For Now, page 10
"Stay away from me!" she screamed, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"Answers, Morgan," the man replied, his disfigured smile never wavering. "And I think you have them."
"Answers?" she repeated, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of the situation. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know who you are!"
"Ah, but you will," he promised, taking another step toward her. "You will."
As Morgan's scream tore from her throat, she felt a sudden, horrifying sensation in her mouth. It was as if each of her teeth had come alive, wriggling and twisting like worms burrowing their way out of the earth. She choked on her own cry, her hands flying to her face as her teeth began to break free from their bony moorings.
"Help me," she whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stumbled backward, away from the stranger. "Please, make it stop."
"Your vulnerability is so...endearing," the man said, his voice a muffled gurgle. He took another step toward her, and the floorboards groaned with his weight.
Morgan could feel her molars sliding from her gums, leaving behind bloody sockets. The pain was unbearable, but the terror was worse. She could hardly bear to think about what was happening inside her mouth, let alone the stranger who stood before her, somehow responsible for this nightmarish torture.
"Who are you?" she managed to gasp, spitting out a few of her own teeth onto the cabin floor. They clattered against the wood, echoing the hideous sound that had filled the room just moments before.
"An old friend. A forgotten memory. The shadow that has haunted your every step since you left these woods," he replied cryptically, his eyes glittering with malice. "And now, I have brought you back here to face the truth."
"Wh-what truth?" Morgan asked, her voice quivering with fear and pain. She tried to focus on the words, anything to distract her from the relentless agony in her mouth.
"Ten years ago," the man continued, his voice growing cold and hard. "You were framed for murder. You spent a decade locked away, but you never stopped searching for answers. You never stopped fighting for justice. And now, the time has come for you to learn the truth about what happened."
"Tell me," Morgan whispered, her heart thundering in her chest as she struggled to hold onto both her sanity and her dignity.
"First, you must suffer," he said, his face twisting into a grotesque grin. "You must pay the price for your relentless pursuit of the truth."
"Please," she sobbed, her breath hitching as another tooth fell from her mouth. "I've already suffered enough. Just tell me who you are. Tell me why you're doing this to me."
"Patience, Morgan," he replied, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "All will be revealed in due time."
As the last of her teeth tumbled from her mouth, Morgan's vision blurred with pain and terror. She sank to her knees on the blood-spattered floor, her hands still pressed against her face as if she could somehow force her teeth back into place.
"Please," she cried out one last time, but the stranger only watched her with cold, emotionless eyes, waiting for her to break.
Morgan's eyes snapped open, her heart pounding as she tore herself from the grip of her nightmare. Her breaths came in shuddering gasps, and she could still feel the phantom sensation of her teeth falling out, one by one, in a sickening cascade. She forced the gruesome image from her mind, but the memory clung to her like a cold sweat.
"Dammit," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her face with both hands in an attempt to chase away the lingering dread. Sleep was a lost cause now. She had to ask herself how disturbed she'd become in order to have a dream like that, one so vivid and real that it almost felt like a memory.
Throwing back the covers, Morgan swung her legs over the edge of the bed and padded across the cold floor to the kitchen. The sun wouldn't be up for hours, but there was no sense in trying to sleep any longer. At least the storm had passed.
As she filled the coffee maker with water, her thoughts drifted back to that horrible dream. The vision of the man... he was supposed to be her father, and yet he clearly wasn't him. She wondered if her subconscious was trying to tell her that she never really knew her father at all.
Her stomach gnawed with anxiety at the thought. She had loved her father until the very end... the thought that he'd been lying to her all those years made her heart ache.
But it was just a dream. As real and disturbing as it was, it was just a dream.
As Morgan began to tether herself back to reality, she reminded herself that what wasn't a dream was the reality that two elderly women had been murdered so far, and she was no closer to finding their killer.
She hadn't learned much about Tom Orchard last night, but something gnawed at her gut, telling her that she was missing something crucial.
She had to do better today.
As she waited for the coffee, she rummaged through the fridge for something to eat. Orchard's a dead end so far, she thought, her frustration simmering just below the surface. I need to find another angle. There has to be a connection I'm not seeing.
Morgan cracked an egg into the sizzling pan, her mind still reeling from the vivid nightmare. Her hand trembled slightly as she seasoned the eggs with salt and pepper.
Just as she was about to take the pan off the heat, her phone rang, interrupting the broadcast. The caller ID showed Derik's name. Her heart clenched, remembering how he had seemingly betrayed her trust earlier. She answered the call, her voice icy.
"Derik. What do you want?"
"Hey, you’re up. Get down to HQ right now. We've got something you need to see," Derik replied, his tone urgent.
Morgan hesitated, torn between her anger at Derik and her determination to solve the case. In the end, her duty won out. With a curt nod, she agreed. "Fine. I'll be there."
"Make it quick," Derik said before hanging up.
