Well guys, the story is winding up. I'm probably going to start another one soon but for now, I've kinda hit a dead end. So without further ado, Chapter 10. P.S. I want to thank everybody who has helped me through this story. Especially PirateGyrl who helped me a whole lot and PineAppleLint who gave me some great ideas.
If you're a big fan of reading Pirates of the Caribbean, I'd definitely suggest PineApple Lint's stories as well as PirateGyrl who has a great contest going on right now for her story "Silver and Gold." Thanks again for reading guys!
Ch. 10
She fell asleep on the couch, snoring softly as he sat awake. Something was definitely wrong. Shooter normally had a way of locating him, but there was still no sign of him and it was already 4 a.m.
He stood and walked to the window where a thunderstorm had rolled in and thunder rumbled overhead, lightning filtering through the trees. He heard a rustling behind him and turned quickly, but it was just Diane tossing and turning on the couch. He had covered her with a worn blanket that had been draped over the chair and cleared up the mess from the demolished lamp.
While he waited he paced the room, his footsteps softened by the thick carpet. Diane slept soundly except for a couple of times he heard her murmuring in her sleep. He couldn't go anywhere until the thunderstorm was over, but as soon as it lifted, he would have to make a run for it.
Using Diane was completely wrong. He would hate himself for doing that, especially if anything happened to her.
6 a.m.
Diane groaned as she rolled over. Her eyes were dried out from the contacts and her ankle was throbbing. Something was wrong. She turned over to look out the window and noted that the sun hadn't quite risen yet. There was some light rain pattering on the tin roof of the house. She sat up and looked around the room. Mort was gone. The front door was unlocked and she noticed that the floor had been cleaned up. Rising, she leaned against the table and hobbled to the front door. Maybe it had all been a dream, she thought, leaning out the door and searching for movement.
There was no one outside but the air had definitely thickened with the settling rain. She stepped out on the porch and stood for a moment, contemplating the events of the past day.
12 noon
The house was pretty much as spotless as it had been before the entire incident the day before. She hadn't called the police because she basically had no proof of anything that had happened. She could almost convince herself that it had all been a dream. However, a prickling sensation bothered her every time she set foot out of the house, a paranoid feeling as if she were being watched. When she went to take the garbage out, she found a folded note at the top of the bin. She unfolded it and read the hastily scrawled note.
Diane
I had to leave. I promise this won't come anywhere near you.
Mort
Well congratulations honey, you killed him.
((I didn't kill him, he left. There was nothing I could do.))
She folded the note again carefully as her heart began to beat faster. He had left to protect her. He might even be dead by now if Shooter found him. She turned to go back into the house. There was nothing she could do. There had never really been anything she could do in the first place.
2 weeks later
Diane hiked through the woods. This time she carried a mace keychain with her. Whether or not what she had imagined really truly happened or if it was simply the wild hallucinations of an overly creative writer, she wasn't sure. As she neared the spot where the whole ordeal had begun, she again felt the hairs stand on her neck. There's no one here you idiot, she thought, turning in a slow circle and heading back towards the house.
"I wondered if you'd ever come back," the voice said, echoing off the deep woods and making her spin again.
"Mort?" she asked, her voice trembling.
She heard leaves crackling up ahead and cautiously made her way towards the sound. Instead of the wiry frame of the writer, she again was confronted with the substantial psychopath grinning down at her. He didn't move but just stared down at her. She would have screamed, but it wouldn't have done any good. There was no one to hear.
((I've lost my mind))
A mind is a terrible thing to lose sweetheart, but it's not gone yet.
((Smartass.))
Wimp
Shooter stared at her for another moment, the smile appeared frozen on his face.
Diane glared at him. "What did you do to him?"
He looked actually surprised at the accusation. "I didn't do anything. But if you screw up and hurt him, I will be back, I can assure you of that."
"What are you talking about?" Diane asked, but watched as the man just turned and stalked off through the woods, moving so quickly that he simply dissolved into the trees.
She turned and raced back to the house, her breathing heavy as she shoved into the house. And almost collapsed when she recognized Mort sitting in her armchair.
