Page 32 of Forsaken

Elizabeth nodded, her arms still wrapped protectively around Katie.

***

Back in their vehicle, Morgan's fingers flew across her tablet's screen, pulling up records with practiced efficiency. The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting Dallas in shades of dusk that seemed to echo the darkness they were uncovering. Simon Drayton's history emerged in digital fragments—his sister's death ruled negligent suicide, the facility's attempts to contain the scandal, the nurse who'd failed in her duty of care.

"Look at this," Morgan said, turning the tablet so Derik could see. "The facility had community partnerships. Reading rooms at Laura Benson's library. Art therapy exhibitions at EmilyWhitmore's gallery." She scrolled through more records, each connection clicking into place like tumblers in a lock. "It's all connected. Every victim had some link to where Mary died."

"And now?" Derik asked, though his tone suggested he already knew where this was leading.

Morgan pulled up another file, her heart racing as the final piece fell into place. "Vanessa Green. The nurse who left Mary alone that day. She quit nursing after the incident, couldn't handle the guilt. Now she's a dancer with the Dallas Contemporary Ballet."

The implications hung heavy in the autumn twilight. They'd found their killer's motivation—not just artistic expression or ritual significance, but vengeance. Each murder had been a step toward some greater retribution, each death a carefully choreographed movement in a dance of revenge.

Morgan's jaw tightened as she processed the implications. "He's been playing us this whole time. Each murder, each 'performance' - it's all been leading up to this final act."

Derik started the car, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "We need to get to Vanessa Green before he does. If she's his endgame..."

"She won't just be another victim," Morgan finished grimly. "She'll be the centerpiece of his grand finale."

As they sped through the darkening streets of Dallas, Morgan's mind raced. The killer's obsession with cycles, with transformation - it wasn't just about the seasons or agricultural rituals. It was personal. Each murder had been a stepping stone, a rehearsal for this moment.

Through Elizabeth's front window, they could see her holding Katie close, the patrol car's presence both protection and reminder of the danger surrounding them. They had a name now, but the question remained whether they could reachVanessa Green before Simon Drayton could transform her into his final masterpiece.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The glare of neon signs reflected off the windshield as Morgan weaved through Dallas traffic, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. The city's autumnal chill couldn't penetrate the car's interior, but a different kind of coldness gripped her chest.

Derik's voice cut through the tension. "What do you mean she's missing?" He barked into his phone. "When was the last confirmed sighting?"

Morgan's mind raced. Vanessa Green. The nurse. The one who should have helped Mary but didn't. Now she was gone, and Morgan knew exactly what that meant.

"An APB's been issued," Derik reported, his green eyes flashing with urgency. "Her car was spotted heading east out of town."

"East," Morgan muttered, a memory surfacing. "There's an old mental health clinic out that way. I used to pass it on trips to my dad's cabin."

Derik's brow furrowed. "You think Simon would take her there?"

"It's isolated. Abandoned." Morgan's jaw clenched. "Perfect for his sick 'performances.'"

Without warning, she yanked the wheel, cutting across three lanes of honking traffic. A taxi driver shouted obscenities, but Morgan barely registered it. Her focus had narrowed to a razor's edge.

"What are you doing?" Derik demanded, bracing himself against the dash.

"Taking a shortcut," Morgan growled. "If I'm right, we don't have much time."

The Dallas skyline receded in the rearview mirror as Morgan pressed the accelerator. She could almost smell the musty corridors of that abandoned clinic, feel the weight of what awaited them. Simon's twisted artistry, his perversion of life's natural cycles – it all led to this moment.

"We'll get there in time," Derik assured her, but Morgan heard the doubt beneath his words.

"We have to," she whispered, more to herself than her partner. The thought of failing, of arriving too late to another staged tableau of death and misguided rebirth, was unbearable.

As the urban sprawl gave way to open country, Morgan's resolve hardened. Whatever awaited them at that derelict clinic, she was ready. She had to be. For justice. For redemption. For a chance to finally close this chapter of nightmares.

The abandoned clinic loomed before them, a decaying monolith silhouetted against the blood-orange sky. Morgan killed the engine, her eyes scanning the crumbling facade for any sign of movement.

"Backup's at least fifteen minutes out," Derik said.

"We don't have fifteen minutes," she growled, unholstering her weapon.

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