It was early, barely even 6:30, when Morgan and Boromir met shyly at the breakfast table. They had spent the night together again, and slept - nothing more. Morgan didn't feel any self-consciousness about her inability to seduce Boromir into sex. She merely hoped that good things would come to those who waited, or at least used their feminine wiles to get what they wanted.
For now, she would have to be patient, and she was content with what she had.
"If you do not mind, Morgan, I wish to journey with you into the city."
"But, won't Carl be expecting you?" she said after swallowing her mouthful of cereal.
"Nay, I told him yesterday of my plan."
"Plan? What is your plan?"
"I go today to see Dr. Larkin."
Morgan nearly choked on her Fruit Loops. "But you just saw him yesterday!"
"Aye, but I feel if I come willingly upon at least one visit, I shall be free of this ordeal once and for all."
"Wow. You really are brave. Not that you have anything to be worried about..." she quickly added, not wanting to give Boromir a complex.
He smiled and buttered a thick slice of caraway bread. "I have no fear today."
"Well, good!" Morgan said, impressed. She didn't think that if she were in Boromir's shoes she would be so ready to return to the mental hospital, even if it was just for an hour. "I'm sure it'll be fine. And if not, call me at the hospital. I'll be there until two. Is that alright? What are you going to do in the meanwhile?"
"I shall bring Hamlet along with me."
"Okay. Oh, and there's a bench just outside the ER; you can wait there until I'm done." Morgan rose up, putting her dishes away, but suddenly stopped. "Wait! You don't have a watch, do you? I keep forgetting these things..." she took her own watch off her wrist. It was dainty and gold, a graduation gift from her father. "Here. It won't fit you. Just...put it in your pocket."
Boromir stared at the watch with a puzzled look, which Morgan saw immediately. "When this arm reaches there, and that little arm reaches here, it'll be two o'clock."
"Aye," Boromir replied, still staring intently at the face of the watch, trying to burn the intended positions to memory.
By seven they were on their way. Boromir was at last beginning to enjoy the rides in her Honda, but still maintained that horseback was the preferred method of travel.
Morgan, dressed in her turquoise scrubs, stepped out of the car, glad for a few minutes of peace before the start of her shift. "So, here's the number if anything happens," she said, handing him a scrap of paper. "Do you remember how to dial? Remember, pick it up, listen, then press the buttons..." she said, miming the actions.
"Aye," Boromir replied, pocketing the number.
"Alright. So, to get to the hospital from here, you have to go to the lights, up...I think three blocks, and it's right there, on your right. If you get lost, just ask someone on the street. Or call..."
Boromir nodded, and smiled at her. "Have no fear for me."
"Okay. Have a good morning, and say hi to Dr. Larkin for me." She kissed him, and made off to the sliding doors, pulling her ID over her neck. She did not look back, and upon her disappearing behind the large glass doors, Boromir turned away. Yet, he did not move toward her instructions, but in the opposite direction. During their journey into the city, Boromir had been attentively seeking out his intended destination, and upon discerning it but a short distance from the hospital, he carried on his way.
It was still closed upon his arrival, and while he waited, he window shopped at nearby establishments, gazing in steadfast wonder at all the devices, and interesting inventions that this society had dreamt up. He saw two men approach the store, unlock the door, and flip the sign, which bade him enter. He did so, and approached the long, glass counter.
"Hello!" one of the men bade him upon hearing the bell. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Aye," Boromir said, and pulled out his gold belt, the very belt that Galadriel, herself, had gifted him, and placed it on the glistening counter. "I wish to trade this for jewels and coin."
The little man blinked at him from behind his glasses, and rubbed his mustache. When you deal with the public, you get all kinds, he thought to himself. However, taking a closer look at the belt, he looked up at Boromir with astonishment.
"Wherever did you get this?! Avi! Get over here! You simply have to see this!"
The other gentlemen, stouter than the other man, but equal in height, hurried up and cast his gaze down at the unusual object.
The stouter man picked up the belt, feeling its weight in his hands. Smiling at Boromir, he asked, "I've been in this business for 27 years, and I've never come across anything remotely close to this!"
"Wherever did you get it?" the mustached clerk repeated.
"It was a gift," Boromir said, somewhat bewildered by the fuss they were making.
The portly clerk already had his eye magnifier out, and tucked up into his right eye, closely examining the gold-smithing. "There are no markings, but this is 24 karat gold if I've ever seen any. There's no mistaking the colour... Is it Indian?" he said, looking up, his right eye magnified several times larger than the other.
