"Sure," Tessa said hesitantly, pulling out her phone. She quickly found Melissa's social media account and handed the device to Morgan. "Here, this is her page."

  Morgan scrolled through the images, her eyebrows furrowing as she took in the disturbing scenes. There were photographs of taxidermy animals positioned in eerie tableaus, decaying buildings with a sense of foreboding that seemed to reach out from the screen, and other haunting images filled with darkness. Even though they were just pictures, Morgan felt a chill run down her spine.

  Derik mentioned her photography, but seeing it like this... Morgan mused, wondering if this macabre imagery had anything to do with Melissa's murder. She handed Tessa back the phone. "Thank you for showing me this, Tessa. It might help us understand more about what happened."

  "Of course," Tessa replied, looking relieved to have her phone back in her possession. "I just hope you can find who did this to her. She didn't deserve any of this."

  "Did Melissa have any stalkers or people she was uncomfortable with? Anyone who might have fixated on her because of her photography?" Morgan asked, considering the possibility. "You mentioned something about 'superfans.' Was there anyone specific who bothered her?"

  "Not specific, no," Tessa said. "Mel said there were some superfans of her work who'd DM her or even try to meet her. She didn't post what she looked like often, so even though she was really pretty, she seemed to avoid those kind of stalkers, you know what I mean..."

  Morgan shuddered. She knew exactly what Tessa meant; the type of men who hunted and preyed, or created delusional fantasies in their minds, parasocial relationships with those they didn't know in real life.

  "But she had major fans of her work," Tessa went on. "I don't know, though, she never mentioned feeling unsafe with her following or anything like that."

  Morgan considered Tessa's words, realizing that finding a connection between Melissa's online presence and her murder wouldn't be easy. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something lurking beneath the surface.

  "Would you mind if I take a look at Melissa's room?" Morgan asked, hoping to find any clues that might help her understand the victim better.

  "Sure, I guess it doesn't matter now," Tessa said, leading Morgan down a short hallway and opening a door. The room felt like stepping into a different world, with its unique artwork adorning the walls and eclectic mix of furniture pieces. The air held a certain energy to it, as if the artistic chaos was a reflection of Melissa's own mind.

  Morgan scanned the room carefully, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. She examined each piece of art, noting the dark themes that seemed consistent throughout. It made her wonder if Melissa's fascination with morbidity had played a role in her death, but she knew better than to jump to conclusions too quickly.

  As she continued her search, she checked for journals or diaries, hoping to find some insight into Melissa's thoughts and relationships. However, she found nothing useful – just more evidence that Melissa was a normal twenty-four-year-old woman with a passion for strange photography.

  As Morgan was about to leave the room, her attention was drawn to a small notebook on the desk. It appeared to be a sketchbook, filled with drawings and notes in Melissa's handwriting. Curiosity getting the better of her, Morgan picked it up and opened it to the first page.

  It was filled with intricate sketches of decaying buildings and taxidermy animals, just like the photographs on Melissa's social media. As she continued flipping through the pages, she noticed a shift in the style of the drawings. They were still dark and somewhat macabre, but there were also pictures of a couple – the male figure with a shock of unruly hair and the female with a shy smile and long red hair. Morgan assumed it was Melissa and her boyfriend, but something about the way the drawings were done made her pause.

  The drawings of the couple were obsessively detailed, with the male figure in particular standing out. It was as if Melissa had been studying him in minute detail, capturing every nuance of his appearance – the curve of his jaw, the way his hair fell in his face, the shape of his eyes. It made Morgan feel uneasy, and she wondered if Melissa had been fixated on this man in some way.

  More unnervingly, as she looked at another page, she saw a picture of the man, doodled next to a bird of some kind--a bird with an array of colored feathers, including orangey red feathers.

  Morgan's mind instantly went back to the crime scene, recalling the feather left in Melissa's hair, the one that perfectly matched her hair color.

  "Do you know who this might be?" Morgan asked Tessa.

