Scenes for The Night of the Time Travel

[LuckyLadybug]

I don't usually name blurbs (unless I have to), nor do I usually post them anywhere other than Livejournal.com, but I'm rather pleased with this thing and wanted to share it with other WWW fans. I haven't written extensively for Jim and Arte since The Moving Wound, and I'm kind of giddily pleased with their characterization here. It just flowed.

It is a blurb, but it can hopefully stand on its own, with this background information: Jim, Arte, and some criminals have been mysteriously zapped into the present-day. Jim and Arte are trying to figure out what happened and how to get home. Some of their enemies ... really don't want to leave. For assorted reasons.

I've had plans for a full-length time-travel fic using this plot and crossing over with Perry Mason. This blurb doesn't actually cross with anything, but it does reference Ray Norman, a oneshot character from an episode of Cannon: lucky-ladybugs-lovelies.tumblr.com/post/33517188614/in-spite-of-my-best-efforts-i-was-unable-to-keep

I may post some other stand-alone scenes from this story here, to test them out, if anyone's interested.

The gun was pointed at them before they even made it to the front of the golf cub. The waning light of the afternoon sun reflected off the barrel, as though signaling the danger.

Instinctively Arte reached for his own weapon. It was unlike him to be the first to go for a gun; he preferred to avoid force wherever and whenever he could.

But he, perhaps, had more to fear from the gunman on the porch than did Jim. It had been Arte who had been captured and threatened with sick torture by the gang leader. Whether or not he had intended to fully go through with it, the build-up had been bad enough. Despite having been perfectly calm during the actual situation, Arte still shivered when he thought about it. Being bitten by ferrets carrying an unknown bug and thinking you were bacon was the stuff of nightmares.

“Well. James West and Artemus Gordon. So you really do track your prey to the ends of the earth.”

Jim narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly. “Of all the places I thought we might find you, Rodman, I never thought it would be here.”

Coley Rodman merely shrugged. “I don’t care for the game, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Arte stepped forward. “So why are you here?” he demanded. He was aware of the harsh, bitter tone to his voice, but he could not help it.

“That, Gordon, is none of your business.”

“Are you Ray Norman’s bodyguard?” Jim demanded. “Is that why you’ve been at his club for months on end as his guest?”

“No,” Coley returned, his voice firm and sharp. “I’m not his bodyguard.”

Arte nodded in knowing exasperation, having expected a brush-off. “So I suppose you just decided to park here indefinitely, for no particular reason.”

“Does Norman know you’re not from his time?” Jim wanted to know.

“Would it surprise you if I said he does?” Coley shrugged. “And he knows what I did. He doesn’t care.”

“He believes you?” Arte exclaimed, incredulous.

“He believes me. And it’s really of no consequence to you or West.” Coley smirked at him. “As long as I haven’t committed any crimes in this day and age, the authorities can’t touch me. And by the way, you’re not ‘the authorities’ here, either.”

“We can’t leave you here.” Jim’s tone was flat and matter-of-fact. “And you can’t stay.”

“Can’t I?” Coley leaned back in the chair. For a moment an expression of pain creased his features. But then it was gone and he was smirking at the agents again, seeming to enjoy their little standoff.

“Of course you can’t,” Arte retorted. “You don’t belong here! You belong back with us.”

“And what’s waiting for me there? A prison sentence, maybe even a hanging.” Coley had lowered the gun, but now he had it pointed at Arte, his shooting arm resting on his lap. “Do you honestly expect me to drop everything and go back with you to that?”

“It’s of your own making, Rodman,” Jim said. “You didn’t have to choose a life of crime, but you did. Now you have to accept the consequences.”

Coley’s eyes narrowed now. “There are many paths these consequences can take.”

“And just what’s that supposed to mean?” Arte growled. There was something strange about their enemy now, something he could not quite put his finger on. Of course, they had only run across him a handful of times before, but those cases had been so memorable that it was all at once obvious that something was different.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Gordon.” And Coley was determined to not. He switched the subject.

“In this time, I’m not wanted for anything. And I don’t see the space-time continuum shorting itself out over my being here. I could live out my life now without any conflicts—except from the two of you.”

Jim was unmoved. “The space-time continuum isn’t even an issue here. As government agents, we can’t just allow you to wander around, in any time. And we have no guarantee that you’re not committing crimes now, either.”

Arte nodded. “You might think that these modern-day prisons would just give you a slap on the wrist and set you free. Which might not be too far from the truth,” he muttered.

“Your benefactor, Ray Norman, is a known blackmailer,” Jim said. “You could be working on some scheme together.”

“But we’re not.” Coley glanced to the front door of the club. “Norman has no desire to become involved in any more blackmail or anything else criminal. The two years he was driven out of his mind by that mad scientist broke him down and erased all taste for crime. You can ask him yourself and see if you think he’s lying.”

“Maybe I could believe that of him,” Jim said. “When I met him before, he seemed like the broken man you say he is.

