EMPOWERMENT

Author: Becca
Rating: R
Pairing: You/Mort
Categories: Angst, Romance

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the original film or book, Secret Window/ Secret Window, Secret Garden. All rights to the locations, characters and what not shown in the book or film are reserved to the original owners. All original locations, characters and what not in this story are copyrighted by moi! I will however find a way of somehow making Mort my own, someday, somehow, gonna make it alright but not right now… Nickleback – Someday lyrics… yeh, I think that’s it for the disclaimer.

Summary: Wandering through the woods one day you come across a certain house, a certain house belonging to a certain Mr Morton Rainey. Paying no heed to all the stories and rumours that have been circling throughout Tashmore Lake for the past few months you visit again and make an acquaintance with that oh so eligible but slightly psychotic author. Making your way back there one night after an argument with a friend you find yourself in a lot more trouble than you would have anticipated, trouble which could lead to an ending inspired by a certain Southern farmer. Will Mort let this come to pass though or will he be able to ward of the danger in the way that only he can. Can you help him to make the right decision and can you keep your life, all the while your heart is slowly being taken from you as you find an attraction to the man that when it bottles down to it, just seems so lost, all he needs to do is regain control and be empowered over his own mind and body.

Author's Note: Thankies to Ellie for being my beta *big smile*

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CHAPTER 1 - If you go down to the woods today…

Walking through the woods that bordered the waters at Tashmore Lake was nothing other than a regular occurrence for you, going out this far though was slightly different but nevertheless just the same old casual stroll, time to let your thoughts flow through your mind freely, nothing bothering you to be doing something or talking to someone, you preferred it that way. You could be called reclusive by some but you felt that you just enjoyed your own company rather than other peoples, maybe you had too high standards for people to live up to but everyone you’d ever gotten to know had disappointed you and over the years you’d just become sick of it all. Only Benjie ever joined you on these walks, your six year old German shepherd, he was bounding off across the woods, weaving his way through the trees, it was nice seeing him frolic, over the years he had been your most loved companion and your truest confident.

You’d been living in Tashmore Lake for five years; you’d moved there after your parents had been killed, the circumstances of this being questionable but that wasn’t something you dwelled upon, and had found it to be a comfortable retreat, it was quiet and as reclusive as you’d always desired, that was until Janine had come into play. She had been your friend since high school, you’d done everything together and she’s always tried to influence every decision you’d made about absolutely anything in one way or another. She liked helping you to live your life and although you didn’t mind it so much in the beginning it had just become detestable when she’d decided to follow you to Tashmore Lake and had promptly decided that she would be moving into the spare bedroom of your small ramshackle house on the edge of town. It had been fun at first, you’d been roomies for a while when you were at college but when you’d quit that (much to your parents disapproval) you’d made a break for it.

Admittedly you’d had to go and live with your parents again, it was just one of those annoying little consequences of wasting all the money they’d provided you with for college on nights out, drinking and occasionally harmless little drugs… marijuana wasn’t considered that bad and it was the done thing in college. They being the elite people they were had told you that if you didn’t instantly come to live with them again and make that you were the innocent little angel they had always dreamed of you becoming then they would cut you out completely, therefore there would be no money. You never saw money as a big thing but you’d never needed to, you’d been born into a family who were already living incredibly comfortably after profiting from inheritance as well as having both parents graduated from a top law university and owning their own firm. You’d never wanted for anything but nor had you asked for it, you were quite happy to lie back on your bed and look at the ceiling, you were content with your own mind.

At college it had been the same, you’d studied English literature, something that took your interest being as you could find the same escape in stories. Even that seemed too restrictive though and as assignments piled up and essays had to be handed in you just found it too hard to cope with, you enjoyed reading the stories but it felt so stupid picking them apart, trying to figure out what the writer meant with every sentence. You had to read between the lines all the time and take the plot apart so much that the story would just be lost and you couldn’t live in the fantasy anymore.

After a while you’d simply stopped going to lectures and lazed about in your room listening to voices outside. Eventually though your parents had caught on and practically dragged you away from the place, unfortunately at the time you’d been rather stoned and too incoherent to object in any form other than giggling psychotically. You’d gone and lived in your parents’ house, creating a world of your own in your room or more often than not just in your bed, and it was only five months after that that you had properly left the house. The house that was now burnt to the ground, your parents still inside.

