Chapter 6 #2
Matthew moves to block her path, his expression gentle but firm. "The club's already been to all of them, Morgan. Twice. We need to stay here in case they circle back."
Her shoulders slump and she lets the keys fall back into the bowl. "I can't stand not doing anything."
I step up beside her, my hand on her arm. "We are doing something. We're holding the fort. And we will find them."
"I just feel so helpless."
I move to her other side, creating our triangle. "We'll find her," I promise again. "We'll find them both."
Night falls, and with it, a deeper sense of urgency. Greyson calls with an update. Harris's phone has been turned off for hours. No credit card activity. No bus or train tickets in his name.
"He's gone to ground," Greyson says through the speaker. "Either that or he's using cash and a burner phone."
"What about Charlie?" Morgan asks, her voice right after the call ends. Morgan sinks onto the couch, her hands loose in her lap, staring at nothing. "What if we don't find her in time?"
"We will," I say, though I share her fear. Men like Harris are unpredictable. Dangerous.
Matthew sits beside her, his arm around her shoulders. "Greyson's got the whole club looking. Techy's monitoring everything. We'll find them."
Morgan nods, but I can see the exhaustion in her eyes.
"I think we need a break," Matthew says, standing and pulling Morgan to her feet. "Let me make you dinner."
I watch as he leads her into the kitchen, his voice low and soothing. The tension in my shoulders eases slightly seeing her respond to him, her steps becoming less wooden.
"What can I do?" I ask, moving to join them.
Matthew hands me a cutting board and a knife. "Chop vegetables. I'm making pasta."
For the next hour, we create a rhythm with Matthew at the stove, me at the counter, and Morgan setting the table. It feels almost normal, except for the way our eyes keep darting to the windows, the way we all jump at every creak of the house settling.
Dinner is quiet at first. Then Matthew begins telling stories about his training, the ridiculous situations he and I found themselves in overseas. I join in, adding details, exaggerating for effect. Slowly, the tight lines around Morgan's eyes begin to soften.
"There was that time in Bahrain," I say, watching her carefully, "when Matthew tried to order in Arabic and ended up asking for three chickens and a wife instead of dinner?"
Morgan's lips twitch. "He didn't."
"I absolutely did," Matthew confirms, grinning. "The waiter looked horrified."
A small laugh escapes her, the sound like music after the day we've had. "And you wonder why I worried about you."
Matthew reaches across the table, his fingers brushing hers. "We're here now. That's what matters."
After dinner, we move to the living room. I build a fire while Matthew finds an old movie we used to watch together in high school. Morgan settles between us on the couch, her body gradually relaxing as the evening progresses.
"I love this part," she murmurs when the protagonist makes his grand speech. Her head rests against my shoulder, her hand finding Matthew's in her lap.
The movie ends, but none of us move. The fire crackles, casting shadows across our faces. Morgan's breathing has deepened, her eyelids heavy.
"Bed?" Matthew suggests quietly.
I nod, lifting Morgan gently. She stirs but doesn't wake fully, her arms looping around my neck. Matthew follows us to the bedroom, pulling back the covers as I lay her down.
In the darkness, with Morgan sleeping between us, I allow myself to exhale. For tonight, at least, we've given her peace.
Morning comes too quickly. I wake to the sound of my phone ringing. Morgan stirs beside me as I reach for it, squinting at the screen.
"It's your dad," I tell her, sitting up.
Morgan sits up too, her hair a wild tangle, her eyes still puffy from sleep. "Answer it."
I put it on speaker. "Isaac?"
"Trenton." His voice is tight, controlled in a way that immediately puts me on alert. "Is Morgan with you?"
"I'm here, Dad," she says, leaning closer to the phone.
There's a pause, then, "I need you all to listen carefully. Don't interrupt. Don't ask questions until I'm finished."
My stomach drops. Beside me, I feel Matthew go still.
"Ethan just called me," Isaac continues. "He's my old friend from the department. They found two bodies in the state forest early this morning. Women. Different stages of decomposition."
Morgan makes a small sound. I take her hand.
"They look…" Isaac's voice breaks slightly. "They look exactly like Morgan. Hair color, height, build. The captain thinks they're all part of Harris's pattern."
The room tilts. I feel Matthew's hand land on my shoulder, steadying.
Morgan's hand is ice in mine. I watch as her face drains of color, her eyes fixed on the phone as if she could see through it to her father's face.
