Concerning A Murder
Chapter Ten: Broken Wings and Healing Minds
He couldn't hear anything. It was too quiet. He remembered the screeching of tires, the shattering glass, Alex's muffled scream. It was too quiet now for what had happened seemingly seconds ago. Trying to open his eyes, lift his head, wiggle a pinky, or make some sort of movement that made him known to the rest of the world, Mort Rainey lay alone in a darkening abyss. Sounds started to filter in slowly, quiet to him at first, then louder with each moment. The first sound he heard was a hushed muttering, as though many people were speaking around him at once. Spectators? People who had seen the crash? He wasn't quite sure.
The second noise he heard was that of men talking right above him. He couldn't make out the words, but the voices had to have been those of EMTs, he was sure. He felt hands roaming for broken bones. That was good. He and Alex would be properly taken care of. Then, a wave of fear rushed over him. Trying desperately to move, he managed to open his eyes to slits, shutting them almost instantly against the lights from the ambulance.
Oh, God. Let Alex be okay… He's just a kid. Please, let him be okay.
Morton Rainey felt like he was floating. He pried his eyes open once more and forced them to stay open. He saw the men around him, carrying him to the ambulance. He tried to speak, to get their attention, but no words came. The floating sensation quickly dipped into a falling sensation and he fell back helplessly into unconsciousness.
"Mister Rainey," came the cold Southern drawl. "You oughta wake up, Mister Rainey. The police will be wantin' to speak to you in time. They've plugged you for murder, Mister Rainey. They found the bodies… I know it. I feel it in my bones."
Mort tried to shove the man away, to kick John Shooter so hard that he'd be unable to speak. How he'd love to hear that obnoxious voice go up three more octaves, but he couldn't move. It was too much work. Everything felt unreal to him.
Shooter stood just to the right of Rainey's bed and looked across the bed at Alexander. The boy stood on the other side, watching Mort's face.
"He's hurt bad, Shooter," Alex whispered. Mort wanted to cry out in joy when he heard the boy's voice, but all noises ceased within his throat before they began. Feeling was coming back slowly and he realized, with a sudden gagging sensation, that there was a tube down his throat. That couldn't be good, he decided.
Alex continued to speak at Mort's left, resting a hand gently on the older man's shoulder. "You said that this kind of thing wouldn't happen to him, not while you were on watch. You wanted to make sure he was alive, coherent, and able to move when the cops took him away."
"That's right, Mister Wright, but plans change." Shooter chuckled and Mort could hear the smile in the man's voice. "It looks like Mister Rainey will be spending the rest of his life in hospitals when we get through with him."
We? Mort's mind raced. What was Alex's part in this game? How did he tie in? And more importantly, how had he managed to walk away from the crash when Mort felt like a useless piece of three week old hamburger? None of it made sense. He worked his jaw muscles and immediately regretted it, the pain reaching to every nerve cell in his body. Still, he forced the motion and managed to finally open his eyes and speak.
When his eyes opened, however, not a soul was in the room. He was alone, on a hospital bed, under the dim fluorescent lighting.
"What's going on here?" Mort asked the ceiling, his voice raspy and unrecognizable as his own. He cleared his throat and tried to move his arms or legs. It took several moments to realize that he was not going to be moving any of his limbs anytime soon. What wasn't in a cast, felt battered and sprained. What wasn't sprained, was sliced and diced. And what wasn't sliced up, was in a cast. He was beginning to gain feeling in his entire body and the pain struck almost instantaneously.
Screaming out in a hoarse yelp, Mort got the attention of a passing nurse. She rushed in and immediately gave him a sedative. His eyelids began to feel heavy instantly and he whimpered for a minute, before the entire world fell away from him once more. He was thrust back into a world that was not his own.
A young Alex stood before the fireplace, watching his father and mother talk. He knew that the way they acted with each other was unreal. All of it was unreal. It was so fake and almost as if someone had written this terrible script just for him. He knew that his father was dying. He knew that his mother was cheating on his father. He knew, but he wouldn't say it. He never would.
