Two Months Later

Author: Saiko

A/N: Does anyone else find it slightly alarming to write fanfiction on this particular plot line? Oh well, this is AU (Alternate Universe) b/c I didn't like the ending. I don't tend to like to change endings to movies (and I haven't gotten to the end of the book, so I don't know about that), so this will be an exception for me. It will also have a bit of supernatural in it, I suppose, since I want to save poor Mort from the ending of the movie. My almost-boyfriend said I liked him b/c he's played by Johnny Depp (which is true on various superficial levels b/c of Mr. Depp's lovely looks and other levels b/c of his wonderful acting), but I really like Mort Rainey b/c I can connect with him. Not the whole killing part, but other things. Oh, and I don't own the characters, obviously.

A/N2: Anna Maxwell and I were discussing the idea of authors really being crazy. I mean, if you really look about you, most authors (that write any amount of time) are a bit off kilter. (which is not necessarily a bad thing). Anyway, my theory is this: if everyone else had plots running through their brains all the time and unable to get them out except to write them down – which sometimes isn't possible due to lack of time or writer's block – then they'd be crazy too. It's like having your own personal crazy voice running in your head. Anna calls these "plot bunnies". Just a bit I thought you might be interested to know. Onto the story!

I

Mort Rainey sniffled for what seemed like the hundredth time that hour as he slumped in his seat at his desk. This particular book had been going well. He had started it only a few days before and had worked near non stop at it. These were the types of days when it would have taken an act of God Himself to stop Mort from writing. Poor Mrs. Gavin had tried and tried to fix him lunch the day she had come to clean, but he'd finally turned the music up in the earphones and went back to work.

With such a wonderful start, one might expect the book to go with little difficulty, but writer's block is an author's worst enemy, as Mort well knew, and his dear, loathed enemy was back with a vengeance. Better writers' block than John Shooter back to haunt you, a voice in his head told him. He nodded in agreement as he pulled the slinky from off his desk and sneezed again. His lack of sleep, nutrition, and the damp weather outside had led to a troublesome cold.

Mort felt himself shudder slightly at the thought of John Shooter. The incident still kept him up at night. His depression had subsided since the ordeal – he wasn't quite sure why – but he had slept little due to his writings and his nightmares. He ran his hands along his face and through his tangled hair, his mind involuntarily flashing back to the day that John Shooter had told him that he was a part of the author. It had taken everything Mort had in him – which wasn't easy at that point – to force Shooter out of his conscious or any part of his mind. Then Amy had come in....

"The story, gotta fix the ending," Mort mumbled, voice shaking.

"An' 'ow do ya suppose we do that, Mr. Rainey?"

Mort shook his head, hands clinched at his side. "Get rid of you before you can kill anyone else!" he screamed. "Get outa my house! Get outa my life! Get away from Amy and everyone else, just LEAVE!"

"Can't do that, Mr. Rainey," Shooter said, his voice almost sounding sad. "We're not done here yet."

Mort felt something blunt come down across his head and he stumbled back and slid down the wall. He tried to keep his eyes open as his vision swam. He'd seen Amy's car. She was going to get involved in all of this without even knowing why. What if she blamed him?

"Mort?" her voice floated into the room. She scanned the room, eyes finally landing on the still form of her almost ex-husband. "Mort!"

The sound of Amy's voice brought the author swimming back to the surface of consciousness. "Amy?"

"Oh my... What happened here?"

Mort reached a careful hand to his head, silently thankful it hadn't been a screwdriver Shooter had driven into him. "Amy, get the hell out of here," he mumbled. "Don't ask questions, just leave and I'll explain later when I can. It's not safe." His own words sounded far from him.

"No, Mort, I'm not leaving you with whatever's in here. C'mon, let's get you out of here." She narrowed her eyes as his widened. "What?" She turned to see what the author was looking at and couldn't withhold a scream. John Shooter stood there, looming over her.

"Get out, Amy," Mort hissed.

"I thought it wasn't a problem!" she half screeched back.

"It turned out to be more! This isn't the time!"

Shooter gave a small chuckle. "Sorry to involve you, missy, but I just had no choice. Mr. Rainey wouldn't fix my story on his own."

"Leave the damn story problem between you and me!" Mort yelled.

"It's gone beyond that, Mr. Rainey."

"Run, Amy!"

Run she did, though Shooter followed, but now without a look that said he'd be back. Mort stumbled to his feet after them. No way he'd let this wacko take the woman he loved. Not in this life.

Amy had stumbled on her way out, her head smacking against a rock. Shooter was over her, looking down right evil. Mort slammed into him, both men rolling to the ground.

