Dead Walking: Part 2

Mortimer walked down the church steps. He knew it was too early to go to a bar and all the worthwhile poker games were going to begin after the sun sets. Right now was the time for him to either go home and sleep some more or walk around the block before going home and sleeping more. Standing on the sidewalk outside the church, Mortimer pondered his options, not wanting to settle on a decision too quickly because that would take effort.
His ears caught the sound of running footsteps approaching. He looked up in time to step out of the way of man flying past as fast as possible. Before he knew it, a black car, identical to the one that Alice had disappeared in last night, sped down the street in hot pursuit of the man. Mortimer was surprised the man had made it this far without being caught. The car was driving on the wrong side of the road and was clearly not going to let this man get away easily. There was the sound of gunshots and the squeal of rubber on asphalt. Now the fun was starting and
Mortimer was bored. It was a source of something to do so why not investigate?
Gunshots were still going off; people were running way from the noise, screaming. Mortimer could not get there fast enough. The black car had stopped in front of a driveway with the doors left open. There were sounds of a fight down an alleyway. Remembering last night, he decided to stay in the open but he was not about to leave so easily. He wanted to see the action, be a part of the excitement, but when he arrived, the man had popped out from an alleyway. This was not something that Mortimer had bargained for. A gun was pressed against his back next to his right lung.
“Take it easy, take it easy!” Mortimer tried to stay calm. “I’m not with them.” The man with the gun was shaking with adrenalin and had a tight grip on Mortimer’s neck.
“Just shut up! I don’t need to let you live through this!”
‘Oh, please. He doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter of my life.’ It was a bitter-sweet feeling. The other two came around the corner, one with glasses and the other wore ball cap, and they both had guns drawn.
“Aw crap, who is this sorry bastard?” The be-speckled one asked.
“Let him go, Reese.” The other man had a fix on Reese’s head. Mortimer could tell that all three men were ready to shoot. He was just a small hurdle between them and the finish line, and once crossed bullets would fly.
“Reese!” The first man yelled. “Don’t do anything stupid! We can all just walk away from this!”
“Bullshit, dude!” Reese was panicking. “I’m not going to be left alive after this! Either I get killed now or later! Or, I kill you three and live to a ripe old age!”
“Three? There’s only two of them!” Mortimer interjected. “I don’t see any reason to drag me down with them.”
“Sorry buddy,” the man called Reese said into his ear, “You know my name, and I don’t like you. That’s enough reason for me to kill.”
“Well, killing me is not as easy as you might think.”
“Oh yeah?” The gun went off and the bullet flew through Mortimer into the man with the hat. He dropped to the ground, lying motionless and bleeding from the chest. Reese tossed Mortimer aside and a second gunshot was heard. This time it was Reese who dropped to ground. Mortimer could see that blood was coming from the center of his forehead.
“Bull’s-eye.” The man said. He turned to his partner who was twitching slightly as blood continued to pour from his heart. “That guy wasn’t too bad of shot.” Sirens could be heard in the distance. “Crap, got to move, got to move.” The man ran over and grabbed the gun Reese had used.
“Wait.” Mortimer got up and almost frightened the man to death. “You’re not going to leave me here that easily.” He walked over to the car and got in the passenger’s seat.
“What, no! Get out of there! You’ll—you’ll bleed all over the leather!”
“I don’t care! I’m not about to be left here for the cops to find me. You’re taking me somewhere the cops are not.”
“I don’t think so!” The man pointed the gun at Mortimer’s head. “Get out or I shoot.” The sirens were getting louder.
“Trust me; it wouldn’t be the first time I was shot in the head. All you’ll accomplish is covering this seat with more blood.”
“That’s absolute bull--,” The man still stood there.
“Get in the fucking car and get us the fuck out of dodge!” The man jumped into the car, shut the door and pulled away from the two bodies. Police cars skidded to a stop in front of them.
“Freeze! Get out of the vehicle and put your hands on the ground!” The police officers had their guns drawn and were blocking most of the street with their cars.
“Drive, drive, drive!” Mortimer yelled pointing at the open space provided by the sidewalk. The car mounted the curb and attempted to drive around the police cars. They made it past but lost the passenger side mirror and scratched the door badly. Sirens still blared as the police attempted to regain control of the situation. However, it was too late for them to do much as the black car had already driven three blocks away, taken a side street over and continued to speed down the road, ignoring the laws that applied to drivers. Red lights were skipped, speed limits were ignored, and pedestrians were given no right-of-way. It was starting to get a little too dangerous for Mortimer’s liking. Even though he knew it would not kill him, it was always an unpleasant experience to be caught in a car accident.
“Could we, maybe, slow down?” He asked nervously.
“Tell you what, buddy,” the driver began “The next time I get shot and jump into your car I’ll let you pick the speed.” Mortimer scowled at him. “What? Don’t like my rules? I could just leave you for the cops, you know.” He glanced at Mortimer’s wound. “You know what? No!” The man slammed on the breaks and they slid into the entrance of a parking lot. “You’ve been shot, with a gun! You are bleeding all over the place and you’re not even bothered. Also, it’s your fault my partner died back there. Thanks for that.” He pointed his gun at Mortimer’s forehead. “Now, get out of my car. I’ve got place to go and things to do that don’t involve a bloodless freak. I suggest that you go to a hospital and have a doctor take a look at that.”
The gun was cocked and the man was poised. Mortimer knew that he had no real business being in the car or following this person. He also knew that he hated having guns pointed at his head. Reaching down with his left hand, he found Reese’s gun and pointed it at the bridge of the man’s glasses causing him to go cross-eyed.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” They sat there for thirty seconds in silence, guns pointed at one another. Mortimer was sure that neither of them had blinked.
“Ok,” the man said with a smirk. “Obviously, you don’t know how willing I am to shoot you.”
“Yeah, well,” Mortimer pulled the trigger. At least he would have if the safety lock had been turned off. “Crap.” The man pulled the trigger and the bullet flew through his skull and grey matter. It continued through the window and shattered the glass. Nothing can describe the headache he received from attack on his good health. His head snapped back from the force of the impact and the speed of the .45 caliber bullet that most likely found rest in a tree or another car. More screams and sirens could be heard in the distance. He pulled his head back up and put his right hand over the hole. “Why, the fuck, do people keep shooting me?!?”
“Wha— what?” The man was shaking and seemed to have lost the ability to form full sentences. Mortimer let go of the gun and smacked the man’s gun down.
