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With a determined twist of the key, Morgan started her car and drove away, leaving Derik standing on the side of the road, his face a study in anguish and regret. For now, she would face this battle alone. But as the miles stretched out before her, she couldn't help but wonder if she was making the right choice.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The evening sky was a canvas of dark purple and orange streaks as Morgan pulled her car into her driveway. The familiar sight of her house offered no comfort tonight; instead, it seemed to be suffocating her with its quiet and stillness. She didn't want to go inside and sit there, not even alone with Skunk.
She needed a drink.
So, she got out of the car and set out on foot, her mind swirling with the night's events. Derik. Her father. It was all too much.
Morgan found herself outside the dimly lit entrance of a local bar. The neon sign above the door flickered weakly, casting an eerie glow over the worn brick walls. She hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door, bracing herself for the noise and chaos of the world inside.
"Evening, Morgan," greeted the bartender, his face lined with age and experience. "What can I get you?"
"Whiskey," she replied curtly, sliding onto a stool at the far end of the bar, away from the laughter and chatter of the other patrons.
"Rough day?" he asked, pouring her drink and placing it in front of her.
"You could say that," she muttered, raising the glass to her lips and knocking back the amber liquid in one swift motion. The burning sensation in her throat briefly distracted her from the storm of emotions raging within her, but it wasn't enough.
"Keep 'em coming," she said, her voice low and steady. The bartender nodded and refilled her glass, leaving her to her thoughts as he turned his attention to the other customers.
Morgan stared into the depths of her drink, the golden swirls reflecting the dim light overhead. Her mind raced with questions about her father, her past, and what it all meant for her future. Could she really trust anyone at the FBI? Was Derik truly on her side or just another pawn in this twisted game?
"Damn it," she cursed under her breath, downing another glass of whiskey. The warmth spread through her chest, reaching its tendrils out to numb the pain and uncertainty that plagued her.
"Hey, you okay?" a voice asked from beside her. She glanced over at a man sitting nearby, his face creased with concern. Morgan shook her head slightly, trying to remember the last time someone had genuinely asked her that question.
"Fine," she lied, forcing a tight-lipped smile as she signaled the bartender for another drink. "Just a long day."
"Seems like we all have those lately," the man sighed, raising his own glass in a silent toast. Morgan clinked her glass against his before turning her attention back to the amber liquid that was becoming her best friend tonight.
As she continued to drink, the world around her began to blur and sway, the noise of the bar fading into a dull hum. But no amount of alcohol could truly drown out the memories and questions that consumed her thoughts.
"Can't run away from it all, can I?" she whispered to herself, gazing at the now-empty glass in front of her. For a moment, she almost wished she could simply disappear into the hazy comfort of oblivion, leaving behind the twisted web of lies, betrayal, and murder that seemed to follow her wherever she went.
But deep down, she knew she couldn't escape it - not now, not ever. And so, with a heavy heart and an unsteady hand, she reached for the bottle of whiskey one more time, desperately seeking solace in the bottom of the glass.
The burn of the whiskey in Morgan's throat momentarily numbed her emotional pain, but the haze of liquor couldn't completely erase the weight of failure that clung to her like a second skin. She slouched on the worn barstool, idly tracing patterns in the spilled liquid with her finger, as the cacophony of the bar enveloped her.
"Did you hear about the latest one they found?" a gruff voice asked from her left--a man talking to one of his friends. "Same as the others, hands tied, drowned."
"Fourth girl this month," another man chimed in, his words slurred by alcohol. "You'd think the FBI would have caught the sicko by now."
Morgan tensed at their words, instinctively eavesdropping on the conversation between the two men. Their faces were blurred by her alcoholic fog, but their discussion pierced through, each word stinging like a thousand tiny needles.
They were talking abouthercase.
"Real grisly stuff," the first man said, shaking his head. "Makes you wonder what kind of monster could do something like that."
"Whoever he is, he's got some nerve," the second man added. "I tell ya, this city is getting more and more dangerous."
As the reality of her situation settled into her bones, Morgan felt a cold dread tighten around her chest. It was true - she hadn't caught the killer yet, and women continued to die. The pressure weighed upon her, threatening to crush her beneath its ever-growing burden. It was all too much - the mounting body count, the secrets, Derik's betrayal...
"Do you remember that girl who drowned while scuba diving a few years back?" one of the men said. "They say it wasn't no accident."
"Really?" The other man, eyes wide with interest, leaned in closer. "You think it's the same guy?"
"Could be," the first man shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. "Crazy world we live in."