Then, Alex sat by his grandfather's bedside. The old man was leaving, packing his bags and moving away forever. Alex had little time to say goodbye, and when his grandfather turned to leave, tears spilled over his round cheeks. He was still just a boy. He didn't understand any of it.
"Why?" the little Alex kept asking. "Why are you leaving me… and momma… and poppa?"
The old man threw on a cloak and sighed. "I have to go. It was as your mother and father wished." He took up a walking stick and left the wooden tavern behind. Alex fell to his knees weeping. He picked up a book and threw it at the door. It landed with a thud and opened to the back cover. A letter, scrawled in a delicate handwriting appeared before Mort's eyes.
"Dearest Grandson, Alexander,
My time here is short due to circumstances your father and mother wish to be made into bigger instances than they really were. I wish with all my heart that I could have taught you all that I know, and left your world knowing that I had raised you right. You will get no such treatment from those two. I ask you this once. Do not leave your father. He needs you. You are his only light in this world, as his wife no longer loves him. Stay true to your father, and you shall live a long and happy life.
Your devoted Grandfather,
Tobias
March the 3rd, 1608"
Mort's eyes snapped open. His heart was beating quickly, the monitor at his side told him that. He tried desperately to remember the date. March 3rd… something… He couldn't remember the year, which frustrated him beyond all belief because it had been right there in front of him. He tried and tried, but everything came up a blank. The room spun in a blur around him as the doctor came in to check on him.
"You're awake, Mr. Rainey," the doctor smiled at him. "Have a nightmare? Your heart's a bit fast." He tapped the monitor.
Mort shook his head. "Trying… to remember…" He looked wearily up at the doctor. "How long have I been out…?"
"Only half a day, Mr. Rainey," the doctor responded, calling in a nurse. "You probably can't feel anything right now, and that's a good thing, believe me. You were in a terrible car crash. Do you remember anything?"
"Not much," Mort tried to move and stopped, not feeling whether or not his limbs even listened to him. He sighed and closed his eyes. "How… bad am I?"
"Not terribly. We got you breathing on your own again a few hours ago, which I'm very pleased to see you're doing quite well. You have three cracked ribs, so try not to move much. You've a broken arm and leg. Your entire left side is a bit beaten up, really. A concussion, not severe, but enough of one that it will cause some dizziness and headache for a while. I plan to keep you here until everything has healed. I don't want you going back out to that cottage on your own and trying to fend for yourself, do you understand?"
"Yeah," Mort replied, checking off the list of injuries in his mind. "Hey, Doc?" The doctor turned at Mort's call and stepped to his bedside.
"Yes, Mr. Rainey?"
"What happened to Alex? The boy in the passenger seat of my car?"
Silence filled the room. Mort opened his eyes to find the doctor looking down on him with a very concerned and curious look on his face. He sighed sadly and spoke quietly with a nurse. After several minutes without an answer, Mort spoke up again.
"What happened to Alex? Is he okay?"
"Mr. Rainey?" The doctor turned and stared at Mort a moment and came back to his side, placing a gentle hand on the author's shoulders. "I'm going to have the nurses take you in for some more tests. I'm worried about your head injuries."
"You're sidestepping the question," Mort growled. "I may be incarcerated and drugged with everything known to medical science, but I know when a doctor isn't telling a man what he needs to know. What happened to Alex? What happened to the boy in the passenger seat of my car when we crashed?"
The doctor shook his head. "There was no boy, Mr. Rainey. There was no one else in or near your car at the accident. You were alone."
TBC
I know, it's a weird one, but I've been writing this chapter by chapter and I finally figured out what the plot is… so, this is the climax, I guess you'd say. There's about three more chapters, and I hope they're good, otherwise, I might disappoint some people… Enjoy. Review…