“Do you have any idea how much that hurts, you bastard?”
“What are you!?”
“I’m someone who didn’t have ‘getting shot in the face’ on his to do list today. You, sir, are an asshole!” The sirens were getting louder. Mortimer sat up straight and streams of blood began to pour down his face and into his eyes. He did his best to keep his vision clear and turned to them man. “Can we go?” Snapping forward, the man drove off down the street in a slightly shaky mood. Indeed, Mortimer was sure that the man’s nerves had been shot at the sight of someone with a hole in their head talking to him to be quite frightening.
They drove in silence, Mortimer picking up any chunks of brain he could find and the man shooting frightened glances at him every so often.
“Why are you still-“
“Alive?” Mortimer finished for him. “Hell, I don’t fucking know. It’s not exactly something that doctors can explain.” He counted the chunks he had. “If you find out first, let me know.”
“Actually, I was going to ask why you’re still conscious.” The man said. “I mean, wouldn’t that have at least knocked you out or something?”
“Huh,” Mortimer pondered. “I suppose it could have. I have been punched out before. I know it’s possible. I don’t know why a bullet didn’t do it.”
“You know what I know now?” The man asked nervously. “I know that you can be punched out.” He swung his fist at Mortimer head and made contact. His headache got a little worse and he turned his head to the man. A second fist collided with his right temple and everything went black.

“Why did you bring it here?”
“I don’t know. He just jumped into the car. I knocked him out and now he’s here.”
“We don’t need any more dead bodies around here, Morgan!”
“He’s not dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was unaware that a person could live after having their head blown off! Would you like try having your head blown off? You might survive.”
“I’m serious.” Morgan’s voice was level. “I saw him get shot through the chest with the same bullet that killed Joey. Later, I shot him in the head and he was still alive and kicking.”
“That’s absolute bullshit.” The second person sounded like she was ready to kill someone. “If you wanted me to believe he was alive you could have at least tried to make him a puppet or something. Don’t do some half assed thing and tell the fucking corpus is alive!”
Mortimer was listening to this who conversation from the car seat. His eyes were closed and he was keeping still but the pain was starting to hit him again. He remembered there were two bottles of pain killers in his pocket but he wanted to avoid anything that would attract attention towards him. The conversation could get interesting and if he interrupted he might miss an important bit. Also, the woman’s voice seemed rather familiar.
“On top of that body,” the woman continued, “We’ve lost Joey. We are now short one legman and he was the stable one.”
“Hey, I can be stable.”
“Sure you can Morgan, and I can be the queen of England and make the subjects kiss my shoes every morning. I just choose not to.” Mortimer could hear her pacing around the room. “Why did you have to kill Reese anyway? The guy was our only lead to get inside Raxxorn Co. and now he is dead, bullet in the brain, courtesy of ‘Trigger-happy McGee’ over here.”
“‘Trigger-happy McGee’?”
“No, shut up. You have lost your speaking privileges. I need to think about what to do now.”
‘God, when will it end? How do I always seem to wind up in these situations? Oh, wait that’s right. I’m here because somebody can’t learn to keep out of other people’s business. What’s the first rule parents tell children? 'Don’t get into a car with strangers.' Especially strangers with guns! Congratulations. You have less common sense than a five year old. And now, look where that got us; sitting in some strange car with two bullet holes in our body and a splitting headache. Not only that, but we also are stuck listening to the odd couple. You know what might shut them up? A sudden ‘zombie attack’ if you know what I mean.’ Mortimer continued to lie there, immobile. ‘Come on, please, do it for me. You owe yourself that much. Also, it would be hilarious. I’m just saying.’ He smirked at the idea. His eyes were slowly opening and he was beginning to make out the shapes of the people around him. The man seemed to be sitting on the hood of the car while the woman paced back and forth in front of him. There was also second car that Mortimer assumed belonged to the woman.
“All right, first things first,” she began. “Let’s find out what we know already. We know the company has dealings with the government in the public eye.”
“We also know money is being funneled out of the company’s accounts. And, unknown to the government, large amounts of weapons seem to be distributed to other counties that currently have unstable governments.”
“That is true,” the woman said. “No more talking from you.” Mortimer was getting bored. It was all very interesting, but his legs were starting to fall asleep and he needed to grab the pain pills in his coat. If he could just move without being noticed he could keep on listening.
“Ok, I can’t keep going with that guy still here.” The woman had stopped pacing and from Mortimer’s position, he knew she was looking at him.
“Let’s just wait until he wakes up.”
“Remember the talk we had about you not talking anymore? It just doesn’t seem to stick with you.”
“Will you just listen? He is alive.” The woman began to walk towards the car.
“Morgan,” she snapped as she opened the car door. “Dead things don’t wake up. This is just a corpus, it’s not moving. It won’t move, walk, see, speak, or do any action again. If I have to tell you that one more time--!”
“She’ll make you look like me!” Mortimer reacted in the blink of an eye. As he spoke, he reached out and grabbed the woman’s arm. She yelled in horror and disgust, trying to back away. However, Mortimer held onto her wrist with his right hand and moved with her. They both stood in a large parking garage that was empty except for the three of them. He noticed that the woman’s right arm was flying up to head. Reacting just in time, his left arm blocked her attack and he pushed her back with the other one. The woman fell to the ground and Mortimer turned sharply to face Morgan. Morgan had his gun pulled but there was no sign of his usual confidence with the weapon. It shook in his hand and it was obvious that his encounter with Mortimer had affected him on a psychological level.
“If you shoot me you’ll just be wasting bullets.” Mortimer was staring down Morgan who was slowly lowering his gun. “Good choice.” Mortimer turned to the woman. His jaw dropped. Standing before him was Alice. She wore the same suit, the same hairstyle, the same calculating look she had when Mortimer had seen her. The only thing different was that she wore a pair of dark blue Chucks and had a gun trained on him.
“No way, no fucking way!”
“Hello Alice, it’s ah… it’s nice to see you again.”
“Shut up!” Her voice was uneven and her hand was beginning to shake. “You. I saw you. I saw you!”
“Yeah, I know, we’ve met.”
“I don’t mean that! You were dead! Dead! A bullet in your brain and bits of skull in the car and now you’re standing in front of me!”
“I told you!”
“SHUT UP, MORGAN!” She walked over to Mortimer and pressed her gun right on his heart. “What are you?”
“I’m a person,” Mortimer sighed “I just… don’t… die.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Well, if you look at this,” Mortimer pointed at the hole in his head. “This is a bullet wound. I’ve been shot in the head and I’m still alive. I can’t explain it but it’s what happens. I just keep going.”
