This is my first attempt at a Secret Window fic. I will try to spell names of places correctly, but bear with me if I don't and try to help me out. So here it is, A Life Worth Living.
Mort Rainey snored loudly in his little cabin on the lake. He laid comfortably on his couch, in his robe, his glass pushed up to his face making a mark and crumbled Dorito Bags at his feet. Books and magazines were piled neatly, gathering dust, along with many other things which hadn't been touched in a long time. The rain pelted against the windows loudly as the rain moved in closer to the house. This is the way it had been for the past six years for Morton Rainey.
Mort stirred as his mind went into a dream had been coming more often for the last six months, waking Shooter and his Voice of Reason (AN1) from their sleep. It was always the same one. A woman around the age of maybe twenty-five laid on a familiar looking bed, wearing a long gothic looking black dress, sleeping peacefully and silently. Her arm always laid off the left side of the bed, and her black hair hanging in her face gave her a mysterious look to her. With the sight of her, Mort could tell she probably had the most amazing eyes and the most beautiful smile that one would ever see. But just as the dream would come into focus, a red tone would come to the dream, and Mort would awaken, breaking into a cold sweat. He knew what a red tone in a dream meant. (AN2)
"What are ye screamin' bout, Pilgrim?" Shooter rasped in a sleepy but angry tone. He had been woken as well.
"Shut-up, Shooter." Mort muttered. He threw off his robe and shirt, making his way to the disheveled kitchen, stumbling all the way. He reached into the old refrigerator and grabbed for a 7UP can and a bag Doritos. Shooter groaned. About three years ago, Mort had given up the all corn diet and resumed his junk diet which had served him well since he and Amy had divorced. Of course, Shooter didn't approve, but after three years straight of only corn, Mort couldn't give a damn.
Mort grumbled in reply. After slamming his can down on the coffee table, he dug in the bag of chips, making them go all over the floor. Not caring in the least he shoved the rest into his mouth.
"How can you eat this shit?" Shooter shuddered looking at the cheesy triangle-shaped chips.
"The same way I ate that shit you called vegetables. And that's what it was. Shit"
Shooter sighed, boredly. "Can't you just do what I ask for once?"
"Because, what have you ever done for me?"
"I saved ya from pain and suffering. Also because I'm about to give you something you have wanted for the past six years."
Mort spit the food out of his mouth, trying to comprehend what Shooter had just said. What did Shooter think he wanted?
"Well, Mort, I know that you have been alone for six years. Even I know what it is like to not have comfort of living company. In fact, that's why I have fixed that."
"What nonsense has been made by you, Shooter?"
Shooter smirked an evil smirk. "I got ya a girl. She's goin' to be yours."
"WHAT?" The back door opened and then slammed shut. Mort glanced towards the door and ducked into the kitchen, watching the person enter through the doorway.
"You'll see what this is about, soon enough."
Earlier…
Celia ran through the woods. The rain was starting, and there was nowhere to run, but she had to try. Her long, curly black hair was coming undone by the second and turning into a wet, sopping mess. Her brown cowboy boots splashed into the mud. She cursed under her breath seeing them slosh with very wet mud and her jeans not blue, but now a dark red-brown.
She pulled her denim jacket over head trying to save her head from extreme wetness, but she was not having much avail. She cringed and sat under a tree hearing thunder from afar. Lightening lit the sky. Celia shivered from the cold.
Then, she noticed it. There was a very old looking cabin hidden behind the trees. A wild corn field grew on the side of the house. It looks like a place where a horror writer might live, she thought, coincidently, looking at the dark shutters and the dark clouds that were starting to surround it.
This is all I have at the moment. I guess it will have to do until the storm passes. She hurried over through the bur filled lawn, limping the entire way with the burs digging into her skin. The sun had now set making it hard for her to see, but she managed to get into the old cabin. The door slammed shut behind her, curtsy of the wind outside.
She looked over the cabin. A light was on at the top of the stairs. Dust covered most of the furniture and shelves, but residue of food, along with other things had shown someone had been in the old cabin recently. She slowly made her way to the top of the old stairs, the stairs creaking all the way. She turned to the right as she came to the top of the stairs, heading straight into a bedroom which was covered with dust. Everything seemed so old, as if no one had touched it in years. Also for some reason, Celia felt watched, but she had no idea why, because no one seemed to be around.
There is no where to go. It's too dark to go home and too late to go on. I have to stay here for the night. Celia shuddered. There was something she definitely did not like about this house. She slid on to the dust covered bed, and patted the dust away, so she could lie down. After pushing enough dust away, she pulled off her wet jacket, jeans and boots, and slipped under the sheets and covers, soon falling asleep when her head touched the pillow.
Mort's Point of View
Mort watched the woman, asleep in his old bed. This sight was so familiar, like the dream. Her wet black hair lay in her face, and she lay on her stomach with her arm hanging off the side of the bed. Mort looked her over, remembering the dream so vaguely.
"You pleased with her? The same one from your dream, too, Pilgrim."
"Shooter, how-"
"It's amazin' what a man can do with limited resources. Amazin' what can happen when a woman has amnesia as well. Amazin' thing is I'm lettin' ya go near a woman again."
"What do you mean amnesia?"
"You'll see in time Mort, you'll see."
(AN1) That is what I refer to as the voice other than Shooter in Mort's head. In the stories I have read that is what he is called, so that's what I'm calling him, too.
(AN2) A red tone in a dream means death. If it is the main color or tinted red, it most definitely death. This has to do with the legend "Red Death". (If you have seen Phantom of the Opera, think about the costume the Phantom/Erik was wearing during the Masquerade. He wore the costume for "Red Death".)
