REVAMPED AS OF APRIL 2014
"Mort?"
Carmen pulled up about forty-five minutes after Mort had arrived back home and found his front door had been left wide open - something he rarely did. She peered in and saw him on the couch, his head buried in his hands. He was muttering to himself, but she couldn't make heads or tails of it. She walked over so she was standing behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, which caused him to leap to his feet and turn around, staring at the woman in front of him with wide-eyed terror. Carmen flinched slightly when the fireplace gave a crackle - he'd somehow had time to light it, which was surprising in and of itself. He was so frantic - how did he have the presence of mind if he was this frantic?
"They think it was me," he said, shaking his head fervently - and Carmen froze up. Hadn't everything been okay a few hours ago? She frowned, shaking her head in confusion. "They think it was me!" he repeated. "They think I did it and I don't - I -"
"Mort, stop - Mort, stop, I need you to take a deep breath," Carmen said, coming around the side of the sofa and grabbing him by the hand, pulling him to sit back down. She glanced him over and took only a brief glance around the room, trying to gather whatever clues she could as to why the Mort in front of her was far from the Mort she had just spoken to a few hours ago. "What are you talking about?"
"I didn't do it," he said, clenching his eyes shut, then opening them and staring up at the ceiling. "He deserved it, he deserved whatever he got, but it wasn't me who -"
"What happened?" Carmen asked, reaching over and grabbing hold of Mort's shoulders. "I can't figure out what you're talking about if you don't tell me -"
"I can't tell you nothin'," he said suddenly, his gaze going blank and his voice taking on a different tone. An... accent? Carmen recoiled and shifted to look Mort in the eye, only to find that she could hardly even recognize him from the strange look in his eyes. "It ain't your secret to know, Miss."
"Why are you talking like that?"
"I always talked this way," he continued, not looking at Carmen. "And I told you, this ain't your business -"
"Not my business?" Carmen snapped, rising to her feet in outrage. "I came here for you, I find you catatonic on the couch, and you can't even tell me what's going on?"
"I told you, it's nothin' you need to know!" Mort roared suddenly, and in an instant, he was standing and had grabbed Carmen by both of her thin wrists, holding them high in front of her face and glaring at her dangerously. Then, he continued in that eerie drawl, "When I tell you you don't need to know the men's business, you listen, is that -"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Carmen yelled, yanking her hands away and immediately lashing out, striking Mort across the face. He allowed his head to snap slightly to one side, but turned right back to face Carmen, his face expressionless. She raised her hands in front of her defensively and took a large step back. "What's happening to you, Mort? Mort -"
"You don't learn, Miss. You need'a learn before you get hurt even worse."
And suddenly, he lunged forward, grabbing Carmen by the arm and shoving her onto the couch - but before he could make another move, Carmen launched a kick so that her foot made contact hard with his midsection, causing him to yell in pain and double over, giving Carmen a moment to try and run. However, the instant he recovered, he caught her by the hair before she even made it to the door, throwing her to the ground and suddenly pinning her down.
"I don't wanna hurt you, Miss - it ain't ever been my intention to hurt you none -"
"Get off of me, Mort!"
When he didn't comply, Carmen writhed violently and headbutted him, right in the throat and sent him coughing and sputtering to the ground next to her. Finally, she had the opening to jump to her feet and run to the door. She got back to her car and opened the door, but froze momentarily when she heard Mort's voice - his real voice - calling out to her from inside. It sounded like him - not the terrifying drawl from moments earlier. What if she had really hurt him?
"No," Carmen said to herself, shaking her head and climbing back into the driver's seat. "No, you can't go back - you can't go back there -"
Breathlessly and without looking back, she gunned it down Lake Drive back into town. She had to get the police, the hospital, anything.
Mort, meanwhile, was crouched on the ground and suddenly lucid again - he grasped the newspaper clipping that had fallen to the ground and crushed it into a ball in his hand.
You tried to kill her.
"No... no... I..."
You can't deny it this time, you know that you hurt someone. You hurt Carmen and she's never coming back.
"I have to find her -"
She'll have the police over here any minute.
"She wouldn't do that to me!"
She loves you. She'd do it FOR you, Mort. You're losing your mind. You're very, very confused.
"She's going to come back."
If she has a death wish.
"No. We were fine - I saw her in Rob Wallace's office and we talked and everything was going to be fine."
But Mort knew in his head the minute that he saw the news clipping about Sheriff Newsome being dead that nothing was going to be fine. Everything was ruined. Everything he had been trying to push back and forget had come back, and now it was ten times worse.
Carmen pulled up in front of the diner in town, her hands gripping her steering wheel shakily, and she took a moment to compose herself. She rubbed her shoulders and her wrists, which already felt tender and preparing to bruise. She winced and looked in the window of the diner, seeing that a group of people were already gathered. Could she go inside, looking a mess like she was? They would suspect immediately where she had come from, and this time, they would be right.
But she needed answers - and if the answers weren't what she wanted, she needed help. Carmen got out of her car, knowing that she looked a frightful mess, and walked in - the instant she entered, every eye inside the diner was turned on her, and Heidi - the oldest waitress in the diner - walked over and began eyeing her appraisingly.
