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: The town of North Conway doesn't belong to us, none of its trappings belong to us, and certainly the lovely young girl doesn't belong to us either.
Author's Notes: Thus begins a life on the run for SJ and Mort. And begins the woes of Tom, but we won't dwell on the angst too long. Have fun, Honour Roll at the end.
Lucky Number 3
Mort had been driving for the past hour, heading west, and was growing tired. It had been a long night, and he'd gotten very little sleep. "Uh, Sands? Can we stop for some coffee?"
Sands grunted, startled out of his doze. "Wha?"
"I'm fucking tired!" Mort growled, annoyed that Sands had been just laying there snoozing. "If you want me to keep going I need some caffeine! And some food..." he said as an afterthought, licking his lips slightly at the thought of Doritos.
Sands squinted at the road signs that drifted by. North Conway, N.H. Live Free or Die. Sands gave the state points for an original motto. They were on a sort of byway, Rt. 16.
"Take this right. I think I stayed in a motel around here on my way to Maine."
Mort whipped the vehicle rather sharply off the road, and onto a dusty street. He drove down it, searching for any sign of life. He frowned and glanced at Sands. "Where's it at?"
"You'll come to a T at the end of the road. Drive slow, there are stupid children around. Just before the T, there's a pizza shop. Take a right at the T, you'll hit the main drag, if you can call it that. There's Mexican, which...shit..." Sands murmured. "I never got my food at the hospital. Let's do Mexican."
Mort smirked. "Don't want me to run over the little chicks?" He laughed, and then his expression turned sour. "I don't like Mexican," he stated.
"You're going there anyway. I demand my Mexican. Grab a pizza if you must, but we're going to Cafe Noche."
Mort just grumbled to himself as he pulled up to the tiny Mexican restaurant. "I highly doubt it's authentic." He made no move of getting out of the car.
"Who needs authentic when you can get grease? I might warn you, they don't do take out. You're stuck here till I'm done."
Mort sunk down further in his seat. "Fine!" he mumbled. He wasn't going in there. Anything to spite Sands for dragging him along on his little road trip.
"Okay, buddy. You know I don't trust you, right?"
Mort looked at him warily. "Why should you? Why should I even trust you?"
"Listen, I don't want to have this argument now. You can stay in here handcuffed to the door or you can come with me."
He frowned at the thought of being cuffed again, and shook his head. "You won't cuff me in there will you?"
"No, but you'll be sitting in a corner so I can prevent your every escape attempt."
Mort thought about this for a long moment. "Alright," he agreed, "As long as I can have some chips, and maybe some salsa."
"They have chips and salsa. You coming?"
Mort nodded slowly and unbuckled his seat belt.
"Let's go, I'm starving," Sands said absently. He had crawled out of the seat, minding his leg. He'd finally tugged on a pair of pants and was set to take on anything. If only Mort would cooperate, this would be the best day this whole damn week.
XXX
Sands all but fell out of the car. The spicy pork dish had been wonderful. Mort insisted he didn't want Mexican and instead wolfed the plate of chips. Sands had directed them to a cheap motel where they found a room. He looked at Mort to try and guess if he had any real intentions to leave right then.
After having a rather large dish of chips and salsa, Mort felt in considerably better spirits. The motel didn't look too bad. It had a bed in it and that was all that mattered really. He was dead tired. He made his way around the car to where Sands was getting out with difficulty. He didn't offer to help, just stood watching Sands almost with pity. He couldn't get into the room and into bed until Sands unlocked the door of the room. And Mort certainly couldn't do anything else until he had rest. His foot began to tap impatiently.
Sands got the crutch on the ground and noticed Mort's look of impatience.
"Sorry, but I haven't exactly had experience hobbling around like you."
Mort's eyes narrowed. "I'd have preferred to pass on the experience."
"Same here. Tell me, who did what?"
"Huh?" Mort asked baffled. "You shot me..."
Sands shook his head and began limped up to the entrance.
"Who shot me in the leg, stabbed me in the thigh and ripped my hand to shreds?"
"Uh...I didn't shoot you..." Mort offered following him into the room. He collapsed gratefully on one of the beds.
"Gathered not. Would that be why Dangerbabe was in jail?"
"Mm," Mort made a noise as his eyes drifted shut.
Sands cocked an eyebrow. The snore that emanated from the other man's chest was enough to put off Sands' questioning. He had no doubt he'd get his answers, but not now.
He found his way to the armchair, forgoing the bed. He still didn't trust Mort as far as he could throw him. So he kept a watch on Mort until he allowed his eyes to drift shut, but his ears wide open. He'd pulled all-nighters before. This would be no different.
Mort awoke awhile later with a loud snort, and looked over at the other bed. It was empty! His lips curled into a sleepy grin, and he rolled over to get up.
Sands had the gun out and cocked in a split second. He hadn't opened his eyes, but there was a lazy smirk on his face.
"Get back in bed, John Wayne, I have you covered."
Shit, shit, shit!
Mort sighed and lay on his back, putting his hands up. "I was just gonna take a piss if that's ok with you? I don't particularly like to piss my pants..."
Sands cracked an eye open.
"Bathroom's the other way, John Wayne."
"Jeez! Do I have to get up on the right side of the bed?" He asked with a smirk at his weak pun.
"Yes. I'm a bit trigger happy, you know."
"I've noticed." Mort said bitterly, and rolled off the other side of the bed and limped to the bathroom. His leg was acting up again. He slammed the door rather loudly and locked it.
Sands rolled his eyes and closed them again. Mort wouldn't be escaping out any window. Sands had taken care of that when Mort had dozed off, however short it had been.
Mort turned on the faucet, and let the water run full blast as he turned to the window. He frowned at the screws and tried to unscrew them with his nails, cursing as he broke them and cut his cuticles. He sat down on the toilet lid with a huff and glared at the tiles of the shower.
"Given up already, have we?" Sands called softly.
Mort just harrumphed again, and finally stood up. He turned off the sink and went back to the bed with his back to Sands, sulking.
