For Now, page 9
Mueller nodded, his expression unreadable. "In the meantime, I suggest you focus on the case at hand," he said, his voice low and authoritative. "We can't afford any distractions right now."
Morgan bit back a retort, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. Mueller had been the one to call her in and chastise her, thus distracting her from her search.
"Understood, sir," Morgan replied tersely, giving him a curt nod.
"Dismissed," Mueller said, gesturing towards the door.
***
The setting sun poured in through the living room window as Morgan stepped through the front door of her house, her body aching from the day's events. Skunk greeted her with an enthusiastic wag of his tail and a slobbery lick to her hand. She leaned down to give him a scratch behind the ears, her frustration momentarily forgotten in the comfort of his presence.
"Hey, buddy," she murmured, her voice heavy with fatigue. "I'm sorry I'm late."
Morgan couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at her insides, threatening to consume her. The thought that Derik could have ratted her out to Mueller left a bitter taste in her mouth, making it hard to swallow her anger. Every action she took seemed to be scrutinized, every decision questioned. It was getting harder to do her job when it felt like everyone was against her. On top of that, she had a bad feeling that bringing up her father to Mueller had just been a huge mistake.
With a sigh, she pushed those thoughts aside for the moment and focused on taking care of Skunk. As she filled his bowl with kibble, the sound of the dry food hitting the metal dish echoed throughout the otherwise quiet house. Skunk eagerly devoured the meal, his tail wagging in gratitude.
"Guess we're both hungry, huh?" she said softly, forcing a smile.
She moved to the kitchen and prepared herself a quick dinner – a steaming bowl of soup that would fill her empty stomach and warm her chilled bones. Cradling the hot bowl, she settled into the worn cushions of her couch and opened her laptop, determined to make progress on the case before sleep claimed her.
"Let's see what else we can find out about you, Dr. Orchard," she muttered under her breath, fingers flying across the keys as she searched for any connection between the dentist and Mary Jenkins, the other victim.
Skunk, his belly full, sauntered over to join her on the couch, his warm body a comforting presence against her side. As she sifted through files and statements, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts – frustration with Mueller's reprimand, suspicion towards Derik, and an underlying determination to solve this case no matter what obstacles were thrown in her path.
"Come on," she whispered, the glow from the screen illuminating her face as night fell around them. "There has to be something here."
Despite the weariness that clung to her like a second skin, Morgan refused to give in. Her fingers continued to type, her eyes scanning line after line of information as she searched for any clue that could lead her closer to the truth. And with Skunk by her side, she felt a renewed sense of strength and resolve – a reminder that even when the world seemed to be conspiring against her, she still had at least one loyal friend in her corner.
Morgan took a spoonful of the steaming soup, the warmth soothing her throat and providing a brief comfort from the day's events. As she continued to eat, one hand navigated her laptop, pulling up Tom Orchard's file in the FBI database.
"Dr. Thomas Orchard," she read aloud, the words echoing slightly in the quiet room. "No criminal record... A dentist for over twenty-five years." She leaned back against the cushions, Skunk's steady breathing at her side providing a familiar rhythm. Her eyes flicked across the screen, taking in the details of Orchard's life – his well-regarded practice, his volunteer work, even his hobbies of bird-watching and model ship building. On paper, he seemed like just another upstanding citizen.
"Doesn't look like our guy, does it, Skunk?" she mused, scratching behind the dog's ear with her free hand. But something within her urged her not to dismiss him so easily – a nagging feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.
She decided to check Mary Jenkins again, clicking through the electronic records. Her fingers moved quickly, each keystroke echoing in the stillness of the room as she searched for any connection between Orchard and the other victim.
Skunk shifted beside her, sensing her growing tension, and Morgan absentmindedly stroked his fur while poring over the documents on the screen. Mary Jenkins had been a widow for several years, living alone in a small house not far from Gretchen Smith's residence. Their lives had been unremarkable, ordinary – until they'd crossed paths with their killer.
"Nothing," she whispered, frustration tightening her chest. "Not a single mention of Orchard in her records. No appointments, no consultations..."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was there. Outside, the sky had grown dark, not only from the night, but a blanket of clouds grew on the horizon. A storm was coming, and Morgan could feel the air swell with the threat of rain.
Skunk stirred, his dark eyes meeting hers with unwavering loyalty. She knew he'd stay by her side as long as it took, offering silent support and companionship.
A sudden ping from her laptop drew Morgan's attention away from the frustrating lack of connections between Tom Orchard and Mary Jenkins. She squinted at the screen, seeing a new email notification from Thomas. Her heart rate picked up as she clicked on it, eager for information that could help her clear her name.
The email contained names and details about the people responsible for framing her for murder, but as Morgan's eyes darted across the screen, she barely caught two names before the file disappeared, leaving her staring at an empty inbox. Blinking in disbelief, she refreshed her email, hoping it was just a glitch. But deep down, she knew it wasn't – Thomas was an expert hacker, and he had obviously sent the email only to delete it, toying with her like she was some kind of pawn in his twisted game.