He smiled at her. "Surprise."
She stood stunned as he wrapped his arms around her, Shooter's voice echoing in her head.
Oh boy are you in trouble sugar.
If you're a big fan of reading Pirates of the Caribbean, I'd definitely suggest PineApple Lint's stories as well as PirateGyrl who has a great contest going on right now for her story "Silver and Gold." Thanks again for reading guys!
Ch. 10
She fell asleep on the couch, snoring softly as he sat awake. Something was definitely wrong. Shooter normally had a way of locating him, but there was still no sign of him and it was already 4 a.m.
He stood and walked to the window where a thunderstorm had rolled in and thunder rumbled overhead, lightning filtering through the trees. He heard a rustling behind him and turned quickly, but it was just Diane tossing and turning on the couch. He had covered her with a worn blanket that had been draped over the chair and cleared up the mess from the demolished lamp.
While he waited he paced the room, his footsteps softened by the thick carpet. Diane slept soundly except for a couple of times he heard her murmuring in her sleep. He couldn't go anywhere until the thunderstorm was over, but as soon as it lifted, he would have to make a run for it.
Using Diane was completely wrong. He would hate himself for doing that, especially if anything happened to her.
6 a.m.
Diane groaned as she rolled over. Her eyes were dried out from the contacts and her ankle was throbbing. Something was wrong. She turned over to look out the window and noted that the sun hadn't quite risen yet. There was some light rain pattering on the tin roof of the house. She sat up and looked around the room. Mort was gone. The front door was unlocked and she noticed that the floor had been cleaned up. Rising, she leaned against the table and hobbled to the front door. Maybe it had all been a dream, she thought, leaning out the door and searching for movement.
There was no one outside but the air had definitely thickened with the settling rain. She stepped out on the porch and stood for a moment, contemplating the events of the past day.
12 noon
The house was pretty much as spotless as it had been before the entire incident the day before. She hadn't called the police because she basically had no proof of anything that had happened. She could almost convince herself that it had all been a dream. However, a prickling sensation bothered her every time she set foot out of the house, a paranoid feeling as if she were being watched. When she went to take the garbage out, she found a folded note at the top of the bin. She unfolded it and read the hastily scrawled note.
Diane
I had to leave. I promise this won't come anywhere near you.
Mort
Well congratulations honey, you killed him.
((I didn't kill him, he left. There was nothing I could do.))
She folded the note again carefully as her heart began to beat faster. He had left to protect her. He might even be dead by now if Shooter found him. She turned to go back into the house. There was nothing she could do. There had never really been anything she could do in the first place.
2 weeks later
Diane hiked through the woods. This time she carried a mace keychain with her. Whether or not what she had imagined really truly happened or if it was simply the wild hallucinations of an overly creative writer, she wasn't sure. As she neared the spot where the whole ordeal had begun, she again felt the hairs stand on her neck. There's no one here you idiot, she thought, turning in a slow circle and heading back towards the house.
"I wondered if you'd ever come back," the voice said, echoing off the deep woods and making her spin again.
"Mort?" she asked, her voice trembling.
She heard leaves crackling up ahead and cautiously made her way towards the sound. Instead of the wiry frame of the writer, she again was confronted with the substantial psychopath grinning down at her. He didn't move but just stared down at her. She would have screamed, but it wouldn't have done any good. There was no one to hear.
((I've lost my mind))
A mind is a terrible thing to lose sweetheart, but it's not gone yet.
((Smartass.))
Wimp
Shooter stared at her for another moment, the smile appeared frozen on his face.
Diane glared at him. "What did you do to him?"
He looked actually surprised at the accusation. "I didn't do anything. But if you screw up and hurt him, I will be back, I can assure you of that."
"What are you talking about?" Diane asked, but watched as the man just turned and stalked off through the woods, moving so quickly that he simply dissolved into the trees.
She turned and raced back to the house, her breathing heavy as she shoved into the house. And almost collapsed when she recognized Mort sitting in her armchair.
He smiled at her. "Surprise."
She stood stunned as he wrapped his arms around her, Shooter's voice echoing in her head.
Oh boy are you in trouble sugar.