Cracking of a Fragile Eggshell Mind
a tale spun by Mayor Tokey
Rating: R
Summary: The world is falling down around Sheldon Jeffrey Sands and Morton Rainey. What's the next step towards a grander plan?
Disclaimer: What doesn't belong to Robert Rodriguez, Stephen King, or David Koepp, we own. Which is like a boatload of nothing, but still.
Author's Notes: Back by popular request, a few old friends. This chap's for depplove.
Anger Management
Harrison almost breathed a sigh of relief when Tom left. He didn't like Tom. Tom was crazy. But when he found he was alone with the other one, the girl, things didn't bode much better. The one with the glasses was the only somewhat nice one. He wished he could see her eyes to really thank her, but something deep inside him realized it would probably never happen. So he sighed and nudged up against the couch to wait for the one with the sunglasses.
Tokey looked at Harrison quizzically. "What's your problem?"
"Everything, apparently," he muttered.
"Bah." She turned back to her magazine and proceeded to ignore him.
Harrison was tempted to go outside-just to leave the cabin-but he had a feeling nobody would like that, not even the woman with sunglasses. He wished he could remember her name. Memory wasn't his forte. He wanted another cigarette. And a shower. And someone who gave a damn about him.
Tokey watched Harrison from the corner of her eyes, frowning at the deep concentration he was showing. Then she shrugged, figuring it wouldn't hurt him to expand his mind. She chuckled aloud at the pun, causing Harrison to look at her oddly. Her chuckle came to an abrupt halt when there was a thump directly outside the door.
"What the hell was that?"
Harrison rolled over, neither knowing, nor caring.
"God, stop moping!" Tokey pushed herself up and made her way to the door. She peered through the peephole into the darkness. Her hand was poised over the doorknob getting ready to open it when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. "Gah!" she yelped and spun around to face Mort. "Frickin-A man! Don't fricken sneak up on me like that!"
"I don' think it's a good idea to open the door missus," Shooter drawled, looking at the young girl through half-lidded eyes.
Tokey's eyes narrowed, and she shrugged off Shooter's hand. "Don't play your games with me, Mort."
"Mah name's Shooter. John Shooter." He grinned slowly.
Tokey rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and I'm Mother Teresa. Listen, why don't you go play with Harry over there, he likes to play them games too."
"Lemme alone," Harrison moaned.
Shooter turned his grin to Sands-or rather, as the girl referred to him-Harry. He strode over to Harrison until he was standing over him. "Harry is it?" His teeth gleamed in minimal lighting in the room. He stuck out his hand. "Pleased ta meet ya. Did you kill Sands?" he asked genuinely interested.
"My name's not Harry," he snarled.
"Sure it isn't," Shooter said. "Mah name's not Mort neither. So what is your name? And how did you come about? Mort made me up at a yard sale of all places." He laughed scornfully, caught up in his own thoughts.
"You…you're not Mort?" Harrison glanced upwards.
"No sir, like I done already tole you, mah name's Shooter, John Shooter." He spoke slowly with more patience than anyone Tokey had ever seen.
"So you're…like me." Harrison seemed to mull the thought over carefully. His face suddenly drooped. "But not. You said he made you up. I just sort of…existed already."
Shooter frowned, and rubbed his chin in thought. "That's too bad then."
"Are you nice?" Harrison asked suddenly.
"Sure am," Shooter lied through his teeth.
"Nobody's nice anymore," Harrison sighed.
"Why do you say that?" Shooter plopped down next Harrison and threw his arm around the other man's shoulder. He held a screwdriver in his hand and conspicuously rested the tip on Harrison's collarbone. "You never said what your name was."
But Harrison seemed too caught up in the gaping hole of his own thoughts. There was a chunk of vital emotions missing, like anger and annoyance. There was just infinite melancholy.
"Harrison."
"Hm…I like Harry better."
Tokey's eyes narrowed as she turned back from the peephole. "Just leave him alone! Jeeze you guys are like kids!" She turned back around. "I see nothing out there, I'm gonna see what that noise was from."
"Don't call me Harry," Harrison looked away, paying not attention to Tokey.
"Harry's so much more…friendly," Shooter said, keeping an eye on Tokey opening the door. As she disappeared out onto the porch, Shooter crept up to the door as silently as he could. When he reached it, there was one creaky floorboard that gave him away. Tokey turned around in time to see the door slam shut in her face.
"Hey!" she called out and began pounding on the door. "Let me in, damn you!" She could faintly hear Shooter's chuckles through the thick wooden door.
Shooter turned and fixed Harrison with an icy grin. "Well now, got rid of the youngin."
"Why did you have to do that?" Harrison frowned.
