Page 34 of For Wrath

Derik stealthilyeased open the door to his hospital room. He peered into the dimly lit hallway,ensuring he was alone before stepping out. The scent of antiseptic andsterilized linoleum filled his nostrils as he crept along the corridor. He knewthat if he were caught, it would only make things worse for him – and forMorgan. With every step, the weight of his betrayal hung heavily on his heart.

He reached thestairwell, pausing to steady himself against the cold metal railing. He couldhear the distant echoes of footsteps and murmured conversations, but theyseemed distant and unimportant compared to the storm of guilt raging insidehim. As he descended the stairs, his thoughts circled around Morgan, how shehad been framed for a murder she didn't commit and the role he had played in herordeal.

The night air wascool and crisp as Derik emerged from the hospital, the darkness punctuated onlyby the occasional streetlight. The moon cast a pale glow over the desertedstreets, illuminating his path as he trudged toward Morgan's neighborhood.Every step felt like a struggle, his muscles protesting after days ofinactivity, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn't afford to falternow, not with so much at stake.

His backpack,stuffed with his belongings, weighed heavily on his shoulders, almost as thoughthe burden of his secrets was physically manifesting. He tightened his grip onthe straps, determined to carry them all the way to Morgan and face whateverconsequences lay ahead.

As he walked, thequiet suburban houses gave way to the urban landscape of Morgan's neighborhood,the darkened windows and silent streets a stark contrast to the vibrantcommunity he remembered from their time working together. It was as if theshadows mirrored his own guilt, reflecting back at him the darkness he hadcaused.

"I'm sorry,Morgan," he whispered to the night, his breath visible in the cool air."I'll make this right, I promise."

Determined, Derikcontinued on, each step bringing him closer to the reckoning he knew awaitedhim – and the hope of redemption that lay beyond.

Just then, theneon lights of a bar flickered in the distance, an oasis amid the desolatelandscape. Derik paused, his mouth watering at the thought of having a drink.His sobriety had been hard-won, and breaking it now would be yet anotherbetrayal – not just of Morgan, but of himself.

But the weight ofguilt threatened to crush him, and he needed something to steady his nervesbefore facing her. Just one drink, he told himself.

He hesitated fora moment longer, then exhaled sharply and crossed the street toward the bar.

Just one drink.

CHAPTER TWENTYONE

That night,Morgan's dreams were haunted by the slicing sounds of a scalpel, the cold metaltable underneath her, and the heavy breathing of a faceless killer.

The prison cell shewas in had been transformed into a makeshift surgical room filled with crudeinstruments and dim lighting. She tried to scream, but no sound came out, herbody pinned down by unseen hands.

"Let mego!" she wanted to shout, but the words were trapped inside her throat,unable to break free. The faceless figure loomed above her, his gloved handwielding a razor-sharp blade. With each swooping motion, Morgan could feel herskin being pulled tighter and tighter across her skull, the pain intensifyingas he continued his gruesome work.

"Stop!"she finally managed to scream, the sound echoing through the cell."Please, stop!"

Morgan awoke fromher nightmare, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Sweat-soaked sheetsclung to her trembling body as she sat up, gasping for air. The oppressivedarkness of her bedroom seemed to close in around her, the remnants of herdream still lingering in the shadows.

"Shit,"she muttered under her breath, throwing back the covers and stumbling towardsthe bathroom. Flicking on the light, she squinted against the sudden brightness,her eyes struggling to adjust.

As she looked upat the mirror, her reflection stared back at her—deformed and botched, her facegrotesquely pulled back tight, a nightmarish caricature of her former self.

"NO!"Morgan screamed, her voice shrill and panicked. She blinked rapidly, her hearthammering against her ribcage.

Just then, hereyes popped open--and she was yet again awake, lying in her bed, but this time,early light filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow on Morgan's face.She stirred, feeling the lingering effects of her nightmare like a heavy weighton her chest. Was she truly awake this time, or was this another extension ofthe dream? She looked at the clock—four a.m.

Just then,knocking.

Someone wasknocking at her door.

Morgan, shegroggily blinked her eyes open.

"Who thehell...?" she muttered, glancing at the clock on her nightstand. Rubbingthe sleep from her eyes, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed andstumbled to the front door. Her heart raced with an icy sense of dread – was itthe FBI? Or worse?

"Coming!"she called out, trying to sound more composed than she felt. As she unlockedand opened the door, she braced herself for the worst.

"Derik?"she gasped, her surprise momentarily outweighing her fear. He looked awful –his black hair was a tangled mess, his green eyes dull and bloodshot, and hisskin had taken on an ashen hue.

"Hey,Morgan," he croaked, leaning against the doorframe. "I got dischargedearly. I needed to see you."

"Jesus,Derik, you look like shit," she said, unable to hide her concern. Thiswasn't the man she'd seen just last night, recovering in the hospital. This wassomeone who seemed utterly broken.

"Can wetalk?" he slurred.

---