"I made a deal with you. I don't know why you're trying so hard to go back on your end," Sands murmured.
"Well, I don't see the benefit for me!" he said, glaring at the wall.
"Beyond the fact that you get to see another day of freedom? Shit," Sands shifted in the chair to ease the pressure on his cast. "Why do you think I'm up in this hell hole anyway? God's country my ass."
"I really wouldn't know as you haven't shared." Mort spat bitterly, making a face at the wall.
"No?" Sands tilted his head towards Mort and opened his eyes.
Mort lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder at Sands interest. "No. Are you gonna' spill now?" He rolled over to face Sands and sat up.
Sands felt his forehead, trying to figure out why he was so amicable and chalked it up to drugs. He wasn't a stranger to that sort of thing.
"Well, that depends. Are you going to go apeshit on me for telling you the truth?"
Mort thought about this for a moment and slowly shook his head. He could honestly say he wouldn't freak...but he couldn't speak for that annoying southern drawl in his head.
"Well, when you killed those people, you didn't really run a background check on all of them."
Mort's eye twitched. "I didn't kill no one," he said firmly.
"When Shooter killed all those people then," Sands rolled his eyes. "Just the same, you killed Theodore Milner, a CIA operative working in Maine. When he never came back and word drifted in that he was dead and you killed him, they had to send someone out to get confirmation and bring you back. Guess who."
Mort's face paled. "Oh god, Ted? CIA? Wasn't he a bit on the prudish side?" He swallowed hard. "I didn't kill him...or Amy," he added softly. "Why was he here anyway? I mean what was his 'mission' or whatever?"
"Damned if I know. He was a prick. I hated his guts."
Mort's eyes narrowed, "Then why the hell are you here?"
"Because I am a pawn. A pissed off pawn, but a pawn none the less."
"So we're in the same boat there, no?" Mort asked with a scowl.
"You're no pawn. Don't you know chess? We're trying to capture you, fuckmook. You're the goddamn King," Sands sighed.
"Am I now..? Sorry, I don't play chess. So this gives me the power, I assume? Being a king does seem ultimately a better fate than being a pawn..." Mort mused. He scratched his head as he eyed the door and then Sands.
"Being King makes you the most wanted man on the board, and ultimately, the weakest. You move one space per turn while your minions try their damndest to protect you. The Queen is a fine defense. She can move any number of spaces in any direction. Shooter's your queen. Harrison..." Sands swallowed the syllables shortly. "...is a bishop, moving diagonally however many spaces he wants. The other...Lucifer, Devil's Spawn, whatever the hell you people called it...is the atom bomb."
Mort looked at him dumbfounded. "Wow...you really know your chess."
Sands snorted.
"There is no atom bomb in chess."
Mort frowned. "Right. But...everything else...?" He thought he knew something about chess, but perhaps he'd been mistaken.
"Accurate enough, even the atom bomb bit. Mutual Assured Destruction is no laughing matter."
What the hell am I saying? Sands wondered.
Just keep fucking talking. Keep him in the room.
Mort quirked an eyebrow. "So, when this Lucifer fellow comes out, you mutually destruct?"
"You ever hear of a thing called the Cold War? United States of America versus the big bad Soviet Union. The only thing that kept us from all out nuclear war was Mutual Assured Destruction. If we blow you up, you'll have enough time to send over a couple missiles and blow us up too. Nobody's stupid enough to sentence their country to death, are they? This guy certainly seemed willing to sacrifice me."
Charming.
"I don't know what he does or how he operates. I didn't know he existed until he made an appearance."
Sure you did.
"I've only seen what he can do. And if anybody could disprove MAD, he would. So don't dick around with him."
I don't swing that way.
"Will you just shut the hell up," Sands snapped. His eyes were pointed fixedly at the ground and he looked pissed.
"I didn't say anything," Mort said quietly, a little shocked by his little spiel.
"Hm? No, not you," Sands shook his head. "Go to bed. You were the one complaining about being tired."
Mort scratched his head, and shrugged his shoulders painfully. It was too quiet for him, and Sands' talking to himself was bothering him. "Do you mind if I turn on the TV?" he asked while reaching for the remote.
"Only if it's on mute." Sands allowed his head to fall back and his eyes to drift shut.
Mort frowned. "Do you have any headphones? I don't particularly like hearing you talk to yourself." I deal enough with voices in my own head, he thought.
"Good luck with that, but I don't plan on talking much longer because I, unlike you, want to go to bed. Now quiet, savvy?"
Mort eyed him warily. "You don't talk in your sleep do you?" he asked.
"Doubt it," Sands murmured.
Mort sat for a moment silent. He chewed on his lip for lack of anything better to do, then looked over at Sands' drowsy form. "You wouldn't happen to have any cigarettes would you?" He looked hopeful.
"Christ, don't you ever fucking sleep?" Sands snapped. "I've got tobacco and rolling paper, no cigarettes."
Mort made a face, then sighed. It was better than nothing. "Can you show me how to make it?"
Sands sighed and glanced upward again.
"I show you how to roll a cigarette and you'll let me sleep uninterrupted until six tomorrow morning?"
Mort nodded eagerly scooting to the edge of the bed. Expectation coursed through his veins. He'd lacked the nicotine for so long now. "Can we get some cigarettes tomorrow though?" he asked.
"Sure, whatever." Sands took the supplies out of his pocket and began rolling with an ease born of endless practice. He held up the little brown cigarette in the dim light and smirked. "There."
Mort made a grab for it hungrily. Sands held it away from Mort's grasping fingers.
"Our deal?"
"Yes, yes! Alright, I'll let you sleep." He said making another grab for it, frowning as Sands still held it out of reach.
"No escaping," Sands said seriously. His voice sounded reasonable, the kind of reasonable that would cause someone to sell his soul to the devil.
"Fine! No escaping," he repeated without even thinking about it. All he could think about was the sweet relief of the nicotine running through his system. "Can I please have the cigarette?" His patience was running thin.
