Shadow Play (37 page)

Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, King allowed a boyish smile to curve his mouth. "We'll pretend that the time before never happened. I was overeager and you were—well confused and uncertain. I reacted out of anger.''

Morgan took a gulp of the liquor, closing his eyes as it hit his stomach. He wondered if it was the whiskey that made him light-headed, or the fever, or whether he was at last losing what little sanity he had managed to maintain since escaping Japurie those many months ago. He felt euphoric, like a soldier who had joined the war with the heroic intent of dying for his cause and now faced the final battle. His veins hummed with a sense of heightened anticipation.

"You do forgive me for my rashness ... don't you, Morgan?"

Morgan's fingers tightened on his glass as he looked King in the eye and said, "You would have allowed them to rape me."

"Yes."

"You made me beg on my hands and knees like a broken
animal. Do you realize how difficult it's been for me to recover from that? Every night that I tried to sleep and couldn't I've imagined myself killing you. Every time I experienced again the degradation, remembered the pain, and felt the loss of my dignity—or what little dignity I had before coming to this hellhole. You robbed me even of that, Randi."

There was silence that lasted half a dozen heartbeats. King left his chair and paced the length of the room, swirling his liquor with one hand, the other he slid into a pocket.

"Remember how we sat in this room before, when you first came to paradise, and I told you of all the places I had been, the plays I had seen, the boulevards I had explored?"

"Yes."

"You were like a child, Morgan. It gave me such joy to watch the curiosity and enthusiasm on your face. In you I saw myself, an image of me when I was hungry and naive, and eager to soak up the knowledge and energy the world had to offer. And so I educated you in those first nights. We sat right there in those chairs until the sun came up, discussing Rousseau, Voltaire, and Diderot. I was amazed at your ability to comprehend, and it breaks my heart that you were never given a proper education. You could have made a difference in this world, Morgan. You still could.

"We're survivors, you and I. Fighters. We've kicked and scratched our entire lives to get what we want from an apathetic world. Yes. I learned to take what I desire. And I wanted you, Morgan—your mind, your devotion, your exquisite body. I hoped that once you experienced the wonder of us, you would realize how right, and good, it could be. Yes, I was desperate. I thought that by breaking that damned, arrogant pride of yours, you would accept me at last, but I knew immediately afterward that I was wrong. Would it help if I admitted to you that I'm sorry? If I could take it all back, I would." He stopped pacing. "Look at me, Morgan."

Morgan placed his glass on the table at his side and looked
up. It was a curious moment of intimacy that stretched taut between them, a powerful understanding that ripped the silence to pieces. King knew. Morgan saw the glimmering knowledge in his eyes. King knew why he had returned.

"Roberto," King called softly. The guard tilted his head and waited. "You are dismissed."

Roberto glided from the room, his huaraches making faint slapping noises on the floor. He closed the door behind him, leaving them alone.

Morgan left his chair. There was no air in his lungs, or in his throat. The gun pressed into his back like a dagger, and he wondered if he would be shaking too much to grab it when the time came. King put his drink aside and moved across the floor, stopping an arm's length from him. Finally he reached out, touching Morgan's hair with his fingertips, lifting the heavy black strands before letting them fall into place.

Now, Morgan thought.
Now!
Do it
now.
He could fire the bullet into King's head and by the time the guards rushed to his aid, he would have turned the gun on himself and ... Holy Mary, Mother of God, why couldn't he
move?

"I'm the only human being on the face of this earth who ever believed in you, Morgan."

His hand shook.

"I loved you."

He couldn't breathe.

"I love you."

"Bastard," he heard himself growl. He reached slowly and curled his sweating fingers around the grip of the gun—

"It won't work, Morgan. Dear Morgan, I know you too well, all your righteous ideals, your overblown convictions. I know you would never willingly surrender to me, voluntarily yield your manhood. It means too much to you, your dignity and self-worth."

Morgan gracefully, unwaveringly, raised the gun and pointed it. straight at King's face.

And King smiled. "You won't kill me. If you did..."

The door opened behind King, and Sarah walked in. Behind her stood Henry.

"... your friends would be horribly massacred, Morgan. Surely you don't want that."

He stared dumbly at Sarah and Henry while King peeled his fingers off the pistol grip.

"I suppose you'll want to be alone for a few minutes," King said. "I might add, Morgan, that the room has been stripped of anything that could be used as a weapon. You have no hope of escaping. You never did."

He left the room, closing the door behind him.

