Forever, page 7
"Where the hell are they?" Morgan hissed under her breath, her eyes darting around the room. She could feel her anger bubbling up, threatening to explode. "Felix, come out now! This is the FBI!"
The deafening music pulsed through the air, making it difficult for Morgan to hear anything else or even think clearly. She clenched her jaw and tried to focus, following the reverberating sound waves until she found the source – a massive stereo system in the living room. A display of neon lights blinked and flashed to the beat, casting eerie shadows on the walls. With a swift motion, Morgan flicked the power button off, silencing the chaotic noise.
"Hey, where'd the music go?" a man's voice called from upstairs, his tone irritated and confused.
Morgan looked up toward the ceiling, her face tense as she listened for any other sounds. Derik, still sweeping through the lower level of the house, glanced at her with a nod, signaling that he was ready for whatever came next.
"Show yourself!" Morgan shouted, trying to maintain authority despite the uncertainty gnawing at her insides. "We're armed and we're not afraid to use force if necessary!"
"Who are you people?" the voice replied, sounding more alarmed than angry now. The floorboards above them creaked as the man began to move, likely seeking the safety of a locked door or hiding place.
"Damn it," Morgan thought, her frustration mounting. He had the advantage of being on higher ground, and they had no idea what weapons he might have access to. She knew she couldn't afford to let her guard down for a second. "Please, just come out peacefully," she called, her voice betraying her desperation. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you force my hand."
A door creaked open, and Morgan held her breath, waiting for whatever was about to unfold.
The air grew tense as they waited, the silence almost deafening after the cacophony of music moments before.
Finally, footsteps shuffled above them, and a disheveled figure appeared at the top of the stairs. It was Felix, wearing nothing but his boxers, his hands raised in the air as he trembled uncontrollably.
"Who are you really?" he stammered, his eyes darting between Morgan and Derik. "Are you here for money? Look, I can pay you."
"Enough games," Morgan snapped, feeling her patience wearing thin. She pulled out her badge, allowing it to catch the light just enough to emphasize its authenticity. Beside her, Derik did the same, the pair presenting a unified front. "We told you who we are. FBI. You're not getting out of this by throwing cash around."
"Please, I have more than enough money," Felix persisted, sweat beading on his forehead as his voice cracked. His desperation was palpable, and Morgan couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the man, despite her suspicions about him.
"Money isn't going to save you this time," she thought, trying to maintain her steely exterior. "But maybe the truth will."
"Then prove it," Felix challenged, his bravado returning momentarily. "Prove that you're really agents and not… not some kidnappers or something."
Morgan's clenched jaw began to ache, her fingers gripping the handle of her gun with white-knuckled tension. She didn't have time for Felix's pathetic attempts at bribery; lives were on the line, and every wasted second felt like an eternity.
Just then, a woman appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a housecoat and looking bewildered. Her disheveled hair framed her face in a way that was somehow both wild and endearing. Morgan's heart leaped into her throat – this had to be Heather.
"Are you Heather?" she asked, her voice strained with urgency.
The woman blinked down at them, eyes wide in surprise. "Yes," she replied, her tone laced with confusion. "What's going on? Who are you people?"
"Finally," Morgan thought, relief washing over her like a cool wave. "We might be getting somewhere." She allowed herself a moment to collect her thoughts before diving into the explanation Heather so clearly needed.
"We're with the FBI," she said, gesturing to Derik beside her. "We're investigating two murders. One of the victims was found by the marina where Felix keeps his boat. Security footage shows you two fighting there. We need to know what happened."
Heather's face went pale, her breath hitching as she processed the information. Though she seemed genuinely shocked, Morgan couldn't help but scrutinize her every movement, searching for anything that might indicate deception.
"Two murders?" Heather whispered, her fingers curling around the railing as she steadied herself. "I... I don't understand. We weren't fighting, exactly. It was just a disagreement."
"Disagreement?" Derik repeated, his brow furrowing. "We saw you struggle. It looked violent."
Heather's face flushed with indignation as she stepped closer, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Look, I was really drunk that night, and Felix was just trying to help me into the boat. It wasn't what it looked like on the security footage."
Morgan studied her for a moment, searching for any hint of deceit in her eyes. But Heather's gaze remained steady, filled with an earnestness that Morgan found difficult to dismiss.
"Alright," Morgan conceded, though not entirely convinced. "So you've been here all night, partying?"
"Yes," Heather replied, nodding vigorously. "This is my friend's place. She let us use it for the weekend."
The pounding bass from the stereo had ceased, leaving only an eerie silence hanging in the air. Morgan could hear the faint sound of water lapping against the shore, the distant hum of police boats patrolling the lake. She knew they couldn't afford to waste more time on dead ends, not when a killer was still at large.
"Your father was about to report you missing, Heather," Morgan told her, her voice tinged with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "You left your phone behind, and he was worried sick."
