"Clarissa felt her heart pounding wildly on the constricting cage of her chest as the gap between her silky-soft lips and those of her steady boyfriend's older brother expeditiously closed. The unbridled pass--SHIT! DAMMIT, THAT HURT!!!" The pain served him right. Mort knew better than to probe the end of a pen in his mouth when he had that metal contraption in there. He was too absorbed in his work that it drew his attention away from everything else around him. A wire over on the bottom right side of his jaw slipped out of place and ripped open the delicate flesh on the inside of his cheek. He knew that it was a scratch, but when the acrid, distinguishable smack of blood rolled smoothly over his taste-buds, he discovered that it wasn't a petty wound. The displeasing sapor of blood sprung a rather rancid concept. ...Did all blood have the same taste? Maybe it depended on the person who did the tasting. But if the flavors were different...Why? Different blood type, perhaps? Ah. Inspiration for a vampiric novel.

Mort attempted to ignore the stray wire for a little longer to get his thoughts onto the word processor while his creativity was at its peak, except it began to feel as though it were going to poke itself out into the open through his cheek. He reluctantly hauled himself away from his laptop to take a look and perhaps repair the wretched dental apparatus. Once his face was close enough to the bathroom cabinet mirror, he opened his mouth and stretched his cheek with a hooked finger that burnt the gaping wound from that God-damned wire. It was of no use. No angle allowed him see that far back into his mouth without his finger getting in the way. He had nothing more to do but to stick his fingers into his mouth and blindly fix the broken nuisance. The stubborn wire shot back out of its place once more after Mort gave a victorious grin. The needle-like apex anchored itself deep into the profound slice, hauled itself across, and then drove itself clear through all of the remaining tissue. His optics started to tear as he let out a horrible cry to relieve a scant portion of the excruciating pain. A trembling hand moved slowly to explore the fatally wounded area...And there he found it. The end of the metal wire. It wasn't in his mouth...And his mouth wasn't opened. His whole body began to quiver uncontrollably as he found himself gawking at the amount of blood on his hand when ...he returned.

What's the matter, Mr. Rainey? that grisly voice of Shooter echoed clearly through his head. Need a hand?

"GO. AWAY," Mort growled aloud through clenched teeth. "I'm going to the doctor. Right now."

Why? Just ask your new little friend to help you.

"No, that's all right, thanks much."

Why not? I thought you liked her. I thought she was nice to you.

"One; She's not here. Two; She's no doctor. Three; I don'tlike her!"

Oh...You don't? Then...You wouldn't mind if I got rid of her?

"Listen, you bastard! I want you to stop trying to destroy my already miserable life by getting me thrown into a fucking jail cell!"

Mr. Rainey, if you continue to have such a truculent disposition towards me, it'll backfire and I'll make your life a living hell.

"I don't give a damn, Johnny-boy, because you've already done that!"

You asked for it.

Mort's stomach lurched and suddenly he felt even more ill than he did before. Shooter's sentence didn't fade out of his mind. Those words. They were venom. Was Shooter bluffing just to bully Mort into releasing his inner rage so then he'd be able to use Mort's body to do what he pleased? He damn-well hoped not...Because it was working.

Cora stepped into the house at the precise moment. Mort was about to phone her and ask her to escort him to a hospital.

"Hey, Mort! Are you home?!" she hollered, barely loud enough for him to hear from just about anywhere in the house.

"Yeah. Upstairs. I need help. NOW..."he replied tranquilly, as not to arouse any alarm. Of course, knowing her as well as he did at this point, he already knew that she'd flip when she saw him.

I thought you said you weren't going to ask for her help.

Mort hissed quietly,"Shut the hell up...Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

What if I said that it's you who's thinking up what I'm saying? After all, you did create me, Mort, ol' pal.

"It's Mr. Rainey, bastard."

Just keep that up, Mr. Rainey. You're doing a splendid job.

"MORT!!!" Cora shrieked at the gruesome sight. "What in Hades did you do to yourself!?" She immediately began to gingerly mop thick, red, sticky blood off of his face and neck with her scarf.

"My braces...They broke."

"Well, I can see that."

You like that, don't you, Mr. Rainey?

"Leave me alone, Shooter.. Just leave. Me. ALONE," Mort attacked in his thoughts.

"Come on, let's get you to the emergency room," hurried Cora. She paused for a moment and gave him the once-over...Well, it would have been a once-over if her gaze hadn't halted at the broken wire emerging from his cheek to give salutations. "My God, Mort. Those are some rogue braces you have. Come here...I can't let you leave the house with that wire like that. Closer. Now open your mouth. No, no! Hold still! It'll only hurt for a second."

"Aghugeruhguluh!" Mort protested with his mouth hanging wide open. His words were slurred and inarticulate, for he didn't bother to close his mouth to speak. "Uhat aruh yooh gun woo do neeh?"

