east, away from the city and into a less thickly settled area, Jerry at the wheel, Dietrich next to him in the front seat, Truman in the back seat between Sylvia and Cristoff.
"Why's everyone so somber?" Jerry asked, twitting. "I mean, that was a wedding back there, not a funeral."
"If I let out a peep Montressor'll hear me," Truman said in a "scared widdle kid" voice.
"Almost seems that way," Jerry said. "Seems like the kind of guy you might or not want to introduce to your worst enemy, depending on how badly you wanted to get rid of them."
"From the sound of things, I don't think you'd want that," Truman said. "If I wouldn't survive meeting him, you wouldn't survive it, unless you're made of steel or something, but even then I don't think you'd hold out. But either way, the world would be rid of one ugly face, make way for mine."
"The public's seen enough of that, thanks to me," Cristoff said, trying to sound humorous but somehow not succeeding.
"Dang," Jerry muttered, his eye on one of the dashboard gauges.
"What?" Dietrich asked.
"Oh, in our haste to be off, I forgot to gas this thing up."
"How much gas do we have left?" Dietrich asked.
"Uh, hopefully enough to get to the next gas station," Jerry replied.
"Oh boy, this sounds encouraging," Truman groaned.
They came upon a small station at the side of the road. As they started to pull off, Truman covered his face with a tabloid magazine (with his picture on the cover, no less) and settled back pretending to snooze.
Jerry started to get out, but Dietrich spoke up. "Let me do this," he said.
"Okay, but just watch your back out there," Jerry said.
The door opened and Dietrich got out. They heard him rummage about for a second, then silence tempered by rain drumming on the roof.
A black sedan suddenly plowed into the lot.
Something cracked, three small explosions in succession. Truman jumped, the magazine falling off. More gunshots shattered the steady beat of the rain. The sedan screeched away.
Jerry flung open his door and bolted out, running for the cashier's booth.
"What was that?" Sylvia cried.
"I'm about to go find out," Truman said, climbing over Sylvia's lap and reaching to open the door.
Cristoff grabbed his arm. "Truman, don't go out there," he ordered.
Truman shook him off. "Don't tell me what to do." And he rushed out into the rain.
Dietrich sat on the wet pavement, slumped back against the cashier's booth. His gun had slipped from his hand, and a huge red smear had trailed down the wall, where he had slid. Jerry was helping him to lie down.
"Dietrich," Truman said, sinking onto his haunches, his eye on the wounds in the big man's torso, which bled steadily. He slid his arm under Dietrich's head, ignoring the blood that got on his sleeve and the rain that beat down on the three of them. He started to withdraw, wondering if he only made it worse.
"Leave your arm," Dietrich said.
"I don't want to make you pain worse."
"Doesn't matter: mortal wounds...no pain."
"Please don't talk like that."
"It's true... the awful truth..."
"Truman, we gotta get out of here, they may come back," Jerry said, tugging on his arm.
"Listen to him," Dietrich said. "Kiss Sylvia for me...when I'm gone..." Then in a faint voice "Mutter Gottes....hilfst mir in das Stunde vom Tot...[Mother of God, help me in the hour of death]" His eyes rolled back in their sockets. The blood flowing from the wounds in his chest stopped, washed away by the rain.
Truman felt the full weight of Dietrich's slack body lean on him. He laid him down on the wet ground, looking down into that lightless face.
Jerry grabbed him by the back of his coat and dragged him to the van. "Leave him, he'd want us to go on."
"We can't--" Truman pleaded, looking back.
"LEAVE HIM!" Jerry snapped, opening the rear door and shoving Truman in.
They pulled out of the yard slowly and headed down the road. But as if from nowhere, a black sedan plowed in behind them.
"Sylvia, get in the front. You may have to steer: We got company," Jerry said. Sylvia obliged. "Truman, get down."
Truman dove onto the floor, figuring that was the safest place as any, out of the range of the windows. Cristoff leaned over him covering him.
The wind grew louder as Jerry opened the driver's side window. Shots whizzed past them. Truman hazarded a peek up. Jerry leaned out the window, and fired behind them several times.
A shot smashed the driver's side mirror Jerry had been using. He dove back, avoiding the flying glass.
"Sylvia, we're coming up to an intersection, the road that follows the river," Jerry said. "I want you to drive straight for the river. At the last second, swerve her to the right."
"Are you crazy?" she demanded.
"I've got an idea...Okay... Floor it! NOW!"
Truman peered up over the back of the seat in time to see them heading straight for the guard rail fringing a river. Just before they hit, they swerved to the right.
He looked back to see the black sedan hurtle toward the guard rail. It hit the fence and went over the embankment. The car hit the water with a loud splash and sank, nose first.
"I sure hope Montressor was in that car and he doesn't know how to swim," Truman said. "Not nice of me to say, was it."
"No, but I had similar thoughts," Cristoff admitted, helping him up onto the seat.