Perhaps it was the raging heat of the still twilight that pressed in on him as he stood there, unmoving, unable to take his eyes off Sarah. Or maybe it was his illness. Or defeat. Whatever, he felt as if it was grinding him into the leatherwood floor. He thought his spine might snap at any moment.

They continued to stand very still, their eyes locked on each other, her face a reflection of
his own, white and drawn with shock. There was a tall case clock in the room,
a monstrosity carved from the trunk of a colossal rosewood tree. The pendulum swung
from side to side, each tick counting down the interminable minutes, crashing in
the stillness. Finally he managed to put out one hand and clutch the back of the chair. His
knuckles were white. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His head was hurting
tremendously; to simply stand erect took a supreme effort.

Then Sarah was running toward him, her beautiful face a contrast of emotions: joy, fear, heartbreak. Oh, God, he had thought he'd never see it again. At once he was swept by blinding relief and happiness, then bitter futility. He managed to open his arms as she threw herself against him. He clutched her to him, hands buried in her glorious sun- shine hair. His senses took in the clean smell of her, the wave after wave of emotion that ran through her as he. pressed her trembling body against him.

"Why?" she wept. "Why did you leave me? How could you do it?"

He kissed her head, her brow, closing his eyes as he savored her nearness. "Sarah," was all he could manage.

She threw back her head and looked at him with outraged eyes. "I thought you cared for me. I thought you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me. You made a fool out of me. You didn't love me at all, did you? You used me only to come back here and sacrifice your life on revenge."

He stared blankly at her face. "Not love you? Is mat what you think? Sarah, I'd rather die than live without you. I'd rather die than spend the rest of my life imagining you married to Norman and having his children." He gripped her to him again and buried his face in her hair. "I only want you to be happy. That's all I ever wanted."

He held her as the shock of seeing her again, of holding her, finally began to wear away
and the reality of their situation began to enter his consciousness. Looking over her head at Henry, he said, "What happened? Why didn't you get her the hell out of here?"

"I honestly believed you would come back, Morgan, and when you didn't—"

"I trusted you to get her to Coari—"

"It wasn't Henry's fault," Sarah interrupted. "He tried to coerce me into leaving, but I refused. I wouldn't leave until I got what I came for."

"But you got your seeds—"

' 'It wasn't just the seeds... That man murdered my father in cold blood. I intended to force the confession from him and then... then ... Henry made me take a hard look at reality and I discovered there was no point in sacrificing my future for revenge. It no longer seemed important. I had decided to take my seeds and go to Coari, but then you disappeared. I couldn't go back without you. Oh, Morgan, the thought of King killing you was more than I could bear. This is my fault. Had I not been so possessed by an idiotic need to face King and force him to admit that he murdered
my father, you and Henry would never have returned here.'' She crumbled, and suddenly tears were streaming down her face. She collapsed against him, gripping him tightly, her face buried in his suit coat and shirt.

He held her until her sobbing had quieted, stroking her hair, luxuriating in the feel of it coiling around his fingers. At last she tilted her head and gazed up at him, her eyes wide and frightened, and once again he was conscious of a deep well of feeling within himself. But almost as quickly as she had fallen into his arms, she shoved him away, her features stormy as she paced in long strides around the room, her tumbling hair swinging and flying each time she turned. "Did you think I would simply leave you here? That I wouldn't suffer knowing that you had given yourself over to mis monster? You must have a very low opinion of yourself if you believed your best friend and I would simply turn our backs on you and, thinking only of ourselves, crawl out of Japura on our bellies. We love you, for God's sake."

"Yeah?" He tried to conjure up one of his droll and sarcastic grins, but he couldn't do it. He felt too damn tired, and sick, and concerned about her and Henry. Randi was wise to him now. Always had been. He should have known the bastard would be too perceptive to believe that Morgan would ever agree to give himself up to his demands.

"What now?" Henry asked.

Morgan walked to the desk, took up a cigar, and lit it with a match. "Where are Kan and the others?"

"Good question. When Sarah discovered you were gone, she took up a rifle and struck off

through the jungle. Nothing I could say or do would stop her. Of course, I went with her. I ordered everyone else to stay put, thinking that if we were caught, at least Kan and the Indians would be free to get away."

Henry perched on the desk, hands on his knees as he watched Sarah pace. "It's been one hell of a long week, Morgan. We were found by several guards eight days ago. I must admit, had they not been so amused by us, they probably would have shot us on sight. But to find a blond beauty wandering the floresta accompanied by a short, squat pygmy with bones in his nose?"

Morgan grinned.