"What happened to you?"
"It doesn't matter?" Carmen replied, shaking her head. "What is everyone doing here this late? What happened?
"Did you come from Rainey's house -"
"No," Carmen lied inexplicably. She didn't know why she was covering for him - she justified it by thinking that she couldn't afford for them to get distracted and start focusing on her. "Answer me."
"We were scared you'd gone missing when you weren't at home. Thought you'd disappeared like the others," Heidi said. She coaxed Carmen over to the counter and nudged her to take a seat. When Heidi poured her a cup of coffee, Carmen reached to accept it, and the reddened skin on her wrists was revealed - it evaded no one's gaze.
One of the other men inside the diner picked up a newspaper and held up the front page for Carmen to see, flicking the headline once or twice, and Carmen fell silent. The others in the diner glanced among each other and shook their heads - this time, Carmen had nothing to say in Mort's defense. She couldn't bring herself t do it this time.
"So, when we came across your house empty, I'm sure you can imagine that we had our doubts about you just being out of town.
"I was in the city for business," Carmen retorted stiffly, wanting to get back to what she was sure was the more important subject. "Sheriff Newsome? He's -"
"Dead," Heidi said, her face filled with both anguish and outrage. "They called in cops from the city. Crime scene detectives. That sort - we never have them out here. Dave was found poisoned to death in his office. They're calling it suicide, but we know better."
Dave Newsome was dead - somehow, Mort already knew, and he had cracked. In spite of herself, Carmen felt a pang of worry for him, for what he obviously had running through his head over all of this. She had to help him. Even if she was terrified of him, even if he was dangerous... her expression, which up until now had been frigid and furious, had slowly softened ad the gears in her head turned.
"We're going to get him this time," one of the men in the diner spoke up. "We left him fair warning. Just a little note, so he'll be ready for us -"
Carmen wheeled around, her eyes wide - the pieces suddenly began falling into place. Mort had come home to a threat from someone in town, the news that the Sheriff had been murdered. And she'd left him... Carmen suddenly glanced out the window back at her car. If Mort had been capable of hurting her, what else could he do? What if he hurt himself?
"We're gonna pin this one on him for sure," the man said with a cold smile - and Carmen shuddered. She'd had enough. She shoved the cup of coffee in front of her away so that it fell to the ground and shattered. She leapt to her feet and stared around at everyone in the diner.
"There's no use pretending. I saw your wrists, Miss Anderson," Heidi spoke up. "He's dangerous -"
"You had no right to threaten him. None of you. No one here has any right to make threats," Carmen said shakily. "After everything he's been through -"
"You think he won't kill you too?" the man spoke up. "It's only a matter of time before they're looking for where he's hidden your body."
"Then that'll be my problem, not yours," Carmen hissed, storming out of the diner and back to her car. She was like a bat out of hell, speeding back up Lake Drive to Mort's house - she couldn't believe she was going back. But in those few minutes, everything she had heard from Timothy Haley came rushing back to her.
Once again, Carmen left in a hurry and drove back up to Mort's cabin, not bothering to take the proper roads. She didn't care about hitting anything, she just needed to get there. She skidded to a halt in front of the house and stalked up to the door with her agenda in mind. She had the answer this time - it didn't make sense, and yet somehow, she couldn't have been more sure.
Shooter's after Mort because Mort took what was his.
She pulled the door open without knocking, and ignored Mort, sitting on the couch with his head his hands. Instead, she headed straight towards the fireplace. For a moment, her eyes darted around the room furiously until they finally rested on one spot on the mantelpiece.
"Carmen - thank God you're back," Mort said shaking, not getting up for fear of scaring Carmen off - she didn't even turn to look at him. "Carmen, I'm -"
He stopped before he could get out the apology he had been sculpting in his head when he saw her take a few steps forward and snatch the black hat off of the mantelpiece. Mort felt a strange sense of fear at the sight of Carmen holding Shooter's hat, and he stood up, reaching towards her.
"Don't touch that," he said in a dangerously quiet voice. "It doesn't belong to you. Put it back."
"It doesn't belong to you either, it belongs to him. It belongs to Shooter," Carmen said, staring down into the crackling fireplace, and Mort took a few steps closer. "I know the secret, Mort. I know more than you think I do. And I know how to stop this."
"What are you talking about?" Mort said, his voice quavering. Carmen finally turned around, her hands gripping the brim of the hat so tightly that it crinkled, her face a mask of calm that was almost as terrifying as Mort felt like he must have been moments earlier. Whatever was happening to her, he had done this to her. "Carmen, you don't know what you're -"
"No. I know exactly what I'm talking about," Carmen spat back, her eyes narrowed dangerously, daring Mort to try telling her again. "I know more than you do about Shooter this time. I've seen things - you never found out who went through your yard, did you?"
"Carmen?"
"It was me. I can't believe you didn't see it," she laughed softly. "I dug up your yard because Shooter told me to. I dreamt about him."
