Disclaimer: I still don't own Mort or his sexy body…though I wish I did!

AN: Well, here's chapter two. I hope that it reads okay. I should mention that Mort's kind of having weird 'psychic visions'…kind of like in that show, Medium (which I don't own, but love very much). Anyone who is uncomfortable with the 'psychic vision' thing is encouraged to stick around because it will only be for the first few chapters…I'm not saying anything more than that (wink, wink). If anyone is uncomfortable with this story and its content, or if anything doesn't make sense, please leave a review or e-mail me. Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 2: Dreams or Reality:

Sixth Month of Confinement: Mort's POV:

Staring at the paper in front of him, Mort angrily tapped his pen, trying with all his creative talents to describe his vivid dreams. He believed them to be some sort of comfort produced by his psyche, trying to calm the internal warfare raging inside his mind. Mort frequently dreamed of a soft feminine voice whispering to him in his sleep, telling him that things would be alright and what a good man he was for staying here. Flowing red hair and doe-brown eyes would fill his vision for a brief moment before a nurse or orderly forcefully woke him and made him get up.

'Just a few minutes longer and I might have been able to touch her myself!' Mort thought, extremely bitter that his one safe-haven was being disturbed so frequently…it was ironic that it was being ruined by the staff members who were supposed to be helping him. 'Too bad the dream only happens when I need it the most.'

It nearly broke him up inside that he only saw his dream-visitor when he'd had a bad day at the hospital. Whenever he'd had a good day, his dreams went unvisited, but when he'd been attacked or punished by someone, she was always there to comfort him, to whisper her support to him as he slept. In a twisted sort of way, it took Mort back to the early days of his marriage to Amy, to the times when she had been there to hold him whenever he'd had writer's block, or when he'd had a bad day. This illusionary visitor was so different from Amy, though…she was so much more supportive and comforting than Amy, so much more loyal…no wonder he enjoyed her short-lived company so much.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mort knew that the problem was that he was falling in love with a woman that couldn't possibly exist anywhere but in his dreams…


Next Day: Mort's POV:

"Mr. Rainey, it's time for your walk outside."

A feminine voice, but not the one from his dreams…he ignored it. Instead, he continued to scribble his ideas out on paper, trying to capture every detail he could about the woman who came to him in his time of need…God, that sounded cheesy…he snorted in disgust at the idea of a cheesy thought coming to him while he was writing about her…

"Mr. Rainey, you've got to stop writing now and take your walk with your nurse," said the voice again. "It's not healthy for you to stay inside like this all the time. It's been days since you've gone outside, and you really need the exercise."

Mort simply gave a snort/grunt at the speaker and kept writing. Once he'd worn down the point of the pencil he was using, he put it down and picked another one up. They wouldn't allow him access to a pencil sharpener of any kind, afraid he'd smash it and hurt himself with the parts, but they let him have a pile of pencils (and occasionally, pen) to write with. Now he needed to finish the description of last night's visitation before it faded from his mind, before he couldn't get it written correctly on paper for him to read later and look back on with a fondness he thought he'd never have again after Amy. He'd never forget his dream, oh no, but it wouldn't be the same after today…he needed to write this out now, while it was fresh, before it lost its effect on him.

"Mr. Rainey, you have one minute before I take the pencil and paper from you," warned the voice.

Mort continued to ignore her, focused on his task. This was too important, and he needed to get this done! 'Why can't they just leave me alone? Why can't they see that I'm happiest when I write about her?'

"I'm serious, Mr. Rainey…you've got thirty seconds…"

They wouldn't seriously take away his paper and pencils, would they? They couldn't, it was his only freedom here in this hellhole they called a psychiatric hospital!

"Alright, Frank, do it."

Before Mort knew what was happening, he was being hauled back from his table and two nurses were snatching up the writing tools. Struggling against the arms of his captor, Mort watched in horror as the sheets of paper were taken out of the room and out of his sight.

