[November 1st] [The Wild Wild West/Cannon-related] All That I'm Fighting For

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: All That I'm Fighting For
Day/Theme: November 1st - He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror
Series: The Wild Wild West/Cannon
Character/Pairing: Coley Rodman, Little Pinto, Jim West, Artemus Gordon, Ray Norman
Rating: T/PG-13

Takes place probably before the blurb for October 16th; after the others.


By Lucky_Ladybug

“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.