That night had been the strangest of your life, somehow you had managed to get out of the house yet your parents remained in bed, the batteries from the smoke alarm removed leaving them to sleep as the heat, smoke and flames engulfed the house. The first thing you remember from that night was standing on your lawn, dressed in your old tattered bathrobe, staring as clouds of smoke weaved their way upwards into the black night sky, the house glowing orange and yellow as flames licked up the walls. All you did was stand there watching and shivering, not speaking to anyone even when the paramedics and firemen had questioned you. It had taken months of therapy after that for you to speak again, throughout that time there had seemed to be nothing but your own mind, your thoughts rolling over and over until you felt as though they would engulf you completely and you would become comatose, some unconscious mass on the floor.

Janine had returned from college to help you through it, she got over her annoyed opinion of you leaving without consulting her and proceeded to make all your decisions for you. You accepted it at first, she was only trying to help you through these rough times and she was being nothing but kind and considerate… it just bugged you. She was like a puppy that just wouldn’t leave you alone, you loved puppy’s, Benjie was the perfect dog, and animals in general were fine but not when they’re on your back 24/7 asking you to reconsider your decisions about the smallest things like what you were going to have for dinner. Benjie was so nonchalant about everything, he would sit in your room with you, one ear propped up to listen for any motion, eyes shut, occasional little snores coming from him. You loved Benjie, he was the only thing in your life that you actually felt you could give those feelings to, he never pestered you and he was great at listening, you’d confide in him all the time and he’d never judge you, he’d just sit with his head on your lap, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his tail wagging slowly.

You had gone to Tashmore Lake to retreat from Janine and everyone and everything else, Benjie had come with you being as he was your closest friend and you were happy with it like that. Your therapist had eventually considered you well enough to not need her help and had signed all documents necessary to release you from her care. You’d partly gone in voluntarily but this had only been a probational negotiation. After not turning up to your sessions for a couple of weeks she had had papers drawn up saying that you must visit every Wednesday until she saw you psychologically healthy. Eventually you’d given in to her incessant questions, told her of your not particularly close relationship with your parents and how you wished you could go back and change it all, yada yada yada. Everything she wanted to hear and she fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

So here you were, walking through the woods alongside the lake, taking no notice of where you were going or coming from. You’d taken this walk at least once a week since you came to Tashmore but today you’d left the house for the second time in three days just so that you could escape that shrill voice of Janine laughing as she watched soap after soap on the TV. You liked the quiet, it had been so blissful when you’d first moved, your inheritance from your parents death topped off with all the money you had gained from the insurance on the house and all the belongings had allowed you to move in, mortgage free and just live alone, with no cares of what to do about getting a job or anything of the sorts. Your only responsibility had been yourself and Benjie and from never particularly interacting with your family you knew how to look after yourself. Benjie was simple enough being the placid dog that he was, he just needed feeding and playing with and he was content.

Phonecalls had been exchanged with Janine though and she being jealous of your complete lack of worry about money or life in general had taken it upon herself to ‘help you reclaim your life’ and move in, thus giving you a companion who could listen to you as you wept at night and reassure you with comforting words. That was what she had claimed to want to do; the only problem was that you wouldn’t allow it. You weren’t about to open up to her, you’d confronted all your fears and worries long ago and felt that you were at peace with it all, if you ever did need to talk Benjie was there and he was much better at listening than Janine, she always wanted to stick her two cents in. She couldn’t understand how one could get over such a disaster so quickly but somehow you had. Nevertheless she had come and she had stayed, benefiting too from your parents wealth as she now found no need to go to college or get a job, not when she was living comfortably beneath your roof using your money for whatever took her fancy; namely the shopping channels. That was yet another thing that annoyed you about her, she would buy endless bits of junk from those stupid channels, collecting silly little pieces of china that could have been made by a two year old child with no sense of sight or touch. These walks took you away from it all, she used to try to come with you but over the past couple of months she had point blank refused and begged you not to go too.

Over the past couple of months there had been stories of disappearances, a couple of articles in the local paper and general gossip around town detailed the incidents about an old man from town you never heard the name of and three people from further into the city having gone missing. All of them had disappeared after paying a visit to Tashmore Lake, all of these people having paid a little visit to a certain resident. Janine had taken the stories completely to heart and warned you not to go into the woods anymore but you were unsure about the credibility of the source of the stories. It hadn’t been that much of an irregular occurrence over the years you’d lived at Tashmore Lake; people of the city would stop by and say hello once and then leave again without saying goodbye. There would be whisperings and mutterings that someone or something had taken them but months later it would be found out that they’d been living back in the city just as peacefully as they had before. The gossips around town shrugged it off and the police who had usually done nothing to investigate anyway just did the same. It was only coincidence that these past few people had paid a visit to that one man, and coincidence wasn’t something you were particularly worried about.