“So if I shot you now,” She pulled the hammer back, “you would live?”
“Yes, I would. This is a very simple concept; I don’t see why this makes no sense to you.”
“All right.” She looked at her gun, her face set.
“Whoa, whoa, hey now!” Mortimer stepped aside. “That is not an invite to start shooting me! It might not kill me but it hurts like a bitch. It’s not like I heal all that quickly either.”
“So I just am supposed to take your word that this won’t kill you?”
“You could, or you could look at the bullet holes.” Mortimer had grown tired of this conversation. “Look, could we just move on to something else? Like, where are we?”
“It’s a parking garage.” Morgan had started talking again.
“Yes, I can see that.” Mortimer snapped. “Is there a less vague answer you could give me?”
“No,” Morgan said. “We just pulled in here. I don’t remember what street where one. I was only thinking to get off the road.”
“Why?”
“I think it was something to do with the blood all over the car!”
“Oh, don’t yell at me like it was my fault. You shot me.” He turned to Alice. “Do you mind telling me where we are?” She stayed silent. “Hey, Alice!” he snapped his fingers. He turned to Alice. “Do you mind telling me where we are?” She stayed silent. “Hey, Alice!” he snapped his fingers.
“I’m still hung up on the fact that you’re alive.” Alice said.
“Well, I never died. What is surprising about a living guy being alive?”
“I’m in no mood to deal with a smart-ass, especially a dead one.”
“I’m not dead!”
“Not anymore, you’re not.” Alice kept her eyes on him with a look of distaste.
“What do you care?”
“People are supposed to die.” Alice began circling him. “Here you are with a Swiss cheese brain and an extra hole in your chest and yet you’re living. It’s… unnatural.”
“Glasses and cars aren’t found naturally and yet you have no problem with them.”
“It’s not the same!” She began to raise her voice and it echoed through the parking garage.
“Hey! Could we keep the volume down a little,” Morgan cut in “we don’t need to attract attention.”
“Morgan, I do not have any patience for you right now.” She turned to him with a piercing gaze. “You already brought a fucking zombie here and I’m this close to making you the next person shot!”
“Zombie?” Mortimer looked at Alice with confusion.
“Yes, zombie. You were dead and now you’re walking around.”
“I’m not--!”
“Dude,” Morgan shot him a look from behind his glasses “just be glad she hasn’t shot you yet.” Mortimer was very annoyed. He was regretting his choice to investigate the gun shots. Now he was standing in the middle of a cold, grey parking garage with the woman he saved and the man who shot him in the head. His head was still bothering him as was his chest. The pills in his pocket promised some comfort and he took a bottle out.
“What are you doing now?” Alice watched him with her sharp eyes.
“I’m self-medicating.”
“Why?”
Mortimer said nothing but pointed at his head and chest. He opened the bottle and removed the cotton that kept them from rattling. The pills sat there in the container, each one an exact copy of the next. Within seconds, he emptied the bottle into his mouth and swallowed all of the pills. It was difficult to get them down without water but he managed it well enough. All that was left was for them to start working.
“That’s not healthy.” Alice spat at him.
“Thanks, love, but I’m not looking for a medical advisor right now.”
‘It’s time to leave.’ Mortimer dropped the empty bottle and started looking for the exit. ‘This is not what you needed today. Why did you even investigate when you heard gunshots? You don’t exactly have any luck when it comes to guns and bullets.’
“Well, it sure has been fun seeing you again, but I’m afraid I can’t stay here.” He saw the exit and began to move towards it.
“Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?” Morgan closed the distance between him and Mortimer.
“I don’t know, maybe to my doctor. I can’t just walk around like this.” He gestured to the bullet holes.
“I don’t think so.” Morgan said with a smirk. “You aren’t getting out of this that easily.”
Mortimer stopped and turned to the two armed people in the garage. ‘This does not bode well.’
“What are you talking about?” Mortimer asked. He was very confused and worried. Hopefully, this wouldn’t lead to more bullet wounds.
“We’re sitting here blaming each other,” he motioned to himself and Alice “but you’re the one who caused all of our current problems.”
“What!?! You’ve got to be joking!”
“I’m dead serious.” Mortimer closed his eyes, looking for the right words to say.
“How am I responsible for anything?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Morgan cleared his throat in a mock preacher sort of way. “You see, you arrived on the scene and interrupted our attempt at capturing Reese. If you weren’t there, Joey wouldn’t have been shot and we would have Reese here right now.”
“Hold on,” Mortimer was tempted to just run for the stairs “I might have gotten that one guy killed, but you killed Reese. Don’t even try and pin that on me. Also, you shot me and dragged me here. It’s not my fault—.”
“Aha! That is where you are wrong! I brought you here because I was coming here anyway. You got into the car by yourself. And, if you remember correctly, I was perfectly fine with shooting you in the head and leaving you out on the roadside.” Mortimer was at a loss for words. He knew it was his own fault that he was now here with two holes extra holes in body, but there was no way he would admit it.
“Look, I don’t want to place blame on people who don’t deserve it. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is but what does matter is I’m losing an awful lot of blood right now. So, I’m going to go get sown up. Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing here. I want no part of it.” Mortimer had had enough for the day. He could only be shot so many times before it stopped being funny.
“Buddy, I will shot you three more times.” Morgan raised the gun in his hand and aimed it at Mortimer. “I will tell you when you get leave.”
“Morgan, let him go.” Alice was inspecting Reese’s gun over by her car with her back turned to them. “I don’t want an undead guy walking around with us. It’s weird enough as it is.”
“But, we could use him. Joey’s dead and he can’t die. Couldn’t we, you know, put him on payroll or something?”
“Morgan,” Alice began to disassemble the weapon, putting each piece on the top of her car “I am trying very hard to contain the anger I feel towards,” she pulled out the magazine clip “do not do anything that will compromise my decision.” She began to separate the bullets from the clip. Mortimer’s eyes caught a glimpse of the bullets. They looked normal enough but had an odd pointed tip that looked like a needle.
“I’ve seen those before.”
“What?” Alice had stopped working and looked around at him. “What are you saying?”
“I’ve seen those bullets before. Someone used those to try and kill me. I’ve got one right here, look.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bullet he had taken from Ken’s house. Alice nearly ran over to Mortimer and snatched the bullet out of his hand. “Where did they come from?”
