Alex walked into Mort's house, sweaty and muddy.  The couple had been working all day on the landscaping in the yard.  Since their decision to move in together - and sell Mort's house - Mort knew that the property would need some improvements before he put it on the market. The house itself was now fine, but the landscape left much to be desired.  All morning, through the early afternoon, he and Alex dug and mulched and planted.  Both of them loved the outdoors and didn't mind getting their hands dirty, so to speak.

            "Can I shower?" Alex asked.

            Mort smiled and shook his head.  "You have to ask?"

            Alex giggled.  "It's polite."  She playfully kissed the tip of his nose and disappeared into the bathroom. 

            Hey.  Mort didn't hear the voice right away.  You'd better listen up, buddy.

            "What the…"

            Much better.  Listen to me – make up an excuse and get out of here.

            "Get out?  There's a gorgeous, naked woman in my bathroom and…why are you here?"

            Took you long enough to ask.  Listen to me – get out.  He's not happy with what she's done.

            "He can't come around anymore."  Mort walked to the kitchen counter and picked up his prescription bottle.  He was going to shake it in triumph, but found that it was empty.  "Shit!"  He looked at the date.  "Forgot to refill…wait a minute, missing one dose…"

            Will be just enough.  He's pissed off – more at Alex than you.  She's the one who suggested Dr. Harris and…

            Mort's face drained of its color.  "He can't come back.  He can't."

            He can and he very well might.  Make up an excuse and leave.  Listen to…  The voice died out.  Mort froze in his place.  Standing before him was Shooter.

            "Thought I'd just go away, Mr. Rainey?"

            "You're not real," Mort said surely.

            Shooter smiled.  "I'm as real as you are, boy.  I am you."

            "You're not.  You are a result of a stress and fried nerves."

            "Doctor's fancy talk ain' all it's cracked up to be.  If it was, I wouldn' be here now, would I?"  Mort didn't answer.  "That woman in your shower's gonna ruin your life – my life, Mr. Rainey and I simply can' stand for that.  I want out.  I'm s'posed to be out, but she's gone and taken that away from me.  That upsets me."

            "You will not touch her."  Mort's voice was firm, unshaken.

            "I won' hurt her, Mr. Rainey.  Not yet anyway."

Mort was persistent.  "You are not real."

Shooter's voice was cold and unnervingly calm.  "I'm everythin' you're too scared to be, pilgrim.  You need me to survive."  He looked at the empty bottle in Mort's hand.  "And that there has made you weak, Mr. Rainey.  You missed it once and here I am."  He then looked down the hall at the closed bathroom door.  "And there she is."

Mort became suddenly desperate, too concerned for Alex's safety.  "Please, don't hurt her," he pleaded.  "What do you want me to do?  Anything – I'll do anything to keep you from hurting her."

Shooter smiled.  "I'll take you up on that offer, Mr. Rainey.  How 'bout you go take yourself one of those naps you're so fond of?"  Mort's eyes closed, then slowly opened again.  Shooter was gone and a smirk spread across his face. 

"Time to check on the little lady," Mort said, his voice coated with a thick Mississippi accent.  "She'll notice this," he said, thinking about how he sounded.  An idea struck him.  "…or maybe not."

No…God no!  Mort was trapped inside himself.  For the first time, he was aware of what was going on – what Shooter was doing.  Mort heard himself laugh.

"Thought you might want to stick around for this one, Mr. Rainey."  He walked downstairs to the office and retrieved the black hat from underneath the couch where Mort had shoved it.  "I do wish you wouldn' try and keep this from me."

Don't touch her, fucker!  Mort had never felt so helpless in his life…he couldn't understand what was going on.  He was unable to control a single movement of his body, and that alone was enough to make him feel crazed.  Let me out!

"When I'm finished!" Shooter said sternly.  "You've taken so much away from me, Mr. Rainey.  Only fair I take a little from you."

            No!  Mort fought, but soon realized how weak he felt.  It was hopeless.  He was trapped and he was going to be forced to watch.

            "Don' worry, Mr. Rainey, you'll have the stomach for this."

***

Author's Note: I'm being a bit rebellious.  The next chapter may be a bit graphic for a PG-13 rating, but I can't see the sense in changing a rating for one chapter.  If you wish, skip it, but it is rather important to the story.