For Wrath, page 12
"First things first, I need to make sure Derik knows about this," she decided, reaching for her phone. But as she dialed his number, her thoughts turned to their recent argument at the hospital, and she hesitated.
She didn't need to report to him.
Morgan's fingers flew across her keyboard as she navigated the clinic's website, seeking a way to make contact with Dr. Terrance Reid. The sterile white background and cheerful images of well-rested, glowing patients did little to put her at ease. If anything, they stood as a stark reminder that beneath the veneer of healing and beauty was a man who dealt with pain and death.
She found an online form to schedule a consultation. Using the alias "Lacy Callahan" and providing a burner email address, she typed out her inquiry. "I'm interested in discussing potential facial rejuvenation procedures with Dr. Reid. Please let me know when he has availability for a consultation, ideally first thing tomorrow."
With a final click, Morgan sent off her message into the digital void, hoping it would be the first step in drawing Steve Blanchard – or rather, Dr. Terrance Reid – out into the open. If she didn't get a timely reply, she'd just storm in first thing in the morning anyway.
As she leaned back on her couch, her gaze drifting over to Skunk curled up beside her, Morgan's phone rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen: Derik. Her jaw clenched involuntarily, recalling their last heated exchange.
"Hello?" she answered, her tone guarded and weary.
"Morgan, we need to talk," Derik said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
"About what, Derik? More secrets you've been keeping from me?" she snapped, the bitterness clear in her voice.
"Please, just hear me out," he pleaded.
"Derik, I don't have time for this right now," Morgan said, her frustration mounting. "I need to focus on the case."
"Then let me help you!" Derik insisted, desperation creeping into his words.
"Like you helped Darren La Roux?" she shot back, unable to stop herself from bringing up their earlier argument.
"Damn it, Morgan!" Derik hissed. "That's not fair."
"Fair? You want to talk about what's fair?" Morgan's voice was laced with anger and hurt. "You're the one who pushed me into this case. And now that things are getting difficult, you want to back out, pretend nothing happened?"
"Is that really what you think?" Derik asked, his voice wavering.
"Right now, I don't know what to think," she admitted, her voice softening slightly. "But I do know that I need to focus on catching this killer. So, if you'll excuse me, I'm getting back to work."
And with that, Morgan hung up the phone, leaving Derik's unspoken words hanging in the air between them. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to push him out of her mind and refocus on the task at hand. There would be time to deal with their complicated relationship later, but right now, she had a murderer to catch.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Derik was getting damn sick of the smell of the hospital. It burned his nostrils as he stared at the white ceiling tiles above his hospital bed, listening to the steady beeping of the heart monitor. The phone call with Morgan still echoed in his mind, her words like daggers that pierced through him. He could feel her anger and frustration even through the cold, digital connection.
He knew he was keeping things from her, and the guilt weighed heavily on his chest, making it harder to breathe with each passing moment. But how could he tell her? How could he admit to betraying the only person who believed in him when no one else did? She'd been through so much already – framed for murder, spending a decade in prison for a crime she didn't commit. This would break her, and he couldn't bear to see that happen.
"Damn it," Derik muttered under his breath, his hands balling into fists as he tried to push away the overwhelming guilt. He wanted to make it right, but he didn't know where to begin.
The hospital room suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in on him and threatening to crush him under the weight of his secrets. He had to get out of here.
Gritting his teeth, Derik swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cold linoleum floor beneath his feet. His head swam with dizziness, but he ignored it, focusing instead on gathering his belongings. He wouldn't stay in this place any longer than necessary.
He reached for the clothes that Morgan had brought him, a simple pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. The fabric felt foreign against his skin after days in the thin hospital gown, but it was a welcome change. He could feel a semblance of strength returning to him as he dressed, the familiar garments serving as a reminder of who he once was – an agent who had faced down danger and always emerged victorious.
Derik stealthily eased open the door to his hospital room. He peered into the dimly lit hallway, ensuring he was alone before stepping out. The scent of antiseptic and sterilized linoleum filled his nostrils as he crept along the corridor. He knew that if he were caught, it would only make things worse for him – and for Morgan. With every step, the weight of his betrayal hung heavily on his heart.
He reached the stairwell, pausing to steady himself against the cold metal railing. He could hear the distant echoes of footsteps and murmured conversations, but they seemed distant and unimportant compared to the storm of guilt raging inside him. As he descended the stairs, his thoughts circled around Morgan, how she had been framed for a murder she didn't commit and the role he had played in her ordeal.
The night air was cool and crisp as Derik emerged from the hospital, the darkness punctuated only by the occasional streetlight. The moon cast a pale glow over the deserted streets, illuminating his path as he trudged toward Morgan's neighborhood. Every step felt like a struggle, his muscles protesting after days of inactivity, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn't afford to falter now, not with so much at stake.
His backpack, stuffed with his belongings, weighed heavily on his shoulders, almost as though the burden of his secrets was physically manifesting. He tightened his grip on the straps, determined to carry them all the way to Morgan and face whatever consequences lay ahead.
