Chapter 8

Annie rummaged around the boxes in her closet trying to find the magazine. She knew it was here somewhere because she hadn't thrown anything out, at least things that referred to Mort.

Keeping busy was her way to think things over, and there was a lot to be considering. The appointment for the discussion over her pictures wasn't for another few days. Which was good because it gave her time to help Mort, the photography company gave her a week and a half after her last assignment to unwind from all the stress.

Then after her pictures were evaluated they would send her somewhere else, maybe this time she'd be able to pick where she would go. That was her dream one day to leave all the weddings and christenings behind and go find something people would be interested in.

Mort understood what that was like and had given her much needed pep talks every now and then when it all felt useless. She had come so close to quitting and finding another career to pursue, but Mort had stood up for her dream and refused to let her back out.

When it seemed she'd go mad from all the pictures of banquets and flower arrangements, Mort had been there to renew her images of Scotland, London, and all the far-off places she had yet to get too.

He had always been sure of what he wanted in life, there was no going around and around a problem. He chose one option and went with it no regrets afterwards. It was something she had always admired in him, his ability to forge on through life without looking back.

The only time she had seen that falter was when Amy had filed for divorce. She had hated Amy for that, Annie had met her a few times over the course of their ten year marriage.

She knew that Amy didn't like her, or even approve of their friendship. Annie had tried to refrain from calling him for awhile because she didn't want to make things worse than they were.

Mort had called her two days later and waved away all of her protesting saying that he didn't give a good goddamn what Amy thought on this matter because he wasn't a puppy to be led around.

Amy had confronted her once and said that she didn't want her around Mort anymore. That was a few days after Mort's phone-call, which made Annie all the more willing to be there for him.

As horrible as Amy was towards him she couldn't imagine Mort killing her over it. In fact, he had taken the whole thing remarkably well doing what she'd imagine any man would do after finding out his wife had cheated on him.

He got a little drunk, locked himself away, and tried to forget that there were still papers to be signed and property to go through. Annie had felt horrible about leaving for Europe, but Mort had been adamant on her leaving.

She had never understood what Amy meant when she said Mort was 'gone inside his head.' He was a writer, of course he'd immerse himself in his work. She had done that a few times herself, as a photographer she'd been oblivious to all that went on around her except for what she was focused on.

A box overturned, she sighed as she picked up the pictures. "Ken Karsch." She muttered as she put the pictures back into their place. These were the pictures from Ken's funeral a few months ago. It had been shocking, no one would have imagined the tough-looking literary agent to collapse from a heart attack.

She looked up horrified, Mort had said that he killed Ken. He had meant recently, what did he mean? She had the pictures of Ken's funeral right in front of her, there was no way John could have killed him!

"Some women don't know a good thing when they got it. They don't know they got the whole world right in front of their nose."
"Her sticky weird fingers on my privacy."

He was wondering through a smoky room of mirrors, whenever he turned he saw someone that he knew on the mirror. Searching, not able to rest until he found the right one. He saw Mrs. Garvey and her voice reverberated through the corridors.

There was no air, he was suffocating slowly, Mort ran from the high maniacal laughter that followed him wherever he went.

"He was hired to do this. Somebody with a grudge against you hired a tough guy to rattle you... scare you to death..." Mort came face to face with Ken Karsch bleeding and empty eyed. He turned around trying to stay conscious and saw another Ken reflected in the ceiling mirror. This time he was in a black coffin and it was being lowered into the ground.

He knew it was Ken because he could see into the casket and saw the cloth over his face. "... But he gets the wrong guy. Things get out of control..." Mort stumbled back against another mirror and heard an odd ringing laughter, low and husky voiced he knew it belonged to his former literary agent.

"... They go further than they're supposed too." Mort tripped over some unseen object on the floor and his head hit the ground as he fell. He was staring up at the mirrored ceiling where a very dead Chico stared at him through sightless eyes.

"No," he scrambled to his feet and rammed his fist against one of the mirrors. It didn't break or shatter as he expected it too.

"Dead dogs... burnt down houses..." he saw himself with the champagne bottle and the gasoline. He wore the black hat and a stolid look on his face.

"Now he can't call him off." The laughter faded away and Mort saw blood on his hands. It dripped slowly onto the floor and then he watched in horror as it rolled slowly towards the mirrors.

It was reflected in all the mirrors around him and realized that it was covering the floor of the room and slowly rising. He ran the perimeter of the room trying desperately to find a way out. It had reached the hem of his pants and he couldn't move.

"John!" he saw Shooter standing above the pool of red on the floor and knew with abject fear that John was going to stay and watch him die.

"I'd take care of myself, Mr. Rainey, because if things turn out differently... I suppose I am crazy. And that kinda crazy man... has no reason or excuse to live."

"Wait! No!" the blood had reached his knees now and he struggled to keep from falling. John was gone and this was the end.

"Mort? Mort!" he dimly heard someone calling his name, the mirrors flashed eerily before fading. "Damnit, Mort, wake up!" it was the desperation in that voice which finally woke him.

Expecting to still be mired in the crimson pool of blood he struggled and fell onto something warm and very feminine.

"Hi." He saw Annie's shocked violet eyes widen in surprise and felt the insane urge to say something. Surely he could have done better than 'hi.'

"Hello." She laughed at how cute he looked with the shadow of a beard and his tousled blonde-brown hair in hopeless disarray.

"What a way to wake up." He was still sprawled on top of her, but he had shifted slightly so that most of his weight was rested on his side.