"She was gettin' a mite nosy." Shooter's grin remained frozen in place as he strode purposefully over to Harrison, standing tall. "She mightn have interfered with my plans as well."
Harrison began to creep away from Shooter. There was no way this could be a good thing.
"Now why are you runnin'?" He spoke as he continued to approach the cowering form of what had just hours before been Sands. "It won't be painful, quick an' easy really. I just need to get rid of Sands once and fer all, and since you caint guarantee that he's done gone fer good, I done have to take care of that."
"What did he ever do to you?" Harrison snapped.
"Why he done give me these here wounds fer starters." He gestured to his shoulder and thigh.
Neither of them had noticed that the pounding on the front door had ceased.
"You probably deserved them," the other man hissed.
Shooter shook his head as he approached Harrison. He noticed Harrison was getting awfully close to the other end of the couch, and when he reached it, Harry would be all his. "I didn do nothin to deserve them shots."
"You were running away. I watched you."
"No sir, that was Mort you don saw runnin' away. I don' run away from mah problems."
"No, you just throw cowshit at them like every other redneck farmer." Harrison's eyes narrowed in preparation for the big dance number.
"Do I now?" Shooter asked, his eyes glinting. He made a quick move and the screwdriver was coming down fast on Harrison's head. Harrison rolled away, wincing as cloth tore on the screwdriver. The pen knife wouldn't be much good. He needed something bigger.
Shooter grunted. He was dismayed about missing his target, but that didn't deter him in the least. He moved in again.
Harrison got in a kick to Shooter's knee before dashing towards the kitchen. It wasn't long before he came up with several metal skewers with the intent of thoroughly shish kabobing Shooter.
Shooter grinned despite the sharp pain that shot through his knee. This one was a feisty one, more so than Sands himself. He was rather enjoying this. "Plannin' on havin' a bar-b-que, son?" He asked thrusting the screwdriver once again, only to have it blocked by one of the skewers.
Harrison didn't answer. Shooter had lied to him and attempted to kill him. He'd rather save his air for something like making Shooter pay dearly. He thrust with a skewer, which was parried by the screwdriver.
They continued jabbing with their weapons, and moving about the room as if in a sword fight. It was almost like a game, yet Shooter was intent on killing, whilst Harrison was intent on not being killed. Shooter had a minimal advantage when he was able to fling one of the skewers out of Harrison's grip, but it was still 3 skewers to his single screwdriver. As the battle grew more intense, sweat began to build up on Shooter's brow.
Harrison had the advantage of being in a healthy body, a body whose owner had to keep it in top shape for CIA business. He could go for awhile yet, despite the skewers chafing the sensitive skin between his thumb and index finger. He would wear Shooter down. He had to.
Shooter was breathing heavily; his face was covered in a slick sheen. He saw with disbelief that Harrison had yet to even break a sweat! They continued for a few more minutes, when all of a sudden there was a loud "Thud" from inside the house. Harrison turned to look, giving Shooter a brief advantage that he took. He thrust the screwdriver as hard as he could, fully intending to kill "Sands." Harrison quickly dodged the screwdriver-almost.
He hissed in pain as liquid poured down his forehead from his hairline. It ran into his eye and began to congeal. This served to annoy Harrison further and he leaped at Shooter for another blow.
"All right, you two! Break it up!" Tokey stormed into the room from the bathroom, looking a bit dusty and her clothes a little torn. She grabbed Harrison by the collar and dragged him off of Shooter before he could inflict any more wounds to the other man. She shoved him onto the couch and turned to the lunging Shooter.
She caught him in a body hug, preventing him from getting to Harrison. "Nuh-uh. No!" She shoved him away from her and Harrison and pointed to the corner under the stairs. "Go to your corner!" She said sternly like a teacher disciplining a young student. Shooter glared at her, but he turned to sullenly make his way to the corner.
"Ahem," Tokey cleared her throat, causing Shooter to turn around. She stuck out her hand, giving Shooter a pointed look. He grudgingly placed the bloody screwdriver in her hands, then shuffled to his corner.
She sighed and plopped down onto the couch beside Harrison. "Why don't you hand yours over too?" she asked him nicely.
Harrison glared at Tokey. "I'm not inclined to hand these over because I know that between Tom the dipshit, you and John Wayne over there, someone's going to try and stab me in the back. I'd really rather prevent that before it happens, savvy?"
His eyes widened as his mouth sneered. "Yeah, I'm back, fuckmook."
"Are you talking to me?" Tokey asked her eyes narrowing. She really could not care one flyin' flip if Sands was "back" or not, but she did not like to be called names. She pointed the tip of the screwdriver towards Sands threateningly.
"No, I wasn't talking to you," Sands rolled his eyes. "Haven't you ever had a conversation with someone who lives in your head?"