“But I can’t believe it of you. Not Coley Rodman, the unrepentant gang leader who had no qualms about freezing entire towns in place so he could loot the buildings.”

“Believe what you want.” Coley looked bored now. “You know, West, I have the upper hand here.”

“How do you figure?” Jim frowned.

“Easy. You and Gordon are trying to keep as low a profile as possible. You can’t tangle with the authorities or say that you’re from 140 years in the past. You know they’ll think you’re both insane.

“So, if I decided to pick up this communicating device . . .” He indicated a cellphone on the table next to him. “. . . I could contact the police and tell them that you’re trespassing on Ray Norman’s property. And since I’m allowed to stay here as his guest—as you yourself pointed out—who do you think will be arrested? Surely not me.”

Arte exhaled, deeply and in obvious frustration. “As much as I hate to admit it, Jim, he has a point,” he said through clenched teeth. “We can’t risk bringing the police down on our heads and becoming fugitives in this time we still know very little about.”

Jim stared at Coley for a long moment before nodding and stepping back. “So we can’t take you on Norman’s property,” he conceded. “But you’ll have to stay on it indefinitely if you don’t want to chance being arrested and taken back to the time you belong in.”

“You don’t even know how to get back yet,” Coley challenged. “And until you have a way, I’d be dead weight to you here. You won’t do anything to me, on or off this property.”

Arte closed his eyes, fighting for patience. “Rodman, if it’s the last thing we do, we’ll find that way to get back. And we’ll take you with us.”

“You’ll try.” Coley finally replaced the gun in its holster. As he did, he grimaced again, this time more intensely. A hand flew to his chest.

Jim watched him. It was not a trick; he was definitely in pain. “What happened to you?” Jim asked.

Coley straightened. As he took his hand away, a bit of crimson showed through his shirt. “That,” he replied, “is also none of your business.

“Now . . .” He nodded towards the driveway. “Get out. Both of you.”

“Gladly,” Arte snapped.

Jim was silent as they trouped back down the driveway. Arte could not hold his tongue.

“Boy, was that a jolly place!” he exclaimed. “And did we ever fail. Jim, how are we going to get him out of there?”

“I don’t know,” Jim said vaguely. “Maybe we can’t.

“Arte . . .” He looked to his friend. “Wasn’t there a story in the news about an attack on Norman’s life some time ago?”

“Yes,” Arte remembered. “That’s right! It was around the time we first showed up here.” He stiffened. “Jim! Are you thinking that maybe Rodman did it and was wounded in the attempt? Maybe now he’s holding Norman hostage, so to speak. Maybe Rodman is really the one pulling the strings here at the club.”

But Jim slowly shook his head. “That wasn’t what I was thinking.” As they reached the gate and stepped through, he glanced back. Coley was still on the porch, watching them. Jim turned away, facing Arte again.

“That man’s dead, Arte. It said in the article that one of Norman’s guests shot the would-be murderer and was nearly killed himself when the gunman fired at him right before dying. It didn’t say who that guest was.”

Arte’s jaw dropped. “Oh, come on, Jim. You surely can’t think . . .”

“In some strange way, Arte, it might make sense. I was wondering why he never once got up while we were there. It seems he would have, at least while ordering us away.”

Arte finally nodded. “But a serious wound, one he might still be recovering from, could have kept him down,” he acknowledged. “The last thing he would want would be to let us know he was injured and therefore, not at his full strength.”

“Right. And you remember that newspaper article we found when we first realized Rodman was here. He acted awfully protective of Norman against the reporters trying to mob him about his time in the sanitarium.”

Arte frowned. “I know, but I thought what you thought, Jim—that he was Norman’s hired bodyguard.”

“But he denied it,” Jim returned. “And on that point, at least, I think I believe him. He’d have no reason to deny it if it were true. He’s aware of those newspaper stories and pictures.”

Arte just stared at Jim. “Alright, suppose he was telling the truth. And suppose he was the one who saved Ray Norman’s life. Why, Jim? Why would Coley Rodman risk his life for anyone?”

Jim shrugged. “Maybe he knew he’d have to find somewhere else to go if Ray Norman was killed. Or maybe . . .” He trailed off, abandoning the seed of thought.

“Maybe,” he tried again, “we should ask Ray Norman.”

[LuckyLadybug]

Well, I've kept writing these assorted scenes, and I decided to share another one. This one pretty much picks up from where the other left off, and this time will have Jim and Arte speak with Ray Norman.

Ray here is a mixture of at least three of Wesley Lau's characters in personality: Ray himself, Carl Armory (who was in The Moving Wound fic), and Amory Fallon (a oneshot Perry Mason character).

I have some other scenes that explain in detail some of what Ray tells Jim and Arte, but the only players in those are Ray and Coley, as I tinker with this bizarre crossover friendship I've invented. So I decided to only share the scenes here with Jim and Arte actively involved.

****************************

Ray Norman was a tall blond man, with a restless temperament and a need to always keep moving. He could not seem to stay put for longer than a few minutes at a time. Even in his office, he often paced like a caged tiger.

