Page 48 of For Rage

"I am," Morgan said. "Where've you been?"

"Mueller has Johnson working on that antidote he wrote a paper on," Derik explained. "In exchange for his freedom, of course, but we're not gonna give it to him unless we figure out if he's really innocent."

"He might be," Morgan said. "Derik, you need to get here. Now."

"I'm on my way."

Morgan hung up and continued through the kitchen, her flashlight illuminating the old, rusty appliances. She wondered if Randall had ever used any of them, or if he had just eaten out every night. In the back of the kitchen, she found a door to the basement.

The stairs creaked under her feet as she descended into the darkness. She shone her flashlight around, her heart beating in her chest. The basement was empty, save for a few boxes. She navigated her way back upstairs, but there was no sign of life in this house. Nothing at all. It seemed even the spiders had died in the absence of Tilly.

Going back upstairs, Morgan made her way across the living room, her feet creaking on the old wood floors. No one was here. And there was no evidence Randall was truly the killer, other than these creepy photos of his aunt who happened to look a lot like the victims did.

Morgan sighed, worried she was just wasting more time. All of these family photos, as unnerving as they were, reminded her of her father. The only person to visit her often and consistently in prison, until he'd died before she was even out.

She never got to go to his funeral.

Hadn't visited his tombstone yet. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

She'd missed so much of her father's life, but his faith in her had never wavered. He'd always known she was innocent. She'd never forget the kindness he'd shown her, the only light she had in an otherwise dark world. Prison had been her personal hell, but her dad had still been there for her, as he had been her whole life.

Morgan slowly made her way back to the living room and studied another portrait of Randall Fink with Tilly.They looked stiff, unhappy. Nothing like the photos Morgan had with her father. She'd always felt at ease around him, and she missed him more than words could describe.

She missed his voice, his laughter. She missed having dinner at his house before she went to prison. She missed his sense of humor and his easygoing nature. She missed the way he'd make her feel safe and protected, no matter what was happening in the world around her. She missed his hugs, his warmth, and his unconditional love.

Life felt so cold without him. Cold and empty. All Morgan could do was stand there in silence, thinking about all of the moments she'd missed with her father and how much she wished he was still here.

Then she heard a noise.

A creaking. Morgan whipped around, only to see the front door slowly being pushed open.

Morgan placed her hand on her gun, ready for anything.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

When Sarah woke up, she couldn't move her legs.

It took her a moment to orient herself, to understand why she felt so constricted. What had happened? Last thing she knew, she had been going into her kitchen while the gardener had worked outside, and now, it was much later in the day, nearly evening, judging by the sky. And the back of her skull throbbed with pain.

Sarah tried to move, and that was when she realized it: she was surrounded by dirt, half-buried. She looked down and saw grass up to her chest, all around her, partially burying her alive. For a moment, she was sure it was a nightmare. But she didn't wake up.

"Help!" she called out. She looked around, only to realize there were hedges on either side of her.

Hedges ...

Like she was in a maze.

Sarah's blood ran cold as the reality settled onto her. The Maze Killer. She'd heard about it on the news. But what had happened to her gardener? The man Jerry sent? He was—

No. It hit her like a brick.

The Maze Killer was the gardener. The very man she had let into her home.

Sarah felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead as she struggled to free herself from the dirt and the grass. She had to get out of there. She had to find a way out of the maze before the killer came back for her. But no matter how hard she pushed, she couldn't break free. The soil wrapped around her like a strong snake, never letting go. Fear flooded her. Could this really be the end?

But then something stirred within her. Determination. She would not go down without a fight. Renewed energy surged through her, and she kept trying. She made some progress, wriggling her toes and pushing against the grass and soil with all her strength. But the dirt seemed determined to keep her in its clutches, like some dark force had taken residence in the maze walls—one that was eager to keep Sarah from escaping.

It felt like no matter how much she pushed and clawed at the dirt around her, it just kept coming back stronger than ever before, trapping her even further in its grasp.

---