* * * * * * * * * *
They drove in silence the rest of the day. A pall heavier than the clouds overhead had settled in.
Well past nightfall, they pulled over at a faceless motel and put up for the night.
"Dietrich had a long talk with me this morning, told me that if anything happened to him I was to tell you his whole story, what you don't know," Jerry said, as they mulled over their half-eaten supper. "I'll keep it as PG-13 as possible, which is no easy task."
"Just censor the parts dealing with Montressor," Truman said.
"Dietrich, or rather Amon Tesh, was born somewhere in southern Germany, working class family, dirt poor. He was the youngest of six kids, with a shiftless drug addict father and a mother who put up with it, even selling herself to support her husband's habit. Amon ran away from home at age sixteen, went to Berlin, worked a lot of nothing jobs, none of which worked for him, so he was forced to sell himself on the street, which was how Montressor found him. Story has it, Montressor gave Amon his weight in gold as an invitation to work for him: mind you, that would have been less than it is now, but it still would have been a princely sum. Amon was half-starving, and the pay he was promised was good, plus he wanted to go into acting anyway. He just didn't know what kind of acting it entailed.
"Montressor established Amon as his companion, trained him up, turned a guttersnipe into a prince, in his estimation. But the attention and the support came at a price: Montressor needed, as he later told the publicists, a throwback to the old Nazi propaganda poster image of the Nordic youth for a series of racist porno films he was filming over here. At first Amon was appalled, but he was told time and again if he didn't comply, he would be turned out onto the street again, in a foreign country.
"One film, late in Amon's career, featured the gang rape of a Jewish girl. But Amon refused to comply, not because of his orientation, but because he'd had enough. Montressor had one of his henchmen give Amon 'a little talk' in another room, but from my understanding, the goon never came out alive. Amon later told me he only acted in self-defense, but Montressor made sure the papers heard that Amon Tesh had killed the other man in cold blood. The court sentenced Amon to five years for involuntary manslaughter.
"Amon cleaned up. He made himself right with the All Mighty; with the help of an American lawyer, he had his record expunged and got his citizenship, changed his name to Dietrich Hohenzoller, altered his appearance so Montressor would never know it was him. He enrolled in the police academy, but he never was able to qualify, so he settled as a private investigator, specializing in finding missing persons."
They sat in silence a long time. Truman sighed. "I just wish he could be here now. He was the first friend I ever made, the first real friend."
"And he was the best you could have," Jerry said. "Not many guys woud have sacrificed themselves the way he did. Even when he was morally at his lowest, he still helped others. He gave away most of what he made when he worked for Montressor. I think that's one reason why Montressor started to hate him. He wanted Amon to be as low as he was, but Amon just didn't give in to that.
"One last thing, and even he was embarassed to admit it to me when he told me what to tell you in case he didn't make it for some reason. He had a crush on you, Truman. It was never more than that, but he couldn't deny these feelings existed. And they developed: He had compassion for you. He knew what it's like to be hemmed in against you will, without even really knowing quite what was going on."
"But why did it have to end like this?" Truman said.
Sylvia leaned between the seats and took Truman's hands in both of hers. "Tru, Dietrich gave his life so your life could go on. Not many people would do that. He may not have had the most honorable life. I knew him well enough to know he'd be the first to admit to that. But he was a man of honor."
That night, Truman and Sylvia shared the same bed, but it didn't go beyond that. With Dietrich gone, it didn't seem to right thing to do. Cristoff and Jerry kept watch at the window, dividing up the night between them. Now that Dietrich had been taken, they had to shoulder his share of the watch.
* * * * * * * * *
They drove for most of the next day, passing it in silence, Cristoff resting, riding shotgun with Jerry, Truman and Sylvia sitting close together in the back.
About sundown, they passed into Nevada, where they put up for the night at the Desert Star Motel.
"I guess Cristoff and I had better cut you some slack tonight, let you have some time alone," Jerry said to Truman.
"We weren't in the mood last night," Truman admitted. "I don't know if it would be right, what with Dietrich gone."
"If he were here, he'd want you to; I think he'd want you to do what you would have done if he had made it this far," Jerry said.
"Besides, we both saw you and Sylvia holding hands in the backseat this afternoon," Cristoff said, heading outside.
"Well, when you think about it, it might be the best way I could assert my independence from the mighty TV god Criss Toff," Truman said, giving Sylvia a mischievous grin.
"And then some," she said, turning down the covers on one of the beds.
* * * * * * * * *
Jerry stepped outside and pulled one of the iron lawn chairs--the kind with a seashell design on the back that leaves a mark on your back even through a shirt--and sat down opposite Cristoff, who sat in a similar chair on the other side of the doorway.
"You never told us, why did you put the brakes on the Truman/Sylvia relationship?" Jerry asked, loosening the gun in his holster.
"I'd think you'd know the answer to that, what with all the books that were written on the show," Cristoff said.
"Never read any of them, I'm afraid," Jerry said.