He had not always been that way; during his years as a blackmailer he had been cold, hard, and crisp. Many of his old acquaintances confirmed that, even the ones who had not known of his illegal ventures.

But the years as Doctor Alice Portman’s prisoner had changed him. He was nothing like the man those old acquaintances, both good and bad, had known. He jumped at every little noise, fearing that henchmen or the doctor herself would return to take him back. He moved about, as though afraid if he stopped he would not be able to move at all.

And there was one other thing about him that was vastly different now.

He had tasted death.

The night he had been fatally shot while looking for a payoff in the park had sealed his fate in more ways than one. Dr. Portman had been watching. Later she had taken his body from the morgue, intending to revive him and discover whether or not she could bend even such an unashamed blackmailer to her will.

She had managed both. When her hideout had been raided two years later, by both local and Federal law enforcement and even the Air Police, Ray Norman had been found alive but broken in one of her cells. Captain McVey, the Air Police officer in charge of the raid, had been haunted by the sight of the grown man curled in a ball in the corner, rocking back and forth and sobbing.

All things considered, it was really no great wonder that Ray Norman was still shaken, even after his time in the sanitarium. And it was understandable why the judge had decided to place him on probation instead of in prison, after reviewing his entire case and consulting with the sanitarium’s physicians. Dr. Portman had punished him far more for his blackmail than any prison sentence ever could. And putting him in a cell again, after what Portman had done, might be too much for him to bear.

Ray was mostly a loner nowadays, having drifted far apart from any friends or acquaintances he had once had. And he hated speaking with either reporters or law enforcement agents. He spent most of his time running his golf club and trying to stay out of the public eye.

Still, when Arte had called his office, he had answered and had agreed to meet with him and Jim that night. He would tell Rodman it was alright, he said, and they would not be disturbed.

Hopefully it was true, Jim thought as they were allowed inside that evening. Coley was nowhere in sight, but Jim could imagine he was watching, if he had a stake in what happened.

“I’m sorry you felt you had to come here,” Ray said as he led them to his office. He perched on the edge of his desk, one leg dangling over the side.

Arte stepped forward. “Yes, well, we are too, Mr. Norman. You see our problem with your . . . guest.”

“Yes, I see.” Ray laced his fingers. “But he’s right, you know, Mr. Gordon, Mr. West. You know that neither of you can take him away without proof that he’s done something wrong in this time. And I’m afraid that if you try to take him back to your time with you anyway, I’ll have to call the police here and tell them you’re abducting him. I won’t let you take him.”

Jim was not surprised, but he had to wonder at the firmness in Ray’s tone. “With all due respect, Mr. Norman, Coley Rodman is a violent killer. Why are you so determined to keep him here if you and he aren’t plotting some criminal scheme?”

Ray was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts and words. “Mr. West,” he said at last, “what Rodman was in your time is of very little concern to me. I’m the last person in the world who would hold someone to what they were in the past.

“In this time, he hasn’t caused any trouble. And the only person he killed was going to kill me. I’d be dead if it weren’t for Coley Rodman. And he almost died saving my life.” His voice had lowered at this last statement.

“And that’s another thing we’re wondering about, Mr. Norman,” Arte said, trying to shake off his surprise at the confirmation of their suspicions. “Why would a man like Rodman do that, for you or anyone?”

Ray heaved a sigh. “. . . I found Rodman months ago, stumbling over my property. This was shortly after I’d reclaimed it following my release from the sanitarium. Well, Rodman was wounded and burned and dazed, and I took him in, cared for him, etcetera.”

“Wounded and burned?” Arte exclaimed. “I didn’t see any signs of that, other than what must have been the wound from when he rescued you.”

“You wouldn’t be able to see any of the scars unless he wanted you to,” Ray returned. “And I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t, either,” Jim said. “He went to great lengths to keep us from knowing he was injured at all.

“But tell us, Mr. Norman. What happened once he was well? When you met him, that is.”

Ray sighed. “A lot happened even before he was well. He was shaken up from whatever he’d come through, and I was shaken up from what I’d come through, and . . . well, it’s true, that misery loves company.” Ray got up, beginning to pace the room. “And it’s not as though either of us had anyone else to turn to. We bonded, on some strange level.”

Arte watched him in disbelief. “Mr. Norman, are you trying to tell us that Coley Rodman saved your life because he cares about you?”

Ray paused and looked to him. “Coley Rodman is a battered and scarred man, caring little for anything or anyone aside from his own problems. But . . . yes, Mr. Gordon, that’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s not arrogance or naïvete on my part; it’s the truth.”

Jim crossed one hand over his other. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I knew you would.” Ray shook his head. “I found it hard to believe myself, when I realized it. I thought I’d be the last person in the world someone like Rodman would ever care about. But I’m not so sure that his reputation as being cold and hard was ever fully accurate.”

He hesitated again. “Mr. West . . . Mr. Gordon . . . there is something I think you should know.

