Old Windows

In Your Own Filth

* Continuing

Mort never missed a morning of obsessively scrolling through his previously written material. He latched onto the security of just having it with him.

"Where the f*ck is it?" he hissed amongst his pain. Stretching downwards as much as he could to reach under the couch.

His fingertips prodded around but all he felt was the rug underneath. A thought came to him and he looked up straight ahead towards the fireplace.

"Go**amn b*tch," he growled as he pieced together that Claire most definitely took the plate and computer, "Claire!" he screamed from the couch.

The shrill rang in her ears and she immediately slammed down the computer screen. Between the silence, she could hear her heartbeat and she watched the laptop on her chest move in rhythm with the battering of her heart. Her body was paralyzed and she waited to see if he would call her name again.

"Claire! Come here!" she flung the laptop off of her and shoved it beneath the mattress.

"Hold on," she called back, gathering herself before answering his command.

She could hardly walk down the steps as just their creaking alone seemed to send her into a panic. The closer she got she could see more and more of the top of Mort's head as he lied down, and she could tell just from the back of his head that he had murder in his eyes.

He heard her approaching steps and each one made him cringe in anger. Mort couldn't wait to rip into her.

"Where the f*ck are my things?" he spat as she barely made her way around the couch.

"What things?" her lips quivered.

He inhaled deeply as his breath spelled out confined frustration, "You know what I'm talking about."

"I really don't Mort, it would help if you just said it."

"Forget it, you're just gonna keep f*cking lying about it anyways."

Claire thought twice about speaking, she also thought twice about biting her tongue. But ultimately, the days of biting her tongue were coming to a bitter sweet end whether she wanted it or not. She placed one foot on top of the coffee table and lowered her head as he waved no white flag to staring right back at her threatening bearing.

"I'd be careful about the way you speak to me. I know that you know. We both know," she held her gaze for a few seconds as her eyes slowly shifted to his broken legs.  Her lips curved into a satisfied smile, "And seeing that you refuse to go to a doctor because they'll find out all the f*cked up sh*t you did, I don't think there's much you'll be able to do about it."

"What exactly are you trying to say Claire? I'm a murderer? I'm sick in the head? Come out and say it."

"I think the reason I don't just leave this go*damn prison is because I wanna see you suffer. Or maybe even just do it myself."

"Is that so? Why don't you just kill me right now then? I'm here, I can't move."

"I don't know. Who knows what I'm gonna do to you. I could just turn you in. I hope you haven't forgotten about where I'm supposed to be working. I haven't shown up in weeks."

"They did call. A while ago, asking about you."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?! What did they say?" she removed her foot from the table and crossed her arms.

"Guess I forgot," he smiled, "they said you no longer have a job there. Well," he smiled once more, "they asked where you had been and I said I had no idea where you went, maybe upstate to run away. I told them I was just a family friend who was wondering the same thing," he winced in pain as he leaned to the table for his cigarettes, but not for long before chuckling, "I'll tell you, they didn't sound too concerned. Police in this town don't really care much about anything."

"What the f*ck is wrong with you? You never cared to tell me I had no job anymore? "

"You just seemed so, happy here," he shrugged his shoulders together mockingly, "I couldn't lose you."

Claire rubbed her eyes violently, but no amount of it could bring clarity to her brain probably ever again, "I can't believe I ever had feelings for you, or whatever the hell it was. It was a mistake."

"I don't think love is real. We both got something out of it. But I think you're just obsessed with killing me that you're gonna stay however long it takes for you to summon the f*cking courage, and slit my go*damn throat, right?" he asked placidly, putting his cigarette out.

"I think however you killed Elise I wanna do to you."

He laughed, "Those are some big allegations missy. What makes you think that? What've you been reading that brings you to that ending?" his smoke stained teeth sneered at her.

Claire knew he was referring to her reading his computer, "Just seems to make the most sense," she answered dryly.

"Or it's just easier to blame me?"

"I'm starting to understand how you grow all that corn now."

He laughed to himself as he threw his head back against the arm rest and closed his eyes. She stared for a few seconds as her mouth curved into a nauseated frown. In her mind she saw herself using his own laptop to bash his head into the ground, or using a shovel to crack into his throat.

"Thinking about it aren't you? I'm just laying here, vulnerable, eyes closed. You could do whatever you want to me. Hell, you could even have sex with me one more time before you kill me."

"You're f*cking disgusting Mort, always have been." Claire had had enough of him and made her way back up the stairs,"I'm only killing you if your infected legs don't first."

He had no response, but she could guess he smirked.

Claire closed the door to her bedroom and lied on her bed. She didn't exactly want to go to prison, but it seemed in her fogged consciousness that killing him was the better option. There was no more better judgement left for her to pull from.

Seeing that Mort was now laying in a pool of his own sh*t and piss, he had no chance at retaliation. Truly she had no idea how Mort did anything, he physically couldn't. And by the looks of it, he was okay with that. Rotting on that couch, starving and filthy till the day of his death. But it felt as if Mort wanted Claire to kill him. He wanted to see her rage and fight back. Some sick internal satisfaction that even he himself couldn't explain.