Mort slept well into the day, it was well past 5 o'clock before he finally awoke. He was still groggy, but he felt refreshed and ready to conquer the novel. It had been the first peaceful sleep he had had in a long time, Mort felt as if all the weird things that had been happening to him were gone and simply a figment of his imagination.
He dragged himself into the bathroom, and turned the faucet on cold. He bent
over and rubbed the water over his face. He looked like a mess, his goatee was unkempt and his hair badly needed a dye job. Mort turned off the water and as he straightened up, in the shards of the still broken mirror, he saw a piece of white paper flutter to the ground. Mort turned sharply and rushed over to the paper. On it were 5 simple words:
This is your final warning.
This final message really got to him; someone was getting too close. Mort hurried and dressed himself in a ripped t- shirt and worn jeans. He made his way to the car and took off down the road. The stranger knew where he was going. When Mort was out of sight the man started the engine in his car and started after him.
Mort turned into the driveway of a white Victorian style house. He scanned the
yard around him, heart beating in his throat.
Where is he? He's close, how close?
Mort ran to the house and entered through the front door.
"PJ, he coming, he knows what I did." Mort sputtered.
"Woa, man slow down. How close is he?" PJ shot back, beginning to feel the pressure.
"I'm not sure be he's close, I sense it."
" Alright, come on upstairs and we'll work something out."
The two men hurried up the stairs of the house and entered into a small office. The stranger had just pulled onto the street where the Victorian was located. He then pulled over and took a white plastic garbage bag and the shovel from the back seat and started down the road toward the house. When the man arrived at the house he climbed up a flight of stairs on the side of the Victorian that led to a deck. From there he mounted the roof and walked around the house until he was at the window where the two men were talking.
The sun was already set and it began to rain, the man didn't move, he leaned
against the shovel and watched the two men talk. Mort was moving his hands in animated motions; the expression on his face was urgent. PJ listened intently, nodding occasionally. The stranger waited patiently for the right moment. He felt that time was drawing near, he pulled a narrow brimmed hat from the trash bag, putting it on so that the brim covered his left eye. The man lit a cigarette produced from his pocket. He picked up the shovel, it felt familiar in his hands, he took several long drags of the cigarette before tossing it on the roof where it immediately burned out in the heavy rain. It was time.