Mort froze, lowering his hand and taking a single step back in disbelief. Shooter was real. He'd known it - but Carmen was the first person to ever suggest that his belief could be true.
"I know what's buried in the ground, and so do you," Carmen continued, her hands and her voice shaking. "You just refuse to remember."
"What?" Mort snapped. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know what's back there," Carmen said. "It'll be gone soon, but you know. You know because you put it there."
"No."
"You couldn't help it. I know. I understand," Carmen pressed on. "But a part of you knows that when it happened, Shooter was you."
"You've gone crazy."
"That makes two of us," Carmen said distantly. She let out a shuddering breath as she looked down at the hat in her hands. "But this is going to be the end of it. It doesn't make sense - I don't understand it. But this is going to end it."
"Put that down," Mort said, eyeing the hat fearfully. He was already imagining what Carmen planned to do, and a part of him wanted her to do it. Another part of him dreaded it. One way or another, he knew that this was going to happen.
"Down. Right," she asked, nodding. Without warning, she whirled around and threw it into the crackling fireplace and quickly, unnaturally, it began to burn. She watched with rapt attention as the edges start to curl and billow into ash - and a strange sound like a whisper echoed through the room. Carmen whirled around as though in attempt to follow the voice with her eyes, and realized Mort had done the same thing. He had heard it too.
Mort stood a short distance behind Carmen, watching as the fire consumed the hat into ash. The dim glow of the firelight illuminated the room as Carmen finally looked up to face him - he gulped when he realized that there were tears running down her cheeks.
"Carmen," he said, approaching her slowly and handling her name carefully as though it were made of glass and would shatter on his tongue if he was too abrupt with it. She was frozen in place, staring at him with a strange emotion that he couldn't quite pinpoint.
"Maybe that was the end," she said, her voice quiet and unsteady. "Maybe you can start all over again now, without Shooter."
"I... I hope so."
Carmen nodded, and glanced toward the door - Mort immediately realized that she was was considering walking out, and she had every right to. She had every right to never want to see him again after tonight. But he didn't want her to walk out of his life, not when after everything he had done, she still came back. He hurried forward and suddenly was kneeling in front of Carmen, grasping both of her hands.
"I deserve for you to hate me. I deserve for you to call the cops, for you to tell everyone in town what I did to you - but I'm begging you," he said, clenching his eyes shut and giving her hands a gentle shake. "Give me another chance. Please give me another chance -"
"Don't do that. Get up," Carmen said shakily, attempting to pull Mort to his feet. "I understand. Mort, I really do. I just -"
"You just want to leave." Getting back to his feet, Mort opened his eyes and stared into Carmen's, not letting go of her hands. He squeezed them expectantly. "I don't expect you to want to stay, but what I said earlier -"
"I don't want to think about - about anything that's happened today," Carmen said, shaking her head. "Because I don't understand any of it, Mort. I don't understand what this mess has been, but I'm just - I'm hoping it's over now. Because no matter how stupid it probably is, no matter how much a wreck it's caused in my life, I don't think I can leave."
Mort's jaw dropped slightly at Carmen's confession, and he raised her hands to his lips, lost for words. He shook his head in disbelief before letting go and wrapping his arms around her - and that was it. All of the frustration of the past couple of days, all of the revelations, finally took over Carmen and she let out a deep sob into Mort's shoulder.
They simply stood that way for longer than Carmen could keep track of, and when they finally got tired, they sat down on the sofa. It dawned on them finally that for the first time, there was reason to believe that John Shooter was no longer a part of Mort's life - that Shooter finally had everything he wanted and could move on with his afterlife. And, it meant Carmen no longer had to keep his secret.
It came spilling out in an avalanche, leaving Mort speechless. The words tumbled out about John Shooter, about the farm in Dellacourt, about Timothy Haley and his family - and while Mort had never believed in ghosts or magic or voodoo, something about Carmen's story was strangely believable. It was so outlandish, and yet somehow was the only thing he had heard in months which made the least bit of sense. After everything had come out, he simply sat on the couch holding Carmen's hand for a long time - a very long time - and Carmen made no move to pull away.
"I'm sorry you had to be a part of this," Mort said weakly. "This shouldn't have involved you -"
"If it involves you, it involves me," Carmen said, and when Mort looked up, he thought his heart would stop when he realized that she was smiling at him. It was a small smile. It was tired and hesitant, but it was a smile that he returned. "If this is what it takes to be with you - with just you, no questions, no doubts - then I'm crazy enough to dive in head-first."
Overwhelmed by the realization that she really, honestly loved him, Mort leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her again with all the warmth he could muster, and she immediately returned the embrace. Carmen laughed tearfully, shaking her head and burying her face again in Mort's shoulder.
"I'm a bad weed. You're not going to get rid of me so easily," she muttered, her voice muffled in the material of his sweater. "You're mine now - I'm not sharing you with John Shooter or anybody else."
"Deal," Mort chuckled, planting a kiss in her hair.
Maybe this, he decided as he sat on the couch in front of the fireplace with the woman he loved, was what being free felt like. This was what it felt like to be safe.