"So," Mort said, as they both stood somewhat awkwardly just inside the
door. It had been a long time since he'd had a guest. Not counting the
sheriff, who dropped by periodically to tell him not to shop at the local
grocery store, not to go to the local post office, not to smile at people,
not to walk the streets...
"So, can I get you something to drink?"
"I'm fine," Marah said immediately. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as her eyes wandered around the room. She took in the exercise equipment, the modern furniture, the shelves full of books, and then... the corn. A plate bearing three ears of corn and a stick of butter on the coffee table. A basket of unshucked corn just inside the door. An array of pots on the stove, and she could guess as to their contents.
Mort felt disappointment make his stomach sink. So she wasn't different after all. She was going to stand there, gape at the corn, write him off as a psycho, look at him like a frightened rabbit, and leave. He didn't know why this time it made him feel so disappointed, so frustrated, so hopeless. He was never disappointed by people; he simply didn't care what they thought. The disappointment made him feel vulnerable, and he didn't like it.
Suddenly Marah looked up at him, but she didn't look frightened. A little nervous, perhaps, but not like she thought he was a monster. She walked past him to sit at one end of the leather couch. She was wearing a red-and- yellow knit sweater that flared slightly below the elbows. The neck was cute wide, showing off flawlessly smooth skin and delicate collarbones. She sat there with one leg folded underneath her, the dark brown of the couch perfectly accenting her sweater and her skin. She smiled at him again. A smile like... Mort began. He stopped himself. Her smile was gorgeous, and if he thought about it too long he'd find himself in the midst of full-blown desire. And that wouldn't do.
He ran a hand through his blonde-streaked hair, scratched the back of his neck. After some consideration, he went and sat down too, at the other end of the couch.
"I don't think you killed them," she said suddenly.
The effect this simple sentence had on him was incredible. First he felt shock at her having gotten to the point so directly; then relief, and a kind of joy he hadn't felt for a long time. Then... then he felt regret. He didn't know why. And he felt something dark stirring inside him. He repressed it, and smiled—and soon he found himself positively grinning at her.
"Thank you," was all he said. He felt compelled to say more. "You're the only person in this town who thinks that...but... it means a lot to me."
There was a long pause, but not the awkward kind they'd been having before. They looked into each others' eyes and they smiled at each other, and without either of them moving, they were somehow sitting together in the center of the couch, knees almost touching.
"Well, now we've established I'm not a psychotic killer, let's talk about you," Mort said finally. "Why'd you move here?"
A shadow immediately passed over Marah's face, her bright eyes becoming overcast. He could see pain there in the split second before she looked away.
"Ask me another question," she said softly.
"Ah..." he cast about desperately, too surprised to think fast. "Umm...you like teaching?"
"Oh, yeah," she answered readily, trying to smile again, "yeah, I love kids. The children in this town are... wonderful, by the way, I've been meeting all of them, and they're so happy, and secure, and protected."
I wouldn't know, their parents hide them when I appear, was the first response that came into Mort's head, but for some reason he didn't feel like saying it. His taste for bitter irony and sinister sarcasm was gone for the moment.
"I'm sure you're great with them," was all he said.
She laughed. "They like me all right, I suppose. Children are always easier to win over than parents."
"You've been having problems with the parents?"
"Oh, not really. Well, except for Mrs. Butters—after I drove up with you. I don't think I've got much chance of her liking me anymore."
Mort looked to see if she resented, or at least regretted, that she'd gone with him, but her dark eyes were twinkling, laughing at the folly of the overprotective mom. He laughed with her, and for the first time took neither offense nor sinister pleasure in Mrs. Butters' fear of him. For the first time, he simply laughed it away, feeling it roll off him harmlessly.
Marah got up. "I should go finish delivering these things."
He got up also. "Thanks for dropping by." He meant it more sincerely than he'd ever meant anything in his life.
They walked to the door, and after she opened it, she turned to smile at him one last time. Suddenly something possessed him; he had to touch her, just to make sure that she was real, that she had actually been there and said the things he thought she'd said. He put a hand behind her neck, his thumb tracing the curve of her ear, and he drew her face up to him, bending down until their lips were only millimeters apart. Then he stopped, not kissing her until she made a move to accept his touch.
She was surprised and at first alarmed, but only for a second. Then she brought her arms up and locked them around his neck, raising herself up on tip-toes slightly until their lips met, barely brushing at first, then finding each other more surely and remaining locked in blissful warmth. She traced his jawline, his cheek, every line and curve and angle burning itself into her memory.
As suddenly as it began, the kiss was over, both of them breaking away at the same time. With quickened pulses they stared at each other, both shocked, wondering if what had just passed had been real. Then Marah smiled, like dawn breaking over her face, and Mort found himself smiling too. Then she turned and was gone.
