Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.
A/N: Woot, reviews! Just like the doctor ordered! Oh, and he said that I should double my prescription (wink) so keep 'em coming! I love hearing what you have to say. Just as promised, the next chapter, dedicated to all those Secret Window fans out there. (salutes)
PineAppleLint
* * *
That morning, Zoë was rambling along a Tashmore County deserted road in her freshly washed Honda, taking a bite of McDonald's breakfast sandwich before grabbing her sunglasses from the glove compartment. Screw healthy breakfast, she thought as she took a sip of her cherry coke. She began to sing along to the old crackly radio and banged her head a little, causing her glasses to scoot down her nose.
"I will survive, I will survive, hey hey!!!" she hollered off-key, enjoying herself, trying to wipe last night from her mind completely. It was a brand new day. No stalker was going to mess around with her head. She wouldn't allow it. No siree.
She paused and cackled to herself. No siree? Seems like she was starting to borrow a few words from Shooter. Stupid bastard. Zoë shivered when she thought of Mort's terrorizing smile, that way he backhanded her with such force he caused the world to fade to black.
"Stop it, Zoë," she said aloud to herself sternly, "You're acting retarded. Pull yourself together, woman!" Fingering the rearview mirror, she glanced at her appearance. Her brown hair was frizzy from the humid air, her lips chapped. No wonder she kept licking them subconsciously.
Turning her gaze back to the road, she shrieked and swerved the car. It hit a rather large tree with a sickening crunch, the airbag deployed, and her head whipped back. She saw stars and heard a buzzing noise for a couple of moments, but that gently subsided. A dull throbbing was left in her head. The clip that had been holding up her hair had broken into four pieces when her skull had hit the headrest. Zoë sat there in shock for a second or two, trying to calm her labored breathing.
There had been a man standing in the middle of the road.
Zoë got out of the car and rested a hand on the hood of the car to steady herself. She glanced at the road in panic.
No one was there. No corpse, no wounded man gasping for help. He had disappeared into thin air.
Looking at the front of her car, she grimaced when she saw it totally smashed to smithereens. Glass littered the side of the road and her airbag was slowly moving in the harsh wind. Glancing up, she watched the heavy grey clouds float ominously by.
"Hello?" she called around her. No answer. The road was surrounded by woods. Could the person she almost hit have been so scared that he fled into the forest? She ran a hand over her face guiltily. She almost killed someone!
"Get a grip," she muttered to herself, "Maybe there was no one there." But there had been. Would she have thought up someone just so she could go barreling into a damn pine tree? She 'hmmmpf'ed sarcastically. Highly unlikely.
There had been a man. He had an old weathered face and wore a faded black coat, grey pants, and suspenders over a white shirt. His dark eyes had bored hers through the windshield. Like he was waiting to die. Like he wanted to get run over and have fucking tire tracks planted on his emotionless face.
Then Zoë's eyes widened when she remembered the hat. The man had been wearing a hat.
Just like Rainey's.
* * *
She refused to call Timothy. He would just scold her for going into Tashmore when she had been 'yanked off' of the case. Zoë wasn't in the mood for a slap on the wrist, a.k.a. a heated pep talk about how damn disrespectful she was. Wanting to call the operator for a local mechanic, she rooted through her bag to find her cell phone gone.
Growling, she remembered she didn't have her cell anymore. Mr. Rainey had thrown it against the wall. May it rest in pieces.
So she did the only thing she could do. She began to walk. With her messenger bag slung over her shoulder, she fingered at her car keys and began to whistle to pass the time. She started with "Oh Susanna" and was whistling the second chorus when she heard it.
"Zoë." She stopped and turned around. No one. Scratching her head, she was about to continue her journey to the nearest store when she heard it again.
"I see you."
Whirling around, she glanced in the shade of the trees, down and up the road a ways, trying to find the owner of the southern drawl. And it didn't sound like Mort's voice. Still, it was deserted. All but her.
"What the fuck do you want?" she asked shakily. No answer. Ohmigod, she was going out of her mind, she thought with a bark of laughter.
"I need therapy," she mumbled and tucked some hair behind her ears. "Hi," she imitated, "I'm Zoë. I hear voices and think some southern hick is out to get me. What? Three prescriptions of the best drugs you have? I guess that will do it." But she didn't even laugh at her own joke. She guessed her own apparent mental instability was no laughing matter, even when she tried to make it funny.
"I'm a lost cause," she informed herself as she tripped over an uneven piece of pavement. When she thought it just couldn't get any worse, it began to pour.
"Oh, thank you, thank you so much!" Zoë shouted, facing the black sky, "Just what I needed at a time like this! Well, isn't life dandy?"
She could hear the slight rumbling of an approaching engine and glanced behind her, narrowing her eyes from her foul mood. She must have looked a fright; standing there hunched like a drowned rat, ready to kick someone's ass just for the hell of releasing a bit of stress. Of course the person behind the wheel of the green rugged SUV was no other than Mort Rainey.
Just who I need to see at a time like this, she thought with an inward groan.