"I...do not believe so," Boromir replied. "Is it of any value?"
The two gentlemen began to giggle as though they were little boys being naughty in church. "My good sir," the mustached man said, "we run the best gold-smithing business in Maine, I am proud to say. We do not pressure our patrons, and offer only the finest quality of merchandise. Never would we dream of misleading you. If what you have here is what we think it is, I would say that you carry a small fortune in your hands."
"Truly?" Boromir asked, his spirits brightening.
They both eagerly nodded their heads, smiling equally as brightly. "Now, we would be prepared to take this off your hands, as it were," the man with the enlarged eye said, still clutching on tightly to the golden belt. "I will need to run a quick test on the quality of gold, but if everything appears to be in order, we will have the greatest pleasure doing what business we can with you."
"That seems perfectly well," Boromir said amiably.
The two gentlemen nodded excitedly to each other, and then the stout man withdrew to the back room to run the necessary tests. The mustached clerk subserviently turned his entire attentions onto Boromir. "Now, I believe you mentioned you wished to exchange the belt. Did you simply want money, or did you desire some jewelry as well?"
Boromir sighed, his demeanor becoming more serious. These men were unknown to him, and he was loath to tell them intimate information. However, they seemed harmless enough... "It is my desire to...pose the subject of matrimony to...a certain lady..."
"I see! I see!" the little man said quite enlivened. "Then, you will be needing an engagement ring! If you will but come over here... Now, I'll ask that you simply look at the styles of rings here below..."
Boromir gazed at the rows upon rows of diamond rings, each unique in their size and shape. "Do I simply choose one?"
"Yes! Whatever you think she would like best! After that, we'll choose the stones."
"It will not be one of these rings, then?" Boromir asked. He was feeling dreadfully confused...
The man smiled, knowingly. "These are all fair rings, but I believe you'll want something truly spectacular! Something so beautiful, she will not even contemplate saying no!"
Boromir thought a moment. That certainly did seem more appealing. "Very well. But, are they not all a little plain?"
"Plain?" the man said, slightly crestfallen.
"Have you not anything with a little more colour? Perhaps green, or blue, or red?"
The salesclerk looked slightly horrified, but did not wish to insult. "We definitely have that option open to us, but...I hope you do not mind my asking you this, but, what sort of woman is the lady? Is she...a modern sort of lady?"
Boromir thought of Morgan, of all her independence, and accomplishments. She was capable of things that he dared not even attempt like mastering the terrifying stove, and driving the death-chamber Honda. "Aye, I would call her self-reliant..."
"Ah!" the salesclerk replied, now satisfied. "Well, a modern lady wants nothing more than a modern ring! And I promise you, a diamond is a girl's best friend!"
Boromir stared at the man, thinking him beyond mad. "If she should hate the stone..."
"You can return it! No problem whatsoever! But I promise you, you will leave here knowing that once she gazes upon the ring we are going to create, she will burst into tears, and say yes!"
Boromir was not altogether sure he liked the thought of Morgan weeping, but relented, thinking this strange little man must know the ladies of this land better than he. "Very well. I daresay you know best."
"Fine!" the man replied, agreeing silently with the comment. "And which one strikes your fancy?"
Boromir looked at the sea of rings. He had never seen a ring on Morgan's finger, and did not feel a proper judge. What if what he chose she did not like? Would she refuse him? It was too much of a demand on his senses... "I cannot! I know not what she will favor!"
"Then, may I recommend one to you?"
"Pray do!" Boromir, desperate for aid and advice.
"Alright. How about this one?" he said, pulling out a Tiffany style ring with a single large diamond in the centre in an emerald cut. "This is very modern, yet simple and classic."
"Simple?" Boromir said incredulously, staring at the massive stone. "It is immense!"
"Girls like 'em big," the clerk said, matter-of-fact.
"Indeed?" Boromir said doubtfully. "I do not know..."
"Well..." the clerk said, pulling out another ring, this one with a round diamond solitaire. "How about this one? Truly classic. Timeless! Breathtaking! This ring in a two karat stone will take her breath away!"
Boromir was not sure, but it seemed as good as any. "Aye, very well," he said, though slightly sick with worry.
"Excellent choice! Now, we must choose a diamond!"
"What is wrong with this diamond?"
"Oh, you do not want this diamond, sir. Let us get you a quality diamond. Now, have you ever researched diamonds?"
Boromir shook his head, no. So much for simple, he thought to himself, woefully. This was no easy task...
