Old Windows

Cleaning Up

* Week Two with Mort- Saturday

Even with four days passing by, Claire could still not find a single remedy. But after Mort declined her every request to leave the house after that walk, and spending most days up in that suffocating bedroom, she determined the reasoning for this inexplainable sickness was being ultimately held hostage within the wooden chambers of the sinister lake-house. To be completely honest, Claire didn't necessarily feel 'sick' anymore, she felt sickened. Everything about Mort was morphing into something beyond comprehension- something less human. His very presence could suck the air out of any room and casted a dreary cloud of emptiness. She was drained of being there, the corn, the provoking clack of his fingertips hitting the keyboard all day long vexed her to no end. Anything that was Mort, she came to loathe.

Claire didn't ever intend on feeling this way. In fact, it tore her heart knowing how she came to perceive Mr.Rainey. On Mort's end, all was collapsing and the only way he could manipulate the situation was in due course, kill her. Rid of the evidence. 'Sure I could keep her alive and just watch her rot until she dies', he often thought, but his residing love for her and crave for possessive control was the only thing that kept her alive this long. Since Mort's existence was being poured solely into his story, he hadn't taken even a minute to grasp the state of his own home. The trash can near his desk was full to the brim, and overflowing around the area of the can. The fireplace hadn't been lit in weeks and the wood was wilting, the blankets on the couch hadn't been washed and were beginning to crease within the form they were left. Corn husks scattered and covered the entire counter space, along with empty, and half opened cans of soup.

Mort's previous house sitter had quit shortly after what had happened, and he relied on his own will power to keep up his vicinity.

As Mort was pounding away on his keyboard as usual, Claire crept out of the bedroom in her own robe, she couldn't bring herself to wear his anymore.

"Hey," she spoke softly.

As soon as Mort heard her voice, he slammed down the screen and gave his full attention to her.

"Yes?" he replied.

Ever since he subliminally made it clear he knew about her snooping through his story and her suspicion of him, he was colder than before. The warm glow in his eyes and smile disappeared and it made it all the more foreboding with every step Claire took in the house. Both had acknowledged it but for the sake of the peace, they silently concurred not to bring it up.

"I think all the soup we have isn't good anymore. Do you think you could get me some more? Or I can go by myself, it's beautiful out there," she suggested, knowing he wouldn't allow her to but it was worth every shot.

"Nope, I can go," he asserted, standing up and heading downstairs, "You want the same ones?" he asked from downstairs, grabbing his keys.

Mort's computer had slowly caught Claire's attention and the longer she looked, the deeper she thought into what could possibly be held next in her future. Her extensive pondering and blood-curdling contemplation drowned out the sound of Mort's voice until she saw him out of the corner of her eye, marching up towards her.

The heavy steps on the stairs approached closer, shook her out of her daze.

"Hello?" he spat in her face.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to grasp what was happening. Looking at the computer and the irrationally livid man in front of her, she wasn't sure which one she was more afraid of.

"Sorry, I don't know what I was doing," she lied her hand gently on top of her head, letting her hair slip in between her finger tips.

"Neither do I," he snatched his computer from its resting place and ran downstairs with it, "I'll be back," he called quietly while walking out the door with his computer clenched tightly in his firm grasp.

Claire gave a disgusted look towards the door, trying to fathom how one man could possess so much abnormality. Even if she didn't get to leave, she was still without Mort on the plus side. But would soon fade, because even a house without Mort still had Mort lingering in every inch. He was everywhere, all the time; watching, plotting, and God knows what else.

She wrapped her robe tightly around her torso and walked cautiously downstairs. As she looked out the window to check if he was gone, she noticed Mort had locked the door from the inside out, "F*cking psychopath," she whispered, wiggling the knob around.

But Mort hadn't left yet. As Claire let go of the knob, she peeked out the window to notice Mort sitting in his running car, keeping a steady glare on the house. She let out a harsh gasp and covered her mouth as she quickly let go of the knob and dropped her body to fall below the door. A few tears ran down her cheeks in terror, but she wiped them away as she soon heard his car engine getting quieter and quieter.

It took her a few moments to gain back her composure but when she did, she lifted herself up and walked around the house. Sounds like a simple thing to do but was near impossible when he was around. With the time she had to herself, she spent it worth her while and cleaned up the house. In the back of her mind she was anticipating this could curb Mort's hostility towards her. Throwing away piles of husks and bunches of soup cans, attempting to fold the mildew smell-ridden blankets. She almost smiled to herself as she realized this was the first time she had felt productive in what felt like years.

She made her way upstairs and went to throw away the lingering trash. It was spilling out of her arms but she managed to cram it all into the trash can in the kitchen. Claire's work folder collecting dust on the counter caught her attention and she casually looked through. She missed work, she missed anything outside at this point. All the grocery store trips she took for granted and walks she didn't soak in as much as she should've. Her eyes became misty wondering if she would ever be able to see her own house, or feel the sun and rain on her skin again.

The smell of the house made her nauseous. But as she was thumbing through the folder, she discerned what was missing. Mort's file. More specifically, the page about his personal record. Her heartbeat accelerated and perspiration was dampening her greasy hair.

Her rummaging was sloppier and she felt like the time bomb, being Mort, would explode if he caught her doing this. One thing came to mind, and she looked at the full trash can sitting by the counter. Claire knew this would take time but she couldn't risk having that paper thrown out. As she opened the crumpled pieces, her hope ran thin and all Claire was thinking of was a prayer that Mort wouldn't come home anytime soon. Maybe get in an accident or something.

Unimportant paper after unimportant paper came by until she though out loud, "I remember putting it right back inside my folder. I wouldn't have take it out for anything."

There she knew Mort had everything to do with it, "Son of a b*tch!" she hissed, quickening her hunt for the missing paper. Until she finally found it. She gently unwrinkled it and attempted to smooth it out over the counter. Claire knew she needed to somehow buy more time. She ran upstairs for her cellphone and called Mort.

"Hello?" he spoke, from the sound of the echo and background noise, she knew he was in the car.

"I just remembered, we're all out of painkillers and stomach tablets. I'm sorry, do you mind picking those up too?"

She heard a thick sigh fill the phone line, "I'm already almost home. Do you need it that bad?"

"Yeah I do, I was cleaning the kitchen and being on my feet that much gave me a huge migraine and mad me a little sick to my stomach."

There was a long irritated pause, "Okay."

"Thanks Mort."

"Yep," he snapped and ended the call.

At this point she didn't care how angry he was, she just needed time.