But he was running low on supplies again. He needed more. He'd been thwarted earlier. The empty shed only proved that to him. He hadn't realized how low he'd gotten.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, he stepped out of the shed and closed the door behind him. The warm night air clung to his skin as the moonlight cast shadows on the ground. He glanced back at the shed, shrouded in darkness, and knew it was time to continue his work.

  "Only a few more," he muttered under his breath, the words invoking both excitement and trepidation within him. "Then I'll finally have what I've always wanted."

  As he made his way back inside, his thoughts drifted to the woman whose screams still echoed through the basement. He could feel her terror like a tangible force, but it only fueled his desire to finish what he had started. He knew that deep down, she would understand the necessity of his actions – after all, who wouldn't want eternal youth?

  He approached the workbench, his eyes scanning the remaining tools. His gaze lingered on the scalpel, its stainless steel blade glinting in the dim light. He knew what he had to do – he had to venture out into the night, find someone, and harvest what he needed to keep going. It was a risk but a necessary one.

  The man grabbed a coat from the closet, slipped it on, and made his way outside. The darkness enveloped him, suffocating him with its thickness. He looked around, searching for any sign of life, but the streets were empty. It was as if the world had gone to sleep, leaving him alone in the dark. That was good. He wasn't sure who that woman had been earlier, but she wouldn't be back. He would return to Mark's, get what he needed, and then it would all be fine.

  Mark...

  What a fool.

  His best friend had once been his closest confidant, but now he was like a shapeshifter, always changing names and faces, always trying to escape him.

  But he never would.

  He didn't know why Mark feared him so much; he didn't have anything he wanted. He looked old and ugly, not young and beautiful, although... his wife had some work done and would make a good harvest. But he was saving her. The best for last. Maybe that time was finally coming.

  First, he needed to focus on his tools. Then he could worry about who he'd harvest next.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Sunlight crept through the blinds, casting a warm glow across the living room. Morgan stirred in her bed, her body aching from the uncomfortable position she had slept in. She blinked away the sleep, glancing around the room as she remembered the events of last night. She dragged herself out of bed and hurried to the living room.

  Derik lay sprawled on her couch, a bottle of whiskey still in hand, snoring loudly. Skunk sat vigilantly by his side, eyeing him with suspicion.

  "Derik," she muttered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Wake up."

  He didn't move or respond. With a sigh, she pushed herself up and walked over to him, nudging his foot with her own. "Derik, come on," she urged more forcefully. Still, no reaction.

  "Useless," she mumbled under her breath, turning away from him. There was no time to waste in trying to rouse him. She had work to do, a killer to catch.

  Morgan picked up her phone from the coffee table, noticing several missed calls and messages. Among them was a confirmation for an appointment she had scheduled with Be You Beauty Clinic for a consultation with Dr. Terrance Reid. She glanced back at Derik, passed out on her couch, knowing that if he were awake, he'd insist on accompanying her. But she couldn't risk it; this was her chance to get close to the man who might be behind the recent string of murders.

  "Sorry, Derik," she whispered, stroking Skunk's head as the dog continued to watch him warily. "This one's on me."

  As Morgan prepared to leave, she made sure her FBI badge and gun were securely hidden beneath her jacket. It was essential that she maintained her cover, playing the part of a potential patient. If Dr. Reid was truly the killer, she needed to catch him off guard, and the element of surprise was her best weapon.

  "Take care of him, Skunk," she instructed her loyal dog, nodding at the still-unconscious Derik. With that, she left the apartment, determination set in her eyes. This was a lead she couldn't afford to miss - for the victims and for herself.

  ***

  The morning sun streamed through the large windows of Be You Beauty Clinic as Morgan walked in, the sound of her heels clicking on the polished marble floor. The clinic was bustling with activity - staff members in crisp white uniforms scurried about while clients chatted excitedly about their upcoming treatments.

  "Good morning! How can I help you today?" The friendly receptionist greeted her with a warm smile.

  "Hi, I'm Lacy," Morgan lied smoothly, returning the woman's smile. "I have an appointment with Dr. Reid."

  "Of course! Please have a seat, and Dr. Reid will be with you shortly."

  Morgan nodded her thanks and took a seat in the waiting area, trying to blend in with the other clients. She looked around at the impeccably designed space, with its glossy magazines showcasing flawless models and shelves lined with high-end beauty products. It was a world completely foreign to her.

  As she flipped through one of the magazines, Morgan couldn't help but feel detached from this realm of beauty and vanity. At forty, she had more important things to worry about than the latest anti-aging creams or the newest cosmetic procedures. And yet, here she was, undercover and on the hunt for a cold-blooded killer.

  She absently rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling the weight of her years in this place filled with youth and perfection. But that didn't matter; she had a job to do, and she would see it through to the end.

  "Dr. Reid is ready to see you now, Lacy," the receptionist said, interrupting Morgan's thoughts. Her heart began to race in anticipation as she stood, preparing herself for the confrontation that might lie ahead.

  "Thank you," she replied, forcing a gracious smile while mentally steeling herself for what was to come. This was it - the moment she'd been waiting for.