"Actually-"
"Of course you haven't," Sands shot her a look out of the corner of his eye.
"Are you always this pleasant?"
"I am when I should be dead."
"Why should you be dead?"
"Because I tried to drown myself in the lake," Sands snarled.
Tokey frowned, confused. "Why would you do a stupid ass thing like that?"
"You've never had a friend in your head," he grumbled.
Tokey shrugged, "Hm. Can't say that I have." Growing bored with the conversation, she picked her magazine up off the floor from where it had fallen during the scuffle. She glanced over at Sands. "You know you're bleeding right?" she asked before directing her attention to the article she'd been reading.
He wouldn't have doubted it, but he didn't rightly feel like doing anything about it either. And since it was his cabin, he let it go for the time being.
As Tokey flipped through the magazine, her craving for nicotine began to grow. She sighed, and pushed the magazine aside and reached into her pocket. Her pack of cigarettes was empty. "Dammit!" She threw the empty pack on the floor of the cabin and glared at it. "Where the hell are they?"
"Who?" Sands glanced at Tokey.
Tokey rolled her eyes. "The Easter bunny and the Tooth Fairy."
"I don't suppose I knocked out Shooter's teeth, did I?"
"No, but he might've gotten one or two of yours..." She smirked when she saw him examine his teeth with his tongue.
There was nothing but the beginning fuzz of teeth left too long uncleaned. That in and of itself was pretty disgusting and finally forced Sands to stumble into the bathroom.
"Might want to be careful in there. I had to unbolt the window from outside to save your sorry ass," Tokey called out to him.
"Shut up," Sands muttered, not in the mood for games or banter.
Tokey shrugged, "Suit yourself." With a yawn, she leaned back and immersed herself in the gossip column of the tabloid. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the front door banged open.
Tom stormed in obviously not in a good mood. "I am never going on a beer run with her again!" he spat out as he dropped onto the couch.
"I told already you. It would look suspicious if you were driving around with 10 cases of beer in the truck," Nicole answered sourly.
"Well, screw you! I don't care what you think is suspicious!" he pouted. "If that damn tailpipe would quit backfiring on that piece of shit Sands had up here-"
Sands had finished his business in the bathroom and had exited as Tom and Dangerbabe entered. "Did someone call?"
Tom turned and blinked. "Sands?"
"Tom?" Sands mimicked Tom's wide-eyed stare and stupefied voice exactly.
Tom breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, thank GOD! Where the hell did you get that piece of shit junker out there? She wouldn't let me get more than one case of beer!"
"Oh, what a travesty," Sands rolled his eyes. "You ever think just once that you might have an alcohol problem?"
Tom glared at him. "I'm not an alcoholic," he hissed through his teeth.
"I don't know, Tommy Boy. I'm simply asking as a concerned pal. The non-alcoholic wouldn't get defensive in such situations. But, I do realize that you piss sitting down so you could be prone to more intense mood changes-"
"Shut the hell up!" Tom stood up and moved to where he was looking down at Sands. "At least I don't crawl into my head and hide like a little chickenshit!"
"I wasn't fucking hiding," Sands snapped, approaching Tom. His demeanor more than made up for his stature. "I was trying to eliminate a problem the humane way before it got out of control. Namely, my control."
"The humane way? Oh, I see. Disappearing and having an alter ego emerge, scaring the hell out of me-us-is the humane way of solving your problems?"
"You wonder what I was doing in the lake, Tommy Boy?" Sands' voice grew soft.
"What the hell were you doing?" Tom asked, his voice losing none of its venom.
"If you can't guess, fuckmook, I'm not enlightening you. Let's suffice it to say that I wasn't swimming and I would rather not have come back if I could help it. What the hell was in my head, anyway?"
Tom let out a semi relieved sigh, and a tiny chuckle. "Harrison."
"What?" Sands asked blankly.
"Harrison. He requested to be called Harrison-not Harry, Harrison."
"You gave it a name?"
"I didn't, she did." he turned his glare to DB, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.
"I didn't give him a name, someone else wanted to name him. I just rose to the occasion." Nicole didn't pretend to look up, no longer needing the trivial actions.
"Why the fuck did you people give it a name?" Sands' mouth twitched in anger.
"Why the fuck did you leave?" Tom retorted.
"Because I can't tolerate people who don't know they can't function anymore. They proceed to annoy the hell out of people who were generally better off than they are and become burdens. Damned if I'm going to botch a fucking mission because of a freak out."
Tom frowned, "Is that what this is about? The mission? The fucking mission?" He scowled. "If you're gonna freak out over the mission, just give it up! Nic can take Mort back to HQ; we're going back to Dr. House." He grabbed for Sands' wrist.
