Mort groggily opened his eyes slowly and rubbed them into focus before putting on his glass which had fallen off. He shifted his gaze to the clock. It was just about 5:30. The sky was still gray and cloudy, the thunder was more constant. A few flashes of lightening would light up the clouds. He sat up in bed and looked around his room. He had a bag of chips on his nightstand and Mort nodded to himself. Grabbing one, he sighed and stuffed it in his mouth. It was stale, but yet still good.

He threw his feet over the edge of the bed and rubbed the back of his neck, tired as hell. "This is the life." He told himself, sarcastically. "The fucking life. Having on a crush on a teen when your middle aged, having an insane hick always on your back, dirt poor..." Mort walked out of his room, "And all of the other shit that I have to deal with."

Walking down the steps, and into his living room he laid on the couch, staring at the unlit fireplace. He wished he had a tv. At least he could watch others' lives, their perfect worlds. Their full lives, scandals, loves, secrets, friends, drama. Mort wished for something like that. He wished for the perfect life. How in the hell would that happen though? God, in Mort's mind, surely hated him with no doubt.

He rested his arm over his forehead as he sighed deeply. There was no one to care for Mort... all except for Katie. Katie though was his house keeper... at least she was a human he could talk to. So why did Mort give her a few days off? Oh yes, that's right- to mourn for Derek. Derek that lucky son of a bitch. He was dead yet still had people saying how much he meant to them, how good he was, how much they missed him. Derek didn't deserve it. No way did he deserve all of that, especially from Katie.

Katie.

Why was Mort care so much for Katie? Why did he care for her missing Derek?

"Because you're jealous."

"Shut-up." He grumbled. "Shut-up before I make you." Mort said, thinking of the set of knives he had in his kitchen drawer. The sharp blades. He could go on with his threat... Mort could cut his other side out of him. That way he'd be just one person. Just Mort. To his pleasure, his better half was listening to him. The voice stopped.

He heaved himself off of the couch, and shuffled to the kitchen, feeling a thirst for something. He threw open the fridge door and peered into it. It was just about empty. Katie needed to get more food for him. Oh-well, Mort wasn't hungry anyway. He only wanted something to drink. Just something to drink. There was a bottle in the way back, the bottom shelf. He reached in and pulled it out, eyeing it up. A Jack Daniels drink. Mort lifted it to his lips and glanced around himself. He hadn't drank since Katie started working for him. She wasn't here right now though. She wasn't here for him when he needed her to be. Mort threw his head back, letting the drink flow down his throat.

Mort took a few more gulps then walked into the living room again, the Jack Daniels in hand. He leaned back on his couch and took another swig. Who cares if he got himself drunk? There was no one to see it. No one to help him. No one cares... Life isn't fair. He tipped his head back again, taking another drink. A knock on the door interrupted him. Dammit.

He get up and walked over to the door, setting the bottle on the fifth step of the staircase behind him, then threw a shirt over it. Mort turned back to the door and pulled it open to find a girl standing in front of him. Not just any girl though, but Katie. Rain was beginning to fall behind her. "Katie..." He said in a soft voice, looking at her, "Come in..." Mort stepped out of the way and Katie came in, her hair falling in front of her face. "What's the matter?"

She gulpped and shook her head not being able to say anything. Mort put a comforting arm around her shoulders and lead her to the couch, sitting her down on it. "Now c'mon, Kate... What's the matter?"

"I think my car is stuck in the mud." She said this as if it was an excuse to be in his home, "I'm sorry to bother you."

"Don't worry. It's not a bother to me. I love your company."

She lifted her eyes to his and smiled a small, sweet smile, "Thank-you, Mort."

He nodded and let his eyes rest on her legs, though he had a thoughtful look covering his eyes. She was wearing a short, jean skirt, showing off her tan, smooth legs. Mort's hand was grabbing at the end of his own baggy shirt, and he smiled. "No problem, Katie."

"I don't know who else to talk to though."

"I see." He said, slowly moving his eyes from her legs, to her middle, her chest, then finally up to her face. "What do you need to say?" Mort asked, his hands covering her's.

"It's finally starting to sink in about Derek..." Hearing that this was going to be a conversation about Derek, Mort let go of her hands in annoyance and leaned against the cushions of the couch. "You know... I-I don't think he killed himself..." Mort's eyes snapped back to her at hearing this, "I think he was murdered."

"For the better." He said before he could stop himself.

"What?" She asked with wide eyes.

"What goes around comes around. He did something to deserve it if he didn't kill himself. Katie, he most likely deserved what he got. These things just don't happen... It's all for the better." He said in a matter-of-factly way. Before he knew what was happening, Katie's hand was across his face. It stung. "WHAT?" He asked in anger, "HE DESERVED IT!" Mort caught Katie's hand the second time, and he gripped onto her wrist tightly. He could see that she was trying not to wince. He threw her wrist away from him.

Katie stood up, "HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT! I loved him!"

"If you loved him, why are you always flirting with me? Tell me that!" She said nothing but turned and walked out of his home, slamming the door behind her. Mort moved toward the window and watched her as she ran through the now pouring rain, and climbed into her car, trying to start it. But it was stuck in the mud. She would not look back at him though. He saw she threw her keys into the seat next to her, and folded her arms across her chest, slinking down into the seat. Was she crying. Did he make her cry?

Mort scowled and turned away, walking to his staircase. He grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels, he gulped the rest of it, finishing it off.

"Fuck her!" He muttered to himself, "Bitch." Mort looked at the empty bottle. He thought she loved him. Mort threw the bottle against the fireplace and it shattered. Mort wanted to shout. He wanted to scream. Now Katie hated him, no one cared for him. Katie was his last hope. She wanted nothing more to do with him now.

His chocolate eyes looked to the kitchen, and on the table he saw something he hadn't noticed before. A black farmer's hat. It was Shooter's. What was the backwood trash doing in his house! He stormed over to it and out of annoyance and anger, pulled it onto his head. His eyes slowly turned to his reflection. With an empty feeling, no emotion he stared at himself. Then his attention turned to Katie's car, and to Katie sitting low in the seat.

He traced the brim of the hat with his finger then pulled the front door opened, walking across the porch, stepping into the rain. There he stood, in the pouring rain, behind Katie's car.

Katie was the last person that mattered to him, but she now surely hated him.

With a smug look on his face, his feet began moving to her car.