Mort Demonhand's Troublesome Memories

Mort Demonhand's Troublesome Memories

or

Mort's body gets laid in a coffin

Author's warning- This is a nasty story. Just like the last one. Telling me this stuff doesn't bother you, or that it's the only thing I've written that you like, causes me to peer at your e-mail over my imaginary bifocals with disturbed disbelief. But, to each his own. I can't completely disavow the thing, I wrote it. If this is the first piece of mine that you've read, please go here . There are some nice stories and novels for you to read before you get to this. If you've read my stuff before, consider yourself warned, but, uh...you should probably read Firestones first.

This story is also MUCH more explicit than my other stuff, so if you are offended by graphic or sexual descriptions, please move along, there's nothing here for you.

I like the first title of this one. I couldn't bring myself to use the second title (though it's funny in a juvenile way)

Wake up! Wake Up! WAKE UP! The harsh whisper exclaimed You stupid son of a slitch, get your lazy hoop in gear or you’re a dead man! I've healed you …
The whisper rolled around in Mort semi-coherent mind as he lay in the stinking back alley. I've healed you…I've healed you The echo sparked the memory of the first time he'd heard the sibilant whisper say that…

******

I've healed you The voice whispered. You've stopped bleeding because I put you back together.
"Who?" The shadowrunner asked the upper reaches of the warehouse.
Shut up, stupid! I'm in your head, or to be more precise in your hand…
The ring? He'd thought as he grappled with the words that were not his own but kept sounding in his head.
Of course, the ring, braniac. What else? Did you think you picked up something off a toilet seat and failed to wash properly? That I'm some kind of fragging virus? The whisper asked nastily.
"But how…"he'd thought as his mind tried to deal with the complexity of two consciousnesses in a single brain.
Oh, for cryin out loud! The whisper exclaimed, Look, Kyle or Sabot or Dancer or whatever alias you're answering to at the moment, I'm going to explain this exactly once, so pay attention. That simple copper ring you took off Nightwing's hand after turning her into sushi with the monowhip wasn't just a circle of metal. The mage carried me for a long time, but when you put the ring on, I found a new home. I…
The runner shrieked with agony as his attempt to quickly remove the ring gained him more pain than he had ever previously experienced. More pain than when he'd been busted up by the Flatheads, more pain than the time he'd totaled his 4 by 4, even more pain than when Roscoe had spent those three days interrogating him. It felt like he'd been dipped in molten glass after being skinned alive. Like his head had been filled with lava. He collapsed to the warehouse floor and tried to catch his breath as the pain gradually receded.
Don't try that again the voice hissed. Next time will be much worse.
His mind still reeling from the pain, he'd thought about the monowhip, and without any volition he'd watched in horror as his own hand reached into his concealed inner pocket, drew out the whip and threw it into the dark recesses of the warehouse.
You've just stopped using any sort of monowire, PERMANENTLY. The voice in his head whispered. You'd better get used to the idea, chummer. You and me are together for the long haul. I like it here…it's so roomy.
Resenting the whispering chuckle with every fiber of his being, he'd begun considering ways of accidentally losing fingers or even a hand when his brain was again blanketed by a wall of fire. He wanted to pass out from the pain but it remained just at the edge of endurance. Several eternities later he heard:
Hello? HELLO? Are you really that stupid? I'm in your mind, shit for brains! How the hell are you gonna plan anything that I'm unaware of? Look, you'd better get used to the idea that we just became a team. It's not all bad. I did heal those bullet wounds in your back, didn't I? You'd be dead if it wasn't for me…

******

You'd be dead if it wasn't for me. Now get up and pull this godamn sword out before somebody takes your head for a trophy. The whisper urged as he lay motionless in the alley.
Why not do it yourself? Mort challenged without giving any external sign he was conscious.
Don't you think I fragging would if I could, you stupid slot? The whisper hissed with fury. The godamn sword's made outta some motherfraggin magic metal. It was all I could do to heal your sorry fraggin hoop. That elemental turned you into a skin bag of broken bones. Now stop fraggin around and pull the fragging thing OUT!
With a sigh of resignation, Mort rolled onto his shoulders and hooking his feet against the quillions of the sword's hand guard, pried the sword out of both the alley floor and his hand. As soon as the sword was out of his hand, Mort felt the gray walls of helplessness descend as the wound to his hand disappeared. He watched with abstract fascination as his body silently crept up on the Arab woman while she attempted to heal the ork woman lying in the street. He saw the single fluid move as his right hand used the sword to skewer the ork through the heart while his left grabbed the top of the mage's skull. He watched the light go out in the Ork's eyes and heard himself laugh at the magic user's despairing wail of agony and loss.

