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She was angrier than she’d been in a very long time butGod, she didn’t really want him to go. Unlike Lora, she knew Derik was greatfor just sitting and simply being there.
“Morgan…”
“Out!”
When he got to his feet, envelope still in hand, shewalked directly behind him. She ushered him through the door and when he turnedto say something else, she slammed it in his face.
Even with the door closed, she could tell he was stillstanding there. She knew she’d possibly overreacted but she was fine with thatfor right now.
She was fine with it until he spoke from the other sideof the door.
“Morgan…he’s back. Samson…”
Surely, Morgan thought, this was a dream. It had to be.Maybe she was still back in prison, having one hell of a nightmare just beforeshe was to be released.
Samson…back. There was no way. The man she’d been afterten years ago. The lunatic that had gotten away. And the man she’d been accusedof helping. The fact that he’d gone cold and into hiding during herimprisonment hadn’t helped her case much.
But the name chilled her. It actually sent about amillion different emotions rushing through her. Samson was, after all, thereason she’d been sent to jail.
“Samson is back, Morgan, and we need you.”
“Get…the fuck…out of here!” she screamed. She punched thedoor hard enough for a scattering of dust to fall from the frame and to drawblood from her knuckles.
Skunk barked in protest, making anxious circles on thefloor where he’d been potty-trained as a pup.
Morgan felt a wave of tears and grief coming and knew shewouldn’t be able to stop them. As she slowly sank to the floor, she heard asoft thump from the other side of the door. She knew it was the sound of Derikleaving the envelope for her.
She wept, managing to keep it quiet. She didn’t wantDerik to hear it. She concentrated as well as she could and didn’t let it outuninterrupted until she heard the sound of a car door closing from the drivewayand then the sound of an engine carrying the car away.
She started wailing then, and Skunk came over forsupport. But even then, as she cried harder than she could remember crying inher life, Morgan was unable to resist.
Her face streaked with tears and a wave of anger flowingthrough her like lava, she opened the door and took the envelope.
CHAPTER THREE
The Seven Signs Killer. It wasn’t a name she’d everliked, but it was what the media had given to the man who called himselfSamson. No last name, just Samson. But that hadn’t been juicy enough. The mediahad far preferred the Seven Signs Killer. It was catchier and sold papers andcaused clicks.
When she finally got control of herself, Morgan took theenvelope to the kitchen. She sat at the table, not sure if she would be able tohandle it. She knew there was no reason Derik would lie about such a thing, soit had to be real.
But her life had ended with the Seven Signs Killer,causing her to go to jail and lose ten years of her life. It seemed like a verystrange sort of masochism to fling herself right back into his demented world theday she regained her freedom.
She opened the envelope but stopped there. Did she reallyneed to do this? Did she really want this to once again consume her life?
Ah, but it wasn’t as simple as that. The Seven Signs Killerwas linked to her prison sentence. But Samson had never been caught. She couldn’thelp but wonder, for the thousandth time, exactly how Samson had framed her soperfectly.
Without taking the contents out of the envelope, Morganran it all back through her head, boiling it down. Samson was a deranged serialkiller who believed the messiah desperately wanted to come to earth but, inorder for him to come, the seven signs of the messiah needed to be heralded.Samson had taken it upon himself to do it, going on a murdering spree that had startedwith his interpretation of changing water into wine.
That event alone had resulted in the murder of fourpeople in the form of poisoning. Another dozen or so had gone to the hospital.
Morgan shuddered at the thought of Samson’s twistedbeliefs and actions. The Seven Signs Killer had caused so much devastation, somuch pain and suffering. And now he was back. It was almost as if he’d waitedto start things up as soon as she’d gotten out of prison.
And maybe, she thought, that was exactly what he’d done.
But for right now, she didn’t see how that was herproblem. She had to start fitting into the real world again. She had this houseto care for, a dead father to properly grieve. There were calls to make inorder to unfreeze her bank accounts, to get phone service, to update everythingat the DMV related to driving.
First, though, she had to face this house. She had toface the memories and the emptiness. She also needed to wash the sheets and geta better feel for how the place was maintained, but that was the least of herconcerns for the moment.
Ignoring the envelope for the time being, she allowedherself a moment to walk through the house—through each room and the hallway.She could still feel her father in most of the areas, but the dust and neglecttainted the feeling.
