Author's Note: sorry this took so long to get out, but the introduction of a new character (especially one that isn't mine), always takes awhile for me to write. But I'm happy with how she turned out, I think. The next chapter might take awhile too, because I'm going to have to write a lot of it from Mort's POV I think, and that's hard to do when your character can't speak yet. So be patient, and send lots of encouragement (REVIEWS!!!! ).

Glancing down at the paper in her hand, Carly confirmed that she had the right address. 2436 Nachtmere, Derry. The house she found herself looking at was on the small side, and painted a light, dove grey. But it had a tidy yard, flower gardens just starting to fill with spring blooms, and a flagstone walk leading to the door from the . . . Picket fence. Well, isn't this the very picture of normality. Truth be told, the house looked as if it would be more in place in Cape Cod or Nantucket.

Carly shook her head and looked back down at the file in her lap. Amy Rainey. An antiquities broker. Divorced from Mort Rainey in the fall of last year. Engaged to one Ted Milner as of three months ago. Carly compared these notes with the ones in Rainey's folder. And that would be around the same time that she stopped visiting Rainey. I wonder if the engagement was a result of her not visiting, or if it was the other way around?

It'd been a month since she'd gotten Rainey, and two weeks since he'd last communicated, and Carly was getting fed up. She needed more information. Well, one thing was certain; sitting here in her car was not going to get her the answers she was looking for. Sighing, she put her folders and notes back into her briefcase, then climbed out of the car, pulling up her hood as she did so. It might be sunny out, but it was doing nothing to stop the light rain that was falling. My hair is frizzy enough as it is without actually getting wet, she thought darkly.

Striding up the flagstone path, Carly came to the front door which was painted a bright, cheerful blue and had a wreath of dried flowers hanging on it. Mrs. Rainey must have control of the décor on the premises. Whether that was by consent or compliance had yet to be seen.

Slipping her hood from her head, Carly knocked on the door, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she waited for someone to answer. It took several seconds, but she finally heard someone approaching.

A man – she assumed the fiancé – opened the door. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm Dr. Carly Beckham." She held out her hand.

"Ted Milner," the man offered, shaking hands with her.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Milner. I'm actually here to speak to Mrs. Rainey, though. It concerns her ex-husband."

Ted gave her a long glance, before stepping back to allow her into the house. "Of course. It'll just be a minute."

She gave him a small smile that was full of politeness but no real warmth. "Of course." Milner left, and she surveyed her surroundings. The inside of the house was just as neat and tidy as the outside had been. One of the two people who lived here obviously had the time and desire to clean. That or they hire a maid and a gardener. But she didn't think that was really the case. There was simply too much personal debris around for that to be true.

Carly was jolted out of her bland perusal of the house by a crash that came from what sounded like the kitchen. A stack of cookie sheets perhaps, or a punch of those old tin pie plates.

As the sounds of dropped objects died, Carly heard a distraught voice. "Mort! What about Mort! What's wrong? What do you mean she didn't say?" These questions were followed by two pairs of footsteps; one light and quick, one heavier and almost resigned.

She turned in the direction of the footsteps just in time to see a lanky blond woman come into the room. Carly's neutral opinion of her started to waver towards approving when she saw the concern in the other woman's brown eyes. Before she could start with the professional rigmarole again, the ex-missus Rainey interrupted her. "Who are you, and what's wrong with Mort?" The woman's hand was clenching her fianc's enough to make the fingers go pale.

Carly could tell this woman was expecting the worst, and she felt somewhat guilty about not explaining her dilemma right away, but the mores of her profession held her back. "I'm Dr. Carly Beckham. I'm a doctor at Briar Ridge, and I have some questions for you. Your ex-husband has been transferred to my caseload because of his lack of progress since coming to the Ridge." She held out her hand, trying to instill a sense of competence in the clearly shaken woman.

Amy took Carly's hand and gave it a quick shake, relief showing on her face. "Oh my god, I thought you were here because . . . ."

"Mr. Rainey is physically fine, I assure you. I stopped in and saw him this morning before driving here." Shifting her briefcase in her grip slightly, she restated, "I do need to ask you some questions though, regarding a course of treatment I'm considering." She glanced at Ted, "And I'm afraid that we'll need to speak alone."

