Ch. 11
"Mort--I thought you were gone." Diane gulped audibly and waited for Mort to release her.
He slowly released his grip on her. "I'm just happy you're alright."
"Why wouldn't I be alright?" She backed away from him slowly and didn't notice his smile falter quickly.
"Because, he could've come after you." He smoothed his hands over his pants pockets and raised an eyebrow.
"Well he didn't," she said, still backing away until she found her way to the sofa.
"Are you scared of me Diane?" he smiled quickly when she fidgeted.
"Why did you come back?" she asked, watching him closely as he moved towards her.
"I came back to make sure you were safe." He smiled as he sat down on the couch next to her.
"No you didn't." She stood, anxious to get away from him. Something about him was different. "You came back because I'm the only one who knows your secret."
She watched him flush and edged her way around the couch, his eyes following her movements.
He's come back to finish you off.
((Why? Why would he disappear for two weeks and then come back. How does he know I didn't call the cops?))
Do you think he really cares? You heard Shooter. He killed four other people. That's why he was arrested. He murdered four other people in cold blood.
She shivered as he continued to stare at her silently. She had done some checking up in the newspaper on the novelist who had gone crazy and killed his ex-wife, her boyfriend and two witnesses. The ex-wife was the one who had started the whole thing. It was probably what had set him off. She again heard what Shooter had told her in the woods, "I will be back."
"What do you know about me Di?" Mort asked, patting the seat next to him, trying to coax her to sit down.
She paused before answering. If Shooter hadn't let slip about the murders she never would have known.
((Why didn't I call the cops when I had the chance?))
Because you couldn't be sure whether you imagined the whole thing. The writer's brain of yours sure is creative and a bit over imaginative. What if you made the whole thing up?
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mort. What do you mean?"
Mort looked at her as if she had grown a second head and smiled grimly at her. "Sure you do. You know exactly what I'm talking about or you wouldn't be trying to get as far away from me as you possibly could."
"Mort, I don't know anything about you. All I know is that you showed up about two weeks ago, almost got me killed and then disappeared."
Mort cocked his head to the side and smiled widely at her, his newly acquired tan very attractive on his thin face.
"Why is it that women just can't seem to tell the truth?" He edged closer to where she clung to the back of the couch and grabbed her wrist. "What is it that makes them seem to be able to give a simple answer, even when we know they're lying?"
"Let go of me," Diane said, her voice low. His grip grew tighter as his smile widened.
"All you had to do was tell the truth, Diane. Just the truth. You already called the police didn't you?"
She shook her head in protest as he ground his fingers into her wrist. She winced but didn't say anything.
Do you want to die? Do something! He's going to kill you if you don't stop him.
She pried his fingers off her arm and looked him in the eye. "Mort, I didn't call the police. I don't know what you think I know, but I haven't told anyone anything."
He just stared at her for a moment and after consideration, he stood. "Liar." He stood, and made his way around the couch slowly while she countered his movements and she shook her head.
At that moment she had a flashback from one of those movies she used to love watching curled up on a stormy Friday night. Psycho, Scream, they all had one thing in common. The psycho usually won. At least, they managed to kill most of the witnesses until someone was able to stop them.
"I'm sorry, Diane," Mort said quietly.
"No," she said, closing her eyes. "I am."
She pulled the gun out from under the table behind the couch. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.
You need help.
Suddenly she was on the edge of a mountain looking down. The sun was setting brilliantly, blinding her as she lost her footing and plummeted into the canyon and--
She woke up on the floor and grasped at her leg because it was throbbing. Someone was standing over her, but she had lost her glasses and she couldn't make out the face. She swung out, trying to gain her bearings and heard cursing when she struck something.
Finding her glasses on the table, she slipped them on and gasped as she looked up into Mort's face. He was holding his nose and she could see that it was bleeding. (Thanks to PirateGyrl, I just couldn't resist!)
"Mort, oh God, are you okay?" she tried not to laugh as he tried to stem the blood.
"Thanks a lot," he said. He stood up carefully and hobbled into the kitchen where she could hear him muttering under his breath.
The thunderstorm from the night before was slowly waning and all she could hear was soft pattering of the light rain.
She carefully stood up, doing her best not to put any weight on the sprained ankle. She headed for the kitchen because her head was pounding and the nightmare she had had was awful.
"Mort I'm sor--" Diane stopped short when she surveyed the scene before her. Mort was lying on the floor, his nose still bleeding, but he was out cold. At least he wasn't dead. A man that could've been his identical twin was kneeling over him, picking up a large black round brimmed hat off of the floor from where it had slid under the television stand.
"Who the hell are you?"
The other Mort grinned at her, his teeth long and straight. "I'm Mort Rainey honey, haven't you been paying attention?" He reached over to the counter where a large wooden block housed the steak knives and a long-bladed pair of scissors. She was about to run, but before she could, he sprang at her and backhanded her across the face. Although she tried to catch herself, she hit her head against the door frame and fell face down onto the cold linoleum floor.
((I'm dead.))
