Ghost Writer

Chapter Six: Give and Take

Mort was able to easily gain access to where Anna's room was by paying off the on-duty nurse with an autographed book for her niece. His eyes roved over every hallway, room and corner that he passed, expecting to see Shooter at any given point. But why would Shooter be lurking around the hospital? If he was going to be anywhere it was going to be Anna's room. Taking a deep breath, Mort turned the corner into her room on the fifth floor, expecting either Shooter or Anna's disapproving family. But the only thing that greeting him was Anna's surprised smile.

"Just the man I was hoping to see," she grinned widely.

It took him a few minutes to register what she had said. He glanced over his shoulder and found there was no one standing behind him. There was no one else in the room. The smile was for him, only. She wanted to see him. Just him.

Eat your heart out, Shooter. Mort thought to himself.

"Mort?"

"Yeah?"

Anna laughed slightly. "You alright?"

His senses suddenly snapped back like a rubber band that had been stretched too tight. "Yeah, I'm fine. How are you?"

She motioned to the hospital bed. "I could be worse. They're talking about releasing me tomorrow. Sit down, please."

Mort pulled one of the chairs up to the side of bed. The scratch on her face had been covered with gauze, as had her right forearm. Her legs were covered with the standard hospital blanket but he could see bumps from what looked like a brace on her right leg. She held up something that caught his attention and he saw it was a copy of "Everyone Drops the Dime."

"I finally have some time to read it now," she grinned.

"You're in very good spirits for being hit by a car."

"Pain killers. They're wonderful things."

"Are…uh, are you really alright?"

"I'm fine, Mort. It was my own stupid fault." She tossed the book so it landed on the bedside table. "I've been putting off getting reflectors for the bike for a while now. It really was only a matter of time."

"I should have offered you a ride home," Mort blurted.

"I could have asked." Anna reached out and wrapped a cold hand around Mort's wrist. "Don't blame yourself for this. I'm going to be fine."

Mort realized she wasn't going to blame him for what happened. Shooter was wrong. It wasn't his fault. At least, Anna didn't feel it was his fault and that was all that mattered at the moment. He put her cold-fingered hand between his own and started to rub some warmth into it. He had no idea why hospitals were always so cold.

"So, what's the damage?" he asked.

"Superficial scrapes on my arms and face. A cracked patella that should heal just fine as long as I take it easy. I'll be on crutches for the rest of the summer and I'll have to go to physical therapy for a couple months."

So Shooter had been right in his assessment of her wounds. Which meant he really had been with her last night in the ICU ward. Was Shooter really his own identity now, no longer dependant on Mort himself? What did that exactly mean?

"Mort?"

"Yeah?"

"You alright? You look…scared."

"I'm fine." He gave her his best smile which apparently worked as he watched the concern leave her face.

"Good. I'm almost done with 'Everyone Drops the Dime.' I'm enjoying it a lot."

"Great."

"'Secret Window' kind of freaked me out though. It was good, I just couldn't go to sleep after it." A slight blush crept across Anna's otherwise pale complexion. "I actually had to ask the night nurse to put a nightlight in here."

Mort reached for her other hand and started to rub that one as well. He needed to do something, anything, to hide the shaking of his hands. "It definitely wasn't the best I've written."

"Are you still coming on Saturday?"

Saturday? Oh yeah, her family's cookout, which meant her father would be there. "I don't think it would wise for me to come."

"It's my father, isn't it? He's scared you off."

Mort tried to come up with another excuse but couldn't find one. "He doesn't like me and he makes it very well known. It would just be uncomfortable all around, for me and for your family."

Disappointment and aggravation marred Anna's features. "He does this every time."

"Your father?"

She laid back against the pillows with a grimace. "He still sees it as his duty to run off my boy-" Her eyes flew open as a deep crimson blush spread over her face and down her neck. "Uh, never mind."

Mort bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing. "Well, how about I stop by Sunday, unannounced of course, and offer to take you out to dinner."

Anna was chewing on her lower lip in an extremely bad effort to hide a smile. "Come by after five. My father always leaves by then to do a couple hours in the office. You'll have my sister and brother-in-law in face down then."

"I'll be ready for them then."

"Mort?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming to see me. I was afraid you weren't going to come."

Mort realized with a start that he still had Anna's hand in his own. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, shocked at how much her words had hit him. It seemed like it had been so long since someone looked forward to having his presence around. He actually felt his throat close up with emotion.

"I'll, uh, I'll always be here if…uh, if you want me to be."

Anna smiled brightly and squeezed his hand. "Good. I'd like that."

Mort gave her hand one final squeeze before standing up. "I should get going."

"Thanks again for coming, Mort. It was really good to see you again."

"It's good to know you're going to be alright."

Anna gave him a confident nod and he reluctantly released her hand. He stepped out of the room and onto an empty elevator. As the door closed, however, he became instantly aware of another presence in the enclosed space. He didn't have to turn to see who it was.

"I told ya, Mr. Rainey, that she would be in her own room this morning."

"Yes, you did." Mort turned to face Shooter and looked him dead in the eye. "And you listen to me you backwater hick, Anna's mine. You stay away from her."

"Don't you listen to me? She belongs to me as much as she belongs to you." Shooter grinned smugly and straightened his hat. "I hear we have a date on Sunday."

"I have a date on Sunday. You've got nothing."

"We'll see about that, Mr. Rainey. You see, I can give," Shooter leaned forward so close Mort could smell the tobacco on his breath, "and I can take away if you're not careful."