a.n. Hiyaz hoz! Lolz, na I don't fink ur hoz, ur luvly! Anyway, I'm writing
this chapter under the supervision of Mr Depp himself. I bought OK magazine
today, just cos I knew he would be in it.
(There were five pages of him, so it was well worth the money! (Two quid for 8 pics, hmm you decide if it was worth it or not lol! Na, there was some other quite good stuff in it and they're really wicked pictures.) I'll post the pictures under his section later. )
So, with him watching me through his sexy dark glasses (putting Specsavers out of business!) I will begin my dark tale, (whilst trying to resist the chocolate raisins!) Ha, I'm in a really funny mood, please R&E&R (oh yeah, I might be getting Secret Window tomorrow, yaaaay! I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but I will seriously love Fred 4eva if he gets it 4 me lol! Tankyz Fred, if ur reading this! Tankyz, Keira.d
Oh yeah, btw, I'm sorry for the bit in chapter three where he threw up, I read it back today and it made me feel quite ill! I'd better stop now, or the a.n. will be longer than the chapter lol!
Chapter Six – Blood
What should he do? (Poor Mort, two 'what to do' dilemmas in one day, anyone wanna give him a hug?! Yup, me too!) Should he move the body, or keep it there and phone the sheriff? On the one hand, if he moved the body, no one would ever know. Until the body was found, that is. But, if he phoned the sheriff, he could get arrested because of this mad idea the sheriff had about him. He decided to go on his instincts and phone the sheriff, without catching Amy's eye. "Hiya. Sorry to phone you again... Morton Rainey, sir...yeah... thanks." He put the phone down and raised his eyebrows to Koda, who was sitting underneath the table whimpering. "That was easier than last time." He regarded "They said they'd send someone straight away, although the sheriff wasn't there."
Before the policeman came, Mort decided to go to the bathroom. He hadn't gone since he was sick. Luckily, he'd cleaned it up there and then, or it would be in quite a mess now. He washed his hands and looked into the mirror. He jumped. His face was covered in blood. He had tried to wash what he could off when he was sick, but obviously he'd missed some. He scrubbed hard at his face with his towel, hands and soap, but it wouldn't budge. It had stained his (beautiful!) complexion. "Great," he muttered. "There's a body on my sofa and now my face is covered in dog's blood." The policeman had said he would be around an hour, so Mort had just enough time to sort it out.
(This bit's quite funny, if you picture Johnny Depp doing it!) He walked upstairs to the bathroom, seemingly unphased by the discovery of his wife's body. He walked into the room and over to the cabinet where he still kept Amy's beauty products.
He slid back the door and took out some foundation powder. Cover- up, Amy used to call it, so now it was going to do its job. He dabbed away frantically with the application sponge and looked in the mirror to see if it had done anything. Well, the blood was a little less obvious, but "I look like a ghost, man!" Mort exclaimed. His face was completely white, apart from a red streak across one side, where the blood had seeped through.
OK, so that didn't work. He took out make up remover, to see if that would work. "Owww!" Mort moaned. The remover had soaked into the scar that had been on his head for near two years. And still, it didn't remove the blood.
He found a lipstick of the exact same colour of the blood, funny that, it was called Blood Red by Chanel! So, he smeared that over his face and found out that, not only did the colour not really match; he now looked like a lobster. "Argh! Bloody great!" he yelled.
Then, he hit the jackpot. He triumphantly removed a bronze coloured bottle from the cupboard and scanned the instructions. "L..l.l.l.l.l.l... blaa blaa blaa, apply on face evenly for the perfect tanned look and leave for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! I have two damn it!" He smudged the cream about on his face and looked in the mirror. Just right, and just as the knock came on the door.
Mort pulled on his (oh so shexy) beanie hat (he was having a bad hair day.) and walked down to the door. "Good evening, officer." He said, politely.
(There were five pages of him, so it was well worth the money! (Two quid for 8 pics, hmm you decide if it was worth it or not lol! Na, there was some other quite good stuff in it and they're really wicked pictures.) I'll post the pictures under his section later. )
So, with him watching me through his sexy dark glasses (putting Specsavers out of business!) I will begin my dark tale, (whilst trying to resist the chocolate raisins!) Ha, I'm in a really funny mood, please R&E&R (oh yeah, I might be getting Secret Window tomorrow, yaaaay! I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but I will seriously love Fred 4eva if he gets it 4 me lol! Tankyz Fred, if ur reading this! Tankyz, Keira.d
Oh yeah, btw, I'm sorry for the bit in chapter three where he threw up, I read it back today and it made me feel quite ill! I'd better stop now, or the a.n. will be longer than the chapter lol!
Chapter Six – Blood
What should he do? (Poor Mort, two 'what to do' dilemmas in one day, anyone wanna give him a hug?! Yup, me too!) Should he move the body, or keep it there and phone the sheriff? On the one hand, if he moved the body, no one would ever know. Until the body was found, that is. But, if he phoned the sheriff, he could get arrested because of this mad idea the sheriff had about him. He decided to go on his instincts and phone the sheriff, without catching Amy's eye. "Hiya. Sorry to phone you again... Morton Rainey, sir...yeah... thanks." He put the phone down and raised his eyebrows to Koda, who was sitting underneath the table whimpering. "That was easier than last time." He regarded "They said they'd send someone straight away, although the sheriff wasn't there."
Before the policeman came, Mort decided to go to the bathroom. He hadn't gone since he was sick. Luckily, he'd cleaned it up there and then, or it would be in quite a mess now. He washed his hands and looked into the mirror. He jumped. His face was covered in blood. He had tried to wash what he could off when he was sick, but obviously he'd missed some. He scrubbed hard at his face with his towel, hands and soap, but it wouldn't budge. It had stained his (beautiful!) complexion. "Great," he muttered. "There's a body on my sofa and now my face is covered in dog's blood." The policeman had said he would be around an hour, so Mort had just enough time to sort it out.
(This bit's quite funny, if you picture Johnny Depp doing it!) He walked upstairs to the bathroom, seemingly unphased by the discovery of his wife's body. He walked into the room and over to the cabinet where he still kept Amy's beauty products.
He slid back the door and took out some foundation powder. Cover- up, Amy used to call it, so now it was going to do its job. He dabbed away frantically with the application sponge and looked in the mirror to see if it had done anything. Well, the blood was a little less obvious, but "I look like a ghost, man!" Mort exclaimed. His face was completely white, apart from a red streak across one side, where the blood had seeped through.
OK, so that didn't work. He took out make up remover, to see if that would work. "Owww!" Mort moaned. The remover had soaked into the scar that had been on his head for near two years. And still, it didn't remove the blood.
He found a lipstick of the exact same colour of the blood, funny that, it was called Blood Red by Chanel! So, he smeared that over his face and found out that, not only did the colour not really match; he now looked like a lobster. "Argh! Bloody great!" he yelled.
Then, he hit the jackpot. He triumphantly removed a bronze coloured bottle from the cupboard and scanned the instructions. "L..l.l.l.l.l.l... blaa blaa blaa, apply on face evenly for the perfect tanned look and leave for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! I have two damn it!" He smudged the cream about on his face and looked in the mirror. Just right, and just as the knock came on the door.
Mort pulled on his (oh so shexy) beanie hat (he was having a bad hair day.) and walked down to the door. "Good evening, officer." He said, politely.