Forever, page 10
A tear slid down her cheek as she stared at the last photo in the album. It was taken just before her arrest – her father's arm around her shoulders, both of them smiling for the camera, blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to hit.
Is it true, Dad? Were you really an FBI agent before I was born? And if so… why didn't you tell me?
Her father's eyes seemed to bore into hers through the photograph, but they offered no answers. The room felt colder now – the silence heavy and oppressive.
Morgan took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. With a sudden burst of energy, she shoved the boxes back into the depths of the closet, shutting the door with a resolute slam. The sound echoed through the quiet room, and as it faded away, Morgan felt an odd sense of determination settle over her. She couldn't let some stranger's words get to her. She knew her dad. Even if he did lie to her, she knew there would have been a good reason.
Her footsteps felt heavy as she crossed the living space, feeling the weight of her past threatening to crush her. She sank back onto the kitchen chair, surrounded by the files and photos that she had been poring over for hours. Her eyes flicked between them, searching for connections that remained elusive.
"Stacy, orphan… Martha, lost child… Amber, parents gone…" Morgan whispered, her voice barely audible against the hum of her laptop. She could feel the exhaustion creeping up on her, but she refused to give in. There had to be something she was missing – some clue that would unravel the mystery.
"Three different traumas, three different murder locations…"
She leaned back on the chair, staring at the ceiling as if the answers were written there. Her mind swam with faces and names, victims and locations, but nothing seemed to fit together.
As much as she hated to admit it, Derik would probably be a good help right now. But as always, she'd pushed him away. Even if her reasons were good, she was frustrated with herself. They needed answers. She just hoped Derik was looking for them too.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Megan leaned her head against the cool window of the van, watching her own breath fog up the glass as she exhaled. The night was dark, the streetlights casting a soft orange glow on the pavement below. She couldn't help but smile at the thought of their earlier movie date - her cheeks still felt warm from all the laughter they shared. Her date was older than her, but there was a certain charm that came with his age. She felt a surge of gratitude for having met him at the church group; it was a serendipitous blessing.
Mom and Dad would love him, she thought to herself, thinking about how proud they'd be of her choice. Megan had always been teased by her parents for her string of not-so-perfect boyfriends.
Her eyes drifted towards the hardware store's entrance, willing her date to emerge any moment now. As much as she wanted to bask in the afterglow of their evening, the clock was ticking. It was already almost ten p.m., and she had to be home by 10:30 at the latest. Where was he? What could possibly be taking him so long?
"Okay, Megan, calm down," she murmured, folding her hands in her lap and taking a deep breath. "He'll be out soon."
She tried to distract herself by replaying the funniest moments from their date in her mind, focusing on the sound of his laughter and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. But the longer he took, the more her anxiety began to bubble up inside her. A part of her worried about her parents' reaction if she was late, while another part couldn't shake off a nagging unease about being alone in a parked van at night.
At long last, her date strode back to the van, a plastic bag swinging from his hand. He tossed it on the backseat before sliding behind the wheel. Megan craned her neck to get a better look at its contents: rope and duct tape. Her curiosity piqued, she turned to face him as he settled in the driver's seat.
"Sorry for taking so long," he said, adjusting the rearview mirror. "I needed to pick up some stuff for work tomorrow before the store closed."
Megan offered a tight smile, her unease momentarily forgotten. "It's fine," she replied, brushing off her previous anxiety. "But I really need to get home now. My parents are expecting me back soon."
"Of course," he said, nodding understandingly as he started the engine. The van roared to life, and Megan felt a shiver of relief run down her spine. As much as she'd enjoyed their date, she really did need to get home.
As they pulled away from the hardware store, Megan couldn't help but glance back at the rope and duct tape once more. She wondered what kind of job required such items, but decided that it was none of her business. Instead, she focused on the familiar sights passing by outside her window, counting the minutes until she would be back within the comforting embrace of her family home.
Yet, despite her best efforts, the lingering image of the rope and duct tape gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. A small voice within her whispered doubts, planting seeds of unease that threatened to grow with each passing second. With a determined effort, Megan pushed those thoughts away and focused on the road ahead, willing herself to remain calm and collected.
Megan noticed her date's grip on the steering wheel tighten. The engine hummed softly as he turned onto the main road, flicking on the turn signal to indicate a left turn. A chill crept up her spine, and she glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. 10:12 PM. Not much time left.
"Hey," she said hesitantly, "my parents' place is back the other way."
"Is it?" He smiled, his eyes never leaving the road. "I must have gotten turned around."
"Y-yeah," Megan stammered, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that something was amiss. As they continued to drive, the houses lining the streets became fewer and farther apart, replaced by dark, looming trees that cast eerie shadows across the road. Her heart rate picked up, each beat pounding in her ears like a warning drum.
"Are you a good swimmer, Megan?" he asked, his voice light and casual as if discussing the weather.
"Swimmer?" She furrowed her brow, thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "I-I guess so, why?"