The clerk went on at length describing the various details needed in judging a diamond's worth. He lost Boromir a few times, but slowly brought him back. He brought out several diamonds to view, each one in their own right spectacular. In the end, they settled on a 1.5 karat stone, near white clarity, with very few flaws. Even Boromir was dazzled by its beauty.
"Now, the setting. Would you like yellow gold, white gold, or platinum?"
"May I not have it set in mithril?" Boromir asked, desiring the best for his love.
"I beg your pardon?" the clerk said, thinking he must've misheard the man.
"Nothing..." Boromir said, surmising that it was but another thing different in this land. "Which would you advise?"
"Oh, platinum of course! Now, it is more expensive..."
"That is no concern," Boromir said.
"Excellent!" the clerk said, smiling.
Just then, the stouter clerk came back, gold belt in hand, his face aglow, having just completed a police check for stolen gold objects. "Well, it's pure gold! I must say, this is one of the happiest days of my life! This belt is simply glorious, and I think we have several international buyers that may be interested! Getting down to the nitty gritty, the belt weighs 17.55 ounces. The current price of gold is 940.00 per ounce. That brings the total worth to 16,501.05. Is this satisfactory? Are you still interested in selling it?"
Boromir did not grasp all that was said, but it was evident the two gentlemen were eager to do business. He felt a pang to give up one of his few possessions from his former life, but thought that the Lady Galadriel, wise yet menacing, would more than likely favour its being relinquished for true love's sake. "Is that a fair price?" he said in innocence.
The two gentlemen glanced at each other, both believing Boromir to be playing hardball. "Alright then," the stouter man said. "Shall we make it an even 17,000?"
Boromir did not know what words he had said that made them increase their offer, but he did not complain. "That will do."
The two men exclaimed in rapture. "And he is in need of an engagement ring!" the mustached man said to his colleague. "Now, we have chosen a diamond, and a setting. Let me write up the order, so we can calculate the difference."
He excitedly set to work; soon the price had been set. The ring was priced at just over 5,000, which they decreased out of good nature. After taxes, Boromir was walking away with nearly 12,000 in his pocket. He had been most reluctant to take but one piece of paper in return of so high a number, as he had expected a great many coins to be given to him. They insisted that this was the preferred method, and so, he did not argue. However, upon their inquiry to his having a bank account, they signed it "cash" in the end.
The ring was to take several days, though Boromir had been insistent on its immediate preparation. In the end they relented, and asked him to return in an hour's time. They each happily shook Boromir's hand, wishing him mozeltof. He gladly accepted their wishes, and prayed in his heart that Morgan would regard his
offering with as much delight as he would have giving it.
Morgan's first day back had been quieter than expected, and she was glad for the slower pace of work. Midweek mornings always did seem inactive in comparison. Much of her day had gone by uneventfully, with only a woman in labour, and a car accident to liven things up. All the staff had made a great fuss about her return, everyone abuzz with her near-death experience. At one point, Davis pulled her aside, his voice smooth with a note of kindness that she had thought long ago extinct. "I'm sorry to hear about what happened. You're okay, though, right?"
"Yeah. Thanks," she replied, suspicious as to why he was being so nice to her. Misfortune brings out the best in people, she thought, but that thought was short lived.
"So who was it? Another one of your deranged ex-boyfriends?"
After her telling Davis where he could shove his stethoscope, she left, gritting her teeth. He always seemed to get the best of her...
"Hey Franny," she said to the ER receptionist during the afternoon lull. "Do you know when Lakeesha's shift is?"
"She's on the graveyard tonight," Franny replied. The phone rang and Franny picked it up. "Hello, Mercy Hospital. How may I help you today?" Franny suddenly looked surprised. "One moment," and turned to Morgan. "It's for you. It's Wyatt."
"Oh! Thanks!" Morgan held the phone to her ear. "Hello?"
"Morgan! Glad I got you. I wasn't sure if you were going to take another day off, and when I couldn't get you at home, I got a little worried."
"No, I'm alright. Things are...back to normal."
"Good...good." Wyatt paused over the phone, and then sighed.
"Wyatt? Is something wrong?"
"Morgan, I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just blurt it out. We found Derek."
Laughing and feeling as though she had only just begun to breathe again after what felt like ages, she exclaimed, "Oh, thank God! I can't tell you how relieved that makes me! Where was he?"
"We found him in Sing-Sing, the penitentiary in New York state. That's why we couldn't locate him right away; he was out of state."
"What did he do to get himself sent to prison?" she asked, thanking her lucky stars that she had gotten rid of the loser long before his criminal career.
