A/N: I may not be updating for a while, I'm going on vacation. [looks at sky] Thank you. Disclaimer: Allll Stephen King. Except for the lovely Maria Santiago.

Maria never took the receiver away from her ear. She sat in the dark, listening to the long drone of a dead line. Her breathing and heartbeat overpowered it by a long shot.

Okay, think rationally. At least this gives you and opportunity to get away. She thought, she slowly sat up, clutching the receiver in a her hand so tightly her hand felt numb. God, grant me the strength and courage to make it out that door. She prayed. It's been quite a while. She heard movement and nearly jumped out of her skin. She felt a large hand encircle her wrist. She screamed.

"It's okay, only me," Mort coaxed. i Comforting /i. He pulled her into another room, that was lit only a few seconds by lightning. The thunder seemed to make the house vibrate. He let go of her wrist and she watched his silhouette fumble for something in the dark. She groped for something to sit on. She thought she was going to be awfully sick. She gave up when she heard a small 'phhttt' of a match. Mort was lighting candles.

Maria shivered. She saw small puddles of water of where she stood. She wrapped her arms around herself. No good, she was freezing. She heard Mort chuckle.

"Come with me, I could at least lend you a shirt," Maria looked at the distorted face on her dark blue shirt. The Distillers consumed most of the rain water. The pants weren't as bad.

Maria felt like an automated robot. She didn't want to river-dance on a murderer's nerve. She quickly found herself in a well kept bathroom. No mirror.

She peeled off the soaked shirt, and slipped on a dark blue sweatshirt. It smelled like cigarettes and a kind of cologne she couldn't identify. Whatever it was, the two didn't mix. She looked around for a place to hang her dripping shirt. She draped it over the side of Mort's tub.

Maria looked around nervously. i Relax. He isn't showing any signs of wanting to send you with an early trip to the afterlife. /i She took several deep breaths. She looked through the door that led to Mort's bedroom. Clean. Very, very clean. There was an impurity to the ultra-clean room. There was a small bowler hat resting atop the blue bedspread. It stood out like a banana in a pistachio factory.

Maria picked it up, and stared down at the brown hat. Almost instinctively, she put it on. She turned to find a mirror, but was out of luck. She was confident it looked fine. She picked up the candle Mort gave her and glided down the stairs. She started to relax. She felt good. Better than earlier, anyway.

Mort was sitting on the couch, paging through some papers. The room was decked with candles. Well lit. He looked up at Maria with a grin, but the grin faded as his eyes fell on the hat. Maria's stomach took a slow, lazy turn. Good feelings gone.

God, Mort didn't even know her name. "Where did you get that?" He sounded hysterical.

Maria smiled. It was wan, but it was a smile. "I found it on your bed, I thought it added a nice touch." She took off the hat, feeling guilty. It probably belonged to someone important to him. Not to be touched. "Sorry," She looked up at Mort, and jumped back when she saw how close he was. He moved like a damned jaguar. She let him take that hat from her small hand.

"Shouldn't be tamperin' with others' belongin's, missus." Maria grinned at the accent. It faded when she saw that Mort wasn't trying to be funny. Was it Mort? His soft face faded into... into... She backed away until she reached the wall.

"Mr. Rainey-"

"Ain't here, darlin'" Mort pressed her against the wall. Mort grinned, and ran a hand up her thigh. Maria tried to scream but it came out as a strangled gasp.

"Don't fret hen, it'd only be the two of us,"

A/N: Left you hangin' again. I'm not pleased with Maria, acting like such a pansy. [sighs] We'll have to fix that somewhere along the lines. Reviews are dandy =]