It was this one man’s house that loomed before you now. You stopped in your tracks as you saw the reddish colour of the walls, the barn-like building ahead of you amongst the trees. You hadn’t intentionally come this far out but you’d been venting your frustration towards Janine and her newly bought collection of china dolls by walking. You looked the house over; it seemed normal enough. It was apparent that someone was home, you could just make out a dim light in an upper window, it was daytime after all so it didn’t contrast too much with the outside. You could see no one though and as you glanced over the house you turned away to continue walking, quickly pondering why someone would be growing corn in their garden but thinking no more of the fact as you continued your leisurely stroll onwards. You watched as Benjie continued bounding onwards, barking as he went. You smile as you watch him, feeling calm again after your frustrations towards Janine. You had no idea of who had been lurking in the shadows, just out of view at that window.

‘She’s a pretty little thing.’ A man with a southern accent drawled. Mort shook his head, removing the hat that he’d placed upon it and set it on top of the cabinet nearby. ‘She’s a pretty little thing t’ be sure but what she doing snooping around our place like this, it ain't right for people to start sticking their noses in, never know what they might find.’

‘They’re not going to find anything.’ Mort said aloud, still looking out the window to the retreating figure of the girl, her dog bounding away a few metres in front of her. She was pretty, Shooter had that much right, but she didn’t seem like she was snooping.

‘What if she comes back huh? What if she was taking a look around, have ye seen her before pilgrim coz I know I haven’t, maybe she’s from the police, the police from the city, they’re not as dim-witted as those around here, they could come lookin’ and then what we goin’ t’ do?’

‘We’re not going to do anything, they’re not going to come looking, if they do there’s nothing to find, it’s been a year goddamnit why can’t it all be forgotten?’ Mort growled, Shooter always seemed to bring out the worst side of him… that side which was very, very bad, and very, very uncontrollable.

‘Ye tired boy? Tired of all the fuss, happy weren’t ye, happy ‘til she wrecked it all, silly little whore.’

‘Amy…’ Mort whispered, glancing down to the garden below where he knew Amy’s corpse still lay rotting next to Ted’s. Looking back he could barely make out your figure retreating into the distance, weaving your way through the trees and onwards across the woods, the only give away sound of your presence was the dogs barks and an occasional whistle as you called to him.

‘She ruined all those happy times, those times when ye’d write yer stories, made a big mess of it all didn’t she, she and that bastard son of a bitch.’

‘She… things just happened, they don’t always work out…’ Mort tries to respond, attempting to comfort himself in the little lies that he was fine with it all, living in that other dimension where nothing bad could happen anymore.

‘Mort, ye know yer not goin’ t’ get rid of me, stop shakin’ yer head boy, ye know I'm here, ye know I'm here because I am you, I am a big part of you ye’ll ne’er get rid of.’

‘I will get rid of you, I’ll cut you out just like a promised.’

‘Ah ah ah.’ Shooter reprimanded, a smirk pulling at his non-existent lips. ‘I’ll always be here boy coz ye can’t never get rid of me, I am inside ye, I'm that little part of ye, ye gotta listen to reason.’

‘You’re not reason! You’re nonsensical, you’re just… just… anger!’ Mort yelled, his voice reverberating through his empty house causing him to flinch slightly at the nearly hysterical tone. It was true, Shooter was never going to leave him alone, he was always going to be there, and he wasn’t even sure if he disliked this fact. Shooter whilst being out of control in what he did brought a feeling of peace of mind to Mort, when Shooter took over he didn’t have to worry about anything, he knew that Shooter could take care of it all and he would barely even remember anything.

He didn’t remember very clearly what happened to Amy, Ted, Ken or Tom, all he knew was that they were dead, Amy and Ted residing below the patch of corn and Ken and Tom swimming in the river… with his watch.

‘That was a silly mistake to make boy.’ Shooters voice drawled again causing Mort to look over his shoulder half expecting to see the familiar farmers figure. He’d not seen him in a long while though, just heard him talking inside his mind. ‘Could well be a nice little bit of evidence that sheriff down in the town, or that little young lady… I still say she could be from the city ye know…’

‘Stop fussing, she’s not, she doesn’t look like police, she was just walking her dog.’ Mort muttered, glancing quickly again out the window having barely moved from his spot besides it. You weren’t there any longer though, disappeared off into the distance…

‘T’ go lookin’ for evidence, it looked like one of them police dogs too, did ye notice that? She’ll find it, she’ll find it and lock us away.’

‘Maybe I need to be locked away.’ Mort thought wryly.