“They came from Raxxon Co.” Morgan said as Alice compared the bullet from the gun with Mortimer’s. “Supposedly, they were one of many little upgrades made exclusively for military. The fact that we’re finding them in civilian use, tells us someone is selling illegally from the company.”
“So how did you guys get involved in this?”
“We were hired by a rival company, Charleston Inc., to find out how they were making so much more money than what was on their books.” Alice turned back to Mortimer. “Where are these from? You weren’t attacked by any soldiers, were you?”
“No, mobsters.”
“Mobsters?”
“Yeah, we had a little dispute over a card game and, well, you know, *bang* *bang*.”
“Could you find these guys again?”
“Not looking like Swiss cheese, I can’t.”
“Fine. Morgan, take him to get fixed up. Then we’ll go and look up your little friends.”
“What!?” Morgan hollered. “Why do I have to play chauffer to this corpus?”
“Because, Morgan, you’re the one who brought him here in the first place. Enjoy.” She threw the remaining pieces in the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. The car started and she looked out the window, gave one last glare at Morgan, and drove off.
“I hate her so much!” Morgan moved over to his car. Mortimer was a little confused about what had just happened. He could see the exit and Morgan was paying attention to his car. Turning back at the exit, he began leaving.
“Stop!”
“No.” He continued walking.
“Stop or I’ll shoot.” Morgan loaded the gun and pulled the hammer back.
“So what? I don’t die.”
“Do you really want more holes in your body?”
Mortimer came to a halt. He looked over at Morgan to see the gun aimed at his head. His eyes had a threatening expression behind his glasses.
“No,” Mortimer said taking a few steps back toward Morgan “I don’t want any more holes in me. I guess I’ll stay.” ‘Pansy.’ “Shut up.”
“What was that?” Morgan asked.
“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He moved closer to where Morgan was standing. “Why are you even bothering with me? I don’t need you. I’ve done this before. And it’s not like that one chick is going to know.”
“Yes she is.”
“How?”
“She will know. She’s the kind of woman that can read you like a book. As for why I’m helping you, I’m still holding you responsible for what happened to Reese and Joey. And don’t even try and talk me out of it. You’re helping one way or another.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag stained with blood. “Here, this belongs to you. Thought you might want it.” Mortimer took the bag from Morgan and opened it. Inside were bits of skin, skull, and brain. Most likely, these were pieces of Mortimer’s head that had been blown out by the bullet. It slightly sickened him to see those chunks of human in such a crude container.
“Why would I want this?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe you could stick ‘em back in.” He gestured to the hole in Mortimer’s head.
“It doesn’t exactly work like that.”
“Well then, you dispose of it yourself. I ain’t touchin’ your brainy bits any more today.”
Without anything better to do with it, Mortimer wrapped up the bag up and put it in his coat pocket. He looked around and breathed out a bored sigh.
“So, what are we fixing to do?”
“Well, after I’m sure you pieces are out of my car, we are going to a hospital.”
“What!? No! No, no, no, no, not happening. We are not going to a hospital.”
“But we need a doctor.” Morgan was about to get into his car.
“Yes, but I’m someone who can’t die. I don’t need people to think I’m some infinite guinea pig.”
“Fine, where do we go?”
Mortimer thought for a moment. Ken didn’t like it when he brought new people to his place. The more who knew where he was meant more mouths to spill the information to cops. Maybe not directly but words had a way of traveling to the wrong people. However, this Morgan person was not exactly a law abiding citizen.
“All right, get in the car. We’re going to see the doctor.” They got in the car and Morgan reached into the back seat.
“Here,” he said, handing him a stocking cap “put this on. It’s creepy enough to look at you with all that blood on your face.” Mortimer glanced over at him with a feeling that he was being insulted. He put the hat on and felt embarrassment well up inside him. “You look great.” Morgan was hiding a laugh behind the smirk on his face. He turned the car on and began to pull out of the garage.

Dead Walking: Part 1

No one was in the drug store. It was close to six at night and the rain was slamming against the glass windows making a cracking sound with each strike. Most of the lights were turned out and the rain outside did nothing to help the situation. An occasional lightning flash brightened the room and gave everything an eerie shadow.
The store clerk was the only thing alive in the room. She leaned on the counter, chewing gum and learning about the latest gossip from one of the magazines sold in from the stand next to the cash register. Closing time was fast approaching and soon she would leave the monotony towards something worth her attention. Looking at the clock, the young girl pondered closing early. There was no point in trying to watch the store, she was the only one here and she sure as hell did not want to buy anything. Her gaze became unfocused as she thought about what she could be doing if she was doing something worth her time.
A bell jingled as someone staggered in. She looked around as the figure let out a groan. The figure began to shuffle through the aisles making heavy breaths and occasionally coughing loudly. This was what she needed, some drunk looking for a pick-me-up. Why did she have to deal with this now? Whoever he was, she wanted to get this guy out, now.
“Sir,” she said, snapping her gum. The figure jumped a little at the sound and knocked some of the bottles on the ground. “Sir, we’re closed. Could you please leave?”
“I could,” he said “but I still have about five minutes to do my shopping, according to that clock.”
“Well, the clock is wrong.”
“Until you get it fixed, I’m going to pretend that it’s right.” He continued to look at the bottles. Finally, he decided on what he wanted to buy. The girl stood up straight as he put three bottles onto the counter. His coat smelled of alcohol but he sounded sober. She began to ring up his purchase but tried to keep her eyes on him. Something about this stranger was a little off.
“You’re total is $8.65.” The man moved his coat aside as he reached for his pocket. She saw it as lightning flashed outside, illuminating the grizzly image.
The man had four bullet wounds and a blood-stained shirt. On his right side, a huge gash was left open, spilling even more blood onto the man’s cloths and onto the floor. It looked as though an animal had ripped away at the flesh. She had only seen for a second but it was still branded into her mind. Her trance was broken when the man slammed a ten dollar bill on the counter top.
“Keep the change,” he slid the bill towards her and grabbed the nearest bottle. With great ferocity, he opened it and poured the contents into his mouth. He swallowed and threw the empty bottle on the ground. The other two were buried in his coat pocket and he began to walk away.
“Do—Do you need a doctor?” The girl asked timidly.
“Nah, this stuff’s cheaper. But thanks for the concern, love.” He left the store without another word. The girl stood shaking. She had not even noticed the money on the counter or that it was now a minute after six. It was finally closing time and all she could think about was the four holes in the man’s body. Leaning over the counter, she saw that he had left a trail of bloody footprints. That was enough to make her vomit, and she did.

