I Want Tomorrow
a Secret Window story
by Hermione Eveningfall and Silverelf
He sat waiting in the jeep, staring at the bright red hotel room door. Should he? A voice in his mind told him not to turn back, that it wasnt worthwhile. But he had to. He turned the key, and pulled around, driving as close to the building as he could.
He slid out of the jeep quickly, the snow crunching under his boots. He tugged his hat down further over his ears and, with a quick look around, he ducked into the front office of the dingy motel. Seeing that the clerk wasn't at the desk, he ducked behind it and pulled a tagged key from the wall, before hurrying out into the snow again.
He reached into his pocket, nodding in satisfaction when he found that the item he had stashed there hadnt disappeared. He approached the door the key belonged to, and took a deep breath, sticking it into the lock. With a yell, he thrust the door open, light from the moon and his car lights flooding the darkness. Amy, his ex wife, sat up screaming in the large bed, her new boyfriend beside her. They were naked, wrapped in s heets. He stomped over to the bed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun...
Mort suddenly awoke with a yell, sitting straight up. His head spun for a long moment, and he looked around, confused. Everything was fuzzy, and he fumbled for his glasses. His hand slammed over the thick frames, and he slid them into place on his nose. The couch. He was on the couch. Not in the motel. He leaned back against the cushions, swallowing hard past a scratchy throat. "A dream. A fucking dream..."
A whimper came from Amy's mutt of a dog Chico on the floor beside the couch, and Mort glanced down at it, frowning slightly.:: "Shit," ::he repeated, taking note of the cluttered coffee table. A box of tissues, a bottle of NyQuill, several boks and a can of beer.
Mort looked at Chico, who whimpered again. "What? What do you want? I'm... sick..." he sniffled a few times, wiggling his nose. It was itching and tickling terribly, and made him want to sneeze. He lifted one hand tiredly and rubbed his wrist against his nose and sniffled again.
The dog moved towards him, his big brown eyes wide and concerned. Mort reached for a tissue, placing it against his runny nose, his breath hitching for a moment:: "Huhshhhhuh! Ehhhtshhhh!" He groaned miserably, blowing hard.::
Chico started and stood very still, staring at Mort. He sniffled into the tissues one last time and turned his eyes on the dog. "What? I told you, I'b sig. Ohh.." he groaned and blew his nose again, coughing. "And sound like an alien." He tossed the tissues onto the floor and lay back on the couch, curling up on his side. Chico crept over and licked his face once.
"Whad...please led be sleeb." He rubbed his aching eyes, shivering a little with chills. He thought about his new story, which he recently started a few nights ago. Unfortunately, he'd only been able to write a paragraph so far, and that bugged him. Bugged him so much, that despite his misery from the flu that had taken over his body, he decided to drag himself off of the couch. "Hushhhhhesh! Ushhhh!" He doubled over with a pair of sneezes, wrapping his robe more tightly around him.
"This.. this is dot good. Dot good for our hero..." he coughed hard into one fist as he walked, and groaned again. Chico skittered across the floor and bounded upstairs, curling up on his chair. Mort dragged his feet up the wooden steps more slowly, feeling quiet out of breath by the time he reached the top. He rubbed his nose with his cuff and sat down at his desk.
He sat staring at his laptop's black screen, turning to the box of tissues he kept on the corner of his desk. Feeling the itch in his nose again, he started to reach for it, but quickly clasped a hand over his mouth. He wouldn't make it anyway.
"Huheshhh! Ehhisshhoo! Dabbit.." he sniffed hard and pulled a tissue from the box. He blew his nose hard, until his ears popped. He looked over at Chico, who was watching him politely. "Don't look at me like that," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck before turning the computer on.
He couldn't remember feeling this sick in a while. The flu had come on without warning waking him up in the middle of the night unable to sleep because everything hurt so much. His muscles ached, his head throbbed, his throat burned when he tried to swallow. And to top it all off, he was alone. The last time he'd been sick, Amy had been around and seemed to know what to do. She'd tuck him into bed, turn out the light, and bring him tea, soup, and a never ending supply of tissues and medicines. But she was not here now. He sighed as the desktop screen appeared, revealing a series of random icons he'd chosen to put on it.
