[April 10th] [Perry Mason] Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Lay Your Weary Head to Rest
Day/Theme: April 10th - Let me have this dust
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Della Street, Hamilton Burger
Rating: T/PG-13

Now this is a somewhat random piece. The idea was here before, but the emphasis on the plaster dust came when I decided to write for the prompt. It ended up depressing me so much that I wrote the second half too, whereas the original idea only called for up through the first half. Ah, I am hopeless. But I also love the man. C'est la vie.


Della’s heart was racing and her stomach twisting in her helplessness. She was kneeling beside the injured man, having gently gathered his body in her arms. His head rested on her shoulder. He was breathing hard, rasping, and very pained.

“Dear God, I don’t know what to do,” Della whispered. “Please . . . don’t let him die. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

She had treated his injuries as best as she could, but there was little she could do. And there was no way to call for help out here in this abandoned and collapsed warehouse in the mountains. Neither of their phones could pick up a signal.

“Della . . .”

She snapped to attention at the agonized voice. “What is it, Mr. Burger?” She was trying to keep her voice level, but it was starting to waver. She was so afraid for him and anguished over her inability to help him.

“You’ll make it out of this,” he told her. “When you get back to town, please . . .” He trailed off, fighting to gather more strength. “Tell Mignon I’m sorry. And tell her . . .” He coughed, choking on either his own blood or the incessant plaster dust in the air. “Tell her I don’t think Larry is ready to take my place. Maybe in a few years. He’s . . . he’s got the makings of a good district attorney. He just needs more experience.”

The finality of his request was quickly pushing Della to the panicking point, but still she fought for calm. “Please, Mr. Burger, don’t talk like that,” she said. “You’ll be able to carry on as the district attorney.”

“. . . I never really lost any of those court cases against Perry,” he answered. “Not as long as the truth was found. But . . .” He closed his eyes. “I’m going to lose today.”

“You can’t know that!” Della exclaimed.

He stayed silent again now. His breathing slowed and grew shallow. And Della found herself about to cry.

“I never thought something like this would happen,” she said in despair. “Or that I would be the only one with you when you . . .” She trailed off. “If it was someone else, someone more knowledgeable, maybe you’d have the help you need to stay alive.”

“I probably need a hospital for that.” He sounded wry now, trying to inject a bit of humor into a situation where there was none. But he quickly sobered. “Della, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to put you through this.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Burger,” Della tried to assure him. “You couldn’t help it. Just . . . just rest. Maybe if you save your strength you’ll . . .”

“Make it? Stay alive?” He tried to look up at her. “I’m not going to make it. And I don’t want my last moments to be quiet, with me finally slipping into unconsciousness before I give up the ghost. Or whatever there is to give up.”

Della held him closer, as if she believed in her desperation that she could keep him from passing away. She knew in her heart that he was right; he was dying. His injuries from both the fight with the escaped murderer who had forced them here and the partial cave-in of the warehouse were too extensive. And perhaps she should stop denying it and face up to it. Perhaps she should give him something other than a vain protest for the last words he’d ever hear.

“. . . Alright,” she spoke at last, with great effort. “What . . . do you want?”

“I want the answer to a question. The real answer, not something whitewashed.”

Della’s eyes widened. “What question, Mr. Burger?”

“If this had happened years ago, would you have been as upset then as you are now?”

Della rocked back. It was not a query she had ever thought she would be asked. Her heart and mind sped up as she weighed her response. She did not want to speak too soon and impulsive.

“I never want good people to die,” she began. “I would have been upset. But . . . if it had happened around the time you and Perry first met, I . . . I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been as upset. We didn’t know each other well then. And I wasn’t sure what to make of you. I didn’t like you much at first. I felt so defensive about Perry.

“But we’ve both changed. I think we’ve matured and mellowed. Now, you . . . I think of you as a dear friend—someone I can’t bear to lose. I don’t want to have to say goodbye.”

“Then don’t say it.” His voice was soft now, possibly because he wanted it but more likely because of the pain. He reached out for her hand. “Thank you . . . for telling me.”

