Secret Within {ON HOLD}

Chapter IV

– Mort Rainey –

I saunter down the stairs, shooing the smoke that follows my head away. My bitterness voices itself as I mumble out loud to blow off steam. "It's my personal business, Mrs. Garvey. Thank you very much. My personal business."

My eyes shift to the couch and I shuffle over in haste, my frustration magnifying at the sight of the neatly positioned cushions. "Oh! My pillows now?"

I throw a pillow off the couch, and lie down in a heap of weary bones, grumbling, "Her sticky weird fingers on my privacy."

Once I am situated, I exhale a tiresome breath, my mind wandering to the accusation of plagiarism. "I didn't steal that story."

I closes my eyes, turning over to lay on my back. What if... Did I steal that story?

"I don't think..." I murmur, my brow furrowed. I glance at the clock which ticks away deafeningly, then back to the ceiling that looms over me. Exhaustion pulls my eyelids to a close, and I try my best to fight it unsuccessfully. Images and visions flood my dreams as I struggle to keep my eyes open.

The lights are blinding, and the door shakes violently, wanting to break open, to release hell.

I open my eyes, only to have them drift shut again.

Shooter walks into my home, bringing with him a sense of impending doom.

An alarmingly loud ringing erupts in my ears, waking me up. I block away the sun, the light clouding my vision, quickly coming to. "Wha—?"

I stretch my jaw, searching for the source of the noise, when I see it is only the phone, I groan, "Mm..."

I sit up wearily, reaching for the phone blindly, my hands running over the table top. The phone rings again, and I look to see it across the room on the entry table.

Aw c'mon...

I stand up, shuffling to the still-ringing phone, and bring the phone to the couch, hunched over in preparation to crash onto the couch again. I lie down, and put the phone to my ear, my voice stiff from slumber. "Hello?"

"Hello Mort."

I groan at the sound of her hauntingly beautiful voice that I have come to despise since six months ago. She nosies, "Are you alright?"

I shut my eyes, really not wanting to talk to my least favorite person. I let the sarcasm run wild, hoping that she'd just get the idea I don't want to talk. Or better yet, get her to hang up. "Yeah, I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be alright?"

"I don't know. You're up there all alone. Anything can happen and nobody would know," she replies. I can hear the irritation in her voice, no doubt pissed off with my attitude.

I whisper, "I'd know."

Amy responds, not entirely believing me judging by her tone. "Right."

She sighs and says longingly, "Hey, hey. How's my little baby puppy? Did Chico ever get those cataracts removed?"

I groan bitterly, demanding, "Why did you call, Amy? What do you want?"

Amy admits, "I had one of those feelings I get. I know you think they're stupid, and you don't believe them but I believe them and um..."

I frown and strangle the phone, wishing she'd just shut the hell up and leave me be.

"I was making a sandwich and I had this sensation that you might not be okay," she stated simply. I turn to lie sideways on the couch. Amy continues, "I held off as long as possible, um... but then I couldn't anymore so here I am,"