Mort sniffled again as he slid the cursor over to the folder he kept his stories in. He brought up the current one, and blinked at the brightness as it flashed onto the screen. He groaned when he felt the familiar tickle in his nose, and grabbed for the tissues again. "Huhh... ehh... Huh!eckshhh! Hehshhhuh! Eshhhoo!" He sniffled wetly, too tired to actually blow his nose again. He was too tired to do anything these days, it seemed.
He watched as the single, solitary paragraph he'd typed up appear before him, and sighed wearily. Lately, his mind had been so jumbled with all that was occuring between Amy and himself due to the pending divorce that he found his usual inspiration was dwindling. "It's bad writing," a deep voice spoke inside of his head. "It's terrible writing. You've written better shit than this." He blinked, massaging his mouth with his fingertips. He picked up the slinky on the desk and began playing with it, trying to think of where to go next with the story.
He watched the slinky move for a little while, then slammed it down on the desk again. Bad writing, you know what to do. "Why aren't you doing it?" The voice in his head kept nagging. Mort flexed his jaw and coughed. He ran his fingertip over the edge of the keyboard slowly, as if in thought. "Because I can fix it..." finally answering the internal voice, he leaned back in his chair with a soft sniffle. "That's why."
"Then do it. One keystroke, is all it'll take, and start it over." ::Mort finally highlighted the paragraph and shakily reached over to press "delete", feeling amazingly satisfied once he'd done so. The document went blank again, and he smiled a little. He could hear wind howling against the roof, and sniffled, rubbing his nose.
He lowered his hand to the desk uncertainly, sniffling again. His hand curled around the edge of the desk as his body went rigid, his breath hitching, "hehh... huh-eh...heh!.." the sneeze froze, and he groaned loudly, touching the side of his nose lightly with one finger. "Come... heh... come ON..."
Chico lifted his head, curious at the strange noises coming from his "master". Mort pinched his nostrils together, trying to stop the sneeze from coming all together.:: "Uh...eh...eh...shit...." He sniffed, hating when this happened.::
Chico layed his head on his paws again, watching Mort, who continued to struggle with the sneeze. "I am heh... strong... I... huhh.." his eyes fluttered shut and his breath caught in his throat. He squeezed his nose shut desperately, hoping it would back down.
At last, the tickle died away as he'd hoped, and he sighed with relief, almost afraid to let go of his nose. He opened one eye, starting to sit back down again when the itch flared up once more, this time at such an extreme force that he most certainly couldn't hold it back anymore::
"HuhEHshhh!! Huhehshhoo!" He fell forward, one hand cupped over his nose. He sniffed thickly, keeping his eyes closed against the primal drums being played in his head. Eventually he straightened up, holding the heel of his hand under his running nose.
Groaning, he looked at the dog, sighing. He couldn't even imagine typing a word right now let alone a new paragraph. He was just so tired, even moreso than usual. "Get oud of be head," ::he grumbled, moving aside a stack of manuscript papers and forms to the side, revealing a space. He lay down, his head resting in his arms. He would make his way back to the couch, but he couldn't. Mrs. Garvey would be coming to clean the place soon, and the last thing she wanted was for her to catch him looking this lousy.::
He shivered violently, and buried his head deeper into his arms. He was too tired, too weak, to do anything now. Even walking the few feet to his bed seemed like it was more trouble than it was worth. He sniffled into the thick bathrobe and coughed once, closing his eyes. His glasses dug into his nose, and he moaned, not wanting to have to move to take them off.
Half an hour later the sound of the door opening and closing reached his ears. "Mr. Rainey?" The maid called, removing her coat and hanging it up on the hook in the hall. She was a stout, middle- aged woman with long, red curls pulled back into a half ponytail. She wore a green dress, and bustled about the house as though it were her own. "Mr. Rainey? I saw your car in the driveway. Are you here?"
"No..." he muttered, covering the back of his head with his arms, his forehead pressed against the desk. It was cooler than his skin, and felt wonderful. He sighed softly, his eyes closing again. "I am far, far away from here, and you..."