No you're not sweetheart. You're just free now
While Diane watched from the floor, Mort leaned over her and grabbed her hand, but instead of pulling her up, he pulled someone else up, someone that looked exactly like her.
((What's going on?))
Instead of the other voice answering her, the young woman that looked just like her leaned down and smiled. "You'll see honey. You'll see."
She took the scissors from Mort and leaning down, stabbed them through his heart coldly. All Diane could do was watch as she quietly placed the scissors in her hand, wrapping her fingers around the handle tightly. Then she stepped over her, heading for the living room.
At that moment, the screen door swung open ominously and Diane's twin faced Shooter. He was wearing a hat identical to the one that Mort's twin was.
"Hello Diane," he growled, his voice deep.
She grinned at Shooter and turning, threw her arms around Mort's neck. "Let's get out of here. We can call the cops on our way out of town."
Mort smiled and silently scooped her up in his arms and sweeping her in a low circle. Diane closed her eyes as the screen door slammed shut. Shooter disappeared into thin air and the cabin was quiet except for Diane's slow breathing through her broken nose.
3 weeks later
Suzette smiled as she nodded at the young woman behind the front counter. They were at a Druble's Mental Institution in Maine.
"How's my girl today?" she asked, her high heels clicking on the tile floor.
"She seems to be doing better," the bright red-head said, her long nails clacking against the keyboard in front of her.
Suzette keyed into the girl's room and smiled kindly at the young woman lying on the bed.
"How are you doing today Diane?" she asked softly.
"She killed him," Diane whispered.
"Who killed whom Diane?" Suzette leaned forward, hoping to catch every word the girl uttered.
"A girl who looked just like me. She killed Mort. And then she left."
Suzette shook her head sadly and patted Diane on the knee. "You just rest dear. We'll talk tomorrow, alright?"
Diane nodded meekly and rolled over, her breathing becoming steady.
Suzette slipped out of the room silently and smiled sadly at the receptionist again. "That poor girl, she thinks that someone was murdered at her house. There was no one there when the police came. Someone called in a crime at a pay phone, but when they got to the house,there was no one there. All that was there lying next to her was a ridiculous looking hat. There was no sign of anyone in that house."
Theresa smiled at Suzette and nodded. "Did they find out who called in the 911?"
Suzette shook her head. "It's the oddest thing. They did a test on the call-in, but they'd swear it was Diane who made the call."
Theresa smiled again and shook her head sadly. "Don't worry. Maybe something will turn up."
Okay guys, there you have it. The end of this story. I'm thinking about starting another one because this didn't turn out at all like I'd planned. So if you have any ideas, give me a buzz. Otherwise, thanks for reading!
"Mort--I thought you were gone." Diane gulped audibly and waited for Mort to release her.
He slowly released his grip on her. "I'm just happy you're alright."
"Why wouldn't I be alright?" She backed away from him slowly and didn't notice his smile falter quickly.
"Because, he could've come after you." He smoothed his hands over his pants pockets and raised an eyebrow.
"Well he didn't," she said, still backing away until she found her way to the sofa.
"Are you scared of me Diane?" he smiled quickly when she fidgeted.
"Why did you come back?" she asked, watching him closely as he moved towards her.
"I came back to make sure you were safe." He smiled as he sat down on the couch next to her.
"No you didn't." She stood, anxious to get away from him. Something about him was different. "You came back because I'm the only one who knows your secret."
She watched him flush and edged her way around the couch, his eyes following her movements.
He's come back to finish you off.
((Why? Why would he disappear for two weeks and then come back. How does he know I didn't call the cops?))
Do you think he really cares? You heard Shooter. He killed four other people. That's why he was arrested. He murdered four other people in cold blood.
She shivered as he continued to stare at her silently. She had done some checking up in the newspaper on the novelist who had gone crazy and killed his ex-wife, her boyfriend and two witnesses. The ex-wife was the one who had started the whole thing. It was probably what had set him off. She again heard what Shooter had told her in the woods, "I will be back."
"What do you know about me Di?" Mort asked, patting the seat next to him, trying to coax her to sit down.
She paused before answering. If Shooter hadn't let slip about the murders she never would have known.
((Why didn't I call the cops when I had the chance?))
Because you couldn't be sure whether you imagined the whole thing. The writer's brain of yours sure is creative and a bit over imaginative. What if you made the whole thing up?
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mort. What do you mean?"
Mort looked at her as if she had grown a second head and smiled grimly at her. "Sure you do. You know exactly what I'm talking about or you wouldn't be trying to get as far away from me as you possibly could."
"Mort, I don't know anything about you. All I know is that you showed up about two weeks ago, almost got me killed and then disappeared."
Mort cocked his head to the side and smiled widely at her, his newly acquired tan very attractive on his thin face.
"Why is it that women just can't seem to tell the truth?" He edged closer to where she clung to the back of the couch and grabbed her wrist. "What is it that makes them seem to be able to give a simple answer, even when we know they're lying?"
"Let go of me," Diane said, her voice low. His grip grew tighter as his smile widened.
"All you had to do was tell the truth, Diane. Just the truth. You already called the police didn't you?"
She shook her head in protest as he ground his fingers into her wrist. She winced but didn't say anything.
