I am reactivating this story! Yayy! Thanks to anyone who's still with me after all these months, and thanks to everyone who's giving this a chance for the first time as well. You guys are fantastic! This chapter's kinda short, but for once I actually have the next one almost finished and should have it posted soon (no, really this time. ). Also, it's a little bitfreaky, but thereWILL be a feel-good ending. Please read and review!

love, lazuli-rain

Marah stared at Mort, who seemed lost in a haze of past struggles, visibly fighting to breathe. She could almost see the cloud of darkness enveloping him, slowly hiding him from view. He sounded like he was trying to speak, but not to her; he was trying to force sounds from his throat into the empty air, but something was snatching the words back in before they could find their way to her ears.

"Mort?" she cried out in alarm, her original anger and suspicion forgotten. Everything could be worked out later, but right now all she needed was for him to breathe, to speak, to focus his eyes instead of staring into an endless darkness only he could see…

She went to him and tried to put her arms around him, steady his shaking. She reached for the papers, meaning to put them down on the bookcase so she could lead him to sit down, but he recoiled from her touch and hung onto the papers like a dying sailor holding onto a piece of driftwood. He yanked them away so quickly that they cut her fingers as he pulled away; she stared for a moment at the parallel, shallow gashes with blood starting to seep out from under the translucent layers of skin.

"I'll—I'll call the hosp…" she began, making for the phone, but he beat her to it with astonishing swiftness for someone who still couldn't make his eyes focus on anything in the room. Her hand was already on the receiver, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pried it off. She was too surprised to offer much resistance. Then he took the entire phone and yanked it brutally, phone cord and all, out of the wall. He threw it to the floor. Then he began advancing toward her. Finally he appeared to be seeing her, really looking at her, but it wasn't Mort's kind eyes fixed on hers. These eyes were dark, full of pain and rage and unspeakable violence.

She felt fear begin to twist in her stomach. She had been in this situation too many times before.

"Mort." She tried to stay calm, knowing that if she made sudden movements he might attack. Still, her voice trembled, and her eyes were wide and fearful. "What's wrong?"

He still didn't respond.

"Mort, it's me. What are you doing?" She began backing away slowly as he kept coming toward her, slow and ruthless, like a predator sure of prey. Her hands balled int fists, her nails digging deep red crescents into her palms. "You're scaring me. Please, Mort!"

He spoke one word, slowly, a soft and sinister grin playing on his lips. "Amy."

"No! Marah!" she said, frantically. "Me, Marah!" He was insane, after all. How could she have done this to herself? How could she have loved him? How could she—she realized with a shock—still love him, even now?

"Marah…" he repeated, slowly, as if he'd never spoken the name before, as if he hadn't whispered it countless times at night as they made love. He stopped his advance, and for a moment she thought he would remember… but then the eerie, cracked smile widened. "Now, that's purdy." He spoke with a strange Southern drawl, his voice hushed and menacing. He continued advancing.

"Mort." She felt tears start. Her back hit the wall; she had nowhere left to run.

"I'm not Mort."

"Yes, you are!" With a last, blind hope, she forced herself to touch him, to speak to him like she always did, as if he hadn't become a crazed monster before her eyes. She cradled his face in her hands and looked up at him. "You're Mort, and I'm Marah! Stop talking like that. Stop smiling like that! Stop it!"

He scoffed and shook his head witheringly. "Not gonna fall for that one, miss."

Then, suddenly, he took hold of her arms and threw her bodily to the floor. She landed on her hands and knees, breathing hard. All the strength in his arms that had protected her, held her through the long nights—she dreaded that strength now, imagined feeling the full force of them if he hit her.

He stood over her, the smile gone, replaced by an anger just as terrible. "You're Amy, come back from my past to haunt me. Well, dear wife… I ain't changed none."