Chapter 22

Mort had spent most of the morning at the library on the internet. He didn't think it would take him this long to come up with the name of the driver, but it did. Around 11:30 he finally came up with a name and address. Celeste Diaz. He didn't recognize the name or address, but he knew what he had to do. It was time to pay Ms. Diaz a visit.

He pulled up across the street from her house around 2 pm. He didn't see a car in the driveway so he decided to just wait until she came home. Unfortunately, it turned out to be around 8 pm until a car finally pulled up. Luckily, Mort stopped by Wendy's and picked up some food to go. He was nice and full and ready confront Deja's stalker.

A petite woman with long, curly dark hair stepped out of the vehicle. The license plate number matched the number Mort had written on a piece of paper. It was time to make his move. He waited another five minutes, got out of his car, checked his surroundings to make sure no one was watching and proceeded toward the house.

He had to ring the doorbell twice before getting an answer. Just then the door flung open and the same woman from before, only now dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, stood before him.

She must've been embarrassed by her appearance because as soon as she saw Mort standing there she began to comb through her hair with her fingers.

A large smile crossed her face. "Hi, can I help you?" she asked.

"Um...my car," Mort began, in his southern accent, pointing towards his Ford, "stalled out on me. Mind if I use 'ur phone?"

"Well," she eyed him suspiciously, " I don't normally let strangers in, but I guess I can make an exception." A sly grin made it's way onto her face. Mort couldn't help but think she was interested in him.

Following her into the house, Mort saw that her home was very nicely decorated. She seemed to have pretty good taste, but was a bit vain. He spotted pictures of her everywhere. She was attractive, but all this was a bit much.

"Here you go," she said, pointing to the phone.

"Thanks," he gave her slight smile. He picked up the phone and dialed one of those fake television, 555, numbers. He pretended to talk with a tow truck company and then hung up.

"So, they should be 'ere in 'bout 20 minutes," he told her. "I'll just wait in the car."

"Don't be silly," she began to laugh. "Sit here, I'll get us something to drink."

She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two beers. My kind of girl, Mort thought, laughing to himself.

"So, where are you from? I hear an accent," she said.

"Miss'ippi," he smiled at her warmly.

"I've never been down south before," she paused, "but if all the men there look as good as you I might need to make my way down there." She began to giggle. She was laying it on thick, Mort thought. He couldn't wait to get the dirty work taken care of so he could leave.

"You know," she kept going, "I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Celeste." She held out her hand to him.

"Shooter. John Shooter," Mort said, shaking her hand.

"So, Mr. Shooter, do you have a lady friend in this area?"

"Um...something like that," he took a swig of beer from the bottle.

"Oh," a look of disappointment crossed her face.

Mort figured he should go ahead and make his move. He slowly lifted himself off the chair next to the sofa, where Celeste was seated.

"Need something?" she asked.

"Nope." And with that, he pulled the same knife that had ended Darrell's life out from behind him and sliced her in her left arm.

A look of horror came over her face. "What are you doing!" She stumbled onto her feet, holding her bleeding arm with her right hand, and tried to make her way across the room.

"Lil' missy, you tried to hurt someone I love, an' I don't take too kindly to folks doin' that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" she screamed. She made her way past Mort and just before reaching the door, Mort grabbed her by the hair and flung her to the floor. She let out a bloodcurdling yell.

"Get up!" Mort yelled at her.

"Please don't hurt me," she began to cry. "I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt me."

"I'm not gon' tell you again! Get up!" he yelled, louder than before.

Celeste looked like a deer caught in headlights. She didn't know what to do. She decided it would be better for her to go along with what he said. She didn't want to increase his anger. She slowly got back onto her feet and looked him in the eye, letting him know she was at his will.

"Now, sit down," Mort instructed her.

She made her way over to the chair Mort had been sitting in and lowered her head.

"Do you have any rope?" Mort asked.

Trying to pull herself together, she managed to say, "No."

"Where's your linen closet?"

"Why?" she asked.

"Don't ask questions! Where is it?"

His yelling startled her. She pointed to where the linen closet was. Never taking his eyes off her he made his way to the closet and pulled out two white sheets. He made Celeste get up and show him where she kept the scissors. After going back into the living room he stood and watched as Celeste began to cut the sheets into long strips. She probably could have tried to attack him with them, but those scissors were no match for his knife.

After successfully cutting them up, she handed the scissors and torn pieces of fabric to Mort. He took the first strip and blindfolded her. He didn't want her to see any of what would happen. Next, he used the remainder of fabric to tie her up. He didn't think to bring rope so this was the best he could come up with at the spur of the moment. It seemed to work pretty well.

Celeste was bound the chair with her hands tied behind her back. She would never get out of this. Now it was time for Mort to get some answers.

"So, we need to talk," he said.

"Whatever...I'll tell you whatever you want to know," her voice quivering.

"Good then...why are you stalking Deja?"