  Tessa came over, a frown between her brows. "Oh, that... that's Chet," she said. "He's a bartender up the road. Melissa said she had a crush on him, but I didn't know she was this... obsessed."

  "So Melissa was obsessed with Chet," Morgan noted, "not the other way around."

  "Kind of looks that way," Tessa agreed.

  "What about this bird?" Morgan asked, tapping the photo.

  "That's Chet's talking parrot," Tessa said. "It's totally weird, but sometimes he has the thing in the bar, imitating words customers say. He's kind of a weirdo, but then again, so was Melissa. I love her for it, but..."

  Morgan nodded, noting down the name Chet and the talking parrot in her notebook. It was a strange lead, but one she couldn't ignore.

  "Thank you for your help, Tessa," Morgan said. "If it's all right, I'd like to take this notebook with me. Can you tell me the name of the bar where Chet works?"

  "Sure, it's called The Thirsty Parrot. And yeah, take the notebook," Tessa said. "Maybe it'll help you find out who did this to Mel. I just want her to have justice."

  Morgan nodded, tucking the sketchbook under her arm. "I'll do everything I can," she promised. "Thank you again for your cooperation. If you think of anything else or need to get in touch with me, here's my number." Morgan held out a card with her details on it.

  "Of course," Tessa replied, taking the card with a shaky hand. "I'll call if I remember anything. I just... I hope you find out who did this."

  Morgan nodded. "We will."

  That much, she could promise.

  With that, Morgan left the townhouse and stepped onto the busy street. The afternoon sun reflected off car windows, and people bustled by, walking their dogs or rushing to work. The normalcy of the scene contrasted sharply with the darkness hanging over Melissa's murder, making Morgan feel even more determined to solve the case. One thing was certain: she needed to meet this Chet guy at the Thirsty Parrot.

  As she walked towards her parked car, Morgan couldn't help but let her mind wander back to the room she had just left – the world that Melissa had created for herself. She could feel the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on her, but she knew she had to stay focused and find the truth hidden in the shadows.

  Morgan's hand clenched the car door handle as she glanced around the busy street. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a man taking a photo, just like at the crime scene earlier. Her heart raced, but when she turned her head to get a better look, it was just a crowd of people going about their day.

  Get a grip, Morgan, she chastised herself, trying to shake off the feeling that someone was following her. Maybe it was Melissa's killer, or maybe it was just Thomas messing with her.

  Then again, it could also just be her broken mind, imagining things.

  Taking a deep breath, she started the engine and drove toward the Thirsty Parrot, her eyes scanning the rearview mirror for any sign of danger.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The afternoon sun was bright as Morgan parked her car outside the Thirsty Parrot. She stepped out and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of Melissa Grayson's death heavy on her shoulders. A young woman, left dead with a red bird feather tangled in her hair. And now, here Morgan was, about to confront the man who might be responsible.

  Morgan's dark eyes scanned the bar's exterior, noting the neon sign flickering above the door. The irony of a parrot-themed bar wasn't lost on her, given that its owner, Chet, had been doodled extensively in Melissa's sketchbook. It seemed too much of a coincidence that he happened to own a parrot with feathers similar to the one found at the crime scene.

  "Alright," she muttered to herself, shaking off any lingering doubts and pushing open the door to the Thirsty Parrot.

  As expected, the bar was nearly deserted at this hour. A few patrons lingered at the back, absorbed in a game of darts. Morgan's footsteps echoed slightly as she made her way to the counter, the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke hanging in the air. The squawk of a bird caught her attention, and she glanced up to see the infamous parrot perched behind the bar.

  "Hello, pretty bird," she murmured, her gaze shifting to the man next to it. With chiseled features and tousled hair, he was unmistakably Chet - the very same man sketched lovingly in Melissa's drawings.

  "Can I get you something?" Chet asked, running a rag over a glass with practiced ease.

  "Actually, I'm not here for a drink," Morgan replied, her voice steady. She couldn't help but study him, searching for any telltale signs of guilt or unease.

