Concerning A Murder

Chapter Six: Night-time Jitters and Daytime Chills

The night came to a close as Alex tromped his way up the stairs to the room that Mort now affectionately called "Alex's place." Mort always slept on the couch. Then, there were times when Alex could hear footsteps through the room that he slept in. The footsteps would wind their way slowly to the bathroom door. The door would open ever so slightly and Alex would catch a glimpse of Mort slipping into the bathroom.

Alex would wake up in the mornings after these nights, shaking with cold sweat, and turning to the bathroom in fear. There would never be anything in that room. Never.

Alex's common sense always got the better of him. Mort wasn't in there, because Mort never walked up the stairs. It was always a dream. Of course, then there were the other dreams. Alex hated those dreams even more.

He was a child of 15. His mother and father were arguing. They wouldn't stop. His father slapped his mother across the face. Alexander had the slight impression that she deserved it. This was the fifth time that she had come home late, and Alexander knew why. She was out having an affair with another man.

Alexander fell to his knees as his mother begged him to help her. Told him that they didn't understand. Alexander screamed.

"You are out every night, having sex with another man! You come home, smelling like him, smelling like a cheap tramp! You don't love Dad anymore? Is that it?"….

Alexander stumbled down an endless hallway. There was a door to his right. He opened it. Inside was his mother with HIM. That bastard that ruined their family. Alexander threw a rock, wanting to hit the man… make him sorry….

And then Alex would wake up, sweating and panting, staring straight at the door, hoping, begging, for his father or mother to come rushing in and comfort him, like the old days. That wasn't the case these days. Alex was alone, with Mort.

That morning, Alex trudged down the stairs, feeling more tired than he had when he'd gone to bed the night before. He sat heavily in a chair at the dining table. Mort looked over his newspaper at the boy, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

"Sleep well, Alex?"

The only response was a shaking of his head, then Alex reached across the table for the pitcher of milk, a bowl, and some Honey Nut Cheerios. He poured a bowl and began eating, without a word in the other man's direction.

"You have bad dreams again?"

A nod from Alex.

"What about?"

He shook his head.

"If you ever want to talk…"

Another nod.

Mort sighed and set the paper down, rustling through it for the funnies and pouring himself a bowl of Cheerio's as well. He sat back, staring at Alex a bit, watching the boy eat. He rustled the paper and set it aside, throwing all of his concentration into pouring a bowl of cereal.

He's acting really weird lately… Is it just… a thing? Or is there something really wrong? He doesn't speak anymore. That's kind of creepy.

Mort sighed and shook his head. After all, he acted "creepy" sometimes too. There was that time yesterday that he'd stopped everything and had a full-on argument with John Shooter. That was weird and creepy.

Chuckling, Mort picked up a spoon and began eating.

"What's funny?" Alex looked up from his bowl and actually had a streak of curiosity in his features.

"What?" Mort chuckled again. "Just… thinking. You know, weird stuff has been happening. What with all this time we've been cooped up in the house since your fall in the woods."

"Still want to know why I passed out. You say I tripped. I don't remember tripping…"

"Oh, you tripped." Mort finished the sentence as if there were no arguing it.

Right, Mister Rainey. He tripped… and I'm the Gov'nor of Miss'ssippi.

Mort shook his head and shoved a mouthful of Cheerios down his throat. He would have choked had he not remembered to chew the bite before swallowing.

Alex glanced up at his now room-mate. "Mort?"

"Hrmph?" Mort looked up, a mouthful of Cheerios practically spilling out between his lips. The younger did not laugh, as he usually did, when Mort looked ridiculous for the sake of the boy. He knew today that it was an act.

"I'm afraid… that I may have to be leaving soon. I can't stay here much longer. Those men that are searching for me are bound to find me."

Mort shook his head and choked down his food. "No. You're safe here. You don't have to leave."

"I do. I don't want them to come after you."

"They won't." Mort picked up his bowl and left the table, leaving the conversation where it lie. He dropped his spoon gently into the sink and dumped out the remains of his cereal down the disposal. A small scuffling noise behind him caused a shiver to run up his spine. Silence followed, and almost on instinct, Mort turned, trying to determine what made the noise.

Alex stood, a few feet from the author, his eyes brimming with tears and an unfocused look on his face. "I didn't kill them…"

Mort stopped, looking thoughtfully at the boy. He was about to speak up, reassure him, let him know that he had nothing to prove to him. Then, Alex's voice rang out once more.

"You're lying. You've never been here before. You just… show up. You think you know me, these things I do. You're wrong."

Mort turned, looking past his own shoulder. There, standing in the doorway leading out to the side yard, was John Shooter.

"Shooter?" Mort's voice cracked.

"About time you joined our conversations, Mister Rainey." Shooter stepped past Mort and put a hand on Alex's shoulder. Alex cringed, running toward Mort. He grabbed the older man fiercely, hiding behind him.

"Who is he?" Alex buried his face in Mort's shoulder. His muffled voice rose to Mort's ears. "Who is he and why is he following me?"

"He's…" Mort glared at Shooter a moment, thinking of the best way to describe him. "He's John Shooter… a fictional character. A figment of our imaginations. He doesn't exist and you don't need to fear him."

"Mister Rainey. Don't lie to your little friend, our little friend. He needs to know who I really am. I'm you, Mister Rainey."

Mort turned and grabbed Alex's arm, pulling him along out of the house, toward the car. He pushed Alex roughly into the passenger's seat.

"Where are we going? Who was that? Why can I see him too if he's not real? What did he mean, he's you? Where the Hell are we going?" Alex stared up at Mort out of the passenger window. Mort stared down at him a moment, then ran to the driver's door. Slipping into the seat and shoving the keys into the ignition, he turned and smiled at Alex. The car revved and roared, backing onto the road and speeding furiously away from the house.

"We're going on a joy ride."

To be continued…

I know. This wasn't as good as some of the other chapters, but it's here. I'd love to see your reviews. And hopefully, next week, Mort and Alex will have a fun joy ride. Oh, there will be blood. There will be revelations. There will be… Well, I've said too much as it is.