“When I first met Rodman, he was delirious, out of his head from the wounds he’d received. He talked a lot about his time. That’s how I learned what he was. Who he was.

“One thing he mentioned was a mad scientist, someone who had allowed Rodman’s gang to use a drug to freeze entire towns in place in order to loot the buildings.”

Jim nodded. “That’s where we first had the dubious pleasure of meeting Mr. Rodman.”

“Well . . . he said this scientist’s real plan was to eventually use a different drug, one that would destroy all the residents of the towns and cities instead of just temporarily immobilizing them with no ill after-effects.” Ray drew a deep breath. “And Rodman wouldn’t have any of it.”

Arte raised an eyebrow. “That would actually bother him?” he said incredulously. “I wouldn’t think it would make one bit of difference to a man like that.”

“I can think of some who’d practically be dancing in glee,” Jim added.

“Not Rodman,” Ray insisted. “That was when he decided they had to break ties with the scientist. Even if it would net the gang the loot of countless cities, he didn’t want it that way, if it meant the deaths of so many people.” He stepped back. “I wanted you to know.”

Arte shook his head. “I had no idea,” he admitted. “Either about those plans or about Rodman’s reaction. He shot Dr. Kirby down during a fight in the man’s laboratory before we could learn anything like that.”

“Well, Kirby did end up trying to fire on him first,” Ray replied. “But maybe Rodman thought shooting this Dr. Kirby was the only way to keep him from carrying out his plans after the gang left. I don’t know. And frankly, at this point I don’t care much. Kirby sounds like a madman.” He shuddered. “And you can’t expect me to have much sympathy or pity for a lunatic scientist.”

“No, I can’t,” Arte said. “But there were reasons why Dr. Kirby lost his mind. Tragic reasons.”

“I can believe that,” Ray agreed. “And yet I can’t help thinking that the people in your time are better off because he’s gone. He can’t hurt any of them anymore. They don’t have to live in terror that he can come back and . . .” He trailed off, gripping his arms tightly. “Nevermind. I’m talking out of turn. I’m sorry.”

Arte nodded, sobered. “It’s alright. I can understand why you’d feel that way. No one should have to go through what you did, Mr. Norman.”

Jim was still silent, processing the information and trying to determine if he believed it. “. . . Even some shreds of decency don’t change what else Rodman’s done,” he joined the conversation at last. “And even if he was upset about Dr. Kirby’s plans to destroy cities, it didn’t give him the right to try to shoot him down in cold blood.”

“Maybe not, but you know you don’t have any authority here,” Ray said. “Rodman isn’t hurting anyone now and neither am I. There’s no reason for you to insist on him returning with you, if you ever even find the way back at all.” He looked at them, his eyes filled with despair and anguish. “Please. Just let him stay here as long as he wants.”

“. . . You must want him to very badly,” Arte remarked, sobered and unsure of what to think.

“I do,” Ray nodded. “He cares about me, and I in return, care about him. I want him to stay just as much as he wants to stay.”

“How do you know he isn’t just using you?” Jim queried.

“There’s surely not many people who would nearly get themselves killed if they were using someone,” Ray frowned. “They’d be careful to stay out of danger.”

“But some might be ruthless enough to take that kind of a risk,” Jim said. “What if Rodman is one of them?”

“He’s not,” Ray insisted. “I know you’ll probably never see that side of him, but it’s there. I’ve seen it. I know he’s sincere.”

Arte suddenly felt overwhelmed, not to mention bowled over as to what to do. They had to leave Rodman here for now, but what about in the future, when they finally found the way home? How could they just up and leave him here then? How could they not take him with them?

Jim finally spoke. “Mr. Norman, we can’t make any promises.”

Ray sighed. “No, I suppose you can’t. But if you at least consider it . . .” His eyes turned pleading again. “What harm would you really be doing?”

“That’s what we’re worried about,” Arte said. “You might trust him, Mr. Norman, but we don’t. We can’t. We’ve seen his involvement in too many rotten schemes. I can’t believe he wouldn’t still have an interest in the criminal life.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ray admitted. “I’m not even sure he knows. But he doesn’t want to right now. And isn’t that better that what you were able to do with him in your time?”

Jim and Arte exchanged a look. “I can’t argue with that,” Jim said then.

“Me either,” Arte conceded.

Jim stepped back. “If we can be satisfied that Rodman won’t cause any trouble, we’ll consider letting him stay,” he decided. “If.”

Ray relaxed. “Thank you,” he breathed. “You’ll be satisfied.”

“You’re awfully confident,” Arte said.

“I know there won’t be any trouble,” Ray said. “He’s my friend and I’ll stand by him.”

Jim turned, heading for the door. “We’ll see. Goodnight, Mr. Norman.”

Arte followed after him, echoing the goodnight.

They waited until they were outside to speak again. “Well?” Arte asked when they were outside the gate. “What do you think, Jim?”

“I still don’t know,” Jim told him. “I’ll admit I actually started wondering if Rodman cared, but I couldn’t believe it was really true.”

“It’s hard to take in,” Arte said. “I can scarcely believe he would risk his life for anyone.”