"Always good to know," he replied, his smile never faltering. "You never know when you might need that skill."
Megan's thoughts raced alongside the passing scenery, struggling to find any logic or reason in his words. She gripped the door handle, her knuckles turning white as her body instinctively prepared for flight. But the doors were locked, trapping her inside this moving metal cage. She swallowed hard, her throat dry and tight.
"Really, we should turn around," she insisted, her voice wavering slightly. "My parents are going to worry."
"Don't worry, Megan," he said, his tone still cheerful but now carrying a hint of steel beneath the surface. "We'll get you home, eventually."
As the van continued to speed farther and farther away from her parents' house, Megan's thoughts turned inward. She searched her memories for any sign that this man was not who he claimed to be, anything that could explain the chilling dread that now consumed her. And with each passing moment, the image of the rope and duct tape in the backseat loomed larger and more sinister in her mind.
The van's engine hummed ominously as the headlights pierced through the darkness, casting eerie shadows on the road ahead. Megan's heart pounded in her chest, each beat resonating with her mounting fear.
"Stop the car!" she demanded, desperation seeping into her voice. "I want to get out!"
"Sorry, no can do," he responded with a smirk, his eyes never leaving the road.
Megan's hands shook as she fumbled for the door handle, tugging at it with all her might. The lock held firm, refusing to relent under her frantic efforts. Her breathing grew rapid and shallow as panic clawed at the edges of her mind.
"Unlock the doors!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "Let me out!"
"Ah, now why would I do that?" he replied, his tone sickeningly sweet. "You're mine now, Megan."
Her stomach twisted into knots, revulsion mingling with the terror that threatened to consume her. What did he mean by that? And what did he have planned for her? Images of the rope and duct tape flashed before her eyes, only serving to heighten her fear.
"Please," she begged, tears streaming down her face. "I just want to go home."
"Home?" he mused aloud, as if considering her words for the first time. "Well, we'll see about that."
Megan's thoughts raced, searching for any possible means of escape. She glanced at the glove compartment, wondering if there might be something inside that could help her. A tool, a weapon, anything.
"Looking for this?" he asked, holding up a small knife, its blade glinting in the dim light of the dashboard. "Don't worry, it won't hurt... much."
Sobs wracked her body as she realized the gravity of her situation. He had complete control over her, and there was nothing she could do about it. She felt sick, powerless, and completely alone.
"Please," she whispered, her voice hoarse with fear. "Don't hurt me."
"Aw, don't cry, sweetheart," he cooed, his words dripping with false sympathy. "You'll see. We're going to have so much fun together."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The dull morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow on the white sheets. Morgan stirred, her body aching from the previous day's endeavors. She blinked groggily, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. As she rolled over, she became aware of a warmth beside her, and her eyes snapped open in shock.
Derik lay next to her, naked and grinning. His lean form seemed out of place in her bed, as though he were an apparition borne from the depths of her subconscious. Her heart raced with a mixture of confusion and desire.
"Derik?" Morgan's voice was barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would shatter the moment. "What are you doing here?"
"Hey, Morgan." His smile was intoxicating, his blue eyes shining with mischief. He reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, fingertips grazing her cheek gently. "Don't worry about it. Everything's going to be okay."
Morgan's mind reeled at the sensation of his touch, her body betraying her hardened exterior. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, her pulse pounding in her ears. She knew she should question him further, but found herself unable to resist the allure of his presence.
Suddenly, Derik's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he reached under the pillow. Morgan's heart clenched in her chest as he withdrew a gleaming knife, its razor-sharp edge glinting in the dim light. Her breath caught in her throat, and she tried to back away, but her body refused to obey.
"Derik, what are you doing?" she choked out, barely able to speak through her terror.
"Sorry, Morgan," he whispered, his voice devoid of emotion. "But it has to be this way."
Morgan's brain screamed at her to move, to fight, but she was paralyzed by fear. With a swift motion, Derik raised the knife above his head, its cruel edge pointing straight at her heart. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. The knife descended toward her in a blur, and—
Morgan jolted upright in bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her heart hammered against her ribcage like a caged animal. It took her several moments to process that she was awake, and that the terrifying encounter with Derik had only been a dream.
Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings of her bedroom. The morning light cast long shadows across the floor, and the comforting scent of coffee wafted up from the kitchen below. Most importantly, she was alone—there was no sign of Derik, naked or otherwise.
"Jesus," she muttered, running a hand through her damp hair. "Get a grip, Morgan."
As she tried to steady her breathing, Morgan couldn't shake the lingering unease that clung to her like a cold sweat. She knew that dreams were often just manifestations of subconscious fears, but something about this one felt different. More real. And given her complicated relationship with Derik, it left her feeling more vulnerable than ever.
Morgan shook her head, trying to dispel the last remnants of the nightmare. She couldn't afford to let it rattle her—not with a killer still on the loose and the memory of her past haunting her every step.