"No, you can't take them away from me!" he cried, panicked. "Please, I'll be good, I promise!"

"You can have them back at the end of the day, after you've taken your walk and had some fresh air," the nurse gently replied. "After dinner, you can write as much as you want, but you need to get outside for a bit."

Mort nearly broke down and cried, but what could he do? He knew he couldn't fight these people, especially when his work, any of his work, was in danger, so he might as well give in. It was the only way to get his papers, and thus, his visions, of her back. So, instead of arguing, he simply nodded and went slack in the orderly's arms.

Surprised at the sudden weight, the orderly nearly dropped him, but was able to recover himself and put Mort on his feet. After they were sure that Mort wasn't going to try anything hostile, the nurse and orderly escorted Mort outside into the gardens.

Besides, he could always try and write later…and who knows, maybe tonight he would get another visitation?


That night: Author's POV:

As the inhabitants of the Mary Preston Psychiatric Hospital in New York City drifted off to sleep, the staff members gathered for the traditional evening meeting to decide the fates of their patients. Most would feel that some patients had made progress, while others would declare that the same patients had in fact gotten worse. In the end, however, they would all fall into agreement about one thing or another, and some patients would be sent home even as a few new patients drifted in to take their place. Tonight's topic of discussion was…

"Morton Rainey," declared Doctor Mark Vincent, holding up a manila folder. "Holly, how do you feel about Mr. Rainey?"

The nurse from that morning's 'incident' sighed as she combed jet-black hair out of ice-blue eyes. "Well, he's obsessed with writing," she said, leaning back in her chair. "But then, he was a writer before he got put in here, so that's nothing new."

Dr. Vincent rolled his eyes as the rest of the staff broke out into giggles or chuckles. "Okay, Nurse Way, what is your professional opinion and diagnosis about Mr. Rainey's mental health?" he asked, a telltale smirk betraying his professional words.

Holly Way smirked back at him. "Well, Doctor Vincent, I can tell you that he's been making good progress," she said. "He seems to be back to what his agent calls 'obsessive writing self,' the one he was before his divorce."

Frank Marcy, the orderly from that same incident that morning, snorted. "Yeah, he's a good guy, for man obsessed with a woman from his imagination." Eyebrows went up around the room. "Oh, come on, you mean you haven't actually read the stuff he writes down on those sheets of paper?"

"And you have?" Holly asked, glaring at him. "Those are private writings, and no one has the right to invade that."

"It isn't violating privacy when it's just lying there on his desk," Frank stated, trying to defend himself. "And what he writes is insight to his mentality!"

"Alright, okay," Dr. Vincent said, holding up his hands. "Let's hear what the papers say. They might hold something that could tell us more about Mr. Rainey and possibly tell us what's wrong with him."

Frank straightened himself up and put his professional face on as the others leaned in to pay attention. When Frank spoke his professional opinion on something, it was time to listen. Of all the doctors, nurses, and orderlies at the hospital, Frank was the only one that managed to get the 'inside info' on all the patients, and had it all locked up in his head. He didn't let the information out if it would ruin the patient's means to leave (especially when it was meaningless), but if he thought it was either significantly helpful towards the patient's health or told of the patient being a danger to others, he told everyone about it.

"According to his work, Mr. Rainey apparently suffers from hallucinations that are presently leading towards an unhealthy obsession with an illusion born from loneliness and long-time seclusion," he stated, his face solemn. "His hallucination is that of a young attractive woman that only comes to him when he's had a troublesome encounter with the other patients or with the staff. I believe that this hallucination, or 'vision', as he calls it, is due to his subconscious trying to please him and sooth him psychologically."

"Well, that isn't unusual," Doctor Vincent remarked, looking skeptical. "After all, lots of people retreat into fantasy if they feel unhappy or rejected by the world, so that really isn't something we should be worried about. And our subconscious only releases this images to help us cope whenever we feel threatened by something or need to escape."