The pain killers were taking a while to affect Mortimer. He wondered if his body had begun to build a resistance to them. Morphine or Vicodin could be an option, but that requires hospital visits and would start to get expensive. It was not worth the time to wait for the doctors to release him and he preferred to use money for other things, like food. Pain had started to be a part of his life rather than an obstacle. All it took was a years of accidents, fights, and gunfights to introduce him to all the ways a man could die. So far, he has had them all happen to him and now he is walking down a side walk in the rain with bullet holes in his chest and gaping hole around his liver.
His mind was buzzing and the pain was beginning to numb. He quickened his pace and was able to breathe at a steadier rate. Lightning ripped through the sky and thunder answered its dance. Mortimer pulled his coat tighter around his Swiss cheese body. The pill bottles in his pockets rattled a bit at the sudden jerk. Making sure they were secure, he looked down and saw that he was still bleeding openly. Blood was mixing with the water puddles leaving a small stream of red in his wake. No one was around to see this. There was no one who cared.
He gave a loud cough that sent a sharp pain through his chest. The buildings on either side of him were hidden behind a curtain of water, distorting their appearance. Mortimer had to squint at the buildings’ addresses to be sure about where he was. A large splash of water crashed into him and cascaded down his back. Turning, he was able to see a car driving down the street without even stopping for the driver to apologize, although Mortimer couldn’t really blame him. No one would stop in this weather.
Annoyed, Mortimer turned and walked toward a building with a large, bright red door. He inserted a key and pushed the door open. It always felt heavier than it looked. Inside, Mortimer walked past the mailboxes and headed down the stairs. At that moment and man and woman began heading down to the entry floor. They were laughing at a past joke but their smiles were replaced with a look of shock when they reached the third step from the bottom.
“Oh my God!” the man exclaimed. Mortimer turned around to see what had caused the exclamation and saw that he had left neat little puddles of watered down blood when he entered. The couple looked at Mortimer who had already started down the stairs. He quickly looked at his feet and continued on without saying a word.
The rooms on the basement floor had doors with black coats of paint. At a glance, someone would think that there were no doors and everyone was sitting in their rooms with the lights turned out. Mortimer looked at the doors as he walked down the hallway. He never really liked walking past all of the rooms. Something about the doors gave him the creeps. Reaching the end of the hallway, he turned to the right and knocked on the door. There was a sound of rapid moving and large objects being pushed out of the way. Silence followed. An awkward feeling was entering Mortimer which provoked him to knock again. This time a man’s voice answered: “He’s not in.”
Mortimer was taken aback. “Who’s not in?”
“Whoever you are looking for is not at this location.”
“Ken I am dripping water and blood everywhere! Stop dicking around and let me in!” There was a pause fallowed by a loud click as the door unlocked. Mortimer turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. For a second, he thought the door was still closed. The room in side was a dark as the paint on the door. Peering inside, he began to make-out the shapes of furniture and items like pencils, papers, pens, tweezers and knives on the floor. A face appeared in the doorway. It belonged to a thin, pale man wearing dark, thick rimmed glasses and a bald head. He was wearing a white, button down shirt and a pair of brown pants that would have gone with a suit.
“Mort? What happened this time?”
“How bad do I look?”
“You look like shit to be honest.”
“You’re the doctor.” Mort walked inside. Ken switched on the light and locked the door. He began making an attempt at straightening up the apartment. Giving up, he dropped the papers he was holding, picked up a scalpel, and walked to the back of the room. There was a table covered with various boxes and silverware. With a smooth sweep, Ken cleared off the table and placed a tablecloth on it. He straightened out the cloth and turned to Mortimer.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Drive by.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.” Ken walked over and slapped Mortimer across the face.
“Ow! Why?!”
“You want me to be your doctor and you can’t even give me an honest answer!”
“Does it really matter?”
“Mort, I have helped you after every shooting, every stabbing, every car accident, every bar fight--!”
“Ok, I see your point.”
“--Every fall, every burn, every goddamn case of frostbite--!”
“All right! You don’t have to remind me!”
“Mort, I am your doctor, someone who you trust enough to let cut you open and fix you up, but still, you give me these bullshit answers. ‘Drive by.’ You have a gaping hole in your side that was clearly not made by bullets. There is no way you are going to get away with some stupid story about a drive by.”
Mortimer looked away from him. Unsure of what to do, Mortimer leaned onto Ken’s couch.
“Goddammit Mort! Don’t get blood on my couch!”
“Sorry, Christ, Ken!” Ken continued to stare at him. “I was at a porker game and I was winning. Some guy cheated me and I got a little carried away over the money. Two guys shot me and decided to take out something more than just money,” he motioned to the gash in his side. “When they found out I was alive, they freaked out and I was able to get a way.”
“Is that the truth?”
“Yes.” There was a pause as the two men glared at each other.
“You know something, Mort? You’re lucky you found me.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“There aren’t a lot of doctors who would help you out like this.”
“Yeah, most would be busy in a hospital.”
“Don’t give me that! You know damn well that I work with a crowed who can’t go to the hospital.”
“Like mobsters.”
“No one deserves to just die because of their actions.”
“Wow, you sure are noble, Ken. But, are you sure you don’t just help them because they pay up front and in cash?”
“Hey, don’t judge me because I help a less than socially accepted group of people.”
“Fine, I’ll judge you because you help murders and thieves.” He glared a Ken. Lightning flashed out said and it took some time for thunder to answer. The storm was moving on.
“Lie down.” Ken said with a sigh, gesturing at the makeshift operating table. Mortimer climbed on top of it and Ken headed toward the kitchen. The table was too small for Mortimer to fit comfortably on the table and his ankles hung over the edge. The sound of running water could be heard from the kitchen, as well as sounds of cleaning metallic objects. Soon, Ken was standing over him, wearing an apron, gloves, an operating mask, and was holding a tray with various surgical tools.
“Do you have anesthetic?”
“Yep, I just got a new tank of the gas.”
“Give it me.”
Ken fitted him with a mask and turned on the gas. “Count backwards from one hundred.”
“100, 99, 98, 97…” Everything went black.

Mortimer woke up in a daze. The rain had slowed to a light shower and light from a TV was giving the room a ghostly glow. There was the sound of running water and clinking metal coming from the kitchen. He tried to move and found his actions to be sluggish and uncoordinated. With a great jerk, he swung his legs off the table and onto the floor. A dull pain shot though his entire body and he winced. Ken walked into the room, drying off his surgical tools.
