Chapter 28
Standing on his porch at this time of night was Dave Newsome. He was no longer dressed in his uniform, but in regular civilian attire. Mort knew this visit wasn't going to be friendly. He needed to Dave out of there as soon as possible.
Forcing a smile onto his face, Mort said, "What can I help you with Dave?"
"Mind if we talk for a moment, Mort?"
"Not at all." Mort made his way onto the porch and slightly shut the door behind him.
"People have been seeing you and your...girlfriend in town lately. I thought you and I discussed you going to New London from now on?"
"It's been a while now...since they disappeared, I don't think I should have to hide just because a few ignorant people still believe I killed them," Mort said blatantly.
"Well, things were working just fine that way, before," Dave said, becoming slightly agitated.
"I've been tip-toeing my away around Tashmore Lake ever since the day you came here and told me not to come into town anymore. I've done exactly what you wanted, but things have changed. The woman in my life shouldn't have to drive all the way to New London just to appease you." Mort was ready to go back inside, but he needed to handle this matter and get Sheriff Newsome off his back.
"It's not her the citizens have a problem with."
"Legally, you can't put me out of town," Mort said, taking a step closer to Dave, "I have every right to be there. I was just trying to be compliant. If you have some sort of document that says I can't legally come into town anymore, then I suggest you either let me see it or get off my property."
"Fine," Dave said, letting Mort know he'd made his point. He walked off the porch and drove off.
Mort went into the house and sat on the couch. He couldn't believe Dave had the audacity to come to his home at this time of night to bother him with something as trivial as this. He leaned back against the couch cushions and laid his head back.
About five minutes passed when Mort heard another knock on the door. This time it was quieter. Mort knew it had to be Dave again. He was really going to let him have this time. Mort didn't have time to be bothered with petty things like coming into town and who might see.
He drug himself over to the door and saw Shooter standing before him. Mort let out a loud sigh and rubbed his eyes making sure he wasn't seeing things.
"Oh, I'm real pilgrim," Shooter said.
"What do you want?" Mort asked, through clenched teeth.
"What did Newsome want?" Shooter asked.
"Nothing worth mentioning."
"Did it have somethin' to do with your lady friend?" he asked, smiling.
"Not really," Mort said, making his way back to the couch. He left the door open, knowing that Shooter would follow him in.
"You know, ever since that purty lady came into yur life, the police sure have been visitin' you a lot." Shooter made his way into the living room and sat in one of the chairs next to couch.
"It has nothing to do with her," Mort retorted.
"Well, things were quiet till she came."
"I think you need to leave," Mort said, afraid of where the conversation was headed.
"Scared I'm gonna hurt 'er?" he smiled.
"You will not put a hand on her!" Mort yelled, a little too loudly. Looking upstairs, he hoped he wouldn't wake Deja.
"She sleepin'?" Shooter asked, standing.
"Don't you dare go up there!"
"Oh, what can it hurt?"
Shooter began walking up the steps, but Mort grabbed his coat tail and pulled him back down. A small scuffle ensued and Shooter swung out on Mort. The side of Shooter's fist had come in contact with Mort's temple. It knocked him to the floor. He was out cold.
Shooter grinned and headed back up the stairs. The bedroom door creaked as he opend it. Deja was sound asleep and Shooter made his way over to her. He sat on the edge of the bed, just staring at her. She was beautiful, he had to admit. But he wanted to know what so special about her, to make Mort so defensive of her.
Deja feeling the pressure on the bed, turned over to see Mort sitting there looking at her. A smile crossed her face as she looked back at him. Something seemed off, but she couldn't put her finger on what exactly what it was.
"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up. He didn't answer. She ran her fingers through his hair and he leaned in to kiss her. His kiss was rougher than normal. She struggled to catch her breath and she tried to ease back, but he kept her close to his body.
She began laughing, breaking their kiss and asked him, "Is this your way of telling me you're in the mood?"
He just smiled at her. Laying her back on the pillows her descended upon her. He began by kissing her neck. His kisses were harder than usual. Deja was enjoying the difference, but couldn't understand what had gotten into Mort.
He lifted her shirt over her head and began to kiss the tender flesh of her breasts. His hands were roaming wildly as she pushed the hair out of his face. Mort normally eased her panties off, but his aggresiveness proved otherwise today. In one swoop, he ripped the fabric from her body with one hand.
Deja jumped at his swift movement and Mort brought his face just inches from hers. His tongue made it's way into her mouth. His normal passionate kisses were now course and barbaric. Without warning he pushed her legs apart and entered her. His thrusts were quick and rugged.
Deja had enjoyed the difference in his technique at first, but now it was beginning to hurt. His body was pressed tightly against hers as he continued his gyrations. He placed his left hand on the top of her head, to keep it from hitting the headboard.
"Mort? Mort!" Deja said, loudly.
He kept grunting and Deja felt as though she was being torn apart. "Not so rough, Mort." Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Mort please, slow down, it's hurting!"
Mort showed no sign of slowing. His face was contorted and he was lost in the moment. Deja began clawing at his back, hoping that would wake him from his trance. He did feel the pain, but just grabbed her wrists and held them firmly over her head with one his hands.
"Mort, stop!" she finally yelled.
"I'm...not...Mort!" he said in return.