"I agree," Holly declared, looking around the table. "The only thing keeping Mr. Rainey from being released is the fact that he sometimes has hostile encounters with the other patients, some of which I doubt are his fault. If he manages to keep those encounters to a minimum, I think he should be released as soon as possible." The others nodded, except for Frank.

"No, Mort Rainey is so obsessed with this 'dream girl' of his, so much so that he actually believes she exists," he said. "I've heard him talking to himself, saying how he was going to go out and find her. I heard him actually talking to the paper, as though he was telling an actual person, that he was going to search for her in every way he can."

The staff began to look worried. A person of such a deep obsession with an illusion could quickly become a serious danger to those of the public, especially to those who look even remotely similar to the patient's hallucinations. Special cases like this definitely needed to be treated so that there was no danger to the public, or to the patient.

"Okay, then, I guess Mr. Rainey is going to be with us for a while, then," Doctor Vincent stated, sighing as he rubbed his face tiredly. "It's a good thing that we're getting some new help or else we'd never get anything done around here!"

The staff members chuckled half-heartedly. With the budget cuts, twists, and turns made to accommodate more patients, several experienced members of the staff had to be dismissed from the hospital. The problem was, with more patients coming in and fewer staff members, things were becoming a touch much for those already working a 12-hour day, six or seven days a week. They needed more help, but were unable to get it when it counted.

"Well, now that that's been decided, let's all get out of here and get some rest," Frank said. "I really need a burger and a beer!"

"And I need to get home to my handsome hubby," Holly said, grinning. "Tony's been going nuts about not seeing me more…I mean, other than an hour before bedtime, when we brush our teeth."

"Oh, yeah, say 'hi' to him for me," Doctor Vincent said. "Goodnight, everyone!"

The staff all waved and headed out towards their cars as the night shift drifted in.


That Night: Mort's POV:

As he lay in bed, Mort focused his eyes on the ceiling, trying to get his mind to relax. The day had been abnormally long since the staff hadn't yet returned his writings to him. The absence of his work made sure that putting his mind and body at ease was not going to happen any time soon. For the entire day, Mort had tried to keep the details of what he was trying to write in his head, but it was slowly fading away, and this was beginning to take its toll on him. If he didn't write something soon, he was going to…well, he didn't know what he was going to do, but it wouldn't be pretty.

'And if you do anything, they'll be sure to keep you here a whole lot longer than you want to be here,' Mort thought to himself, running his hands through his hair. If he couldn't write, what could he do?

Looking around the room, Mort tried to find something that he could do or use to occupy his mind. Technically he was supposed to be asleep, but he had an hour or two before a nurse showed up to check his room…and since he couldn't sleep, it was only fair to do something until he felt sleepy, right? Walking around the room was out of the question since it was about the size of a large closet…only enough room for a bed, desk, chair, small bed-side table, and a chest of drawers. Still, he should count himself lucky that he didn't have to share with anyone else.

Quietly moving around in the semi-dark room (a light would have attracted attention), Mort made his way to the dresser, thankful that the moon was out so that he wouldn't be blundering around and making noise. Opening the drawers, he tried to find something that he might have placed in there absentmindedly. There was nothing. Sighing, he headed back towards his bed and lay down. There was nothing worse than being a writer and having nothing to write with, especially when you've got an idea just waiting to explode onto paper.

'Sometimes I think that they're trying to make me more insane than I already am,' he thought, closing his eyes.

Before he knew it, he was asleep.


Dream Sequence: Mort's POV:

It's alright, Mort…but I'm afraid that things will only get worse before they get better…

"But why?" he asked, reaching a desperate hand towards her…she always seemed to be just out of reach…

Don't worry about it, she said, her lips curled into a soft smile that put him at ease. Just promise to remain calm until the time is right.

"When will that be?" Mort asked, trying to give her a 'puppy-dog' look by widening his brown eyes.

She chuckled. You'll know…trust me, you'll know…but promise to be calm until then?

"I promise." He reached again for her.

She gave him a quick smile, and then she was gone.