"Now wait a minute –"

"I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Milner." Carly raised her chin just enough to exercise professional arrogance. "The reason I'm here is because Mrs. Rainey is still listed as having power of attorney for Mr. Rainey's personal and professional interests. Not only that, but what I need to speak to her about happened over the course of her marriage, so therefore the rules of spousal privilege apply. I'd be violating the law and leaving myself and my employer open to legal action if I didn't ask you to leave."

"It's alright, Ted," Amy said softly, giving his hand a squeeze of reassurance. Milner wavered, but he finally shrugged and left the room. Amy then gestured for Carly to take a seat in the living room. "Ted knows how difficult it is for me to talk about Mort. I still blame myself for what happened. If I'd tried years ago, I might have gotten him to go to counseling, at least marriage counseling."

Carly didn't comment. Instead she opened her bag and pulled out a legal pad and a pen. "Mrs. Rainey –"

"Please, just call me Amy."

Carly nodded, and continued, forcing herself not to wonder about that. "Amy, I appreciate that you're willing to talk to me. Before we start, I'd like to show you this." She handed over the sheet of paper that'd been produced between her and Rainey nearly two weeks ago.

"What is it?" Amy asked, looking at the paper. Carly didn't answer. When the other woman paled and her hands started trembling, Carly knew she'd figured it out. "Oh my god, did Mort write this?"

"Some of it, yes. About two weeks ago. Afterwards, he promptly destroyed the typewriter. I . . . are you alright?" Carly's professionalism quickly turned to concern when tears slipped from the other woman's eyes.

"I . . . Dr. Wright told me that he didn't expect Mort to ever communicate sanely again. And after seeing him . . . watching as the raving turned into silence . . ." she trailed off.

Carly cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well, that is certainly the most logical conclusion in a case like this. However, I've always seen such . . . diagnoses . . . to be personal challenges."

"Thank you," Amy whispered. "Whether he ever talks or not, I thank you for this. I'd started to believe that he'd died. That he just wasn't there any more." There was silence as Amy regained her composure. She tried to hand the paper back, but Carly wouldn't take it.

"That's a photocopy of our conversation. You're welcome to keep it if you wish." Amy nodded, and set it down next to her chair. "Now, I have some questions about why you stopped visiting your ex-husband three months ago. The visitor's log shows that you had been coming my the Ridge about once every week, but then your visits started to taper off, and finally stopped altogether. Can you tell me why that was?"

Amy shrugged. "I wasn't doing any good."

"But it says here," Carly flipped to the appropriate page, "that in the first month or so of his internment, that you visited even though your presence made him 'violent, manic, and visibly disturbed,' and that the episodes lasted well after you left."

"Yes . . . I don't know who Mort was then, but he wasn't the man I married. I could look in his eyes . . . and he just wasn't there. Perhaps I was hoping that someday, if I came enough, that one day I'd look into his eyes and he would be there."

Carly thought there was more to it than that, an element of self-punishment or repentance perhaps, but it was none of her business. After making a brief note, she asked, "So when he started to withdraw . . . ?"

"It was just too much. It was worse even than someone else being . . . being behind his eyes. He just became blank. His face, his eyes, everything. And after awhile, he didn't even seem to notice me – or anyone else. Dr. Wright suggested that since seeing Mort like that was upsetting me, and not benefiting him in any way, that I stop." The woman sighed. "And part of me leapt at the chance to be off the hook. I wasn't his wife, he wasn't really my concern." She looked up at Carly then. "I knew that it was wrong – after ten years of marriage, two people just can't become perfect strangers – but life just seemed to conspire to keep me away. And when it let up, I was afraid to go back. It hurt too much to see a man who survived on his intellect loose touch with reality so thoroughly."

"Mmm . . ." Carly made several more notes, then looked up. "Now, what I'm going to ask is probably going to be difficult for you, but when did you first notice that Mr. Rainey was not quite himself, and what was going on? I know you've answered this question before, but I was wondering if you had any other thoughts on it."

