Disclaimer: Stephen King's Secret Window, Secret Garden is not mine. Dang it!
Tiny Author's Note: Yay! I'm glad you guys are digging the story so far. Now I don't want to be keeping you…
Without further ado, chapter eight!
PineAppleLint
-"Zoe..." T said at last, "What's going on?"-
She felt bile rise in her throat and she instantly choked it back down. This was bad, extremely bad. Bordering the edge of unbearable.
Think of something, quick! Keep your cool…
Well, isn't this a treat! Invite him in, girl! Perhaps he'd care for a glass of chardonnay?
"T," Zoë said after a deep breath, smiling warmly, "Would you like to come in?"
"What's he doing here?" Timothy questioned flatly, eyeing Mort with distaste. Mort raised his eyebrows in return.
Your boss has a nice ass. Do you like to 'file his papers'?
"Wow, where did my manners go?" Zoë asked no one in particular with a rather nervous laugh, "Timothy, this is Mort Rainey. Mort, this is my boss, Timothy."
"Nice to meet you," Mort said with forced politeness, extending his hand. Timothy refused to take it, gazing at it in disgust as the tension in the room thickened.
Mort retracted his hand, swallowing hard. "I better go," he said with a glare in T's direction. His stare softened when it landed on Zoë. He looked at her lips, as if wanting to kiss her, but thought better of it, considering the situation at hand, and nodded in her direction before slipping through the door.
"What the fuck are you thinking, Zoë?" Timothy shouted as he slammed the door shut after Mort left, "What is he doing here, in your apartment, for chrissakes?"
"I thought, maybe…if he grew more comfortable with me, he'd confess…"
"No. You didn't think. I took you off this case, remember? He could have killed you!"
"He could have tried. But I wouldn't have allowed it," she replied with a weak smile. When his face reddened with anger, that smile was wiped off of her face mighty quick.
"No one would have heard your screams. Your neighbors are practically skeletons!"
"Now that wasn't a very nice thing to say. If they heard you say that, you'd hurt their feelings."
"Do you enjoy torturing me?" he asked in an infuriated tone.
She may not, but honey, give me a chance and I'll torture you senseless if you catch my meaning…
"No…well, maybe a little."
"Are these from him, too?" Timothy questioned in disgust, pointing at the new flowers in the vase. When she didn't answer, he threw up his hands in despair.
"You leave me no choice, Zoë."
"Wait…what? What choice?"
"You're fired."
"What?!"
Asshole. What is this, 'The Apprentice'?
I didn't know voices watched cable.
You have a smart mouth, sweetie. And that can only lead to trouble.
Trouble's my middle name. And it's kinda too late to be worrying about that now, ain't it?
Zoë blinked. "I'm fired."
Timothy nodded hesitantly, as if he was still trying to tell himself that it had been the right thing to do. "You know I didn't want to do this, Zoë. I had a chat with the board and they said one more mishap with you and you're done for. This will be the last straw for them. I'm sorry."
"But you don't have to tell them!" she pleaded, "I was just trying to help the case…"
"Telling them is my job. Perhaps I've had enough of your 'disobeying orders', too."
Zoë let out a shaky breath and said icily, "I think it's about time you saw your way out of my apartment."
"Don't do this…"
"I'll do whatever the hell I want. Now go."
Oh! And the judges say that Zoë has won this round!
Timothy growled, "Fine. If you want to act like a child, fine. See you around." And then he went as quickly as he had come.
He'll pay for this.
"I'm not worried about it. He can do what he damn pleases. I'll just be looking for a new occupation, is all."
You make it sound easy. I have some advice…start memorizing the phrase: 'Would you like fries with that?'
"You sure are good at saying the wrong things at the wrong time."
Thanks. I've had years of practice.
The doorbell rang, and Mort fumbled to put on his glasses as he walked casually to the door. Opening it, his breath caught as he came face to face with a grinning Zoë.
"You're all dolled up," he pointed out with an appreciating glance up and down.
"Hi to you too," she said slyly, running her hands along the front of her red skirt that brushed her knees, "You like it? It's new."
"Yeah. I have one just like it." Zoë laughed and he smiled as he opened the door wider for her to enter.
"Make yourself comfortable," Mort suggested, "I just need to finish up a thing or two in the kitchen. It's almost ready."
