-1Concerning A Murder

Chapter Eleven: A Lost Soul and a Permanent Arrangement

You're losing your grip. You can't do it anymore. Shooter is taking over, isn't he, Mort?

Mort sat in his hospital bed, staring at a far wall, listening to his thoughts. Something wasn't right anymore. He'd known for years now that Shooter wasn't real, but something had finally gone wrong. The John Shooter he'd thought he'd gotten rid of was back, watching his every move. He looked to the chair next to the bed. Alex sat there, watching the same wall Mort had been staring at.

"When did you get here, Alex?" Mort's voice was scratchy. His throat hurt terribly, but he decided to force himself to speak.

"Don't, Mort," Alex whispered carefully. "Don't speak out loud to me. If they catch you talking to me, they'll put you away forever, label you as insane and throw away the key."

Alex shifted in his seat and looked to the door. Shooter stood there, smiling widely. "So, we're going to tell him, now, Mister Wright?"

"Mort?" Alex turned and looked back at Mort. "Listen, this is going to sound… crazy… but I'm as real as Shooter over there. We're both merely figments of your imagination."

"But," Mort stopped himself, thinking rapidly about the hotels, the Denny's restaurant, every time he'd been anywhere that people had acknowledged Alex's existence. "That's not possible."

"You're a writer, Mister Rainey," Shooter explained. "You make people up all the time. 'Bout time a couple of them got out of hand."

"I thought I was real… So real," Alex sighed, looking down at his hands. "Then, I remembered where my real life is. It's in that story you started when you were a boy. You never finished it, because you felt that if you finished it, you'd never see me again. I remember. You left me in the middle of the woods, my two best friends slaughtered and myself with naught but an axe to kill the vampires I'd been sent to rid the world of. Do you remember?"

Mort closed his eyes and thought back, as far as he could. As though a small light in the distance had just lit up a room he hadn't entered for years, he nodded, remembering everything. "Yeah…" He stopped himself and looked around the room.

"No need to talk, Mister Rainey," Shooter reprimanded. "We know what you're thinkin', don't we, Alex?"

Alex nodded weakly, a small grin gracing his pale face. "Blew my mind to watch that crash, from the angle of an imaginary person, someone who doesn't really exist. My God. The explosion, the tires squealing, the flashing lights. You lying on the side of the road, flung from the car, barely able to breathe… Made me chuckle, to be honest. To think, 'That can never happen to me, because I'm not real.'"

"How long…?" Mort shook his head and looked to Alex.

"How long have I known that I'm not real? Not too long… I'd say our talk about religion was the last thing I did before I realized. I fell asleep that night and I remembered."

Mort sat up suddenly, causing a rush of pain to go through his body. "What about that murder? The lady that saw you? You're real if they saw you…"

"No one saw me, Mort. You were always alone. Your memory plays tricks on you when you're a murderer. You killed that desk clerk. You went back up to the room and created, in your mind, a scenario for the next morning. Do you want to know how that morning actually panned out? You were in a daze. I'm sure if you force yourself to remember, you twisted their words around… I was never there. She was pointing at a different boy, just behind you…"

Mort closed his eyes once more, forcing the memory. And Alex was right, there it was.

"Got a call, murder," the officer turned and pointed at the proprietor. "He owned this place, was working a late shift last night. One of the cleaning ladies found him like this this morning and called us. Did you…uh… You see anyone suspicious around here about eleven last night?" He pulled out a notebook and began to take notes on the scene.

Mort shook his head. "No sir," he replied. "Got here at about eight last night, got the room and went to bed. That guy was a bit rough though, like… insulting me and the other customers. To be perfectly honest, I can believe that some disgruntled person might have done him in. As for me, I figured it had just been a long day for him, so I let it slide."

One of the cleaning ladies who'd been speaking with another officer turned to watch Mort for a moment. She gasped in recognition and squealed. "That's Morton Rainey! I knew I'd seen him here last night! Him and…That boy!" She pointed to a person just to Mort's left. He turned to see a young boy just behind him, lugging a large bag, trying to get out without being noticed. "They came in and took up rooms on the third floor. That boy went out for a while, too."