‘Now, now, that won’t do, can’t have thoughts like that now can we, that’ll just lead to a whole load of trouble and that’ll lead to people coming up here, disturbing our peace. We don’t want more people up here, we like our quiet don’t we Mort, we like being on our own.’

‘I could be on my own if you weren’t here.’

‘Ye want me t’ leave ye pilgrim, now that aint too hospitable is it, think of all I’ve done for ye, all the mess I had to go through, just to make your life easier. I got rid of ‘em all, ye got yer revenge and ye got away with it, it was all down to me and don’t ye forget it.’

‘You’ve done what you had to do, why can’t you just leave me now?’

‘Because it’s not over Mort, not over by a long time. I hear yer thoughts boy remember that, I know exactly what goes through that sick twisted mind of yers and I know that yer not finished.’ Mort bit his lip, remembering back to dreams, nay nightmares that had flooded his sleep over the past few weeks. The peace and quiet had been so welcomed once everything had been sorted, the sheriff had been round, had a few words, but finally Mort had felt at ease. He’d got the braces, he’d had his hair done, and everything was just peachy. Now though it was all returning, nerves worrying away at his train of thought, all day long. The braces were long gone and his hair was back to its unruly mess, wrapped up inside his tattered bathrobe finding a slight comfort in its familiarity. His thoughts always disturbed him, they never left him alone and over the past few weeks it seemed like they were getting worse. What if they did find out, what if they find out and come and take him away…

‘They can’t do that.’ Mort whispered to himself, he liked it here in his home, he liked the solitude, he had his own life and no one bothered him. Mrs Garvey popped in once in a while though she never spoke to him, she would clear up a bit, chuck away the rotting ears of corn that he’d finally given up on eating and had left in the kitchen to rot. Doritos were back in play, as much to Shooters distaste as it was, they seemed to sate Mort’s incredibly small hunger and want for food. ‘I need to write.’ Mort muttered, finally walking away from the window and taking a seat before his laptop where the word document lay ready and waiting for him to start a story.

‘Ye going to write about the pretty girl?’ Shooter asked, leaning over Mort’s shoulder to look at the blank screen. Mort shrugged the fictional hand from his shoulder, causing Shooter to growl slightly from behind him. ‘You know I don’t like you interrupting my work.’ He said in response.

‘I make ye words what they are, I feed ye the stories, they’re not yours they’re mine.’

‘They’re my stories, they have my name on them!’

‘Fine, let’s just see what ye write about that pretty girl, see what trouble ye get her into.’

‘Who says I'm going to get her into trouble?’

‘We always do Mort…’ and with that there was silence. Taking his glasses off and running a hand over his face Mort sighed heavily, looking at the empty document before him, just awaiting his fingers to type in the words for a new plot. He admitted, all the ideas he had had so far had been the same, those of death, thinking of other ways he could have led Amy to her peaceful eternal slumber. How he could have found so much more satisfaction if he’d done it differently. Then there were stories of a normal guy, a normal guy with a normal relationship with a woman he loved. The latter stories were the ones that he scrapped most quickly. In the beginning Mort felt so calm and at home, he felt as though he could get out there and play the field a bit, but Shooter came back to him and started drawling on and on about how all the women were like Amy, how they were all going to hurt him and then what would he do… he’d get that screwdriver that’s what he’d do and as they screamed in terror he would…

Yet again Mort shook his head, the visions of his past deeds returning to make a fleeting appearance to his minds eye. He tried to forget, he had been trying ever since it had happened and finally he had started to. It was just those occasional flashbacks that made him recall what Shooter had done, what he had done, and it was those flashbacks that had kept him away from the town, he’d not tried to ask anyone out again and he wasn’t planning on doing so. Running his hand through his dirty brown/blonde hair he got up from the chair, only moments after taking a seat in it.

‘Rest, that’s what I need… I nice… long… rest.’ Mort muttered, a yawn escaping as he made his way down the stairs to that familiar old couch that provided him with so much more comfort than his bed. Looking to the phone he considered plugging it back in, it had been silent for the past few months since he’d unplugged it but he wasn’t expecting anyone to call. No one called anymore, why would they want to, no one even paid attention to Morton Rainey anymore, he was just an old hermit who lived in the woods.

‘Keep your children away’, Mort chuckled, ‘and the pretty young girl and her dog.’