"No, not really. I mean, I could see how the divorce was just tearing him down, emotionally. And that's the part I blame myself for, and think 'what-if's' over, but I can't say that I was doing too much better. I know I was, and I credit Ted for that, but . . ." she shrugged. "I was just really concerned for Mort through all that. He was under so much pressure, and I think he was having a really bad case of writer's block – he said something to me about how his mistress had disserted him – but when I saw him . . . he was still Mort." Amy shifted in her chair, pulling her legs up under her. "I know I should have said something, should have pressed for details. Mort never wanted to admit it, but he was admitted to the hospital for a few days for a nervous breakdown, but he never wanted to admit that he'd had one. He refused to go to the therapy sessions that the doctors suggested . . . refused to take any medication. Perhaps if I had –"

"'Perhaps' don't help me now," Carly stated gently but firmly. "You said that looking into Mr. Rainey's eyes, that it seemed as if someone else was looking out. Can you explain that? Or at least pinpoint the first time you felt that sensation?"

"I suppose that the first time I can say I say with any certainty that the Mort I knew was gone . . . was . . . was that day in the cabin." Carly didn't bother asking which day she meant. "I'd just talked to him on the phone, and he'd just sounded horrible, like he hadn't gotten sleep in weeks. I asked if there I was anything I could do for him, not expecting him to suggest anything, but he wanted to talk. In person. Alone. I went, even though part of me knew better, but I refused to believe the worst of Mort. He's such a gentle person, that . . ." she laughed. "You probably won't believe me when I say that though." Without giving Carly a chance to reply, she continued. "I went to the cabin and found the place was just a total mess. Mort isn't the neatest person on the face of the planet, but this mess had taken effort to create. Especially since he said the housekeeper had just been there a few days before. I looked around for awhile, trying to find him. When I did . . . that's when I got scared. He was acting so differently. If I hadn't seen him with my own eyes, I never would have recognized him. He didn't even walk the right way. He kept talking about himself in the third person . . . and calling himself S-Shooter." The word came out on a small stutter. "But it was when I saw his eyes that I knew. It wasn't Mort looking out at me. Even during the mess of our divorce, he never once looked at me like that."

"Like what?" Carly asked softly.

"Like he hated me, but pitied me for it." Amy shivered. "There were times I saw loathing in his eyes, but it was always mixed with . . . I don't know, whatever ten years of marriage puts in one's eyes. But this look . . . I don't know. I just ran, and if Mr. Evan's hadn't been there . . ."

"I think that's enough," Carly said, bringing Amy back to the present. She'd been scribbling furiously the entire time, and had gotten a few more theories to explain Rainey's behavior. She'd still need to do some research, but at least she had some confirmation of which direction to go in. "I just have one more question. Actually, it's more of a request." Amy looked at her curiously. "I'd like you to make time in your schedule to come visit Mr. Rainey. Preferably this week, and no later than next."

"I don't know . . ."

"Please. Look for yourself on the paper I gave you. I think that part of the reason for his withdrawal is that he thinks he's been abandoned. That he hurt you enough to keep you from visiting him. At least once. And that's all I'm asking for. After that it'll be up to you whether to come or not."

Amy was silent for several minutes, thinking. "And you think this will help him recover?"

"I think this will help him to at least take an interest in the outside world. And that's half the battle at this point." When Amy slowly nodded her agreement, Carly stood. "Thank you, and again, thank you for seeing me. I won't intrude any longer." Amy walked her to the door, where Carly took out another business card. "Here's my work and home numbers, as well as my pager, e-mail, and the fax number for Briar Ridge. If you can think of anything else that might be of any help, please feel free to get a hold of me, day or night." Amy nodded, and said she would. Carly stepped back out into the wet afternoon and hurried to her car, a bit of hope filling her for the time being.

She'd show Steve.

"How is he?" Carly asked the question for Amy as they stood outside Mort's room.

"Much the same as yesterday, doctor, although Marie said she saw him eyeing the paper you left for him."

"Hmm." After glancing through the window, Carly stepped back to let Amy look at her ex. She was wrapped in a thick cardigan, and Carly suspected it had more to do with comforting her than keeping her warm.