Sands flicked the cigarette at Mort and curled up in the arm chair. He was pretty sure Mort would comply. He still kept an ear out, but it wasn't as attuned as it had been minutes ago.
Mort nearly lost the cigarette in his haste. He looked to Sands for a light. "I seem to have lost all of my belongings..." he said.
Mort's voice had shaken Sands out of his half sleep. His peace shattered, he looked positively murderous.
"What the fuck do you think 'Leave me the hell alone' means? Find the fucking motel matches and go away," Sands glared.
Mort's eyes widened, and he recoiled. He began rifling through a drawer and found a book of matches with the motel's logo on it. It took him a few strikes till he finally got it lit. He inhaled the smoke sharply-coughing deep inside his chest-but continued to smoke the cigarette, relishing the feeling of the tobacco hitting his lungs. He leaned his head back against the headboard, studying Sands and wondering why he wouldn't lay in the other bed.
"You know there's another bed," he muttered.
"Fuck, you're not going to let me sleep are you? Goddamn you're a spiteful bastard. I'm not sleeping in the other bed because it's not going to make a hell of a lot of difference and I'll hear you just as loudly from over here, and because I still don't fucking trust you. It's easier to shoot you when I'm already sitting up than having to sit up then shoot."
"Why would you need to shoot me?" he asked, continuing the conversation, despite Sands' obvious annoyance. "I've already told you I'm not going to try to escape."
"And how many times have you told me this and still tried to escape? Bull shit. I believe you might lull me into a sense of security, but I don't trust you much more than that."
"Fine, suit yourself. I could care less if you have a stiff back. You're not driving anyways," he mumbled. He finished the cigarette and turned over with his back to Sands.
"Go...to fucking...bed!"
"Fine!" Mort hissed, lifting his head to fluff his pillow before laying back down and letting out an agitated sigh.
He finally drifted off after listening to Sands' breathing for nearly an hour. It could be said to be a peaceful sleep as it was not filled with nightmares and such. He slept through the night and early the next morning, until he was quite rudely awaken.
"I didn't do it. No, I didn't do it. Go away. Get out of my head! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!" Sands howled in the grips of a powerful nightmare. The arm chair flew backwards, sending Sands tumbling out of it. The impact and jarring of his wounds was enough to startle him awake with a shout.
"Aaaaaah!" Mort sat bolt upright in bed, and looked around frantically, confused as to what had happened. He looked down at Sands sitting on the floor, looking somewhat bewildered, and couldn't help himself. He opened his mouth wide and began to laugh hysterically.
Sands was torn between being extremely pissed off and totally stunned. Even now the dream was fading and he wasn't sure what had woken him up. All he knew was that it wasn't yet 6, and he felt shafted. His heart rate was dropping to a normal level and he still felt like shit.
Mort's laughter slowly died off, and he looked at Sands somewhat worriedly. "Are you ok? You're looking a little pale there," he mumbled.
Don't say it. Don't you dare say it...
"I don't know. I haven't known since I came up here."
Mort swallowed. That wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. He knew better than to suggest a doctor-they'd already been that route. "What-what's wrong with you?" He asked, not wanting to hear, but needing to know what was going on exactly.
"If I knew, don't you think I'd have better control over it?" Sands remarked wryly.
Mort shrugged his shoulders. "Some people choose to ignore it." That sounded oddly familiar to his ears, but he pushed that thought aside. It was just a musing.
"And you see how well it's been doing both of us."
Mort got defensive. "Hey, we're not talking about me! I'm not the one that woke up screaming at some unknown voice in my head to, and I quote 'Get the fuck out of my head.' " Mort said looking at him pointedly.
"Perhaps not, but I wasn't the one trying to stab twelve airport security guards with a pen."
"Well neither was...I..." He trailed off, trying to remember when he was at the airport. He knew he'd been there, remembered arguing about where he was going to fly to. He frowned. He was still wearing the clothes from there, the t-shirt with Bangor International written on the front.
"Well done," Sands rolled his eyes.
"What? What did I do?" His brow puckered.
"You're unobservant, a pain in the ass and a malodorous pervert."
Mort glared at him. "Oh just shut up will you?" He scowled and laid his head back on the pillow, his eyes tracing the lines on the ceiling.
Sands shrugged and contemplated how much he really wanted to get up. The meds he was taking were officially gone and there was a full ache working up his body.
"Always look on the bright side of life," he hummed quietly.
Mort fixed yet another glare on him. It was his turn to complain about going to sleep. "I'm trying to get a couple more hours of sleep here as I won't be able to snooze in the car."
It was the wrong thing to say. "Oh fuck you, Mort! Roll me a fucking cigarette. Talk to me! Tell me the meaning of fucking life!"
"Fuck you! I'm the one driving you around! If you don't like it, you can get another chauffer!" he huffed.
"If I remember correctly, you were the one who was suddenly stricken with fatigue and insisted we pull over. Are you telling me we could have driven another hour, hour and a half last night? I don't know if you understand that the hounds of hell are nipping at our heels to take us into custody."
"No. I'm saying I didn't get enough sleep due to your unnecessary outburst."
"Then why the fuck didn't you go to bed when I fucking told you?" Sands hissed. He felt his anger beginning to jerk against his tight reign of control. It was the stirrings of whatever he'd felt the day before, when he woke up from one nightmare to be hurled directly into another. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out who died from his loss of control this time.
"I did!" Mort said indignantly. "I was sleeping," he murmured.
"No, you fucking insisted on escaping twice, watching TV and having a cigarette. In that fucking order!"
"I did?" Mort was dumbfounded. He hadn't thought about that. "Oh..."
"Why don't you think about that next time you bitch at me, John Wayne," Sands snarled.
"But you said we could sleep until 6 o' clock!" Mort protested crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.
"You voided that promise when you wouldn't let me sleep! Get your fucking things. We're leaving. We're going to Manchester Airport and catching a flight out of this hell hole. You can sleep on the fucking plane."