As he walked, the quiet suburban houses gave way to the urban landscape of Morgan's neighborhood, the darkened windows and silent streets a stark contrast to the vibrant community he remembered from their time working together. It was as if the shadows mirrored his own guilt, reflecting back at him the darkness he had caused.
"I'm sorry, Morgan," he whispered to the night, his breath visible in the cool air. "I'll make this right, I promise."
Determined, Derik continued on, each step bringing him closer to the reckoning he knew awaited him – and the hope of redemption that lay beyond.
Just then, the neon lights of a bar flickered in the distance, an oasis amid the desolate landscape. Derik paused, his mouth watering at the thought of having a drink. His sobriety had been hard-won, and breaking it now would be yet another betrayal – not just of Morgan, but of himself.
But the weight of guilt threatened to crush him, and he needed something to steady his nerves before facing her. Just one drink, he told himself.
He hesitated for a moment longer, then exhaled sharply and crossed the street toward the bar.
Just one drink.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
That night, Morgan's dreams were haunted by the slicing sounds of a scalpel, the cold metal table underneath her, and the heavy breathing of a faceless killer.
The prison cell she was in had been transformed into a makeshift surgical room filled with crude instruments and dim lighting. She tried to scream, but no sound came out, her body pinned down by unseen hands.
"Let me go!" she wanted to shout, but the words were trapped inside her throat, unable to break free. The faceless figure loomed above her, his gloved hand wielding a razor-sharp blade. With each swooping motion, Morgan could feel her skin being pulled tighter and tighter across her skull, the pain intensifying as he continued his gruesome work.
"Stop!" she finally managed to scream, the sound echoing through the cell. "Please, stop!"
Morgan awoke from her nightmare, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Sweat-soaked sheets clung to her trembling body as she sat up, gasping for air. The oppressive darkness of her bedroom seemed to close in around her, the remnants of her dream still lingering in the shadows.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath, throwing back the covers and stumbling towards the bathroom. Flicking on the light, she squinted against the sudden brightness, her eyes struggling to adjust.
As she looked up at the mirror, her reflection stared back at her—deformed and botched, her face grotesquely pulled back tight, a nightmarish caricature of her former self.
"NO!" Morgan screamed, her voice shrill and panicked. She blinked rapidly, her heart hammering against her ribcage.
Just then, her eyes popped open--and she was yet again awake, lying in her bed, but this time, early light filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow on Morgan's face. She stirred, feeling the lingering effects of her nightmare like a heavy weight on her chest. Was she truly awake this time, or was this another extension of the dream? She looked at the clock—four a.m.
Just then, knocking.
Someone was knocking at her door.
Morgan, she groggily blinked her eyes open.
"Who the hell...?" she muttered, glancing at the clock on her nightstand. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stumbled to the front door. Her heart raced with an icy sense of dread – was it the FBI? Or worse?
"Coming!" she called out, trying to sound more composed than she felt. As she unlocked and opened the door, she braced herself for the worst.
"Derik?" she gasped, her surprise momentarily outweighing her fear. He looked awful – his black hair was a tangled mess, his green eyes dull and bloodshot, and his skin had taken on an ashen hue.
"Hey, Morgan," he croaked, leaning against the doorframe. "I got discharged early. I needed to see you."
"Jesus, Derik, you look like shit," she said, unable to hide her concern. This wasn't the man she'd seen just last night, recovering in the hospital. This was someone who seemed utterly broken.
"Can we talk?" he slurred.
"About what?" she demanded, her patience wearing thin. She crossed her arms defensively, feeling a mix of frustration and concern churning inside her.
"About...everything," he said, his eyes searching hers as if seeking forgiveness. "I know I haven't been completely honest with you."
"Damn right, you haven't," Morgan snapped, her anger flaring at the memory of their last conversation. "You've been keeping secrets from me, Derik. What's going on?"
"Please," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just hear me out..."
As Morgan gazed into Derik's weary eyes, she realized that this was more than just about secrets or the case – this was about trust and the fragile bond they'd built over the years. She knew he had his reasons for keeping things from her, but could she find it in herself to forgive him?
"Derik, I think it's best if you leave," Morgan said firmly, her eyes narrowing as she regarded him with a mix of concern and frustration.
"Please, Morgan...I just need to—" Derik started to protest, but his words were cut off as he swayed dangerously on the doorstep, his face turning even paler than before. Instinctively, Morgan reached out and grabbed his arm to steady him, her anger momentarily forgotten in the face of his obvious distress.
"Okay, okay," she relented, guiding him into her apartment with a sigh. "Come inside, but we're going to talk about this."
As she helped him across the threshold, Morgan couldn't help but notice the strong smell of alcohol that clung to him. She frowned, confused by this sudden change in behavior; as far as she knew, Derik had been sober for years. What could have possibly driven him to relapse now?
"Sit down," she instructed, steering him toward the couch. He practically collapsed onto the cushions, his green eyes glassy and unfocused.