"Eight counts of fraud, Grand theft auto, five counts of destruction of private property, failing to remain at the scene...honestly, the list goes on and on!"
"Wow. Oh, I can't tell you how much better I feel knowing he's behind bars!"
"That's just it, Morgan. It couldn't possibly have been Derek who broke into your house. Derek was charged and convicted almost seven months ago, and has been in prison ever since. He's not our perp."
The sick feeling returned to Morgan's stomach with a vengeance. "Oh...shit..."
"The flowers, the late night calls...there's just no way it was Derek..."
Morgan nodded her head, not even thinking that Wyatt couldn't possibly see her doing it.
"The worst part is, we're no closer to finding who attacked you. All the evidence turned up loose ends. The gun was stolen - dead end there. He was masked - again, dead end. He failed to leave any DNA at the scene. He was wearing gloves, so we couldn't lift any prints. The only evidence we found at all was some powder residue left on the gun from the latex gloves. Some brand named: DiaMed. Now, those same exact gloves are sold in just about every pharmacy in the country." Wyatt breathed a heavy sigh. He was exhausted. He had been up for hours pouring over all the evidence, cross referencing everything, but got nothing out of it.
Morgan was scared shitless, but was determined not to make Wyatt worry more for her than he already did. She had Boromir, and that was a blessing unto itself. With him, she felt safer than the Hope Diamond. "So...what now?"
Wyatt stalled. The words were just too painful. "The case has turned cold, Morgan. We've been ordered to close it up. I'm so sorry..."
"No, you've done your best," she said, feeling nervous and frightened out of her mind. "Listen, Boromir's with me at the house. I don't have anything to worry about! Seriously, I'll be okay."
After several more assurances of letting him know the minute she was ever harassed again, they hung up. Franny had spent the entire conversation eavesdropping in concerned eagerness, and was quick to consol her young friend. "Morgan, I'm so sorry! Anything I can do for you?"
"No, thank you, Franny. I just...need a minute..." Morgan escaped to the stockroom, anxious for time to cry in private. He was still out there, whomever he was, she thought wildly! Merciless, and terrifying...
She wiped away a panicked tear, and glanced down. It took her a moment to register the blue box on the wired shelf. Clear as day was written the word: DiaMed. Shaking, she reached in and pulled out a single, white latex glove. She ran her fingers over the smooth plastic, and a thin film remained on her fingers. Gasping, she dropped the glove, and ran out of the stockroom.
They're sold everywhere, she told herself, trying to act as calm as possible. Yet, she glanced around the ER like a madwoman, feeling as though at any moment a hooded man could jump out at her, raise his gun and...
BANG! She nearly screamed as she bumped into the crash cart, causing the various instruments and packages to spill out onto the floor. Calling herself stupid, she bent down to pick them all up.
Davis poked his head out from behind curtain two, wondering what the commotion was all about. Seeing Morgan on her hands and knees picking up the mess, he smirked to himself, and stepped up, towering over her. "Feeling jumpy?"
"I'd like to see you go through the same experience," she replied, her voice icy cold, "and not be a little jumpy."
"Don't worry. I'm sure whoever did it won't try it again," he said, stepping away.
She didn't even raise her head, not even wanting to look at his foul rear end as he walked away. He stopped beside the garbage bin, and Morgan heard the distinct cracking sound of a normal act in the ER. However, upon this instance, it caused the hairs to rise up on her arms. She looked up, and there was Davis, pulling off white latex gloves, tossing them into the garbage. He walked away, not looking back. If he had, he would have wondered at the look of pure fright on Morgan's face.
She hid back in the storeroom, needing another minute to think. She was shaking, barely in control of her fear. What was she to do? There was no proof, just a hunch. She felt like such a coward. That is, until she thought of Moglie.
She thought of the first day she had brought him home from the pound, and how Penny had swatted him, letting him know who was there first. She thought of his favourite toy, a torn up fabric frisbee that now lay abandoned and alone by the fireplace. She thought of the empty cans of dog food in the cupboard, and of the day they buried him. She thought of his dried blood on her skin, and of the pain and loneliness he must have suffered upon being shot...twice. A rage boiled within her, which was stronger and more powerful than any fear. She strode into the ER, searching for her target.
Davis was in the staff room, hanging up his ID badge in his locker. Morgan stood at the doorway, her glare unfeeling. She observed his scrubs, wondering why she hadn't noticed the inconsistency before. "A little warm for a turtleneck, isn't it?"