"What do you think I'm going to do to you?"

Oh. Oh. Let me guess! Let me guess!

Mort strived to ignore this niggling voice ringing in his head.

"Now just keep still. I'll straighten out this appaling...thing that's sticking out here."

Well, you're going to enjoy this, Mr. Rainey.

"Fuck off, psycho pansy."

Makes you think, dun' it? Who's really the psycho here? Who's the one who bought that hat at that garage sale? Who's the one who wanted to dispose of Amy? It wasn't me. It was you. I do what you want.

"Okay. I want you to go away."

I can't do that. I'm stuck here, now.

"GO AWAY!"

If you just grab her by the neck and strangle her, she'll no longer bother you. It's simple, Mr. Rainey. All simple as tying your shoes.

"You better keep the HELL away from her, dammit! She's done nothing wrong. She hasn't even tried to poke questions about Amy's disappearance at me. She isn't Mrs. Gavin, asshole. And if you hurt her, I'll hunt you down and maul you until you're a little bloody pulp!"

That would mean committing suicide.

"Whatever it takes, fucker. Whatever the hell it takes."

You do like her.

Mort had no toxic rebuttal this time. Maybe he did like her after all. He didn't veritably love her like he once did Amy. Cora was too nice. She'd be taken advantage of too easily. Women who couldn't defend themselves didn't quite appeal to Mort. He liked to have an argument once in a while. It was a kind of stress reliever...Unless the argument led to hatred and hatred led to lies and lies led to finding your spouse in a hotel room in bed with somebody who wasn't you. AGH. There he went again, his thoughts trailing over to Amy. He needed to forget her. He despised that woman even after she was dead!

He took a step away when the wire began receding back into his mouth. His head didn't move, to his dismay. Cora had too good of a grasp on him. "SHTLOP THAST IT HURSHT! CORAAAHHH! Shtlop!" he whimpered, desperately trying to get away from the insane girl.

"All right, all right. I'll leave you alone. What I'm going to tell you to do next is going to sound extremely stupid... But you need to keep your mouth open," she gave in, turning around to look out the window. "If you don't, the wire will--OH M'GOD!!! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!?" she cried in horror, pointing out the window.

Morts eyes widened in fear as he rushed to her side to stare out the window and see. What did she see? Was it a bear? Was it somebody chopping another person's head off with an axe? Was it the boogie monster?! But...Wait a second...There wasn't anything out there but a--"HOLY SHIT!!!"Mort vociferated, holding his cheek. It was now an endless supply of gushing, dark, thick liquid. There was nothing to see but a smug grin on Cora's face. She tricked him. That vixen tricked him! She wasn't all that kind after all. Bitch.

"Ooookay. Car. Now. Take my scarf. Don't let yourself bleed all over the place," Cora ordered, her little smile of victory fading from her visage.

"Buh wha abou ge'ing ready? I can' go like this," he objected. He still couldn't quite talk properly. She bent the wire into his mouth and it gave him little leeway to move his tongue for speech.

"Sure you can! Throw on a coat and comb your hair in the car. Now move!"

Mort shuffled along unwillingly, being whisked into a faster pace by his maid. His MAID. She wasn't acting like his maid. Perhaps it was because he was too used to Mrs. Gavin. Mrs. Gavin wouldn't have done any of this for him. She would have just called 911 and maybe stayed with them until somebody showed up, if he was lucky. Mrs. G never liked to talk about getting writers' block or mental breakdowns or Doritos! She never talked about anything except that she missed Amy and how much she loathed her job.

Cora enjoyed her job. Well, it appeared as though she liked her job. She'd come in, all bright eyed. Mort fancied the way she was always so thrilled to see him. People only acted that way towards him when he hadn't seen them for a while. Currently, people were happy to not see him. It was a sorrowful feeling, really...But he was joyous to have her company. Sometimes he'd catch her with her walkman on, singing along and doing an amazingly ridiculous dance-number with a feather duster in hand, making sure to incorporate cleaning in the number. He would have to run into the living room and stick his head in between couch cushions to stifle his insubordinate laughter.

A weak smile played upon his lips at this thought. At this point, he was already on the road in Cora's fire, apple-red, Mustang convertable. He watched the horizon...The trees...It was all so empty. He was going to be stuck in this car for an hour and a half with his cheek pouring and his tongue somewhat restricted from free movement, taking away his correct pronunciations of L and T. Cora turned on the radio and blared Sir Mix-a-lot. Mort didn't loathe the song, but if he had the choice, he'd pick something else. She was just so enthusiastic and cheery while she tried to sing along through laughs and giggles that he had to try, too. He never had that much fun. Not for as long as he could remember.