"Thanks," he mumbled, rubbing at his temples as if trying to clear his head. In spite of her lingering anger, Morgan felt a surge of pity for him; whatever was going on, it was clearly tearing him apart.
"Derik," she began, her voice firm but gentle, "you need to tell me what's going on."
He looked up at her; his expression clouded with pain and desperation. "You don't understand, Morgan," he slurred, struggling to string his thoughts together. "There's so much at stake here...I can't let you get hurt."
"By keeping secrets from me?" she asked incredulously, feeling her anger flare once more. "How is that supposed to protect me, Derik?"
"Trust me, it's for your own good," he insisted, his gaze pleading. "You have to promise me...promise me you'll leave the past behind. Do it for me, Morgan."
His words hung heavily in the air between them, their meaning painfully clear. He was asking her to let go of everything that had happened - all the lies, the betrayals, and the heartache. But could she really do that? Could she put her faith in a man who had kept so much from her?
No, she couldn't.
She needed answers.
She deserved them.
"Derik," she said slowly, weighing her options, "I don't know if I can make that promise."
"Please," he begged, his eyes filling with tears. "I'd do anything to keep you safe, Morgan. Anything at all."
"Derik, I need you to explain," Morgan demanded, her frustration evident in her voice. "Tell me what's going on."
"Can't...it's too...dangerous," he mumbled, struggling to focus on Morgan's face. His speech was disjointed, and his words seemed to slip away from him like sand through his fingers.
"Derik!" she snapped, losing patience. "I can't help you if you won't tell me what you're talking about!"
"Help...me?" he echoed, confusion plastered across his features. He appeared disoriented as if he couldn't quite remember what they had been discussing.
Morgan sighed, feeling a mixture of emotions as she looked at Derik in his current state. He was vulnerable, clearly in pain, and she couldn't deny the feelings that still lingered for him, despite everything that had happened. But she was also angry - angry at him for keeping secrets and putting her life at risk.
"Fine," she relented, her voice softening. "We'll talk in a few hours when you're more coherent. Get some rest, Derik."
"Wait," he slurred, reaching out for her hand as if to stop her from leaving. "Need to...protect you, Morgan."
"Protect me from what?" she asked, but he had already slipped into unconsciousness on her couch, his grip on her hand loosening.
Morgan gently extricated herself from his grasp, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she sighed heavily. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty, and she knew that sleep would be difficult to come by. As she climbed back into bed, she stared at the ceiling, her mind racing with questions she had no answers for.
What was Derik hiding? What danger was he trying to protect her from? And could she really trust him again after everything they had been through? She didn't know, but one thing was certain: tomorrow, she would get to the bottom of it all. With that thought in mind, she finally closed her eyes and drifted off into a fitful sleep, her dreams haunted by shadows and secrets.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The man exhaled deeply as he felt the rejuvenation surge through his veins. His latest harvest had been a success, though not without its challenges. He could still hear her muffled screams from the other room in his memory, a chilling reminder of his pursuit of immortality - but it fueled him nonetheless.
"Almost there," he whispered to himself, savoring the newfound energy. "Just a few more."
As he stood in the dimly lit basement, the smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air. A single lightbulb flickered above, casting eerie shadows along the walls. He knew no one would find them here, tucked away beneath this secluded house where only darkness thrived.
"Damn," he muttered, looking at the dwindling supply of tools on his workbench. "I'll need more than this if I want to keep going."
He ascended the creaky wooden stairs, each step echoing through the hollow chamber below. As he emerged into the main living area, he was met with an unnerving sight. The once pristine home now resembled a haunted house, every shiny surface and mirror concealed by white sheets - a necessary precaution, for he couldn't bear to see what he'd become.
Is it really worth it? he questioned himself, running a hand over the smooth fabric that hid his reflection. It has to be. There's no turning back now.
"Only a few more," he repeated to himself, tightening his grip on the door handle as he prepared to venture out into the night. "Then I'll have everything I need."
Stepping out into the warm, moonlit night, the man was greeted by the gentle rustling of leaves and the chirping of crickets. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. It would have been a perfect evening if it hadn't rained earlier that day, leaving an unwelcome humidity in the air.
He made his way across the backyard, carefully navigating around unkempt shrubbery and overgrown grass until he reached the dilapidated shed. As he began to open the creaky door, a puddle of water shimmering in the moonlight caught his eye. He couldn't help but glance at it.
"Ugh," he groaned, seeing his distorted reflection staring back at him from the water's surface. "Hideous. Is this what I've become?" he whispered, holding a trembling hand up to his disfigured face. "For all that I've done, I'm still... this?"
No, he couldn't think like that. Keep it together, he admonished himself, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. It's worth it. Soon, you'll be young and beautiful forever. No more pain, no more fear.
"Only a few more," he repeated as though saying it aloud would make it true. "Then, I will have everything I need. Eternal beauty, eternal youth... it's all within my grasp."
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