The sound of the police sirens mixed with his all ready spinning head and the quick trip to the dirt made Mort sway as he stood. He vaguely realized that Ted came flying from the other side of the house with his cell phone in hand. The author reached out to steady himself and found nothing but the hard ground.

"Mort?"

Mort stirred slightly at the sound of his name. He then woke with a start, tipping his chair back in the rush to sit up from where he'd leaned forward to sleep against his desk. He felt his head connect hard with the floor and groaned loudly. "What the hell?" he growled. He blinked several times, realized his glasses were still on the desk, and stood slowly, reaching for them. Amy came into focus. "What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too, Mort," she laughed. "You okay?"

He forced a small smile that faded just as quickly as it had come. "Always good to see you, but really, Amy, what are you doing here?"

"I tried calling."

"I unplugged the phone. I've had a sudden case of writer's block."

"Well I got scared so I came."

"He's locked away, Amy," Mort pointed out after a length. He had told himself that many a night after waking to his own screams.

Amy shook her head. "No, Mort, he got out. That's why I was calling you. I thought maybe he'd..." She sniffled, eyes tearing up. "I'm sorry, Mort, I know you hate it when I come here sobbing, but I thought maybe he'd come after you again."

"Did you come alone?" If she had, she was a fool, and that was not something Mort thought of his former wife.

Amy looked at the floor. "Ted's out in the car."

Mort nodded. Ted had been a bit wary of him since the whole incident. "Sorry to scare you, Amy."

She sniffed again and flung her arms around him. "Never do that to me again, Morton Rainey," she grumbled into his tattered house robe. She pulled back suddenly and her hand went to his face. "You're sick."

"'scuse me?" he mumbled.

"You're burning up, Mort. Did you get that absorbed again?"

Mort pulled away. It was that tone again. That tone that he hated. What have you gone and done this time, Mort? "Yeah, but that's not really your problem, is it?"

Amy sighed. "Listen...."

"I'm sorry, Amy," her ex husband answered. "Really I am. I'm tired, don't feel well, and suddenly very stressed with the news that Shooter might be around again."

"I never quite understood him, Mort. You know they found no records of him where he said he was from, or anywhere for that matter. I know he might have a pseudonym, but really, wouldn't they be able to find something?"

No need to tell her that it was very possible John Shooter was a part of his darker subconscious that had simply worked his way out to a point where he became real physically. No need to PROVE he was crazy, right? Right. "I don't know. They haven't."

Amy nodded slowly. "Will you come with us, Mort? I know you don't like Ted, but I'm worried about you out here. What if he comes after you? Just come back into town with us, hmm?"

Mort shook his head. "No. It'd be awkward, and you know it."

"But I'd know you were safe and it'd do my nerves some good."

"I've got to finish my book, Amy, I'm on a bit of a deadline. Self – imposed, but still a deadline. I'll walk you out to the car and plug the phone back in if it'll make you feel better. You can watch me do it if you don't believe me."

"Fine, but I'll be calling you a lot. I worry about you, you know."

He gave her a forced smile and they started down the stairs. He had to close his eyes for a moment. It still hurt, he wasn't going to lie to himself, but the worst was over. Amy was out the door by the time he reached the phone to plug it in. The scream made him jump. "Amy?!" He rushed out the door to find her stumbling backwards and into him, hands over her mouth. She turned and buried her face in his shirt. "Amy?"

"He's dead... Oh my... He killed Ted, Mort! He killed him!"

Mort had wrapped his arms around the shaking woman protectively but now released her to see what she was talking about. He hated Ted Milner, with a passion, and he'd even wanted him dead at one point, but he'd about decided that if this idiot made his Amy happy, then he'd have to live with it. Ted was still in the driver's seat, leaned back and had an ax through his heart. Certainly something Shooter would do, if for nothing else than to get Mort's attention.

The author turned back to his ex wife and she sobbed into his shoulder. "Let's go down to the police," he said quietly.

"Maybe he's not dead, Mort, maybe..."

"He's dead, Amy. I'm sorry, but he is. No one survives that."

She nodded, fear shining in her eyes.

"Don't worry, Amy," Mort whispered as he held her close. "I'm not going to let him hurt you." He didn't know how much truth there were in his words. He hadn't really done much in the struggle against him two months earlier, and certainly in his half-ill condition that he found himself in now he could only do less. He decided that would be handled later. For now he guided Amy to his SUV and got her inside.

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A/N: Okay! First chapter. If any of you have read my PotC fics, you know the drill. The more you review the faster I go. I've got a good part of this story in my head as it is, and so I'm ready to get rolling on it, if people are ready to read! Hope to see your reviews. Feed my addiction, please.

TS