The Next Day, Mort's POV:

The chief doctor and his nurses had scheduled a meeting together with him for that afternoon, and Mort was not looking forward to it. He knew that it usually meant bad things, since most of the patients that went in with high hopes came out looking emotionally crushed. Very few had gone in depressed and came out absolutely ecstatic because they were being released. Mort could only hope that he was one of the latter: dreading the meeting and ending up a free man.

After finishing his breakfast, which tasted like a mixture of paste and cardboard, Mort had found a pen under his bed and was currently writing on the wall behind his dresser, hoping he wouldn't get caught defacing his room and writing without permission. He made sure to keep an ear open for anyone coming down the hallway, just in case. He had just finished the last sentence and had slipped the dresser back into place when there was a knock on the door.

Quickly tossing the pen into a slightly open drawer, Mort quietly slipped the drawer shut and sat on the bed, putting his innocent face on, knowing he wouldn't be allowed to write again for a while if they suspected him of breaking the rules. Taking a quick breath, Mort relaxed himself and smiled as a nurse came in, closely followed by an orderly, and saw that they were the same people from yesterday. What were their names again? Oh, yes, Nurse Holly and Frank. Nice people; they were nice to him and he kind of liked them…well, whenever he paid enough attention to those around him, that is.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rainey," Nurse Holly said, giving him a bright smile. "You're looking in good spirits today."

Mort smiled and nodded. If he looked happy and sane, they might give him back his writing tools…

"Well, it's time to go see the doctors, so hop to it," she said, nodding towards the door.

The walk was quick, and after sitting there for an hour, Mort couldn't help feel anxious throughout the whole 'inquisition' they put him through. They talked in calm voices, but that only made him even more uncomfortable. Mort answered all of their questions politely, and he thought that he was making a fairly good impression when Doctor Vincent asked a question that put a severe shock to his system.

"Tell me about the lady you've been writing about, Mr. Rainey," he said, leaning forward over the desk.

Mort swallowed and opened his mouth to lie, but when he saw his work lying on the table, he knew that lying would be a bad idea. "Well," he said, licking his lips nervously, "she comes to me in my dreams and she makes everything seem okay." He gave them a small smile. "I guess you could say that she brings me comfort when I need it the most."

"According to some of these sheets, you seem to have quite the attachment to this dream angel of yours, Mr. Rainey," stated Doctor Vincent. "Do you believe that this person could exist outside in the real world?"

"Well, I guess it would be possible," Mort replied slowly. "I mean, strange stuff happens all the time, right?"

"And what would happen if there were an actual woman out there that resembled the one from your dreams, Mr. Rainey?" Doctor Vincent pressed. "What if you met her and she didn't know you or want anything to do with you?"

Mort looked up at him in horror. "No, she wouldn't do that," he whispered. "She cares about me! She told me so!" He started rubbing his face with his hands. "No, she'd never abandon me like that, I know she wouldn't…" Mort trailed off, though he still muttered denials under his breath.

"That was all I needed to see and hear." Doctor Vincent looked at the other nurses before turning his attention back towards Mort. "Mr. Rainey, such an unhealthy obsession with a hallucination could lead to you harming innocent people outside of these hospital walls. Therefore we have no choice but to admit and treat you until you are ready to let go of this image carved into your psyche."

Mort didn't even have a chance to reply before he was dragged back to his room.


Back in the Board Room: Author's POV:

Holly watched the retreating figure of Mort Rainey with sadness and pity. "I can't help but feel bad for the guy," she softly said, blue eyes clouding with tears. "He really is a sweet man, I'm sure."

"It's for his own good," Doctor Vincent replied, falling back in his chair. "We can't let an image-obsessed man into the general public. Besides, I'm sure things will work out for him in the end …"

"We can only hope," Frank muttered under his breath. No one replied.

AN: Well, I hope that it looked okay, and that people aren't uncomfortable with a temporary 'psychic vision' to make the story more interesting. Let me know what you think by reviewing!