Ok, I'd love to thank Dawnie-7!! My one and only reviewer. Lol. Umm, this chapter may seem a little less like the others. It will return to normal, I just need to get this one out there.

Usual disclaimer.

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Three months. Three whole months of whiteness and disinfectant. Mort concentrated hard on recovery. It was like a far off goal, hovering tantalisingly out of reach. Beyond the corridors filled with coughing and disease, beyond the wards of drugged up humans with nothing new to look at since their arrival. Mort could see it. It was there, he knew it. It was a future, not just a future out of these walls, but one that would be different to his past. Whatever his past had been.

The police came round shortly before his release. They could prove nothing, and the doctors said he was sane. The police left.

It was the night before freedom. Mort lay asleep in his hospital bed. People he didn't know wandered through his head. A worn-out looking man in a black hat leered at him. Another man with brown hair, stuffing a burger of some description shot him a dirty look.

There was Amy, his Amy, smiling and half leaning out of a small square window. Mort felt himself smile back. Then, the man with the burger lifted Amy away from the window, and the man with the black hat stood in front of Mort.

Let me see!

He heard a voice, far off, but it was his.

"...I'm sure her death will be a mystery, even to me."

Screams, followed by an unpleasant sound, rather like a blunt object colliding with a body at speed. Then again. Mort was suddenly aware that he was looking through the black-hat man's eyes. He didn't like what he saw.

"AMY!! I DIDN'T WANT TO!"

Mort was awake, cold sweat dripping down his forehead. The doctors were outside.

"...Screaming in his sleep..."

"...He was talking to his wife..."

"...She's been dead for months. Mysterious circumstances..."

"...The Police did say that he..."

The door opened. Mort had his back to them. He was sane enough to know what was coming.

"Mr Rainey."

The voice was soft and velvety. It caressed the ears and made you feel as though you were being given spa treatment. Mort rolled over.

Three doctors stood in the room now. At least, two were doctors; the third looked like something off a catwalk. Blonde, long eyelashes, ruby red lips and legs an athlete would be proud of. Yes, she had all the traditional garnishes and fixings. If hers wasn't the luxurious voice, Mort was crazier than he thought.

The other two both looked tired, worn out and were giving 'I'd rather be anywhere but here' vibes. The man was short, fat and ugly, no more to it. Mort was mentally noting down every feature for future stories. He was going down as unfortunate victim No.2.

The accompanying girl was easily a volunteer for unfortunate victim No.1. The hair was auburn and scraggly, her figure nothing to write about, let alone 'home', and her general body language wishing Mort would curl up and die and save a lot of trouble. Under her pond water gaze he wished he could. He'd heard of "eyes so dark and beautiful you could drown in them". This girl had eyes that reminded him forcibly of a badly maintained duck pond.

"Mr Rainey, my name is Dr. Hatfield."

The model unfolded a hand at a leisurely pace toward him. Mort watched it suspiciously. She had black and white striped nails.

"We've come to inform you about a transfer. We feel you'd be better off in another hospital."

Mort's mind had given up dealing with boring things like "What is she saying?" and "Where am I?" It was putting all available energy into sight.

"Yes, ok."

"Excellent. Dr. Carlton will be looking after you in your new home."

She waved a hand vaguely at her apparent underling, the woman with the duck pond eyes.

"Good bye Mr Rainey."

And they were gone.

Lake Tashmore's Psychiatric Hospital was large, and ugly. Mort assumed glumly that as a patient he'd only see the outside once. He knew with dead sure certainty he wouldn't be coming back out.

He wished he knew who the two men in his dream had been. His brain knew them from somewhere, but more than that it wouldn't let him remember. He didn't care any more. Amy was dead, they told him. Died mysteriously, they told him.

Body never found, Mr Rainey. Very likely to be murder, Mr Rainey.

We found a dead dog too, Mr Rainey.

Who would want to kill Amy?

"Any enemies, Mr Rainey?"

"No enemies, sir."

They lead him through so many corridors he was lost. The doors were made of metal bars and wires. Cages, keep the mad ones locked away.

"This is your room, Mr Rainey."

The door banged shut. The heavy, steel door, with lots of bolts. And that was it.

Go to Hell Mr Rainey, you're a mad man.

"I'm hearing voices, maybe I am a mad man."

A few hours later the lights went out. Mort Rainey slept. Mort Rainey dreamed...