Sands withdrew his hand before Tom could grab it. "It is NOT about the mission! It's about any mission! I don't want to be so fucking blinded that I can't tell my ass from my elbow! If I'm in a foreign country, alone, doing some impossible shit, I want to make sure I can get in and out without worrying if I'll suddenly be overrun by... by fucking 'Harrison!' That I don't get found out and captured! If I'm going to get killed either way, I guess it won't matter will it? It matters to me, Tommy Boy. That's why I'm not going to your fucking Doctor anymore."
"Well maybe he can make Harrison disappear," Tom said quietly. "That is what you want, isn't it?"
"It shouldn't be there in the first place." Sands refused to call his anomaly by a name. That gave it power to take over again; something it shouldn't have had to begin with.
"So you're gonna be pissed off about it when you won't allow anything to be done about it?" Tokey piped up from her spot on the couch.
"If that's all I can do, then yes." Sands rounded on the young agent, hate in his eyes.
She shrugged, not fearful in the least as he'd intended. "Your alter ego, your choice. Although if I were you, I wouldn't claim him. He's a little pussy, that Harry."
"I'm not a pussy!" Sands had the penknife out and at the ready.
"Put it away, Sheldon. Don't make me take it away," DB growled, having heard the knife.
"No, I never said you were, but Harry certainly is." Tokey still hadn't looked up from the magazine.
"Jesus, Sands! She's kid for crying out loud!" Tom shouted. "And you-" He moved and pointed his finger in Tokey's face, right under her nose. "-don't feed the animals."
"It's obviously some bastard child of my thoughts, so you're calling me a pussy." Sands advanced on the couch. "Say it again. I dare you."
He never saw DB come up behind him to flip him neatly on the floor. She held him firmly so he couldn't squirm anywhere. "I bet you enjoy picking on people weaker than you, hm?"
"Get the fuck off me," he growled.
"Not until you calm down."
"You're on my foot." Tokey shifted her feet, nudging Sands harder than necessary in the ribs as she tucked her feet under her on the couch.
Tom just sighed, then a thought occurred to him. "Hey-where's Mort?"
"Let me up!"
"Not on your life. Tokey? Where's Mort?"
"Hm?" She looked up from her magazine. "Oh, he's in his little corner."
"If you don't let me up, I will take my knife and-"
"Shut it," Nicole snapped. "Are you sure, Tokey? I can't hear him."
"Yup. He ran off over there after they got into their little sword fight."
"Tom?"
"I'm on it." He scowled once again and stalked to the where Mort was hiding, but he didn't go into the darkness. Instead he called out to him, "Mort! Come on out here." Tom stood there for a few minutes. "I'm warning you Mort, if you don't come out here, I'm gonna...uh..." He looked to Sands for help.
Sands wasn't interested in helping, despite his obvious specialty in "If you don't" statements. "If you don't get off me this instant Nicole, you're going to be in deep shit."
"How many times do I have to call you Sheldon before you shut up?" Her eyebrows furrowed. Sands bucked up under DB's grasp and rolled them both over so Sands was on top. When she struggled, he slapped her hard enough for her to see stars. Great irony. He got to his feet and saw Tom looking at him.
"What the fuck do you want, Grandpa?"
Tom raised his hands up and backed away from Sands. "Sands, what's going on? What's the deal man?"
Tokey kneeled over DB, checking to see if she was alright. She glared at Sands. "You alright, DB?" she asked.
Nicole groaned, unable to do much more than that. She imagined she sported a rather ugly red mark on her cheek. Sands couldn't care less. His already dark eyes were nearly black.
"Deal? There is no fucking deal. There is...as there always has been...just me."
"Oh hell." Tom dragged a hand across his face. "Another one? Christ! How many of these things fit inside your head, man? What's your name? Asshole? Or wait, perhaps it's Fuckmook-there's an original name for ya!"
"Sure, Fuckmook's an original. If you're me! Fuckmook's my word, shit head," Sands snarled. "You have no right to call me that."
Tom snorted, "What crawled up your ass tonight?" He wasn't frightened by Sands' demeanor just yet.
"Are you telling me that I'm not a ball of fucking sunshine?" The crotch gun was cocked and pointed at Tom's head.
Tom's heart rate began to speed up a bit. "No, you're just that: a ball of fucking sunshine."
"Damn fucking straight." The gun didn't move. "Who the hell are you?"
Tom frowned. "You don't know who I am?" He sighed deeply.
"Sorry, I didn't take the 'Who's Who of The Fuckmook-That-Lives-in-Your-Head' seminar," the new and enraged Sands sneered.
Tom's face contorted. "Huh?" he asked blankly.
"I don't even fucking know you, and I know I'm going to hate your fucking guts."
"I thought you'd already made that clear?"
"Then I'm going to really fucking hate you."