"Don't start anything you're not going to finish." She warned before he kissed her. His heartbeat pulsed against hers through the thin layers of their shirts, and she felt light-headed when her senses skyrocketed.

Cigarettes, a smoky wood-burning smell from all the logs he split, and traces of cologne hastily administered were on his clothes.

"That finished quite nicely, don't you think?" he grinned as he used the couch as leverage to stand. He'd give himself a few minutes before actually walking somewhere however easy it might sound. Annie solved the dilemma by going into the kitchen, she returned with two Mountain Dews and a bag of Doritos.

"Improving, much improving." She smiled after taking a long drink of soda, "But the nightmares haven't stopped yet, hmm? Do you remember what this one was about?"

"Unfortunately, but I'd really rather not talk about it, you know? Later I'll tell you anything you want to know, right now?" he shook his head and grabbed a handful of Doritos.

"Alright, fine by me. Have you considered going to see a doctor about this trouble you have sleeping?"

"No. I don't like doctors, waste of time, they tell you what you already know and charge you for it." He looked sideways at her, "Besides, now that you're here I don't have to worry about sleeping."

"Why, Mort." She managed to look both innocent and mischievous, "What're you insinuating?"

"Nothing, nothing," he sighed, "Just following the rules of courtship and wooing to win a fair lady's heart."

"There's a rulebook?"

"Course." He looked as if it were insane of her not to know, "But it's a secret only the men know because ladies run us ragged on everything else."

"Is that so." She smiled at the thought of them passing on a book with codes and tips for dating women.

"Yup." Mort cleaned his glasses on his shirt matter-of-factly, "I learned all I could and passed it on to the next poor guy I saw on the street."

"Nice of you."

"Had to keep the chain going." He shrugged finishing off the Mountain Dew.

"You know?" she said taking something out of her purse and putting them on the table, "I have something to show you."

"Your pictures?" he asked interestedly picking up the closest one then dropping it as he stared at a mahogany coffin being lowered into the ground. White flowers rested on top, green grass surrounded the rectangular cavity in which the casket was being let down into.

"Ken." He whispered turning pale, as if drowning he grasped at the other pictures and flipped through them. The pictures were dated a year ago, which meant that Ken hadn't been around for that long a period of time. "where did you get these?"

"I took them, Mort." She said carefully, "You were there, see?" she picked up one towards the end. Mort was wearing a black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt underneath, no hat on his head, but glasses firmly in place.

"But- I killed him?" the last was said in form of a question, his eyes were confused as he flipped through the remaining photographs.

"He died of natural causes. A heart attack in a hotel room one night, the company found him the next morning when he didn't answer his cell phone. You told me about it, Mort. I went to the funeral, sat with you at the reception."

"Then it's not true. I didn't- but, he was there. Wasn't he there?" he turned to look at Annie pleading with her to tell him he wasn't crazy.

"He wasn't in the truck when they pulled it out of the lake. Only Tom was, and the townspeople mentioned him, but I assume that it's just rumors going around from you talking with the sheriff. Besides, Isabelle said that you mentioned him a few weeks ago coinciding with Amy and Ted's death..."

"Now why did you go and do a thing like that, missus?" John Shooter wasn't happy, not at all. This was a link, albeit a small one, but she could bring the whole works down if she kept meddling. "This," he splayed a hand across the pictures, "Wasn't necessary. What's right is right, and this isn't playing fair."

"Why not?" Annie asked calmly so as not to get him angry, "Bringing evidence forward to try to help him? Why can't I help him, John? You're still in control, he's gone now, isn't he? Why can't I help bring a little normality back to his chaotic life?"

"Because I-"he sighed deeply and stared at her for a long while, "There is no Mort Rainey, it's useless trying to bring back something that's not real. He was a dream, a long overdue fantasy that I finally got control of."

"John, Mr. Shooter," she noticed the pleased glint cross his eyes, "He's lost, confused, let me help him. I'll stay within the perimeters you set, but when he comes back again... will you?" she had to appeal to the side of him that needed control. She knew that Mort was strong enough to fight, and the whole lost and weak side she was portraying him as helped her cause.

"You can do whatever you want, missus, it's a lost cause, I done told you that." He pulled out a pack of Pall Mall's and offered her one. She shook her head, this wasn't the brand she smoked when she lit up, "What you don't understand is, if we do start to fight... it's not going to end until one or the other of us is dead. You know what that means, right? You're Mr. Rainey is going to loose, then there'll be nothing left. I'll be in here all alone."

"Annie, get out." Mort gasped still holding the lit cigarette. He stared at it and put it out against the wood of the table, "He's going to kill you if you don't."

"He'll try to kill me." She corrected, "I've gone up against greater things than this, you try making your way into the only Starbucks in Europe at seven in the morning. Lives are lost, people are hurt... that's a challenge. This? Not a problem."

"Annie-"

"I don't want to hear it, Mort." This was unlike any form of schizophrenia she'd ever heard of, Mort and John were obviously two different people, but they seemed aware of the other and spoke of fighting to the death. She knew that her life was in the gamble now too, but Mort meant more to her than escaping to let him eventually be consumed by Shooter. "I'm not leaving you, if you lock the doors I'll climb through the window. Lock them and I'll camp out in the shed."

Her eyes flashed with a light of savagery, "I- I love you, Mort." Hearing the break in her voice she did the only thing she could think of. She kissed him.