Old Windows

Not my Place

*Week Two with Mort- Tuesday

Claire's inexplainable illness wasn't budging. No amount of medicine seemed to cure whatever was going on, so Claire and Mort classified it as a stomach bug or an infection manifestation of grief. On Mort's end, a dismal reality was beginning to transpire. Claire was steadfast in pursuing whoever it was that murdered Elise. And although Mort felt secure in his innocence being preserved, there was no telling what lengths she would go to.

Mort possessed great amounts of fulfillment while scanning his computer screen full of progress. As he smiled to himself, he took a short look over at his bedroom door. Nothing came to his mind at first, but as soon as he returned his gaze back onto the screen, he remembered his sick occupant inside. He exhaled and decided it was in his best interest that he should be considerate and nurse her.

He gently knocked on the door while holding onto the knob, "Sweetheart?" he softly called.

He stepped back in pity to find her sound asleep and coddled in all the blankets available on the bed. Mort let out a sigh of sympathy and came to his consensus that he should take a drive to the store for her. After all, their relationship came before any murder suspicion. Right?

"I'll be back soon love," he whispered before closing the door as peaceably as he could.

Little did Mort know his attempt at being quiet was ineffective. Claire was woken up by the sound of creaking footsteps on the stairs. She groaned audibly once the scorching headache flushed back. Claire squinted her eyes and looked around the room to deciphered that no one was inside. She grabbed Mort's old robe and walked out the door.

"Mort?" she called a few times to find no response.

She looked out the window and noticed his car was gone. Claire figured he went to the store, there weren't very many places he could've gone otherwise. As she made her way back to Mort's room, she noticed his computer was still turned on. The sound of the fan running was loud, and would've become bothersome had she left it on. She swiveled her finger across the track pad and his screen lit up to display his latest story.

In that moment it was made aware to her that Mort hadn't shared a single page of it. Not that he was obligated to, she just assumed he would maybe appreciate her feedback. She made an effort to envision Mort's reaction to her reading his story not only prematurely but without permission. Claire continued to swivel her finger across in thought before letting her curiosity take control and set down at his sacred writer's desk.

She relished sitting in the seat that he manufactured all his most honorable work in. First she scowered through his drawers, but came across no riveting discoveries. The brightly lit words on the screen were alluring. Almost as if her consciousness was screaming out for her to read them. She ran her hands down her face in contemplation, absolutely unsure of what to listen to. It seemed in just a matter of seconds her finger was scrolling upwards to the top of the page. 'Here we go' she thought.

The further down she read, all the more clear and comprehensible it made her life.

'Ted Olson knew he could no longer have the friend around. She made it all too complicated. First taking his woman away from him, then destroying the trust he had so carefully built within their relationship. He therefore decided to kill her-'

Claire took a violent inhale. Her cold, white hand gradually made its way to her mouth. Although there was no physical proof of anything, she had just enough to connect the pieces together. She was so paralyzed with fear that her ears blocked out the sound of Mort's car returning to the driveway. Claire was roused out of her state of sickening bewilderment at the rattling of the door knob.

"Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t," she panicked in trepidation.

Claire bolted from the computer, ran back in Mort's room and crashed herself on the bed. She could hear the muffled ding of cans colliding with the kitchen counter. That soon ceased as the sound of the creaking footsteps was growing closer. The sound that once used to bring security now brought upon uneasiness and angst.

She forced her eyes to close shut and faced away from the door. She knew Mort crept inside from the pounding of his lead boots on the wood. He attentively sat next to her on the bed and glided his finger down her face, tracing the outline her lose hair had made on her face. Claire's mind demanded her eyes remain closed and to stay completely still.

"Claire?" Mort finally spoke.

She fluttered her eyes open and emulated waking up from a deep sleep.

"Hi Mort," she smiled.

"Hi darling. I picked up some soups, hopefully that'll make you feel a little better."

Her heartbeat could've been heard by Mort himself, its thump was louder than the rustling of the sheets between them. Claire was in immediate need of an excuse to leave the house. She sat up in the bed.

"No, no, I'll bring it to you. You need to lie down," he placed his hands on the top of her chest near her collarbones to lie her back down, but felt the hammering batter of her heart instead, "My God Claire, your heart. Are you okay?" Mort lied his hand on her forehead to find it hot to the touch.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. Maybe just a bad dream. But uh," she paused, "I was kinda hoping to get some fresh air. Maybe go for a walk?"

Claire noticed the expression of confusion and panic settle on his face. She had no idea how to ease his rising anger, but she needed to get out of the house either way.

"So um, I'm gonna grab my shoes and coat and I'll be back in 20. Okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course," he sat on the bed even after she had gotten up. Thoughts upon thoughts were formulating in his mind and he felt as if all of it was slipping from his control. He quickly turned back around and shook off the discomfort, "You don't want me to come with you?"

"Oh no, I'll be okay Mort," she said as she was putting on her sneakers.

She walked over to the concerned Mort sitting on the bed in the same position. She kissed the top of his head, "I'll be back."

She grabbed her phone and headed for the door, not waiting for an approving response from him. Mort remained completely still and lost within his own mind. He hated when this happened.

He walked quickly down the stairs and watched her through the window as she walked on into the forest terrain trail just ahead. Mort unhinged his jaw and aggressively ripped his hand through his hair. Claire could feel the eerie stares climbing up and down her back as she disappeared from his sight.

Mort had to think of something instantaneously to rid his mind of all the intrusive thoughts. He marched upstairs to his computer. Once he sat down and settled in, he swiveled his finger over the track pad, expecting to see the place he left off, he was disoriented to find that the screen was just a few paragraphs ahead of where was.

He raised an eyebrow.

In fact, his cursor was in a completely different spot.

"Who the hell touched m-" his words halted as he came to the profound comprehension that Claire was the only one who could've touched it.

It was the only rational explanation, but it made things more clear as to why she wanted to leave the house so quickly without him. Could even possibly explain the reasoning for her baffling heart rate.

With an undecided consciousness, he proceeded with his story as usual. Until the time Claire returned home.

"I'm back," she announced.

He didn't respond and was sucked in his screen. Her stomach was contorting at what grim additories he could be typing.

She took notice of the soup cans still within the bag; untouched.

"What happened to my soup?" she jokingly asked.

"Didn't make it," he shortly answered, "I was too busy finding my place again in my story. Wasn't where I left it," he chimed through a slight country twain. He lifted his head above the screen, just enough for Claire to see him.

Her thrashing heartbeat returned as she realized what he was talking about.