CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Morgan's hands tightened on the steering wheel as she navigated the unassuming streets of the quiet neighborhood. She knew these quaint houses concealed more than manicured lawns and picket fences; they were a testament to the facades people erected, hiding the turmoil within. The car rolled to a stop in front of a modest dwelling where paint peeled from the siding like scabs from old wounds. This was Elliott Crane's last known address.
"Let's hope he's home," Morgan said, though her gut churned with a mix of anticipation and dread.
Exiting the vehicle, the pair approached the front door. Morgan rapped her knuckles against the wood, the sound sharp and demanding in the afternoon hush. Silence answered them, thick and stubborn. She knocked again, harder, the urgency clawing at her. Each tick of time was an ally to their suspect, each second a step further from justice.
Derik's stare met hers, the shared concern evident in his furrowed brow. The air between them was charged, a current of unspoken fears and what-ifs. But the house remained as still as a crypt, its windows like blind eyes withholding secrets.
"His car's not here," Derik noted, his voice low. Morgan's frustration simmered—a bubbling pot threatening to boil over. Elliott's absence was another knot in the tangle of their investigation, another delay in the hunt for truth.
"Damn it," she muttered, the words a bare whisper carried away on a breeze that offered no relief.
Morgan's jaw clenched as she watched the empty house, a sense of urgency gnawing at her. The silence from Elliott Crane's residence was more than just an absence of noise—it was a void where answers should have been. She turned to Derik, her gaze sharp and resolute.
"Time to put out an APB," Morgan declared, her voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within. "Elliott's our guy; I can feel it in my bones."
Derik nodded, his eyes reflecting the same conviction that burned in Morgan's. He reached for his radio, relaying the necessary details with practiced efficiency. As he spoke, Morgan ran through the facts again, the pieces of the puzzle shifting and aligning in her mind's eye.
The symbols, crudely spray-painted and hauntingly familiar, were too precise a match to Jace's drawings to be coincidental. Elliott's sudden disappearance following his brother's death was the kind of red flag that couldn't be ignored. It all pointed to a narrative steeped in vengeance—a story where Elliott played the protagonist consumed by grief and rage.
Morgan knew the profile well—loss could either break a person or forge them into something new. But Elliott's transformation seemed to be one of the darkest kind, a descent into a personal hell where murder masqueraded as tribute.
"His need for revenge is driving him to kill," she mused aloud, her words slicing through the stillness like a knife. "It's as if he's honoring Jace with every life he takes."
"Or trying to resurrect him," Derik added, his voice tinged with a mixture of skepticism and dread.
"Exactly." Morgan's response was immediate, her theory crystallizing with terrifying clarity. "He might believe these sacrifices will bring Jace back somehow. Delusional or not, we've got to find him before he strikes again. We should try his workplace."
The weight of their task settled on her shoulders, heavy but not unbearable. Morgan had carried heavier burdens, endured greater trials.
"Let's move," she commanded, already striding toward the car. Their window of opportunity was closing, and if Elliott Crane intended to spill more blood in his brother's name, they had to intercept him before another sunset marked another loss.
The car's engine roared to life, the sound a testament to their resolve. Morgan glanced at Derik, seeing her own determination mirrored in his expression. Together, they'd face the darkness ahead, unwavering in their pursuit of a man whose grief had twisted into something monstrous. They had to hurry; lives depended on it, and time was a luxury they no longer had.
***
Morgan’s boots crunched against the gravel as they closed in on the construction site where Elliott was last employed. The sun’s descent lent an orange tint to the sky, shadows stretching like dark fingers across the uneven ground. She scanned the area, noting the eerie quiet broken only by the occasional grumble of machinery in the distance.
"Looks deserted," Derik observed, his voice low.
"Let's not take any chances." Morgan kept her tone even, her eyes vigilant.
They moved with purpose, navigating through a maze of construction materials and heavy equipment. The jobsite, half-built and abandoned for the day, seemed almost otherworldly in the fading light.
A figure detached itself from the shadow of an unfinished wall, a man in a hard hat stepping forward, wiping his brow with a dusty hand. Morgan assessed him quickly—a coworker, she presumed—his stance wary but open.
"Can we help you folks?" he called out, squinting against the setting sun.
"Agents Cross and Greene, FBI," Morgan stated, showing her badge briefly. "We're looking for Elliott Crane. Is he around?"
The man's face shifted to concern as he shook his head, a sigh escaping him that spoke volumes. "Haven't seen Elliott in days."
"Since when?" Derik interjected, picking up on the unsaid.
"Few days ago, maybe. He’s been off since his brother passed last year." The man's voice held a note of sympathy. "Elliott... well, he took it hard. Started pulling away from everyone, holed up somewhere, I guess."
"Did he say anything before he left? Anything that might tell us where he'd go?" Morgan pressed, her mind racing.
"Nothing. Just... wasn't himself, you know?" He looked between the two agents, the lines on his face deepening. Morgan listened as the coworker's voice softened, his gaze trailing off to the unfinished beams above. "Elliott and Jace had it rough from the start," he began, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Their folks... well, let's just say home wasn't a safe haven for those boys. Addicts, both of 'em, and mean when they were using."
