Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own this! Don't ask, don't sue, don't make me say it again!

A/N: This is far from my first fic, but it is my first Secret Window fic. If you've ever read my work, you know I like to pick on characters, this is no different. R&R, no flames. Creative Critismgood, Flamesbad!

She was sitting in the park, unsure of what to do. She stared down at the screen of her laptop, she'd been trying to write something for an hour now and she was pretty close to giving up. She was just about to slam the screen of the two-thousand dollar Dell down when she spotted a figure across the park. He had sandy blond hair, a thin face and wide glasses. Even from the distance she recognized him. Mort Rainey, the author from across the lake. She'd seen him a few times, but had stayed clear; mostly due to the rumours that surrounded him.

He's a murderer

That's what the sheriff had told her; and most the town folk had backed him up on the statement.

She didn't know any murderers, but Mort Rainey didn't look like a murderer to her. He looked kind, sad and very alone. She smiled softly, knowing the feeling. She'd been accused once, of killing her sister. She looked at her computer for a second then wrote down the first words that came to her head.

People look at you differently when they think you've done something wrong. They don't trust you, don't want to know you and prefer that you stay as far away as possible. Yet, he never let it get to him. He still went to town when he pleased, still hung out at the park as he pleased and still wandered the town as he pleased. The only thing that hurt was the looks that people gave him as he went about his business. Nobody let him see that they were looking, but he knew. He knew that they were scared of him, certain that he would lash out. He didn't look like a killer, just a regular guy with a bad hair cut.

She looked up to get another look, but he was gone. She looked around when she heard a voice.

"Looking for someone?" he asked. She jumped, spinning around to face him.

"Oh, no, just…"

"My hair's not that bad, is it?" he asked, reading over her shoulder. She slammed down the screen.

"I wasn't…no it's not." She tried to figure out what to say to a guy like Mort Rainey, but nothing came to mind. He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled.

"You seem to know a lot about what it's like to be accused," he stated. She blushed as a couple of elderly ladies walked by the two authors, shaking their heads and casting suspicious looks at the two.

"Yeah, I do." She watched them go past and turned her attention back to Mort.

"They're always like that," he said, indicating to the two women who'd just past. "They think I'm a murder."

"So I've heard."

"But you, you're the only other person around here that seems as alone as I am."

"Yeah?"

"Why?"

"I just…I've been there, okay?" she stood up, her lap top under one arm, her purse over her other shoulder.

"You've been in my shoes?" he called after her; she stopped and turned to face him.

"You could say that." And with that, she was gone.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he said, pacing around the room. He stopped, looking into the mirror that stood over the fireplace. "What are you looking at?" he asked himself, half expecting his reflection to answer, it had before. But it wasn't his reflection that answered, but a southern accent from the top of the stairs.

"You could definitely say that."

"No," he said, rolling his eyes. "You don't exist!" he yelled at the empty house, spinning around and facing the figure of John Shooter at the top of his stairs.

"Then why do you insist on talking to me if you know I don't exist?"

"I…I don't know." Shooter walked down the stairs and stood before Mort.

"You want me too exist. You want me to get rid of everything that hurts. Right?" Staring Shooter down, Mort finally dropped his head and faced the ground.

"Right."

"And that girl?"

"Doesn't know. Doesn't understand."

"She has to go?"

"Right." Shooter took his hat off the table where Mort had it and headed off.

My muse is on vacation today, if it sucks, just say that I should put my effor into my CM/CSI fics and let my muse come back before I continue with this. No flamy please!