Deja looked into his face and Mort returned her stare. She searched his eyes and saw they were cold and dark. She'd seen those eyes, and they weren't Mort's. These orbs belonged to Shooter. Terror took over her body and she tried to squirm away from him. His grip on her was too strong for her. This had somehow turned from what she felt was an innocent sexual encounter to rape.
She screamed for Mort repeatedly and Shooter covered her mouth with his hand. He was not about to let her ruin the moment. He loved the feeling of this woman underneath him. He knew why Mort could fall for someone like her. He pounded into her until he was exhausted. He collapsed on top of her and she just lay their, almost lifeless.
He moved to the opposite side of the bed and heard her sobs. She slipped out of the bed and locked herself into the bathroom. She prayed when morning came that Shooter would be gone. She had never experienced anything like that in all her life.
Turning on the shower, she climbed in and sank to the tub floor. Bringing her knees close to her body, she began to cry louder. The water was scalding hot, but Deja felt dirty. She wanted the water to cleanse her.
She couldn't remember how long she'd been in the tub, but her hands and feet had become wrinkled. She couldn't remember that happening to her since she was a child and wanted to play in the bathtub longer, before being drug out by her mother.
Rape was such an ugly thing. It was always thought of as a crime done to you by a stranger. Some decrepit looking man, hiding in the bushes taking you down to prove how much of a man he really is. This was so different. This was ultimately the man she loved that had pained her. She didn't want to reenter the bedroom. She slowly toweled off and put on the striped robe that hung on the bathroom door. She snuck into the bedroom and saw Mort's naked and tired body sleeping. She made her way downstairs to the couch and was asleep in no time.
Shooting pain in her most intimate of places awoke Deja. She wanted nothing more than to sleep the pain away, but that could take days. Her skin was a raw, red comlplexion due to the hot water in the shower.
That was the least of her worries. Her skin's complexion would return to normal and the pain between her thighs would subside. She was worried about her mental state. How could she continue to stay with Mort when she didn't know if Shooter would return.
In sheer agony, she got up from the couch and slowly made her way to the kitchen. She needed a drink like never before. She searched the cabinets until she found Mort's stash of Jack Daniels. She grabbed a glass, filled it with ice and poured half of it full of the licquer. Just as she was about to take a sip, she remembered she was pregnant. "Damn!" she said to herself and poured the drink down the sink. Her hand reached her stomach and she rubbed it. She hoped the baby hadn't been hurt by what happened. She didn't feel any pain in that area so she assumed everything was fine.
Slowly, she walked back into the living room and saw Mort descending the stairs. He looked well rested. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he saw Deja staring at him from the couch. He shot her a warm smile and made his way to her.
He attempted to place a soft kiss on her cheek, but she turned her head. "What's wrong?" he asked, unaware of the night's events.
Tears stained her face and he noticed the odd color of her skin. Then he spotted her wrists. They had markings on them. They were discolored. Bruised. He lifted them up, inspecting them. "Deja...what happened to you?"
"As if you don't know," she said, sniffling.
"Am I supposed to?" he asked quizzically.
Then it hit Deja. Mort didn't know what happened. From start to finish, her encounter had been with Shooter. At no time was Mort present. Just the thought of him not knowing what happened upset Deja even more.
She began to shake and Mort wrapped his arms around her. "Deja, please tell me what happened." He was begging her now.
"It...it was...Shooter," she cried softly.
Mort's face was puzzled. "Shooter?" he repeated.
Deja nodded. "What did he do to you?" Mort asked.
After several minutes passed, Deja finally brought herself to talk. "He raped me," her voice cracked.
Mort's eyes practically doubled in size. "He did what?"
"He came into the bedroom last night, pretending to be you, and I fell for it. I thought it was you...at first. We began to have sex...and...and then it began to hurt. I asked you, him, to slow down, that he was hurting me. And he just kept going," she wiped the tears from her eyes. "He held me down and I couldn't move. I called for you, but you never came."
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," he said. "How could I have let this happen?"
"You didn't know Mort. There was nothing you could've done." It was strange how she was now the one comforting him.
"Well, that explains the markings on your wrists, but why is your skin so...different?"
"I took a really hot shower. Trying to cleanse myself, I guess."
"Oh, baby. I'm so sorry." Mort didn't know what to do. He had to get rid of Shooter somehow, but that wouldn't be an easy task. But this couldn't go on. Shooter had violated Deja, and Mort was not about to allow that to happen again.
"Deja, I need you to do something for me, for us, for our child," Mort said.
She was finally calming down, and gave him a funny look. "What could you possibly need me to do?" she inquired softly.
"I need you to leave," he answered seriously.
"What!"
"It's not safe with you around here. I need to work these demons out on my own. I can't risk him coming back and hurting you again. My conscious can't take that."
"Mort, you need me. I can't leave you now. Where would I even go?" Mort was losing it, she thought. This wasn't something he could handle alone.
"You can stay with your mom for awhile, can't you?" he asked.
"I suppose, but I just started my life here with you. What would I tell her?"
"Make something up. Say, I'm getting the house worked on and didn't want you to live in that kind of environment, being pregnant and all. You'll think of something."
"Why don't we just go get some sort of psychiatric help," she pleaded.
"That won't help. I've got to get rid of Shooter on my own and I can't risk you being around and getting involved. You have to leave."