Jim nodded. “But if he really did . . .” He paused. “Maybe there’s hope for him yet.”

“. . . I did sense something different about Rodman when we spoke with him,” Arte said. “I just wasn’t sure what it was. I’m still not, really.”

“But it’s nice to think that even a rag-tag ne’er-do-well like him could find friendship, isn’t it?” Jim remarked.

“Yes,” Arte said slowly. “Yes, it is. As long as it doesn’t backfire on us.”

“I’m not so sure it will,” Jim said.

He paused. “But I’m not so sure it won’t, either.”

**************************

I have something else written taking place after this one, with Jim and Arte, but it's quite a ways after. I think the next thing I post, instead of being serious like these two have been, might end up light-hearted. Something along the lines of Jim and Arte Discover Wal-Mart. ;D

[LuckyLadybug]

Me being me, I got a different idea and found it much easier to compose than the more amusing thing I was thinking of. This is longer than the others, far more intense, and weird. It also feels very much like a scene from a real episode. Which goes to show that the antics in WWW verse are just perfect for my strange mind.

This is mostly me trying to character study both Coley and Pinto and separate their personalities. I'm the first to admit that Coley sounded like Pinto when he threatened Arte in Sudden Plague. But in the other scenes, he didn't. At least, certainly not to me.

Jim and Arte don't appear until about halfway through, but then they're there for the rest of it.


“Well. Coley Rodman, is it?”

The smirk was cruel and twisted in the dim light. And to Coley himself, downright unsettling.

The smirk was his own.

He narrowed his eyes as he glared back at the man who was his physical double in almost every way—minus the scars Coley had acquired thanks to a mad scientist. “What do you want with me?” He pulled at the metal bindings over his outstretched wrists, to no avail.

The other man pretended not to notice. “I just wanted to have a little chat,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re uncomfortable.”

“Don’t patronize me, Pinto.” Coley clenched his teeth against both the hated tone and the coolness of the slab he was bound to. He had been stripped to his waist; a sheet was hanging half-off of the lower half of his body. He hated appearing so vulnerable before an enemy. And he also hated that every scar, every remnant of a burn, was on display for this cruel and sadistic character.

The other’s visage hardened. “You’re in no position to give orders, Rodman.” He reached for a lever on a nearby console. As he drew it downward, a stabbing, burning jolt seized hold of Coley’s body. It felt like he was unbearably stuck to the table.

His captor pulled up the lever, releasing him and stopping the pain. “Now.” The unwelcome man got right up in his gasping face. “I hope you’re ready to answer some questions.”

“I . . .” Coley glowered hatefully. “And I suppose if I don’t, you’ve got more of that planned.”

“Oh, you’re a quick learner.” Pinto drew up a leg, resting his foot on a shelf and leaning forward. “You know, Rodman, you puzzle me. Maybe more than that pathetic assistant district attorney. We look uncannily alike. You’ve even been on the wrong side of the law, as I am. And I’ve heard rumors that you really know how to psyche someone out.

“But on the other hand, you weren’t going to stand for whole town and cities being killed off, even if you’d gain and gain big from it. And I’m afraid I just don’t understand that.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

The next instant brought another rush of pain, this one worse than before. Coley fought to bite back the scream of agony. He could not show that weakness to Pinto. He could not. Pinto would take too much delight in it.

The electricity cut off and he slumped against the slab, his breathing heavy and pained. Pinto leaned against the console, nonchalant but clearly relishing the torment. “Ready to do some explaining?”

Coley clenched his teeth. “I just don’t see any point in senseless killing.”

“Senseless? Do you know how much money you could’ve got from those places?” Pinto grinned. “You would have been rolling in loot.”

“I didn’t want to get it that way. We could loot the towns just as well without killing anyone. Anyway . . . if everyone was killed, the law would have been out for blood. We could have been shot on sight after having proved what we were capable of doing.”

“You’ve killed before,” Pinto said lazily. “Why would more make much difference?”

“Those were fair fights,” Coley muttered.

“All of them?” Pinto straightened, reaching for the lever again.

Coley tensed. “. . . No,” he admitted. “Not all. But I never shot anyone who wasn’t coming after me.”

“And then there’s Ray Norman,” Pinto mused. “You like that crazy, stupid man who jumps at his own shadow.”

Outrage flashed in Coley’s eyes. “Leave him out of this. You don’t have any quarrel with him. And you don’t have any right to talk about him.”

“The doctors agreed that he was out of his head when he was brought in,” Pinto countered.

“He’s better now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was considered sane and stable to go to all the extra trouble of more security guards and a gun he isn’t even supposed to have, just to protect himself against a quack who’s securely locked away in the nuthouse.”

“She could escape.”

“Yes, that’s the excuse he gives, isn’t it.” Pinto bent down, resting one hand on the slab near Coley’s head and the other, by his left side. “And you care about him. It’s not smart for an outlaw like you to care about anyone. It clouds your judgment. And it could cause your enemies to come after him sometime. Maybe they’d even do this to him.”

