Secrets, Part 12 and 13
Title: Secrets
by: melodywilde
Fandom: Secret Window / Assassins (the film with Antonio Banderas, not the Sondheim musical)
Characters or Pairings: Mort Rainey / Miguel Bain (from Assassins)
Rating: This part is NC-17.
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me. I’m only borrowing them. Apologies for not always playing nicely with my toys. These folks belong to Stephen King, all the folks involved with the film Secret Window, and all the folks involved with the film Assassins.
Warning: This story contains insanity, bad language, violence, and graphic m/m sex, not all of it consensual, some of it graphic. If any of these things disturb you, get out now.
Summary: Mort Rainey decides it's time for a change, but the change isn't at all what he'd expected.
Notes / Betas / Thanks / Archive Notices and Cross Posts - This story is available on ff.net in a PG-R rated version. A big thanks to my amazing beta reader evilmissbecky.
Secrets
by Melody Wilde
Part 12
“I need to tell you something, Mort.”
Oh Christ, here it comes. Mort moved the cursor across the screen to click on the “save” button, then closed the file. He’s going to tell me he’s had enough of me and he’s leaving. I knew this was going to happen eventually. But I thought the relationship…the sex…the whatever the hell it is we’ve had since the night he dug up the cornfield…would last a little longer than four days.
He cut the power to the notebook and folded down the screen, then turned to face Bain. “Okay. Tell me.”
“I am going to have to leave you today.”
That’s it, then? Not even a “good morning” or “coffee ready?” or “great sex last night”, just walks out, already dressed, and says, “I’m leaving.” So long and thanks for all the fish. Today. To-fucking-day. If I’d known this was coming, I wouldn’t have gotten up early to write. I’d have stayed in bed and enjoyed having somebody there with me, somebody I thought… No. Stop it.
He nodded, forcing his face to remain impassive, making his hands go still on his lap, keeping his breathing steady. “Okay.” He heard the quiver in his voice and cleared his throat before trying again. “Okay. Do you need help packing?”
“No.” Bain dropped into the chair-Chico’s chair, poor old fella, I should’ve gotten another dog a long time ago, maybe I will when I’m alone again-and rested his elbows on his knees. “I do not need to take many things. I will not be gone long.”
Woah. What? He won’t be gone long? He’s not leaving for good?
“I have waited longer than I should have to do this, because I have enjoyed being here with you. I would prefer to stay here and continue as we have begun.” Bain tilted his head to one side and gave Mort a slow smile of remembrance and promise. “But there is a thing I must do. I will do it as quickly as possible, and then come back. You do want me to come back?”
He’s going to come back. “I…yes…”
“Ah, Mort…” Bain made a quick sound of reproof. “Surely you did not think I would leave you forever with no word of warning.” He shook his head. “In the past few days, I have come to believe that you feel as I do-that what we have between us is a good thing. That it is a thing to be cared for. That it is a thing which can make both of us happy.”
“Yes.”
“I would not throw that away. We have both been alone for so long, even when there were others with us. I think we are not alone anymore. And that is why I must go and do what I must do.”
Can I ask? Should I ask? Is it any of my business?
Seeing Mort’s hesitation, Bain said quietly, “I am going to do one more…task before I retire.”
One more… “You’re going to kill someone?”
“I am going to find John Shooter. I am going to do this for you, so that you will never need to fear him again.”
Great! No, wait. Oh shit. No. I can’t let him do that. I can’t let him commit murder. Kill somebody. Not even Shooter.
“You seem distressed. I thought you would be pleased.”
“You can’t just go out and…”
Bain laughed. “Of course I can. It is what I have done for many years. It will not bother me to do this one last time.”
“But…”
“Would you not be happy to know that John Shooter is dead?”
Oh, right on that one, pilgrim. After what he did to me, I’d like to see him dead and dismembered and scattered to the four corners of the globe, but I can’t tell Bain that. Can’t let him go kill somebody. Not for me. Digging up a cornfield’s one thing, but murder… If he goes after Shooter…it’ll be my fault. I’ll be responsible. I’ll be the accessory to another murder. I have to stop him. Have to…
“Mort?”
“It’s a waste of time. I don’t know where he is. Nobody does. The arson investigators turned Mississippi inside out looking for him and couldn’t find him.”
“I will find him,” Bain said flatly. “I have been in the business of finding those who cannot be found. Believe me, there is nowhere that this man can hide from me.”
I think he’s right. He will find Shooter. And then it’ll be Shooter’s turn to be afraid. But...
“Okay, go find him, but you can’t kill him.” His words-his tone-sounded pathetic even to himself.
“Can’t?” Bain rose, shaking his head. “What would you have me do with him, then? Turn him over to the police? Tell them he is a murderer? And if I do that, what will happen? We do not know that he killed your wife and her lover. You cannot prove that he killed the two men who were in the car. No one saw him here-no one but you and one of the men he killed. He was very careful. Very clever. We would bring up the bodies from the lake, and it would be your word against his. I have seen how the people of this community feel toward you. I know who they would believe. No. This is the only way.”
“Bain…please don’t do this. Let it go.” Mort stood, moving in front of the other man, reaching out to lay a hand on Bain’s chest. “It doesn’t matter. It-“
“Do not try to stop me.” There was a disturbing tone in Bain’s voice. “I am going to do this.” He shook off the hand and started toward the stairs. “I will be back when I have done what I am going to do.”
“No!” Mort reached again, grabbing Bain’s arm, holding it to make him stop. “Wait. Listen to me. I…”
Bain’s head jerked toward him. Too late, Mort recognized the expression on Bain’s face, the blackness in his eyes. Oh shit. Oh fucking shit.
“I’m sorry.” He released his grip on Bain’s arm and tried to move backwards. “I didn’t mean to…”
Too late.