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A/N: Oks, well this is just the start so I know it might seem a bit weak. I don’t know how well I’ve captured Mort/Shooter but hopefully it’s ok. I would also like to know what people’s views are upon giving ‘you’ a name. I find it much easier to write when you can actually call the main character something, especially when it comes to introductions and all. I think it makes the story seem more personal too. I could just put an insert name space or give a specific name. Anyways, please let me know your views on that and general views upon the story by reviewing, my email address is hot_like_chocolate@hotmail.com. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it, ciao for now!

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CHAPTER 2 - … be sure of a big surprise

“I'm going out!” you shout to Janine as you grab your coat from the hook in the hall and Benjie’s leash.

“Where?” Janine’s voice calls back to you from the lounge where she had once again set herself up on the couch with the remote and the phone, waiting to make her next purchase from QVC.

“Taking Benjie for a walk”

“Not in the woods again?” Janine says as she walks out into the hall, a look of worry on her face.

“Uh huh” you reply with a roll of your eyes that she doesn’t see. Benjie is already wagging his tail and looking up at you expectantly as he sits before your feet as you bend down and put his leash on, it would be taken off again in a few minutes but that was no matter.

“But you can’t” Janine whines

“Why not?”

“You know why not, that creepy writer guy lives out there.”

“Yeh… and…”

“And he might do something…”

“Like what? Benjie is going to be with me and to be honest I don’t see what reason he would have for doing anything anyway. I was near his house yesterday and it seemed normal enough”

“You were near his house?!” Janine’s voice rises an octave.

“Yeh, it’s nothing spooky or out of the ordinary, it’s just a house where a guy lives, I don’t see what everyone’s problem is.”

“Everyone’s problem is that he’s a psychopathic serial killer!”

“And the proof of that is?”

“Well… there isn’t any… but don’t you think it’s strange, those people going to see him and never coming back?”

“Who says they never came back? Just because no one around here hasn’t seen them since then doesn’t mean they’re not elsewhere.”

“So where would Tom Greenleaf go? He lives here!”

“Maybe he has family in the city and went to visit them. Look I am taking Benjie for a walk in the woods whether you like it or not, it’s not fair on him to keep him cooped up inside all the time.”

“You only went out yesterday!” Janine says, loosely grabbing your arm as you roll your eyes and open the front door. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Don’t worry, if I do then I'm sure you’ll inherit my money so you’ll be fine.” You say and wrench your arm from her grip and head out of the small front garden. “You know I didn’t mean it like that!” Janine shouts after you but you don’t respond other than waving nonchalantly. Janine had already succeeded in pissing you off today uncountable amounts of times, questioning you about whether you should buy some new clothes or food or generally just go on a huge spending spree. She hadn’t come from a family as wealthy as yours so you supposed that maybe having money was a huge luxury to her and so she wanted to make use of it. You over the years though had found money to be more trouble than it was worth; yes you could buy things with it but also came the idea that people only liked you because of it. There was also the danger that other people might try to take it and the suspicion that your parent’s deaths were due to someone’s jealousy had passed through your mind a number of times.

Due to Janine’s incessant way of bugging you to go shopping with her you’d eventually again decided you needed to escape and taking Benjie for a walk was again your option. You had tried retreating to your room and settling down with a book but even that had been interrupted because as long as Janine knew where you were she would find you and keep asking you. The only way to get away from her was to leave the house and even then the only place that she wouldn’t follow you was the woods.

As you reach the edge you halt Benjie and bend down to take his leash off. Once free from the strap of leathers grasp he bounds off amongst the trees, barking at pigeons and squirrels as he frolics amongst the brown and orange fallen leaves. Stepping onwards into the woods you can feel the breeze of the afternoon blowing around you so you pull your coat tighter, hugging your arms across your middle to keep yourself warm. You would have grabbed your scarf and gloves but you’d been too eager to leave the house to remember. Your flat boot clad feet crunch through the dying leaves and the sounds of the town seemed to have been drowned out by the peace of the woods. The only sounds to reach your ears are the calls of the woodland birds high up in the trees and occasionally the rustle of leaves as squirrels run along branches, leaping from tree to tree.

Walking onwards you can hear Benjie’s barks and the rustling and crunching he makes a distance away as he bounds along merrily. From the sounds of him it seems he must have found a rabbit and would soon return to you is tongue lolling out of his mouth and his tail wagging furiously as the rabbit would more often than not get away into a burrow. As you hear Benjie’s barks grow more distant you quicken your pace, not wanting to call him to you as it would interrupt his fun but not wanting to be separated from him too much for fear he would get lost. You didn’t have many worries of getting lost yourself, the woods weren’t immensely huge and you could just follow your nose to the scent of the lake they bordered. From there you would be able to walk along the waters edge and back into town if you needed to.