Gritting her teeth, Morgan quickly finished her breakfast, resentment simmering beneath her exhaustion. She couldn't believe Derik had the gall to order her around after what he'd done. But she couldn't let her personal feelings distract her from the task at hand.
Sliding into her car, she sped towards the FBI headquarters, the pre-dawn darkness swallowing the city streets. As she parked and strode through the echoing hallways, she mentally prepared herself for another confrontation with Derik.
***
The briefing room door swung open, revealing Derik standing beside a table. On it lay a sealed envelope, its edges crisp and sharp. Morgan's eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious. "What is it?"
"Found this on my desk when I got here," Derik said, his expression unreadable. "It's addressed to both of us—Agents Cross and Greene."
Morgan studied the envelope, her instincts on high alert. The fact that it was addressed to them both felt like a deliberate message from someone who knew about their investigation. But what could it mean?
"Derik, have you opened it yet?" Morgan asked, her voice tight with impatience. She couldn't shake off the feeling that this envelope held something significant, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it might be.
"No," Derik replied, his eyes locked on the object in question. "I thought it was best if you opened it yourself." He pointed to a distinct bulge at the bottom of the envelope. "There's something small inside, and I didn't want to risk damaging it."
"Fine," Morgan said, donning a pair of latex gloves. As she picked up the envelope, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Whatever was inside, it had been deliberately sent to them, and that alone was enough to set her on edge.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she carefully tore open the seal. She slid out a page from a telephone book, surprised by the seemingly innocuous contents. But as she tilted the envelope further, her breath caught in her throat, and she jolted back as two human teeth tumbled onto the table with a sickening clatter.
"Derik, get a forensic tech down here ASAP," Morgan ordered, her voice sharp with urgency. "We need to get these into evidence before they're contaminated. There could be DNA on here to show us who these teeth belong to."
"Right away," Derik responded, already turning towards the door. He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Morgan with concern etched on his face. "Are you going to be okay?"
"I'll be fine," she snapped, her anger momentarily overpowering her unease.
Morgan's heart raced as she stared at the two teeth lying on the table. Their unnerving presence was a clear message that the killer knew exactly who was on their tail. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, but she clenched her jaw and fought to regain her composure. It wasn't just her reputation on the line anymore - it was her life.
"Think, Morgan, think," she muttered to herself, forcing her mind to sharpen. There had to be something they'd missed, some connection between the victims that would lead them straight to the person responsible for this twisted game. She felt like a spider caught in its own web, struggling to break free as the hunter closed in.
Derik burst back into the room, a team of forensic technicians and other agents in tow. "Alright, everyone," Derik commanded, his voice echoing through the crowded room. "We need to track down every number on this page and find out what they have in common. We need to find a connection."
Morgan stepped forward, shaking her head. "No, that'll take too long. We need to narrow it down. Let's focus on women over sixty, living alone or widowed. That's our killer's MO."
"Right," Derik said, nodding in agreement.
Morgan stood by, her arms crossed and her eyes scanning each agent as they worked. She couldn't help but feel like time was slipping away from them, each second bringing the killer closer to their next victim. It was a race against the clock, and Morgan was determined not to lose.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The darkness of the early morning enveloped Morgan's car as she sped toward Beverly McBridge's house, three other agents following closely behind in separate vehicles. The air was thick with tension, and Morgan gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white.
"Come on," she whispered to herself, urging her car to go faster. "We can't be too late."
As they approached the quiet residential street, Morgan took note of the quaint houses lining the road, each one eerily similar in appearance. But it was the last house on the left that she focused on – the home of seventy-four-year-old Beverly McBridge.
"Here we are," she muttered under her breath, pulling to a halt outside the darkened property.
She glanced in her rearview mirror, seeing the other agents' cars coming to a stop behind her. They all sat, engines idling, waiting for her signal. Morgan knew that somewhere nearby, Derik and his team were investigating other addresses on the list, trying to cover as much ground as possible.
"Alright," she said into her radio, determination etching her voice. "Let's move in."
Morgan's heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline flooding her system as she flung open the car door. Every second mattered now, and she couldn't afford any hesitation. Her boots hit the pavement with a dull thud, and she didn't bother to close the door behind her.
"Move, move, move!" she barked at the agents, who were quick to follow her lead, their faces grim with determination.
The house loomed before them, its seemingly innocent exterior belying the sinister secrets that might lay within. The moon cast eerie shadows over the front yard, making Morgan's skin crawl with unease.
"Stay sharp," she warned her team, approaching the front door with her gun drawn. She banged on the wooden surface, the sound echoing through the stillness of the night. "Beverly McBridge, FBI! Open up!"
But there was no response, just the oppressive silence that seemed to smother her like a heavy blanket. Morgan clenched her jaw and tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked. She exchanged a glance with the agent closest to her, a tall man named Thompson.
"Are you sure about this, Cross?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. "What if we've got the wrong house?"