She was real, Mort fairly sang to himself, still grinning. He could still feel her warmth on his lips.
"So, can I get you something to drink?"
"I'm fine," Marah said immediately. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as her eyes wandered around the room. She took in the exercise equipment, the modern furniture, the shelves full of books, and then... the corn. A plate bearing three ears of corn and a stick of butter on the coffee table. A basket of unshucked corn just inside the door. An array of pots on the stove, and she could guess as to their contents.
Mort felt disappointment make his stomach sink. So she wasn't different after all. She was going to stand there, gape at the corn, write him off as a psycho, look at him like a frightened rabbit, and leave. He didn't know why this time it made him feel so disappointed, so frustrated, so hopeless. He was never disappointed by people; he simply didn't care what they thought. The disappointment made him feel vulnerable, and he didn't like it.
Suddenly Marah looked up at him, but she didn't look frightened. A little nervous, perhaps, but not like she thought he was a monster. She walked past him to sit at one end of the leather couch. She was wearing a red-and- yellow knit sweater that flared slightly below the elbows. The neck was cute wide, showing off flawlessly smooth skin and delicate collarbones. She sat there with one leg folded underneath her, the dark brown of the couch perfectly accenting her sweater and her skin. She smiled at him again. A smile like... Mort began. He stopped himself. Her smile was gorgeous, and if he thought about it too long he'd find himself in the midst of full-blown desire. And that wouldn't do.
He ran a hand through his blonde-streaked hair, scratched the back of his neck. After some consideration, he went and sat down too, at the other end of the couch.
"I don't think you killed them," she said suddenly.
The effect this simple sentence had on him was incredible. First he felt shock at her having gotten to the point so directly; then relief, and a kind of joy he hadn't felt for a long time. Then... then he felt regret. He didn't know why. And he felt something dark stirring inside him. He repressed it, and smiled—and soon he found himself positively grinning at her.
"Thank you," was all he said. He felt compelled to say more. "You're the only person in this town who thinks that...but... it means a lot to me."
There was a long pause, but not the awkward kind they'd been having before. They looked into each others' eyes and they smiled at each other, and without either of them moving, they were somehow sitting together in the center of the couch, knees almost touching.
"Well, now we've established I'm not a psychotic killer, let's talk about you," Mort said finally. "Why'd you move here?"
A shadow immediately passed over Marah's face, her bright eyes becoming overcast. He could see pain there in the split second before she looked away.
"Ask me another question," she said softly.
"Ah..." he cast about desperately, too surprised to think fast. "Umm...you like teaching?"
"Oh, yeah," she answered readily, trying to smile again, "yeah, I love kids. The children in this town are... wonderful, by the way, I've been meeting all of them, and they're so happy, and secure, and protected."
I wouldn't know, their parents hide them when I appear, was the first response that came into Mort's head, but for some reason he didn't feel like saying it. His taste for bitter irony and sinister sarcasm was gone for the moment.
"I'm sure you're great with them," was all he said.
She laughed. "They like me all right, I suppose. Children are always easier to win over than parents."
"You've been having problems with the parents?"
"Oh, not really. Well, except for Mrs. Butters—after I drove up with you. I don't think I've got much chance of her liking me anymore."
Mort looked to see if she resented, or at least regretted, that she'd gone with him, but her dark eyes were twinkling, laughing at the folly of the overprotective mom. He laughed with her, and for the first time took neither offense nor sinister pleasure in Mrs. Butters' fear of him. For the first time, he simply laughed it away, feeling it roll off him harmlessly.
Marah got up. "I should go finish delivering these things."
He got up also. "Thanks for dropping by." He meant it more sincerely than he'd ever meant anything in his life.
They walked to the door, and after she opened it, she turned to smile at him one last time. Suddenly something possessed him; he had to touch her, just to make sure that she was real, that she had actually been there and said the things he thought she'd said. He put a hand behind her neck, his thumb tracing the curve of her ear, and he drew her face up to him, bending down until their lips were only millimeters apart. Then he stopped, not kissing her until she made a move to accept his touch.
She was surprised and at first alarmed, but only for a second. Then she brought her arms up and locked them around his neck, raising herself up on tip-toes slightly until their lips met, barely brushing at first, then finding each other more surely and remaining locked in blissful warmth. She traced his jawline, his cheek, every line and curve and angle burning itself into her memory.
As suddenly as it began, the kiss was over, both of them breaking away at the same time. With quickened pulses they stared at each other, both shocked, wondering if what had just passed had been real. Then Marah smiled, like dawn breaking over her face, and Mort found himself smiling too. Then she turned and was gone.
She was real, Mort fairly sang to himself, still grinning. He could still feel her warmth on his lips.