"I could see what Sylvia thought and felt about Truman. If you recall, I wanted all my actors to remember they were just actors in a realistic dramedy. I felt she was taking it far too seriously."
"But you didn't take human nature into consideration," Jerry pointed out.
"No, I didn't. That was a variable I forgot to include in the calculation," Cristoff admitted. He regarded Jerry sidewise. "Why do I have the feeling you're on to something else?"
"You're keyed up from keeping an eye out for Montressor," Jerry said.
"You had feelings for Sylvia. You wanted her. There's a part of you that wants to set Truman adrift and let Montressor catch him."
"Cristoff, I got molested by Montressor. I wouldn't subject my worst enemy to that."
"All right, if Sylvia hadn't tried to tell Truman about the real world, your character would have married Sylvia."
"EEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!" Jerry groaned
Cristoff regarded this reaction witha sober smile. "Why do you have the feeling you're just acting?"
"I'm not," Jerry said.
Cristoff tilted his hat over his eyes and settled down in his chair. "I'm still not convinced, Peik."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Jerry leaned back in his chair, listening to the night sounds, crickets chirping in the grass, the saw buzz of a far away cicada, a car swishing by on the highway, a television nearby. He recognized the themes song to "The Truman Show".
Then he heard more sounds, coming out through the window behind his head: yelps of delight, giggles, bedsprings creaking. He closed his ears to it, but the sounds came uninvited.
Tears started from the corners of his eyes, but he managed to force them back. They didn't have to hear him and he couldn't afford to lose focus.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Hoo!" Truman breathed, afterward.
"Was she as good?" Sylvia asked, oddly innocent.
"Who? Meryl or whatever her name was? No...it wasn't real. Not like this...not like this."
They cuddled together for awhile. Truman dozed off first. Sylvia nestled her head over his heart, listening to its steady beat. He was right: this was real.
Dimly, as she fell asleep, she heard Jerry and Cristoff come in.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Jerry took off his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair before sitting down to keep watch. He watched the window, keeping just out of its range, his hand on the stock of his gun.
Cristoff sighed in his sleep, but Jerry hardly took note: the sounds outside mattered more.
Headlights flashed across the window. Jerry leaned forward to get a better look. Two non-descript stocky guys about middle height got out of a Lexus SUV that had pulled up, lugging a large box between them. Jerry overheard them talking. He broke out in a cold sweat: one of the voices definately matched Sweyk's.
He got up and nudged Cristoff, letting him know it was his turn to keep watch. But even as he rested, Jerry kept one eye open.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
At dawn, Truman felt someone nudge his shoulder, but he figured it was Sylvia nestling against him. He turned over and fell asleep.
He dimly heard water running, but took no notice of it. A shadow stepped close to the bed.
SPLOOK!!!
Water splashed all over him, drenching him, the pillows, the mattress, everything. Hearing Syliva laughing, Truman jerked upright and looked up.
Jerry stood over the bed, holding the ice bucket upside down over him. He set it down on the night stand with a bang.
"Hey, you're supposed to play the pranks on the honeymoon couple on their wedding night, not the morning after," Truman said.
"That wasn't a prank: I've been shaking you a whole bloody fifteen minutes. You'll have to continue the honeymoon when we get to Bear Track," Jerry said.
"Sorry, I guess I got too cozy," Truman said, reaching for his pants and pulling them on before he headed for the bathroom, Jerry at his heels. "What, checking to make sure no one put a bomb in the bathtub?"
"Look, we have to get out of here quick, so just throw some water on your face and take care of nature," Jerry said.
"Can't I even shave?"
Jerry slammed down a newspaper on the edge of the sink, showing the missing persons photo. "It's better if you don't." He pointed at the picture. "That's what they're looking for, a clean-shaven guy. Let the stubble grow till we're over the border." Truman noticed Jerry hadn't shaved either.
"Yes sir, general sir," Truman said with a mock salute.
Sylvia had gathered their things in the meantime. "Jerry, want me to load the truck?" she called.
"I'll do it," Cristoff offered.
"No, either we all stay in or we all go out together," Jerry said.
"Why, what's going on?" Sylvia asked.
Jerry glanced out the front window. "We got company. They showed up late; I think they're still asleep. If we're gonna go, we're going now."
They finished packing and went out to the truck in a group, leaving before their neighbors did.
After a mile, Jerry pulled off into the bushes and studied the map, making some changes to the route. "I might have to change it again," he said.
"What I want to know is how they seem to know exactly where we are. It's like they got us bugged," Truman said. He eyed Cristoff. "You know anything about this?"
"No," Cristof replied.
"Bugged," Jerry repeated. He tore the top button off his jacket and studied the black disk. He pried at it.
Inside was a tiny wireless camera. He looked at Cristoff. "Montressor's got your technology."
"Oh God," Sylvia said, clasping Truman's arm tighter.
Truman looked at Cristoff, suspicion clenching his heart...
To be continued....