Page 7 of Forsaken

"How long?" Derik's voice was professional, but Morgan heard the tension underneath. After years of partnership, she could read the subtle signs of his distress—the slight tightness around his eyes, the way his fingers curled against his palm.

"Based on lung capacity and water temperature, I'd estimate three to four minutes for Laura. Emily's harder to pinpoint due to tissue decomposition, but likely similar." Dr. Chan's expression softened slightly. "They were conscious the whole time. He wanted them to experience it fully."

The ritualistic nature of the deaths made Morgan's stomach turn

"He's trying to tell us something with these seasonal tableaus," she said, studying the arrangement of marks on Emily's neck. The symbols seemed to dance, like ancient writing coming alive. "Making them part of some bigger picture. These aren't just murders—they're installations."

"Whatever message he's sending," Dr. Chan said, stripping off her gloves with a snap that echoed in the sterile room, "he's not done yet. The level of planning, the sophistication of the ritual elements—this is building to something. A crescendo."

Morgan thought of Cordell, of his carefully orchestrated destruction of her life, of how each piece had been positioned for maximum effect. Different monster, same methodical approach. The parallel made her skin crawl.

"Time of death estimate for Laura?" she asked, needing to focus on concrete details rather than the shadows of her past.

"Laura was killed between ten and midnight last night. Emily was also killed at night, as you’ll see in my report for her.”

Morgan nodded, her mind already racing ahead, piecing together the killer's timeline. "So he's operating under cover ofdarkness. Smart. Less chance of witnesses, easier to move bodies without detection."

"And the darkness itself could be symbolic," Derik added, his brow furrowed in thought. "Night as a time of transition, of transformation. It fits with the seasonal themes he's working with."

Morgan filed that detail away, adding it to the growing pattern. Moon phases, seasonal elements, ritual markings—their killer was working from a very specific playbook. Understanding it might be the key to preventing his next performance.

“I want to see Emily’s crime scene for myself,” Morgan said. “At least, what’s left of it.”

***

An hour later, Morgan stood at the edge of the cornfield where Emily's body had been found, the wind whipping at her jacket. The morning sun had burned away the mist, but a chill lingered in the air, carrying the scent of dried corn stalks and decaying vegetation. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered between the rows like tattered flags, marking where horror had invaded this peaceful place.

The Dallas skyline was barely visible on the horizon, its glass towers catching the morning light. Morgan thought of Cordell somewhere in that urban maze, plotting his next move. One monster at a time, she reminded herself. Focus on the killer you can catch.

"The file says Emily's car was never located," Morgan said, flipping through the case notes. The paper crackled in the cold air. "But Laura's car was found at the library where he took her. Why the difference?"

Derik scanned the horizon, where golden corn stalks swayed against a steel-gray sky. His dark hair ruffled in the wind, andMorgan caught herself watching the way the sun brought out the silver at his temples. Even after everything—her imprisonment, his betrayal, their slow journey back to trust—these moments of noticing him still caught her off guard.

"You think he used Emily's car to transport Laura?" he asked, turning back to her. His green eyes were sharp, analytical, the way they always got when they were closing in on something important.

"No." Morgan closed the file, her mind racing through possibilities. Every choice had meaning, especially with killers this methodical. "Laura's car was left near where he took her—a message, a signature. But Emily's car had to be useful to him somehow. Important enough to hide."

Understanding dawned in Derik's eyes. The same look he'd had years ago, before everything fell apart, when they'd been in perfect sync as partners. "You think it's still here somewhere."

They split up, moving through the corn rows in a grid pattern they'd perfected over years of partnership. The dried stalks rustled around them, creating a whispering symphony that set Morgan's nerves on edge. Her boots left prints in the soft earth, and she thought of Emily's final walk through this same field. Had she known what was coming? Had she seen the ritual madness in her killer's eyes before the end?

Morgan pushed deeper into the cornfield, her senses on high alert. The rustling stalks seemed to close in around her, creating a maze of golden walls that stretched in every direction. She fought back the claustrophobic feeling, reminding herself that this was just another crime scene, another puzzle to solve.

A glint of metal caught her eye, barely visible through the dense foliage. She pushed aside the corn stalks, revealing the chrome bumper of a car, carefully concealed beneath a makeshift cover of dried vegetation.

"Derik!" she called out, her voice carrying across the field. "I've got something!"

She heard his footsteps approaching as she began to clear away more of the camouflage. Emily's sedan emerged from its organic cocoon, leaves and corn husks falling away to reveal a vehicle that looked eerily pristine.

Derik arrived, slightly out of breath. "Good eye. I better call this in, get forensics down here.”

As Derik called in their discovery, Morgan studied the vehicle without touching it. Even from here, she could see the care that had gone into hiding it—branches arranged to break up its silhouette, its position chosen to keep it invisible from the road. The killer hadn't just dumped it; he'd curated it, like everything else in his deadly exhibition. It stood out to her, too—because Laura's car had been left in the open, why did he bother to hide Emily's? Maybe Emily was his first, and he was nervous, but now he was getting bolder.

"Forensics team is en route," Derik said, pocketing his phone. His breath fogged in the chilly air. "Twenty minutes out." He paused, studying her face with the kind of attention that came from years of partnership. "What are you thinking?"

Morgan's eyes remained fixed on the car, her mind assembling the pieces of their killer's pattern. The corn stalks swayed around them, their whispers now seeming less like weather and more like secrets.

"I'm thinking this isn't just about hiding evidence," Morgan said, her eyes narrowing as she circled the vehicle. "This car is part of his ritual. Look how meticulously it's concealed—it's almost... reverent."

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