  As she followed the receptionist down the hallway, Morgan couldn't help but think of Derik, who passed out on her couch. Would he be disappointed in her for going rogue? Or would he understand her need to bring this killer to justice?

  She pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. She was here to catch a killer, and nothing else mattered.

  "Good luck with your consultation," the receptionist said as she showed Morgan into a small room. "Dr. Reid will be right in."

  "Thank you," Morgan replied, taking a deep breath. It was time to face the man who might be responsible for so much pain and suffering. And she was ready.

  The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Morgan alone in the small examination room. She took a seat on the paper-covered table, her eyes scanning the pristine space. The sterile smell of disinfectant and latex gloves hung heavy in the air. Beside her, an array of gleaming instruments lay neatly arranged on a tray, their sharp edges glinting beneath the fluorescent lights.

  "Hello, Lacy," Dr. Reid said as he entered the room with a warm smile. "I'm Dr. Terrance Reid. It's very nice to meet you."

  Morgan studied him briefly, her heart pounding against her ribcage. In front of her stood Steve Blanchard, his face shaved clean and topped with a toupee. Colored contacts hid the cold, calculating eyes she had seen in countless photos. His disguise was good but not good enough.

  "Nice to meet you too, Doctor," she replied, feigning interest. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

  "Of course. Now, what brings you here today? What kind of work are you interested in having done?"

  "Actually," Morgan said hesitantly, "I've been doing some research about cosmetic surgery, and I came across an article about a clinic that used to be in this area. I was wondering if you might have any information about it. It was called... Rejuvenation Aesthetics, I think?"

  Dr. Reid's smile faltered ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "I'm not sure what that has to do with your consultation," he said, trying to maintain a friendly tone. "But I suppose I can try to answer your questions."

  "Thank you," Morgan said, pushing her advantage. "I'm just curious about the history of the place. Apparently, they shut down rather abruptly, and I'd like to know why. I mean, if it's something I should be concerned about before committing to a procedure..."

  "Ah, well," Dr. Reid stammered, the color draining from his face. "I'm not sure where you heard that, but I don't know much about it. I'm afraid I can't help you with that information."

  "Surely you must have heard something?" Morgan pressed, keeping her tone light and inquisitive. "It was quite popular at one point, wasn't it? And then just... gone."

  "Like I said, I really don't know anything about it," he repeated nervously, clearly desperate to change the subject. "Now, let's get back to discussing your needs and how we can help you achieve them, shall we?"

  Morgan nodded, feigning defeat. But as Dr. Reid began rattling off various procedures they could perform, her mind raced, piecing together the puzzle before her. She was closer than ever to catching this killer, and she had no intention of letting him slip through her fingers.

  Morgan's patience had reached its limit. Dr. Reid was hiding something, and she knew it. She glanced around the small room, noting the sterile white walls adorned with posters of perfectly airbrushed models, their flawless skin gazing down at her in silent judgment. The irony wasn't lost on her.

  "Actually, Dr. Reid," she began casually, stepping between him and the door, effectively blocking his only exit. "I think we've discussed enough about my needs. It's time to talk about yours."

  "Excuse me?" He blinked in confusion, his composure slipping for a moment.

  "Your need to hide behind a fake name and a new look," Morgan clarified, her voice now cold and assertive. She pulled out her FBI badge and gun, holding them up for him to see. "And what, exactly, you're running from."

  Dr. Reid's eyes widened, all pretense of calmness gone as he stared at her badge. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, but the fear in his eyes betrayed him.

  "Drop the act," Morgan snapped, her hardened gaze never leaving his face. "I know who you really are, Steve Blanchard, or whatever your real name is. And I'm not leaving until you tell me everything."

  To her surprise, he broke down easily, tears pooling in his eyes as he slumped against the examination table. "Okay, okay," he sobbed, his hands trembling. "I'll tell you what you want to know. Just... please don't hurt me."

  “Let’s start with Casey,” Morgan said. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

  “No!” he exclaimed. “No—that was an unfortunate accident, really, it was.”

  “So why are you in hiding? Start talking," Morgan demanded, her tone unyielding. Every instinct told her to remain guarded, but part of her couldn't help but be intrigued by this sudden vulnerability.

  "Twenty years ago, I opened a practice with my childhood best friend," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "We were like brothers, inseparable. But things changed... he changed."

  "Who is this friend?" Morgan asked, her curiosity piqued.

  "His name is John Pesci," he confessed, tears streaming down his face. "He became obsessed with staying young and started experimenting on himself. It went horribly wrong, and now... now I'm running from him."

  Morgan's mind raced as she processed this new information. Could it be possible that the real killer was someone else entirely? She had to know more. "Why are you running from him? What has he done?"

  "Every time I change my name and appearance, he finds me," he sobbed. "He's dangerous, and I'm scared for my life and for my wife, Harriet. I just want to escape from him and start over."

  Morgan lowered her gun, feeling the weight of the situation settle heavily on her shoulders. If what he said was true, then they both had a common enemy in John Pesci. Then again, of course, this guy would lie to save himself. She couldn't trust a word he said.