"Damn it, Thomas!" she growled under her breath.
Without a second thought, she took out her phone and dialed his number, her anger boiling over.
"Thomas, what the hell was that?" she demanded as soon as he answered, not bothering with pleasantries. "I barely saw anything before you deleted it. This isn't what we agreed on."
"Neither is you being so distant lately," he shot back, his voice cold and unyielding. "I've barely seen you these days, Morgan. If you come to meet me at my house, I won't mention our little pact to anyone. Otherwise, who knows?"
Morgan clenched her jaw, rage and disbelief coursing through her. "You're blackmailing me now? Is that what this has come to?"
"Call it what you want," Thomas replied impassively. "It's your choice. But I wouldn't take too long to decide."
The realization that Thomas was blackmailing her sent a shiver down Morgan's spine. She stared at her phone, the screen displaying his name and the call timer ticking away. Could she have been wrong about him? Derik had warned her, but she had trusted Thomas. Now, it seemed that trust might end up costing her everything.
"Are you coming over or not?" Thomas asked, his voice annoyingly calm.
Morgan clenched her jaw. "I'm working on the case," she snapped, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "And I need some sleep. I'll think about it." Without waiting for a response, she ended the call, her heart pounding in her chest.
She lowered the phone and stared blankly at the wall, the neon glow from the streetlights outside casting eerie shadows across the room. What now? Should she risk meeting Thomas in person, knowing what he was capable of? Or should she sever ties with him completely and try to find another way to clear her name?
"Damn it," Morgan muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples as she tried to sort through the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. But no matter how hard she tried, one fact remained painfully clear: she was running out of time, and she needed answers.
As if sensing her distress, Skunk, her loyal Pitbull, padded over and nudged her hand with his wet nose. Morgan absently scratched behind his ears, grateful for his comforting presence. At least there was one living being she could still trust.
"I don't know what to do, boy," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her decision. Skunk tilted his head, his dark eyes filled with concern, but he had no advice to offer.
Sighing, Morgan forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She would deal with Thomas later. For now, she needed to concentrate on the case and finding justice for the victims. With renewed determination, Morgan picked up her laptop and opened her notes, forcing herself to push Thomas and his betrayal to the back of her mind.
"Let's get to work, Skunk," she said, her voice steady, despite the turmoil within.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The man stood in his dimly lit living room, the only source of light being the occasional flash of lightning outside. Rain pelted against the windowpane, the droplets forming a temporary mosaic before they were washed away into oblivion. The cityscape stretched out before him, its buildings towering as though they aimed to pierce the heavens. He couldn't help but think of her again, Mildred.
She had been so many things to him: a mother, a grandmother, maybe even a friend or a lover. It was all a blur now. But one thing was for certain – she'd seen past his exterior and recognized the darkness within. And yet, she hadn't turned away. She'd taken him in, nurtured him, and attempted to guide him through the shadows that consumed his soul.
"Damn you," he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. "Why did you have to be so kind? So cold?"
His thoughts swirled around her memory like whirlwinds threatening to tear apart the very fabric of his existence. He could feel the anger boiling beneath the surface, fueled by the confusing blend of emotions that she had left him with. A part of him wanted to scream, to shatter the fragile barrier between them and force her to face the monster she had helped create.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asked the empty room, his voice cracking with emotion. "To make me feel this way? To make me doubt everything I thought I knew?"
He drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm himself. The city lights flickered in the distance, casting their eerie glow across the waterlogged streets below. As much as he wanted to blame her for the turmoil in his mind, he knew that it wasn't entirely her fault. She had tried to save him in her own twisted way. And now, he was left to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart and find a way to move forward.
"Whatever you saw in me, Mildred, I won't let it define me," he whispered to himself, staring out into the stormy night. "I'll find my own path."
The anger began to dissipate, giving way to a new sense of resolve. A clarity washed over him, as though the rain itself had cleansed his thoughts. He knew what he had to do now, and there was no turning back.
Heaving a deep sigh, he turned away from the window and wandered through the darkened rooms of the house. The memories of his time with Mildred were etched in every corner, impossible to escape. He recalled living with her for that short period, like two lost souls seeking solace in each other's company.
Clack, clack, clack. The sound echoed in his mind, taking him back to those quiet evenings when they would sit by the fire, the only noise being the incessant clacking of her teeth. It was a sound that grated on his nerves, irritating him beyond measure, yet it was inextricably linked to his love for her. A confusing mix of feelings washed over him as he thought about their time together.
"Damn you, Mildred," he muttered under his breath, pacing across the room in agitation. "Why do I feel this pull, this need to be close to you when all you ever did was drive me insane?"
His eyes fell upon an old photograph of her on the mantelpiece, her sunken eyes staring back at him, as if taunting him from beyond the grave. He couldn't remain in her presence for extended periods – the constant clacking, the coldness that emanated from her very being – but he found himself drawn back to her time and again, like a moth to a flame.
