Chapter eight – The fine art of the evil eye
Theresa watched Rainey's retreating back with a growing sense of discomfort. Mort and Shooter had remained motionless, after her entrance and were giving her looks of pure contempt. The flaming red head broke their gaze quickly, directing her increasingly nervous view around the relatively repaired cabin. Mort moved to the stop of the stairs, polishing his glasses and staring still. Theresa wondered how a writer could look so intimidating and yet so ridiculously nerdy in one simple action. Shooter set the sandpaper down on the stairs and turned to her, clearing his throat.
"You're friends cost us a fair amount of money." Shooter started, leaning back against the rail post. Theresa looked up from the new pillows, looking at Shooter blankly.
"I wasn't responsible for their actions." She mumbled, tearing her eyes away from the treacherous eyes that locked with her own brown.
"I murdered my pillows, lady." Mort said nastily, the statement slightly redundant, seeing as she didn't seem to understand the importance of the pillows. Theresa dragged her eyes to Mort, who was seething over the pillows. She had no idea if the 'pillows' were writer's code for something, or if he actually meant that he murdered his cushions. When Rainey's dirt coated head poked out of the door, Theresa jumped. The tension that had accumulated in the spacious room was pressing down on the red head's precarious mental balance and the twin's appearance diffused the mounting nervousness with one shake of his dirt-matted hair.
"Want to come up?" He asked, stepping onto the landing. Theresa nodded vehemently before glancing warily at Mort, who was still standing on the stair case, imposing as ever. Rainey eyed his double, before tapping him on the shoulder and nudging him to move.
"Writing." Rainey reminded, looking at the closed lid of the lap top. Mort replaced his glasses and sent one more glare at Theresa, before moving back to his desk. Shooter picked up the sandpaper, starting his methodical rubbings again. Theresa quickly ascended the stairs, trying to ignore the saw dust that floated down onto her sandal clad feet. Rainey opened the repaired door to the bedroom, motioned to the unmade bed.
"Make yourself comfortable…" Rainey trailed, shrugging sheepishly at the rumpled sheets. Theresa perched herself on the edge of the mattress, nodding thankfully at her savior.
"Thank you."
Rainey looked at her questioningly, "Uh….for what?"
Theresa sighed and answered, "I thought they were going to eat me… Literally… Shooter had that sandpaper…and then Mort….with the glasses…and the pillows…."
Rainey nodded slowly, trying to comprehend the half garbled ranting slipping from Theresa's mouth.
"I'm not exactly following you. I'm going to go and get in the shower, and then you can tell me what happened, alright?" pacified Rainey, patting Theresa's arm. She jumped, eyes clearing, her head coming to sit upright on her shoulders.
"Yeah…er…sorry about that. Go get clean." With that, Rainey disappeared into the washroom leaving the door slightly ajar.
A/N: Short chapter. Blah. Like? Want to murder me for ruining your favorite character? Blue button-a-tize me captain!
