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"Startingwith the people she lived with could give us some context," Derik added."Her roommates might know if she mentioned feeling watched orfollowed."
"Goodcall," Morgan acknowledged, her mind already racing ahead to theinterviews. She wasn't just looking for clues; she was searching for alifeline—a connection to Nicole that might help prevent another loss.
"Let's headout then," Derik said, reading the determination on Morgan's face. Theyboth knew time was their most formidable adversary.
Morgan noddedbriskly, her every sense attuned to the mission at hand. Her past had taughther the cost of failure, and she'd be damned if she let the killer takeanything more from this city. With a final glance at the serene tanks, shestrode towards the squad car, ready to confront the living ghosts hiding amongthe memories of the dead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The old Victorianhouse stood like a fading memory amidst the modern apartment blocks, itschipped paint and creaky porch steps a testament to the lives that had ebbedand flowed within its walls. Morgan stepped out of the unmarked sedan, her darkhair fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze, tattoos peeking from under thecuffs of her leather jacket. Derik Greene, tall and lean with carefully combedblack hair, followed suit, adjusting his tie as he surveyed the scene.
"Looks likeit's seen better days," Derik commented, glancing over at Morgan.
"Or worseones, depending on who you ask," Morgan quipped back, her voice carrying agravelly edge earned from years of hardship. The two agents approached thehouse, the weight of their recent case pressing on their shoulders.
The door openedbefore they could knock, revealing two young women—Laura, with herrainbow-colored hair and an assortment of piercings adorning her face, andMarcy, whose bohemian dress swayed as she moved. Their expressions were a mixof curiosity and unease.
"AgentsCross and Greene," Morgan introduced them both briskly. "We're hereabout Nicole Lee."
"Comein," Laura said, stepping aside, her voice tinged with a sadness thatresonated in the hollows of the entryway.
The interior ofthe house was an eclectic mix of vintage furniture, posters of rock bands, andstrings of fairy lights. It was an intimate space that spoke volumes ofNicole's life among her friends. As Laura and Marcy settled into the mismatchedchairs in the lounge, Morgan's gaze wandered, taking in every detail—the stackof books on urban legends, the vibrant plants basking in the sunlight, thephotos pinned haphazardly on a corkboard.
Derik pulled outa notebook, poised to jot down whatever information these roommates couldprovide. "Can you tell us about the last time you saw Nicole?" heasked, his green eyes focused intently on the girls.
As the roommatesrecounted their last interactions with Nicole, Morgan paced slowly around theroom, her keen eyes scanning for clues. She noted the layout, the exits, anysign of disarray or disturbance. There was a warmth here, a sense ofcamaraderie captured in the images of smiling faces and shared memories. Yetnow, a shadow hung over it all—a shadow cast by an untimely death.
Morgan's fingersbrushed against a scarf draped over the back of a chair, Nicole's scent faintbut still present. She pictured Nicole in this room, laughing, dreaming,unaware that her life would be so cruelly snatched away. Each observationMorgan made was a silent question, each answer a piece of the puzzle they weredesperately trying to solve.
"Did Nicoleever mention feeling unsafe? Any strange encounters or people followingher?" Morgan asked, her voice cutting through the melancholy silence thathad fallen over the room.
Marcy shook herhead, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. "No, nothing like that. She lovedthis city, explored every part of it..."
Morgan nodded,acknowledging the response while her mind raced, piecing together the life of awoman who had become another victim in a string of tragedies. A life that,despite its vibrancy, had ended too soon.
Morgan leanedagainst the wall, a deliberate distance from the sorrow that permeated theroom. She watched as Derik gently probed the roommates for information, hisgreen eyes flickering with the duty of their grim task. The air was thick withthe scent of incense and lost hopes, and Morgan's tattoos seemed to absorb theroom's ambient despair like dark ink soaking into skin. Her gaze drifted, buther attention remained razor-sharp.
Laura, with hermulticolored hair reflecting the room's eclectic energy, wrapped her armsaround herself as if holding together the pieces of her composure."Nicole... she had this spirit, you know? She loved exploring—abandonedplaces, rooftops, anywhere forgotten by time," Laura began, her voicewavering between admiration and grief. "She always said that in thoseplaces, she felt the city’s heart beating the strongest."
"Urbanexploration?" Morgan interjected, her interest piqued.
"Exactly,"Marcy chimed in, nodding vigorously. "And she shared it all on socialmedia. Had quite a following too. People were drawn to her sense of adventure.To them, Nicole was the city's unofficial guide to the hidden and the mystical."
The words hung inthe room, painting a picture of a woman whose curiosity exceeded the bounds ofcaution. Derik scribbled notes, his brows furrowed as he considered theimplications. Morgan's mind raced—Nicole's explorations could have exposed herto risks beyond the physical. Who among her followers had seen an opportunityin her fearlessness?
"Did shepost about any specific locations recently?" Derik asked, mirroringMorgan's line of thought.
Marcy reached forher phone on the coffee table, her fingers swiping deftly through a digitalmemorial of Nicole's life. "Here," she said, turning the screentowards them. "Her last story was about planning a trip to the old warmemorial. She was excited about the history... the stories etched intostone."
***
Morgan stood overthe sprawled map, the city's arteries and concrete bones laid bare under thefluorescent lights of the FBI briefing room. Around her, the hum of computersand hushed conversations created a soundscape of urgency. Derik Greene leanednext to her, his green eyes scanning the gridlines, the black hair slicked backfrom the intensity of focus.
"Here,"Morgan said, her finger pressing onto a section of the map, "and here—eachone of them connected to places that whisper stories of their own." Hertattoos seemed to dance under the sleeves of her jacket as she moved from pointto point, mapping the tragic endpoints of four lives.
"Emily atthe statue in Greenfield Park," she murmured, "Sarah outside the oldchocolate factory, Jennifer by the historical monument on 5th, and Nicole... atthe war memorial park." She stepped back, her dark eyes tracing aninvisible line between the dots. "It's not random; it's deliberate. Theywere chosen because of their ties to these spots—their routines, or in Nicole'scase, her announced intentions."
Derik nodded,absorbing her insight, his tired appearance momentarily forgotten. The patternwas emerging, though still elusive, like a shadow just out of reach.