"God, those horrible teeth," he whispered, shuddering at the memory. Teeth – he despised them, found them repulsive. They were sharp, dangerous, capable of inflicting immense pain. And the clacking – sometimes, even now, he could hear it, haunting him in the depths of the night.
He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to hurl the photograph across the room. Instead, he stared at it, his breathing heavy and labored. He knew that he had to let go of his anger, his conflicting emotions, and find a way to move on.
He took a deep breath, willing himself to release the tension that gripped him. As he exhaled, the clacking noise seemed to fade into the distance, replaced by the soft patter of rain against the window.
The rain outside blurred the city lights, casting a kaleidoscope of color across his living room. He couldn't shake the memory of her teeth—their sickening clack echoing in his ears like a cruel metronome. Anger and confusion pulsed through him, a storm raging within.
He hurled it at the wall with all the force he could muster, feeling the plaster crack beneath his knuckles. Pain shot up his hand, but he welcomed it. It was a distraction from the gnawing thoughts that plagued him.
"Stupid," he muttered, cradling his injured hand. "These hands are meant for greater things."
His breathing steadied as he considered his next move. An icy calm settled over him, drowning out the chaos that had threatened to consume him moments before. His lips curled into a cruel smile as the face of his next victim swam into focus—clear as day amid the tempest of his emotions.
"Tonight's the night," he whispered to himself, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
As he paced around the room, he couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle. Soon, the FBI would receive the package he had sent them. It was meticulously prepared, each detail carefully chosen to taunt and challenge them. They would know he was coming for them, yet powerless to stop him.
"Agent Cross," he mused, savoring the name on his tongue. He knew she wouldn't back down, hardened by years in prison for a crime she didn't commit. In fact, he relished the thought of facing off against such a formidable opponent. "Let's see if you can catch me, Morgan," he said, grinning at his reflection in the window. "I'm ready when you are."
He slipped on his jacket and stepped out into the rain, leaving his tortured memories behind. The night air was cold and unforgiving, but it invigorated him. He was a hunter, poised to strike—and nothing would stand in his way.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Morgan's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming out in ragged gasps as she stumbled through the dark forest. She had no recollection of how she'd ended up here, and the terror clawing at her insides only grew with each passing moment. The cold seeped into her bones, chilling her from the inside out.
"Where am I?" Morgan whispered to herself, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. "How did I get here?"
The darkness seemed to close in around her, smothering her like a thick blanket. She could feel the weight of her past pressing down on her, her years spent behind bars after being framed for murder. It was a burden she carried every day, but never before had it felt so suffocating.
As she stumbled onward, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. She detected a faint glow in the distance, something that seemed familiar. Squinting, she realized it was a light shining through a window – her father's cabin! A surge of relief coursed through her veins, and she broke into a run, desperate to reach the safety and familiarity of the place she once called home.
But as she ran toward the cabin, something strange began to happen. The light seemed to move farther away, as if the cabin itself were retreating from her. Panic bubbled up in her chest, and she pushed herself harder, her legs aching from the effort.
Her determination fueled by desperation, Morgan pressed on, refusing to give up. The need to escape the darkness gnawing at her mind, the desire to find solace in the familiar walls of her father's cabin, propelled her forward. No matter how far away it seemed, she knew she had to reach it – for her own sanity and to unravel the mystery that had brought her here.
With a final burst of energy, Morgan sprinted the last few yards and practically threw herself against the cabin door. It creaked open under her weight, and she stumbled inside, panting heavily. The warmth of the room washed over her, chasing away the bitter cold that had seeped into her bones. She stood there for a moment, catching her breath and taking in her surroundings.
"Hello?" she called out hesitantly. Her voice seemed to echo in the small space, making her feel even more alone than she had been in the forest.
"Ah, Morgan," came a deep voice from the corner of the room. She looked up and saw her father standing by the fireplace, his back to her. "It's been a while."
"Dad?" Morgan stammered, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't help but feel uneasy – something about him seemed off. He turned to face her, and her blood ran cold as she took in the sight before her. This man was not her father.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to sound confident. "Where's my dad?"
"Your father is… indisposed at the moment," the stranger replied cryptically, his eyes fixed on hers. They were the same piercing blue as her own, but there was something unfamiliar, almost sinister, lurking within them.
"Indisposed?" Morgan echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What have you done with him?"
The man chuckled darkly, his lips twisting into a grotesque smile. As he did so, his teeth began to loosen, falling out one by one with sickening clatters onto the wooden floor. Morgan stared in horror, unable to tear her gaze away from the macabre scene.
"Wh-what's happening to you?" she whispered, her hands trembling as she took an involuntary step back.
"Isn't it fascinating?" the man said, his voice garbled by his toothless mouth. "The things we lose along the way…" He reached out a hand toward her, and Morgan recoiled, her pulse racing with fear and revulsion.
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