"He's so pale," the woman whispered. "He used to go out and weed when he was stumped on a particular storyline or something. And he'd go hiking. We both would. With Chico."

"Chico?" Carly asked.

"Our dog. He was getting cataracts, but I could never get Mort to remember to take him to the vet. And then things sort of fell apart. I found a grave, marked for him. I try not to wonder . . . ." Carly didn't ask about what.

After about ten minutes, she shot a glance to Betty and Ralph, motioning them to move down the hallway a little. Betty went – plainly reluctant to do so – but Ralph didn't budge. Carly raised her eyebrows and murmured an excuse to Amy, which she doubted the other woman heard.

Walking down the hall a bit, she waited for Ralph to join her. "What is it?" she asked.

"Well, I know Rainey's history just as well as you do, doctor, perhaps a bit better because I've been in ward when he's lost it. He can get dangerous. I could be fired if I wasn't close enough to stop anything if seein' her makes him go off."

Carly sighed. The man had a point, and no matter how confident she was, there was always room for human error. "Alright, but will you at least stay in the doorway? I don't want to produce too many distractions for him yet. She's going to be enough." Carl nodded his agreement, and they walked back.

"Are you ready to go in?" she asked Amy.

The other woman squared her shoulders. "Yeah. As much as I can be, I think."

"You remember what I said? That he might not react to you at all? That it might be a good idea to visit again if he doesn't?" Amy nodded again. "Alright."

Carly unlocked the door herself, stepping into the room slowly. Rainey was in his usual corner, in his usual position. "Hello, Mort. How are you today?" No response. "I hope you're up to it, but I brought a visitor for you." She waved Amy in, waiting for the blond woman to stand next to her. "See, Mort? It's Amy. You remember Amy, don't you?" Nothing. "You asked about her a little while ago. You wanted to make sure she was alright. Well, here she is." Still nothing but a few slow blinks.

"Go ahead and say hi," she whispered to the woman. "Don't be afraid to get on his level. We're right here . . . just in case."

Amy didn't find that to be too comforting, but she took a few steps towards Mort anyway. "Mort?" He didn't look up from his lap. She moved a little bit closer, and knelt down in front of him. "Mort, I'm sorry I haven't been visiting. I don't like seeing you like this." If only he would respond; look at her, mumble something, move. She'd take anything. "Mort? Can you hear me?" She reached out with a cautious finger and touched the back of his hand.

Carly held her breath.

Disclaimer: Mort, Amy, and Ted all belong to Stephen. Everyone else belongs to me.

Author Thanks: thanks go to: smoochies221 (I'm glad the wait didn't disturb you.); SS (Not so much Mort this chapter, but more next, I promise.); Nithke (wow. I hope I didn't pull a MS writer on you, but I do tend to switch perspectives while I'm telling a story. But I promise I can still pull off a good story while doing that. Please tell if you think I'm being hokey though – that's not a good thing at all. I updated as fast as I could figure out what to write, so I hope that was fast enough for you.); Dawnie-7 (why won't they take Carly seriously? Because she's kinda challenging the system. I'm just glad that she got the concessions that she did.); Lip Balm (Meow? Jealous? ; ) That's such a Mort-like picture that you described; I can see that too. Outlines are from the devil, but then again, I'm not so sure about writers. Especially the ones that belong to Stephen King. ); Cayenne Pepper Powder (eh, I never log in to give reviews. I don't know if I got this one up faster, and I don't know if the next with be speedy either. I suppose we'll have to see.); pandagal (I updated as soon as I could.); Merrie (Umm, yeah. I'm not sure that review was coherent, but I found it amusing. Is that bad? ); normal human being (I thought that was a good line to end on. I knew I needed to end the chapter, but it seemed incomplete. So, that line was born. And yes, beg for the hat trick. It's started. It'll be awhile before I get it up though. I need to develop it a bit more, and my two other stories first. But sooner or later it'll be up.); Cassie (Here's the next chapter. Thanks for all the complements, they really made my day and guilted me into thinking about writing.)