"Carefully..."the young lady inaudibly warned herself as she skillfully sidestepped across the meager space in between the coffee table and the couch, pushing a small yet powerful apple red Dirt Devil along. "Careful, don't want to make a racket..." Really, no matter what noise she made, it would remain unheard over the thunderous roar of the vacuum cleaner. She wiped her slightly damp forehead with the back of an elegant hand as she switched the obnoxious cleaning device off. Then, she turned to the large couch to look at the man sleeping placidly. She quirked an eyebrow, placed both hands on her hips, and blew a soft, shimmering brown forelock out of her eyes. He managed to stay asleep...Asleep when the vacuum cleaner practically bellowed in his ear.
This man was often asleep on the couch when she came. He bothered not to comb his hair, change out of his plaid pajamas, wash up, or even sleep in his bed, never mind clean his opulent house. Why was the house so big? He lived by himself. Well, none of that really mattered. It needed to be regularly cleaned and maintained. And that was why young Cora White was there, standing before the coffee table, armed with Windex, a feather duster, and a Dirt Devil.
Mrs. Gavin, the man's old member of house maintenance (Cora didn't like to use the term "maid"), had quit for reasons yet to be known by Cora. The man told her that Mrs. Gavin didn't like him too much and only really fancied speaking with his late wife. Cora really didn't care too much about his personal life...Or at least she appeared to not care. Deep down inside, she really DID want to know more about this oh-so interesting author, Morton Rainey, other than his name, his ex, whose name was Amy, and Mrs. Gavin. His wife...She was deceased. The loss of Amy didn't seem to have much effect on Rainey, either. What an odd man.
Cora Blair White was a new resident in the area. It really was the middle of nowhere in western Maine. She found a way to enjoy it, nonetheless. She liked meeting new people, even if they were as weird as the puzzle-box Morton Rainey. The townspeople took a liking to Cora, and she a liking to them. They favored her helpfulness, patience, respect, and overall kindness to anybody. The town figured she had to be intelligent, but none were too sure. For all they knew, she could've been a bumbling moron. Luckily, she wasn't that at all. Whenever somebody had a problem, he or she was free to ask for her aid or counsel. Not a soul could be afraid of such an approachable woman whose brilliant hazel-green eyes lit up whenever she was addressed.
Of course, the residents didn't have all-out openness towards newcomer Cora. Invariably, the topic would be changed as quickly as possible when she endeavored to discuss her job. It was awkward. Usually people would avert their eyes, shift uneasily, and ask her the most idiotic question ever, like, "So how's the weather?" when they would be standing outdoors. For God's sake, why wasn't anybody NORMAL in this town?! What were they hiding from her? Was there some enormous secret they all desperately tried to keep? And why weren't people comfortable talking about her job?!?! Always, the conversation would change into some spontaneous topic! Always at the same EXACT place, too! It'd be, "Oh, so you clean houses? That's nice. Who do you clean for? Morton Rainey?!-- So how's the weather?" It always changed after Morton's name. The townspeople HAD to be jealous of him. There was no other reason to change the subject other than envy. He couldn't have been sour towards these people...He's such a nice man! Or she assumed he was. She hadn't spoken to him too much
"Mornin', Miss...Miss...Um...White! Miss White. Find the place okay?" sleepily yawned Rainey as he stretched out on his soft, plush couch.
"Oh, yes. No trouble finding it at all. Did you have a nice sleep? I hope I didn't wake you up," Cora returned, placing his freshly Windexed frames warily upon the table infront of him.
"No, no. You didn't wake me up. I woke up because...I dunno. I woke up because I woke up," he chuckled, his voice cracking from the effects of sleep. "And you can call me Mort. I'm not big on that 'mister' crap."
"Well, in that case, you'll have to call me Cora. You can shorten it if you can find a way to make it any briefer than it already is."
"It's a deal, Cor. When d'ja get here?"
"Hmm...I think around seven-thirty, eight o'clock-ish. I didn't know what time to come so I figured I'd come early and get out of your way for the rest out the day so you can go about writing in peace. Geez, Mort, you can sleep through ANYTHING. I ran the vacuum right by your head and you still didn't wake up!"