The shrill sound of her phone ringing on the nightstand tore Morgan from her thoughts, making her wince. She snatched it up, ready to silence the unwelcome interruption, but paused when she saw Mueller's name flashing on the screen. She promptly answered.
"Cross," Mueller's gruff voice greeted her. "Apologies for the early hour, but we've got another one. A body has been found."
"Jesus," Morgan whispered, her blood running cold. The nightmare was suddenly forgotten, replaced by a sickening sense of dread that weighed heavy in her gut. Guilt overtook her; she’d fallen asleep, and now the murderer had struck again. "Where?" she asked, holding her breath.
"Out by a lake, near the cottage area," he replied, his voice tense and urgent. "I need you there ASAP."
"Understood," she said curtly, already throwing off her covers and reaching for her clothes. Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of this latest development. Another victim? So soon after the last one?
"Be careful, Cross," Mueller added, a note of concern creeping into his otherwise stoic tone. "We don't know what we're dealing with here."
Morgan clenched her jaw, resolved to face whatever lay ahead. "I will be," she promised, and ended the call.
As she dressed hastily, her fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers, Morgan couldn't help but feel a gnawing unease growing within her. The dream was still fresh in her mind, and the chilling thought that it might somehow be connected to this new crime scene sent shivers down her spine.
But as she stepped out into the pale morning light, the image of Derik's haunting smile lingered in her thoughts, an unwelcome specter that refused to be banished. And for the first time since she'd been released from prison, Morgan couldn't help but wonder if she was truly prepared for the darkness that awaited her.
***
The morning sun glinted off the surface of the lake, casting a serene, picturesque scene that belied the horror lurking beneath its placid waters. Morgan stepped out of her car, the gravel crunching under her shoes as she made her way to the small gathering of police officers by the water's edge. The cottage area outside of town was usually a haven for vacationers and families seeking respite from the daily grind – but today, it had become the stage for yet another gruesome discovery.
"Agent Cross," greeted Officer Daniels, a young man with a solemn expression who seemed to have aged years since their last encounter. "We've got another one."
Morgan nodded curtly, steeling herself for what lay ahead. "Show me."
They led her down a narrow path that wound through the trees, their shadows dappling the ground like dark, silent witnesses to the atrocity that had taken place. As they rounded a bend, Morgan caught sight of the victim – a young woman, her lifeless body lying on the shore of the lake, her pale face turned towards the sky as though pleading for mercy that would never come. Her hands were bound behind her back, like the others, and there was a rope hooked to her ankles.
Officer Daniel's expression was solemn. "A local fisherman found her. His line got stuck on her dress. We've ID'd her as Megan Hart, twenty-three."
Morgan swallowed hard, her throat tight with anger and frustration. This killer was growing bolder, more deranged with each passing day – and despite all her efforts, she still had no idea who he was or how to stop him.
She crouched down beside the victim, taking in every detail with a forensic eye. There were no obvious signs of trauma, no visible wounds or marks on the young woman's body. But Morgan knew from experience that there was much more to this crime scene than met the eye. Every fiber of her being screamed that there was something here she was missing, some clue that could lead her to the killer.
She stood upright, locking eyes with Daniels. ."Get the forensic team here ASAP. I want a full report on my desk as soon as humanly possible."
"Understood, Special Agent Cross," Daniels replied, then jogged over to the team standing by.
Morgan turned away from the scene, her mind racing as she tried to piece together the fragments of this horrifying puzzle. There had to be some connection, some clue that would lead her to the monster responsible for these heinous acts – and she was determined to find it, no matter what it took. And first thing was first--she had to talk to the witness.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Morgan paced away from the lake, her sights set on talking to the witness, when Derik arrived on the scene. Morgan's heart raced as she saw Derik approach, his tall frame cutting a striking figure against the backdrop of the lake. The memory of her dream surfaced in her mind, making her insides churn with a mixture of anger and longing. She couldn't help but be drawn to him, even knowing that trusting him could be dangerous.
"Hey, Morgan," Derik said, his voice warm and inviting. "Thought you might need some backup."
Morgan turned away. "I told you to stay away from me."
"Well, too bad. This is my case too. What do we have?"
Morgan clenched her jaw, hating that he was right. She had to work with him.
"Another victim," Morgan said, her voice tight with anger. "Same MO as before."
"Damn," he whispered, running a hand through his hair. "We need to catch this guy."
Morgan nodded, finally forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Yeah," she agreed, steeling her resolve. "I'm going to go talk to the witness. He's the one who found the body."
Together, they approached the fisherman, who stood by the water's edge, cradling his young son in his arms. As they drew nearer, Morgan noticed the man's haunted expression, the way his hands shook as he clutched his child protectively. She felt a pang of sympathy for him, recognizing the familiar weight of trauma in his eyes.
"Excuse me, sir," she said gently, flashing her badge. "I'm Special Agent Cross, and this is Special Agent Greene. We'd like to speak with you about what happened here."
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