Della took his hand in hers. “Of course,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes again, relaxing further against her. “. . . Tell Perry to keep at what he’s doing,” he said. “There’s always someone who needs his help. And tell Paul . . .” He managed a weak smile. “Tell him not to sit around and be confused over why he’s upset. . . . Or at least tell him it’s alright to be confused.”

“Paul cares about you very much,” Della said. “I don’t think he’ll be confused anymore.”

“Maybe not.” The darkness was tugging at him now. He fought it, his eyes flickering open one more time.

“Tragg and Andy and Drumm . . . tell them we’ve had good years together and I’ve enjoyed working with them.” He paused. “And Della . . . thank you for having an open mind and being a friend. And being here for me at . . . at the end. . . .”

Della swallowed hard. “I’m glad you don’t have to die alone. I wish . . .” She trailed off.

She never did finish her sentence. The sudden slackening of his body sent a horrified chill up her spine. “Mr. Burger?” she choked. She bent down, checking desperately for signs of life. But there was nothing.

Shaking, she pulled back, staring into the pale and pained face. She was holding only an empty shell. No one was home. And yet he looked eerily as though he was only sleeping.

She pulled him closer again. “Oh, Mr. Burger. . . . Hamilton . . .” The tears that had threatened to spill over did, now that she did not have to hold on to her emotions. “I thought I could let you go, that I was as brave as you were to leave.” She shook her head. “But I’m not brave or strong at all. I don’t want you to be dead. I want you to live! I want you to live!”

All of the movement was kicking up a new cloud of plaster dust. Della could not care less.
****
“Della! Della, please wake up. I’m getting worried. Della?”

She stirred with a weak groan. Wherever she was, she was lying on her back. And she was on something hard. When she tried to breathe, in came that wretched plaster dust. She gasped, turning her head to the side as she choked and coughed.

“I’m sorry. It’s pretty overwhelming. I don’t have anything to cover your face. . . .”

She turned back, weakly opening her eyes. “Mr. Burger?” Her voice was rasping and pained. What had happened? Mr. Burger was dead. She had held his lifeless body in her arms. And yet . . . no, he couldn’t be dead. He was bending over her, gently touching her shoulder. “Mr. Burger, I thought you were dead!”

He gave a rueful chuckle. “I think we thought we were both dead when the building collapsed. I just woke up a few minutes ago. We’ve been lying on the floor here, as though we were trying to shield each other.”

Della rose up on her elbows. “That isn’t how I remember it,” she said, still woozy. “I wasn’t hurt, but you were, and you were dying. . . .”

“It must’ve just been a dream brought on by what happened,” he said. “Can you stand?”

Della hesitated. “I think so,” she said. “In a few minutes, perhaps.”

He nodded. “We should get out of here while we really do have the chance.” He glanced up at the groaning timbers of the ceiling.

Fear stabbed into Della’s heart when she followed his gaze. “Let’s go now,” she pleaded, gripping his arm. “I can make it.”

He blinked in surprise. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

“Yes,” Della said firmly. “Please!” She struggled to get up. Instead she swayed, the sudden movement too much for her. Hamilton caught and steadied her, keeping an arm around her as they limped to the doorway and into the fading daylight outside.

It was only when they were safely away from the warehouse that Della allowed herself to relax. “Mr. Burger,” she whispered, clutching at his suit coat, “you might not believe me, but I think I saw a warning while I was unconscious. In my dream, it was when those timbers fell from the ceiling that you were fatally hurt.”

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. “The timbers that were creaking when we left?”

“Yes!” Della nodded. “That was when I knew we had to leave right now.” She peered up at him. “Do you think I’m imagining things?”

Hamilton looked shaken. “I don’t know what I think. I’m not sure I want to try to figure it out, either. Let’s just go. Maybe we can get a signal farther down the road.”

“Maybe,” Della agreed.

They were only yards away when the horrible crash resounded from the direction of the warehouse. They both stiffened.

“. . . There but for the grace of God,” Della whispered at last.

Hamilton glanced back at the disaster. “Neither of us could have survived that,” he declared.

Della looked back too. The rest of the building had given way. The thick dust cloud was rising from it, filling the air.

She shuddered, breathing a prayer of thanks as they continued down the path.