Disclaimer: Nothing that is to Stephen King; my hero
Enjoy Chapter 2 =]
Maria took two steps backward. Mort narrowed his eyes at her.
"Actually, I- um, I," She could feel the rain on her back now, she was moving off the porch. "I really have to go, how about I call you and I'll think about that offer?" She laughed nervously as Mort took a few steps toward her. He looked over her shoulder.
"How are you getting-"He paused, "To wherever you're going next?" Maria bit her lip. She'd rather walk home at this point. She'd rather run.
"I could walk, it isn't that far."
"It's raining," Mort acknowledged the sky with a nod of his head.
"Yes, I can see that," Maria tried to hide the sarcasm. Don't be sarcastic with a murderer. Marie almost laughed at her thought. She realized she was now in Mort's front yard, beckoning the rain. Mort stared at her disbelievingly. He walked out on to the front lawn and stood inches away from Marie.
"You could catch something,"
"Mmm."
Mort glared at her. She wasn't prone to fact that she was soaked to the bone. Maria was now one with the water.
"Come inside and you can call yourself a ride home, alright?" He smiled. Maria thought she would melt. Before she could answer, Mort turned around and started the walk back to his house. He stopped and held the screen door for her. He let out a sigh of frustration when he saw she hadn't moved from her spot on the lawn.
You take one step through that door and you may not be coming back out.
He doesn't have the face of a killer. He's too handsome.
How would you know murderer from saint?
It's just a strong feeling.
Ignoring the strong protests in her head, Maria soon found herself in a clean... Very clean house. She was wondering if she read the ad correctly. She looked at her hand, which ached from clutching Kurt Cobain so tightly. She relaxed her grip, and saw color return to her white knuckles.
"Here," Maria jumped. Mort's outstretched hand was holding a cordless phone. She took the phone, and took notice of a small "3". Tattoo.
Mort watched as the girl sat down on a bench near the door. She was the first to ever actually sit on it. His ex-wife, Amy, bought it a few months back to put next to the telephone. But no one ever actually used it.
He turned to go in to the kitchen. He smiled at the sound of her voice. Hispanic. No doubt.
Maria, on the other hand, was trying with all the effort one could possess to keep her voice steady. The house was quiet. She tightened her grip on the small index card that had a little yellow cab on it. She put the crinkled Kurt Cobain picture in her bag.
"Miss Santiago?" Maria jumped at the female voice that spoke to her through the receiver.
"Yes?"
"Would you please tell us the loca-"
Maria's dark eyes widened in the dark.
The line was dead.
Enjoy Chapter 2 =]
Maria took two steps backward. Mort narrowed his eyes at her.
"Actually, I- um, I," She could feel the rain on her back now, she was moving off the porch. "I really have to go, how about I call you and I'll think about that offer?" She laughed nervously as Mort took a few steps toward her. He looked over her shoulder.
"How are you getting-"He paused, "To wherever you're going next?" Maria bit her lip. She'd rather walk home at this point. She'd rather run.
"I could walk, it isn't that far."
"It's raining," Mort acknowledged the sky with a nod of his head.
"Yes, I can see that," Maria tried to hide the sarcasm. Don't be sarcastic with a murderer. Marie almost laughed at her thought. She realized she was now in Mort's front yard, beckoning the rain. Mort stared at her disbelievingly. He walked out on to the front lawn and stood inches away from Marie.
"You could catch something,"
"Mmm."
Mort glared at her. She wasn't prone to fact that she was soaked to the bone. Maria was now one with the water.
"Come inside and you can call yourself a ride home, alright?" He smiled. Maria thought she would melt. Before she could answer, Mort turned around and started the walk back to his house. He stopped and held the screen door for her. He let out a sigh of frustration when he saw she hadn't moved from her spot on the lawn.
You take one step through that door and you may not be coming back out.
He doesn't have the face of a killer. He's too handsome.
How would you know murderer from saint?
It's just a strong feeling.
Ignoring the strong protests in her head, Maria soon found herself in a clean... Very clean house. She was wondering if she read the ad correctly. She looked at her hand, which ached from clutching Kurt Cobain so tightly. She relaxed her grip, and saw color return to her white knuckles.
"Here," Maria jumped. Mort's outstretched hand was holding a cordless phone. She took the phone, and took notice of a small "3". Tattoo.
Mort watched as the girl sat down on a bench near the door. She was the first to ever actually sit on it. His ex-wife, Amy, bought it a few months back to put next to the telephone. But no one ever actually used it.
He turned to go in to the kitchen. He smiled at the sound of her voice. Hispanic. No doubt.
Maria, on the other hand, was trying with all the effort one could possess to keep her voice steady. The house was quiet. She tightened her grip on the small index card that had a little yellow cab on it. She put the crinkled Kurt Cobain picture in her bag.
"Miss Santiago?" Maria jumped at the female voice that spoke to her through the receiver.
"Yes?"
"Would you please tell us the loca-"
Maria's dark eyes widened in the dark.
The line was dead.