A/N: Chapter 13 here. I know it took awhile, but I was in the middle of some serious creative drainage for this one. Ch. 12 was a glorious return to form; I was quite proud of it. This chapta isn't nearly as fun, and short to boot. Must have something to do with the number... But don't let my snarkish pessimism put a damper on your reading experience :) Complementary ears of corn are given to new reviewers Samara13, PhantomVarg, and Padfoot Reincarnated. Enjoy!

Rated for: mild swearing and mild naughtiness... ranting

DISCLAIMER: The lovely Secret Window is not my sub-par thriller. The tangent at the end of this chapter is a result of reading too many George Carlin books. Apologies to the dummies who are offended. :)

(Mort drives down the highway in a monstrous SUV that looks like it was crafted in the bowels of gas-guzzling hell)

Nature Lovers: (give Mort "the Look")

Mort: Shut up. I got it for the spacious interior.

(Out of nowhere, Chico's Ghost pops up in the passenger seat. He is sporting a pair of spiffy sunglasses and a red jacket straight out of Rebel Without a Cause. One paw is hanging out the window in a "too cool for this shit" way… in the other paw he is holding a plastic martini glass filled with cheap scotch.)

Fangirls: Ooh! Hawtness.

SmileVampy: …

Audience: …

Fangirls: What?

Chico's Ghost: (scoffs) What the heck do you need a 'spacious interior' for?

Mort: (irritated) Chico…

Chico's Ghost: It's just you. No kids to bring to practice. A wife only in the legal-est sense…

Mort: Chico I am warning you…

Chico's Ghost: …And, as of yesterday, no dog to bring to the vet, or to the park, or anything. Not that you ever did, but-

Mort: Chico I swear to God that I will buy the biggest Hummer I can find just so I can hear the satisfying crunch of your body underneath its tires!

Nature Lovers: (raise their "Bleeding Heart Pitchforks of Protest and Rallying +2")

Chico's Ghost: Whoa there, fellas. He's just joshing…

Nature Lovers: (lower pitchforks with disappointed sighs)

Chico's Ghost: (to Mort) So, where're we going? Lemme guess… (vaguely drunk, sticks head through sun-roofless roof of the car) ROAD TRIP!

Mort: (suppressing a grin) Not quite. I'm heading over to the Wife's house, completely unannounced, in order to pick up some old magazines.

Chico's Ghost: (sits back down, incredulous) "Completely unannounced"?

Mort: Mmm-hmm yep.

Chico's Ghost: (facepaw) Good Christ…

(They drive along, grab some Taco Bell, and drive around some more. Mort makes a right turn instead of a left and they end up in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Finally they get back to New York state and discreetly pull up onto the Wife's lawn because Mort is sneaky like a fox)

Mort: Let's leave a flaming diaper full of poo on the doorstep…

Chico's Ghost: No, Morton.

(Suddenly the Wife and Ted come out dressed up for some fancy dinner thing. They get into Ted's car and proceed to ferociously do the nasty. Mort looks on hungrily.)

Mort: Mmm… sandwich.

Mr. Voice-in-His Head: I said it once and I'll say it again. Perv.

Mort: Oh hiya, Mr. Voice. Long time no see… hear.

Mr. Voice-in-His Head: Not your house. Not your wife. Stop being weird.

Mort: (weeps) I can't believe it! She… he…

Chico's Ghost: What did you expect when you came over 'completely unannounced'?

Mort: (still weeping) I just wanted to see it one last time, and they…

Mr. Voice-in-His Head: Wait... 'It'?

Mort: Yes. It.

Mr. Voice-in-His Head: (dryly) You mean the house.

Mort: Yes, the house! I hadn't seen the poor thing in ages, and they… they… they painted her door red! It was originally navy blue and they painted it red! (breaks down) I don't even recognize her anymore!

Chico's Ghost: God you're pathetic and crazy.

Mr. Voice-in-His Head: Ah-HEM!

Chico's Ghost: Well, not you. You're quite sane.

Mr. Voice-in-His Head: Damn straight. ("leaves")

(Mort composes himself and drives away without picking up the magazine he came for in the first place… He then realizes…)

Mort: Aw crap, I'm out of gas.

Chico's Ghost: (to himself) New Mexico and back… SUV… yeah that makes sense.

(Mort and Chico's Ghost go to a gas station)

Mort: 3.49! OMG!(dies a thousand deaths)

Chico's Ghost: You're the moron who made a pointless trip in a monster car. Quit complaining.

Mort: (dramatically) It seems like I work just to fill up the tank…

Chico's Ghost: You're a writer. You don't work.

Mort: Shut up.

To Be Continued...

To end this chapter, the SmileVampy Foundation would like to bring you this very special Public Announcement...

So, remember kids… cars suck. Especially SUVs. Unless you are an Irish Catholic soccer mom with 20 kids, there is no reason you should be driving an SUV. Heck, unless you are a crazy mountain man who lives 3 hours from the nearest indoor plumbing facility… why own a car in the first place? Take a bus. Better yet, walk. Or, if you must own a car, why not go electric? Pollute the atmosphere a little less? And please… if you own a gas-powered automobile… don't complain about gas prices. Contrary to popular belief, it has nothing to do with the Middle East. It's fossil fuel-hungry bastards like you who sent those prices skyrocketing, not the ragheads. You've dug yourself a nice little grave… now lie in it. So do shut up, and go electric… or the environmentalists will lynch you while you slumber. Happy Summer.

A/N: Told ya it was short. Hopefully I'll have some time in the next week or so to churn out another chapter. Cheers, mates... don't forget to review!

SmileVampy