He was being grabbed, hard, hurting fingers digging into his shoulders, spinning him, shoving. Got to get away before he…
His foot almost found the top step…then missed. He was falling…trying to catch himself…falling…
He slammed into the floor and the light went away.
* * *
Can’t breathe. I think if I could breathe, I’d be screaming about now. Oh shit oh fuck…
“Don’t move! Don’t try to move.”
Move? I can’t even breathe. Hurts hurts hurts. Oh god my shoulder. There’s something really really wrong with my shoulder.
The voice coming from somewhere above and behind him was saying something else in a voice that seemed to be shaking with terror. That’s funny. The idea of anything making Bain afraid…wait. Am I dead? Maybe he killed me. What’s he saying?
“Can you hear me, Mort?”
Something in his chest seemed to give way and he began to draw in huge gulps of air. Breathing. Not dead. Wish I were. Oh Jesus I can’t stay still…hurts too much too much…
“Don’t move!”
Hands were touching him-the hands that hurt me, shoved me-gently holding him still. Okay. You win. I won’t move. Just don’t…don’t…
He realized he was making low whimpering sounds. Shut up shut up shut up. Things are bad enough. Don’t do anything to piss him off. Don’t make it worse. Oh shit.
The hands were moving over his body, touching, sliding down the bones, pressing against his side. When they touched his arm, he had to sink his teeth into his lower lip to hold back a shriek of pain.
“Can you move your legs? Mort?”
Make up your mind-do you want me to move or not? The thought amused him even more than the idea of Bain being afraid. I want to giggle. No, don’t. If I make any kind of noise…who knows where I’ll stop…
“Try, Mort. Please. Not much-just a little.”
Okay. Okay. Whatever you say.
“Good, good. Now the other one.”
I guess this means I haven’t broken my neck or my back or anything vital like that. If I had, I wouldn’t be hurting like this. I wouldn’t be feeling anything.
“Good. I’m going to try to turn you over now.”
“No! Oh god…no…please…”
“All right. Be still a moment longer.” Bain’s voice went soft, soothing. Back to the voice I’ve come to know and…almost love. Too late. Everything…too late.
Tears were leaking out of his eyes, making uncomfortable puddles in his eyesockets. My arm feels like it’s been ripped out of my body and now all I can think about is how my eyes feel. Fuck. He tried to pry an eye open and immediately regretted it as the area in his limited field of vision leapt and swam crazily. Okay, bad move. I think my glasses are gone too. No surprise there. Oh damn it hurts and now I want to throw up too.
“Let me shift you…just a little…so I can see if there is any more blood.”
Any more blood? I don’t like the sound of that.
He could tell that Bain was being as gentle as possible, but the movement as he was edged over onto his back sent his consciousness skittering away. A soft touch on his face brought it back.
“I believe your shoulder is dislocated.” Careful probing of that area sent a stab of agony through him. “There are cuts…a gash over your eye…perhaps this is broken…ah, Mort…”
He’s sorry. I know he is-just like he was sorry when he…the other time. He didn’t mean to hurt me…evil demon inside…I understand now…I really do. I wish to God I didn’t, but I do.
“I could fix this-I have done it before-but I think it would be better if I took you to the hospital in New London. Mort? Can you ride, or should I call an ambulance?”
“I can ride.” I think. As long as I can keep my eyes shut. He’s going to be really pissed if I puke in his car.
“All right. Here. Reach across yourself like this. Put your hand here, on your arm, to hold it still.”
Mort allowed Bain to move the right arm across his body, then cupped his left elbow in the palm of his hand. Okay, that’s not so bad. Not so good, either, but at least it’s not hurting any worse. He’s going to take care of me. Take me where they’ll stop this pain. Fix me.
“Bend the arm…like so…and it will be better.”
It’s not, but I’m not going to tell him that. It’s easier to keep it still, though.
“Now we will sit you up.”
Bad idea, but I guess we have to.
The shifting had the expected results, with the expected pain. I don’t think puking has ever hurt that much, not even that time in college when I was trying to prove I could be one of the guys and…
There was another rush of tears, tears which had nothing to do with the pain. I was trying to prove that I was okay, that I could be their friend, that… I wanted somebody in my life so much that I would’ve done anything…anything…to be one of them. And now? Am I any better now? This man…this man who’s holding me and kissing the side of my face and saying how sorry he is… Is this college all over again? He can rape me and hurt me and do anything to me, just as long as he’s somebody in my life?
“We are going to try again to stand up. Lean on me. I will help you.”
No. No. It’s not the same. Because I never liked those guys. Not really. I just wanted to belong. But it’s different with Bain. Oh…easy…hurts. I like him. I like him a lot. I have from the first day. He hurt me but…I understand. I don’t know how…why…but I can understand something inside you taking control and making you…do things you don’t want to. Making you go crazy. Oh god that hurts. I understand. And I don’t want just somebody…I want him…
“Can you lean here and let me wrap your coat around you? Good, good. You are doing well, Mort Rainey.”
Warm. The coat feels warm. I wish it didn’t have to touch my shoulder. Hurts hurts hurts but the warm is good. His hands are warm. I like Bain. I could more than like him. If I didn’t like him, I wouldn’t have let him…wouldn’t have wanted him to…still want him to…
“Now we will move again. Carefully. Steps here. Down. Another. Good. Just a little more.”
Bain’s hand was barely touching his elbow, painlessly supporting his arm as they crossed the driveway. A car door opened, and he was eased into a seat.
“I am not going to do the seatbelt thing for you. I will drive carefully.”
As Bain was circling to get into the driver’s seat, Mort risked slitting his eyes open again. The world tilted and he swallowed hard. Then he realized. My car. He’s taking my car. Not going to risk having me puking in his car. I love this...
“What do you have to smile about, my friend?” Bain sounded incredulous.