Do you want to die? Do something! He's going to kill you if you don't stop him.
She pried his fingers off her arm and looked him in the eye. "Mort, I didn't call the police. I don't know what you think I know, but I haven't told anyone anything."
He just stared at her for a moment and after consideration, he stood. "Liar." He stood, and made his way around the couch slowly while she countered his movements and she shook her head.
At that moment she had a flashback from one of those movies she used to love watching curled up on a stormy Friday night. Psycho, Scream, they all had one thing in common. The psycho usually won. At least, they managed to kill most of the witnesses until someone was able to stop them.
"I'm sorry, Diane," Mort said quietly.
"No," she said, closing her eyes. "I am."
She pulled the gun out from under the table behind the couch. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.
You need help.
Suddenly she was on the edge of a mountain looking down. The sun was setting brilliantly, blinding her as she lost her footing and plummeted into the canyon and--
She woke up on the floor and grasped at her leg because it was throbbing. Someone was standing over her, but she had lost her glasses and she couldn't make out the face. She swung out, trying to gain her bearings and heard cursing when she struck something.
Finding her glasses on the table, she slipped them on and gasped as she looked up into Mort's face. He was holding his nose and she could see that it was bleeding. (Thanks to PirateGyrl, I just couldn't resist!)
"Mort, oh God, are you okay?" she tried not to laugh as he tried to stem the blood.
"Thanks a lot," he said. He stood up carefully and hobbled into the kitchen where she could hear him muttering under his breath.
The thunderstorm from the night before was slowly waning and all she could hear was soft pattering of the light rain.
She carefully stood up, doing her best not to put any weight on the sprained ankle. She headed for the kitchen because her head was pounding and the nightmare she had had was awful.
"Mort I'm sor--" Diane stopped short when she surveyed the scene before her. Mort was lying on the floor, his nose still bleeding, but he was out cold. At least he wasn't dead. A man that could've been his identical twin was kneeling over him, picking up a large black round brimmed hat off of the floor from where it had slid under the television stand.
"Who the hell are you?"
The other Mort grinned at her, his teeth long and straight. "I'm Mort Rainey honey, haven't you been paying attention?" He reached over to the counter where a large wooden block housed the steak knives and a long-bladed pair of scissors. She was about to run, but before she could, he sprang at her and backhanded her across the face. Although she tried to catch herself, she hit her head against the door frame and fell face down onto the cold linoleum floor.
((I'm dead.))
No you're not sweetheart. You're just free now
While Diane watched from the floor, Mort leaned over her and grabbed her hand, but instead of pulling her up, he pulled someone else up, someone that looked exactly like her.
((What's going on?))
Instead of the other voice answering her, the young woman that looked just like her leaned down and smiled. "You'll see honey. You'll see."
She took the scissors from Mort and leaning down, stabbed them through his heart coldly. All Diane could do was watch as she quietly placed the scissors in her hand, wrapping her fingers around the handle tightly. Then she stepped over her, heading for the living room.
At that moment, the screen door swung open ominously and Diane's twin faced Shooter. He was wearing a hat identical to the one that Mort's twin was.
"Hello Diane," he growled, his voice deep.
She grinned at Shooter and turning, threw her arms around Mort's neck. "Let's get out of here. We can call the cops on our way out of town."
Mort smiled and silently scooped her up in his arms and sweeping her in a low circle. Diane closed her eyes as the screen door slammed shut. Shooter disappeared into thin air and the cabin was quiet except for Diane's slow breathing through her broken nose.
3 weeks later
Suzette smiled as she nodded at the young woman behind the front counter. They were at a Druble's Mental Institution in Maine.
"How's my girl today?" she asked, her high heels clicking on the tile floor.
"She seems to be doing better," the bright red-head said, her long nails clacking against the keyboard in front of her.
Suzette keyed into the girl's room and smiled kindly at the young woman lying on the bed.
"How are you doing today Diane?" she asked softly.
"She killed him," Diane whispered.
"Who killed whom Diane?" Suzette leaned forward, hoping to catch every word the girl uttered.
"A girl who looked just like me. She killed Mort. And then she left."
Suzette shook her head sadly and patted Diane on the knee. "You just rest dear. We'll talk tomorrow, alright?"
Diane nodded meekly and rolled over, her breathing becoming steady.
Suzette slipped out of the room silently and smiled sadly at the receptionist again. "That poor girl, she thinks that someone was murdered at her house. There was no one there when the police came. Someone called in a crime at a pay phone, but when they got to the house,there was no one there. All that was there lying next to her was a ridiculous looking hat. There was no sign of anyone in that house."
Theresa smiled at Suzette and nodded. "Did they find out who called in the 911?"
Suzette shook her head. "It's the oddest thing. They did a test on the call-in, but they'd swear it was Diane who made the call."
Theresa smiled again and shook her head sadly. "Don't worry. Maybe something will turn up."
Okay guys, there you have it. The end of this story. I'm thinking about starting another one because this didn't turn out at all like I'd planned. So if you have any ideas, give me a buzz. Otherwise, thanks for reading!