Heather's eyes widened in surprise, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "Oh God, I didn't even think…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "I should call him, let him know I'm okay."
Morgan watched as Heather's shoulders sagged, her eyes flickering with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. "My family doesn't approve of my relationship with Felix," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's twenty years older than me, but I'm an adult now. I can make my own choices."
"Choices like staying up all night partying at your friend's place without telling anyone?" Derik asked, his voice skeptical.
Heather's cheeks flushed a deep red, but she met his gaze head-on. "Yes. Like that."
Morgan studied the young woman, the stubborn tilt of her chin and the fire in her eyes. She couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her – after all, she knew what it was like to have people doubt her judgment and question her decisions. But their priority was solving this case, not validating Heather's life choices.
As she glanced back at Felix, who stood nervously in the background, Morgan felt a gnawing sense of frustration building in her chest. Everything about him screamed 'sleazebag,' from his greasy hair to his too-tight boxer shorts. And yet, as much as she wanted to pin these heinous crimes on him, something told her he wasn't their man.
"Alright," she sighed, rubbing her temples as if to ward off an impending headache. "I want both of you to stay put while we continue our investigation. If we have any further questions, we'll be in touch."
"Of course," Heather murmured, her relief palpable.
As Morgan and Derik made their way back to the police boat, her mind raced with the implications of this dead-end. She could almost hear the clock ticking, each second bringing them closer to the killer's next move. And though she hated to admit it, she knew that finding the truth would require more than just her instincts and determination.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, her frustration evident as they boarded the boat. "I was so sure we were onto something."
"Sometimes things don't work out the way we hope," Derik replied quietly, his eyes sympathetic but unwavering. "But we'll find him, Morgan. We always do."
She nodded, trying to draw strength from his words as they sped across the water, the wind whipping through their hair and the distant shoreline gradually fading into the darkness. But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out – and with each passing moment, the killer was growing bolder, more dangerous, and increasingly out of reach.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Amber's heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the sound of her own ragged breaths. The sun was a warm kiss on her face, but it offered cold comfort as panic clawed its way up her throat. She squirmed against the restraints that held her wrists tightly behind her back, the rough fibers digging into her skin. But no matter how much she wriggled, they held fast. Her mouth was filled with the taste of stale fabric - a gag to stifle her cries.
"Please," she whimpered, her plea muffled and barely audible even to herself. "Let me go."
It defied belief. She had been kidnapped in broad daylight, snatched right off the street like a helpless child. She couldn't fathom how or why it had happened. All she wanted was to be free of this nightmare.
"Wh-what do you want from me?" Amber tried to shout, but the gag choked her voice down to a pitiful croak.
She felt a presence near her feet, and then something itchy being looped around her ankle. It had to be a rope. Her mind raced with horrifying possibilities.
"Stop! Please, I'll do anything!" she sobbed, her voice cracking with terror. She strained against the blindfold, desperate for any glimpse of her surroundings, but her world remained shrouded in darkness.
"Shh," her captor said, his voice dangerously calm. "Just relax, Amber. I won't hurt you if you cooperate."
Amber's stomach churned at the sound of him using her name. How could he possibly know who she was? Her fear intensified, and she fought to keep her breathing under control. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay, making Amber's nostrils flare as she inhaled. She could hear the faint lapping of water against some unseen shore, and her heart pounded against her chest like a trapped bird. Was he going to drown her?
"Please," she whispered again, straining to keep her voice steady. "I don't know who you are or what you want, but I beg you, let me go."
There was no response, only the oppressive silence that hung over them like a shroud. Amber's thoughts wandered to her parents, who had both passed away recently. They had wanted so much for her to live her life after they were gone, to make something of herself, to be happy. And now fate seemed determined to play a cruel game on her.
"Mom... Dad..." she murmured, a note of despair creeping into her voice. She felt tears sting her eyes, but they remained trapped behind the blindfold.
"Your parents can't help you now, Amber," her captor said, his voice cold and mocking. Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she couldn't suppress a sob.
"Please," she choked out again, desperation dripping from her voice. "I'll do anything if you just let me go."
"Anything?" he mused, sounding almost thoughtful for a brief moment. "Well, that's an interesting offer, but I'm afraid it's not quite enough."
Amber clenched her fists, struggling against the ropes that bound her hands behind her back. The coarse fibers dug into her skin, but she was unable to loosen them even a fraction.
"Then tell me what you want!" she cried out, fear making her voice tremble. "I'll do whatever it takes, just please don't hurt me!"
"Ah, Amber," her captor sighed, an odd note of regret in his voice. "If only things were that simple."
The sound of water grew louder, and the air around her felt colder, damper. She shivered involuntarily, her body shaking with terror and the chill in the air. Was he going to throw her into the water? Was this how she was going to die?
"Please," she whimpered one last time, her voice barely audible even to herself. "Please don't do this..."
