Disclaimer: Avast! Who said I be ownin' anything, ye cowardly swabs? I don't own a shilling o' it, savvy? Whoa…wrong fanfic.
-"Because," she whispered, "I hear them too."-
Mort set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, staring at her with an expressionless face. "I don't appreciate jokes like that, Zoë," he finally said, his voice carrying a warning edge to it.
"Morton Rainey…why would I make shit like that up? After all these nice things you've done for me, you really think I'd screw around with your head?"
It's not his head you want to 'screw' around with, honey.
Zoë winced and added, "I'm not lying. She's here."
Mort licked his chapped lips out of habit. "I don't know why you'd make it up, Zoë. For attention, maybe? Trying to beat me at my own game? I don't know."
"Why would I want to manipulate you?" she asked angrily, throwing down her own silverware, "I lost my job. It would be worthless for me to try and turn you in now. Plus, I don't want to, all right? I admit it…I've taken a liking to you, Mr. Rainey. And if you don't trust me, well, then you can go fuck yourself."
Mort looked surprised by her sudden outburst. She crossed her arms, waiting expectantly for any kind of reply.
"This…voice…" he swallowed hard, "You said it was female?"
"Yeah, and she's one hell of a psychotic bitch. I don't know what's happening to me, Mort. She showed up about two weeks ago and has been driving me crazy ever since. I mean, it's not even my voice. Not like a conscience at all. It's like…"
"Someone's inhabited your mind?" Mort suggested, his eyes locking onto hers through his glasses.
"You could say that. God," she laughed, "I sound like a freak, don't I?"
"No," he said quietly, "Nothing of the sort. It's actually kind of nice to know someone's experiencing the same thing."
"We could be locked up in an institution for this, you know that right?" Zoë said with a bitter laugh, "We could have hospital gowns, injections every half hour…the whole ten yards."
Mort grinned and said, "That's why I haven't told anyone about the voice besides you. They won't take me in without a fight."
"Hell yes. To insanity!" She lifted her wine glass.
"He chuckled and picked up his one glass, clinking it against hers. They smiled at each other before throwing their heads back and finishing off the wine.
"Holy shit…she's not going to materialize in front of me, is she?"
"What? Oh, you mean the voice?"
"No, I meant the Easter Bunny. Yeah, the voice."
"I don't know," Mort shook his head truthfully, "I can't say for sure. I'm sorry if…" He paused.
"If what? Continue, oh-wise-one."
"If Shooter somehow did this to you."
With a flick of her hand, she replied, "I'm fine. I'll deal with it. We've actually gotten quite close, my voice and I."
Aw, I'm tearing up.
"She says she's tearing up," Zoë commented with a roll of her eyes, "What a drama queen."
"Do you even know her name?" Mort questioned, eyeing her curiously.
"That's a good question!" Zoë declared, "Voice of Doom, what is thy name?"
Why don't you give me one and we'll go from there?
"She wants me to name her," Zoë said with a sigh, "I'm not feeling very creative."
"How about Ethel?" Mort teased, taking a bite of pasta.
"Nah," she wrinkled her nose in disgust, "What is she, ninety five?"
I'm your age, dummy, and Ethel is a shitty name.
"Ellie," Zoë said while rearranging the salad greens on her plate, "Her name will be Ellie."
Eh…I dunno…
Live with it.
"Ellie…I like it," Mort said with a nod, "This is kind of fun, naming the voice in your head."
"Only you, Mort," Zoë laughed, "Only you. I could never have this conversation with anyone else."
He smiled and placed his hand on hers where it laid on the table. "Do you feel better now?"
"Yeah, like a weight's been lifted off my chest. Thanks for understanding. Now how about you?" she questioned slyly, running her thumb along his hand, "Anything you need help with?"
Mort's smile vanished and he took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "I think it's time I told you my story."
"Your story?"
"About how I became a murderer."
---------------------
After Mort finished, the candle had burned out and their food had long since vanished. Zoë rested her head against her hand and gazed at him with a dazed expression, trying to comprehend all of the information he had given her at once.
Holy crap on a stick. I have enough information to turn him in now if I wanted to.
But you won't.
But I won't.
Mort's handsome brown eyes studied her, waiting for her reaction.
"They're…in the garden?" She glanced out the window where she could see a few cornstalks dancing in wind, illuminated by moonlight.
"Yes…well, two of them are."
"What a bitch."
"Who?" Mort asked with a frown.
"Your ex-wife," Zoë said, tracing the old scratches on the table with her fingernail, "I mean, why would she go behind your back and do such a thing?"
"I guess now we'll never know, thanks to Shooter."
"Yeah. It's a shame, really. Are you glad she's gone?"
Mort looked startled by the sudden question. He rolled up his sweater to his elbows and replied, "I don't know. Yes and no, I suppose. Yes, so now I won't have to worry about her, no because she was still someone I used to love."
"Love," Zoë shook her head, "It's a crazy thing. All it will get you is a whack in the head with a shovel."
Mort was hesitant, not knowing what she meant by that, but relaxed when he saw her lips curve into a smile. He stood up and brought his dishes to the sink. Zoë followed, clinking her own in the sink after him. She grabbed the dish soap and rolled up her sleeves, turning the faucet and filling the stainless steel basin with sudsy water.
"You don't have to do that."
"Washing dishes is my specialty," she pointed out, "Don't come between a gal and her dishes."
"You wash, I'll dry," he suggested, grabbing a dish towel. She plunged her hands into the water, then shortly after scratched an itch on her forehead.
The corners of Rainey's mouth twitched as he informed, "You've got bubbles in your hair."
She reached over and ran her soapy fingers through his soft light brown hair, replying, "Well so do you."
His expression changed to one of playful innocence. She saw him shoot a glance towards the spraying nozzle for intense dish cleaning conditions. Zoë wagged a finger at him. "Nuh uh. Don't even think about it, Mort. You do and I'll beat you down."
"You promise?" he teased, cornering her and pressing her against the counter.
Wow, I'm lovin' this situation. Make him beg for more.
I'd rather take it slow, thank you very much.
"Feeling feisty, Mort?" she questioned, staring at him with a mischievous little smirk as she wrapped her arms around him.
"You know…it amazes me you haven't headed for the hills yet after what I've told you about me."
Zoë tsked him and said, "What you told me about Shooter. There is a difference." And why would I head for the hills after eating such a big dinner? All that physical activity would make me queasy."
Mort ran his fingers through her brown hair and kissed her forehead, murmuring, "Physical activities would make you queasy, would it? A pity."
"Well," Zoë said with an innocent grin, "Not all physical activities."
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