Forlorn by Blake Pierce

Author:Blake Pierce [Pierce, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blake Pierce
Published: 2024-03-14T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The sun hung high above the cityscape, indifferent to the urgency thrumming in Morgan's veins. She strode out of the government building, her shadow sharp and elongated on the concrete, a stark reminder of the time slipping away. Derik followed in her wake, his professional attire a stark contrast to her inked arms that barely contained the frustration boiling within her.

"Another dead end," Morgan muttered, her voice carrying a gravelly edge as they descended the steps. Derik’s green eyes flickered with empathy, but he remained silent, knowing better than to offer empty reassurances.

They had canvassed every inch of those offices, spoken to planners with starched collars and engineers with rolled-up sleeves—people who knew the city's veins better than anyone. Yet none could shed light on the pattern behind the women's deaths, if there was one at all. The locations seemed random, scattered dots on the map of tragedy.

"Emily, Sarah, Jennifer, Nicole," Morgan recited the names like a litany, her mind replaying each crime scene with clinical precision. Parks, monuments, relics of the past—sites chosen with care or at random? The lack of connection gnawed at her, a puzzle missing its keystone.

"Maybe we're not looking at it right," Derik suggested tentatively, his gaze distant, haunted perhaps by his own ghosts—the estranged son he couldn’t reach, the bottle he fought daily to ignore.

Morgan shook her head, the motion dismissive. "We'll canvas the areas again, talk to more locals." But her words lacked conviction. They’d already tread those paths, asked those questions. And nothing.

A familiar restlessness took hold, the same one that had dogged her during the years spent behind bars for a murder she didn’t commit. Back then, it had been about survival, now it was about justice. For the victims. For herself.

"Time's not on our side," she said, more to herself than to Derik. Each second ticking by was an ally to the killer, an adversary in their quest to prevent another name from being added to the macabre list.

Derik nodded, the weariness in his eyes mirroring her own. "We'll figure it out, Morgan. We always do." His voice held a note of assurance that felt brittle in the midday air.

But Morgan felt the weight, heavy as the tattoos etched into her skin—a constant reminder of battles fought, of innocence claimed and lost. The clock was indeed ticking, and with every beat, she felt the pressure mounting, a crescendo in a symphony of unanswered questions. Her jaw set, determination etching her features into a mask of resolve.

"Let's go over everything again," she declared, her voice cutting through the midday hum of the city. There was no room for doubt, not when lives hung in the balance. Not when the shadows grew longer with each passing minute, threatening to obscure the truth they desperately sought.

Morgan's boots clicked on the pavement in a steady rhythm, her mind churning with the faces of the women whose lives had been stolen. Emily, Sarah, Jennifer, Nicole—each name a weight added to her shoulders. As she strode beside Derik, the city seemed to breathe around them, indifferent to their urgency.

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