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Dawnie-7: Thank you.
Smoochies221: Thank you and you're welcome.
Lykosdracos: Thanks. I know some people who would, so just to avoid flames, I put up that little warning. Apparently not. Well, she was kind of in shock. I wrote that she didn't know what to think or how to feel.
A/N: The Sherlock Holmes reference is in this chapter. If anyone can spot it. ^_^
Chapter Four: Da Nile is Not Just a River in Egypt
Forgetting about last night's encounter with John Shooter, Jennifer went back to St. Lucius Asylum.
"Bob, take Miss Rainey to the garden," the same receptionist from the day before called over the intercom.
Jennifer noticed her name tag read: Maria B.
The garden was where some patients could go if they wanted to go outside. It was very pleasant looking. Jennifer noticed a familiar head bent over table, probably writing something.
"Hey, Dad," said Jennifer, sitting next to him.
Mort looked up, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Hi, Jenny. I'm writing a new story. We're not allowed electronics, so I'm writing with pen and paper. I can't remember the last time I wrote a story using pen and paper," he said.
"What's it about?" Jennifer asked.
"Two detectives find a body in an abandoned house, and have to figure out who did it," said Mort.
"Sounds cool," replied Jennifer, "what's it called?"
"The Empty House Murder," said Mort.
"Cool. I hope it gets published, I'd definitely read it," commented Jennifer.
"That's good. You said you published some poems?" questioned Mort.
"Yeah. A book of poems. Wasn't a best seller, which I liked. Gives me more annonminity," said Jennifer.
"Guess writing's inherited, huh?" said Mort.
Jennifer shrugged. "It sure seems that way. But, it's not something I'd do for a living," she added.
Insanity is, too. I believe it's paternal. Or maybe it's maternal. Either way, it can be passed down from generation to generation, Mr. Rainey.
"Go away."
"What?" asked Jennifer.
Mort realized he spoke out loud.
"I said, 'let's go for a walk.' I'm finished with my story for the moment," he corrected.
"Sounds good to me," said Jennifer.
"This is the first time they've let me go outside," Mort commented as they passed two ten year old twin boys playing Frisbee.
One of them caught it in his mouth like a dog.
"Hi, Lester, hi, Spike," said Mort, waving at the twins.
"Hello, Mr. Rainey," said the thrower.
The other boy dropped the Frisbee and barked.
"This is Jenny, my daughter," said Mort.
"I'm Lester, and that's Spike. He thinks he's a dog," said the boy who had thrown the Frisbee.
"Hi, Lester. Hi, Spike," said Jennifer.
Spike sniffed Jennifer and licked her hand.
Jennifer's face said eww.
"Bye, guys," said Mort, as they left the twins behind.
"Bye, Mr. Rainey, bye, Jenny," called Lester.
Spike yelped.
"Does Lester live here?" asked Jennifer.
"Yeah. Spike only listens to Lester," replied Mort, "I think he's getting better, because there are some brief moments where Spike's normal."
"How long have they been here?" asked Jennifer.
"Two years, I think Lester said," answered Mort.
"That's a long time," she commented.
"Yeah. Some have been here longer than that," said Mort.
"When are they going to let you out?" Jennifer asked.
"When Shooter goes away for good," said Mort.
"Oh," said Jennifer, "he still comes around from time to time, then?"
"Physically, no. Now he's just a voice in my head. He talks to people sometimes, though. He's not real, but he's not me, either," answered Mort.
"I didn't say that he was you, Dad. Killing four people and Chico? You as you could never do that. Remember when I was seven and fell off my bike? I scraped my elbows and knees and when you saw the blood, you fainted on the spot," said Jennifer, with a small laugh.
"Yeah," said Mort, "when Shooter's taking over, I can do almost anything."
"Well, we need to make sure that Mr. Shooter doesn't come back, ever again," said Jennifer.
Mort agreed.
Back at the hotel, Jennifer sat down to write some poems about her day. One was about some of the residents she met (nameless of course), and some were about the hospital in general. Jennifer was pretending she never heard Shooter the night before.
I'm going to stay here in Riverdale until Dad gets released, she thought.
What about after he gets released? What are you going to do then, eh? Go back to Minnesota, asked a voice inside her head. (No, it wasn't Shooter, just the regular annoying voice everyone has that asks stuff you don't want to think about.)
Maybe I will. Maybe I'll stay for good, she thought, I don't know.
At the asylum, Mort wasn't going to believe that Shooter was back.
He's gone, I'm getting better, he's not coming back, he told himself.
You need to teach your daughter some manners, Mr. Rainey. Swears more 'n' a sailor. I bet I know where she gets that from.
"Jenny? You better not come near my daughter, Shooter, or-"
Or what? Adjust me with a screwdriver? Not likely, Mr. Rainey.
Mort could hear Shooter laugh in his head.
He's not here, he's not here, he's not here.
Of course I'm here. Maybe I should leave.
Yeah, go away and don't come back, thought Mort.
I think I'll go see if Miss Rainey needs a haircut. I have a nice sharp pair of scissors with her name on it.
No, don't, thought Mort, but Shooter was already gone.
A/N: What's going to happen next? Find out in chapter five, coming soon! Review! Nine pages, can you believe it?