Page 55 of Darkness

Hunger.

Craving. The nurse came back for the oxycodone hidden under her bed. The occisor didn’t know how to handle withdrawals. In its weakened state, the creature hadn’t fully taken over the nurse’s body, though it appeared to have called the shots—and determined to never let itself grow so weak again.

Four roommates. Three dead. One missing. The nurse killed one of the roommates slowly, meticulously, and painfully. Farren yanked himself free before experiencing more of the depravity as he had at the hospital, bearing witness to another’s pain.

In the nurse’s case, she hadn’t merely watched—she’d taken part, albeit against her will.

And to her great horror. She hadn’t been killed outright, but forced to share her body on some level, a silent observer. Which might’ve been worse.

Morrisey helped Farren up. “It’s freaky as hell to watch you stop breathing.”

“You have no idea.” Nightmares would plague Farren tonight. The nurse had loved her friends like family, watching without being able to help as the entity inside her ripped them apart, stabbed them, gouged them with the corkscrew, and hacked them with the knife.

While the roommates died by traveler, the nurse died of an overdose once the entity took the body of the final roommate and fled, leaving Veronica Henry to handle the aftermath.

The traveler had eaten well enough to stay hidden for a while before needing to feed again and could be long gone before Farren could find them. Yet, they’d left their signature in the nurse’s mind. Farren would know the murderer if they met again.

He already had a picture of the roommate.

Farren made his way to the door, intent on learning all available information about the missing roommate and handing the scene over to Atlanta PD for processing, when he caught movement in his periphery.

Morrisey casually kneeled, exposed his wrist, and placed bare skin against the only clean spot on the second victim’s arm. He closed his eyes, shuddered, then reopened them.

Farren busied himself, pretending he hadn’t noticed. What had Morrisey done? He hadn’t entered the woman—humans couldn’t. But he had done… something.

Morrisey remained silent while returning to the compound, focusing on adding more details to his sketches.

And looking pale.

Chapter Nineteen

No one stopped Morrisey when he left the office for the day, head full of more than he ever wanted to know about a young woman who’d just lost three housemates. Leary hadn’t stated exactly when he expected Morrisey to move to the compound, after all. Their bad. He’d managed two stiff drinks—at least—in his apartment before a knock sounded on the door. Who the fuck came knocking at this hour? He checked his phone. Oh. Only nine p.m. For a brief moment, his mind flashed to an image of Farren on his doorstep, wearing nothing but a smile.

As long as Farren didn’t drag Morrisey back to the gray abyss, as he’d taken to calling the compound.

He savored the image of a naked Farren for a moment longer before knocking came again. “All right!”

Instead of an image from his fantasies, he opened the door on a smiling redhead in a too-tight shimmering dress and too-high heels holding a bottle of tequila. Wow! So much silver. Morrisey’s hopes died a cold and heartless death.

Still, tequila.

“Who’re you?”

The woman’s face shimmered for just one moment, showing another. Oh.

“It’s me,” Jessa gushed in an imitation of Marilyn Monroe’s breathy style. “You look like you’ve been through hell. I thought you might like some company.”

Farren’s company, maybe. “What do you want?” While Morrisey had seen Jessa before, they’d never been alone, and she fed off sexual energy. Not that Morrisey had any to spare. He imagined her showing up at the door in an apron. Hi, I’m your new neighbor. Can I borrow a cup of lust?

“Other than for you to find out who’s killing my friends? Just to have a drink.” Jessa smiled. The one simple gesture encompassed so much more than Let’s have a drink. Had he been straight, Morrisey could have fallen for Jessa’s wiles.

Guilt niggled for a mere moment. Morrisey hadn’t even looked at the list she’d given him in a while. He hid his guilt under a disdainful, “Who’re you wearing like a cheap suit today?”

Jessa swept a hand up and down, indicating her body. “Meet Mary. She hates going to the gym, so I handled her workout today in exchange for her letting me pay you a visit.”

She was here, and with her buying, Morrisey could save his supply of tequila. He offered his glass. “Pour.”

Jessa poured him a shot, then rummaged through his kitchen cabinets, finally returning with a chipped coffee mug. “Dude. You should really clean your apartment. Something in a saucepan on the stove winked at me.”

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