Old Windows

From the Window

* Continued

"I have to say Mort," she began as she looked around for the shovel, "I didn't think this would ever end up happening. Who knew that creep at the grocery store would absolutely ruin my life and turn it to sh*t?" Claire wasn't sure if he was conscious anymore since he had stopped responding a while ago, but that wouldn't conclude everything she had outlined in her head, "And you still have nothing to say for yourself don't you? Of course you don't. You narcissistic, psychotic, delusional piece of sh*t!" she screamed as she smashed her foot into Mort's in-cognitive face.

A yelp shrilled the trees as Claire could feel her force crack through his nose, "There's that voice again," she sang.

Mort was defenseless. He knew he was going to die, and was currently dying. But nothing of regret passed through his mind, not even in the innermost parts of his being. He thought of Amy, Ted, the police station that failed Chico, thought of his relationship with Claire, and last of all he thought of John Shooter. After all, he was hard to miss, as he had come back to greet him in the form of a 5'5 brunette woman.

Claire bent down to his face and studied it. The bone in his nose was crooked, his face was plastered with drying blood, his eyes were fading in and out of the back of his head, and his mouth gaped with blood dripping from the sides. She loved it.

"You're so beautiful, Mort. Damn you," she kissed his forehead before standing up.

She covered the sun above him with her hat, and she had a firm grasp of the shovel to the side of her. Claire  tilted her head to the side, "Any last words darling? I can read your last rights for you? Any prayers to anything you believe in?" she laughed.

His eyes slowly rolled back to dart at her through his drooping eyelids. He coughed a few times, "F*ck you, Shooter," he gurgled through his blood filling lungs.

Claire lifted the shovel in both hands and watched Mort's eyes close for the final time. She severed the middle of his neck while repeatedly making the incision deeper and deeper before he was completely separated. 

Her eyes were closed, but she knew it was over when she heard the leaves crunch under the roll of his head. When she opened them, she vomited immediately. Claire couldn't take one more look at what she had done. Not that she had regretted it, but she just couldn't stand to look at the gruesome and disfigured Mort.

She threw down the shovel on top of him and walked back into the house. Claire walked to the bathroom and washed her hands and her face. As she looked up from the sink she noticed her hat once more. She felt a warmness when she looked at it, it was as if he helped her complete this successfully. He had become a friend. But this new found friend couldn't come to prison with her, and she knew the only place in the world they could always be together.

Walking back into the kitchen, she rummaged through the drawers to find the stapler. Once she did, she took a deep breath in and placed it against her forehead, preparing for the impact. Claire winced as she felt the staple cut through her skin and she waited to feel the blood trickled down her forehead. She took nothing, and walked out the door.

As she walked back to the garden where Mort still lied, she didn't look; she couldn't. But she looked over the lake that was rippling before her. The breeze of the wind felt chilled against the drying blood on her face. Claire took her first step in the water and didn't look behind her. She kept going until there was no more land to walk on, and sunk her head below the lake. Nothing came back up.

Someday, someone will come looking for either of them and they'll find everything. Maybe no one will come but either way, neither of them will be able to answer to any of it. Most likely it will all continue to remain a secret, but they can see it all from the window.