“Sit! You’ll tear your stitches and I worked so hard to get them sown up.”
“How many this time?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t bother counting them. There has to be at least forty.”
“Forty?”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Ken put down the scalpel he was cleaning and sat down on the couch in front of the TV. He had changed his shirt and the door had a very heavy looking desk in front of it.
“So you don’t bother keeping track of how many stitches I need any more?”
“Why bother? You’ll need to get more anyway. Counting them is going to get tedious.”
“That seems very petty of you.”
“You would be petty if you had the same patient coming to see you four times a week.” He looked over at Mortimer. “Lie down. You need time to heal.”
Mortimer wasn’t paying attention. He seemed fixated on his clothing situation. “You cut my shirt open?”
“Yes, I needed to operate on you. That shirt was in way of my knife and your skin.”
“Why didn’t you just take it off me?”
“You’d need to buy me a drink before I do that,” Ken chuckled at his joke. “Besides, I don’t think you would have been able to wear that shirt anyway. Blood stains tend to be difficult to get out and bullet holes and knife wounds are always hard to fix.” He turned back to the TV. “You might as well have thrown it out.”
Mortimer looked at his clothes. His jeans and the inside of his coat were stained with blood. He wore old tennis shoes that were torn in parts but had no holes in them. The once green shirt was now dark with blood giving it a brown color. Aside from the holes he received from his attack, his shirt had been converted into a thin jacket.
He began to move from inspecting his clothes to examining his sealed injuries. There were stitches below his ribs leading up to a spot just under his neck. Below the first set, a second set sealed up the wound over his liver. With every breath, a dull sting shot across his chest and abdomen. Fortunately, he had experienced worse in his life time, allowing him to tolerate this minor annoyance.
“Lie down.” Ken said again. Mortimer jumped and looked at him.
“What?”
“I said to lie down.” Ken looked at him again. “Too much movement might cause you to rip your stitches open. I don’t have any desire to waste pain killers on you if I have to re-stitch you. If I have to operate on you again today, you will be conscious.”
“That would suck.” He thought for a second. “It might be good to have some of that stuff at my house. It doesn’t happen to come in a portable device, does it?”
“If it did, you wouldn’t be getting on. You’re already addicted to pills.”
“I am not.” Mortimer pulled out a bottle of painkillers from his pocket. “I just have a higher tolerance to them lately.”
“Yeah, that’s because you’re addicted to them.” He paused and glanced at Mortimer. “Lie down, dammit.”
“I don’t have time to lie down. I’ve got places to be and shirts to replace.”
“Bullshit. You know damn well you don’t have anywhere to go. As for a new shirt, I doubt you should be shopping looking like that. I’ll drive you back to your place in the morning.”
“Yeah, well, as much fun as it would be to stay here all comfy-cozy, I think I’ll just leave now.” He walked over to the door. “Why is there a large desk in the way?”
“Mort, I’m a crime doctor. I help murders and mobsters. Police don’t take to kindly to that and my patients are very persistent. Sometimes I need to keep people out.”
“Well, you’re keeping me in.”
“I’m not the one who showed up asking for surgery. Go ahead and move it if you want but I’m not helping. If you can’t move that, you’ll just have to wait for me to move it myself.”
“Fine.” Mortimer walked over to the desk. He faced the short side of the desk with the wall on his right side. Giving a great heave, he tried to move the desk away from the door but it wouldn’t budge. The anesthetic was still affecting him enough to weaken his muscles. After a long, fruitless attempt, he exhaled and slumped next to the desk.
“How the hell did you get it there in the first place?”
“I guess I’m just better than you.”
“Fuck you, you Irish bitch.” Mortimer looked away just as a book flew past his head. He ignored it and looked at the desk. It was rather large with many things covering it. The drawers were unevenly pushed in; there was not a one that was fully closed. Out of a need to be doing something, Mortimer began to rummage around in the one closest to him and the ground. He edged it open and peered inside. As he looked through the contents, one thing inparticular caught his attention. There was a tin bowl inside containing four used bullets. These bullets were not in a shape associated with normal, everyday bullets. At the base, the seemed ordinary enough but as they shaped into the head, they were much more pointed. It was almost as if the front had a needle connected to it.
“What are you doing?” Ken was no longer watching television and had started looking at what Mortimer was doing with his desk. Mortimer took out the bowl with the bullets inside.
“What are these?”
“Oh, those. They’re bullets.”
“I thought so but where did you get them? There’s no shell around them.”
“I got them from you. I managed to find each one. I don’t know why they look like that but they look like they hurt.”
“They did.” Mortimer picked one out of the bowl and held it up the dim television light. The tip was flattened but it still felt sharp. As you moved toward the base, the needle part widened out into the base of the bullet which still had the normal egg shape to it.
“What caliber is this?” He asked without taking his eyes of the small, weighted projectile.
“As far as I can tell, it’s a 9mm. I compared it to a few I had from other operations.”
“Why did you keep them?”
“They looked strange. I didn’t want to just get rid of them without asking around about who made them or something like that.”
“I’m keeping one.”
“Why?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mortimer climbed back up to a standing position. He put the bullet in his coat pocket and began to walk toward the bedroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To your room to get some rest.”
“No you’re not.” Ken pointed at the operating table. “You can sleep up there. I get you a pillow or something but that’s as comfortable as you get to be.”
“Why?”
“My apartment, my rules.”
Mortimer turned and looked back at the desk. He moved back to the side he was originally on and began to push again. With a great heave and yell, he managed to push the desk away from the door. Blood had begun to seep from his stitches and he was somewhat out of breath. His muscles were beginning to fight off the anesthetic enough for him to walk around normally. Unlocking the door, he wiped the blood off of his chest and buttoned up his coat.
“I’ll see you next time I’m in the neighborhood.”
“I’m sure you will.” Ken turned his eyes to the TV and began to turn it up. Mortimer shut the door on him and headed out of the apartment complex.
When he stepped out onto the front step, Mortimer found that the rain had cleared up and that the sounds of the night were starting up again. More cars were being driven around and people had come out of hiding to pollute the streets and sidewalks that had been empty only a few hours ago. It irritated him. People were not one of his favorite things in life. Something about them made him feel distant. Indeed, the more people there were in an area, the more alone and out of place he felt. To be honest, he never connected to people. He could be friendly enough when he had to be but he hated crowds. They pressed in on him, so full of life, movement, and it suffocated him. The reason was unknown to him but he suspected it had something to do with his condition. One of the biggest things in a human’s life is when theirs will end and so far, he felt like his never would.