Celeste was caught completely off guard. "What!"

"You heard me!" Mort was growing impatient, "You better start talkin' or this is gonna get a lot worse."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" She was frantic, and wasn't able to think clearly.

"Let me refresh your memory then." Mort retold her the story the way Deja had told it to him. He could tell, by the end of the story, that Celeste knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I'm sorry. I never intended to hurt her. I just wanted to scare her a little."

"Why?"

"Well, she was seeing my boyfriend...and to be honest...I think she had something to do with his death." Celeste suddenly began crying again. But this was different. It seemed as though she was crying for Darrell.

Suddenly it clicked in Mort's mind that this was Darrell's girlfriend. He briefly remembered Deja mentioning that Darrell was involved with someone. His eyes roamed around the apartment. A picture sitting on the corner of the fireplace mantle confirmed his suspicions. He walked over to it to get a better look. It was a picture of Darrell and Celeste sitting in a park somewhere. The wind was blowing and Celeste was resting her head on Darrell's shoulder.

Mort made his way back to Celeste and crouched down beside her. "Hate to burst 'ur lil' bubble ma'am, but Deja didn't do Darrell in."

A look of terror washed over her, she never said Darrell's name. Somehow this guy knew what was going on, she thought. She could feel him breathing on her.

"It was me all along, Deja had nothin' to do with it." Mort stood up and reached for his knife lying on the coffee table.

Celeste's tears were falling like running water. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. But I never planned to hurt Deja, I swear!" She knew she had to beg for her life. She didn't want to end up like Darrell.

"Do you believe in God?"

The question caught her off guard. "Yes," she sputtered out.

"Well, it's time to meet your maker then." Mort plunged the knife deep into Celeste's left shoulder blade. She tried to move, but the bondages kept her in place. Mort continued to thrust the knife into her body. He would not stop until her body was lifeless. The blood was dripping from all over her. She was almost unrecognizable.

After about ten minutes, Mort's work was complete. He looked at the clock. It was going on 11 pm. He had to get back home. He walked to the kitchen to clean the knife, came back into the living room to survey the room. Looking for anything that could link him to the crime and finally made his way back to his car.

Early the next morning, Deja was taking care of her last minute needs. Mort had told her he'd be there around 9 am or so, and she wanted everything done by then. It was a gorgeous day outside so she walked out to her front steps and sat there enjoying the view along with a cup of coffee.

About 30 minutes had passed and still no sign of Mort. It was 9:15 and Deja was checking her watch every two minutes. Even though Mort said he'd be there around 9, she assumed he'd be there earlier.

She'd give him another ten minutes before she called his house. For his sake he better not still be asleep, she thought. Ten minutes later, she made her way inside the house to call Mort. She began to dial his number when she heard a honk from outside. It was coming from a large U-Haul truck.

She hung up the phone and rushed outside. Mort was already out of the vehicle and was making his way towards her. She threw her arms around him and gave him an ardent kiss.

"You were ten seconds away from getting punished," she laughed.

"Oh really?" Deja could tell he was thinking naughty thoughts.

"Alright Mort, let's get this stuff moved," she said breaking his train of thought.

For the next three hours, Deja and Mort managed to squeeze all of Deja's things into the truck. They had already decided that some of Deja's belongings would replace Mort's, since hers were newer. The things they couldn't find a place for, would be sold to the local used furniture store.

Mort drove the truck and Deja followed him. It was a long, boring drive and Deja was glad when it was finally over.

By about 9 pm that night, most of her things were moved in and unpacked. They took a few small breaks throughout the day, but wanted to get most things accomplished before bed.

They were both sprawled out on the couch, too tired to go upstairs. Mort looked over at Deja and smiled. He was happy to have her living with him. Seeing her lying on 'their' couch overwhelmed him. She was the most intriguing and beautiful person he'd ever come to know.

His mind began to drift to more macabre thoughts. He woke up very early that morning and had a dreadful headache. He tried his best to recall what happened, but only came up with bits and pieces. From what he recalled he paid a visit to the woman that was following Deja the other night. He couldn't quite make out what she looked like, but he knew he had hurt her in some way. He didn't remove his clothing from that night and blood was all over him. Thankfully, he woke up early enough to clean himself up and get rid of the clothing that couldn't be cleaned by just a wash.

"What are you thinking?" Deja said softly, interrupting Mort's thoughts.

"Huh?" Her voice snapped him back into the here and now.

"You look deep in thought, just wanted to know what you were thinking."

"Just that I'm really happy to finally have you all to myself...and that I'm tired as hell." They both broke out into fits of laughter.

"Well, I say we stay on the couch for the night," Deja suggested.

"You'd be comfortable here?" he asked.

"I have slept on a few couches in my day, ya know?" Smiling at him she grabbed the blanket lying on the edge arm of the couch, laid down next to him and pulled the spread over them. That was the best night of sleep either of them had ever had.