“Nothing. I’ll...later.” We’ll laugh about it later, together. Yeah, oh yeah, there is going to be a later. I understand him, I understand me, I understand us. He’s my friend. My lover. He’s just fucked up a couple of times, and don’t we all do that. He cares about me and I care about him and together...we’ll laugh about it together and talk things out and be...together...
Mort began to fade in and out. After asking once if Mort were doing all right, Bain remained silent for the rest of the drive. Mort could tell Bain was concentrating on his driving, trying to avoid potholes and sudden stops and anything else that might be painful. Never thought about just how long it takes to get to New London. A fifteen minute drive that’s turning into a three-hour tour.
“Mort? We are here.”
He hadn’t realized that the car had stopped. Finally. Thank God. He reached for the door handle, and faded away again.
* * *
Where am I?
His vision was blurred, but the amount of white all around him and the crisp antiseptic smells gave him a clue. Hospital. Curtains, not walls. Some other poor fucker moaning on the other side there. Probably the ER. I think that’s an IV bag up there. Can’t feel my shoulder anymore. Can’t feel much of anything. Where’s Bain?
The last thought made him try to sit up, but his body refused to obey. Paperwork. He’s gone to do paperwork, that’s all. He wouldn’t just put me out at the hospital and then go away and leave me. Would he?
“How are you feeling, Mr. Rainey?” The far-too-cheery nurse who’d appeared at his aborted movement leaned across him to adjust the drip. “Not hurting so much now, I hope. You were in bad shape when your friend brought you in.”
“Where...” Mort’s lips had gone rubbery, unworking. “My friend...”
“He’s in the waiting room. He’ll be with you as soon as we finish and can get you to a room. Can you remember what happened to you? How you got hurt?”
“Fell. Stairs...in cabin. No railing.”
“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt much worse, you know.”
In so many ways. I know.
“We’ve already done your X-rays while you were asleep. The doctor will be in to fix your shoulder as soon as we get the results.”
“Peachy.”
She giggled and vanished through the curtains. Bain hasn’t left me. I’m not alone.
I think I’ll take a nap.
Another cheerful voice-this one male-woke him some time later. “All right, Mr. Rainey, let’s get this sorted out as fast and painlessly as we can now.”
Right. Good. Couldn’t you have let me sleep through it? No pain. Feels good.
“I’m going to ask you to do a few things for me, moving your fingers and wrist, to make sure there’s no nerve damage, and then we can put the shoulder back. Let’s start with this. Can you grip my hand? And by the way, I’m a big fan of your books.”
Great.
* * *
“Mort, can you hear me?”
He forced his eyes open to the welcome sight of Bain leaning over his bed. He tried to smile.
“I know they have given you morphine for the pain and a...a muscle relaxant to help when they...” Bain gestured at Mort’s shoulder. “So I will not try to talk with you now. I will wait until you are more awake.”
Later. Yes. I want to talk later. Talk about later. Later together.
“I am going-”
No! “No...”
“All right. I will stay here with you for as long as they will let me.” Bain faded out of sight and Mort heard the scrape of a chair being drawn close to the bed. “And if they tell me to leave...I will refuse.”
Good. Later. Good.
Mort struggled. Managed to lift his right hand and flap it in Bain’s direction. Bain caught it, and Mort awkwardly laced their fingers together. Lifeline. You’re my lifeline right now. Stay. Together...
Mort Rainey slept.
Part 13
Mort Rainey was sleeping.
Miguel Bain, assassin, fan, would-be friend, lover, sat by Mort’s bed, his hand still linked with Mort’s, staring sightlessly ahead. //Mort thinks so very much and so very deeply. I wish I could think like him. Work things out. I wish I could see an ending for us that is not…this.//
The doctor’s words-the listing of Mort’s injuries-echoed in his mind. //It could have been so much worse. It would have been so much worse, if he had not fallen. This is not what I wanted for him. For us. I wanted…//
He did not want to remember the foolish dreams he had brought with him when he had come to Mort’s cabin. They had been foolish even for dreams, because he was a man of the world, a man who had killed too many people and made love to too many more. He was no child, to entertain fantasies of forming a lasting friendship-and more-with a stranger. Sex, yes; most of the sex he had known in his life had been with strangers. But friendship… He had never had a friend, not since he was little more than a baby back in Madrid. He did not know how to be a friend. His demon would not allow it.
But amazingly, incredibly, those dreams had been coming true. Mort was becoming his friend…an enthusiastic lover…someone who trusted him. And now…
//Now, any dreams I might have had…they are gone. Over. There are no more chances for us…for there to be an “us.” I will not allow it. There cannot be a chance for me to hurt him again and again, until I hurt him in the final way. Until he becomes my last victim.//
He shifted his eyes to Mort’s face. Mort’s features were relaxed, the dark eyes closed. //Mort Rainey is the most beautiful man I have ever seen, but I do not think he realizes this. He does not try to be beautiful. He simply is.// The dark bruise beginning to discolor one of the high cheekbones…the wide white bandage covering half the forehead…the swelling closing one eye…all screamed accusation at him. //I have been responsible for marring that beauty. He fell because of me. Because he was trying to get away from me. This is not acceptable.//
He leaned forward, pressed his face against their clasped hands, and began to weep.
* * *
He knew what he had to do. It was not a decision that had to be made; it was an acknowledgement of the inevitable.
He sat by Mort’s bed, leaving only to go to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face, then to go for coffee. He waited as Mort slept his drugged sleep. When Mort woke, then it would be time.
* * *
Mort was staring at him, eyes glazed but seemingly aware. Bain forced himself to smile and moved his chair even closer.
“You’re…still here.” Mort’s voice was weak, breathless, blurred with medication.
“Yes.”
“I was afraid…” The eyes closed, re-opened. “I’m glad. Stay…” And then he was gone away again.