Mort seemed satisfied with this, and he hurriedly grabbed what few belongings he had. He followed Sands out of the room and into the car only to question him. "Where are we going?"
Sands stopped himself from gnashing his teeth. The anger was settling like a ball of lead in his belly and it wasn't dissipating like it normally did. Normal people retained water, Sands retained anger.
"Man. Chest. Er. Air. Port," he ground out.
Mort rolled his eyes with a sigh, but saw Sands' difficult restraint and kept his mouth shut. He guided the vehicle out into the early morning darkness, towards the highway heading into Manchester.
XXX
Sands eyed the milling people warily. He feared he was losing his mind in the worst way. Every time some fuckmook bumped him or his crutch-thereby shooting pain through his extremities-he felt his chest tighten a little more. Being driven insane from pain wasn't on his list of fun for the day. Another hurrying patron shoved by Sands, causing his muscles to contract to prevent him from yelling in frustration.
Mort wasn't any happier being in the bustle of the busy airport. He glanced at Sands, and saw his jaw clenched so tightly, it looked as if it might crack. "You ok?" he asked hesitantly.
"Fuck no," Sands whispered. He shook his head and limped up to a ticket counter, scanning the destination. Denver, CO. He turned to Mort. "Denver okay with you?"
Mort shrugged. "I suppose it's as good a place as any. Never been there other than vacation, but then again, that's sort of what this is like, right?"
"Ah...sure," Sands muttered. Before much longer the transaction was complete and they had two tickets out of New Hampshire in approximately 15 minutes. It was almost too easy. That's when Sands' cell rang. The Caller ID read "Tommy Boy." He idly wondered if Tom knew about his girlfriend yet.
"In the land of the living, Tommy Boy?"
"Where the hell are you?" Tom croaked, his voice hoarse and weak. He'd only been conscious for a little over half an hour, and he'd insisted upon a phone to call Sands. He didn't blame him really...well...maybe he did, but he was his friend.
"Having breakfast at the North Pole. Candy canes, chocolate Santas and omelets. Sure, it's a little macabre, but it does the trick." Sands massaged his forehead as he spoke.
Tom frowned. "What?" He hissed as a nurse changed his dressing on his arm. "Are you...feeling better?" He asked warily.
"Well, I can't walk, people keep bumping into me, the Mexican's disagreeing with me, I didn't sleep, I think I'm going to freak right out, and I've got a hell of a headache. You tell me." He checked his watch. The plane wasn't boarding yet, but he knew he didn't have much longer.
Tom frowned. He could hear background noises that sounded vaguely like an airport. "You're dancing around my questions Sands. Do I need to be blunt in the asking?"
"Well, I haven't got a hell of a lot longer to play with you, so why don't you get right to the point?"
"What? Why?" Tom frowned. "Where the hell are you?" he ground out.
"I'm leaving, Tommy Boy. I want to be as far away from you as quickly as I can. You're no doubt feeling a bit miffed at me."
Tom sighed. "Sands, I understand you weren't in your right mind." He wearily rubbing his eyes. He hurt like hell, but he didn't exactly blame Sands for the person or personality in his head that had gone berzerk and shot him.
"Tom? What have they got you on that you don't care that I killed your bitch?" Sands frowned. The announcement went out that the plane would board shortly.
Tom frowned, not understanding what Sands was talking about. Something clicked in his brain, but he was so doped up he couldn't decipher exactly what. "What are you talking about Sands?" He asked warily. "Who did you kill?"
He doesn't know? Well, if that wasn't a good omen, I just don't know what is...
"No one. No one of consequence anyway. Listen, Tom, I'm gonzo in a minute so, lovely as it's been talking to you, I really must be going. Maybe I'll see you someday...in an...alternate dimension. But until then, ta!" Sands said brightly and ended the call.
Tom's brow furrowed. "Wait-Sands! What are you talking about?" His head was beginning to hurt from wracking it to figure out what the hell Sands was talking about.
"Wasn't interested in talking, was he?" Merrie murmured. She hadn't broken the news to him about Sara yet.
Tom rubbed his forehead wearily as he looked up at Merrie. "Yes he was, but was fucking cryptic." He mumbled.
"What'd he say?"
He frowned pondering what Sands had said. "He said...'I killed your bitch.' " He turned to Merrie with a puzzled expression on his pale, gaunt face. "What do you suppose he meant by that? Is it some sort of code?" He sighed, utterly confused. Merrie groaned. Unlike Tom, she knew exactly what Sands had meant.
"Tom...I think he meant you to take it literally."
Tom looked up at her frowning. "What? Why?" He looked into her eyes, trying to understand her cryptic message. He sighed again. "Will someone please speak in plain English and tell me what the hell is going on?" he shouted out, wincing at the pain that shot through his gut.
"Tom...SandskilledSara," Merrie mumbled.
"What?" Tom hissed, certain he'd misheard her. "He fucking did what?" He reached up and grabbed her by the collar with his uninjured arm and pulled her face inches from his. "Come again?" He growled with a mixture of the drugs and the rage that gripped him.
"Tom, let me go or I will tell you nothing," Merrie winced.
Tom breathed through his nose quickly and deeply, his lips parting as he began to breathe through his mouth, seething. He shoved Merrie away, and then spat at her, "Talk."
She rubbed her neck, trying to regulate her breathing.
"Sands killed Sara. I-I saw him."
Tom's eyebrows furrowed, with disbelief. "You saw him? How…what…? I don't believe you! You're lying!" he shouted, "You're a fucking liar! I want someone in here who will tell the truth! Doctor! Doctor!" He yelled looking out into the hallway.
House poked his head in, sans a sunny disposition. Merrie shook her head, mentally pleading with him to leave, but House either didn't notice or didn't care.
"Anything I can help you with, my liege?"
"She's lying!" Tom said with a grimace. "She said that Sands fucking killed Sarah!"
"Sara?" House cocked his head.
"The EMT," Merrie whispered.
"Oh. Yeah, funny thing that. Merrie's right," he shrugged.
