Old Windows

My File?

* Week One with Mort- Monday

"Leave him, Claire. Leave him!" Claire heard the urgent warning from Elise in her dream, earning her a sickening shriek as she woke up.

"What's wrong!?" Mort hectically questioned as he ran down the stairs.

Claire unsteadily lifted up with body with her elbows and propped herself up on the couch. Lying in a pool of her own sweat and a few uninvited tears rolling down her cheeks. She was out of breath and looked up at Mort desperately for answers.

He felt his heart sink looking at the disarray she was. Mort sat with her and let Claire curl into his arms. Her hair even was sopping with sweat and he tried his hardest to not vomit at the texture of her wetly matted hair.

"I keep having nightmares Mort. I can't be okay awake because all I see is her tied up in those g*ddamn ropes-" her tone tightened into anger and her teeth gritted together in her words, "I hope the sick mother f*cker who did that burns in hell!" Mort felt her body begin to thrash between his arms and he strengthened his grip around her. "And now I can't even sleep because my dreams are consumed by her. I don't know how much longer I can take this."

"Hey," he began, lifting her head to meet his eyes, "I'm here. Now there's nothing I can do about her, but I'm here for you. You're safe here. I won't let you out of my sight," he brought her head into his chest and had full confidence his words were making an impact in her, but they weren't.

Claire felt like a black bottomless pit, and there wasn't a good word of advice in the whole world that would repair the kind of grief she was experiencing.

"How do you think we should try and move past this?" Mort asked.

Claire sat and pondered to herself. What was the one thing that could solve this all? She can't bring Elise back, and no one knows who did it. The look in Claire's eyes became more concentrated and filled with; something.

"What're you thinking about?"

"Killing whoever did this," she spoke softly into the atmosphere that chilled over with her words.

"Really?"

"Yeah," she looked up at him, "Whoever it is, I gonna kill them myself," she let the silence linger a little longer, "even if it's you, Mort." she looked back up at him and Mort saw the anger materializing in her face.

"Well. Don't you think that's a little excessive?" Mort asked.

"Not at all," she asserted and got up to go to the bathroom.

He watched her slow and sluggish walk while feeling almost a trench hole being formed within himself. Mort cautiously walked over to the counter and rested his elbows on the counter and buried his face in his hands. With his hands cupped over his forehead, he saw Claire's purse below to his left. In hope of some cigarettes, he rummaged through but came across a file.

He furrowed his eyebrows and slowly slid the folder out. "Morton Rainey" it read on the tab.

"The hell?" he whispered to himself.

He quickly ran to check if Claire was still in the bathroom and once he saw the light underneath the door he opened the folder.

"No f*cking way..." he whispered in shock as he realized what it was, "How'd she get my f*cking records. Why does she have them?" He heard the water running and carefully slid the folder back inside, just how he found it.

Mort jogged back over to his original spot on the couch and tried his best to seem distraught. Which wasn't a lie, but he was more confused and filled with questions after what he just uncovered.

She came out of the bathroom, "I'm gonna go lie down for a little bit. I don't feel good," she announced, barely able to make eye contact.

"You want me to come with you?" he asked.

"I'm okay Mort," she lifted her hand as she made her way up the stairs.

"Call if you need anything love," his eyes flickering between her and her purse.

He waited a few seconds after he heard the door close, and returned to the file. Mort took the folder to the breakfast table in his kitchen and helped himself. He read some of the words aloud, but once he got to his criminal record, he stopped.

"Suspected for four counts of murder" he read down the list of names and supposed evidence they had against him, which wasn't much.

"Sh*t," he mumbled as he rubbed his hands over his chin and lower face.

There was nothing he could do about it. There's nothing you can do about it Mort. If you throw it away, she'll know you did it and everything will be over. " She won't find out." She will, or maybe take out the page about the murders.

Mort didn't second guess his conscious. He removed the page and crumbled it up. He attentively placed it back inside her purse and took the crumbled paper upstairs to throw it away in the trashcan next to his desk. Claire would never look in there.

Mort stared at the paper inside the trash can and knew something was off. He knelt down and placed some of the older trash on top to make his less noticeable. Feeling satisfied and secured in covering up his tracks, he returned to his writing station and continued working on his story.