******

 In the silence that embraced the street as he searched the women's cooling bodies, the man who now called himself Mort wondered how many times he had heard that hopeless sound of a magic user losing power, soul and life. Too many times, he thought, way too many times.
Hey, pal! The whisper said, Drop the memory lane tour and get the frag out of here before any more little playmates come looking for you. Whoever those fuckers are, they mean you serious hurt.
Thanks for the news flash. Mort shot back. I don't know where I'd be without your wonderful timely advice.
Yeah, well fuck you too, jerkoff.
Slinking through the shadows, he'd worked his way out of the area of the ambush. Eventually, he'd found a coffin hotel and checked into a pod to lay low until the heat was off. Must have been followed from Keri's apartment he thought. But how the hell did they have an ambush waiting for me? Frag! I wonder how hot these fraggin stones are. Slitch definitely landed me in the drek..... As he thought about how attractive the woman had been and stared up at the top of the coffin, he remembered the last time he had stayed in such a place. Three and a half years ago. The last time he had tried to enjoy sex.

********

He'd met Laura while she was waiting tables at Grimjack's. The way she smiled had immediately caught his eye and after a few visits he convinced himself that he was falling for her. She must have been convinced of something also, because she seemed quite receptive when he had continued to flirt with her night after night. She accepted his biz as a runner, his refusal to discuss major issues in his life, even the fact that at 37 he was old enough to be her father. (She claimed to be 21 but he put her age at about 18.)
So there he was, chatting up a pretty young waitress at a bar/restaurant night after night and when he was with her he didn't feel self conscious about his age or profession or anything because those worries melted in her smile. For her part, she never made him think he was a novelty or a dangerous trophy to boast about with friends. She seemed to really like his company.
On the night when they'd left the bar together there seemed to be an unspoken but electric agreement between them. The word sex was never mentioned but somehow both knew that was how the evening would end. They'd walked for what seemed like hours and when they'd passed the coffin hotel she'd looked at him with a challenging "why not?" in her eye.
The shy smiles they shared became giggles and then guffaws as they tried to undress simultaneously in the tiny cramped quarters. Rolling over each other as pant leg refused to fit over boot, underwear caught on garment fasteners and swinging limbs smacked coffin walls had the pair hysterical with the absurdity of it all. Eventually, naked and exhausted from laughter they lay in each other's arms. He tried to make a point of his age as a excuse beforehand for his inability to maintain the sexual stamina she was doubtless accustomed to from males her own age. At the same time she sought to excuse her lack of experience as it would be her deficiency in comparison to his usual partners. They'd ended with tender smiles when each realized what the other was doing. Then his 'rider' had struck.
He was about to begin making love when he felt the terrible lethargy that signaled his body's surrender of control. He screamed internally as he became a voyeur of his own body. He was furious at the intrusion but could do nothing as the demon demonstrated both tenderness and an encyclopedic knowledge of how to stimulate a woman. Fingers, lips, tongue, teeth, all were used more expertly than he had ever dreamed of as Laura's sexual experience was heightened to unbelievable levels. Somewhat mollified by the girl's obvious pleasure, he still felt cheated, but no matter how he complained to himself, the whisper in his head kept repeating Relax, I'm just getting her warmed up. You'll get your turn.
When the over stimulated girl had finally begged for it, he'd watched as his body slowly entered hers. His body slowly, gently began moving atop hers as she was quickly locked in the throes of orgasm. He'd watched as his hips continued to move in such a way to maximize his partner's pleasure, but was still unable to regain control as Laura came again and again.
He didn't know exactly when, but eventually the look on Laura's face told him that, to his partner, they had moved from making love to having sex. Something about the girl's eyes showed that she was disappointed but willing to endure for all the pleasure she had received. Very rapidly the violence of his strokes increased further and to his horror he realized the act was moving from sex to rape. Helplessly he watched the pain and fear on Laura's lovely face as his thrusts slammed their bodies together with a brutality he had never before experienced. The girls cries, which had been orgasmic moments before, had become terrified pleas for mercy.
With the brutal mechanical thrusts of a piston, he slammed himself into her again and again. He began to feel as raped by the demon controlling him as the girl was, the presence using his body and hers for a demonstration of power. Then the real horror struck. Suddenly the controller was gone and it was him thrusting himself into the supine girl so brutally. A large part of him wanted to stop, but the demons that he had acquired long before he had placed the ring on his left hand whispered to him. They said that he had to finish, that Laura was lost to him now anyway and she had experienced her orgasms it was time for him to get his. To his eternal shame he listened to their prodding. He knew, at the core of his being, that he had to finish before guilt and shame overwhelmed him in the midst of the act. He grunted like a beast as, bereft of meaning or even pleasure, he furiously smashed himself into her, seemingly trying to thrust his entire body into her womb.
When he finally finished he felt disgusted and filthy. His orgasm had been a purely physical function. He couldn't look the weeping girl in the face and as he rolled off her he couldn't bring himself to try to apologize or explain. Hey, you got your turn, just like I promised the whisper chuckled in his head.
In the cramped confines of the cubicle the pair lay back to back in curled fetal positions as Laura cried with disappointment at the violent betrayal, humiliation and pain while he silently wept with guilt and self-loathing.
Sometime during the night, Laura fled the coffin.
When he knew she was gone, he spent the rest of the night trying to remove the ring, as if the agony the demon inflicted in reprisal for this transgression could somehow expiate his guilt. It was the last time he attempted to have sex for pleasure.

*******

A single tear formed as he lay staring at the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes he clearly saw the look on Laura's face from all those nights ago. Whether the tear was for that teenaged girl or for himself was unclear.

End Trans

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