"Why do you hate so much? Didn't your mother ever tell you that hate is bad for the heart?" Tom smiled sweetly.
Sands pulled the trigger. There was barely any blood from the little hole that appeared in Tom's stomach. Sands smirked.
"On the contrary, I just felt pretty damn good right then."
Tom grunted. "Goddammit...Sands..."
Tokey jumped at the sound of the gunshot. "Can we go now?" she whispered to DB.
Sands pulled the trigger again. A similar hole appeared in Tom's right bicep. "Keep pushing, cowboy."
"Sands, stop," Dangerbabe croaked.
"I'm not fucking Sands."
"Then where is he?" she whispered.
Tom had dropped to his knees, and was fighting unconsciousness. Meanwhile, Mort, who'd been snoozing in the corner and had jerked awake at the gunshot, was wide awake. His eyes grew wide at the sight before him. Sands had his back to him, and Tom was on his knees with blood pouring out of different holes in a blood bath of sorts. Mort didn't know what to do, but he had to do something. Sands was aiming the gun at the older woman's head.
His hand delved into his pocket to retrieve the steak knife he'd gotten from the kitchen during the chaos of Tom and DB's arrival. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants and took a deep breath. He stood up slowly and silently. Then, he let out an animalist cry, and lunged. He drove the knife into the hand that held the gun, one shot ringing out before it fell from his grasp. Mort quickly kicked it away, then pulling out the knife-which was a bloody mess-and moved back into the darkness of his corner.
Sands howled in agony, clutching his ensanguined hand to his abdomen. His free hand snaked to the penknife in his pocket and made to drive it towards Mort's head. But Mort was already gone, hidden in the shadows of the staircase. He knew Sands wouldn't take the chance. Mort could see out, but Sands couldn't see in.
Meanwhile, Tokey slid away from DB into the kitchen unnoticed.
Sands wouldn't have advanced with the sun where it was, but he could still throw. The knife thumped as it stuck in something under the staircase, light glinting off the shaking blade.
Mort's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, the knife had struck the wall only centimeters from his face. He let out a shaky breath that was louder than it should have been. His whole body went rigid as he saw Sands shift.
Tokey silently crawled to the end of the counters and peered out to see what had transpired since she'd been in the kitchen.
Sands had no more projectiles on him. He wondered if he could bluff with anything, finding only porn magazines. No guts, no glory, as they said. So he took a step towards the stairs.
Seeing Sands advance towards the stairs, Tokey took a chance. She pushed to her feet, and rushed towards him, brandishing a large frying pan. She brought it down as hard as she could on top of his head, and froze.
The pain as Sands twisted her wrist was enough to cause her knees to cave. "Nice try, girly, but not nearly enough."
He threw her roughly to the floor, landing on top of the nearly recovered DB.
She winced as she landed on top of DB. "Oomph." She gently rolled off of her as best as she could. "What do we do now?" she asked, watching as Tom slipped into unconsciousness amidst his own blood.
"Call 911, Tokey. Inconspicuously. Don't let him notice you," Nicole whispered low enough that Sands didn't catch it.
"How?" she hissed. "He doesn't have a fucking phone!"
"Cell phone! Your cell phone!" DB muttered.
"Heh..." Tokey smiled sheepishly.
Mort saw the two women whispering, and knew they were conspiring something. He knew they'd never get anything achieved with Sands' watchful eyes. He needed to create a distraction, but what?
He eyes went to the pen knife sticking out from the wall. He stared at it a moment thoughtfully, then pulled it out studying it. He had a good view of Sands from his corner. If he was lucky… He chucked the knife, and watched as its arc was perfect, heading right towards Sands.
Sands shifted, hearing the knife whistle through the air, but he didn't move quite fast enough. The knife buried itself in his thigh. He didn't scream this time, but it did elicit a grunt when he pulled it out. His right hand wouldn't hold the knife anymore, and now his leg barely held him. He was pissed to the point that those things no longer mattered. He could see Mort's huddled outline in the shadows: the perfect target. Mort wouldn't escape now.
As soon as Tokey saw a movement in the shadows under the stairs, she whipped out her cell phone and quickly punched the 3 digits. While it rang once, she crawled away to hide behind the couch. It was dead silent in the cabin, and she knew he'd hear her. As soon as the operator answered, she quickly spouted out Sands' address. She peeked over the arm of the couch, and added quickly. "Hurry up! He's armed and dangerous and he's going to kill us all!" Then she flipped the phone shut and quickly turned to run for the door.
Sands had heard, and wasn't impressed. He rolled off Mort and trained his sights on the flying sidekick. "Uh uh..." he murmured. A scant second later, the penknife was planted between her ribs and wobbling like crazy.