  "Then what can I do for you?" Chet inquired, his eyes flicking to the parrot briefly before returning to Morgan's face.

  With a deep breath, Morgan pulled out her badge and held it up. "Morgan Cross, FBI," she announced, her voice clear and commanding.

  "Mor-gan Cross, FBI!" the parrot squawked immediately, mimicking her tone almost perfectly. The few customers in the bar looked up from their game of darts, curiosity piqued by the sudden disturbance.

  Chet's eyes widened slightly at the sight of her badge, and he introduced himself nervously. "Chet James."

  "I know who you are," Morgan replied, her gaze unwavering.

  "Wha—how?" Chet stammered, confusion clouding his handsome features.

  "Listen," Morgan said, her eyes sweeping the room and noting the ears that had perked up at the mention of the FBI. "Can we go somewhere more private to talk?"

  "Uh, sure," Chet acquiesced, though reluctance weighed down his words. He gestured for her to follow him through a door behind the bar, the macaw squawking insistently as they passed.

  Once inside the small, dimly lit backroom, Morgan eyed the bird suspiciously. "What kind of parrot is that, exactly?"

  "Actually, it's a macaw," Chet corrected her, a hint of pride warming his voice. "But I get why people might think it's a parrot, what with the name of the bar and all. It's not my place, I'm just the bartender."

  Morgan nodded thoughtfully, images of Melissa's lifeless body flashing through her mind. She clenched her fists to keep her emotions in check, reminding herself that she needed answers, not vengeance.

  Morgan forced herself to focus, banishing the macaw's squawks and Chet's concern from her thoughts. "Do you know a woman named Melissa Grayson?" she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

  "Melissa?" Chet's eyes widened as he recognized the name. "Yeah, she's a regular here. Bit of an oddball, but harmless... is everything okay?"

  "Tell me about the last time you saw her," Morgan pressed, her dark eyes fixed on his face, searching for any sign of deception.

  Chet scratched his chin thoughtfully, his expression troubled. "I dunno, maybe three days ago? She comes in pretty often. Is Melissa okay?"

  "I'll get to that," Morgan said. "Did you notice anything... different about her that day?" she probed, hoping for a clue to work with.

  "Nothing too out of the ordinary," Chet admitted, raking a hand through his tousled hair. "Though I've been getting the feeling she's got a crush on me." He grimaced, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm thirty-eight, so it's not like we have much in common. Plus, I've been seeing... someone else."

  "Chet," Morgan said softly, steeling herself for what came next, "Melissa was found dead this morning. Murdered."

  The color drained from Chet's face, leaving him pale and shaken.

  Morgan watched him closely, looking for any sign of guilt or panic. But he appeared genuinely shocked and horrified by the news.

  "Murdered?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "Oh my god. That's terrible. How did it happen?"

  Morgan hesitated, not wanting to give away too much information just yet. "We're still investigating," she said carefully. "But there was a feather found in her hair that matches the color of that bird out there."

  Chet's eyes widened in shock. "You think I had something to do with this?"

  "We're just trying to piece together what happened," Morgan reassured him, her voice gentle. By all accounts, Chet didn't seem like a murderer. But most murderers were good at flying under the radar.

  Morgan went into her phone and opened up some of the evidence photos she had. She showed a clear image of the feather found at the crime scene.

  "If it's no problem," Morgan said, "I'd like to see a feather from that bird you have out there."

  Chet swallowed hard before nodding slowly. "Sure, yeah, of course," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let me just grab him."

  Morgan watched carefully as Chet went back out into the main area of the bar, picked up the bird on his arm, then came back into the room with the squawking macaw perched on his forearm. The bird seemed agitated, repeating "Morgan Cross, FBI" in a high-pitched voice as it eyed Morgan suspiciously.

  "Sorry buddy, this won't hurt," Chet murmured to the bird, carefully plucking a single feather from its wing. The macaw let out an indignant squawk and flapped away, landing on a nearby shelf.

