Disclaimer: I don't own Secret Window

Here's Chapter 1! Enjoy!

Write something.

Anything. Just write something.

Mort Rainey was currently sitting at his desk and staring at his laptop, his mind torturing him to write something. He needed to write something, if not for the fact that it was his livelihood but for the fact that he felt maybe writing something would make him feel better about being labelled a plagiarist by a southern man who had a manuscript of a story Mort had written years ago. Mort was trying to prove his own merit by writing just a paragraph but not even a sentence was coming to him. He had complete writer's block.

You could call Amy about the magazine.

But that would mean I have to talk to her.

Good point. Let's not do that.

Mort was always grateful to think of a reason not to have to talk to his ex-wife and over time, the reason just became him not wanting to at all. He had yet to sign his divorce papers and after six months, Amy was calling him so Mort remained satisfied with the thought that he didn't have to call her because more than likely, she'd be annoying him soon enough.

Mort's attention was taken when he heard a knock on his door. He froze immediately.

Shooter?

He looked at his pet, Chico, as the old dog rested on a nearby chair.

"Okay, when I call, you come and maul him."

Chico simply turned his head away and closed his eyes again.

"Great..."

The knocking continued and Mort eventually got up and walked slowly down the stairs. He felt better when he didn't see the silhouette of a big man with a hat but when he realised it was the outline of a woman; he balked at the thought of opening the door again. But his curiosity got the better of him and he walked over and pulled the door open to see a blonde woman standing on the other side.

"Mister Rainey?"

Mort frowned. He'd never met her. "Yes?"

"My name is Dylan Saunders and I'm a photographer, working for Estrella Magazine."

"I told you people months ago that I'm not doing any interviews." Mort said, going to close the door.

Dylan put her hand on it to keep it open. "Actually Mister Rainey, I'm not here for that. The magazine is doing a piece on economical vacation spots, you know, the relaxation without the costs and Tashmore Lake is going to be featured."

"Okay..." Mort said, not knowing why she was on his doorstep but not wanting her to stay.

"I'm here because the view of the lake is perfect from here and I was wondering..."

"No."

Dylan frowned. "No?"

"I don't want anything to do with that." Mort said.

"You actually wouldn't have to be involved." Dylan assured. "I would just have to be on your land for a day or two. We'd pay you for your trouble if..."

"No...Thank you." Mort said. "Goodbye."

Mort closed the door and went to his couch.

Call about the magazine.

No.

You need to get that magazine.

Mort groaned and lay back on the couch.

I'll take a nap, prepare myself and then I'll call her.

Mort closed his eyes and tried to doze off but he was soon interrupted as the door opened.

"Hello, Mister Rainey."

Mort shot up quickly. "Hello, Mrs. Garvey."

Mrs. Garvey, his weekly cleaning lady, walked over to him. "This was on your porch when I walked up." She said, handing him a white card before going to the kitchen.

Mort looked down at it.

Dylan Saunders

Photographer

Mort looked at the phone number before flicking the card onto the table and forgetting about it completely.

"And how are you today, Mister Rainey?"

"Oh, fine. Just fine." Mort said, getting up and going back to his laptop. He was halfway up the stairs when he was stopped.

"Mister Rainey?"

Mort faltered tiredly and turned, plastering a polite look on his face as the woman came out from the kitchen. "Yes?"

"Do you have any laundry?"

"I'll go get it."

"Okay." She said, going back to the kitchen.

Mort continued up the stairs until she came out again.

"Have you eaten yet?"

He stopped again and turned. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"I'll make something anyway in case you changed your mind." She said, returning to the kitchen.

Mort wanted to bang his head against the wall, or better, her head against the wall. He waited a few seconds before finally getting up the stairs and back to his laptop. He saw the white screen glaring at him.

After a few minutes, he looked down below to see Mrs. Garvey out of sight. He opened his drawer and pulled out one of his cigarettes, lighting it and began smoking.

Much better.

"Mister Rainey?"

Mort panicked and stamped the cigarette against the wood. "Yes?" He called back.

"The laundry?"

Mort rolled his eyes. "One second."

"Alrighty then."

Kill me now.


Mort had crashed on his couch that night after Mrs. Garvey finally left. He had recoiled at the thought of calling Amy again. He was awoken in the morning to the sound of a banging against the door which made him shoot up.

Shooter.

Mort remained on the couch as the banging occurred again.

"Mister Rainey, I know you're in there. I can see you."

Mort huffed and got up, ripping the door open. "What do you want now?"

"The magazine."

"You said I had three days." Mort frowned. "Are you incapable on counting too?"

Shooter glowered at him. "Careful, Mister Rainey. You're all alone up here. If something were to happen to you, no one would know for days and days." Shooter gave a sickly smile when he saw something behind himself. "Hello doggy."

Mort looked back to see Chico had come up behind him. "Chico, inside."

The dog scuttled away and Mort turned back to Shooter. "Are you threatening me?"

"I am just letting you know what's what, Mister Rainey." Shooter said. "I don't appreciate being made look a fool by a man who stole my idea. Now, where is that magazine?"

Mort huffed. "I don't have it yet."

"You better go on and hurry yourself up, Mister Rainey and get that magazine from your ex-wife or else I'm going to have to go down there myself and ask her about it. See you soon, Mister Rainey. Good day."

Shooter walked away, back to his car and Mort closed the door quickly, locking it. He rushed back to his couch and placed the phone in front of him.

Can I call the police?

He hasn't done anything I can tell the police about.

He threatened me. Surely that counts for something.

Mort thought about it.

No witnesses.

If I did have someone around here for a few days, I bet Shooter wouldn't come within a hundred feet of here.

Mort looked down at the phone and saw the white card lying next to it.

One or two days.

Right outside.

Mort picked up the receiver and dialled the number on the card.

"Hello?"

"Miss Saunders? It's Mort Rainey."

"Mister Rainey, I have to say, I didn't expect to be hearing from you." Dylan smiled. "I thought leaving that card was a very long shot."

"Yeah, well...I've been thinking about it and I've decided to take you up on your offer."

"Great. Do you want to make an appointment or..."

"Just come up whenever you want." Mort said. "The sooner, the better."

Dylan nodded. "Perfect. I'll see you soon, Mister Rainey."

"Yeah...uh...Bye."

Mort put down the phone and rapped his nails on the wooden table.

You better help me out, lady.


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