Tokey had reached the door, her hand on the doorknob, when a sharp pain shot through her torso. She winced as she gasped for breath. She tentatively reached behind her and tried to gently remove the knife, but that only made it worse. She took a deep breath, and squeezed her eyes shut as she yanked the knife out with a moan.
As soon as Sands had whipped around, Mort leapt onto his back, and hung on as tight as he could.
Sands' madness seemed to have given him an inhuman strength. It was of no consequence to simply throw Mort off without a second thought. The cops could come. Sands would take them out like he'd taken almost everyone else out.
Mort landed on the ground beside Tom. In his blood. He scrambled up, only to slip in some more in the blood. He grimaced and scurried past Sands towards DB. "Do something!" he yelled.
"What would you have me do?" DB hissed.
"Something! Anything! You're the special agent!"
DB winced, hearing the creak of floorboards as Sands turned towards the remaining two. She could almost see the twisted smile creep across his face. They were going to die unless she got up the nerve to shoot him. Well, she wasn't the best blind markswomen in the CIA for no reason. She didn't know if he had a weapon cocked and aimed, but now, anything seemed better than waiting for the end. She slowly took out her pistol and trained it on where she'd heard the floorboard. Her head still swam, but she heard a distinct chuckle.
"Think you can nail me? I bet you can't hit the broadside of a barn. I think that gun might be a bit too big for you."
"Try me," she growled. His voice was enough to get a vague image and it allowed her to aim with confidence. "Go to hell where you belong." She pulled the trigger.
Mort ducked behind DB as she fired her weapon. After a moment of silence, he peered around her to see what had happened. He frowned as he met Sands' eyes, something had happened, but what?
Sands blinked, not feeling quite right. It was as though a heavy blanket had been lifted off his head and shoulders, leaving him to wobble on his own feet. He had no feeling in his left leg and the numbness was spreading. He never had a chance to look at the damage before his knee buckled and he fell to the floor, startled. If he wasn't mistaken...there seemed to be a hole in his leg...and Nicole had a very nasty looking gun pointed at his forehead. He could put two and two together.
"Do you still think it's too heavy?" she hissed.
Mort looked at her, shocked. "You shot him," he stated simply. He didn't think anyone would shoot Sands.
"DB? You ok?" Tokey croaked weakly just as the door burst open and half a dozen cops ran in.
Sands could barely make his head work. The endorphins were doing their job, he felt no pain, but the leaden feeling in his stomach effectively stopped all attempts at movement. The cops looked vicious, not your average state trooper.
"Where's the killer?" the first one shouted.
Mort looked at them like they were crazy. "He's right there you idiots!" He yelled, pointing to Sands. "Get him before he turns again!" he shouted.
Another trooper looked at Mort skeptically, while yet another studied DB with the gun still clasped in her hand warily.
"Ma'am I'm gonna have to ask you to put your weapon down." One said firmly, training his gun on DB.
DB breathed a sigh of relief, gladly putting the weapon away. That had gotten way too hairy. And listening to Sands', Tokey's and Tom's combined shallow breathing was making her slightly sick.
Sands couldn't even tell what kind of a shape he was in. His mind had shut off somewhere after the numbness began spreading. But he had locked on one word: killer. He couldn't remember killing, or trying to kill someone recently, aside from the occasional need to shoot Mort to teach him a lesson. There was blood everywhere, a lot more blood than necessary. He could only begin to speculate what he'd supposedly done.
Mort stood there staring at the cops in annoyance. "Are you just going to stand there? Go get him before he goes crazy again! I'm not gonna help stop him when he goes after you!"
One of the cops turned to him. "Shut your trap, sonny!"
One approached the supposed "killer" cautiously, gun drawn. "Sir? Can you tell us what happened?" he asked slowly.
Sands craned his head upwards at the cop. His eyes were unfocused and it took an effort to make out the cop's face. "Well, I'm not really sure. I just sort of walked in at the last minute."
The cop frowned, "I see." He observed nothing evidence-wise that singled Sands out. He did see Tom's form on the floor and the bullet wound in the man's arm. He turned to DB, who had lain her gun down. The cop nodded to another to move in on DB.
"Ma'am I'm gonna have to take you in for questioning," the second cop said. As the EMTs filed in, the cop nodded towards Tom and Sands. "Take 'em out, we're bringing this one in for questioning." He cuffed DB's wrists. Lastly, he turned to Mort. "You alright, sir? Got anything more than cuts and bruises?" Mort shook his head, and the man nodded. "Ok. Come on, missy, up you go," he said, hefting DB to her feet.
Oh carp. "No, sir, you've got it wrong. The situation is under control The killer has been subdued," DB said forcefully. "I'm from the Central Intelligence Agency. I helped ensure that everything went back to normal."