"I saw your car about two miles down the road. Need a ride?" he hollered in a friendly manner as he rolled down the window and stopped at her side. She kept walking. Zoë heard him chuckle a bit, bite his tongue, and the steady creak of the car as it followed her slowly.
"Ignoring me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, "How mature of you, agent Oltie."
She stopped in her tracks and so did the car. Zoë turned and stared him dead in his handsome brown eyes. "Look," she stated crisply, "I don't trust you. I don't like you. Please, leave me alone." He ran a hand through his untidy hair and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"I'm sorry about the other day," he said slowly, "If that's what you're talking about..."
"Sure, that's half of it. What about last night, hmm?"
"Last night?" he questioned, frowning at her, "What are you talking about?"
She laughed. The rain was soaking through her clothes and making her feel rather uncomfortable. Her white tank top stuck to her skin and showed off her white bra. Zoë crossed her arms when she caught Mort's eyes fall to her chest for a millisecond and return to her face again as he swallowing hard.
"I know you were in my apartment last night, Mr. Rainey," she seethed, "You were there. You burned the book, you left the flowers..."
"Whoa, whoa, hold on a second. I was at my cabin last night. I don't even know where you live, Zoë, so how could I go 'stalk you' or whatever you're implying I did?"
"Yeah, like I think you'd actually be honest with me," she snorted, "Like you'd admit to rooting around my apartment. How silly of me." Zoë jumped when Mort jammed the car into 'park' and with a flick of the keys, turned the car off. Silence settled over them and the road, the only thing they heard was the steady hiss of wind and the pitter-patter of the rain on his windshield and the road.
"I am telling the truth," he said with a sigh, "You're not making it any easier..."
"Just shut up. You just shut up, Mort Rainey. Shut your goddamn mouth. Because I don't have to listen to any explanations of yours. You're just as guilty as the rest of them..."
"You won't even listen to me!" he roared, "Why won't you..." but the sentence died in his throat. She had already turned her back to him and was steadily walking away.
Right when she heard the car door click open, she remembered her gun was in the glove compartment of her car. Zoë dropped her bag and began to run, but wasn't fast enough. Mort had already grabbed her arm and began to drag her to the passenger's side of the car. She screamed as she struggled against him, but no one was there to hear her. She was alone with him.
"Don't worry, missus," he drawled, the accent returning, the gleam in his eyes sharpening as he jerkily opened the door while holding onto her arm in a painful grip, "Stay quiet and ol' Mort won't have to hurt you. I swears it."
* * *
DUN DUN DUN! THAT'S NOT A GOOD SIGN!!! Please review!
A/N: Woot, reviews! Just like the doctor ordered! Oh, and he said that I should double my prescription (wink) so keep 'em coming! I love hearing what you have to say. Just as promised, the next chapter, dedicated to all those Secret Window fans out there. (salutes)
PineAppleLint
* * *
That morning, Zoë was rambling along a Tashmore County deserted road in her freshly washed Honda, taking a bite of McDonald's breakfast sandwich before grabbing her sunglasses from the glove compartment. Screw healthy breakfast, she thought as she took a sip of her cherry coke. She began to sing along to the old crackly radio and banged her head a little, causing her glasses to scoot down her nose.
"I will survive, I will survive, hey hey!!!" she hollered off-key, enjoying herself, trying to wipe last night from her mind completely. It was a brand new day. No stalker was going to mess around with her head. She wouldn't allow it. No siree.
She paused and cackled to herself. No siree? Seems like she was starting to borrow a few words from Shooter. Stupid bastard. Zoë shivered when she thought of Mort's terrorizing smile, that way he backhanded her with such force he caused the world to fade to black.
"Stop it, Zoë," she said aloud to herself sternly, "You're acting retarded. Pull yourself together, woman!" Fingering the rearview mirror, she glanced at her appearance. Her brown hair was frizzy from the humid air, her lips chapped. No wonder she kept licking them subconsciously.
Turning her gaze back to the road, she shrieked and swerved the car. It hit a rather large tree with a sickening crunch, the airbag deployed, and her head whipped back. She saw stars and heard a buzzing noise for a couple of moments, but that gently subsided. A dull throbbing was left in her head. The clip that had been holding up her hair had broken into four pieces when her skull had hit the headrest. Zoë sat there in shock for a second or two, trying to calm her labored breathing.
There had been a man standing in the middle of the road.
Zoë got out of the car and rested a hand on the hood of the car to steady herself. She glanced at the road in panic.
No one was there. No corpse, no wounded man gasping for help. He had disappeared into thin air.
Looking at the front of her car, she grimaced when she saw it totally smashed to smithereens. Glass littered the side of the road and her airbag was slowly moving in the harsh wind. Glancing up, she watched the heavy grey clouds float ominously by.
"Hello?" she called around her. No answer. The road was surrounded by woods. Could the person she almost hit have been so scared that he fled into the forest? She ran a hand over her face guiltily. She almost killed someone!
"Get a grip," she muttered to herself, "Maybe there was no one there." But there had been. Would she have thought up someone just so she could go barreling into a damn pine tree? She 'hmmmpf'ed sarcastically. Highly unlikely.