* * *
The next time Mort opened his eyes, Bain could tell that he was more aware of his surroundings. Mort lifted his right hand, groping toward Bain. Bain caught the hand and pressed it between his own, being careful of the needle taped into a vein.
“Good morning.” He tried to keep his voice calm.
“Um. Don’ think…mornin’…”
“No. It is actually very late in the evening. Almost midnight.” He glanced toward the darkened window at the side of the room. “How is the pain?”
“Okay. Don’ feel much.” Mort moved slightly and turned his head on the pillow to try to peer down at the wrap immobilizing his arm. “Wha’…wha’ did he say?”
“Your doctor?”
“Yeah.”
The doctor had come to check on Mort more than once while Bain had waited. During one visit, the man had admitted, with a surprisingly shy look, that he was a fan of Mort’s writing and, because of that, was giving Mort special treatment. Bain had nodded and replied simply, “Me too.”
“He said things went well with your shoulder. You will have to be careful with what you do and work to strengthen the muscles around it, but it will be good. You have many bruises. Some cuts-your forehead is the worst. But there is nothing else serious. You are very fortunate you were not injured more severely.”
“Lucky. That’s wha’…they keep tellin’ me.” The tip of Mort’s tongue came out to lick at his lips.
“Would you like some water?”
“Yeah.”
Bain filled the glass from the pitcher setting on the bedside tray, then rose and leaned over to slide a hand beneath Mort’s head and lift it. Mort managed to get the straw between his lips and sucked greedily at the cool liquid.
“Thanks.” He moved his head, pushing the straw away with his tongue. Bain set the glass back in place.
“Are you going to stay awake for a while now?”
“I think…yeah.”
“Mort…” Bain sat back down, folded his hands as if in prayer, and rested them against the edge of the bed. “I am going to have to leave.”
“You mean…go home…”
“No. Leave. Leave here. Leave you. Go back to…” He shook his head.
Mort’s eyes darkened, and he tried to sit up. “No. Don’t. You…” He sank back. “Why?”
“You know why.”
“I fell. You didn’t…it was my fault…”
“Yes, my friend, you fell. I did not push you. I did not hurt you. But if you had not fallen…” He shuddered. “You know what would have happened. You would be hurt much worse than this, perhaps.”
“Bain…”
“Listen to me now, carefully. Do not interrupt. Here is what is going to happen.” He spoke quickly, anxious to have this difficult thing-the most difficult thing he had ever done-over. “The doctor has said you will stay here for at least two more days. It is perhaps not a necessity, but he will allow this. I am going to take your car back to the cabin. I will call your agent and tell him that you are hurt and that he should come to help you, or send someone, so that you will not be alone. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I will lock your house and leave your keys in a hidden place where your agent can find them. And then I am going to take my car and go. I will not be back. We both understand why this must be.”
“No. Please…” Mort’s head was moving slowly from side to side, the light fading from his eyes. //If I were a fanciful man, I would think I see something dying in this man. The same thing that is dying in me.//
“You will be well, Mort Rainey. This is the right thing to do.” He stood, reaching back to retrieve his jacket from the back of the chair and fold it over his arm. “Our time together was…”
His throat closed. He smiled and shook his head. //It doesn’t matter. There are no words adequate.//
“Good bye, my friend.”
“Miguel…”
The anguish in the single word-his name-almost undid him. //Mort never called me by my first name before.// He bent over the bed, brushing his fingers across Mort’s soft hair, and touched his lips to Mort’s forehead.
“Know that I love you,” he whispered. Then he turned and left the room, moving slowly, then more quickly, breaking into a run. He took the stairs three at a time, down, across the parking lot, fingers diving into his pocket for the keys, flung himself into the car, and ground his forehead against the steering wheel. Only then would he allow himself to cry again.
* * *
Everything was done. The cabin was secured, no water running, the fireplace cold and still, all the lights turned off except the one by the door where he stood. He had spoken with Mort’s agent, explaining the problem, and been assured the man would be arriving early tomorrow morning. //This morning. It will be morning in a few hours.// His bag was packed and stowed in the back seat of his rented car. He had left nothing, and he was taking…almost nothing. He had tucked one of Mort’s oldest, most disreputable sweaters into his bag. //That was a foolish romantic gesture. Not like me.//
He flipped off the light switch and stepped onto the porch, locking the door behind him and then hiding the key. Straightening his shoulders, he left the house behind.
There was a full moon, and he had never minded driving at night. When he pulled onto the Interstate, he headed south, driving as cautiously as he had driven Mort earlier that day, being careful to obey the speed limit.
//I can return the car later, after I have taken care of the things in the trunk. Perhaps I will take them to Mississippi and bury them there.//
He let his mind drift to the moment his digging in the garden had unearthed a skeletal foot. The sight had startled him, but Miguel Bain was a man who could deal with being startled and make a quick recovery. He had thrown some dirt over the bones to hide them, then sent Mort on an errand that would keep him away for at least half an hour-time enough to deal with the unexpected development. It had been simple for a man with his skills.
The remains had been tied in trash bags and locked safely in his trunk long before Mort had returned with gloves and a shovel and anxieties. He had left that shovel with Mort, taking the older one to do what he would do later. No one would ever find it, or any traces of the woman who should have given love to Mort Rainey but had given him betrayal, or of the man who had led her into that betrayal.
//He was right. There was no Shooter. Only Mort.//
It did not disturb him in the least to know that Mort Rainey was a murderer. That Mort Rainey had a demon, like himself. He had thought they were much alike…but they were more alike than he had even suspected.
//He must never know the truth. I will spend some time in Mississippi, as I planned. But the rest...I cannot go back to him, to tell him that I found and killed this man. I will send a letter instead. I want him to believe that Shooter is dead, so that Shooter can never return to ruin his life. As I can never return to ruin his life.//
Bain flipped on the radio and drove away into the night.
by: melodywilde
Fandom: Secret Window / Assassins (the film with Antonio Banderas, not the Sondheim musical)
Characters or Pairings: Mort Rainey / Miguel Bain (from Assassins)
Rating: This part is NC-17.