The cop snorted, noticing the sunglasses, and the tilt of her head. "Yeah, right. The CIA has a blind agent?" he laughed dryly. "I'm not buying it." He shoved her roughly towards the door.
"But it's true!" Mort shouted. "You've got to believe us! He's psycho!"
Another cop moved in and cuffed Mort. "Son, I think the only psycho in here is you. Now just calm down and we'll get you some help."
"Noooo!" Mort wailed. "He's crazy! Has people in his head! Harrison, and-and this new one who went crazy and tried to kill us!"
The cop put his hand on Mort's shoulder. "It's alright, just take deep breaths, we're going to get you some help."
"Please don't make me call my CO. Because if I do, you know what's going to happen. You're going to get a smeep load of paper work, we're going to be stuck in a stupid, bureaucratic dance for months and nobody's going to get anything meaningful done until it's over. Let's save ourselves the trouble, shall we?" Nicole smiled tightly. She wouldn't fight them-she knew they had guns-but she wouldn't let them win that easily either. And from the sound of things, Sands was in no shape to help. Assuming he wanted to, which she doubted.
The cop just laughed harder. "You'll get your phone call alright, but I don't suggest wasting it on a CO. A lawyer might be more beneficial."
The EMTs scurried around getting Sands and Tom loaded up on gurneys and headed to the hospital. Tokey rode along with Tom as opposed to riding in the same ambulance as Sands.
One of the cops followed the ambulances with Mort in tow. The second cop took DB into the city, while the remaining patrol cars headed back to their stations, a job thoroughly done for the day.
XXX
Sands felt severely disjointed the entire ride. Every bump felt as though he'd float out the ceiling. Never once did he notice the shattered left fibula or the slow drip of blood down his hand and legs. Compared to the past few hours of horrible claustrophobia in his head, there was just a blissful absence of everything. He wasn't even aware when the ambulance pulled up to the hospital and the gurney was wheeled through the doors.
Tokey watched as an EMT worked steadily on Tom's wounds. She herself was hurting pretty smartly. It seemed like the ambulance ride was taking forever and they would never arrive at the hospital. She sighed, which sent more pain shooting through her ribs. Tom's wounds were much more serious than hers, thus she would have to wait till they arrived at the hospital for medical attention for herself. She counted herself lucky that Sands had missed anything vital.
When they arrived at the hospital, Tom was quickly wheeled out and she was very nearly forgotten. "Hey!" She cried out to anyone in particular as she hurried to follow. She looked behind her for any sign of her mentor, but saw none. What she did see was Mort being led in by one of the cops. She rushed over to him wincing at the pain that shot through her lungs.
"Where's DB?" she asked, looking behind them frantically.
Mort frowned. "They took her," he said simply.
"WHAT?" Tokey hissed in pain.
"I think you should get that checked out..." the cop said dubiously.
Tokey glared at him. "Ya think?" She rolled her eyes and jerked Mort away from him. "He's coming with me." She said, heading to the ER desk and checking herself and Mort in.
They waited impatiently in the lobby until their names were called. The cop followed much to their chagrin, but Tokey was in no position to tell him off. She glared at the cop. "Why don't you go see how the real psycho is doing?" she said pointedly. Finally the cop consented, and went off in search of Sands.
Sands was, by then, lying tamely in the lobby for his turn in the ER. He couldn't have cared less when a cop shimmered into his vision.
"What happened in the cabin?"
Sands didn't have an answer to that. Or one that sounded rational in his mind. He never really planned on shooting anyone with intent to kill. He didn't think. But all the signs pointed to him, and there was no way of fighting it. Nicole was too rational, Mort too weak. Tokey was just for scenery and Sands didn't think Tom was stupid enough to shoot himself.
"I think-"
"Didn't I just get rid of you?" a familiar voice grumbled. Sands somehow found himself looking to the right without consciously telling his neck to move. An agitated Dr. House was limping towards him and he was very annoyed.
"You did. I came back," Sands mumbled.
"I knew you loved me." House turned to the cop. "There won't be any questions until I get a look at him. If you have a problem, talk to someone who gives a damn. Jorri, wheel him for me."
Jorri gave Dr. House a nod, and moved behind Sands' stretcher. "Here we go," she said as she pushed him, following slowly behind House.
The cop started to follow, despite what House had said, when Jorri turned to him. "We've got it from here officer. Thank you for your help." She smiled at him and gave a curt nod.
The officer scowled at her, but didn't follow. He stood in the lobby, watching as they went. "The other one's the man you should be looking at doctor," the officer hollered across the lobby, snidely.
House turned around looking vaguely pissed and yet somewhat amused. "Oh, so there are more weirdoes running around for me to look at? It's my lucky day. Now why don't you go find yourself a doughnut shop to hole up in while I do my job?"