He straightened again, pulling down the lever. He sneered as he allowed the electricity to continue charging, pulsating excruciatingly through his prisoner’s body.

This time Coley could not hold back the scream.

Pinto shut off the power, crossing his arms as he watched the remaining sparks fly off the slab—and off of Coley’s body—and evaporate into nothingness in the air.

“You know, they say too much electricity can make people forget things,” he said. “But there’s different high-water marks for everyone.”

“You’ve probably witnessed it firsthand,” Coley sputtered. “I know your reputation.”

Pinto nodded. “True. I have seen it happen a few times.”

He strolled back over once he was sure that he would not be shocked by a stray spark. “Well, what have we here,” he mused, wrenching Coley’s right arm around. He stared at the sickening scar left by an iron. “Unless you were completely careless or stupid while fixing up your clothes, I’d say someone else got to you before I did. Some time ago, too.”

Coley tried to jerk his arm away. The metal cuff dug into his wrist. “That’s none of your business.”

Pinto shrugged. “You just have all kinds of bad luck, don’t you.” He flung Coley’s arm away from him. “Just tell me this. Have you ever . . . died?”

Coley’s eyes narrowed, but something flickered through them at the same time.

“See, I have.” Pinto started to unbutton his shirt. “And it’s a right unpleasant experience, too.”

Coley stared as Pinto pulled back the edges of the material, revealing a painful scar in his chest. Pinto sneered, seeing his morbid amazement.

“Jim West made a makeshift spear out of a broom and his knife. Caught me right here. And I was dead, dead as a doornail.”

“. . . But you’re not, now.” Coley spoke matter-of-factly, an edge in his voice. Why was Pinto telling him this?

“I’m not now,” Pinto agreed. “This crazy lady makes a habit of bringing people back from the dead. She stumbled on me and the rest of Miss Posey’s gang and decided we’d make a perfect project.”

“How nice for you.”

“Yes, isn’t it.”

Pinto leaned over Coley, poking the tender skin around a fresh scar near his heart. Coley clenched his fists, trying to resist the futile urge to recoil.

“This looks recent,” Pinto declared. “What were you getting yourself into?” He gave his double a twisted grin. “I heard something on the news about Norman nearly getting himself killed by one of his former blackmail victims. One of his guests got in the way and shot the killer, almost getting himself knocked off in the process. Now, if I were to bet that guest was you . . .”

“What’s your point?” Coley interrupted.

Pinto shrugged. “Like I said, I was wondering if you’d ever been dead.”

The memory of the bullet hitting him flashed into his mind. Coley looked away. Ray had bent over him in horror and panic, trying to save his life, pleading with him to keep fighting, telling him it wasn’t too late.

But from Coley’s point-of-view, it had been. He remembered sinking into unconsciousness and what he had thought was death. If he had, though, Ray had dragged him out of it with that artificial respiration thing.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

“Oh, now that’s a shame,” Pinto drawled. “If you were dead, you should know it.”

The chill went up Coley’s spine again. “And you’re going to see that I do,” he remarked.

“Well, it seems the only sensible thing to do,” Pinto smirked. He started to walk back around the slab to the lever. “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it—how too much electricity can kill you and then some more can bring you back to life? It doesn’t make too much sense to me, but that’s okay. I just tinker with the science of pain. I didn’t invent it.”

“And what if you can’t bring me back after you kill me?” Coley countered.

“Oh well.” Pinto leaned on the console.

“You hate me, don’t you,” Coley realized. “Why?”

“I don’t hate you,” Pinto replied. “I don’t particularly hate anyone. What I do is never personal, you understand. I just thought it was entertaining, how much you look like me when you’re hardly like me. From some of the rumors I’ve heard, you have promise. But you don’t draw on that side too much, do you. Instead, deep down, you’re soft. If you got into one of the prisons in this day and age, I bet you’d be a real model prisoner. You’d probably rehabilitate very well.”

“Maybe.”

“Unless you got thrown in for, shall we say, murder?”

“And who would I have murdered?”

“Me,” Pinto smirked. “Because I killed Norman.”

Coley’s eyes flashed again, with danger and loathing. “I told you to leave him out of this. You already have me. You don’t need him too.”

“I wonder what he’d do, if I went to him and told him I’d killed you. Would he do anything at all? Or maybe he’d just sink down at his desk and stare off at nothing. That seems to be how he handles his problems.”

Coley jerked at one of the manacles. “Leave him alone,” he snarled, low and dangerous.

Pinto laughed. Coley cursed himself. Pinto was trying to bait him.

Coley scrutinized his nemesis. “Even you care about someone, don’t you?”

“I do?”

“Your boss, Lucrece Posey.”

“Maybe,” Pinto said smoothly.

“And you wouldn’t like it if I tried to do something to her.”

“I wouldn’t try it,” Pinto said. “You’d bring down the whole gang right on your back. And you’d be deader than I’m going to make you now.”

“I have more resources than you give me credit for.”