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me. I’m only borrowing them. Apologies for not always playing nicely with my toys. These folks belong to Stephen King, all the folks involved with the film Secret Window, and all the folks involved with the film Assassins.
Warning: This story contains insanity, bad language, violence, and graphic m/m sex, not all of it consensual, some of it graphic. If any of these things disturb you, get out now.
Summary: Mort Rainey decides it's time for a change, but the change isn't at all what he'd expected.
Notes / Betas / Thanks / Archive Notices and Cross Posts - This story is available on ff.net in a PG-R rated version. A big thanks to my amazing beta reader evilmissbecky.
Secrets
by Melody Wilde
Part 12
“I need to tell you something, Mort.”
Oh Christ, here it comes. Mort moved the cursor across the screen to click on the “save” button, then closed the file. He’s going to tell me he’s had enough of me and he’s leaving. I knew this was going to happen eventually. But I thought the relationship…the sex…the whatever the hell it is we’ve had since the night he dug up the cornfield…would last a little longer than four days.
He cut the power to the notebook and folded down the screen, then turned to face Bain. “Okay. Tell me.”
“I am going to have to leave you today.”
That’s it, then? Not even a “good morning” or “coffee ready?” or “great sex last night”, just walks out, already dressed, and says, “I’m leaving.” So long and thanks for all the fish. Today. To-fucking-day. If I’d known this was coming, I wouldn’t have gotten up early to write. I’d have stayed in bed and enjoyed having somebody there with me, somebody I thought… No. Stop it.
He nodded, forcing his face to remain impassive, making his hands go still on his lap, keeping his breathing steady. “Okay.” He heard the quiver in his voice and cleared his throat before trying again. “Okay. Do you need help packing?”
“No.” Bain dropped into the chair-Chico’s chair, poor old fella, I should’ve gotten another dog a long time ago, maybe I will when I’m alone again-and rested his elbows on his knees. “I do not need to take many things. I will not be gone long.”
Woah. What? He won’t be gone long? He’s not leaving for good?
“I have waited longer than I should have to do this, because I have enjoyed being here with you. I would prefer to stay here and continue as we have begun.” Bain tilted his head to one side and gave Mort a slow smile of remembrance and promise. “But there is a thing I must do. I will do it as quickly as possible, and then come back. You do want me to come back?”
He’s going to come back. “I…yes…”
“Ah, Mort…” Bain made a quick sound of reproof. “Surely you did not think I would leave you forever with no word of warning.” He shook his head. “In the past few days, I have come to believe that you feel as I do-that what we have between us is a good thing. That it is a thing to be cared for. That it is a thing which can make both of us happy.”
“Yes.”
“I would not throw that away. We have both been alone for so long, even when there were others with us. I think we are not alone anymore. And that is why I must go and do what I must do.”
Can I ask? Should I ask? Is it any of my business?
Seeing Mort’s hesitation, Bain said quietly, “I am going to do one more…task before I retire.”
One more… “You’re going to kill someone?”
“I am going to find John Shooter. I am going to do this for you, so that you will never need to fear him again.”
Great! No, wait. Oh shit. No. I can’t let him do that. I can’t let him commit murder. Kill somebody. Not even Shooter.
“You seem distressed. I thought you would be pleased.”
“You can’t just go out and…”
Bain laughed. “Of course I can. It is what I have done for many years. It will not bother me to do this one last time.”
“But…”
“Would you not be happy to know that John Shooter is dead?”
Oh, right on that one, pilgrim. After what he did to me, I’d like to see him dead and dismembered and scattered to the four corners of the globe, but I can’t tell Bain that. Can’t let him go kill somebody. Not for me. Digging up a cornfield’s one thing, but murder… If he goes after Shooter…it’ll be my fault. I’ll be responsible. I’ll be the accessory to another murder. I have to stop him. Have to…
“Mort?”
“It’s a waste of time. I don’t know where he is. Nobody does. The arson investigators turned Mississippi inside out looking for him and couldn’t find him.”
“I will find him,” Bain said flatly. “I have been in the business of finding those who cannot be found. Believe me, there is nowhere that this man can hide from me.”
I think he’s right. He will find Shooter. And then it’ll be Shooter’s turn to be afraid. But...
“Okay, go find him, but you can’t kill him.” His words-his tone-sounded pathetic even to himself.
“Can’t?” Bain rose, shaking his head. “What would you have me do with him, then? Turn him over to the police? Tell them he is a murderer? And if I do that, what will happen? We do not know that he killed your wife and her lover. You cannot prove that he killed the two men who were in the car. No one saw him here-no one but you and one of the men he killed. He was very careful. Very clever. We would bring up the bodies from the lake, and it would be your word against his. I have seen how the people of this community feel toward you. I know who they would believe. No. This is the only way.”
“Bain…please don’t do this. Let it go.” Mort stood, moving in front of the other man, reaching out to lay a hand on Bain’s chest. “It doesn’t matter. It-“
“Do not try to stop me.” There was a disturbing tone in Bain’s voice. “I am going to do this.” He shook off the hand and started toward the stairs. “I will be back when I have done what I am going to do.”
“No!” Mort reached again, grabbing Bain’s arm, holding it to make him stop. “Wait. Listen to me. I…”
Bain’s head jerked toward him. Too late, Mort recognized the expression on Bain’s face, the blackness in his eyes. Oh shit. Oh fucking shit.
“I’m sorry.” He released his grip on Bain’s arm and tried to move backwards. “I didn’t mean to…”
Too late.
