Secret window into his soul

“Good evening Mrs. Tilbit.” Mort said, grinning despite the rain running down his face.

“Cass! Where’s your bike? Did you two walk all the way down here?”

“No. Mr. Rainey’s car broke down on the way here, and my bike’s in the back. D’you mind if he sleeps over, or at least stays until the rain lets up some?”

“Oh! Of course! Come in… let me see if I can find something dry that you’ll fit into.” Mrs. Tilbit… Alice, the name tag on the checkout desk said, ran upstairs, and her daughter beamed after her.

“Mom’s great. Hang your jacket here,” she said, hanging hers up to show him where, “and I’ll build up the fire and we’ll be set.” Soon they were kneeling in front of the fire, being careful not to drip on any of the piles of books around them while they dried.

“Mom’s cleaning up this place. Nothing has been organized for over a year and a half, not since the old librarian had a stroke and left the library to his son.” She explained, glancing ruefully at the books stacked everywhere.

Mrs. Tilbit came back downstairs.

“Here Mr. Rainey. I have a pair of sweatpants that I think will fit you and one of Cassie’s old flannel shirts she doesn’t wear much.” She steered him down the hall and to the bathroom while Cassandra ran up the stairs to change.

‘Quit looking behind you. We all know you want to watch her change, but there’s no way you can pull anything now. Her mom’s with you, and furthermore, you’ve only just met her.’ Mort two hissed in his ear, walking quickly to keep up with him.

“Here you are. Just toss your wet clothes over the shower rod, they’ll be dry before morning.” Mrs. Tilbit left Mort alone with his mind and the clothes. He leaned back on the door as he peeled off his shirt, his mind wandering slowly up the steps and into Cassandra’s room. He didn’t bother picturing her bed, or her shelves, her closet or her desk, instead choosing to focus on her, probably stripping off her own clothes. Not sensually, no, she was too innocent for that; it was half her charm.

‘Off with the shirt first, so she’s in her bra…’ Mort two hissed in his ear, guiding his hand to his fly.

‘and then out of those shoes. And off with them socks, see how she points her toes?’ Shooter added. ‘Then she unzips the skirt and steps outta it as it hits the floor…’

Mort moaned a little and opened his eyes to see himself in the mirror, his head tipped back, his hand working its way up and down his hardened shaft. He stopped abruptly, though his body screamed at him for it. He hurried out of his clothing and into the dry stuff, then he ran warm water in the sink. He doused his face in it, hoping to get rid of the feeling of cold sweat that had swept over him.

“What am I doing?” He murmured to himself. He shook his head, and his reflection turned to that of Shooter, chuckling at him. He turned away resolutely, his hands balled into fists.

He hung his clothes up as directed, opened the door, and followed the smell of warm cider into the kitchen, where Cassandra and her mother were talking over their own steaming mugs.

“Oh, there you are Mr. Rainey. Do the clothes fit okay?” Cassandra asked, standing and pulling out a third mug, obviously for him.

“Oh, yes, they fit fine, thank you Mrs. Tilbit.”

“Under the circumstances, let’s call me Alice, hmm?”

“Under the circumstances, then, I’m Mort.”

“And most people call me Cass, ‘cause Cassandra’s too long.”

“Now, I’m not entirely sure that’s proper…” Mort said, looking from Cassandra to Mrs… Alice.

“Why not?” Cassandra pressed. “Is it because I’m not your equal?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just, it’s a small town. Folk talk, and I’m a bit over watched as it is.”

“If that’s so, do you want to make bets on how long before the sheriff shows up to tell mom that you and I are missing, though both of our modes of transportation have been found?”

Alice chuckled.

“You’re not helping.” Mort said, halfway between amused and exasperated.

“Hey, this is between you two. She’s your maid.”

Mort held up his hands in surrender.

“Fine. But it’s your reputation, Cassandra.” He warned her. She wrinkled her nose.

“Well, it’s a start.” She finished off the last of her cider.

“You two realize it’s after eleven o’clock, don’t you?” Mort said, still amused.

“Hmm? Really? Jeesh. And now you mention it, I am sleepy. Here, we’ll show you to your room, Mort, though you’re welcome to any of the books.” Cassie said, standing and leading the way up the stairs. Mort realized she was planning to sleep in nothing more than a long tee shirt, and he felt himself growing hard again. He dallied behind Cassandra just a bit, so that she was on a higher stair than he, and he might look up.

‘Well, now, if you ain’t a lil bit of a pervert after all. Proud of you, Mr. Rainey, damn proud.’ Shooter said, his eyes never leaving Cassandra’s ass.

‘You’d better watch yourself. Her mom is right behind you.’ Mort two told him sternly. He felt his erection receding a little at that thought. They’d reached the top of the stairs. Cassandra looked back to be sure her was following her, then proceeded down the hall. It was plain, pretty undecorated, except for a few pictures of Cassandra in grade school. Mort grinned.

“Such a cute baby… what happened?” Cassandra turned around and wrinkled her nose, then stuck her tongue out at him.

“Here’s your room. If you need anything, I’m right across the hall. Mom’s is down there,” she said, pointing at the door at the end of the hall way.

“Alright. G’night,” She said, turning and going into her vibrantly red room and closing the door, turning the hallway once more into a drab, white plane.

“I haven’t seen her this excited since we moved here. Thanks.” Alice said, patting his arm and continuing on to her own room and shutting the door. Mort entered the guest room, expecting little more than a white cubicle with a bed, but instead he found a pleasant pale blue bedroom with a writing desk in one corner and a Murphy bed that doubled as a bookshelf. He secured the doors so they wouldn’t slide open and pulled his bed down, crawling under the soft downy comforter and laying in the dark, just listening to the sounds of the night. He watched the bright green numbers on the clock change, speeding through midnight and into the wee hours of the morning. Around 2:30 he got up and snuck quietly into Cassandra’s room. He looked around, trying to fix the place in his memory, it’s bright red walls decorated by posters of Danny Elfman, David Bowie, and some emo screamo boys decked out all in black and red.

His eyes roamed over to her bed, he black and white comforter covered in some sort of Asian symbols, the throw pillows pure black. There she lay, her hair across her red pillow case, Her eyes still lined in black, though some of it had trailed down her cheek.

Mort thought suddenly of his own child, lying in a grave downtown, its tiny body probably completely decayed now, and thought of the child’s mother. Missing, with her boyfriend, he had no clue to where.

‘You killed them. They’re laying under your corn stalks in their own shallow graves, turned to fertilizer by them worms you bought special from the hardware store in Gatesville. You know it, sure as I do.’

“I did no such thing.” He whispered, his eyes glued to Cassie’s sleeping face.

‘As you say. You’re the big shot author, I’m the corn farmer. I don’t know nothing. But you are guilty, Mr. Rainey. We both know it.’

Without another word, Mort returned to his room and lay down, cradling the picture in his mind of the sleeping girl until her fell asleep.



A/N: Thanks to my one reviewer, I love you sweetie!

Come on now, y'all! Show some back bone. I don't bite! Review! Tell me what I'm doing right what I'm doing wrong... or I just won't do it! LOL

Nah, I'll probably finish writing this anyways, but remember, reviews and ratings help me write faster!

-S.S.