She noticed how his eyes darkened with the memory, reflecting a deep-seated pity for the Crane brothers. "Elliott was like a father to Jace, always looking out for him. But protecting your kid brother in a place like that... takes its toll, you know?"
Morgan nodded, her mind racing as she absorbed every detail. She could imagine Elliott, the burden of guardianship thrust upon him prematurely, trying to shield Jace from their harsh reality.
"Jace's death hit him hard," the coworker continued, shaking his head. "Real hard. Elliott was never quite the same after that. Like something inside him just broke."
"Thank you for sharing this," Morgan said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "It helps us understand him better."
The man nodded, looking up at the sky where the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting an orange glow across the site. "Just hope you find him before he does something... irrevocable."
As the coworker turned away, heading back into the maze of steel and cement, Morgan made her way to the car. She pulled out her phone, the screen illuminating her determined face against the encroaching dusk. With a few swift taps, she dialed her team.
"Cross here. What's the status on Crane's vehicle?" she asked, her tone all business.
There was a brief pause on the other end before the reply came. "No sign yet, Agent Cross. The perimeter's been widened; we're checking all known associates and hangouts."
"Keep me posted. Every minute counts," Morgan urged, ending the call with a press of her thumb. Her anxiety was mounting, each passing second a reminder of what was at stake.
Derik watched her, his eyes reflecting a shared concern. "What now?" he asked, his voice low.
"Stay vigilant," Morgan replied curtly. "We keep searching. He's out there somewhere, and we need to find him before he strikes again."
***
Hours passed, the dusk giving way to the deep blue of night. The city's sounds faded into a distant hum as Morgan and Derik sat in their parked car, eyes vigilant. The crescent moon cast a muted glow on the abandoned streets, adding an eerie stillness to their wait.
Derik squirmed in his chair, the leather groaning beneath him. "Feels like we're chasing a phantom," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
"Or a hunter," Morgan retorted softly, her eyes glued to the street. "Biding his time, ready to pounce when we least expect it."
"Another life hangs in the balance tonight," she said, breaking the silence. Her hand rested on her gun holster, a small comfort against the uncertainty. She could feel the scars beneath her sleeves, each a reminder of battles fought and a past that had forged her resolve in steel.
"Morgan.." Derik began, turning to face her. He reached out, as if to bridge the distance she had put between them, but stopped short. She felt his hesitation, the unspoken recognition of her need to maintain control, to keep focused on the hunt. "Nothing gets past us," he finally said, his voice firm. "We'll stop him, Morgan. We have to."
She nodded, accepting his silent pledge. Derik understood the stakes; he shared the burden. Together, they waited in the stillness, two sentinels against the dark, ready to pounce at the first sign of movement, the first whisper of trouble. For now, they watched and waited, every sense attuned to the shadows that danced just beyond the reach of the headlights.
Morgan’s phone pierced the silence, its ring slicing through the tension like a blade. She snatched it up, her pulse spiking as an agent's voice crackled through the line: "Cross, we've spotted Elliott's vehicle. North side, near an old construction site."
"Copy that," Morgan replied sharply, her words clipped as she tossed the phone aside and ignited the engine. Beside her, Derik's gaze sharpened, reflecting the urgency that had suddenly charged the atmosphere.
Lights flashed and sirens wailed, tearing through the quiet streets as Morgan maneuvered the car with practiced ease. The cityscape became a blur of lights and shadows, each moment propelling them closer to the man who held death in his hands. With every turn, Morgan’s focus narrowed, her thoughts crystallizing into a single goal: find Elliott Crane before another life was lost.
The construction site loomed ahead, a graveyard of industrial ambition under the moonlit sky. They screeched to a halt, dust swirling around the vehicle as they emerged into the cool air. Silence reigned, broken only by the occasional clatter of loose metal or the distant barking of a dog. The half-built structures cast eerie silhouettes against the darkness, standing sentinel over a landscape of abandonment and decay.
Morgan and Derik moved swiftly, their footsteps echoing off the cold, hard ground. Each shadow seemed to harbor potential danger, each whisper of wind a possible sign of Elliott's presence. Morgan’s hand never strayed far from her holster, the weight of her gun a grim reminder of what might come.
The site was a wasteland, untouched by the warmth of human activity. Machinery stood motionless, hulking beasts frozen in time. Piles of debris lay scattered haphazardly, the remnants of a day's labor now serving as macabre hiding spots for a killer on the edge of madness.
"Keep your eyes peeled," Morgan murmured, her voice barely louder than the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Derik nodded, scanning the darkness, every sense alert for the slightest movement.
They advanced with caution, aware that each step could bring them face-to-face with a deranged mind capable of turning a place of creation into a tableau of death. As they searched, Morgan knew that each passing second could mean the difference between life and death, between justice and another addition to Elliott's grim tally.
This was the hunt—a race against time, against the encroaching night, and against the very shadows that sought to conceal Elliott Crane from their grasp. And in the heart of the night, with the chill of the wind as their constant companion, Morgan and Derik pressed on, determined to end the nightmare before it claimed another soul.