Morton flashed his metal smile as he ran his hand through his unkempt hair. He set his frames on his face and glanced over at Cora. Why did the girl choose to clean houses? She was so good with people...So sincere and amicable. A girl like her could become a highly-paid secretary or maybe a business woman of some sort. He cerebrated this thought as he popped the butt of a cigarette in his mouth, lit the other end, and watched the graceful woman disappear into the kitchen.
"Mort???" Cor's voice echoed from the kitchen.
"Mmm?" Morton answered while in the middle of inhaling a lungful of smoke, sitting up.
"Where do you want this dishwasher detergent?"
He exhaled the gray-white through his nose before saying anything. "Uh...Put it where ever it fits, just not in the fridge, freezer, or pantry." And with that he eyed the grayness, watching it curl and writhe about in the air until it faded.
"Are you smoking again?!" she snapped.
"Yeah."
"Those things will--"
"Kill me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't give a shit."
"Morton..." White trailed in a lower, warning-type voice.
"Cora..." Mort mimicked, reluctantly putting the cigarette out in the ashtray.
He did tell himself that he would make a fair attempt to turn over a new leaf. He lied to himself. He was still a mess, as before. Oh, he started out magnificently. Braces were put in, he got new glasses, his hair was trimmed...But none of that new leaf bull lasted more than a week. His new glasses were soon swapped with his old and worn-in pair, the braces were getting removed that weekend because he couldn't stand them, and his hair was almost never combed unless he needed to go out in public. His smoking habits hadn't gotten any better, but they hadn't gotten worse, either.
This new maid was sometimes quite the annoying harpy. Every single freaking time he tried to enjoy a nice smoke, she'd upbraid him about death and all of that crap. But on the other hand, he truly appreciated it, even though he kept striving to tell himself that she was just a bothersome little pest. She was the only one who showed the slightest care for him after the...incident, and it was always comforting to know that she did care, despite the fact that her opinion--well, factual information-- often drove him to the brink of insanity. Was she to be trusted? Could she be trusted? He needed somebody to talk to. Desperately. Kept inside was a dirty little secret. The town accused him of the disappearance of his wife. He hadn't admitted to it, nor did he deny it. The truth was, he really did do it. He murdered Amy and her boyfriend behind his own house...and then buried their bodies in his very own garden. All of this was stored away in the back of his mind. Oh, how he longed to share the burden of keeping the horrible secret from pouring out of his mouth.
Mort wasn't upset that he'd done it, for he WANTED to get rid of her. That bitch...She still called him whenever something went wrong. Why? She HAD a boyfriend. He didn't know why, either. It was most irksome. He had his own dilemma when the house that HE BOUGHT and she lived in with that MAN burnt down. Guess who Amy called? Him. It wasn't his problem. He didn't live in the house ? Can I tell you something?" Mort addressed. Soon enough, there she appeared, standing infront of him with her brilliant optics lit and a countenance of attentiveness. He looked up at her with his deep, chocolate-brown eyes, very calmly. He shifted in his seat, looked to the table, and then returned his gaze to the woman who failed to lose interest in what he had to say.
"You can tell me whatever you'd like," she said thoughtfully.
This was it...He was finally going to relieve himself of the stress of the horrific secret. Finally. Oh, he could imagine the relief he'd feel after he told somebody. He'd probably be able to cope with his braces and quit smoking.
"Well, you'll have to--Nevermind. Nevermind. I forgot what I was gonna say."
No he didn't. He didn't forget. He was too afraid...He was afraid of what her reaction would be. She'd tell the police and he'd be arrested and his garden would be excavated and the bones would be found and he'd be in jail for the rest of his miserable existence on Earth.
Cora smiled sweetly at him and turned to finish her work after saying, "When you remember, I'll be ready to listen."
Morton winced. She was too nice to put a burden on, anyway. But...He couldn't carry it all himself. He groaned, threw himself onto the couch, and went back to sleep...