Mortimer walked down the street, doing his best to avoid any eye contact or interaction with the mob that surrounded him. It was only a few blocks to the bus stop and from there he could head home and sleep in his own bed, for once. He could see his destination from where he stood when he heard a yell from an alley way. The yell had come from a woman, he could tell that much. Looking around he could tell that people either hadn’t heard it or were ignoring it. Only a few more steps from the bus stop and he was home. Some mysterious woman who yells in the middle of the night was not something he had any concern in. Now the bus could be seen, he needed to run a bit to catch it but a second yell penetrated the air. This yell sounded more like a grunt as though the woman had hit something, hard.
‘What are you doing, Mort?’ He had come to a stop, torn between investigating and going home. ‘Just walk toward the bus. Go on, it’s easy. Just put one foot in front of the other.’ He stepped toward the bus. ‘Good. Now do the same with the other foot.’ He turned and stepped toward the alley. ‘No, that’s the wrong way. Do we need to go over the tutorial again?’ Mortimer began to walk toward the alley way. ‘Stop, stop! You’re doing it wrong! Go back. Go towards the bus.’ His pace quickened. ‘Maybe you didn’t understand my previous statement. When someone says: ‘Go towards the bus.’ It means exactly what it sounds like. Now, go towards the bus.’ Mortimer looked back at the bus, it had gone. ‘Fine, go, see if I care.’ He took off running towards the alley, ignoring the sharp stings coming from his torso.
When he got down the alleyway, the light over a back door showed a woman and a man in combat with each other. From what he could tell, the woman was winning. She seemed to be using some sort of martial art as well as improvising a few attacks. The man, on the other hand, was definitely trying to kick box and was having most of his moves get countered. They fought for a few seconds with Mortimer watching intently when the woman delivered a staggering side kick to the man’s abdomen. He was lifted off his feet and fell against the wall behind him. It seemed like the woman had won but with a swift sweep was delivered to her legs causing her to drop the ground, hard. Panting, the man reached around the garbage and pulled out a gun. Mortimer acted without thinking. Feeling for a weighted object, his hand met a rock and he threw it. The rock struck the man in the head and the gun went off. Reacting, Mortimer jumped to the right a bit before sprinting at the man. Before the man had any time to react, Mortimer had leaped on him and began to beat him. Blood poured from the man’s nose and mouth, staining his suit but Mortimer didn’t stop. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him off of his victim.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” The woman had gotten up and was pulling him out of the alley at a quick jog. “Are you trying to kill someone?”
“So what if I am?” Mortimer suddenly felt defensive and angry. He had just saved this woman and now she was yelling at him like it was his fault the guy couldn’t take a hit. “Stop pulling me. I don’t need you to lead me around.”
They had reached the street and were moving through the crowd at a rapid pace trying to avoid being noticed by anyone one. Mortimer saw the bus stop he had wanted so much to be at. In a half an hour, the bus would return to pick him up if he was only there when it came back.
“Why are you following me?” The woman had glanced back at him but she had not slowed her stride.
“I just… want to.” Mortimer felt awkward at the question. He could not explain what drove him to follow this stranger. His eyes scanned her from head to toe. She wore a suit like the man but wore tennis shoes instead of dress shoes. There was a bruise on her face and a small cut on her left hand. Her black hair came down to her shoulders and was kept in a ponytail. It gave her a very no-nonsense appearance and, mixed with her height, made her seem like she could be very dangerous.
“Do you like the view?” She had caught him staring at her. He glanced at his feet and almost crashed into someone walking in the other direction.
“Watch it, ya fruit!”
“Up yours, dick-weed.”
“My, what a charming personality you have. I can tell already that you’re a people person.” The woman looked him with distaste in her eyes.
“Look,” Mortimer began, his tone becoming impatient. “You don’t need to be so quick to brush me off. I did just save your life.”
“I didn’t need you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mortimer scoffed. “I was unaware that you were bulletproof.” She shot him a sharp glare. Mortimer’s body went cold for one second. “What, exactly, were you trying to accomplish back there?”
“You know what,” The woman stopped suddenly and Mortimer almost passed by her, “just because you ‘saved me’ doesn’t mean I have to suddenly tell you everything about me intentions. I’m not in your debt and I don’t owe you anything. The only thing that I have to do is thank you.” She grabbed his right hand and began to shake it. “Thank you. Now piss off.” She started walking again at a slightly quicker pace than before.
Mortimer stood there for a second in surprise. He had never met someone like this before. Before she had completely disappeared, Mortimer caught up to her.
“Why, are you following me?” She stopped at a street curb and flagged down a black car.
“Can I just get your name?”
She opened the passenger seat door and sat in the car. Before closing the door she turned to him, “It’s Alice.”
She shut the door and the car pulled away. Mortimer looked down the street after it. He checked his pockets and found no money, only the pills. Checking his sock, he found fifty dollars in cash. A taxi was driving by and he managed to flag it down.
“Where to pal?”
“Eighteen twenty-three Arkham St.” The taxi drove down the street. Mortimer’s thoughts were still on the woman. Tonight was certainly going to be memorable.
It was chilly that morning like it always was after a rainy night. Sun poured into the room, illuminating the dust swirling around the small loft. Mortimer was lying on a mattress on the ground with a thin sheet covering him. He squinted around at the world before him, four walls, a door with many locks, a desk off to the side with a mini fridge underneath it, a large dresser, a bathroom area, and his ‘bed’ by the only window in the room. The empty space and the quiet inhabited it made him feel so… at one with the world. There was no one around to remind him about his curse.
He stood up, letting the sheet slide of him, and walked over to the mini fridge. A pain shot through his body causing him to wince. Pain was a usual thing in his life, but it still was something that took him by surprise when he woke up. Opening the fridge, he scanned its contents. There were various bottles of alcoholic drinks as well as a half gallon of milk and two bottles of water. His hand moved towards a bottle of vodka.
‘Whoa there,’ He stopped himself. ‘It’s a little too early for that one.’ His hand was one the bottle. ‘Please, just listen to me for once. This will not help you.’ The hand moved from the vodka to the water. ‘That’s better, much better.’ He took a drink of water. It refreshed him and he felt some pain subsiding. ‘See, hydration is a good thing. You should listen to me more often.’ He closed the door to the fridge and wandered around the room. ‘Hell, if you had listened to me last night, you wouldn’t be thinking about that girl.’ He wandered over to the window and looked out on the city street below. ‘I mean, it’s not even like you hit it off or had a nice fuck last night. You just tried to kill an armed man with your bare hands. Well done, well done indeed. I’m sure that will impress her enough to make her fall madly in love with you.’