"Good, because I'm ready to critique this meal of yours," she teased, "See if it really lives up to the Oltie standards."
He gave her a fake shudder of fear and said, "No, not the Oltie standards! Anything but that!" and vanished into the kitchen.
She followed him in, finding him stirring a pot of white sauce on the stove. He glanced over his shoulder to find her leaning up against the doorframe, watching him. "What do you put in your sauce, Oh Damned-Good-Cook-of-Justice?"
"That cannot be uttered. It's a secret Rainey recipe."
He added a pinch of spice to the pot of sauce and suddenly felt her hovering over his shoulder, trying to take a peek.
"Rubbernecker," he muttered good-naturedly.
"I assure you my neck is not made of rubber. Now give me a taste." He lifted the wooden spoon to her lips. She pursed her lips, blew on the small bit of sauce, then sipped on it. After a couple dramatic smacks of her lips, she proclaimed, "There is only one word to describe this sauce…mediocre."
"Take it back!" Mort retorted, narrowing his eyes at her playfully, "Take it back right now!" When he dropped the spoon back in the pot and began to tickle her sides she laughed, jumped away from him and said, "All right, I admit it: it's absolutely divine. Now when can I have another taste?"
"Well, I haven't had mine yet, so it wouldn't be quite fair for you to get another."
"Oh?" she lifted an eyebrow, "And what, pray tell, do you want a taste of?"
"You said your neck wasn't made of rubber. I think only an expert can tell for sure."
"And I suppose you're the expert, Mort?"
"Let's find out, shall we?" he said with a smile, leaning over and sweeping her wild hair away from her neck. Zoë closed her eyes and threw her head back, wrapping her arms around his own neck when she felt his lips on her throat, gently suckling on her pulse. He felt her pulse quicken under his mouth and he grinned against her smooth skin.
Breaking away after a couple of moments, he said into her ear, "Yup. Definitely not rubber."
"I sure as hell hoped not."
"You better go sit down…you're distracting the cook," he said with a mischievous wink.
"One of my many talents of course," she winked back, taking a seat at the kitchen table, smoothing out her skirt, "So where did you learn how to cook?"
"Taught myself, mostly," he answered, adding a few finishing touches to the sauce, "It's a way to impress the ladies."
"Now who said I was impressed?"
"Who said you were a lady?" he shot back, eyeing her with a pleased expression.
"Now that was a hit below the belt," she pointed out.
"You're not even wearing a belt," he laughed, carrying over a bowl of fettuccini alfredo and a homemade salad, setting it on the table. She casually placed her napkin in her lap and held a fork in one hand, a knife in the other, looking overly eager. "Let's do this thing!"
"So, I'm thinking you like it," Mort replied to her as she let out a moan of appreciation after the first bite.
"Very much," she replied, opening her eyes again, "Thank you for coming over and inviting me to dinner today."
"No problem. Oh…did everything work out between you and your boss?" he asked hesitantly, swirling his wine in his glass before taking a drink from it.
"You could say that," she said with a shrug, moving a piece of the pasta along her plate.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"I got fired," she said with a bitter laugh, "Yup. Crazy, I know."
"He fired you?" Mort said disbelievingly, "It wasn't because I was there, was it? Shit, I hope not…"
"No. I blatantly disobeyed orders. They had enough of me, that's all."
"I'm sorry, Zoë. Those bastards don't know what they're doing, letting someone as good as you go."
"Aw, thanks. Well, look at it this way, now we don't have to worry about the whole 'I'm-supposed-to-be-turning-you-in' thing, right?"
"I suppose. Kind of like looking at the glass as half full."
"Hell yes." She took a sip from her wine and rested her chin on her hand before adding, "So you hear voices sometimes, am I correct?"
"Excuse me?" Mort dropped his fork and stared at her in bewilderment.
"Voices. You hear them. And answer honestly," she said with a coaxing smile, hoping to make him feel more at ease in the situation of her interrogating him.
Mort swallowed and said, "Sometimes. Yes, I do. Why?" He tilted his head to the side and gazed at her, waiting for a valid answer.
"Because," she whispered, "I hear them too."
Uh oh! Did she make the right move by telling him her secret? Everyone hop onto the cliffhanger train, choo choo!