There had been a man. He had an old weathered face and wore a faded black coat, grey pants, and suspenders over a white shirt. His dark eyes had bored hers through the windshield. Like he was waiting to die. Like he wanted to get run over and have fucking tire tracks planted on his emotionless face.
Then Zoë's eyes widened when she remembered the hat. The man had been wearing a hat.
Just like Rainey's.
* * *
She refused to call Timothy. He would just scold her for going into Tashmore when she had been 'yanked off' of the case. Zoë wasn't in the mood for a slap on the wrist, a.k.a. a heated pep talk about how damn disrespectful she was. Wanting to call the operator for a local mechanic, she rooted through her bag to find her cell phone gone.
Growling, she remembered she didn't have her cell anymore. Mr. Rainey had thrown it against the wall. May it rest in pieces.
So she did the only thing she could do. She began to walk. With her messenger bag slung over her shoulder, she fingered at her car keys and began to whistle to pass the time. She started with "Oh Susanna" and was whistling the second chorus when she heard it.
"Zoë." She stopped and turned around. No one. Scratching her head, she was about to continue her journey to the nearest store when she heard it again.
"I see you."
Whirling around, she glanced in the shade of the trees, down and up the road a ways, trying to find the owner of the southern drawl. And it didn't sound like Mort's voice. Still, it was deserted. All but her.
"What the fuck do you want?" she asked shakily. No answer. Ohmigod, she was going out of her mind, she thought with a bark of laughter.
"I need therapy," she mumbled and tucked some hair behind her ears. "Hi," she imitated, "I'm Zoë. I hear voices and think some southern hick is out to get me. What? Three prescriptions of the best drugs you have? I guess that will do it." But she didn't even laugh at her own joke. She guessed her own apparent mental instability was no laughing matter, even when she tried to make it funny.
"I'm a lost cause," she informed herself as she tripped over an uneven piece of pavement. When she thought it just couldn't get any worse, it began to pour.
"Oh, thank you, thank you so much!" Zoë shouted, facing the black sky, "Just what I needed at a time like this! Well, isn't life dandy?"
She could hear the slight rumbling of an approaching engine and glanced behind her, narrowing her eyes from her foul mood. She must have looked a fright; standing there hunched like a drowned rat, ready to kick someone's ass just for the hell of releasing a bit of stress. Of course the person behind the wheel of the green rugged SUV was no other than Mort Rainey.
Just who I need to see at a time like this, she thought with an inward groan.
"I saw your car about two miles down the road. Need a ride?" he hollered in a friendly manner as he rolled down the window and stopped at her side. She kept walking. Zoë heard him chuckle a bit, bite his tongue, and the steady creak of the car as it followed her slowly.
"Ignoring me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, "How mature of you, agent Oltie."
She stopped in her tracks and so did the car. Zoë turned and stared him dead in his handsome brown eyes. "Look," she stated crisply, "I don't trust you. I don't like you. Please, leave me alone." He ran a hand through his untidy hair and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"I'm sorry about the other day," he said slowly, "If that's what you're talking about..."
"Sure, that's half of it. What about last night, hmm?"
"Last night?" he questioned, frowning at her, "What are you talking about?"
She laughed. The rain was soaking through her clothes and making her feel rather uncomfortable. Her white tank top stuck to her skin and showed off her white bra. Zoë crossed her arms when she caught Mort's eyes fall to her chest for a millisecond and return to her face again as he swallowing hard.
"I know you were in my apartment last night, Mr. Rainey," she seethed, "You were there. You burned the book, you left the flowers..."
"Whoa, whoa, hold on a second. I was at my cabin last night. I don't even know where you live, Zoë, so how could I go 'stalk you' or whatever you're implying I did?"
"Yeah, like I think you'd actually be honest with me," she snorted, "Like you'd admit to rooting around my apartment. How silly of me." Zoë jumped when Mort jammed the car into 'park' and with a flick of the keys, turned the car off. Silence settled over them and the road, the only thing they heard was the steady hiss of wind and the pitter-patter of the rain on his windshield and the road.
"I am telling the truth," he said with a sigh, "You're not making it any easier..."
"Just shut up. You just shut up, Mort Rainey. Shut your goddamn mouth. Because I don't have to listen to any explanations of yours. You're just as guilty as the rest of them..."
"You won't even listen to me!" he roared, "Why won't you..." but the sentence died in his throat. She had already turned her back to him and was steadily walking away.
Right when she heard the car door click open, she remembered her gun was in the glove compartment of her car. Zoë dropped her bag and began to run, but wasn't fast enough. Mort had already grabbed her arm and began to drag her to the passenger's side of the car. She screamed as she struggled against him, but no one was there to hear her. She was alone with him.
"Don't worry, missus," he drawled, the accent returning, the gleam in his eyes sharpening as he jerkily opened the door while holding onto her arm in a painful grip, "Stay quiet and ol' Mort won't have to hurt you. I swears it."
* * *
DUN DUN DUN! THAT'S NOT A GOOD SIGN!!! Please review!