"They're searching for Harris now," Isaac says. "Full department resources. But I want you to be careful. This man isn't just a stalker. He's…"
"A killer," Morgan whispers, the words barely audible.
"Stay inside," Isaac instructs. "Don't answer the door for anyone but me or the police. I'm on my way now with Ethan."
"Dad—" Morgan's voice cracks.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he promises. "Just hold on."
The call ends. For a moment, none of us speak. The silence in the room is heavy, suffocating.
Then Morgan's composure shatters.
"He was going to kill me," she says, her voice rising with each word. "He was going to kill me and leave my body in the woods like those women."
I pull her into my arms, feeling her tremble against me. Matthew moves to her other side, his hand rubbing circles on her back.
"We won't let that happen," I promise, though the words feel hollow against the reality we now face.
"Charlie," Morgan gasps, pulling back. "What about Charlie? If he's killed before…"
"We don't know," Matthew says quickly. "She might still be alive."
"But those women…" Morgan's eyes are wild with horror. "They looked like me. What if he's keeping her somewhere? What if he's planning to—"
I stand, pacing the room. The walls feel too close, the house too vulnerable. "We need to call Greyson. The club can help with the search."
Matthew is already dialing. I watch Morgan as she sits on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around herself. The morning light streaming through the window catches the tear tracks on her cheeks.
I kneel in front of her, taking her hands. "We're going to find her, Morgan. I swear to you."
Her eyes meet mine, desperate. "You can't promise that."
"No," I admit. "But I promise we'll try."
Matthew hangs up, his face grim. "Greyson's mobilizing the club. They're meeting at the clubhouse in thirty minutes."
"We should go," I say, standing.
Morgan grabs my arm. "You're not leaving me here alone."
"We won't," Matthew assures her. "You're coming with us. Your dad can meet us there."
I help Morgan to her feet, watching as she moves to the closet, her movements mechanical. "He killed them because they looked like me," she says, pulling on a sweater. "He was going to kill me too."
"Morgan—"
"No," she cuts me off, her voice stronger now. "Don't try to make this better. Two women are dead because they looked like me. A little girl might be dead too."
I don't know what to say. The truth of her words hangs between us, ugly and inescapable.
"We'll find him," I say finally. "And we'll make him pay."
Her eyes meet mine, hardness and determination replacing the fear. "Promise me, Trent. Promise me we'll find him."
"I promise." The words are an oath. "Nothing in this world will stop us."
As we head for the door, I catch Matthew's eye. The look we exchange needs no words. We've found our enemy, and he's hurt our family. Now he'll learn what that means.
Morgan
The clubhouse hums with activity when we arrive.
The main room is filled with leather-clad men moving with purpose.
Techy's computer equipment is set up on the pool table, with maps spread across every available surface.
The familiar smell of leather and cigarette smoke grounds me, even as the horror of what we've learned continues to claw at my insides.
"Morgan." Greyson approaches, his face grave. "We're doing everything we can."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Matthew's hand finds the small of my back, steadying me as Trenton moves to join a group of men clustered around Techy.
"Let's get you a drink," Greyson suggests, leading us toward the bar.
Before we can reach it, Techy calls out, "Morgan, you need to see this."
We cross the room, the men parting to let us through. Techy's laptop screen displays a map, red dots marking locations across the state.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Facial recognition program," Techy explains, fingers flying across the keyboard. "I've been running missing persons reports through it, filtering for women with your general description. This is what I found."
The screen shifts to display a grid of women's faces. Dark hair, blue eyes, petite builds. My stomach clenches as I realize what I'm looking at.
"How many?" I whisper.
Techy's expression is hard, void of emotion. "Twelve confirmed missing, going back eight years. All within a hundred-mile radius of where we found the bodies this morning."
I step closer, studying the faces. They're all different, yet all similar enough that I can see the pattern. The realization hits me with sudden, devastating clarity.
"He didn't choose me specifically," I say, my voice stronger now. "He chooses a type."
Trenton's hand settles on my shoulder. "What does that mean?"
"It means this isn't my fault." The words come out almost as a gasp. "He didn't start killing because of me. He was already hunting women who look like… like us."
I gesture at the screen, at the faces of women whose lives were cut short because they fit a profile. Because they had dark hair and blue eyes and happened to cross paths with a monster.
"You understand what this means?" Matthew asks quietly.