Jorri smirked at House's comment, while the cop's eye twitched. The cop turned around and headed back towards the ER where Mort and Tokey were.
"Hey! Easy there, buddy!" Tokey was shouting at a doctor. "Those are my ribs!" She was lying flat on her stomach on a bed while the doc cleaned and stitched the hole beneath her ribs.
Mort stood back, nervously watching and gnawing on his lower lip. He looked up as the cop came into the room, and shied into the far corner putting the bed and nurse between him and the cop.
That was when another familiar person stormed up to Mort, anger in her brown eyes. She looked ready to slap him, but her profession wouldn't allow it.
"What did you do to Mr. McCarthy?" Sara hissed.
Mort slid further into the corner as Sara descended upon him. He moved backwards until he was literally in the corner.
"I-I didn't do anything!" he cried, cowering away from her.
"I recognize you! He was after you because you're a dangerous felon and now he's got two bullet wounds. Explain that to me!"
"I-it wasn't me!" Mort denied it again, finding it hard to speak under the paramedic's hard stare. "I-i-it was...Sands!" he sputtered. "Ask her!" He pointed to Tokey.
"Hey! I'm trying to get put back together here! Leave me out of this!" She hissed in pain and slapped the nurse's hand away from her. "Just quit poking and prodding and bandage the damn thing!"
"You're just saying that, you bastard!" Sara yelled.
"Sara, no harassing the patients," Merrie looked up from her tending of the snarling Tokey. She looked hassled; it hadn't been a good day.
"He very nearly killed Tom!"
"Sara, give it up!" Merrie snapped. The statement was accompanied by a sharp movement that jolted the junior agent. "Focus!"
Tokey yowled and flipped over on the table giving Merrie a swift kick in the gut. Thus inciting the ensuing chaos.
Shooter awoke and lunged at Sara, grabbing her around the neck. "We meet again," he drawled with a tilt to his grin.
The cop jumped looking from Tokey to Shooter, trying to figure out who was the largest danger. Seeing Sara's face beginning to turn purple, he went after Shooter. He whipped out his gun and put it to Shooter's temple. "Freeze! Hold it right there! Don't move!"
Shooter obliged with a broad grin, his fingers gripped tightly around Sara's throat while she struggled for breath.
Merrie wheezed, trying to get her breath back and deal with the situation. She didn't have tranquilizers on her, and she wasn't even sure she'd make it close enough to inject them. Luckily, it was Sara who figured out how to save herself. She kicked the man she only knew as Shooter in the groin.
Shooter let out a grunt and fell to his knees, releasing Sara's neck. "That was mighty low missus," he said through clenched teeth.
The cop looked at Sara in a mixture of shock and awe. "Wow, ma'am that was very...brave…of you."
She ignored the praise. "Mighty low? You're so damn full of yourself, Mr. Shooter, you wouldn't know low if it bit you in the ass! Get him out of my sight," she growled.
"Yes ma'am." The cop nodded and grabbed Shooter. Cuffing the man, he lead him out of the room to wait for Tokey.
Tokey turned a glare on Merrie. "Did you fix it?" she asked.
"Well, maybe if you'd stop squirming, I could finish," Merrie's jaw tightened.
"Well, if you'd stop jabbing me with that-that thing!" She said referring to the instrument in Merrie's hand.
Merrie poked her again, out of spite. Sara rolled his eyes.
"And you mock me," she snorted. "I'm going back to make sure Tom is alright. Try not to make her want to sue, please."
Merrie tried to look innocent as Sara left. She glanced at Tokey. "Truce?"
Tokey looked at her, her eyes narrowing. "Don't poke me again. You remember payback's a bitch, right?" She crossed her arms over her chest, watching Sara go. She sighed and looked up at Merrie. "Do what you gotta do, and hurry." With that, she rolled back over on her stomach.
The procedure was finished within the minute, now that Merrie wasn't distracted. She finished in time to see Jorri coming down the hallway in haste.
"House wants to see Tokey. Is that her?" Jorri gestured.
Merrie nodded. "Let's not keep him waiting then."
Honor Roll: Merrie: Why do you miss you? You're right here! And House too, for that matter. As for Harrison…he wasn't exactly built for killing people. This other dude though, he might be. -nod- Depplove: Stop torturing Mort? You picked the wrong story to read. But don't stop yet, not until HANSA's out of the picture. Enesvy: DB! You made it! And um…sorry about the misunderstanding. It needed to be done? And…uh…you make a lovely plot advancement? –big cheesy grin- Cornfreak: SJ and Mort had better stop being contagious or there's going to be some big problems ahead. However, do enjoy the punch and corn and this next chapter.