He was being grabbed, hard, hurting fingers digging into his shoulders, spinning him, shoving. Got to get away before he…
His foot almost found the top step…then missed. He was falling…trying to catch himself…falling…
He slammed into the floor and the light went away.
* * *
Can’t breathe. I think if I could breathe, I’d be screaming about now. Oh shit oh fuck…
“Don’t move! Don’t try to move.”
Move? I can’t even breathe. Hurts hurts hurts. Oh god my shoulder. There’s something really really wrong with my shoulder.
The voice coming from somewhere above and behind him was saying something else in a voice that seemed to be shaking with terror. That’s funny. The idea of anything making Bain afraid…wait. Am I dead? Maybe he killed me. What’s he saying?
“Can you hear me, Mort?”
Something in his chest seemed to give way and he began to draw in huge gulps of air. Breathing. Not dead. Wish I were. Oh Jesus I can’t stay still…hurts too much too much…
“Don’t move!”
Hands were touching him-the hands that hurt me, shoved me-gently holding him still. Okay. You win. I won’t move. Just don’t…don’t…
He realized he was making low whimpering sounds. Shut up shut up shut up. Things are bad enough. Don’t do anything to piss him off. Don’t make it worse. Oh shit.
The hands were moving over his body, touching, sliding down the bones, pressing against his side. When they touched his arm, he had to sink his teeth into his lower lip to hold back a shriek of pain.
“Can you move your legs? Mort?”
Make up your mind-do you want me to move or not? The thought amused him even more than the idea of Bain being afraid. I want to giggle. No, don’t. If I make any kind of noise…who knows where I’ll stop…
“Try, Mort. Please. Not much-just a little.”
Okay. Okay. Whatever you say.
“Good, good. Now the other one.”
I guess this means I haven’t broken my neck or my back or anything vital like that. If I had, I wouldn’t be hurting like this. I wouldn’t be feeling anything.
“Good. I’m going to try to turn you over now.”
“No! Oh god…no…please…”
“All right. Be still a moment longer.” Bain’s voice went soft, soothing. Back to the voice I’ve come to know and…almost love. Too late. Everything…too late.
Tears were leaking out of his eyes, making uncomfortable puddles in his eyesockets. My arm feels like it’s been ripped out of my body and now all I can think about is how my eyes feel. Fuck. He tried to pry an eye open and immediately regretted it as the area in his limited field of vision leapt and swam crazily. Okay, bad move. I think my glasses are gone too. No surprise there. Oh damn it hurts and now I want to throw up too.
“Let me shift you…just a little…so I can see if there is any more blood.”
Any more blood? I don’t like the sound of that.
He could tell that Bain was being as gentle as possible, but the movement as he was edged over onto his back sent his consciousness skittering away. A soft touch on his face brought it back.
“I believe your shoulder is dislocated.” Careful probing of that area sent a stab of agony through him. “There are cuts…a gash over your eye…perhaps this is broken…ah, Mort…”
He’s sorry. I know he is-just like he was sorry when he…the other time. He didn’t mean to hurt me…evil demon inside…I understand now…I really do. I wish to God I didn’t, but I do.
“I could fix this-I have done it before-but I think it would be better if I took you to the hospital in New London. Mort? Can you ride, or should I call an ambulance?”
“I can ride.” I think. As long as I can keep my eyes shut. He’s going to be really pissed if I puke in his car.
“All right. Here. Reach across yourself like this. Put your hand here, on your arm, to hold it still.”
Mort allowed Bain to move the right arm across his body, then cupped his left elbow in the palm of his hand. Okay, that’s not so bad. Not so good, either, but at least it’s not hurting any worse. He’s going to take care of me. Take me where they’ll stop this pain. Fix me.
“Bend the arm…like so…and it will be better.”
It’s not, but I’m not going to tell him that. It’s easier to keep it still, though.
“Now we will sit you up.”
Bad idea, but I guess we have to.
The shifting had the expected results, with the expected pain. I don’t think puking has ever hurt that much, not even that time in college when I was trying to prove I could be one of the guys and…
There was another rush of tears, tears which had nothing to do with the pain. I was trying to prove that I was okay, that I could be their friend, that… I wanted somebody in my life so much that I would’ve done anything…anything…to be one of them. And now? Am I any better now? This man…this man who’s holding me and kissing the side of my face and saying how sorry he is… Is this college all over again? He can rape me and hurt me and do anything to me, just as long as he’s somebody in my life?
“We are going to try again to stand up. Lean on me. I will help you.”
No. No. It’s not the same. Because I never liked those guys. Not really. I just wanted to belong. But it’s different with Bain. Oh…easy…hurts. I like him. I like him a lot. I have from the first day. He hurt me but…I understand. I don’t know how…why…but I can understand something inside you taking control and making you…do things you don’t want to. Making you go crazy. Oh god that hurts. I understand. And I don’t want just somebody…I want him…
“Can you lean here and let me wrap your coat around you? Good, good. You are doing well, Mort Rainey.”
Warm. The coat feels warm. I wish it didn’t have to touch my shoulder. Hurts hurts hurts but the warm is good. His hands are warm. I like Bain. I could more than like him. If I didn’t like him, I wouldn’t have let him…wouldn’t have wanted him to…still want him to…
“Now we will move again. Carefully. Steps here. Down. Another. Good. Just a little more.”
Bain’s hand was barely touching his elbow, painlessly supporting his arm as they crossed the driveway. A car door opened, and he was eased into a seat.
“I am not going to do the seatbelt thing for you. I will drive carefully.”
As Bain was circling to get into the driver’s seat, Mort risked slitting his eyes open again. The world tilted and he swallowed hard. Then he realized. My car. He’s taking my car. Not going to risk having me puking in his car. I love this...
“What do you have to smile about, my friend?” Bain sounded incredulous.
