Page 53 of For Rage

No.

She had to catch him.

Morgan stood up, taking out her gun, and chased the Maze Killer into the unknown.

The pain in Morgan's leg was nothing compared to the fear and adrenaline coursing through her body. She knew she had to find the Maze Killer before the poison took its toll. She stumbled through the maze, her eyes darting left and right, her senses heightened. She could hear the sound of footsteps growing fainter by the second. She knew she was getting closer.

The poison worked fast, and Morgan could feel her body weakening by the second. She stumbled through the maze, her vision blurring as she tried to keep up with the man. Her gun felt heavy in her hand, and she knew she didn't have long before she would lose consciousness.

As she turned a corner, she saw a figure up ahead. It was the man, standing with his back to her. Morgan raised her gun, aiming for his head.

"Freeze!" she yelled, but the man didn't move.

"Put your hands up!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the maze.

The Maze Killer slowly turned his head, revealing a face that was unremarkable in every way. Morgan expected him to look more sinister, more terrifying. But he just looked like an ordinary man.

"I've been expecting you, Agent Cross," he said, his voice deep and smooth. "I must admit that I'm impressed. You've come farther than I thought you would."

Morgan kept her gun steady, her breathing ragged.But she found that the gun was weighing more by the second, and she could barely hold it up. Even if she did shoot, she doubted it would be in a straight line, and Randall, the killer, seemed to know that.

He turned to her with a calm smile.

"I'm impressed," he said. "I wanted someone to find me, and the police simply weren't enough. But you were. You played well."

Morgan could feel herself fading. In her last moments, she found herself not thinking about her life, but wanting to know why he had done all of this. Why was she about to die? For what purpose?

What were the means to his ends?

"Tell me why," she croaked out, barely holding herself up. "Why did you do this? Why the notes?"

He walked closer to her. Morgan's finger went limp, and soon, the gun fell from her hands. She could barely hold her legs up, but she still could see him getting closer to her, blurring more and more by the second.

“It was all because of her,” he said.

“Your aunt,” Morgan said. At least she had learned some things on her own.

“That’s right,” he said. “She used to take me out here, you know. Leave me in here for hours. She’d write little notes, leave them as clues on how I could get out ..." He laughed, but it was full of angst. "I would cry and beg. I could never find my way out, no matter how many times she left me out here."

Morgan's vision was fading, but she held on, wanting to hear the rest of his story. It was a story that would never be heard by anyone else, and she wanted to know it all. If this was how she died, she could at least die understanding the sick mind of the person who killed her.

"So, you punished women who looked like her," Morgan said. "And you taunted us with your notes, the same way your aunt taunted you."

She collapsed to her knees. Almost over. She saw her dad's face, smiling. She'd be with him soon.

"That's right." The voice echoed around her. He was getting closer. "Smart and perceptive. You were worthy."

She didn't have much strength left. But she always kept a hunting knife strapped inside her boot. He got closer to her, and she could see his feet coming toward her face. She subtly reached for the knife. He was too busy talking to notice.

"My aunt was ... a cold woman," he said. "She could be lovely too. But mostly, she was cold. Vulgar ... I hated that red hair ... all my life ... then, by the time I finally got to see her die, all the red had faded. She'd become gray, a haggard, old bag. That was why I started to slip a little something extra into her evening teas."

"You killed her," Morgan said.

He was closer.

She gripped the knife.

"I did," he said, bemused. "But it didn't go how I'd always wanted. I craved more ... needed more. These young women had much redder hair. They were all like her."

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