Chapter 36

Mort pulled into a parking garage and he and Deja took a short walk towards a theater. "Is this it?" Deja asked.

"Yes, it is."

"We're going to see a Broadway show?" A look of excitement crossed her face.

Mort nodded. "Which one?" she asked, not being able to see the marquee quite yet.

"Well, I thought long and hard about this. I know you love Broadway and it's been a long time since you've been. So...I thought I'd take you to see something you haven't mentioned. I do think you'll like it though," he said.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Deja said impatiently.

"Aida."

Her eyes widened. "I've read about that. Elton John had something to do with it right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

She leaned over and kissed him on the lips. "Thank you. You knew exactly what I needed."

They entered the theater and took their seats in one of the boxes. Deja had never experienced a Broadway show as romantic as this. The story was beautiful and sharing it with Mort was even more special.

They pulled up to their house at about 11:45 pm. Mort was surprised that Deja was still wide awake. Over the last few weeks her body had worn her down and she was normally dozing off every chance she could. But 'Aida' had awakened her. She hadn't stopped talking about how breathtaking the show was since they left the city.

Walking into the house, Mort turned on the living room light. "Turn it back off," Deja said.

"Huh?"

"Turn the light back off. I'll light this candle." She picked up the candle and lighter on the coffee table and lit the candle. She kicked off her shoes and placed her shawl on the chair next to the couch.

Seductively, she made her way to Mort. She had a look of lust in her eyes and Mort knew what was on her mind. They hadn't been intimate since the birth of Alexis and Anthony and Mort was ready for whatever Deja was willing to do.

She backed him against the wall and flipped the light switch off. Her left hand was held firm against the wall as her right hand found it's way to Mort's hair. She lightly brushed it out of his face. Her finger trailed along his facial features and outlined them. She began at his forehead and went down the length of his nose. He closed his eyes. She then outlined his lips, tracing her fingers over them softly. She leaned in and kissed each of his eyelids.

Her body was pressed tightly against his and he was enjoying her touches. It was almost as if she was blind and exploring his face for the first time. At this moment he was putty in her hands.

Deja moved in and covered his lips with her own. She ran her hands through his hair as his hands roamed her body. He picked her up in both of his arms and carried her up the stairs.

Over the next hour, the couple shared their love in every way imaginable. Deja hadn't felt this free in a long time. This evening was exactly what she needed.

After wallowing in their afterglow, Mort excused himself and went downstairs into the kitchen to get more ice for his injured hand.

After tying a piece of cloth wrapped with ice around his hand he drank a glass of water. He was completely exhausted. Deja had really tired him out.

Making his way back upstairs, he heard a noise from the front porch. Ignoring it, he kept ascending. He heard the noise again. He couldn't quite make out what it was, but decided to go see anyway.

He headed back downstairs and opened the door. There, not even four feet from him stood Shooter. Mort's face turned pale and he wasn't sure of what to do.

Shooter tipped his large black hat at Mort. "Evenin'."

"What do you want?" Mort said in an angry whisper.

"Came to see you. Been a while. Hurt yurself?" he asked pointing at Mort's hand.

"No," Mort said matter-of-factly.

"Mind if I come in?" Shooter asked, although he knew he didn't have to.

"Yes. What do you want?"

Shooter made his way past Mort and entered the house. "Police don't seem t' be botherin' you anymore. That's good." He took a seat on the couch. "Did yur lil' girlfriend tell you 'bout what we did?" He had a smirk on his face that made Mort uncomfortable.

"You mean what you did!" Mort said, his tone increasing.

"She likes it rough, Morty boy. You could never do that. Felt good too."

"You bastard!" Mort went after him. They began to wrestle and this time Mort was actually ahead. He had Shooter pinned to the floor and was looking for something to hit him in the head with. Before finding an object, Shooter got one of his hand free and took Mort down. He hit Mort hard in the jaw.

He got up as Mort held the side of his face. Shooter walked to the fireplace and found the poker. He took it and hit Mort in the back. A few more whacks to Mort's head and he was out cold. Shooter made his way upstairs and knew exactly whom he was searching for.

Deja was half asleep, but heard Mort make his way into the room. "Mmmmm, what took you so long. I started missing you," she said.

Mort sat on the bed next to her and leaned down to kiss her. As soon as the kiss ended Deja knew something wasn't right. All evening long his kisses were sweet and gentle. This kiss was rough and out of place. She could barely make out anything in the darkness, but she feared he had the cold look in his eyes. Shooter's eyes.

"Mort?" she asked nervously. No answer. That was the indication she needed that it was Shooter.

"Mort, honey. Come get in the bed with me," she said, pretending like she didn't know it was Shooter.

Suddenly, her face stung from the slap of Shooter's hand. "Don't you play dumb with me! You know I ain't Mort!"

"I'm...I'm sorry," she cried softly.

She glanced toward the nightstand. "Gonna go for the gun?" he asked, his accent thick.

She let out a whimper. Mort had instructed her a few months prior that she should move the gun to a new location so if Shooter did come back he wouldn't know where it was. She had placed the gun under her side of the mattress. It was just a matter of her slipping her hand underneath and pulling it out. Mort had sent her to the store to purchase bullets for the gun. She didn't want to do it, but she was glad she had now.

Shooter had climbed on top of her and pressed himself down on her. In the moonlight, his eyes were the only thing she could make out. They were filled with hatred.

"Mort! Mort, please help!" she yelled.

"Ol' Mort won't be helpin' you t'night," he smirked.

"Mort please! I need you. You can beat him!"

Shooter pulled the covers from around her body. He was still straddling her, but had moved his hands to unbuckle his belt. This gave Deja the free moment she needed. Her right hand moved quickly under the mattress and pulled out the small black gun.

Grabbing it with both hands, she pointed it directly at Shooter's face. "Get off me!" she yelled.

Shooter threw up his hands and moved away from her. Deja neared the door and turned the light on. Mort looked completely disheveled as Shooter. "Now yur not really gon' shoot me are you?"

"Stay back!" she yelled. She didn't want to have to shoot him, but if it was necessary she would.

She backed out of the room and Shooter followed, his hands in the air as if to show he had no weapons. "Look darlin' I jus' wanted to have some fun."

"Stay back!"

She slowly backed down the stairs and Shooter, apparently unafraid of being shot, followed. She had backed herself all the way to the front door. One hand left the gun and began to work the doorknob. Shooter saw this as his moment to grab the gun from her.

He advanced and without thinking she shot him. He stumbled backward and grabbed his chest with his arm. "You bitch!" he yelled as he ran towards her.

So afraid of what he might do, she shot him two more times. Once more in the chest and then in the head. He fell to the floor. Blood began to seep out of his body. Deja couldn't believe what she'd done. Dropping the gun, she ran to Mort's side.

She picked him up and placed his body in her lap. His body was limp and lifeless in her arms. Tears were now flowing freely from her eyes. "Oh my God! Oh my God! What have I done!" she yelled over and over. "Mort, I'm so sorry! What have I done!"

She didn't know how long she'd been in that position for. Everything felt like such a daze for her. She eventually made her way to the phone and called the police.