A/N: OMIGOD! I'm so sorry for the delay! My grandpa just died, and I had a bunch of school projects! I hope you guys still read my story!
Chapter 9
Mort slammed the door to his cabin and paced around his living room. He knew he had to do something, and fast. But the only problem was, he had no idea where to start looking for Shooter's house. He hadn't even known Shooter had a house. And he still couldn't believe Celina could see Shooter.
He stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the couch and looked outside. The sun was beginning to sink into the horizon. He had to do something tonight. He didn't want Celina out of his life. He knew he loved her. He put his head in his hands and thought. Then the idea struck him. Even though Shooter was real didn't mean that he still didn't come from Mort's mind in the first place. That meant Mort should know everything about him because he made him. So all he had to do was think really hard and then he would know. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize where Shooter lived. He saw an old cabin. It was small, but had a cellar. It was in the middle of no where. There were lots, and lots of trees, though. Then without warning, he knew exactly where to go, and how to get there.
He jumped up from the couch and grabbed his black ski hat and ran out into the bitter April frost.
Celina's P.O.V
Celina awoke with a jump. She shivered, and sat up. She cleared her vision and stood up. She walked over to the window and looked out. She literally couldn't see anything. It was pitch black, with the exception of the moon's bluish glow that fell across the trees. She quietly walked up the stairs, and put her head to the door and listened. Silence. Her heart pounding violently, she squeezed the knob and twisted it. It was locked. She cursed silently under her breath, and walked back down the stairs. She searched the entire room for a key or any way out, but her search was useless. She sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. She closed her eyes and sighed, forcing herself not to cry. Then she got an idea. She highly doubted it would work, but it was worth a try. She reached up to her hair, and pulled it out of the bun that held it in place, and out fell several bobby pins. She quietly made her way up the stairs and put one of the pins in the lock and twisted it around. It didn't work. She took it back out and bent it back, forcing into a key form. She put it back in the lock and turned it back and forth. She heard a click. Smiling, she took it out and threw it aside. She wrapped her fingers around the knob and tuned it. The door swung open and she was suddenly standing in a hallway.
She tiptoed threw the hallway listening intently for any signs of life. At the end of the hall she turned to the right into what looked like the living room. And on the other side was the front door. She smiled and ran excitedly toward it. She twisted the knob and was disappointed, but not surprised to find it jammed also.
"Are any of the doors in this house NOT jammed!" she hissed quietly to herself. She looked around for a window, but the only two in the room were nailed shut. She cursed and explored the other parts of the house. All of the windows were nailed shut.
It's a good thing that I'm not claustrophobic, or this would be really bad." She said sarcastically to herself as she made her way to the last room at the end of the hallway. It was already ajar, so she quietly slipped in and nearly tripped headfirst into a small bed next to the door. She held her breath as she stared disbelievingly down at the figure that lay on the bed. It was John Shooter.
He looked dead. Celina bent over him and tried to get a look at his chest to see if he was breathing. She was disappointed to see his chest slowly rise and fall with each intake of breath. She shifted her gaze to his eyes which were lazily shut. Celina stood up and silently walked around to the other side of the bed.
She spotted a window on the other side of the bedroom that didn't look like it had any nails in it. She excitedly walked over to it, but stopped dead in her tracks when she heard Shooter shift around on the bed behind her. She craned her neck around to get a glimpse of him, and was glad to see that he was now facing the other direction.
She finally made it to the window and unlocked it, and was right in the middle of opening it when a hand came from behind her and shut the window, and a southern drawl came from behind that said, in an irritated manner that sent a chill up Celina's back, "You ain't goin' anywhere, missy."
A/N: I hope you still want me to keep going even though I made you wait so long! It's almost over, though, so please review if you want to hear the rest of the story!
Chapter 9
Mort slammed the door to his cabin and paced around his living room. He knew he had to do something, and fast. But the only problem was, he had no idea where to start looking for Shooter's house. He hadn't even known Shooter had a house. And he still couldn't believe Celina could see Shooter.
He stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the couch and looked outside. The sun was beginning to sink into the horizon. He had to do something tonight. He didn't want Celina out of his life. He knew he loved her. He put his head in his hands and thought. Then the idea struck him. Even though Shooter was real didn't mean that he still didn't come from Mort's mind in the first place. That meant Mort should know everything about him because he made him. So all he had to do was think really hard and then he would know. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize where Shooter lived. He saw an old cabin. It was small, but had a cellar. It was in the middle of no where. There were lots, and lots of trees, though. Then without warning, he knew exactly where to go, and how to get there.
He jumped up from the couch and grabbed his black ski hat and ran out into the bitter April frost.
Celina's P.O.V
Celina awoke with a jump. She shivered, and sat up. She cleared her vision and stood up. She walked over to the window and looked out. She literally couldn't see anything. It was pitch black, with the exception of the moon's bluish glow that fell across the trees. She quietly walked up the stairs, and put her head to the door and listened. Silence. Her heart pounding violently, she squeezed the knob and twisted it. It was locked. She cursed silently under her breath, and walked back down the stairs. She searched the entire room for a key or any way out, but her search was useless. She sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. She closed her eyes and sighed, forcing herself not to cry. Then she got an idea. She highly doubted it would work, but it was worth a try. She reached up to her hair, and pulled it out of the bun that held it in place, and out fell several bobby pins. She quietly made her way up the stairs and put one of the pins in the lock and twisted it around. It didn't work. She took it back out and bent it back, forcing into a key form. She put it back in the lock and turned it back and forth. She heard a click. Smiling, she took it out and threw it aside. She wrapped her fingers around the knob and tuned it. The door swung open and she was suddenly standing in a hallway.
She tiptoed threw the hallway listening intently for any signs of life. At the end of the hall she turned to the right into what looked like the living room. And on the other side was the front door. She smiled and ran excitedly toward it. She twisted the knob and was disappointed, but not surprised to find it jammed also.
"Are any of the doors in this house NOT jammed!" she hissed quietly to herself. She looked around for a window, but the only two in the room were nailed shut. She cursed and explored the other parts of the house. All of the windows were nailed shut.
It's a good thing that I'm not claustrophobic, or this would be really bad." She said sarcastically to herself as she made her way to the last room at the end of the hallway. It was already ajar, so she quietly slipped in and nearly tripped headfirst into a small bed next to the door. She held her breath as she stared disbelievingly down at the figure that lay on the bed. It was John Shooter.
He looked dead. Celina bent over him and tried to get a look at his chest to see if he was breathing. She was disappointed to see his chest slowly rise and fall with each intake of breath. She shifted her gaze to his eyes which were lazily shut. Celina stood up and silently walked around to the other side of the bed.
She spotted a window on the other side of the bedroom that didn't look like it had any nails in it. She excitedly walked over to it, but stopped dead in her tracks when she heard Shooter shift around on the bed behind her. She craned her neck around to get a glimpse of him, and was glad to see that he was now facing the other direction.
She finally made it to the window and unlocked it, and was right in the middle of opening it when a hand came from behind her and shut the window, and a southern drawl came from behind that said, in an irritated manner that sent a chill up Celina's back, "You ain't goin' anywhere, missy."
A/N: I hope you still want me to keep going even though I made you wait so long! It's almost over, though, so please review if you want to hear the rest of the story!