Davis started at her words. He took a long drink from his water bottle, and scrunched the sleeves up to his elbows. "I'm feeling a cold coming on..."
"Really?" Morgan said, her voice smooth as silk. "You might be getting laryngitis. Better let me have a look."
Davis laughed mockingly, but there was a distinct note of anxiety in it. "Like you can give a diagnosis...a nurse..."
"Let me see your neck, Davis."
He stood at the locker, his sarcastic demeanor fading fast. "I always knew you had the hots for me. One night not enough, right?"
"Still won't show me?" Morgan asked, unfazed by his non-answer. "Don't think for one second I don't know why."
"Oh yeah?" Davis said, a smug smile stretched across his perfect face. "Enlighten me."
"I know it was you."
"What was me?" he said superciliously.
"You killed my dog. What kind of a monster are you?"
"You think it was me?" he said, laughing. "You've seriously gone off the deep end, Harris! I think you've been living too long with that crackpot of a boyfriend..."
He went to walk past her, but she stepped in his way. "What did you say?"
Davis stood perfectly still, only a trace of a smirk on his face.
"Okay..." Morgan said, her eyes dangerous. "If it wasn't you who broke into my house, shot my dog, and threatened us with a gun...how did you know Boromir was at my house?"
"I've heard you talk about it..."
"No, no! I haven't."
All traces of levity vanished from Davis's face. His eyes suddenly became dark and menacing, as he drew close up to her face; so close, she could smell the stale coffee and cigarettes on his breath. "Prove it!" he spat.
He turned on his heel, and strode out. Morgan stood there a moment, weighing all that had happened in her mind. She still had no evidence, and she knew it. She hated to admit it, but he had killed Moglie, and gotten away with murder.
Davis was shaking slightly as he strode out of the ER. He stopped outside the doors for a much needed cigarette. Cupping his hands over the flame, he lit it, taking in a long drag, and hoped the dose of nicotine and arsenic would calm his nerves.
He'd been careful, he assured himself, taking another quick drag. He'd been extremely careful...
Suddenly, he noticed none other than Boromir sitting on the bench in front of the ER, reading a book. He looked back in the emergency room - Morgan was nowhere in sight. Feeling the need to drive home to Morgan what he was capable of, he strode up to Boromir, blocking out the sun, casting a shadow across Boromir's face.
Boromir looked up, and saw a man familiar to him. "I feel as though I know you," he said, squinting at the stranger.
Davis smiled cruelly. The freak didn't have a sword with him this time... "I was here the day you came to the hospital. Remember?"
"Ah, aye," Boromir said, smiling, but wondered at the strange behaviour of the man. He stood too closely, and he had a foul air about him.
"Listen, I think there's something you should know. The person who signed you off to be sent to the mental hospital was Morgan."
"What? Of what do you speak?" Boromir said quietly, his insides beginning to burn.
"You went there because of her. She's the one who had you committed."
Boromir jumped up, casting his book aside. As he rose, his eyes flashed ominously, and in one sweeping motion, he singlehandedly grabbed Davis by the throat. Davis chocked, and cried out in fright, yet Boromir snarled, "You lie!"
Davis tried to shake his head, no, but was caught too firmly in Boromir's grasp. "I swear! I'm telling you the truth! Go ahead! Ask her!"
Boromir let go the man's throat, feeling as though he were going to be sick. Davis coughed, and rubbed his already bruised neck. Turning triumphantly to Boromir, he couldn't resist adding the cherry on an already perfect ice cream sundae. "I fucked her too, by the way. Did she tell you? She likes her men really rough in bed, but I'm sure you already know that..."
Davis didn't even see Boromir's iron fist hit him, but he certainly felt it. His nose shattered, and blood sprayed everywhere. Gasping and gurgling with blood, he turned and staggered back into the ER, his tail firmly tucked between his legs.
Boromir, however, again sat back down on the bench, in shock. His hand was still clenched into a fist when Morgan approached, surprised at the sudden sight of Davis with a broken and bloody nose. She had never been so glad to see Davis in all her life. "Boromir! Did you do that?! I can't believe it! You wouldn't..."
But Boromir held up his hand, silencing her. "Morgan, I wish to go."
His careless dismissal felt near to a slap in the face. He wasn't himself. What the hell did she miss when she was in the bathroom? "Well, alright. My shift's over. Did you want to go out for lunch? I know this great Dim Sum place..."
"Nay," Boromir said, not looking at her; his eyes greatly affected. "I wish to return home."
A/N: Please review!!
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.