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Opening her eyes,Morgan's gaze settled on Skunk. He lay beside her chair, his chest rising andfalling with the steady rhythm of sleep. With a sigh, she reached down and ranher fingers through his short fur, feeling the solid warmth of him. "I'm sorry,boy," she whispered. “I should've kept you closer.” Her voice was thickwith regret for not protecting him from Thomas’s vindictive games. But Skunkmerely lifted his head, his tail thumping against the floorboards in aforgiving rhythm. In his canine world, her apologies were unnecessary. Histrust in her was absolute, his presence a silent promise that he would stand byher no matter the chaos that swirled around them.
The simple purityof Skunk's loyalty brought a semblance of peace to Morgan's tumultuousthoughts. Animals didn’t dwell on vengeance or harbor resentment. They lived inthe moment, and right now, Skunk’s moment was one of contentment at her side.Morgan exhaled slowly, allowing herself a momentary respite from the weight ofher father's sins and Thomas's duplicity. There was solace in the bond sheshared with Skunk, a reminder that not all relationships were laced with hiddendaggers.
"Goodboy," she said softly, scratching behind his ears in the way she knew heloved. He responded with a nuzzle against her knee, a gesture of understandingthat needed no words. For now, this was enough – a quiet acknowledgment ofshared struggles and the unspoken vow that, together, they would face whateverdarkness lay ahead.
The glow of thecase files dimmed as Morgan's eyes flickered to her phone once more. Thesilence from the device was deafening, echoing the hollowness creeping insideher chest. Thomas wasn't going to call; she could feel it in her bones. With asigh that seemed to carry the weight of her world, Morgan pushed back from thetable and rose, her movements mechanical, betraying her exhaustion.
She crossed theroom, Skunk trailing behind her like a shadow, his nails clicking gentlyagainst the hardwood floor. At each door, her hands moved with practicedprecision, turning locks into place with the satisfying click of security.Windows followed each snap of the latch a small fortress erected against thenight and its uncertainties.
"Time forbed, Skunk," she murmured to the loyal creature by her side, but there wasno conviction in her voice. Sleep was a battlefield lately, not a sanctuary.She switched off the lights, their absence cloaking the room in shadows thatseemed to breathe with secrets untold.
The bedroomwelcomed her with open arms, cool sheets whispering promises of rest. But evenas Morgan slid beneath them, the tension clung to her like a second skin. Hermind wouldn't shut off, replaying every detail of the cases, every nuance ofThomas’s lies. The darkness of the room pressed close, heavy with unaskedquestions and unresolved anger.
And then, thedarkness of sleep claimed her.
***
The dreamsnatched her from the precipice of peace, plunging her into a void where theair was thick with dread. She was running, feet pounding against an unseenground, breath tearing from her lungs in ragged gasps. Fear was a tangiblething here, wrapping around her throat, squeezing until stars burst before hereyes.
A shadow loomedbehind her, stretching long fingers towards her in a grotesque dance of death.Morgan tried to scream, but her voice was trapped, a silent cry in a nightmareof silence. The figure gained on her, relentless, its presence suffocating.
She could almostfeel the cold breath on her neck, the whisper of malice that promised pain.Strong hands closed around her throat, unyielding, the pressure building untilthe world started to fade at the edges. Panic clawed at her insides, a primalinstinct to survive against the grip of the shadow that sought to claim herlife.
Her bodythrashed, fighting against the invisible assailant, but the darkness tightenedits hold, merciless. The line between dreams and reality blurred, terror theonly constant as the specter strangled her, drawing her deeper into the abyss.
In the distance,a faint sound pierced the suffocation – the jingle of Skunk's collar, alifeline thrown across the divide. It was enough to shatter the illusion,enough to drag her back to the waking world, gasping for air and drenched insweat.
Morgan’s eyessnapped open to a room awash in the soft glow of morning light. Her breathscame in short, ragged pulls as she fought to disentangle herself from thelingering tendrils of her nightmare. The terror that had chased her through thedark corridors of sleep now seemed absurd in the face of the gentle sunbeamsdancing across her quilt.