"What?" Tom roared, attempting to get up out of the bed. An orderly rushed into the room to try to calm him. "Get the fuck away from me!" He hollered, throwing the man away, making to get up again. His eyes shot daggers at House. "It's your fault! You're not a fucking shrink! You didn't fix him!"
The orderly looked pleadingly at the doctors for guidance. Merrie was too shaken up. House took initiative and prepped an injection. He stuck Tom in the arm with a firm authority and watched as Tom became woozy.
"No, I'm not a shrink. Thanks for finally noticing. Now, as a medical doctor, I suggest you sleep a bit, get your mind back together. For your physical and mental strength," House said quietly.
"She's really dead?" Tom murmured groggily as the sedative began to take effect. His gentle blue eyes that had moments before been filled with rage, were pleading. Begging House to say it wasn't true. His lids felt heavy, and he fought it waiting for House's answer.
"I'm sorry." For once, House actually looked uncomfortably apologetic. Merrie left the room, needing air. House sighed. If he wasn't so sure he was going to leave this hospital within the week, he'd be tempted to make amends.
"Right..." Tom muttered bitterly his eyes slipping shut a final time as he entered unconsciousness.
XXX
Mort yawned and stretched his legs, awakening as the plane was coming in for a landing. He looked over to where Sands was with his sunglasses covering his eyes. He wondered if he was sleeping or not. He stuck his finger out and tapped him three times on the shoulder.
Sands snorted.
"Eh? Hmph? What the fuck?"
Mort recoiled, his arm sticking out in the aisle. He jerked his arm close as someone knocked it when they returned to their seats after taking a leak. Mort winced and rubbed his elbow. "I wasn't sure if you were awake," he muttered, "We're getting ready to land."
"Are we?" he asked curiously. He glanced out the window to take a gander at the graceful snow topped peaks of the Rockies and what looked to be the outer fringes of Denver. "Well I'll be damned. We should go skiing."
"How?" Mort asked, looking at him like he'd lost his mind. In many cases, he had.
Sands smiled lazily. "I was being facetious."
"Oh...right. Of course." Mort said, looking over Sands and out the window at the snow. He sighed. He really wasn't fond of the stuff all that much. It was much more of a hassle than it was worth.
"All right, John Wayne. If you had one day to do whatever you wanted in Denver, what would you do?" Sands asked idly.
Mort stared out the window, his lips curling in disgust at the snow. "I dunno," he mumbled.
"Well, we're here. All that's left is to make the best of it, wouldn't you say?"
"Sure, sure..." Mort agreed, nodding his head while still leaning over Sands and watching as they came down in Denver. "Why did we come to Denver exactly?" he asked quietly, hoping he didn't upset the man. He was easily irritable.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Sands shrugged. "I'd still rather like a drink before hopping the next plane to Canada or some place like that."
Mort frowned. "We're fleeing the country? Won't that get me and you in more trouble?"
"We're already in trouble. It's a bit late for that. I don't really want to leave the country though. Bit too cowardly for my tastes."
"Cowardly?" Mort asked loudly. "What about running period? You're not fessing up and facing the consequences for your actions!" He crossed his arms. "If that's not cowardly enough for you, I'd like to know what you consider cowardly," he said, staring Sands down as the plane taxied toward the gate.
"I'd say it was a wee bit hypocritical of you, John Wayne, but I know you'd get all self righteous on me again. Let's suffice it to say we're probably not leaving the country."
Mort felt a bit relieved at that-not much-but a little. He sighed, leaning back in his seat until the overhead light went off and he could release his safety belt. He peered down the aisle as he stood up, looking at all the odd travelers. Sands and he didn't really look all that odd compared to some of them.
Sands had his eye on one particular passenger. She was dark and rather-read very-attractive and Sands had a hard time averting his gaze. The sunglasses helped his cause, but he was still startled when Mort hung on his shoulder.
"Did you hear me?" he asked annoyed.
"What?" Sands yelped.
"Jeez," Mort mumbled. "I had my chance and I blew it. I was asking if you wanted me to get your crutch out from overhead."
"Wha-sure, yeah, why the fuck not," Sands shook himself to alertness. He forced himself not to notice until the girl pushed by, causing the hairs on his arm to stand on end, among other things. He drew his hand back, trying to ignore the pain.
"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" she asked. Her voice was dark and sensuous. He felt himself begin to drown in it.
"No, I just wrapped my hand in a cast for shits and giggles. Perfectly alright," Sands remarked.
Mort's eyebrow rose as he looked between the two. He pulled down the crutch, not paying attention to where it was going, smacking it right into the woman's head. Mort's face paled. "I-oh god-I'm sorry!" He stuttered, looking to Sands for help.
She looked angry, murderous even. Sands shot a glare at Mort before offering his uninjured hand to her. "Now we're even. Mort, careful, with that, alright?" He gestured for the crutch trying not to topple over in the process.
Mort swallowed at the look the woman gave him. He handed the crutch over to Sands, watching the woman warily.
"Coming my way, I take it?" she asked dryly.
"Why not? Better in Denver together than Denver alone."
"What, you're not banging the blond over there?" she frowned. Sands nearly choked. Mort's eye twitched and he made to crack his jaw. Sands held him back with a hand on his shoulder. He turned to the sultry woman with a face chiseled from self restraint.
"I've banged him in the sense of shooting him. Twice in fact. But can you honestly see it working between us?"
Mort's jaw clenched. He really wanted to slap that woman. She was a first class bitch, a player.
Liken the missus.
Mort's eyes narrowed. Indeed, she was much like Amy, in that sense. He didn't see what Sands found so intriguing about her.
"Perhaps not," she smiled. "I take it you aren't from around here."
"Good guess," Sands muttered as he maneuvered into the terminal. He hadn't liked the accusation about sleeping with his enemy, but she was too damn gorgeous to entirely ignore. "Listen, you want a drink? Denver's not exactly the most entertaining of towns."
"A free drink from a charming man. Where have I heard that before?" she asked sweetly.