Time passes and from looking at the sky you can see that almost an hour must have passed already. This seems to be the case quite often when you take these walks as once you’re out there amongst the peace and calm you lose all sense of time. Everything seems to stop once you get into the woods, your thoughts are free to flow through your mind and often you get lost within them, not paying attention to where you are headed or how long you’ve been walking for. It is usually only when Benjie finds you looking more tired that you realise that you’ve been out for hours and should be getting home.

Lifting yourself from your reverie you realise that Benjie’s barks are almost inaudible so you quicken your pace further, trying to catch up with him. Still you can barely make the sound of him out so you decide that much to your dislike you’re going to have to call him and make him abandon whatever fun he is having. You don’t want him to just disappear, you adore him so much and if you were without him you don’t know what you would do. He truly was the greatest friend you could wish for and even if he was a dog he was far more caring and attentive to your needs than Janine.

Shouting his name out you listen to hear if he is getting closer. Realising that presenting a moving target for him to listen to where the sound’s coming from you stop in your tracks and lean against a large tree, calling to him once again. As you listen you can hear him coming closer so you carry on walking towards him, he’s still a fair way off but you at least know that he’ll be with you again soon. Steadily making your way onwards you find yourself outside the house of Mort Rainey, just as you had the day before but this time you can see that there is no light on upstairs.

Calling Benjie’s name once again you’re knocked off your feet as the German shepherd leaps on you, licking your face as he wags his tail. Laughing you push him off you and scratch him between the ears as he stands wagging his tail, his tongue lolling out of his mouth with what looks like a big grin. Looking around you get up from the floor and dust yourself off, looking to the bushes it seemed Benjie had come from. As you do so they rustle once again making you jump as a man steps out from them. You’re about to say hi when Benjie suddenly picks a stick up from the floor and bounds over to the man with it, dropping it in his opened palm.

“Ah, so you’re what’s been keeping Benjie so entertained” you state with a smile to the man before you.

“Yeh, you don’t mind do you? He came up to me when I was in the garden… I had a dog once, he loved playing fetch” he replies with a weak smile. At this point you take in how he is dressed; his blonde/brown hair is a bit of a mess and his clothes look fairly drab and worn. A pair of dark rimmed glasses sit on his nose and you can’t help but smile as you recognise the cheekbones, jawline and specifically eyes and lips of the writer Mort Rainey, having seen his picture on the inside cover of one of his stories.

“Of course not Mr Rainey, I'm glad you provided Benjie with some companionship as I was off in my own little world as usual, I hope he didn’t disturb you though” you say with a smile and walk towards Mort, offering your hand. “(___) Marshall” you state as he takes your hand and shakes it.

“No it’s fine. It’s Mort by the way though it sounds like you’ve already been introduced to me in some way or another.”

“I have, you’re definitely well-known” you say, mentally kicking yourself for sounding so lame. You notice a look of deflation pass over Mort’s face and his gaze drops to the floor.

“I suppose you’ll want to be going then” he says and starts walking away from you towards the porch of the house. You frown in puzzlement at his sudden drop in attitude.

“Why would you think that?” you ask, watching Mort turn to you, now frowning.

“Well don’t you want to run away screaming? I'm sure you’ve heard what a psychotic murderer I am so don’t you think that if you want to keep your life you’d better leave?”

“No… I meant your books Mr Rainey, a lot of people have read them”

“Oh… I thought you meant all the rumours going around Tashmore.”

“I’ve heard them but it doesn’t mean I believe them”

“Well that’s nice to know”

“Besides you haven’t made any attempts to hurt me and have even entertained Benjie so somehow I don’t think you can be all that bad.” You add with a smile. Mort smiles too, something that you’re very glad to see as even from your brief encounter seeing him looking down and despondent made you feel bad. He seemed friendly enough and you certainly weren’t going to listen to all the gossips in town and stay away from him.

“He’s a nice dog” Mort says and takes a seat on the steps of the porch.

“He is, as corny as it sounds he’s my best friend.” You reply letting your gaze drift away from Mort and towards Benjie who was busying himself with sniffing at what you suppose to be Mort’s car.

“No, its not corny, some people just find the company of animals better than that of humans, I’m the same.”

“Do you have any?”

“No… I had a dog, Chico, he was old and died about a year ago though. He was my wife’s… ex-wife’s really, she had him since he was a puppy”

“Oh. Do you not want to get another dog?”

“Not really”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that it would be able to replace Chico… I just thought that as you’re alone out here another dog might prove to be company for you.”

