AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When she walked into what had been his bedroom—what shesupposed was now her bedroom if she so desired—she simply stood in its centerfor a moment. She felt the need to cry but knew she wouldn’t. She’d never beena big crier and as bad as it sounded, she knew she was all out of tears for herfather. Those tears had all been spilled in the weeks following his funeral,crying alone in the darkness of her cell and wondering what life might be likefor her when she got out.
She slowly walked toward his small closet and opened thedoor. A few of his clothes were still hanging up, mostly flannel shirts andbutton-downs. At the top of the closet, there were a few shoeboxes that sheknew served as layman safes; they held copies of her father’s social securitycard and birth certificate, paperwork pertaining to the house, insurance papers,and bank statements.
Beside them, there were two board games: Scrabble and chess.She and her father had played them both so much that some of the chess pieceshad started to lose their color, and the Scrabble board was scarred and slightlywarped.
As if running on pure instinct, she took the Scrabbleboard down. She opened the box and unfolded the board on the bed. She shook thevelvet bag, the clinking of the tiles inside like sweet, nostalgic music. Shethen poured them out onto the board, just to hear the sound.
She doubted these tiles would ever get touched again, theboard never to be used. It was essentially a part of her life that she couldconsider closed. Even if she did ever date someone or even if, somewhere downthe road, she had kids…she’d never be able to play these with them. It wouldhurt too much. It would…
“No,” she said. She honestly wasn’t sure why she’d saidit. She’d felt a sting of defiance at the thought of her future, at the thoughtof things being closed off to her because of past pains.
And as she frowned, scattering the tiles around theboard, she could feel her father’s presence there, a bit stronger. She couldrecall playing with him as a young girl—maybe nine or ten years old—and askinghim to define some of the longer, odder words he would sometimes use. She couldespecially remember the day she’d asked him to define the word “juxtapose” andthen actually made him get the dictionary so she could check just to make surehe wasn’t cheating.
When she’d apologized for her doubts, he’d simply laughedand given her a hug. “Don’t say you’re sorry for that,” he’d told her. “Wheneveryou aren’t sure of something, you do whatever you need to get the answer…evenif you think it might make some people grumpy.”
It was some of the best advice she’d ever gotten, thoughshe’d not known it at the time.
She smirked as she started plinking the tiles back intothe pouch one by one. Maybe her father was more present in this house than shethought.
Whenever you aren’t sure of something, you do whateveryou need to get the answer…
She knew what she had to do.
She couldn’t let Samson continue his reign of terror, notwhen she had the opportunity to stop him. She knew she was rusty and out ofpractice. She knew she was not in the right mindset to take on such a task.
But maybe she could at least be of some help. And besides,she needed those answers. How had he managed to frame her as if she’d beenassisting him? And why had he stopped killing when she’d gone to prison only tostart again, a decade later, when she was back out?
Maybe some of the answers were in the envelope Derik hadleft behind.
She took a deep breath as she headed back to the kitchen.She sat down at the table and pulled out the contents of the envelope.
There were photos of the most recent crime scene,articles, and police reports. Morgan looked through them all with a mix ofhorror and determination. When she’d nearly stopped him before, he’daccomplished four of the so-called signs. The most recent, from just three daysago, was Samson’s representation of Jesus Christ walking on water.
The case photos showed three drowned bodies on the banksof the Kisanthum River. A fourth had been stripped totally naked, draped in athin white cloth, and tied to a tree.
She shuddered and pushed the stack of papers away.
It was enough to make the decision for her. There wassimply no way she could help. However…if there was an entire panel relying onher, it meant they were out of answers. Maybe they finally realized she’d beenright all those years ago. Maybe they were ready to eat some humble pie andadmit she had been right, that they’d been too lackadaisical about the case,and would let her bring this bastard in.
But how could she do it? She had just been released fromprison, her life was in shambles, and she had no resources or connections. Shedidn’t even have a single meal in the fridge and wasn’t sure how she wassupposed to be making money or getting back on her feet.
Of course, there was another easy option. It was waitingfor her in the bathroom, in that old prescription bottle. She also had hersmall storage locker on the other side of town with her old Sig Sauer. Awell-placed bullet in her mouth would put thoughts of Samson, the Seven SignsKiller, right out of her mind.
A whining noise broke her quickly out of such thoughts.She turned and saw Skunk sitting at the entry between the kitchen and livingroom. As she turned, she again noticed the stagnant and filthy state of thekitchen.
Her father would be disappointed if she left all of this,if she gave up and left Skunk with Lora again. If she let this house go toruin. He’d be so disappointed if she gave up.
“What do you say, boy?” she asked. “You want me to stickaround?”
He wagged his tail a bit and gave a sloppy smile thatonly pit bulls are capable of. He whined again indicating that yeah, he wantedher to stick around and it would be great if it started with her letting himoutside to pee.
“Fine, then,” she said. “But I need to clean this house.And then maybe I’ll head back to the office.”
Saying it out loud was surreal. But at the same time,there was the tiniest little flutter in her heart. Excitement? Nostalgia? Shewasn’t sure. But hearing the words out of her mouth felt right.
And when she thought of hunting down the Seven SignsKiller again, that felt right, too.
She looked back at the envelope and papers on the table,thinking it might be just what she needed to get back on her feet. What betterway to do that than to tie up a delayed loose end she’d left behind ten yearsago?
