Chapter four – Destruction derby, Mort style

When the nervous pair re entered the cabin, Rainey began swearing. Mort was in the bedroom and he could hear the usually sluggish writer screaming about something. Shooter was in the garden, digging and mumbling. His hat was firmly on his head and Rainey was thankful that there was no blood on his white shirt.

"Looks like a war zone in here." Theresa commented, eyeing the mottled banister and the half emptied bookshelf; the previous contents spilled onto the floor.

"That, would be Mort. Keep an eye for any broken glass. He likes to throw things." Rainey said, before darting up the stairs, cringing as he heard the shower door flying into plexi-glass heaven. He inched the door open and was met with a slightly crazed Mort. He was swinging a fire poker about, his eyes flashing around the room like it was going to attack him. He looked feral, akin to a caged animal on the verge of attacking. Rainey noticed the window, man handled open. Shards of glass littered the floor, apparently the iron the raging man was wielding had met the panes.

"Mort, put the poker down!" Rainey called out, closing the door hastily. He jumped away from the wooden barrier, when the iron rod poked through the door. Theresa was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the calm Rainey staring back at her.

"Does he do this a lot?" She asked, eyeing the banister that had large chunks missing. Rainey was muttering several unique curses and looked at the red head blankly, the question unheard.

"I'm sorry?" He asked, stepping farther away from the door, when the metal was wrenched free. One psychotic brown eye peered through the hole for a moment, before the destruction derby restarted. Rainey winced, as he heard the armoire door splinter.

"I said, does he go on these….murderous rampages a lot?"

"Enough for me to get used to them. So….yes, he goes on these murderous rampages a lot." Rainey replied, descending the stairs.

"You're going to just leave him there?" Theresa asked, moving out of the housecoat clad man's way.

"Do you know how many shower doors we've gone through?" He replied, flopping down on the couch, swatting away some stray feathers from a torn pillow which had died nearby. Theresa took that as a signal to drop the topic, opting instead to start the cleaning up process. Rainey watched the petite woman, as she struggled with the toppled bookcase, the heavy oak too much for her small form. He jumped over the coffee table, saving her from the pending squish, when the shelf fell forward. Together, they righted the book case, sending the remaining books to the paper littered floor.

"Oh, these poor books." Theresa clucked, kneeling down to gather the devastated tomes.

"I've replaced this one four times." grumbled Rainey, eyeing the defaced cover of Mort's own book, "Everyone drops the dime."

"Liana and Smithy don't do this. They go shopping. It's scary. We have so many negligees, it's kind of disturbing." Rainey looked at her, disbelief and a perverse interest scrawled across his face.

"They buy slinky underwear when they're mad?" Theresa nodded.

"It's twisted."

A/N: Short chapter. Blah.