“Nothing. I’ll...later.” We’ll laugh about it later, together. Yeah, oh yeah, there is going to be a later. I understand him, I understand me, I understand us. He’s my friend. My lover. He’s just fucked up a couple of times, and don’t we all do that. He cares about me and I care about him and together...we’ll laugh about it together and talk things out and be...together...
Mort began to fade in and out. After asking once if Mort were doing all right, Bain remained silent for the rest of the drive. Mort could tell Bain was concentrating on his driving, trying to avoid potholes and sudden stops and anything else that might be painful. Never thought about just how long it takes to get to New London. A fifteen minute drive that’s turning into a three-hour tour.
“Mort? We are here.”
He hadn’t realized that the car had stopped. Finally. Thank God. He reached for the door handle, and faded away again.
* * *
Where am I?
His vision was blurred, but the amount of white all around him and the crisp antiseptic smells gave him a clue. Hospital. Curtains, not walls. Some other poor fucker moaning on the other side there. Probably the ER. I think that’s an IV bag up there. Can’t feel my shoulder anymore. Can’t feel much of anything. Where’s Bain?
The last thought made him try to sit up, but his body refused to obey. Paperwork. He’s gone to do paperwork, that’s all. He wouldn’t just put me out at the hospital and then go away and leave me. Would he?
“How are you feeling, Mr. Rainey?” The far-too-cheery nurse who’d appeared at his aborted movement leaned across him to adjust the drip. “Not hurting so much now, I hope. You were in bad shape when your friend brought you in.”
“Where...” Mort’s lips had gone rubbery, unworking. “My friend...”
“He’s in the waiting room. He’ll be with you as soon as we finish and can get you to a room. Can you remember what happened to you? How you got hurt?”
“Fell. Stairs...in cabin. No railing.”
“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt much worse, you know.”
In so many ways. I know.
“We’ve already done your X-rays while you were asleep. The doctor will be in to fix your shoulder as soon as we get the results.”
“Peachy.”
She giggled and vanished through the curtains. Bain hasn’t left me. I’m not alone.
I think I’ll take a nap.
Another cheerful voice-this one male-woke him some time later. “All right, Mr. Rainey, let’s get this sorted out as fast and painlessly as we can now.”
Right. Good. Couldn’t you have let me sleep through it? No pain. Feels good.
“I’m going to ask you to do a few things for me, moving your fingers and wrist, to make sure there’s no nerve damage, and then we can put the shoulder back. Let’s start with this. Can you grip my hand? And by the way, I’m a big fan of your books.”
Great.
* * *
“Mort, can you hear me?”
He forced his eyes open to the welcome sight of Bain leaning over his bed. He tried to smile.
“I know they have given you morphine for the pain and a...a muscle relaxant to help when they...” Bain gestured at Mort’s shoulder. “So I will not try to talk with you now. I will wait until you are more awake.”
Later. Yes. I want to talk later. Talk about later. Later together.
“I am going-”
No! “No...”
“All right. I will stay here with you for as long as they will let me.” Bain faded out of sight and Mort heard the scrape of a chair being drawn close to the bed. “And if they tell me to leave...I will refuse.”
Good. Later. Good.
Mort struggled. Managed to lift his right hand and flap it in Bain’s direction. Bain caught it, and Mort awkwardly laced their fingers together. Lifeline. You’re my lifeline right now. Stay. Together...
Mort Rainey slept.
Part 13
Mort Rainey was sleeping.
Miguel Bain, assassin, fan, would-be friend, lover, sat by Mort’s bed, his hand still linked with Mort’s, staring sightlessly ahead. //Mort thinks so very much and so very deeply. I wish I could think like him. Work things out. I wish I could see an ending for us that is not…this.//
The doctor’s words-the listing of Mort’s injuries-echoed in his mind. //It could have been so much worse. It would have been so much worse, if he had not fallen. This is not what I wanted for him. For us. I wanted…//
He did not want to remember the foolish dreams he had brought with him when he had come to Mort’s cabin. They had been foolish even for dreams, because he was a man of the world, a man who had killed too many people and made love to too many more. He was no child, to entertain fantasies of forming a lasting friendship-and more-with a stranger. Sex, yes; most of the sex he had known in his life had been with strangers. But friendship… He had never had a friend, not since he was little more than a baby back in Madrid. He did not know how to be a friend. His demon would not allow it.
But amazingly, incredibly, those dreams had been coming true. Mort was becoming his friend…an enthusiastic lover…someone who trusted him. And now…
//Now, any dreams I might have had…they are gone. Over. There are no more chances for us…for there to be an “us.” I will not allow it. There cannot be a chance for me to hurt him again and again, until I hurt him in the final way. Until he becomes my last victim.//
He shifted his eyes to Mort’s face. Mort’s features were relaxed, the dark eyes closed. //Mort Rainey is the most beautiful man I have ever seen, but I do not think he realizes this. He does not try to be beautiful. He simply is.// The dark bruise beginning to discolor one of the high cheekbones…the wide white bandage covering half the forehead…the swelling closing one eye…all screamed accusation at him. //I have been responsible for marring that beauty. He fell because of me. Because he was trying to get away from me. This is not acceptable.//
He leaned forward, pressed his face against their clasped hands, and began to weep.
* * *
He knew what he had to do. It was not a decision that had to be made; it was an acknowledgement of the inevitable.
He sat by Mort’s bed, leaving only to go to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face, then to go for coffee. He waited as Mort slept his drugged sleep. When Mort woke, then it would be time.
* * *
Mort was staring at him, eyes glazed but seemingly aware. Bain forced himself to smile and moved his chair even closer.
“You’re…still here.” Mort’s voice was weak, breathless, blurred with medication.
“Yes.”
“I was afraid…” The eyes closed, re-opened. “I’m glad. Stay…” And then he was gone away again.