"Shh," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, making her shudder. "There's no point in begging any longer, Amber. It won't change anything."
Amber's heart pounded in her chest as she desperately tried to speak, to plead with her captor once more. But the gag in her mouth stifled her words, reducing them to pitiful, unintelligible whimpers.
"Please," she thought, praying that whoever had taken her would somehow understand her silent plea. "Please, let me go."
But there was no response, and the sound of water continued to swell around her, heightening her fear. She could feel the dampness in the air clinging to her skin, chilling her to the bone.
Suddenly, the blindfold was yanked away, and harsh sunlight assaulted her eyes. Amber squinted against the brightness, trying to make sense of her surroundings.
"Where am I?" she wondered, struggling to focus on the details of the unfamiliar landscape before her.
As her vision cleared, she realized she was standing on a wooden dock at the edge of an eerily still lake. The water was dark and foreboding, a stark contrast to the clear blue sky overhead. There was no sign of civilization anywhere – just trees and the seemingly endless expanse of water.
"Wh-where are we?" she managed to choke out, her voice muffled by the gag but marginally more audible than before.
"Does it matter?" her captor asked, his tone almost conversational. "You won't be here much longer, anyway."
"Stop this," she begged silently, her mind racing as she tried to come up with some way to escape, to save herself from whatever fate he had planned for her. "I can't die like this. Not now."
"Look around you, Amber," the man continued, seemingly unaware of her internal struggle. "No one will find you here. No one will even hear you scream."
Her heart sank at the cold truth of his words. All the hope she'd been clinging to vanished in an instant, replaced by a crushing sense of despair. She was utterly alone, abandoned to the mercy of a man who seemingly had none.
The man's ice-cold eyes seemed to drill holes straight through Amber's skull as he reached down and removed the gag from her mouth. She gulped in a breath of fresh air, feeling the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. The rough fabric had left her lips raw and chapped, and she fought to suppress the urge to scream.
"Go ahead," her captor said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Scream your lungs out. No one will hear you."
Amber hesitated, weighing her options. A part of her wanted to heed his words, to release the fear and rage that was bubbling beneath the surface. But another part of her, a small glimmer of hope, whispered that perhaps there was still a chance for escape.
"Please," she stammered, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Please, let me go. I'll do anything. I won't tell anyone about this, I swear."
The man eyed her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Amber's heart raced in her chest, each beat a desperate prayer for survival. She couldn't bear the thought of dying here, alone and helpless, her parents' memory tainted by the violence of her own end.
"Anything?" he finally replied, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
"Y-yes," Amber answered, her voice trembling with fear. "Just… just let me live, please."
For a moment, the world seemed to hang in the balance. Amber held her breath, waiting for the verdict that would decide her fate.
"Look at me," he commanded, his smile growing wider and colder. Amber forced herself to meet his gaze, her eyes wide with terror. She searched for any trace of mercy in the depths of his dark, unfeeling eyes, but found nothing.
As she stared into the void that was her captor's soul, Amber felt something shift within her. It was as if the light inside her – the hope, the love, the very essence of who she was – was being slowly choked out, leaving only darkness and despair.
"Please," she whispered again, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I don't want to die."
"Life is full of disappointments," he replied, his voice a cold, emotionless monotone. "You can't always get what you want."
Amber clenched her jaw, trying to find the strength to fight back, to resist this man who held her life in his hands. But she was bound, blindfolded, and utterly powerless, and she knew that there was no escape from this nightmare.
"Remember my face," he said, his tone taunting. "Remember it as the last thing you'll ever see."
Before Amber could respond, before she could beg or plead or curse him to hell, she felt a strong push against her chest. Her heart leaped to her throat as she fell backward, the air around her suddenly replaced by the shockingly cold water of the lake.
The world disappeared around her, swallowed up by the murky darkness of the water. Panic surged through her body, her mind screaming for oxygen as she fought against the restraints that held her captive. But no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn't break free.
As the blackness closed in around her, Amber desperately tried to hold onto the memories of her parents, their love and warmth providing a small comfort in her final moments. And as the water filled her lungs and the darkness consumed her, she prayed that they would be waiting for her on the other side.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The police boat's engine hummed as it cut through the dark water, the sun dipping in the midday sky. Morgan Cross stood at the bow, one hand gripping the railing, her eyes scanning the shoreline for any sign of movement. She could feel the weight of her past pressing down on her shoulders, the ten years she'd spent in prison never far from her mind.
Derik stood beside her, his gaze equally intense as they approached the lakeshore. As they neared the dock, Morgan's phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her out of her thoughts. She pulled it out and saw Mueller's name on the screen. "Cross," she answered, her tone clipped.
"Morgan, you aren't going to believe this," Mueller said, urgency heavy in his voice. "Another body has been found. Very fresh – just happened today, maybe an hour ago. About forty minutes outside of town."
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