Mrs. Garvey came to the stairs, straining her neck to see if her "boss" was in deed up there. "Mr. Rainey? Is everything all right?" She started to walk up the steps, stopping about halfway, as though something in her head told her she shouldn't go further::
Mort coughed softly to clear his voice before speaking up. "Everything is fine, Mrs. Garvey." He didn't lift his head from the desk, and hoped that he could be understood. "I'm fine, things are fine. If you could start your work, that would be... good."
She sighed with relief, deciding it would be all right to walk up the rest of the steps. She saw him with his head lying in his arms, his computer on and the document blank.:: Mr. Rainey...are you sure you're well? Would you like if I brought you some tea?
"I am fine. Go away." His voice was sharper than usual and he sighed, coughing afterwards. He lifted his head slowly, and attempted to paste a smile onto his face. "I'm fine, Mrs. Garvey. Just having a bit of writer's block." He rubbed his nose a little, cursing inwardly. Leave me alone, or I'll feed you to Chico...
"It looks to me like more than writer's block if you don't mind my saying so. ::She walked over and felt his forehead, getting just enough proof that he had a fever before he grasped her wrist and pulled it down.:: You're sick, ::She told him, clucking her tongue:: Come now, leave this till later and shuffle yourself to bed.
"I am not 'shuffling' anywhere. I'm working? Can't you see me... work...ing..." He turned away from her quickly, curling in on himself with one hand covering his mouth and nose. "Ehh...hushhhhhesh! Ushhhh! HuhSHHHHUH!! Ugh..." He sniffled, wheezing quietly.
"God bless." She pulled a few tissues from the box and handed them to him. "Honestly, you're going to get worse by pushing yourself like this, Mr. Rainey. You should go and see a doctor about that fever. I'll make you a cup of tea for your throat before I start cleaning." She shook her head, finally making her way downstairs, muttering to herself about "impossible men".
He narrowed his eyes at her back over the tissues. He blew his nose quietly, dropping them onto the desk top carelessly when he'd finished. "Nosy busybody..." he sniffled and slouched back in his chair again.
He cracked his neck, placing his fingertips on the proper typing keys, and thought for a moment. A moment passed and nothing came to him. He turned to Chico who lay in the basket, and smirked:: I'm open for suggestions you know, ::He mused::
Chico yipped and lifted his head, licking his chops and wagging his tail a little bit. Mort smiled to himself, running one knuckle under his nose. "You suggested that last... week... not again..." he lunged for the tissues, getting them just in time.
His nose wrinkled and it was so stuffy that the sneeze was probably unable to come out at this point. But he so desparately had to extract the relief. He held a finger under his nose, closing his eyes.
After a moment of fierce tickling, he felt his breath hitch, and he uttered a soft groan of relief. He pressed the tissues to his nose, waiting for the sneeze to come.
"HUHSHHHHHUUH! HuhESHHHHHh!" He sneezed so hard that he nearly whacked his head against the table.
"God bless you and save you!" Mrs. Garvey gasped as she made her way back up, carrying a mug of chamomile tea.
He sniffed stuffily, his nose still buried in the tissues. He nodded his thanks and coughed hard. "Thag you. Dow blease, leave be alond?" His dark eyes looked into hers, silently begging her to go downstairs again.
She nodded, placing the mug on the desk, and went back down to start her chores. Mourt blew his nose again, rubbing it with the tissues till he was certain it was dry (or dry enough), and crumpled them up in his hand.:: "Dow leds see..." he thought aloud, coughing:: "Her death would remain a mystery..."
Chico barked once, and Mort looked over. "It wouldn't?" He sniffled and looked at the computer again. "Do, you're right... it wouldn't. Ugh... what ab I gonna do, butt?" [LOL mutt. XD]
Chico whined and stood up, trotting over to the ill man, nudging Mort's leg with the side of his head:: I hab to dow how a story eds before I stard writig. When you dow that much, everythig lse fids togeder. I thig. ::He placed his fists against his mouth, his tissues still clamped in his one hand::
The dog lay his head on Mort's knee and peered up at him, his tail wagging slightly. Mort sighed and coughed wearily. "But this story... Baybe it doesn't wand to be written. Ad I cad go back to bed..." He sniffed and stared at the mug of tea on the desk. He wanted it, but he wouldn't drink it. It was like honor. He didn't want to accept help from Mrs. Garvey.