* * *
The next time Mort opened his eyes, Bain could tell that he was more aware of his surroundings. Mort lifted his right hand, groping toward Bain. Bain caught the hand and pressed it between his own, being careful of the needle taped into a vein.
“Good morning.” He tried to keep his voice calm.
“Um. Don’ think…mornin’…”
“No. It is actually very late in the evening. Almost midnight.” He glanced toward the darkened window at the side of the room. “How is the pain?”
“Okay. Don’ feel much.” Mort moved slightly and turned his head on the pillow to try to peer down at the wrap immobilizing his arm. “Wha’…wha’ did he say?”
“Your doctor?”
“Yeah.”
The doctor had come to check on Mort more than once while Bain had waited. During one visit, the man had admitted, with a surprisingly shy look, that he was a fan of Mort’s writing and, because of that, was giving Mort special treatment. Bain had nodded and replied simply, “Me too.”
“He said things went well with your shoulder. You will have to be careful with what you do and work to strengthen the muscles around it, but it will be good. You have many bruises. Some cuts-your forehead is the worst. But there is nothing else serious. You are very fortunate you were not injured more severely.”
“Lucky. That’s wha’…they keep tellin’ me.” The tip of Mort’s tongue came out to lick at his lips.
“Would you like some water?”
“Yeah.”
Bain filled the glass from the pitcher setting on the bedside tray, then rose and leaned over to slide a hand beneath Mort’s head and lift it. Mort managed to get the straw between his lips and sucked greedily at the cool liquid.
“Thanks.” He moved his head, pushing the straw away with his tongue. Bain set the glass back in place.
“Are you going to stay awake for a while now?”
“I think…yeah.”
“Mort…” Bain sat back down, folded his hands as if in prayer, and rested them against the edge of the bed. “I am going to have to leave.”
“You mean…go home…”
“No. Leave. Leave here. Leave you. Go back to…” He shook his head.
Mort’s eyes darkened, and he tried to sit up. “No. Don’t. You…” He sank back. “Why?”
“You know why.”
“I fell. You didn’t…it was my fault…”
“Yes, my friend, you fell. I did not push you. I did not hurt you. But if you had not fallen…” He shuddered. “You know what would have happened. You would be hurt much worse than this, perhaps.”
“Bain…”
“Listen to me now, carefully. Do not interrupt. Here is what is going to happen.” He spoke quickly, anxious to have this difficult thing-the most difficult thing he had ever done-over. “The doctor has said you will stay here for at least two more days. It is perhaps not a necessity, but he will allow this. I am going to take your car back to the cabin. I will call your agent and tell him that you are hurt and that he should come to help you, or send someone, so that you will not be alone. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I will lock your house and leave your keys in a hidden place where your agent can find them. And then I am going to take my car and go. I will not be back. We both understand why this must be.”
“No. Please…” Mort’s head was moving slowly from side to side, the light fading from his eyes. //If I were a fanciful man, I would think I see something dying in this man. The same thing that is dying in me.//
“You will be well, Mort Rainey. This is the right thing to do.” He stood, reaching back to retrieve his jacket from the back of the chair and fold it over his arm. “Our time together was…”
His throat closed. He smiled and shook his head. //It doesn’t matter. There are no words adequate.//
“Good bye, my friend.”
“Miguel…”
The anguish in the single word-his name-almost undid him. //Mort never called me by my first name before.// He bent over the bed, brushing his fingers across Mort’s soft hair, and touched his lips to Mort’s forehead.
“Know that I love you,” he whispered. Then he turned and left the room, moving slowly, then more quickly, breaking into a run. He took the stairs three at a time, down, across the parking lot, fingers diving into his pocket for the keys, flung himself into the car, and ground his forehead against the steering wheel. Only then would he allow himself to cry again.
* * *
Everything was done. The cabin was secured, no water running, the fireplace cold and still, all the lights turned off except the one by the door where he stood. He had spoken with Mort’s agent, explaining the problem, and been assured the man would be arriving early tomorrow morning. //This morning. It will be morning in a few hours.// His bag was packed and stowed in the back seat of his rented car. He had left nothing, and he was taking…almost nothing. He had tucked one of Mort’s oldest, most disreputable sweaters into his bag. //That was a foolish romantic gesture. Not like me.//
He flipped off the light switch and stepped onto the porch, locking the door behind him and then hiding the key. Straightening his shoulders, he left the house behind.
There was a full moon, and he had never minded driving at night. When he pulled onto the Interstate, he headed south, driving as cautiously as he had driven Mort earlier that day, being careful to obey the speed limit.
//I can return the car later, after I have taken care of the things in the trunk. Perhaps I will take them to Mississippi and bury them there.//
He let his mind drift to the moment his digging in the garden had unearthed a skeletal foot. The sight had startled him, but Miguel Bain was a man who could deal with being startled and make a quick recovery. He had thrown some dirt over the bones to hide them, then sent Mort on an errand that would keep him away for at least half an hour-time enough to deal with the unexpected development. It had been simple for a man with his skills.
The remains had been tied in trash bags and locked safely in his trunk long before Mort had returned with gloves and a shovel and anxieties. He had left that shovel with Mort, taking the older one to do what he would do later. No one would ever find it, or any traces of the woman who should have given love to Mort Rainey but had given him betrayal, or of the man who had led her into that betrayal.
//He was right. There was no Shooter. Only Mort.//
It did not disturb him in the least to know that Mort Rainey was a murderer. That Mort Rainey had a demon, like himself. He had thought they were much alike…but they were more alike than he had even suspected.
//He must never know the truth. I will spend some time in Mississippi, as I planned. But the rest...I cannot go back to him, to tell him that I found and killed this man. I will send a letter instead. I want him to believe that Shooter is dead, so that Shooter can never return to ruin his life. As I can never return to ruin his life.//
Bain flipped on the radio and drove away into the night.