The shrill ringof her phone sliced through the haze of her thoughts, insistent and jarring.For a moment, she simply stared at the device, willing it to be silent. But theuniverse, it seemed, was not inclined to grant her such a reprieve. With areluctant hand, she reached over, the muscles in her arm protesting withstiffness born from tension. The caller ID flashed Derik's name in bold,ominous letters.
"Cross,"she answered, her voice still thick with sleep and the remnants of fear. Theagent part of her brain, always on alert despite the exhaustion, cataloged thebackground noises from Derik's end— the low hum of traffic, the distant wail ofsirens. It painted a picture before he even spoke.
"Badnews," Derik said, his tone grave, a stark contrast to the usual playfulbanter they managed on good days. There was a weight to his words, a heavinessthat settled in Morgan's stomach like lead. "Another body has beenfound."
His declarationhung between them, suspended in the silence that followed. Morgan felt the lastvestiges of sleep evaporate, replaced by the all-too-familiar adrenaline rushof a case taking a sharp turn into the urgent. She swung her legs out of bed,the cool touch of the hardwood floor grounding her.
"Where?"she asked, her mind already racing, trying to draw connections, patterns,anything that might give them an edge.
"The old warmemorial park on 5th. I'm headed there now." Derik's voice betrayed theweariness of a man who'd seen too much death, felt too much loss.
"Give me tenminutes," Morgan replied, a grim determination settling over her. Sheended the call and stood, her body moving on autopilot as she pulled on herclothes, each movement mechanical and precise. Her dark hair fell in a messycascade around her shoulders, a silent testament to the restless night behindher.
As she strappedon her holster, she took a moment to steel herself for what lay ahead. Threewomen, three lives snuffed out and left on display like macabre exhibits.Emily, Sarah, Jennifer— names that now carried the weight of a killer's mark. Afourth name would soon join that list, another victim claimed by a shadow thatlurked amongst them, cloaked in the guise of the past.
With one lastglance at Skunk, who watched her with soulful eyes that seemed to understandfar more than any dog should, Morgan stepped out into the new day. The sunlightdid little to warm her. The hunt was on once more, and this time, she vowed,they would not be left chasing ghosts.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Morgan's bootscrunched the gravel underfoot as she approached the latest crime scene, herbreath forming misty clouds in the early morning air. The war memorial park wasstill and silent, save for the grim congregation of law enforcement personnelthat had gathered amongst the looming shapes of tanks and artillerypieces—silent sentinels to another time's violence. She noted the incongruityof death's fresh presence in a place dedicated to those long passed.
"Nicole Lee,twenty-nine," Derik informed her without preamble, his green eyesflickering with a tired intensity as he gestured toward the body. He stood outsharply against the gray backdrop, his black hair slicked back, the cut of hissuit professional despite the weary lines etched into his face.
Morgan's gazeshifted to where Nicole lay, her final pose grotesquely reminiscent of theother victims they'd discovered. Strangled. Discarded. A chill that had nothingto do with the dawn air crept up Morgan's spine. Despite the tattoos that inkedher skin—each one a mark of her history, a scar from her time spent wrongfullyimprisoned—the sight of Nicole's lifeless form nudged at the walls she'd builtaround herself. It was a vulnerability she detested but couldn't dismiss; witheach victim, it became harder to detach.
She steppedcloser, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as she crouched near Nicole.The woman's features were frozen in an expression of terror that seemed tosilently scream into the void. Morgan's hands clenched into fists, thefrustration of this case threading tightly around her resolve. Unnerved wasn'ta sensation she allowed herself often—it was dangerous—but there was no denyingthe growing unease that the killer's pattern, or lack thereof, instilled inher.
"Like theothers," Morgan murmured, more to herself than to Derik. The consistencywas maddening, the only connection between the victims being their gender andthe brutality of their ends. The killer left them displayed at historical sitesacross the city, a morbid signature that felt like both a taunt and a riddle.