“But you weren’t made one of the six regional leaders of crime worldwide,” Pinto replied. “Don’t mess with us, Coley. You’re out of our league.”

Coley’s expression only darkened further. He knew Pinto was right. And he didn’t really have any plans to go after Lucrece Posey. That was trouble he did not need. And since Ray was alright and had not been tortured by Pinto, he certainly did not need it either.

“You’d only do that if something happened to Norman, though, wouldn’t you,” Pinto said. “You’ve been staying out of trouble since you got here, probably for his sake.”

“I don’t see any point in becoming a wanted man again.”

“Oh no, especially when you’ve got everything you want right at that golfing club.”

“Especially when I’m in a different time, where I’m a free man,” Coley countered.

“You’re not free now.” Pinto pulled the lever and this time stepped away from it.

Coley stared at him with wide, furious, and agonized eyes. Pinto would not let up until Coley fell unconscious . . . or worse. And as much as Coley wanted to yell, it would do no good to swear and curse and order him to stop. It would entertain Pinto all the more.

Coley could not get out any tangible words anyway. He fought to stay silent; he hated that he had screamed in pain the last time. He wouldn’t give Pinto the pleasure of hearing it again.

He wouldn’t. . . .

The electricity continued to charge through his body. It was almost impossible to focus on anything other than the pain. And despite his struggle to hold out, he was starting to lose the fight. He could not stay conscious much longer, not with the voltage as high as it was.

He did not want to die. Very few people truly did. And he did not want to serve as Pinto’s sadistic experiment, either.

But most of all, he knew, he did not want this to hurt Ray Norman.

It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling, but very real and very sincere.

And it was the last thing he felt before the electricity swept away every one of his senses.

A bullet buried itself in Pinto’s console, shorting it out. The manacles holding Coley to the table whirred to life, unlocking and disappearing into their slots on either side of the slab. His right arm, limp and lifeless, slipped down and hung over the side.

Pinto looked up with a start. Jim, Arte, and Ray Norman were standing in the doorway. Jim’s arm was outstretched; he had fired the gun.

“Let him go, Pinto,” Jim snapped, his voice cold and harsh.

Pinto straightened. “He’s been let go,” he said. “See for yourself.” He started to stroll in the direction of the slab. “Looks like his body let go, too. He gave up that ghost.”

“No!” Ray ran forward in spite of Jim and Arte’s attempts to stop him. “No, I won’t believe he’s dead!” He looked to Pinto with flashing eyes. “But if he is, I’ll . . .”

“You’ll do nothing, Norman.” Jim and Arte hurried to the scene as well. Arte gripped Ray’s shoulder. “You’ve already been in trouble. Don’t let yourself in for more.”

Pinto studied the three of them, calm, amused. “Take him and go. Or you could let me finish what I was doing.”

“You already finished it if he’s dead,” Ray snapped. He ran to the slab, bending over his friend in anguish and horror. “Coley? Coley, please, wake up. Don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead!”

Coley was chalk-white and deathly still. Ray searched for a pulse, his hands shaking.

Jim glowered at Pinto. “We’re taking you in, Pinto, on a citizen’s arrest. We have the guns to back us up.”

“And the charge would be murder, I suppose,” Pinto said lazily.

“That’s what this was,” Arte said in disbelieving repulsion. “We came in and saw you killing him!”

“Ah, but that was only half my plan.” Pinto moseyed back to the console, heedless of the agents’ weapons trained on him. “The other half was to bring him back.”

Ray looked up with a start. “What?!”

Pinto leered at him. “That’s right, Norman. You know what that’s like very well, don’t you. Alice Portman saw to that.”

Arte gaped in bewilderment. “Are you saying this entire plan was to kill him, just to see if you could bring him back?!”

“Why would you want to do that, Pinto?” Jim demanded.

Pinto shrugged. “It does seem strange, coming from me, doesn’t it?”

“Just a little,” Arte retorted.

“Well, once I’ve told you, it should all make sense.” Pinto smirked at each of them in turn. “The human body can only take so much pain. Death is a means of escape when it’s become too much. But if I could override that, to bring people back to life as easily as bringing them to consciousness . . .”

“Then you could torture them even more,” Jim realized.

“Pinto, you’re sick,” Arte snarled. “I thought Rodman was bad. You’re ten times worse!”

“Thank you,” Pinto purred. “But regardless of what you think of my motive, don’t you want me to complete the experiment?”

Ray glowered. “You don’t have to, thank God,” he said. “He’s still alive.”

Annoyance and surprise flickered in Pinto’s eyes, but was then gone. “I see,” he said. “He’s tougher than I even thought.”

Undeterred, he smirked at Ray. “However, can you really be sure he’s still your friend?”

“What do you mean?” Ray’s voice was low and dangerous now. Jim exchanged a concerned look with Arte. Ray had never taken that tone in their presence before. Was he being pushed to the breaking point? If so, what would he be capable of doing?

