Sowing the Seed of Doubt
By: Thea
Summary: Morton Rainey does some reflecting on the
words of John Shooter.
Rating: G

I know I didn't steal that man's story. How could I have possibly stolen a story from a man I've never seen or heard of before in my life. It just isn't possible. Mort Rainey tells himself as he returns stiffly back to his couch to return to the blissful numbness of his dreams. He wonders to himself why his life has to be like this, why everything can't be nice and simple, black and white. He thought after Amy was gone that things would just...be simpler. No wife to worry about, nobody to concern himself with but him. Him and his writing of course.

Yet, here he was and his life though, now lacking a wife, did not lack the complexity it had always had. The last thing he really needed was this John Shooter getting into his life and making things any worse than they already were. He was so positive he'd never seen that man's story before in his life. He couldn't have plagiarized he? Now he found that, he wasn't quite sure.

He plopped down unto the old couch and tiredly ran his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. No, it was only that once I did that. I learned my lesson…never ever would I think of doing that again. He thought as he remembered that little matter of some years ago. Yes, he had plagiarized…only once. But, than he had known of his guilt and the matter was settled quietly…but, this was nothing at all like last time.

Last time he had known of his guilt. Now though, he was innocent, at least…he thought he was. But, how could he possibly be sure. More to the point how was he to convince others of his innocence if he could not even convince himself of it.

Mort found himself wishing he had never bothered to get off the couch to answer the door as he laid back down on his back staring blankly at the wooden ceiling. He wished he could believe himself…he wanted to believe himself. But, yet…he couldn't. try as he might he could not put the mysterious man out of his head. Nor could he ignore the words that echoed in his brain like poison. "You stole my story." Was all that filled his ears like some deafening noise even in the dead silence of his empty cabin.

He had always been easily influence by doubt. It didn't take much, his mind was rather like fertile soil. He thought with chagrin as his thoughts turned to Amy. Yes, his mind was like fertile soil. It just ready to grow things…all things. So, all it took was that one little seed to be planted. And it would grow till he could no longer ignore it. It would sit there and fester like some terrible infected wound.

Last time he had faced such self doubt was when he was still with Amy. God, not even now would she leave him alone. Even now that he lived hundred of miles away from her. Last time he had faced his own self doubts…he had found that his doubts were well founded. His Amy…his wife…had betrayed him and gone to warm another man's bed and perhaps even worse than that. She had warmed another man's heart. A heart that was most certainly not his. No. He yelled at himself mentally as he pushed the thoughts away. This is nothing like that he thought to himself as he rubbed his temples. But, How can you be sure? Whispered a dark voice in his own head.

"I guess I can't." he said tiredly as he closed his eyes with mental and physical weariness. He'd been tired a lot lately, he knew it was a sign of depression but, he was too tired to analyze nor care. The only real question was, Would his doubts prove true on this as well? Did he steal that man's story? Perhaps without even realizing he had. God, he hoped not it really would be the last thing he needed. The straw that broke the camel's back, for lack of a better phrase.

"Screw it…I need a nap." He muttered with a certain world weariness lingering in his voice. He proceeded to roll over unto his side on the broken in couch and snuggled warmly beneath the blankets as he let himself be claimed once again by the blissful void of his dreams.

It in end, it mattered very little that he promise himself that he would not read that manuscript. It didn't really matter that he told himself over and over again that Secret Window was not a stolen story. The seed of doubt had been sown and it's result would be reaped. No matter what…