He was about to give in to his illness when the telephone rang from downstairs. With a groan, he listened to it ring once, twice, three times, and then he heard Mrs. Garvey pick it up:: "Hello?" ::She answered cheerfully. "Morton Rainey? Yes, he is here, one moment please." She looked up. "Mr. rainey? Telephone!"
He sighed tiredly and stood up, wincing from the ache in his joints. "Cubig..." he rubbed his nose against the tissues he still held and debated blowing his nose again. Deciding it would do no good, he dragged himself down the stairs sowly and took the phone away from Mrs. Garvey. "Yeah?"
"Mort?" A soft, female voice was on the other line, one he recognized all too well. One he was almost grateful to hear at that moment. "Aby. Hi." He croaked, trying not to sound as sick as he felt. He didn't want her coming all the way up here from the city, especially if they were not even together anymore.
"Mort, you sound terrible." Her voice was stretched over miles, and the reception wasn't great. But it was still her. Mort sat down with a tired sigh, cradling the phone to his ear. He hadn't known how much he wanted to hear her voice until he heard it.
"Thags, Abes. I biss you too. What is it?" He rubbed at his nose, yawning.
"Nothing, well...you know, I was...thinking...just about us and...::She paused, her heart racing as she listened to Ted moving about in the next room:: I'm just...worried about you...::She paused::
"Dow WHY would you be worried about be? I'b just find up here in the biddle of DOWHERE!" he coughed and sniffled hard, trying to clear his voice. "So you decided to call just because you were worried about be, is that it?"
She was quiet for a minute or two, not sure of how to respond:: Mort, I know it was hard for you to find Ted and I together, and I...I wanted to let you know that I was never with any other men besides him. And we started dating a few months after you and I were over. Only...I think it's over. You still have to sign the divorce papers, Mort. ::She frowned::
He felt his heart stop beating for a moment, and he pulled the phone away from his ear to look at it in disbelief. `Are you insane??' his mouth formed these words, but no sound came out.
"Mort, why can't you just go ahead and sign them? It will end all disputes. You know we cant be happy together. We tried so hard, and I...it's not all your fault, Mort, it's mine as well. I couldn't substitute for what you love." She chewed on her lip, feeling awful about calling him to say this.
He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the heat of tears prickling in their corners. "Aby, I'b sick as a dog. I'b just godda hafta call you back when I cad see straight. We cad argue bore thed." He sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.
Amy sighed, closing her eyes. "All right, Mort, I'll call you back later. I'm sorry you're not feeling well." She paused, "Goodbye." and hung up the phone.
He hung up with a heavy sigh, glaring at the phone after he did so. "You thig you cad call be up like that and.. and..." He trailed off and slowly lifted his eyes, noticing for the first time that Mrs. Garvey was hovering at the end of the room. "What?" he snapped, coughing and rubbing his nose. "I'b sig!"
"Yes, yes I see that," She told him frowning. "Which is exactly why you should be in bed and resting, or you're most likely going to come down with pneumonia." She brandished her feather duster at him.
"Oh... stobbit!" He stood up, batting the feather duster away from him. "I'b goig back to work. Cad you unplug the phone?" He sniffled wetly and coughed, his head aching from congestion. Not waiting for her to answer, he dragged his feet back up the stairs again, practically falling into his chair.
He glanced at the mug of tea sitting in it's spot on the desk and sighed, at last picking it up and drinking from it greedily. The tea, though now luke warm, felt wonderful sliding down his raw throat. He coughed again when he finished, searching his brain for some type of inspiration::
He stared at the blank screen for nearly ten minutes, just watching the cursor blink. Finally he yawned widely and lay his head down again with a soft whimper. "I'b sig... somebody come take care of be..." he spoke too quietly for Mrs. Garvey to hear, sniffling between words.
Chico seemed to hear the request, and whined, shuffling his soft paws in the direction of Mort chair. He nuzzled his leg once, then licking his hand which hung over the edge of the desk::
He turned his head to look at the dog, and couldn't help but laugh quietly. "Dot you, pal. But thags," he sniffed hard and stroked Chico's soft head a few times.