  Chet approached the table where Morgan had laid out the photograph of the feather found at the crime scene. He placed the newly plucked feather next to it, and they both leaned in for a closer look.

  Morgan examined the feathers closely, comparing the two side by side. They looked remarkably similar, but there were slight differences. The feather from the bar had a bit more of a curve to it, while the one from the crime scene was straighter. Morgan wondered if it was possible that the feathers didn't match, or if the differences were too insignificant to rule Chet out as a suspect.

  But the closer she looked, the more she saw it: they were just too different to be from the same bird.

  "See?" Chet said, a note of desperation in his voice, "The shapes are totally different. It couldn't have come from my macaw."

  Morgan studied the two feathers. As much as she'd hoped to find a solid connection here, she had to admit he was right. The shape and curvature were distinctly different – they simply weren't from the same bird. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips as another lead seemed to slip through her fingers.

  "Listen," Chet began, his gaze fixed on Morgan's face, "I didn't have anything to do with Melissa's death. I swear. In fact," he hesitated, then continued, "I was with my boyfriend last night. There was really no reason for me to be interested in her like that."

  His words rang true, and Morgan couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. She knew all too well what it was like to be wrongly accused. Taking a deep breath, she nodded, trying to keep her disappointment in check.

  "Alright, I believe you," she said, offering a small smile. "I appreciate your cooperation. If you could provide me with your boyfriend's number, that would help corroborate your alibi."

  "Of course," Chet agreed, scribbling down the number on a piece of paper and handing it to her. "I hope you find whoever did this to Melissa. She didn't deserve it."

  "Thank you," Morgan replied, pocketing the number and rising from her chair. As she turned to leave the backroom, her mind raced with thoughts of what her next move should be in this increasingly tangled investigation.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Derik stood near the now-empty alleyway, talking to some of the officers about clearing out the crime scene and getting Melissa Grayson's body transported for the autopsy. The team nodded in agreement; they were ready to move forward with the case. Derik, especially. It was never easy to deal with a crime scene, especially when a young person's life had been cut so short. Derik could remember being Melissa's age; the thought of never making it as far in life as he did made his gut clench. But all he could do now was look for answers and hopefully stop more people from dying.

  Still, he needed a breather. From the crime scene to dealing with Morgan, he found his mind unable to think straight.

  "Alright, I'll be right back," Derik told the team, heading down the street to take a walk and clear his head. He needed a moment to process everything he had seen and heard this morning – from the gruesome crime scene to Morgan's troubled demeanor.

  As he walked, he couldn't help but worry about Morgan. She had been through so much, and her time in prison had left its mark on her. Despite her tough exterior, he knew she was struggling with something deeper. He wanted to be there for her, to support her, but he didn't want to push too hard and risk losing what little trust they had rebuilt between them.

  The sun warmed his face as he strolled along the sidewalk, lost in thought. He hoped that together, they would be able to bring justice to Melissa Grayson and find the answers they both desperately sought.

  Once up the street, Derik pulled out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply as he walked. He found solace in the steady rhythm of his footsteps on the pavement and the taste of tobacco against his tongue. He wasn't a regular smoker, but lately, it was helping him keep off the booze. One poison for another. But for him, anything was better than drinking himself into a coma. At least cigarettes kept him sober.

  His thoughts drifted to Morgan again, and he couldn't help but worry about her well-being. He could tell that something was bothering her earlier, something bigger than the case. But he knew better than to push his luck – Morgan was a fiercely private person, and he didn't want to risk alienating her further. Still, he thought he might be close to earning her trust again, and he hoped that was true. He cared about her more than she knew.

  As he continued down the sun-drenched street, his thoughts shifted to his son and his ex-wife, who had gone to live with his ex's cousins in the UK. There was a certain bittersweet relief in knowing they were safe now, far from the danger that had threatened them before. The men who had once blackmailed him hadn't contacted him since their departure, and Derik clung to the hope that they had given up or lost interest.

 

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