"Surprisingly, we haven't been treated too badly, aside from being locked up in a suite of rooms. We were never without food or drink. And he told us continually that al- though you were ill, you were recuperating nicely."

"Remind me to thank him."

"We aren't going to get out of here alive, are we, Morgan?"

"No. Not unless I can get my hands on a gun. If I could get two shots off, then there might be a chance. A slim one, I grant you, but—"

King reentered in that moment with guards at his sides. He still carried the gun, but his face was much less passive than it had been earlier. Morgan knew that look, and it didn't bode well for any of them.

"Sarah," Morgan called, and as Sarah hurried over to him, he took her arm and eased her behind him. He stepped in front of Henry as well, blocking King's view of them.

"How very noble," King said. "But useless. If I want them I'll take them, Morgan. You know that. But perhaps you can convince me to let them go... some way." His mouth curved in a smile, and lifting the gun, he cocked the hammer back and pointed it directly at Morgan.' 'Now move away from your friends so we can discuss this annoying problem."

Morgan crushed out his cigar and started to move aside. Sarah made a grab for his sleeve, but he jerked away. Then Henry slid from the desk and planted himself in front of him, his dark hands pushing him back. "Don't do it," he implored Morgan. "He'll kill us all, regardless."

"Shut up!" King shouted.

"Don't do it, Morgan. For God's sake, I'm the one who got you into this mess and—"

Morgan shoved him and he stumbled backward. Henry
made one last effort to hold him back, physically pulling . him down so he could whisper, "Two shots? Is that all you…?”

"Shut up!" King roared. Stepping forward, he closed his fist in Morgan's coat and dragged him away from Henry, jamming the barrel of his gun against Morgan's temple so forcefully that the pain momentarily obliterated the ache of fever. .

"On your knees, Kane!" he ordered. Then there were hands on his shoulders, forcing him down. He struck out, and someone groaned. Suddenly the hands circled his throat, cutting off his air and bending him back until he thought his spine might break. His feet slid out from under him and he fell hard on the floor at King's feet.

Shouting voices and Sarah's screams washed over him, as nauseatingly painful as the rain of kicks and blows King's guards were landing on his back and stomach and face. Yet from somewhere be found the energy to fight, striking out with his fists and feet, spurred on by Sarah's cries and Henry's shouts.

Then from the corner of his eye he saw Henry move, and the world slowed, each second clipping by as if frozen in time; and suddenly he was no longer fighting for himself, but to stop the horrible nightmare before it could happen, knowing deep in his terrorized heart that he was too late.

He hurled the guard called Roberto to the floor, threw another man several feet through the air so he crashed against the clock. He claw his way toward King, who was slowly pivoting on his heel and turning the gun toward Henry.

Henry, who was his friend. Henry, who had promised to take care of him no matter what. Henry ...

"Noooo!" he yelled.

The gun exploded, and he was certain he saw the bullet streak with deadly accuracy. He was certain he heard the horrible thud of its impact, picking up his friend's body and flinging it weightlessly over the floor until it fell, twisted and broken with pain.

Piece by piece, the world seemed to crumble.

He crawled on his hands and knees, hearing nothing but the reverberations of the impact over and over. He saw nothing but the small hand lying lifeless, palm up on the polished floor.

Henry!

He felt afraid, so afraid. He didn't want to hurt or break him any more than he already was. He eased his arms around him and lifted him, cradling his head and shoulders in his lap, pressing his hand over the wound in Henry's chest to stanch the flow of blood.

As if from a distance Sarah's weeping came to him, and he thought he felt her hands on his face, his shoulders, doing her best to console him while her own heart shattered.

Henry opened his eyes.

"Don't move," Morgan told him, though his throat felt as if it would explode with the words.

"Good idea." Henry smiled weakly. "By Jove, Morgan.

is that a tear in your eye?"

"Shut up, Henry. Just shut up." "Morgan. I'm touched. I really am."

He closed his eyes and held him nearer, so near he could press his cheek against Henry's. "Please don't die," he whispered in his ear. "Please don't leave me here all alone."

"Alone? Poppycock, Morgan. You were never alone and you never will be. I'll always be with you, and there's Sarah. She loves you, Morgan. She had every intention of telling you that, but then you ... were gone, and she ... was very distraught. " His eyes drifted closed.

Morgan gripped him tighter. "Henry!"

"I'm here, Morgan. Not to fear, old chap. Give me ... give me your hand. There. That's a good friend. You never let me down. When the world looked at me as if I was an oddity, you were my friend. You treated me as if I was a human being, a man, and I... love you, Morgan. Did I ever tell you that?"