AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Can youenhance this section?" she asked, her tone betraying none of the hopefuldesperation that flitted across her thoughts. Every fiber in her being willedthis lead to bear fruit, to bring them a step closer to halting the invisiblepredator before another life was lost.
The agent workedsilently, his fingers flying over the keys as he manipulated the image, zoomingin on the elusive figure that lurked at the periphery of the tragedy.
Morgan waited,her patience a fortress against the tide of urgency, her dark hair a curtainaround a face etched with determination. The past may have marked her skin withink and her soul with scars, but it was the present that demanded her focus.They were so close now; she could feel the truth simmering beneath the surface,waiting to erupt and illuminate the path to justice.
Morgan's eyeswere unwavering, locked onto the grainy footage playing out on the screenbefore her. The young tech agent had done his best to clear up the images fromNicole Lee's cloud account, but nothing could have prepared them for thesudden, piercing scream that ruptured the silence of the tech lab. The video,once a benign recording of an evening stroll through the war memorial park,became the harbinger of horror as it cut abruptly to black.
"Goback," Morgan said, her voice steel wrapped in velvet. "A few framesbefore the scream."
The tech's handsobeyed, tapping with a nervous rhythm that matched the palpitations of Morgan'sheart. As the frames reversed, the eerie stillness of the park returned, andthe shadows danced backward into shapes that almost seemed innocent again.
"Stopthere," she instructed when the outline of a figure emerged from thedarkness. It was barely more than a smudge against the twilight, but Morgan'strained eyes discerned a sinister intent in its posture. The tech agent workedthe controls, enhancing the image bit by agonizing bit.
Pixels rearrangedthemselves under the agent's deft commands, and slowly, a face began tomaterialize amidst the digital fog. It was not the clear countenance they hopedfor, yet it spoke volumes to Morgan, who stared at the screen as if trying toburn the image into her memory. A gaunt-looking white man with angular featuresand brown hair was caught in the transient light, his visage ghostly andblurred, yet undeniably there.
Morgan felt acold shiver cascade down her spine. All the victims, vocal critics of theoccult, now linked by this spectral face. The same face that must have been thelast thing Nicole Lee saw before her world turned to screams and shadows.
"Can yousharpen it any further?" she asked, knowing the limitations of technologyyet refusing to accept them.
The tech shookhis head, regret lining his young face. "That's as good as it gets withthe quality we're working with," he said apologetically.
It wasn'tperfect, but it was something—a lead in a case that had offered far too few ofthem. This gaunt man with his hollow cheeks and sharp angles was the nexus oftheir investigation, the personification of the evil that had snatched awaylives and left a city trembling.
"Print itout," Morgan ordered, her gaze never leaving the screen. "We need toshow this to the witness. Maybe she can confirm it's the same man shesaw."
As the printerwhirred to life, spitting out the haunting image of the killer, Morgan Crosscouldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility pressing upon her. Fourwomen gone, a fifth possibly in danger, and a specter of a man haunting theedges of her case. She would catch him, she vowed silently. For the victims,for justice, for the semblance of peace that seemed so elusive in a worldshrouded in darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Morgan stoodrigid amidst the hum of computers and the soft clack of keyboards, scrutinizingthe grainy footage extracted from Nicole Lee’s cell phone. The tension in theair of the FBI headquarters tech department was palpable, as if charged withthe collective determination to net a predator who had slipped through the cracksof the city's consciousness. The video, though blurred by motion and obscuredby shadows, revealed the angular countenance of their suspect—an elusive figurethat had haunted their investigation.
"Pause itthere," Morgan commanded, pointing at the screen where the brown-hairedman's face was momentarily clear, his features stark against the night. Sheturned to her partner, Derik Greene, who stood beside her, his green eyesreflecting the urgency of their mission. His usually slick black hair seemeddisheveled today, a testament to the sleepless nights and the weight of theirgrim task.
"Troublesleeping again?" she asked, noting his fatigue with a mix of concern andprofessional detachment.
"Let's justcatch this guy," Derik replied, brushing off her question. He knew all toowell how personal this case was for Morgan; someone who had been wronged by thesystem could recognize the signs of injustice better than anyone else. And thiskiller, targeting women who dared speak against the dark arts, he reeked of it.
"Alright,team," Morgan's voice cut through the room like a blade. "We’ve gottwo solid leads." She gestured to the paused image on the screen and thento the police sketch pinned to the whiteboard—a hauntingly accurate portrayalprovided by an eyewitness present at the last murder site. "This is ourunsub."
"Facialrecognition," she continued, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "Runthis face through every database we have—traffic cams, social media, pastmugshots. Anything you can get your hands on. We need an ID yesterday."
The team spranginto action, spurred by Morgan's unwavering resolve. Her tattoos seemed toshift with her movements, a silent testament to the years she spent caged for acrime she didn't commit. They were more than ink on her skin; they were symbolsof survival, of a narrative reclaimed.
As the techsdeployed the software, sifting through the digital sea of faces, Morgan feltthe familiar stir of anticipation knotting in her gut. They were close. Afterall the dead ends and the haunting faces of the victims, the pieces werealigning. It was as if the universe was finally bending to her will,acknowledging the debts owed.
Derik watchedMorgan, a flicker of admiration in his weary gaze. He had betrayed her once, afact that neither of them could forget, but in this moment, they were united bya singular purpose—to prevent another life from being extinguished by a shadowthat now had a shape.
"Cross yourfingers," Morgan muttered, half to herself, half to the room at large. Butinside, she didn't believe in luck or chance—only in the relentless pursuit ofjustice. And she wouldn’t rest until it was served.
Morgan's bootsthudded against the sterile floor of the tech department, a rhythmic echo thatmatched the pounding in her chest. Screens flickered with countless faces andfingers typing over keyboards with an urgency that was almost palpable. Derikmoved alongside her, his tall figure casting long shadows that mingled withhers. They were like two metronomes, unsynchronized, reflecting the chaos oftheir thoughts.
"Anything?"Morgan's voice cut through the hum of machines and low murmur of analysts atwork. It was more demand than question, her impatience a living thing thatfilled the room.
Derik shook hishead, his green eyes scanning the room—one analyst to another—hoping for adifferent answer than before. "Not yet," he replied quietly, knowingfull well that 'yet' was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Time was slipping awaywith each tick of the clock, and with it, Rachel King's chances of survival.
The agentswatched as potential matches popped onto the screen, only to be dismissed witha swift keystroke. Morgan’s dark hair fell into her eyes as she leaned closerto scrutinize a face that, for a fleeting moment, promised to be 'the one.' Butno—the chin was all wrong. The eyes lacked that cold, predatory glint she hadglimpsed in the shaky footage from Nicole Lee’s cell phone.
"Keeplooking," she commanded tersely, brushing her hair back with a tattooedhand. The ink on her arm seemed to writhe with her frustration; every line,every curve, a reminder of the justice she fought so hard to serve.