"Every damn second counts, Thompson," Morgan snapped, her eyes scanning the dark interior of the house. "I'm not willing to risk another life on protocol."
With that, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, the other agents following closely behind her. The darkness enveloped them, but Morgan felt more alive than ever. This was where she belonged – chasing down the monsters that terrorized the innocent.
"Keep your eyes peeled, people," she muttered under her breath as they moved further into the house. "The killer could be anywhere."
The creak of the floorboards underfoot seemed deafening in the stillness of the house. Morgan's hand tightened around her gun as she made her way through the living room, the beam of her flashlight illuminating the shadows. Everything seemed in place, but something felt off. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.
The search continued, Morgan's pulse racing as they moved from room to room. She scoured every corner, every nook and cranny, but there was no sign of the killer – or anyone else for that matter. Morgan sighed in frustration; it seemed her instincts had been wrong.
Despite her disappointment, she didn't give up hope. She had a feeling that this wasn't over yet; they were close to finding something that would lead them to the perpetrator. They just had to keep searching. The agents kept combing through the house, their efforts becoming increasingly frantic as time ticked by without any results.
As they searched, Morgan couldn't help but think of Derik and his team. She hoped they were having better luck at the other addresses, but a nagging doubt clawed at her insides. What if the killer had already struck again? What if she was too late to save Beverly McBridge?
The floorboards creaked under their weight as they crept through the dark house, flashlights casting eerie shadows on the walls. Morgan signaled for her team to spread out and conduct a quiet search of the first floor. Her heart raced in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she tried to focus on the task at hand. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.
"Clear," whispered Agent Thompson from a nearby room, his voice barely audible through her earpiece.
"Same here," came the hushed reply from Agent Kim as she checked another room.
Morgan's flashlight beam darted over a dusty living room, revealing old family photos on the wall and a crocheted afghan draped over an armchair. The place felt hauntingly empty, like it had been abandoned for years. But she knew better – Beverly McBridge lived here, and Morgan was determined to ensure her safety.
"Nothing on this side," muttered Agent Johnson, his tall frame filling the doorway of the last room on the first floor.
"Alright, move upstairs," Morgan ordered quietly, her gut twisting with unease. "Stay sharp."
The agents regrouped and moved cautiously up the staircase, their shoes muffled by the thick carpet. Morgan led the way, her flashlight trained on the dark hallway ahead. As they reached the top of the stairs, a crackling sound filled her earpiece.
"Cross, you need to get up here now," the urgent voice of Agent Thompson said. "We've found something."
Her stomach dropped as she sprinted down the hall, the other agents close on her heels. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the gravity of the situation was physically weighing her down. What had they found? Was Beverly still alive?
"Where are you?" Morgan hissed into her microphone, her chest heaving with exertion.
"Third door on the left," Thompson replied, his voice strained.
Morgan's heart pounded in her ears as she shoved the door open, revealing a dimly lit room. The smell of blood hit her first, metallic and thick, before her eyes focused on the bed. There, sprawled across the floral comforter, lay an elderly woman. Blood stained her mouth and pooled beneath her head, creating a grotesque halo around her lifeless body.
"Damn it," Morgan whispered under her breath, clenching her fists. This scene was different – the carnage fresh, the killer yet to move the body. She felt a bitter taste rise in her throat as she realized they were closer than ever before, but still too late to save Beverly McBridge.
"Thompson, secure the area," she ordered, her voice cracking with anger and frustration. "The rest of you, start searching the rest of the house. He can't be far."
As the agents fanned out, Morgan took a slow, deep breath, trying to steady herself. The fear and rage that bubbled up inside her threatened to overwhelm her senses, but she needed to remain focused. They were so close – she couldn't let her emotions get the better of her now.
A sudden noise from outside snapped her back to attention. She crossed the room in two quick strides and yanked the curtains aside, peering into the dark backyard. The moonlight illuminated a figure sprinting away from the house, stumbling over the unkempt lawn.
"Hey!" Morgan shouted, her voice sharp and loud in the deathly quiet night. "Stop right there!"
The man hesitated for a moment before continuing his escape, but that brief pause was all Morgan needed. Her mind raced as she weighed her options, calculating the risk of chasing him down. If he was the killer, then capturing him would bring justice for Beverly and the other victims. But if he was just an opportunistic thief, then they would lose precious time in their search for the real murderer.
"Cross, are you okay?" Thompson's voice cut through her thoughts, concerned and breathless from his search of the house.
"Thompson, I need you to cover me," Morgan said, making up her mind. "I'm going after him."
"Understood," Thompson replied, moving into position. "Be careful."
Morgan didn't waste another second. Morgan's pulse quickened as she charged down the stairs, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the dark, silent house. She burst through the back door, her gun at the ready and her eyes scanning the backyard for any sign of movement. Just as she stepped onto the dew-dampened grass, she spotted the man struggling to climb over a wooden fence.
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