Chapter three – Twitch

Rainey had almost dropped the can of pop, when he saw her standing and squirming just inside the door. Shooter had brought the trio of women, the dark haired ones chatting and giggling. He shuddered. Giggles unnerved him. And apparently the odd one out of the group thought so too. Rainey eyed her in a sideways glance. She had grimaced slightly, when the two raven haired beauties laughed. They laughed in unison. It was understandable. Rainey jumped, when the stairs squeaked. Mort was descending the wooden steps, giving Rainey a questioning look. He gave Shooter a look, when he glanced up from the gardening books he held on his lap. His expression a classic, "I told you so". Much to Rainey's dismay, Mort headed over to ladies, a small smile upon his face.

"I'd swear they planned this." He grumbled, before walking out the back door, past the group of socializing schizophrenics. Rainey stepped out onto the back porch and hearing more laughter, hopped the steps and headed for the clearing where Mort met Shooter. Halfway there, he grabbed the half smoked pack of pall malls from the pocket of his housecoat. Lighting one of the cigarettes, Rainey stopped in the center of the clearing. The scarlet headed one was there and she looked just as surprised.

"Er….yes…so….Hello…" Rainey finally gritted out, long drags from his cigarette punctuating his stutters. She was just as nervous, looking to the ground, her hands fiddling with the zipper on her pants pocket.

"Hi." She finally said, looking up from the ground briefly. Rainey's eyes met hers and he blurted out, "Want a cigarette?" She smiled and nodded vigorously, relieved. Rainey felt accomplished; forming sentences around females had never been his specialty. He handed her the cigarette and flicked the lighter, watching the cigarette spark to life. The mechanical fire went back in his robe pocket once the tobacco was lit, the ember brightening as she took a long drag from it.

"I'm Theresa."

"Rainey." They made brief eye contact causing Rainey smiled nervously. Theresa, as he now knew her, was walking towards the tree. He vaguely remembered Mort telling him about a squirrel that had screamed at him, that had been sitting in that tree. She leaned against it, fiddling with her hair slightly.

"So…. Shooter tells me your friend has the same condition as…uh…. Mort." Rainey said slowly, seating himself at the base of the oak. It was hot, the sun only partially shading the nervous pair sitting against the base of the tree. Theresa nodded and blew smoke out of her nose, in time with Rainey.

"Unfortunately." She said, laughing bitterly as she thought of the whimsical girls back in the cabin. Rainey nodded understanding, wondering if Shooter ever felt as disdainful towards himself and Mort.

"Are you…the original….." Rainey trailed, the question was odd, but she seemed to understand.

"I'm the intruder. Just like Shooter." Pieces of an argument came to her, screaming and knives were the predominant feature. Theresa shook her head violently, biding the scrambled memories away. Rainey paid the sudden movement no attention, his mind elsewhere.

"Are you a psycho, like Shooter?" Theresa eyed Rainey and replied, "No. Well, maybe. I'm not psycho… A little obsessive compulsive sometimes, but not psycho."

"What about? I can't sleep with the phone plugged in. And I had a thing for corn for a while." Rainey turned to Theresa, eyeing her. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, her clothing wrinkled and stained at the knees. She wasn't clothing obsessive, as he had seen. She did seem anti social though. It was a relief; he was beginning to think he was the only schizophrenic delusion that despised social relations.

"I can't stand having a dirty bathroom; especially a dirty shower door. Drives me mad, if I can't see through the window." Theresa offered, stubbing out the cigarette in the sand she sat on.

"Yeah….Mort went kind of nuts once…He took a fire poker to the shower door. And the mirror…." Rainey trailed, standing up.

"Want to go back?" He asked, watching the shorter woman stand up, pushing her hair out of her face.

"There's safety in numbers."

A/N: They're getting better? Worse?