Chapter 3

Alex walked up the slope once again, stumbling amongst the mud and the wet leaves that littered the ground. The wind howled and shrieked, blowing cold air around her in the surrounding darkness. She had absolutely no idea what she was going to tell Mr. Rainey. Her car had disappeared, her locked car…Shuddering at the humiliating prospect of bothering him again, she failed to notice the small, mud-filled hole that she was about to step in.

She caught herself with her palms before she could fall flat on her face, scraping them on the wet gravel. They stung a little, but not enough for her to be worried. The same could not, unfortunately, be said for her right ankle. As she fell, an agonizing, tearing sensation ripped through her tendons.

Sitting up, she bit her lip and gingerly pulled her foot out of the hole. The mud made a horrible squelching sound, like a plunger being pulled from a stopped-up sink. Wincing as pain laced through the muscle, Alex rolled up her pant leg to assess the damage.

She was almost afraid to look at it. When she plucked up enough courage to take a glance, however, it didn't look as bad as she'd first thought. The skin was swelling, and it would soon begin to bruise. The cool rain ran down it in rivulets, numbing, soothing. Alex pursed her lips and looked towards the cabin, measuring the distance with her eyes and wondering if she could drag herself up to the door. She would take a stab at it, and if she couldn't make it…She sighed, hoping that she wouldn't have to resort to calling for help. How mortifying.

XXXX

Mort was awoken once again by a knocking on his door. He was confused for a moment. Didn't this happen already? He wondered sleepily. But the knocking was different this time, quieter, lower… He squinted at his watch. It was five minutes past midnight. Frowning, he sat up and wondered briefly if Shooter had returned to pay him a late night visit; his idea of humor. Then again, Shooter usually didn't grace him with a knock. Most of the time he invited himself right in, infuriatingly enough.

Mort groped for his glasses and put them on, swiping his fingers through his hair as he hauled himself off the couch. He walked barefoot across the cold floor, half-conscious of the fact that he'd forgotten to don his slippers. He went over to the shelf and switched on his lamp before going to answer the knocks.

A gust of icy wind blew into his home as he opened the door, instantly wrenching him out of his drowsy state. At first he saw nothing but the darkness ahead of him, the forest before him blanketed in the blackness of the night, and the choppy lake to his left, covered in a silvery luster from the moon's light. A quiet shuffling below him drew his gaze downward.

Alexandra Whitaker stared up at him from the floor of his deck, pleading at him with her big blue eyes. She was absolutely covered in mud, her hair plastered against her head, and her body soaked with rainwater. There were dried scratches on her arms, and she was favoring her right ankle; every inch of bare skin was gooseflesh. She was the most defeated-looking person Mort had ever seen.

"What happened?" were the first words out of his mouth, after getting over the shock of seeing her that way.

"I injured my foot," she said, giving him a weak smile. "It's kind of a long story…" she then trailed off into an uncomfortable silence, during which Mort realized that he was being very impolite.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, offering his hand to help her up. "Why don't you come in?"

Alex took his hand and pulled herself up as well as she could, wobbling precariously on her good foot. She put a hand on the doorframe to steady herself, shivering in the chilly night air.

"Need a hand?" Mort asked, experiencing a small, irrational hope that her answer wouldn't be the obvious one.

Alexandra nodded, and then blushed. "Sorry," she apologized.

Mort awkwardly put an arm around her shoulders, and helped her limp into his cabin.

"I'm really sorry about this," she said again as he assisted her into his living room. He made a face behind her back as her sopping clothes and hair dripped all over his carpet, and then soaked his sofa as he helped her settle onto it. "It's a bizarre thing, really. My car disappeared; I mean, it was just gone when I got back to the road. I thought it must have been stolen, but…it was locked. At least, I'm pretty sure that it was. And the man at the tow truck service said he'd send someone, but nobody came… I waited for over an hour." She seemed utterly perplexed by this.

"Strange," Mort agreed, having a bad feeling that Shooter had somehow tied himself into this. "What sort of car do you own?"

"A '79 Thunderbird," Alex answered, her face glowing with pride for a short moment.

"Don't see many of those around anymore," Mort said.

"Not really, no," she said, offering a small, nervous smile. A short silence followed.

"Would you like me to call you a cab, then?" Mort asked, plowing his way through the uncomfortable moment.

"Sure," Alex said. Anything to get out of here as soon as possible.

Mort picked up the phone and put it to his ear.

"That's strange," he frowned. "There's no dial tone."

He pressed the button and listened again. Nothing.

"Maybe the lines are down because of the storm?" Alex ventured.

"Must be…" Mort trailed off and strode over to the window, opening the curtains to survey the extent of the storm. Rain and wind blew leaves hard against the glass, obscuring the view of his yard greatly – he could barely see two feet from where he stood. It didn't take him long to make a decision.

"I suppose you might have to stay here, just for tonight," Mort said, turning back towards her. "I'm not quite sure it's safe to drive in this weather…" He waited for a protest, but none came.

"That's fine; I don't really need to be at home tonight." Alex smiled weakly, trying to make light of the situation. Inside, she was dying of embarrassment.

"Good." Another silence followed. Mort cleared his throat. "Shall I get you some dry clothes, then?"

"That would be great, thank you," Alex said, replied.

Mort then strode off and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Alex with her own thoughts for the time being.

He gave her the impression that he was a reclusive sort of person, but he seemed amiable enough to get along with for a short while. She herself had always been a friendly person, and it wasn't hard for her to make conversation. She decided that she could get through this without much difficulty, except for that caused by her lame foot. And perhaps a few unavoidable humiliating moments along the way; somehow she always seemed to involuntarily talk herself into a topic that ended up embarrassing her…..