The officer that had been speaking to Mort turned his eyes on the boy behind Mort.

"Where were you last night at eleven, kid?"

The boy looked up from his bag, which had just spilled out all over the lobby floor. "Asleep. I was sleeping the whole time…"

Mort touched the officer's shoulder. "I was awake, reading all night, right by the door to my room. I would have noticed if he'd walked by at some point in the night." He pointed at his ear. "Great hearing."

The officer nodded and looked around the lobby. "Do you guys keep video surveillance of this place?"

The cleaning lady shook her head and stared at Mort some more. The officer turned and smiled at him. "Breakfast bar's closed. I'll take your name, please, then you'll have to leave the crime scene. If I need you, I'll contact you."

"I was never there. Just a random boy. You create scenarios… It's entertaining really." Alex sat back in his seat.

"You're not acting like the Alex I remember," Mort muttered, keeping his eyes closed. "What happened to the cheerful kid I created? And why now can I see you? After all these years?"

Shooter stood up and walked across the room to a window. "You needed new motivation, Mister Rainey. I don't scare you anymore. You finished my story and now I'm done for, but there's someone else that's using your apparitions for his own personal gain. You're a perfect target too… When you're listening."

Alex nodded. "I'm not the same kid I once was, because I'm not Alex anymore. It took a while, but I finally got into your head. I got you back on the right track."

"Right track?" Mort shook his head. "What right track?"

"You're punishing the wicked again, Morty." Alex smiled wickedly then. "Amy, Ted… You stopped for a while after them, but I was never through with you. You think you created Shooter out of fear of facing the actions on your own. No, I created Shooter, through you, to use you for my own deeds."

"Punishing the wicked?"

"Yes, like Amy, Ted, and that dear, departed clerk. There were others too. All throughout our road trip, you left behind a trail of… murder. But don't worry. They'll never find you. Not when you're carrying out my plans."

"What plans?"

Alex shook his head. It doesn't matter, Mort. All that matters, is that your soul and will-power now belong to me. It started with Shooter here…" He raised a hand and placed it on Shooter's arm. Quickly, he slashed his arm through Shooter, causing the vision to disappear entirely. "And it ends here, with me. You're mine now, to mold, to use… Oh this should be fun."

Mort leaned back against the pillows. "You're using me… to fill Hell."

"How perceptive, my friend. But it goes deeper than that. Much deeper. I have several very big grievances to deal with up here… It all ties back to… Him." Alex pointed upward, toward the ceiling. "Oh, but don't let my petty problems deter you from healing. Come on, I need you good and healthy for the return trip. There's a lot to be done…"

"A lot?"

Alex was halfway standing. He turned and looked straight into Mort's eyes, cold gray eyes piercing the author's mind. "A lot. You and I have business to deal with, and I believe this is going to be a continually mutually beneficial circumstance."

Silence filled the room as once more Morton Rainey was left alone with his thoughts. Days passed and no one came to see him. He healed up and was signed out of the hospital. His entire trip home was uneventful. It seemed to him that the horrible nightmare was just that, and nothing more.

When Mort stepped over the threshold into his cottage by the lake, he found the house just as he'd left it. Trudging up the stairs with nothing on his mind but a good nap and a better rest, he threw his jacket aside and went to do just that. After he left the hot shower behind and cuddled down into his covers, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

There was barely any light in the room, but he could see the light from the bathroom under the doorframe. He watched as the light slowly began to blend into the rest of the room as his vision became nothing more than a blur. Then, a weight on the bed next to him alerted him to the fact that he was not alone.

"Oh, Mort… I've got a job for you," came the hissing voice in his ear. Without thinking, Mort was out of bed, dressed, and in the car, a very trusty screwdriver sitting in the passenger seat, and a glint of malice in his eyes.

End

I know… it's a bit lame, the way that ended… Woohoo… There is, also, an epilogue, though it's short and just a small, haha thing. I guess I sort of gave up on this one, but this IS where it's always been headed. I'm working on other works that involve Mort and his satanic companion, but whether those will be up here… I have no idea.