  Morgan's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her gun as she studied the man before her. He seemed genuine in his fear, but she couldn't afford to let her guard down. She had been wrong before, and it had cost her dearly. "Tell me your real name," she demanded, her voice steady and unwavering.

  "Mark... Mark Holland," he stammered, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. "I started changing my name and appearance when John threatened to hurt my wife, Harriet."

  Morgan's thoughts raced, trying to piece together the information. Could this man really be a victim himself? Or was he simply playing her for a fool? She couldn't ignore the possibility that he was still the killer she was hunting.

  "Tell me more about this friend," Morgan said.

  "We've known each other since we were kids. We opened our first practice together," Mark explained, his voice trembling. "But he changed, became obsessed with staying young, and now he's dangerous... I'm sure of it."

  Morgan's mind churned, evaluating every word, every nuance in Mark's expression. Despite her reservations, she found herself drawn into his story. There was something about the way he spoke, the desperation in his eyes, that made her consider the possibility that there was more to this case than she'd initially thought.

  As she looked at Mark, she recalled her own past, the betrayal and pain she had endured. The memory of being framed for murder ten years ago still haunted her, leaving her hardened and distrustful. But if she wanted to catch the real killer, she would have to take some risks, even if it meant putting her trust in someone who could very well be lying to her face.

  "Alright, Mark," Morgan said finally, her voice softening just a fraction. "Tell me everything you know about John Pesci. And don't leave anything out."

  Mark nodded solemnly. "John was always the more successful one," Mark continued, staring down at his hands. "He had this charm about him, always surrounded by beautiful women. But as we got older, he became obsessed with staying youthful. He began experimenting with extreme surgeries, testing them on himself. The results were... horrific."

  Mark shuddered, his eyes haunted as he looked up at Morgan.

  "His face, it was like something out of a nightmare. He tried to fix it, but each time he just made it worse. I can't get the image out of my mind."

  "Every time you change your name and appearance, he finds you?" Morgan asked curiosity piqued despite her instincts telling her to tread carefully.

  "Exactly," Mark nodded, his eyes filled with fear. "I’ve left many clinics because of him. I'd find security footage showing him lurking around, watching me. I don't know how he does it, but he always manages to track me down."

  Morgan considered this new information, her mind racing as she weighed its credibility. Was Mark Holland simply a frightened man on the run from a dangerous former friend? Or was he using this elaborate story to cover up his own guilt? She couldn't be sure, but one thing was certain: she needed to find out more about John Pesci.

  Mark's voice trembled as he continued, "I'm terrified of John, Agent Cross. And I'm even more terrified for my wife's life. When I learned about the serial killer who'd been cutting women's faces on the news... it scared me to the core. I can't help but think that it might be him."

  Morgan crossed her arms, her brow furrowed as she processed Mark's words. The room seemed to grow colder, the sterile walls closing in around them with each revelation. She clenched her fists, anger, and frustration churning within her. How could this man have evaded them for so long? She glanced at Mark, noting the genuine fear in his eyes. It was either an impressive act or the desperate plea of a terrified man.

  "Are you saying you believe John is the killer?" Morgan asked, unable to hide the incredulity in her voice.

  "Yes," Mark whispered, almost too softly to hear. "He's become obsessed with youth, with beauty. He'd do anything to hold onto it, even if it meant hurting others. I... I think he was stealing files from my office to find victims. People are looking for ways to look younger, to erase their imperfections. They were perfect targets for someone like John."

  Morgan felt her chest tighten, her heart pounding against her ribs. The implications of what Mark was telling her were staggering. If he was right, then they had stumbled upon something far more sinister than they had ever imagined. But she couldn't let herself get carried away by conjecture – not when there were lives at stake.

  "Alright," she said, her voice steely and determined. "We'll look into this John Pesci character. But if I find out that you're lying, Mark, or if you're withholding any information... I promise you; there will be consequences."

  Mark nodded vigorously, gratitude and relief etched across his face. "Thank you, Agent Cross. I just want my wife to be safe.”

  “I’m going to set you up with a police escort who will pick you up here and send another officer to go check on your wife. Is she at home?”

  “She might be,” Mark said. “She likes to go out during the day—walks to the park, grocery store… I can call her right now.”

  “Good, do that,” Morgan said. “And don’t leave. Your escort will be here soon.”

  Morgan stood up, her mind already racing with possible leads and strategies. She couldn't afford to waste any time – not when the killer could strike again at any moment. As she exited the room, Mark's desperate words echoed in her mind, fueling her resolve to uncover the truth and bring justice to the victims.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Mark huddled under the clinic's awning, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes darted left to right, searching for anyone or anything that seemed out of place. A police escort was supposed to arrive any minute now, but the seconds dragged on like an eternity.

  "Harriet, please pick up," he murmured into his phone, his breath fogging up the screen. No response. He tried her number again, but it went straight to voicemail, just as it had the last four times he'd called. Panic gnawed at the edges of his mind. Where was she? Was she safe? "Dammit, Harriet, where are you?" he whispered, anxiety making his voice tremble.

 

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