"You have a visitor," announced the giant, moble stringbean whose whiter than white labcoat stung the weak patient's eyes. The doctor had a shiny head, was quite lanky, and carried the scent of a freshly finished wooden floor. Perhaps it was his head that was finished with the same finish used on wooden floors.

"Ugher..." the battered patient feebly replied, nodding to let the doctor know to allow his visitor to enter the room. Morton was still in the mystified stage, only having arrived to the hospital a few hours prior to the current time. He felt as though he was still trapped in the smoldering heap of twisted metal, just simmering away.

It had been moments after the second engine flame blazed that his companion, Cora, regained consciousness. It was in their last few minutes before almost certain death that Mort had realized how much the friendship he had with this person meant to him. And then the third and final flame had leapt up, soaring at least eight feet into the bright, red-violet sunset sky. It stabbed at Cora with its many red forks, searing the skin on her back until the point that it was nothing more than raw, oozing flesh.

"Cora!" he had burst out, feeling her hand firmly grasping his. "Hang on, Cor! Somebody'll come for us!" He really hadn't known if anybody would come for them.

She had spoken nary a word, but smiled weakly. Mort returned with his own attempt at a reassuring grin. And then, at last, her hand slid away from his, her invariably warm smile had diminished, and her body had gone limp. Mort had had no emotion or discreet sign of feeling within his scarred heart. All in that one second, all of his fear had gone. All comfort had been wrenched out of his very own two hands by the atrocity of the Grim Reaper. He stole her soul and would not even dream of returning it.

The novelist's vision had already begun to fade, along with the rest of his sanity. It was the doing of the fumes. They sent him whirling into an abyss of darkness and nothingness.

Having a visitor was strange, not to mention pointless. There was nobody else in the world who could have supplied him with such company. Perhaps a fan of his work came to the hospital to pay him a visit. Fans were always nice to see once in a while.

The doctor stepped aside, revealing a blur that was supposedly his visitor. Mort squinted, trying desperately to identify the blurred figure who steadily advanced. Frustrated, he just let his eyes shut. If the person really needed to speak with him, they would speak, whether his eyes were open or not. But the figure didn't speak. He felt the person's presence...He or she was quite close. Mort sensed the person drawing closer, particularly close to his face.

In an instant, his eyes snapped open. The woman screamed from the unpredicted movement, stumbling backwards into a chair beside the hospital bed. Mort, startled by the sudden outburst of screaming, also hollered in alarm. Both of them sat and took a moment to regain composure, panting with widened eyes. He turned to see his visitor. Glimmering brown hair, bright green-ish eyes, fair complexion, nice face structure. Ah, nice lady visitor.

"Hey, Mort!" she greeted blissfully.

Rainey's eyes broadened and his lower jaw fell at the voice of this woman. He had no words, despite the fact that he was a skilled author, to describe the overwhelming wave of emotion that filled his soul.

"C-c-c...C-c-c-c...C-c-c-c-c-c!"

"Shh! Don't you dare say anything, Morton Rainey! You'll waste energy that way!" she reprimanded in that clippy voice she liked to use for scolding.

"But I thought you died!"

Cora raised a delicate eyebrow. "Psh. You thought I died!? I thought you died!"

"Nope. Some fire-fighter hauled my ass out of there and almost ripped my legs off."

"When they got me out, I asked about you, and that one nurse asked me 'What man?'"

"Well, the only thing that matters now is that we're both okay. Why the hell did you ask them about me?"

Cora shrugged. "Because you're my friend."

...Friend? As in...An ally or supporter? Ami, amiga, amica? Mort didn't recall ever having a real one of those before. Not a true one, at least. In the past, they've all been malicious back-stabbers with the intent of manipulating him for his money. That was what Mort felt he was put into the world for. His purpose on Earth was to give and get taken advantage of. He gave money, he gave his trust, he gave friendship, and he gave love...And what was he stuck with now? A cheating, dead ex-wife and a bothersome voice echoing in his head invariably at the wrong moment.

Mort took the time to take a thorough glance at this woman to determine whether or not she was worth wooing. He couldn't help thinking about it. By this time, he missed the lifelong companionship of a woman...But before he could decide, a tide of pity collided forcefully into his guilty conscience when he took note of the faint trails left by tears. She worried about him!Did it not occur to this woman that he did indeed make a nearly successful attempt at homicide directed towards her?

He propped himself up, seized Cora firmly by the shoulders, and promptly shook her. "Why, Cora White!?" he posed, battling the tears of guilt welling up within his eyes.

"...Why what, Mort?" she asked, dumbstricken by such a question.

"Why am I your friend?"

