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"Uncertain,"Mueller admitted, "but given the timing, I want you and Derik to look intoit. I'm emailing you the details now."
"Understood."Morgan ended the call, the weight of a new name, Rachel King, settling heavy onher chest.
"Anothermissing woman?" Derik asked, his voice thick with a dread that mirroredher own.
"RachelKing," she confirmed, feeling the resolve harden within her. "We'regoing to look into it. Could be our break—or another cruel twist."
"Let's hopeshe's still out there," Derik said, turning to meet Morgan's gaze, greeneyes reflecting a shared determination. They would find Rachel King before thiscity claimed her as another ghost, another name whispered in sorrowful remembrance.They had to.
***
The brisk windtousled Morgan's dark hair as she stepped out of the sedan. She paused for amoment, the weight of fatigue momentarily anchoring her to the spot. Hertattoos, hidden beneath her jacket, seemed to thrum with an anxious energy thatmirrored her racing thoughts. Derik Greene, looking no less weary, pushed openhis door and stood beside her, green eyes scanning the quaint storefront beforethem.
"King'sCorner," read the faded wooden sign that hung above the entrance to RachelKing's bookstore, its cozy charm now overshadowed by an ominous silence. Nocheerful ring of the bell would greet customers today; the only sound was thehollow echo of their footsteps as they approached.
"Looks likea place frozen in time," Derik remarked quietly, his voice barelydisturbing the stillness around them.
"Let's hopewe can unfreeze it and find some answers," Morgan replied, her handresting on the door handle. With a gentle push, it gave way, revealing theintimate world within.
Dust particlesdanced in the slivers of light that managed to pierce through the blinds,casting long shadows over rows of bookshelves packed with literary treasures.The scent of old paper and worn leather filled Morgan's nostrils as she took acautious step forward, her eyes narrowing to adjust to the dim interior.
"Last seenhere..." Morgan muttered under her breath, her gaze sweeping across thespace where Rachel King had last been alive—hopefully still was. The air feltheavy with untold stories, each one clinging to the spines of the books thatlined the shelves.
Morgan movedmethodically through the store, her detective's instincts guiding her. Here, acushioned armchair sat at an angle, as if someone had just risen from it.There, a coffee cup rested on a side table, its contents long since cold. Toanyone else, these were benign details of a quiet shop; to Morgan, they weresilent witnesses to Rachel's final moments before...
"Prayingwon't change what's already happened," she chided herself silently, yetshe couldn't help but whisper a desperate hope into the emptiness, "Pleasedon't let her meet the same fate."
Derik kept arespectful distance, giving her room to work, yet close enough to offersupport. He understood her process, the way she absorbed every detail,searching for the thread that would lead them out of this labyrinth of theunknown.
"Anything?"he asked, his words a lifeline thrown into the void of her concentration.
"Nothingyet," Morgan answered, her voice steady despite the tumultuous sea ofexhaustion threatening to engulf her. "But I'm not done looking."
As she continuedher exploration, the pieces of Rachel's life told a story that was bothpersonal and painfully familiar. Each title on the shelves, each note left onthe counter, whispered fragments of the woman who had vanished into the night.It was a narrative Morgan knew all too well, one that she'd lived herself whenfalse accusations had stolen years of her life.
"Findsomething?" Derik's inquiry broke through her reverie, a reminder thatthey weren't just chasing ghosts—they were hunting a very real predator.
"Stillpiecing it together," Morgan replied, her determination burning asbrightly as the first day she'd donned the badge. The memory of her owninjustice fueled her, propelled her forward. She would unearth the truth forRachel and for the other girls whose voices had been cruelly silenced.
"Let's keeplooking," she said, more to herself than to Derik. "Every secondcounts."
Morgan's fingersskimmed over the spines of books as she moved along the shelves, the mustyscent of paper and ink filling her senses. The store was a trove of literaryhistory, but amid the classics and bestsellers, something caught her eye—asection conspicuously out of place in the cozy ambiance. Her pulse quickened asshe drew out several volumes with titles boldly condemning the occult andsupernatural practices.
"Derik, lookat this," Morgan said, her voice low. The collection of anti-occultliterature was extensive, each book a silent testament to Rachel King’sconvictions. In a town where superstitious beliefs blurred the lines ofreality, such vocal opposition was risky, perhaps even dangerous. The thematiccontent resonated eerily with the pattern Morgan had already identified—eachvictim had taken a stand against the shadowy world of the occult before meetingtheir untimely end.
"Matches theprofile," Derik murmured, his gaze sweeping over the titles. "If ourguy is targeting women like these..."
"Then Rachelwas a prime candidate." Morgan finished his thought, her eyes darkeningwith the weight of implication. It was all coming together, the twisted logicof a killer weaving a narrative of retribution against those who dared tochallenge his hidden realm.
The convictionsettled heavy on her shoulders, a burden she was all too familiar with. Shepulled out her phone, the well-worn device feeling like an extension of her ownresolute will.
Morgan's fingerstrailed along the spines of the books as she moved through the narrow aisles ofthe bookstore, each title a silent witness to Rachel King's last hours. Derikwas already at the door, his silhouette framed against the fading lightoutside, a stark reminder of the day slipping away. They were both exhausted,their bodies running on little more than adrenaline and the relentless drive tofind the missing woman before it was too late.
"Anythingelse we should look into while we're here?" Derik asked, glancing over hisshoulder, his green eyes searching the dimly lit corners of the room for cluesthey might have missed.
Morgan shook herhead, her dark hair brushing against her shoulders as she joined him."We've covered everything. Let's get back and regroup—"
Her phone buzzedin her pocket, cutting off her words, an insistent vibration that demandedattention. Pulling it out, she saw Mueller's name flash across the screen. Shetensed, every muscle in her body coiling like a spring. With a swift motion,she answered the call, holding the phone to her ear.