"Well, shit, you don't have to. I thought I'd offer."
Mort scowled, as he followed behind them. He'd been strung along on one too many dates already for his liking, and the last had ended up dead, as it were. He thought that perhaps he should mention this fact, avoid the probable event of reoccurrence. "You know the last date I tagged along on, you ended up strangling the girl," he said oh-so-casually.
Sands barely noticed Mort. The lump of emotion in his belly was evolving into something a bit more heated.
Goddamn, that's not good...
"Strangled?" the woman recoiled.
"Smothered with love, you know how it goes," Sands shrugged as though it were an everyday occurrence.
No, you fuckmook! You stay away from that bitch! the voice screamed. Sands smiled pleasantly, able to focus on a more enjoyable feeling than the pent up anger ranting at him.
"I don't believe I do," she cocked an eyebrow.
Mort rolled his eyes and leaned toward the woman. "I was told it was with his IV tubes." He made a face, causing the veins on his neck to stand out. "Then when she got feisty..." He made a ripping type sound and pulled his hand across his neck in the ancient 'off with your head' gesture. " He snapped her neck."
"Don't you think I would have remembered doing something like that?" Sands rolled his eyes.
You fucking idiot! You DID kill her! Who the fuck are you?
"You could be lying," she pointed out.
"I could be, but...I like to think I'm a wee bit saner than that, sugarbutt."
"Sugarbutt?"
"What, you don't like it? Do I have to talk in a Spanish accent to get your attention or can I just stick with my pet names?"
"A gringo with a Spanish accent?"
"Pues, por qué no, señorita? Puedo hablar espanol. Si lo te gusta, puedo continuar. Si no... puedo terminar."
NO! FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU! Loosely translated, Sands' Spanish had meant, "Well, why not? I can speak Spanish. If you don't like it, I can continue. If not...I can stop." The voice wasn't thrilled.
Mort gave him a "What the fuck?" look and shook his mop of hair. "I'm outta here." He mumbled, grabbing the novel Sands had allowed him to get at the airport in Manchester, and heading down the aisle of the plane following the horde of other passengers.
Get the fuck after your prey! NOW! Find him!
Sands frowned and made to brush the voice away like a fly.
Mort exited the plane, and looked back expecting Sands to come storming after him. He frowned when he didn't see him at all. He pursed his lips and waited impatiently, working at his lower lip.
After a couple minutes, it was evident Sands wasn't going to come after him. Mort sighed, not knowing exactly what to do. His stomach rumbled, so he made his way out of the gate area and towards the food court. He got a Big Mac and sat down at a table in the open, as opposed to sitting amongst the travelers or taking it to go. He pondered Sands' reaction to the woman as he picked at the burger.
Even as Mort was thinking about Sands, he was already leading his lady friend towards the food court for a drink and a bite.
"What's your name? Or...well, como se llama?"
She laughed, "Ajedrez."
"Huh. Well, that's very interesting. Chess. You wouldn't be the manipulative type, would you?"
"Only in bed," she said airily.
"I see..."
The nameless voice screamed in rage and forced Sands to walk to Mort. Sands, to his credit, carefully showed no emotion. He took it in stride and straddled a chair opposite Mort, swinging another out for Ajedrez.
Mort frowned as Sands and the woman approached. It deepened as she sat down next to him. He glared at her, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He slowly took a bite of his burger and chewed very slowly, watching the way Sands gazed at her. He almost choked.
Any normal man would have said he'd been struck by Cupid's undiscriminating arrow. In truth, House would have said Sands' libido was beginning to manifest as well.
"So what's your name?" Ajedrez asked slyly.
"Don Juan," Sands smirked.
"Charming," she rolled her eyes.
Mort was seriously getting sick. It was not like Sands to play lover-boy. "It's fuckmook," he said bluntly, glaring first at Ajedrez and then Sands.
"Okay, you call me silly names like that and you're just showing off your ignorance. Kindly zip it, all right?"
Zip it? What the fuck-...
"Listen, girly, I'm not in the mood for this shit. Sands here's out of his head and one of the people in here is hell bent on wooing you. Don't encourage him, or you'll die, bitch," the nameless one snapped.
"And you think a tough guy attitude will get me to like you even faster?" Ajederez asked incredulously.
Mort recognized the voice and turned to Sands. "You're too late. He's already hooked." He hoped to antagonize the voice.
"You're shitting me," the voice retorted. He smacked his forehead with the butt of his hand and crossed his eyes. "Listen you little wanker, you'd better not be showing your fucking self around here for a good long while, you pussy! I'll fucking castrate you."
Mort snickered at the looks Sands' display was getting. His eyes grew wide when he made mention of castration. That was just wrong! Mort turned to Ajedrez cheerfully. "So, what do you think of Mr. Fuckmook over there?" He pointed his thumb in Sands' direction as he continued his outburst.
Ajedrez made to say something, but closed her mouth. She looked rather perplexed.
"He's not exactly mentally stable, is he?"
Mort snorted, taking a sip out of the bottle of Mountain Dew he had. "Not exactly."
"Does he...do that often?"
Mort nodded seriously. "Oh yes. Every day. Argues with himself and threatens to castrate himself at least once every few hours." He leaned closer to her and whispered loudly, "I'd be surprised if they're still intact."
"Well, I'd say it's a very good thing I'm not interested in him in that way, isn't it?" she replied.
"Good! Stay that way, bitch! You're bad fucking news!" the voice snarled.
"Now whatever happened to that charming man I bumped into on the plane?"
"I fucking buried him. What the hell are you still doing here?"
"He owes me a drink."
"Goddamn it, what does it look like I am? A fucking open bar? Fuck you!"
Mort chuckled. "I think that's what she wants you to do," he said conspiratorially to the persona that occupied Sands' mind.
"Wha-? No! Sure, I can understand once in awhile, but not fucking now! We're on the fucking run!"
"Run? From whom?"
"What gives you the right to fucking interrogate me?"