"Erm...Why not?"

"Why do you even care about me? I tried to assassinate you last night, did you notice that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then...I don't understand...Why are you here? Why the hell did you tell them I was still in the car?! Nobody gives a crap if I'm dead! I'm not that important!"

"On the contrary, Mort. You're wrong. You're so wrong, that if you managed to make another untrue statement, you'd be so inconceivably wrong that you'd make gay porn movies look right."

"Oh. Is that so? Enlighten me."

"You're important.You may not think that you're important, but you're important to me. Where would I be if you weren't here? ...I'll tell you where. I'd be in that Hell-hole of a place where life was miserable and the air so polluted with noxious fumes that you'd die if you inhaled too much of it! You gave me a great job and something to look forward to. I couldn't rely on my family for the same thing you've provided me with, Mort. Happiness. And a sense of belonging. My family...They...Well, I won't get into too much detail, but they've disowned me after a little...Discovery of theirs. And you changed everything for me. You've made a difference in my life. And now I see that you're in a bit of a mess and that you need a hand, and I'm going to lend you that hand. Do you know how glum it would be for those fans of yours to hear that you've been stumbled upon dead by the tax collector two weeks after you've actually died because nobody gave a damn about you?! You don't deserve it!"

"Yeah, I do. There's something that I did...Physically. Mentally, it wasn't me, but...It was still my fault.

Cora gazed at him in her usual way; Intently.

He continued,"Months ago, I divorced with my wife. After the legal divorce...She died. And her boyfriend did, too," Mort explained calmly, lowering his voice to a subtle whisper. "Do you know how they died, Cor?"

She shook her head.

"Well, they were--"

"VISITING TIME IS OVER! Leave now! Mr. Rainey need his rest!" impolitely snapped a short, plump nurse who was on the verge of exploding from an enormous intake of Twinkies.

"Mr. Rainey will be unable to rest properly without telling his most welcomed visitor a little story," Mort retorted curtly, so tranquilly that the statement radiated the smart-aleck side he was capable of unleashing.

If looks could kill, Morton would have died at that very moment. The nurse exited the room, muttering something about five extra minutes and a pompous smart-ass. "Now where was I before we were so CHURLISHLY interrupted?" he emphasised so that no set of ears could escape the boorish sentence. It seemed that not a soul was safe from his uncouth attitude. Even Cora would suffer the wrath sooner or later...But not now.

Her giggles provoked a proud grin. He liked to make people happy...That is, if they didn't take his kindness for granted and abuse it. "But seriously, now. Amy and Ted were both murdered. I was there when it happened," Mort continued.

Cora let out a slight gasp. "Why don't you turn the murderer in, then?" she posed, her voice lowered to a whisper.

"Because...I did it..."

"Oh, Mort! Th--"

"But wait! Wait, wait! Don't go psycho on me just yet, Cor. There's something I've been meaning to tell you since day one, but I havne't gotten around to doing so. There's this odd disorder I've had...It started after I found Amy cheating on me...There's a man named John Shooter. He doesn't actually exist, because I made him up one day, but I see him and often--"

"Hear him. Right?"

"Yeah! How did you know that?"

"An old friend of mine had the same problem. She learned how to cope with it, though. She's okay now."

"How??? Do you know?"

"Mhmm. Ignore him, Mort. He's nothing more than a fragment of your imagination. If you ignore him, he'll get bored and go away eventually."

"Really? Do you have this person's number? Maybe I can call her and--"

"Not to burst your hopeful bubble, Mort, but she likes it when the least amount of people as possible know her number."

"Oh..."Mort replied with a frown.

"Well, I better get going. I'll come and see you tomorrow," Cora said, beaming. Mort extended his arms, taking Cora into a warm embrace. "Get some rest, will ya?"

"Yeah. I'll try. See ya tomorrow, Cora."

"Bye,Mort!"

White stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall, directly to the left of the patient's door. Upon her face grew a little grin. And all of this time she thought that Mort was practicing to star in a play as some guy named John. Hah. How ridiculous of her to think that way.

"No, I don't have a crush on him!" she snapped, flushing violently.

A janitor quirked an eyebrow, looking down the hall at the woman. "You talkin' to me, Ma'am?"

"Oh, no!" Cora said sheepishly, turning an even brighter shade of red. "Sorry."

The janitor shrugged and went on mopping the floor. "Look what you made me do! Stop it!" he heard the voice yet again, coming from the woman. Well, if she wasn't talking to him...

"Who the hell is she talking to?!" he hissed to himself.

Oh, sorry. Why didn't you tell Mort, Cora?

"Well, Tracy, some secrets are best kept hidden."

END PART ONE