“Shut up.” He said out loud. ‘You can’t shut me out that easily. I’m a little surprised at your reaction. Is this woman really a soft spot for you? Do you even remember her name?’ He took a long drink of water. ‘It was something girly wasn’t it? It started with an ‘A’ right? Amy? Anny? Maybe Alexa?’
“Alice.” He said coolly.
‘Right, Alice. She was a looker, wasn’t she? Tall, with black hair, had that librarian thing going for her. It would be nice to see her again. You could always call her—oh wait; she didn’t give her number, did she? Well, no problem, she’ll probably be in the phone book. Just look for the name Alice. She’s got to be the only one in the city with that name.’ Mortimer grumbled at the thought. ‘Hey, do you know what a better idea would be: forgetting about her. That would be wonderful. Just forget the girl and move on with your life. I’m sure you can find something better to do today than worrying about some martial artist chick all day.’
He finished off the bottle in one swig and threw it in the corner. Walking over to the dresser he began to pull some clean clothes on. This was one thing he should just stop worrying about, he had no control over any of it anyway, why bother? When he finished dressing, he grabbed his coat and unlocked the door. ‘It’s time to start another day in paradise.’ Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and left the room.
The hallway was deserted. A sharp stale smell hit his nose, shocking him awake. It was nice to be around when no one else was. His good mood was cut short when he turned around to find an eviction notice on his door. Every few weeks, another notice would show up to pester him. This would not be the first place he had been evicted from but that in no way took away the fact of how much of an inconvenience it was. All this meant was that he needed to find money quicker. Maybe there would be another poker game tonight. Gambling usually was his main form of income, and his main cause of trouble. That is to say, he was good at card games but every so often he got the urge to cheat, make the game more interesting. Due to his sudden demand for money, he would have to restrain from cheating today. Either that, or do it better.
Mortimer was so used to walking to the church in the morning; he arrived in front of the door without even registering where his feet were taking him. Inside, he saw the usual small group people that populated the sanctuary in the mornings. He made sure to avoid them as much as possible. This was his time to think and ponder his life and he preferred for people to do the same with their life. Walking past the holy water, he sat down in a pew four seats from the entrance. It was time.
‘Why?’ Was always the question he came here to ask. ‘Why am I here? I don’t mean that in the usual sense. I’m not here to ask why anyone exists or what my purpose in life is. I just want to know: what’s keeping me here? I’ve been treated to every possible wound that I could think of and yet I still live. I’m walking around, I’m eating, I’m drinking, I’m breathing and listening to my heartbeat as I complain about the weather. I can’t take it.’ He clenched his fists. ‘Why do you keep putting me through this? Why must I suffer life? Is it even possible for me to die? Am I some sort of immortal? Immortality should never be given to someone. I’ll just exist until the end of time, and then what?’ Mortimer hated it. His life seemed to just go on and on. He had lived through so much pain in his life and was ready to let it all go but for whatever reason, he continued to live. ‘Am I even human? When someone is born, it is known that eventually, the child will die, either in eight seconds or eighty years sometimes more. So far, I haven’t even seen the white light in a long tunnel and I’ve been killed in so many ways. Does that mean I’m incomplete? That I can’t go on to the next life? Why am I stuck here?’
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Jumping, he turned and saw Father Birch looking down at him.
“Would you like to come back to my office to talk?”
“Yeah, all right then.” Mortimer got up and the followed priest to a back room. Father Birch sat behind a desk and Mortimer took a comfortable chair on the other side that faced the middle-aged man.
“Would you like a drink?” Father Birch said as he walked over to a mini fridge.
“Yeah, as long as it isn’t water.”
“Well, I don’t have much else besides this apple juice.”
“That’ll do nicely.”
“Well all right then.” The priest took out a large bottle of apple juice that had been opened before. He then took two glasses down and poured the drinks. Mortimer took one of the glasses and drank a sip.
“I hope that taste all right,” said Father Birch, taking a sip himself.
“It tastes like apple juice which I guess is fine but if it didn’t taste good… I think I would still drink it.”
Father Birch chuckled. The two men sat in silence for a bit. Mortimer was staring blankly at a piece of paper on the desk.
“Would you like to talk today?”
“Hum?” Mortimer snapped to attention and looked at Father Birch. “Oh, ah, no. No, I don’t feel like talking today.”
“That’s fine.” They took another sip. Another pause began.
“I still don’t know what I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you met me, I had a cross stabbed through me had been beaten with a crowbar. Now, I’m walking around with no brain damage and no scars to show what had happened. My body healed fully. It took a few months but it still happened. Why? Why is it that nothing seems to kill me?” Mortimer stopped to take another sip of juice. Father Birch kept his eyes on him.
“I’m afraid I can’t give you the answers you seek. I can offer you guidance. I would say to let go of your pre-occupation with death and look at what you have to offer life.” Mortimer scoffed. “No, I mean it Mort. You have something other people don’t. You don’t have to worry about the world taking you too soon. You could accomplish so much good but all you do is wish you were dead. Why not look at the brighter side?”
“Because, this world is dark and painful. I’ve lived with enough pain in my life to want to keep on being hurt by it. What would it matter if I did any good in the world? I’m one person. One person who can’t even connect with the world because I know that at some point they will die and I don’t even know if I can join them.” He finished his drink and set the glass down on the desk.
“Mort,” Father Birch began, “I know you are not a religious man. I know you don’t worship on Sundays or even practice a particular religion. But I want you to know that I’m praying for you. I hope the Lord will show you the path that you need.”
“Thank you, Father.” Mortimer stood up and so did the priest. “I want you to know that I appreciate our meetings.”
“Oh, you don’t need to thank me,” the priest said with a smile. “I’m more than happy to help someone who’s lost.”
Mortimer walked over to the door. He placed his hand on the door knob.
“One more thing, Mort,” Father Birch stopped him. “I want you to know that the world may be a dark place but that just means good people shine a little brighter. Remember that.”
“All right.” He turned the knob and exited the room. This place always gave him a strange feeling of acceptance with his condition but it never lasted. The church was another drug, another painkiller. Too much of it would cause him to no longer feel the effect. Soon, not even faith would be enough to keep him going.