"Just curious," she shrugged. "And I'm betting your name's not Don Juan, either."
"No, it's not. I don't have a name," he sneered.
Mort sighed wearily. "I already told you. He killed his best friend's girlfriend."
"I did not, that was fucking Sands," he snorted.
"So I'm sitting in the presence of a cold blooded killer. Should I be afraid?"
"Oh yeah, very afraid."
Mort nodded looking at her seriously. "He tried to kill his best friend too. Shot him twice, once in the gut and once in the arm. He shot me twice too." He pointed to his wounds almost with pride, as if they were from a war. "And he stabbed a rookie agent."
"Nah, actually, that was me," the voice snickered. He seemed happy to reminisce about such gruesome thoughts.
"Well, technically you're in the same body, so he gets blamed as well, thus the reason we're running." Mort said with a cocky tilt to his head.
"Fuck him. He's little bitch, anyway. I just know I'm not ready to tie ourselves down to some tart named after a stupid board game. We're still running, as you still graciously pointed out." The voice had no trouble ignoring Ajedrez.
"Well then, let's continue running, hm?" Mort asked, pushing away his barely touched burger. He was glad to have Sands-or whoever the hell it was that occupied his mind-to himself.
"What about my drink, buddy?" Ajedrez scowled.
"I sure as hell didn't promise you a drink. Did you...whatever your name is?" Nameless turned to Mort.
Mort's lip curled in disgust. "No. Buying her a drink would make me feel icky," he said with a shudder.
"Good, we're agreed," the voice grinned. The smile turned quickly to a look of disgust.
"We're most definitely are not agreed. I like her. She's pretty and she's witty and I wanted to buy her a drink," he said petulantly.
"No! Fuck you, you're not calling the shots!"
"Neither are you, sir! You are nothing more than an obstinate, duplicitous fiend!"
Mort frowned. "Crawl back in your hole for a bit longer, we were almost gone." He spoke to Sands' new alter ego.
"No! I like her! Sugarbutt, I'm sorry you had to see this, but...I'm not exactly the same person all the time and not everybody entirely cooperates when it's very convenient. I'll buy you that drink, but you might have to wait awhile," the new voice said apologetically.
"Over my dead body!" the other hissed.
"If need be," the lover snapped. Ajedrez was momentarily speechless. She'd seen men fight over her all the time, but never the same man...
"You're going to find it awful hard to make good on your offer if your body's dead," she murmured.
"He's already tried that, or one of them did," Mort muttered, rolling his eyes. "Can we go? This little get-together is all really fascinating, but I'd really like to hit the slopes."
"With all due respect, I heard you do nothing but complain about the snow since we started flying over the Rockies. We will not be skiing, and what's more, you won't be missing it. I'm sorry, Sugarbutt, they don't seem to appreciate love when they see it," he sneered.
"They. You're really hung up on this crazy thing, aren't you?" she asked.
"I'm afraid it's all I've got. I don't think I'd exist if it weren't for the...craziness," he wrinkled his nose.
"So your name is Don Juan? Or Sands?"
He laughed, "Neither. They're mere nom de plumes. However, I could go by Armande, if you so choose."
"You speak French too, do you?"
"I've learned a few languages along the way."
She raised an eyebrow in question. "Where is 'along the way'?"
Mort rolled his eyes, and stood up. "Enjoy your drinks." He grabbed his bottle of Mountain Dew and looked around the busy airport. He took a step towards the baggage claim and the exit of the airport.
Armande didn't notice, but the other did. No matter how he struggled, Armande simply held control even tighter. He smiled lazily at Ajedrez and rolled his eyes in response to Mort's exit.
"I say along the way as in a couple of trips to other countries, some bad classes in school...you know."
She raised an eyebrow quizzically, but nodded. "Riiiggght. Are you sure you're gonna buy me a drink, because if not, I've got better places to be." She began tapping her fingernails on the table impatiently. While the man was certainly attractive, he was most definitely psycho too. A lethal combination. She found herself smirking at the thoughts of the many ways she could play him.
"You look like you'd rather do a bit more than get a drink," Armande observed.
"Are you game?" she asked with a wicked smile.
"Well, why not? I haven't got anything better to do," he smiled charmingly.
"Where did you have in mind? Certainly not here in the airport." She looked at him haughtily.
"Well...if you were game, I would certainly try, but yes, I was thinking some place a bit more private," he smirked.
"Are you just full of talk or were you really planning on that?" She eyed him, her lips curling slightly.
He stood up and offered an arm. "Well? Come on then."
She cocked an eyebrow as she stood, staring at his arm. She pursed her lips and moved forward towards the baggage claim without grabbing the proffered limb. She looked over her shoulder to see him staring after her as if stunned and she smirked. "Well? Are you coming?" she called out, her hips swaying slightly as she walked.
Armande snorted and followed her. He hadn't really been thinking about taking it further, but he sure wasn't going to complain. This Ajedrez was very charming.
"I hope you've got a place in mind if you plan on leading the way," he commented offhandedly.
Ajedrez broke into the gray Denver afternoon, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a stream of fog. She looked behind her, and sure enough, 'Armande' was following. She reached in her purse and pulled out a cigarette, lighting up and taking a drag. She noticed the man with the dirty mop for hair watching her smoke. She turned to him, and blew the smoke in his direction. "See something that interests you?" she smirked.
Mort nodded, licking his lips as he watched her work on the cigarette. "Can I bum one?" he asked, inching a bit closer.
She looked taken aback, thinking he'd been watching her. Her lip curled in disgust, and she dug out a cigarette and tossed it to the ground, watching as Mort dove for it. She chuckled, shaking her head, smoking her cigarette, and turning to see 'Armande' exit the airport with an aura of superiority around him.
Armande glanced distastefully at Mort who'd scrabbled for the cigarette like an emaciated dog on a scrap of meat. He cocked an eyebrow at Ajedrez who seemed to enjoy the display. "You're a smoker too, hm?"