Pinto leaned with one hand on the metal beam. “Too much electricity can scramble the mind,” he said. “I might have destroyed all affection he has for you. You might be a stranger to him when he wakes up.”

Ray’s eyes flashed with hatred. Jim immediately stepped in between him and the sadist. “That’s enough, Pinto,” he ordered.

Pinto pushed himself away from the beam. “I was hoping to stick around and see what happens, but I guess I’m outnumbered.” He eyed the guns. “I’ll just have to catch up later.”

“We can still get you on an abduction charge,” Arte said. “Not to mention assault and battery and assault with intent to kill.”

Jim nodded. “The jury isn’t going to make a distinction in the fact that you were going to try bringing him back from the murder you almost created. Especially when they hear your motive.”

“Too bad for them they’ll never hear it!” Pinto quipped.

In the next instant he shot the overhead light, plunging the room into darkness. Jim and Arte gave chase, but to no avail. Pinto was making his retreat in silence. All they could do was to turn on other lights along the way, brightening the makeshift laboratory and the rest of the building for themselves and Ray. Pinto had vanished. At last, forced to concede defeat, Jim and Arte turned to head back.

“I can’t remember the last time I was so disgusted,” Arte snarled. “I know we don’t like Rodman, but even he doesn’t deserve to be used as an experiment like this.”

Jim nodded. “And Pinto was apparently planning to use it on a widescale basis. With him still at large, we have to assume he’ll try taking another victim.”

“And next time it might just be a stranger off the street, some poor homeless fellow who won’t be missed.” Arte clenched a fist. “He makes my blood boil!”

Jim was certainly in agreement. But for the moment there was still another concern.

“How is he?” he called to Ray as they found their way back to the lab.

“He’s coming around,” Ray replied, relieved but apprehensive at the same time. “Coley?” He swallowed hard, watching the younger man with worried eyes. “Coley, are you hurt bad?”

Coley squinted at him and turned away, covering his eyes with his hand. “How should I know?” he grunted. “I just know it’s too bright in here.”

Jim reached for the closest switch and dimmed the lights.

“And I feel like I was hit by a train.”

“I’m so sorry.” Ray straightened, surveying Coley’s body. He didn’t look badly hurt, but he surely was. And then there was the other problem, the question Ray wanted the answer to but was afraid of what he would hear.

“How did you get here?” Coley mumbled.

Ray drew a shaking breath. “After I came to and realized Pinto had overpowered and taken you, I went to West and Gordon for help,” he explained.

“And of course they came,” Coley remarked, half-sarcastic, half-something else—perhaps thinly disguised awe. “Pillars of humanity that they are.”

Ray perked up. “Then you remember them,” he said with hope. “And me too?”

Coley took his hand away from his eyes, fixing Ray with an incredulous look. “I was used as a lightning rod, but my brains weren’t bashed in. Why wouldn’t I remember?”

Ray’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Well, Pinto said . . . oh, nevermind. Can you stand?”

“I won’t know until I try.” Coley pushed on the slab, his arms shaking as he tried to sit up. He slipped with a muttered curse.

Jim stepped forward. “I wouldn’t recommend getting up, Rodman,” he said. “We should find one of those telephones and call an ambulance.”

“I don’t need a hospital,” Coley growled.

“This time, I’m afraid you’ll have to make an exception,” Arte said with an uncomfortable smile. “That’s what generally happens to people who get used as lightning rods.”

“They’re right,” Ray nodded.

Coley scowled. “. . . Alright, I’ll go,” he conceded. “But in your car. No ambulance.”

Ray was not about to protest. He was doing good to get Coley to agree to anything. “Fine,” he said. “But I’ll need to help you outside.”

Coley threw back the sheet and slowly and painfully eased his legs over the edge of the table. “I don’t need help,” he insisted. “I can make it.”

He proved it by losing his balance the moment he tried to stand. He flushed in humiliation, gripping the slab to keep from falling.

Ray was at his side then, carefully getting an arm around his waist and draping his right arm over Ray’s shoulders. Still mortified, Coley nevertheless allowed it. It would make a worse display to try to let go.

He bowed his head in resignation. “I’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for you,” he admitted quietly. “And West and Gordon too, I imagine.”

Ray nodded. “We came just in time.” He swallowed hard. “Pinto was planning to try to revive you, just to see if he could, but it might not have worked.”

“I remember that.” Coley looked up, raising his voice. “What did he do with the rest of my clothes?”

“They’re over there,” Jim spoke up, pointing to a table against the nearest wall.

Ray steered Coley in that direction. Coley stumbled and limped, his legs wobbling. Ray held on firmly, regarding him in concern.

Arte turned away from the scene, shaking his head. “Well, Rodman is his usual, personable self,” he declared. “He can’t be too bad off, I’d say.”

“It’s a miracle if he isn’t,” Jim said.

Arte sobered. “You’re telling me. Jim . . . we have to catch that nut.”

Jim looked to the vacant corridor stretching before them. “I know,” he said. “Don’t worry, Arte. We will.”

He just prayed it would be before anyone else got hurt.