A/N: Who's got a thing for Johnny Depp?

Disclaimer: What is Stephen King's, clearly is not mine.

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center b Rose Red

Chapter One

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Rain came down in sheets upon the cottage of Mort Rainey. It was Monday afternoon, and Mort sat in front of his notebook, staring at the blinking cursor, blinking aimlessly on the white document, taunting him. On rare occasion, he would type something, but it would seem weak. It would sound…flat. Flat seemed like the best word to describe the state his career was in.

Mort heaved a sigh, and chewed on the cap of a ballpoint pen, grimaced, and threw the pen behind him. He opened a new window on his laptop, and began to play Solitaire. A crash of thunder rattled his house, but another sound chimed in simultaneously.

Mort paused his game.

Listening, he heard it again. He peered over the banister and at the front door. The knock was ominous; as if strained. Mort tiptoed downstairs, and inwardly cursed when the floor groaned under his weight. The knock came again, slower, and a small cry behind the door. Mort furrowed his brow.

No more knocking. But the cry was repetitive. And it was the third time before Mort deciphered what the cry was.

"Please… God, help."

Mort didn't trust random knockers on his front door. He made this mistake months ago, but it still felt like yesterday.

The plea returned, and made him jump.

He tried to see outside by using the window, but only saw something dark, bent over, and hair. Red, diluted with the rain, pink liquid dripped onto his porch, and his eyes widened.

"Shit." Mort threw open the door, causing whatever what was behind it to fall to his feet. It was a girl, maybe in her late twenty's, clutching her arm. And blood. Blood was everywhere. Mort had only stood there, in shock, lost of what to do.

The hospital seemed almost out of the question. He could change his name, but it was too risky. But there was a bleeding girl on his living room floor, weeping, he had to do i something. b Something. /i /b

Bending down, Mort took the stranger into his arms, frowning, and struggled up the stairs. The weeping had ceased, and for a second Mort panicked and set her on the ground next to the desk that held the notebook, which held that annoying blank document.

As if holding a child, Mort pushed the girl's hair back and smacked the side of her face lightly. She wasn't phased.

"Shit." He repeated. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." His mind raced. Removing her left hand from her right forearm, he looked at the wound. It was nothing but a small knick, but was entirely deep.

But the intent was unmistakable. Suicide attempt.

Though Mort was no doctor, the girl had clearly gone into shock, and fainted. Or from the blood loss. But was she in need of a real doctor? One with a PHD and everything?

i She needs a doctor. She could've lost too much blood for me to help her now.

b Fuck that. The police are already set to convict you of murder. What's it gonna look like if you bring a bleedin' girl into the emergency room? /b /i

Mort soon found himself wrapping gauze around Elvira's wrist.

He only thought of that name because that's the only name that came to his mind when the girl had fell on his slippers; that he had disposed of because of blood stains. The wood even had crimson written on it; all because of some woman's morbid fixation.

Mort ruled out placing her on his bed until she woke. If she would wake. She was still soaking wet from nature's watery fury. Contemplating changing her clothes just felt…wrong, even though the curvy figure was undoubtedly attractive.

Feeling foolish, Elvira was placed in his bathtub, in an awkward position. Mort ignored her and sat back down at his notebook, and his shaking ceased when he continued to stare at the blinking cursor, that whispered "Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha-" With every annoying, blinking movement.

The device gave up and produced the screensaver that flashed the time in bright colors. 5:17.

Running a hand through is unruly blond hair, and adjusting his glasses, Mort got up again to check on Elvira.

And in surprise, saw her standing his bathroom, in the middle of the floor, completely still. Like a deer in the bright shine of headlights.

"Who are you?" Mort changed his mind. The girl couldn't have been older than nineteen. She was near tears, and sounded so i young /i .

"I should be asking you the same thing. You were pounding away on my front door," Mort pointed out his bedroom door. "And bleeding like you just had an encounter with Jason's machete."

Elvira looked down at her wrist, that had a small blood spot peaking through the layers of gauze. i It's a miracle she woke up. /i Mort thought.

"I was making dinner, and the knife-"

"I don't need an explanation. I just ask kindly that you leave my cabin and go back to where ever you came from." Mort gave a sinister grin. The girl didn't move.

"Thank you. I mean, for saving me."

"It was nothing. I-"

"I'm Ellie," Ellie held out her hand, the one that wasn't blood stained. Mort took it, but did not state his own name.

Another scream of thunder made Ellie jump. It was still pouring, buckets of water. Mort sighed. "I'll give you a ride back to where ever you live." Lightning brightened the dimming room, and the power went out. "As soon as all this clears up."

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A/N: Eh. I'm satisfied with it. Tell me what you think, lovers.