“I have all the company I need at the moment” Mort replies. As you look at him you see him frown and wonder why it was he was so adamant about remaining alone. Silence makes a presence so you decide to watch Benjie as he wanders around, sniffing at everything. “I’d better get indoors, I'm expecting… erm… a phone call.” Mort says abruptly and gets up from his seat.

“Ok, well maybe I’ll see you around…” you offer as you look back to him but find that already the porch door is swinging shut. Frowning in puzzlement you wonder as to what had suddenly changed Mort’s attitude but brush it off, calling Benjie to you. Stroking him on the head you smile and start walking off into the woods yet again.

Inside his house Mort worries his lower lip with his teeth, knowing what was coming next and not liking it one bit.

“Are ye goin’ t’ give yerself in boy coz ye seemed awfully chummy with that cop lady out there” Shooter’s voice reverberates through Mort’s ears.

“She’s not a cop”

“Tell ye that herself did she?”

“No… she just doesn’t seem like a cop”

“Well she wouldn’t if she were under cover. Ye know it’s in my best interests to keep ye safe from harm Mort so I warn ye, if she comes snooping around again then she ain’t going to like what she finds, namely a shovel to the head.” Mort runs his hand down his face in a weary fashion, taking off his glasses and putting them on a bureau that stands against the wall.

“She wasn’t snooping to begin with and I doubt if she’ll come back anyway, she has no reason to.”

“Well let’s hope not Mort coz she’ll get into trouble if she does”

“Why? I don’t understand you, you want to kill everything that comes into my life”

“Only if it could hurt ye Mort and ye know she would. Even if she ain’t a cop she’ll just let ye get close t’ her and then she’ll dump yer sorry ass on the curb. She’s a woman, that’s what they all do”

“No that’s just what Amy did, it doesn’t mean every woman in the world does”

“What about yer mama?”

“I don’t want to talk about her”

“But she hurt ye too”

“SHUT UP!” Mort shouts, pulling at his hair in frustration. He stands there for a moment, seething quietly and waiting for Shooter to respond.

“Ok… I'm just saying ye can’t let ‘em get too close and that little lady has got close enough as it is. She’ll have t’ be got rid of if she comes here again”

“But she’s not proving to be any harm, why should she matter to you?”

“She matters to me because she matters to you Mort, you already care about her”

“I only care that you don’t go about killing innocent people just because you feel like it”

“I'm not doing it for my pleasure Mort ye know that, I do it coz ye want me too, I do it t’ keep ye safe, women hurt ye Mort and ye can’t let it happen again” Mort sighs and picks up the tattered bathrobe from where it had been lying over the back of the couch. Putting it on the same feeling of comfort envelopes him again and he can’t help the smile as he thinks of Shooter’s words.

“Mrs Garvey’s a woman” he states, knowing Shooter wouldn’t be able to get out of that one.

“Barely” Shooter replies with a smirk making Mort chuckle. “She don’t count anyway, she’s just yer cleaner, ye don’t care about her.”

“She’s annoying, she messes with my things.” Mort replies, chucking the newly fluffed pillows from Mrs Garvey’s visit that morning to the floor and lying down on the sofa.

“Shall we kill her?” Shooter asks, a slight edge of excitement to his voice.

“You really are a psycho.” Mort mutters, folding his arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling.

“No Mort, you are” Shooter says, the excitement in his voice lost and now replaced with displeasure. Mort frowns and purses his lips into a pout but for once Shooter says no more. He knew his words rang truer than he cared to believe, despite the fact that he considered Shooter to be a separate entity to himself he knew deep down that he wasn’t. Mort controlled Shooter on some level of sub consciousness and he was as much to blame for Ted, Amy, Ken and Tom’s deaths as Shooter was. He couldn’t understand it though and had given up trying when he found it to make him feel crazier.

Shooter it seemed was repression surfaced, all the hurt and anger that Mort had ever felt in his life came out in the form of Shooter and in a way it was relieving. It was scary to know that he was capable of doing what he had and barely even remember it but it was also nice knowing that he didn’t have things bottled up any longer.

“You’re still hiding some things” a voice crops up inside his head, the voice of himself.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, am I never going to get some peace?!” Mort asks angrily. If Shooter wasn’t hanging around talking to him then it was this guy, he didn’t have a name because Mort knew who he was, he was himself; his conscience.

“Well I don’t get a word in edgeways when he’s here do I so I thought I would pop by and we could have a chat”

“Why would I want to talk to you?”

