Mortimer | 1.1

Mortimer stared into the fire, remarkably still for how fast his thoughts were racing. It's still in experimental stages, the doctor had said. But it will buy me time? Mortimer had asked. He absentmindedly tucked the gray hair behind his ears.

A healthy diet and exercise would buy you time, Mr. Goth. How long had it been since he'd eaten? Really eaten? Sat down somewhere, with a fork and knife? He couldn't remember. He couldn't even remember what it felt like to be hungry.

He only remembered Bella.

"Mr. Goth," a voice said from the doorway.

Mortimer glanced over from the corner of his eye. Donald Lothario. That's what it said on all of the court papers. The articles in The Pleasant Times. The police report. 'Donald Lothario, last known contact of Bella Goth on the night of her disappearance.'

He'd never seen him in person, but he'd seen enough pictures, too. Couldn't get away from them, actually.

Don ran a hand through his hair, flicking rainwater all over the hardwood floor.

"I'm sure my lawyer will love to hear that you're contacting me directly," he said with a smirk. "The case is closed, old man. I didn't do it."

"If you didn't do it, why would you run to your lawyer? To tattle? On two businessmen?" Mortimer turned back to the fire. "The case is closed, boy."

Cassandra pressed her back against the wall in the dining room. Her ears strained to listen in on the conversation happening on the other side of the doorway. Her heart was beating so fast.

Don furrowed his brows as he came inside.

"We never had any business together," he insisted. "I already told you: I don't know what happened to your wife. But you've got to stop bringing this to me, man. I get if you can't move on, but I have, alright? Bella Goth was a stranger to me. She still is. And I can't keep wasting my time answering questions about someone I don't know because I don't know."

Don shook his head. He still couldn't believe this was happening. It was supposed to be over. It never should have even happened.

"Look, man, you've got kids. So good luck with the rest of your life," he said finally, about to leave. No more questions. No more Bella Goth. No more of this drama that had consumed his-- "But I've got my own life to worry about."

"A new job at the hospital," Mortimer said, turning around suddenly. "Isn't that right? And that new condo. 150 Main Street. You certainly do have a lot on your plate, Mr. Lothario, especially with a woman in the picture -- or, should I say, women in the picture."

Don felt his blood get hot.

"What are you doing now? Following me or something?"

Mortimer walked right by him to the bar in the back of the room without answering. He poured two glasses--

"Hey," Don hissed and stalked after him. He grabbed the front of the old man's suit jacket and hissed through gritted teeth, "What do you want?"

"Her," Mortimer hissed back and thrust a glass into Don's hand. Then he took a deep drink of his own. "And I will find her. I just need more time. You might not know anything about my wife, Mr. Lothario, but I know plenty about you."

Don followed Mortimer's eyes down to the glass in his hand.

"Old Fashioned, right? With a double shot of whiskey," Mortimer recited.

Don felt his blood turn cold.

Mortimer brushed Don's other hand - hardly a fist anymore - off the front of his suit jacket.

"What do you know about the Elixir of Life?"

Don choked the whiskey down.

"That's just a rumor."

"You and I both know it's not."

"Then it's just a street drug. It's not what you're looking for--"

"In a few years, it could be. Once it passes the clinical trials," Mortimer pressed. "Or aren't those underway at the hospital where you work, Mr. Lothario?"

Don shook his head and drained the rest of his glass. 

"I don't know anything about that either--"

"I don't care if you'd know whether you just drank it in that whiskey," Mortimer interrupted sharply, gesturing at the empty glass in Don's hand.

"I want to know whether you have access to it."