"No I just enjoy chewing on the damn thing." She rolled her eyes and blew the smoke in his face, giving him her best sultry look.
Mort looked up from the ground eagerly. "Can I have a light?" he asked.
Armande inhaled the sweet scent slowly, wondering if he wanted a cigarette himself. The whole yellow teeth and bad breath thing didn't appeal to him that much. But a cigarette filter had possibilities.
"Can we hit a smoke shop before we head to wherever we're going? I'm low on tobacco. And I want to get something special."
Mort's ear perked at that. Perhaps he would stay with Sands. For now.
Ajedrez sighed, and tossed the butt to the ground grinding it out with her 4 inch stiletto. "Sure, why the hell not?" she said. She stepped to the curb and letting loose an ear-piercing whistle to hail a cab.
Mort pouted, still having not gotten the light he'd asked for. He turned to Sands or 'Armande' or whoever the fuck he was. "Can I have a light?"
"Try rubbing two sticks together if you must." Armande rolled his eyes as he climbed into the back of the taxi with Ajedrez. "But we're suffering together if I can't get tobacco."
Mort quickly slipped into the front of the cab much to the other two passengers' annoyance. He was getting his cigarettes and a lighter one way or the other.
It didn't take long for the cab to pull up in front of an inconspicuous place called The Sophisticated Smoker. It was chock full of all kinds of bizarre items, like jackets, authentic pipes and the like. Armande even spotted something that looked suspiciously like a bong. He didn't linger, he jumped to the cigarette filters. They practically screamed good taste. He bought a moderately priced one, a pouch of tobacco and a few books of matches before seeking Mort and Ajedrez.
Ajedrez was looking at the buff clerk's tattoos with much interest. She was leaning over the counter-providing him with a nice view down her shirt-while her fingers grazed a tattoo of a heart with a knife through it on his forearm.
Mort was over by the cigarette display, his arms loaded with at least half a dozen cartons of Pall Malls.
Armande leaned casually against the counter, a lazy look on his face. His gaze was trained on the freely flirting Ajedrez.
"Is he your ideal man? Should I feel threatened?"
"Possibly." She leered at Armande while giving the clerk a conspiratorial wink.
"Should I kill him to preserve my masculine pride and whisk you away from this foul place?" he asked reasonably.
"If you find it necessary..." She said trailing off, wondering just how serious he was.
"I can. It'd save me a bit of money," he shrugged. "It's not as if I'm not already wanted in another state."
She gave him a doubtful look. "I don't think you'd do it. But I do think that...nameless one…would," she replied with a spark in her eye.
"And if you put us all in the same head, we're all the same person. Sands certainly would, if Harrison wasn't being a particularly loud conscience that day. I'm merely a part of Sands. His...libido...if you will," Armande winked. "Better choose fast before he rings my stuff up."
Ajedrez shrugged, and stepped back from the counter. "Let's see what you've got." She gestured to the clerk whose eyes were darting frantically between the two, and then over to Mort who was biting his lip trying to decide exactly how many cartons he could afford.
Armande, to his credit, wasn't normally the up and kill type. But if it were required of him, he wouldn't think twice. If Ajedrez wanted him to end this luckless clerk's life, he surely would. He whipped out the gun someone-possibly Sands or the anonymous one-had tucked securely into his pants, and he aimed it squarely at the cowering man's head. He removed the safety and cocked the gun.
"Sorry, sir, but today's just not your day."
Ajedrez's smile spread across her face, and she moved up behind Armande, and pressed her body against his back. "Shoot the fucking monkey," she whispered where he could feel her breath and lips hot on his ear.
Mort glanced up as he heard the unmistakable sound of the safety releasing. Seeing Sands aiming his gun at the clerk, he began grabbing as many of the cartons of Pall Malls as he could.
Armande had to fight not to be too distracted by Ajedrez's rubbing against his shoulder. He gave a last smile before pulling the trigger and watching the clerk drop like a stone.
"That work, sugarbutt?" he murmured.
"That-was...exhilarating..." Her tongue snaked into his ear. She promptly pulled away, watching as Armande struggled for his composure.
"Fun as that was, we must make haste. Before all of Colorado's on our backs," he sighed and pocketed his now free items. "Are you ready, Morton?"
Mort made his way over with a stack of 14 cartons of Pall Malls and a bag of at least 20 lighters. "Yes." The reply was muffled as he had the cartons wedged under his chin.
Ajedrez watched Mort walk out of the store. "He's coming with us?" she asked with a pout.
"You would not believe the hell any of them will raise if he disappears, forgive my French. I'd rather not give them any reason to kill you, if you understand. Besides, those cigarettes will keep him occupied for hours. Trust me on this," he whispered into her neck to get a rise out of her.
She smiled as his lips brushed her neck, and she pushed him away playfully. "Fine. As long as he leaves us alone. Now then...our drinks?"
"Right, right...drinks. I'm afraid I'm not entirely familiar with Denver. I'd be more than happy to pay; I just don't believe I know a proper place where drinks can be procured."
She shook her head and mumbled a few choice words in Spanish. "There's a place about a mile and half from here. That is, if being in such close proximity to the scene," she gestured with a smirk, "Doesn't bother you too much."
"No witnesses, I'd say I was alright with it," he smiled pleasantly.
She gave a nod, and turned on her heel and left the store without a thing. There was nothing she needed. If she wanted something, she had more than enough cash to get it, and there was nothing there that would give her the thrill she desired. Well...nothing from that shop. She eyed Armande out of the corner of her eyes.
Armande made a sharp gesture to Mort that said, "Come on," and followed Ajedrez onto the street.
Honour Roll: Merrie: Yeah, we brought House back! Again! Indeed, let's lay back and watch the murders and madness ensue. depplove: Sequel? You mean…after this one? Who said anything about this one ending? Enesvy: You lucky werewolf you. Tell Lupin hello for us, would you? BraveSymbol: I could reply to all those reviews, but I'd have conniptions and pass out from laughter before I could finish. Here's another chapter to help you through another wintery day.