“You might not but I want to talk to you and you know damn well why”

“Do I?” Mort asks and rolls onto his side so that he faces the back cushions of the couch, wanting to block out the vision of himself that had perched itself on the edge of the coffee table.

“Of course you do” the voice says, now coming from above Mort’s head as he sees him leaning over the edge of the couch. “That girl was here and you’re thinking about her, Shooter’s thinking about her too and so now, I'm thinking about her”

“I always thought people were allowed to keep their thoughts to themselves” Mort grumbles under his breath and closes his eyes. A chuckle escapes his conscience’s lips before he speaks again.

“You do keep them to yourself Mort but your problem is that there are more than one of you”

“Too confusing… wanna sleep” Mort grumbles again and rolls onto his front, lifting a cushion from its place and pressing it over his head to drown out the noise.

“You know doing that isn’t going to stop you from hearing me Mort, I'm inside you, you can’t block me out”

“I can… I can sleep”

“Only if I let you”

“Damnit stop playing games!” Mort shouts sitting up and throwing the cushion across the room. Pulling his knees to his chest he folds his arms on top of them and watches as the reflection of himself sits on the couch next to him.

“I only want to say my piece and then I’ll leave you alone” the reflection replies. Mort hugs his knees closer, this kind of thing always made him feel like a child, a child being scolded for eating the cookies when he wasn’t supposed to, something stupid and insignificant.

“Fine, say what you want” he mutters, not looking at himself but instead focussing his attention on his hands and the wedding ring he still wore on occasions, today being one of them.

“I don’t think that girl is good for you,” the voice says simply making Mort look at him, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “I agree with Shooter, she’d just cause trouble, you should stay away from her.”

“What do you mean I should stay away from her? Every time I’ve seen her she’s been the one to find me!”

“All I am saying is don’t go looking for her or try to get into contact with her.”

“Why would I? I barely know her!”

“You just might and I don’t think that would be wise. You know that Shooter is more powerful than you care to believe and he could take over at any point he wants to. You can’t afford to have another dead body on your hands, people are suspicious enough as it is, they already know what you did they just haven’t been able to prove it yet.”

“I don’t want to kill her, why does he want to kill everyone?” Mort asks though knowing the answer already.

“Because there you have it, she has already made a place in your heart that says to your mind don’t let her get hurt, even if it puts you at risk. You were like that with Amy, you loved her and would have died for her, Shooter wouldn’t let that happen because with you gone he’s gone too. You don’t know this girl and quite rightly don’t have any feelings for her but you’ve already got it figured that she’s worth more than the treatment Shooter gives.”

“That’s because she’s a human being, anyone is worth more than that.”

“That’s why you’re alone Mort, because you know that. Shooters scared of you getting hurt so he gets rid of anything that could harm you. You’ve been hurt too much in the past by other people so now…”

“Now I get to live the rest of my life alone.” Mort sighs. “I get to be shut out from the town I know, I have to shop where people don’t suspect me of being a killer and most of all I have to stay here until the day I die alone.”

“You’ll never be alone Mort, Shooter and I will always be here”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Mort mutters wryly and hears himself chuckle.

“But you know what we say is the truth and yes, if it means that you don’t get hurt again you do have to remain alone.”

“What if she comes here again though?”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t.”

“But if she does then what do I do? Will Shooter just take over and kill her and Benjie?”

“You already know her too well; you know her dogs name. You get to know her any better and there will be trouble.”

“I liked the dog”

“Shooter doesn’t, look what happened to Chico”

“I know, maybe he’s more of a cat person…” Mort ponders amusedly.

“Maybe. You do understand what I am saying though don’t you, as much as it doesn’t seem like it I am being reasonable.”

“I know, it just seems so stupid, other people don’t have to remain alone just in case they get hurt.”

“Other people don’t have Mississippi farmers inside their heads” Mort smiles at this and if his conscience was a real person he half expected this to be the time he’d be playfully chucked under the chin and told it would all be ok. Both Shooter and his conscience had very different personalities and both made Mort feel different. Shooter could very easily pull Mort’s strings and get him angry and on edge whereas his conscience was far more calming and reasonable and had Mort’s best interests at heart. Shooter did too but he was a little more off the scale and dramatic about how he watched out for him.

Looking at the reflection before him Mort wonders if that is to be all, if the lecture is over with and he’ll finally be allowed the sleep that let him escape from his mucked up world. As if on cue he suddenly finds himself alone, the couch empty except for him, his conscience seemingly satisfied with the way things had gone and what had been said. Lying down again Mort yawns and looks to the ceiling, the view of the timber rafters of the barn fading in and out of sight as his eyes slip shut.

TBC...

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