Disclaimer: Stephen King's characters are not mine.
Special thanks to: Johnny Depp Obsessor of the chapter: Katie! Yoho! Thank you so much for the advice and so on!
A/N: Don't freak out, readers! The kiss is, after all, a part of the plot. And might I just point out that she doesn't like him like that (or, at least, she thinks she doesn't. Who knows, wink wink), but that 'voice' was driving her insane and she wanted to quiet it. To no avail, giving in just worsened the situation. I didn't just put it in there to ruin the story and make it 'mushy' or whatever you want to call it. A lot of things are going to be happening, but I just can't tell you what! Why don't you read on and find out for yourselves?
Rubbernecker!
PineAppleLint
* * *
-"What was that for?" he asked hoarsely.-
Something was happening. Something Zoë could not comprehend. All that she knew was that the voice in her mind was poisoning her, little by little. As time went by, she was getting sicker.
And she didn't know how to stop it.
What is happening to me?
"What was that for?" Mort repeated incredulously, sitting up straighter on the couch and staring at her intently, waiting for a damn good explanation as to why she had kissed him so randomly.
Oh god, I'm going crazy. I'm sick. I can feel it eating away at me, I…what was she going to say? Zoë couldn't explain that the voice in her head had commanded her to do so, and that she wanted to get rid of it so badly, she'd follow its orders willingly.
You can't tell him you made a mistake. You and Shooter had a deal, remember? Hurting him could equal a nice little death for you. You naughty, naughty girl! How are you going to dig your way out of this hole?
Zoë gritted her teeth and said slowly, "I was thanking you."
Lame, buttercup. Really lame.
"Thanking me?" He swallowed hard and responded, "That was one hell of a thank you."
"I have to go," she replied quickly, cursing herself inwardly. God, now he thought she was falling for him…and she wasn't allowed to set him straight!
You tricked me, goddammit! You cornered me into this trap!
Finally wised up, have you? Kind of late for that now.
"I'm sorry," Mort Rainey informed her with a frown, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or whatever, it just caught me off guard, is all." He ran a hand through his tousled, bed-head hair and added, "Do you really have to go?"
"It's late," she pointed out weakly, grabbing her coat and purse. He jumped up from the coach and followed her to the front door. The screen door was propped open, and the night was calm, eerily calm. A swift breeze tickled her face and she desperately wished to just run, to run as far away from him as she could. But she couldn't.
The deal weighed her down like a big black anchor was chained to her ankles. Like she was trapped in his secret garden, lost in it with no way out.
"Yeah, I didn't realize how late it was," he stated, scratching an itch on his neck, "Thanks for coming over. You can stop by whenever you want, all right?"
Zoë gulped and nodded. "All right."
"See you around, Zoë," he said with a nod. Then he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, his warm lips causing her flesh to tingle like cold needles were pricking her skin. He did it slowly, as if he was afraid he would frighten her like a vet to a nervous wild animal.
She already felt nervous, kiss or without. Zoë smiled meekly and walked to her fixed car, peeled out of the driveway, and headed onto the main road all without looking back. But she could sense his eyes on her the whole way.
* * *
She didn't know who to call. Zoë felt lost, alone, and undeniably shaken up. Nothing like this had happened to her before. At first she thought the voice was just another part of her conscience, but it was steadily growing into something more…dangerous.
Timothy? Would he help her out? Grabbing the phone out of its cradle on the wall, she dialed the number with quick accuracy. Ring, ring, ring… "Hey, you've reached the cell of the almighty Timothy Holton. Leave a message, I'm busy." ::beep::
"Timothy," she said as calmly as she could, "I need to talk to you. Something's up and…and I don't know what's going on. Just give me a call or stop by. See you later." Zoë hung up and sighed into her hands.
Poor baby…you're still all alone.
"Oh, back already, are you?" she asked aloud, laughing when she realized she was talking to herself.
Did you miss me? After all, someone's gotta be the cat in our little game of 'cat and mouse'.
"Well, you're doing a superb job. Kudos," Zoë responded as she sat back in the chair, closing her eyes.
Thanks. Seems like you've warmed up to me a bit.
"Who can resist the chance for girl talk?" Zoë questioned sarcastically, chewing on one of her fingernails.
Speaking of girl talk, when are you going to fuck Rainey?
Zoë snorted and replied, "Wow, aren't you blunt? So sorry, sweetheart, that's never going to happen."
I bet. You sound pretty sure of yourself.
"When this big mess blows over, I'm going to turn him in whether you like it or not."
You're being irrational. Get some sleep, hon. That's the only way you'll get rid of those baggies under your pretty eyes as well as set your mind straight.
"Whatever. You're right about the 'getting some sleep' part, anyways. I haven't stayed up this late in…well…forever."
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the ultimate party girl, Zoë Oltie.
"Ha ha, very funny."
* * *
Zoë wanted to pretend everything was all right. Ignorance was bliss. As she brushed her teeth and shook her hips to the funky beat of the shower radio in the bathroom, she prepared herself for a brand new day.
Hopefully a brand new day that wasn't going to be full of scary voices in the back of her mind or Mort Rainey.
Wishful thinking. Good morning, sweetie pie.
Zoë winced and ignored the voice as she walked casually to the kitchen and poured herself a bowl of Cheerios, grabbing the paper and began reading the Peanuts comic in the back. She hummed to herself, but was quickly interrupted.
You going to see Mort today?
No. I think you've proved your point.
Knock, knock.
She jumped about a foot in the air when there was a steady knock at her door. How did the voice know someone was coming? Okay, she didn't even want to fucking know. Hesitantly, she made her way to the door and opened it slowly, keeping the security chain on.
"Hey. Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time." It was Mort, looking freshly shaven and clean cut, holding a bouquet of daisies. Daisies.
Oh God, how she desperately wanted to keep that security chain on. But she let out a slow breath, unlatched the chain and forced a grin to her face. "Mort, what a pleasant surprise."
"I was wondering if you were doing anything this evening," he asked hesitantly, massaging the back of his neck, "I don't to intrude, I just came to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight. My house, my treat. I'm cooking."
"It all depends on how good of a cook you are," she teased, and took the flowers when he handed them to her. "Thank you, they're lovely."
"You like Italian?" he questioned with a smile.
"Honey, I am Italian. Or at least half Italian," she confessed, "Of course."
"Good. Then prepare for Italian tonight that is going to kick your taste buds' asses."
She stretched and grabbed the vase from on top the refrigerator, immediately filling it with water as she replied, "Thanks for the invite. My stomach's growling already."
"Been indulging in Cheerios I see," he said, pointing to the small ceramic bowl on the kitchen table.
"The breakfast of champions," she agreed.
He gazed at her for a moment or two before shaking his head and saying, "Well, I better go. The infamous chef has to get to work."
"Don't work too hard."
"I'll try not to," he winked. Suddenly, there was another knock at the door.
He raised his eyebrows at her. "You're pretty popular today."
Zoë flicked her wrist at him and joked, "In days that end in Y, you mean. I'll get that. Excuse me for one second…" Rushing over to the door after drying her hands on her jeans, she swung it open.
She froze. It was Timothy. "Uh, hi."
"You said you wanted to talk?" he asked in a concerned voice, "So I'm here. Mind if I come in?"
"Um…" she stammered, about to explain what was going on when Timothy's gaze darkened and was cast over her shoulder.
Zoë followed the direction of his gaze with a renewed sense of dread. There stood Mort, staring back at Timothy with a suspicious expression.
"Zoë…" T said at last, "What's going on?"
* * *
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