Chico bobbed his head to the side, his eyes wide and almost human like with worry. He looked towards the steps where Mrs. Garvey was humming a tune as she continued dusting. "HuhChhhheh! EhhShhhhhh!" Mort covered his mouth with his hand, finally reaching over to turn the power off. There was no way he could work when he felt like this.
Chico whined quietly, nudging his cold nose against Mort's hand. Mort looked down and smirked. "Yeah, I'b goig I'b goig." He stood slowly, stretching a little. He swayed for a moment, dizziness clouding his vision, and had to grab the edge of the desk to stay on his feet. "Woah..."
He closed his eyes, nausea welling in his stomach. Fighting hard against it, he quickly made his way to the bathroom, kneeling down beside the toilet. "Do, dot this.." He groaned.
After a few long moments, the room stopped spinning. Hi stomach continued to churn, and he moaned pitifully, wrapping one arm tightly around his middle.
"Mr. Rainey? I'm coming to clean upstairs if you're ready." Mrs. Garvey walked up the steps, noticing the bathroom light on. "Are you all right?" She could hear him suddenly retching, and sighed.
"Men... they never do know how to take care of themselves." She turned and walked downstairs again, going into the kitchen and pulling a hot water bottle from under the sink. She ran the hot water tap for a minute before filling the bottle and bringing it upstairs again. She took it into Mort's bedroom and rolled her eyes at the untidy bed. Working quickly, she smoothed out the sheets and spread the quilt, slipping the hot water bottle under the blankets. Satisfied, she went back to the bathroom and hovered outside the door. "Mr. Rainey, I've gotten your bed ready for you. I really think you should lie down."
Mort gasped and lifted his head, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth:: "Mmmm, thad's where I was goig, agtually. ugh, shit." He retched once more before finally allowing himself to flush the toilet, and struggled to his feet
"Good. Shall I make you a fresh cup of tea, then?" Mrs Garvey poked her head into the bathroom, and clucked her tongue sympathetically. "You really don't look well at all, you know. Maybe I should drive you to the doctor."
He looked up, horrified at the idea of the maid driving him to the doctor. "Doe, doe thag you, I dod deed to go to the docdor. Ib fi..Chhhhshhuh! EhShhhhhhuh! fide."
She planted her hands firmly on her hips. "Well, I can't force you, but if you want to wallow here and feel terrible all by your lonesome, you go right ahead. Do you need me to help you to bed, or can you get there yourself?" In the corner, Chico yipped and covered his nose with his paws, sensing that his master's anger.
Mort glared at her, grasping a hand on the toilet seat and hoisting himself up. He tried to take a step, but almost fell, and Mrs. Garvey caught him just in time.::
"That's what I thought. Come now, we'll get you tucked into bed, nice and warm." She slid one arm around his waist, and walked with him to the bedroom.
"You *never* saw me doing this," Mort grumbled as he cling to her, swaying sideways every so often. She brought him into his bedroom, and he stopped short at the sight of his smooth, unrumpled sheets.
"Of course not, Mr. Rainey. It never happened." She soothed, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Now, I've put a nice hot water bottle under the blankets there, so you'll be nice and comfortable. Shall I take your robe?"
"No," ::He told her, wrapping his arms around it protectively. "Thag you, Bisses Garby. I'll be fide frob here. Did you unplug the phode?"
"Of course, sir. You just get some sleep, and I'll be as quiet as a mouse. You'll yell for me if you need something, won't you?" She backed away a few paces, standing in the doorway.
He nodded, removing his glasses and setting them on the nightstand. "I will." he replied, almost grateful for the older woman's presence, even if it wasnt Amy.
"Sleep well, sir." Mrs. Garvey smiled and shut the door, allowing Mort some privacy. Yawning, he stretched his arms over his head, murmering aimlessly to himself. Chico leapt up onto the bed and curled into a ball at the end, watching as his master slid beneath the covers. The hot water bottle warmed his freezing feet, and he sighed with relief as he turned out the lamp. He lay on the pillow, sighing, and pulling the blankets over his shoulders.
"It's all aboud the ending," he murmered, before closing his eyes, preparing for whatever sleep he could obtain.
I do not own any of these characters, though I wouldn't mind owning Mort. ;o) He might not enjoy that, though. And I'm not making any money off of this.