Page 17 of For Mercy (Morgan Cross #16)

Derik met her gaze, his eyes reflecting the determination she felt. "As ready as we can be," he said grimly.

Together, they stepped out into the chilly morning air, the weight of what awaited them inside hanging heavy between them.

As they approached the crime scene, Morgan steeled herself, knowing that whatever they found beyond that yellow tape would only deepen the mystery—and the urgency—of their investigation.

***

Morgan ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, her nostrils immediately assaulted by the acrid scent of stale air and faint disinfectant.

The dimly lit space before her was a sharp contrast to the pre-dawn darkness outside.

As her eyes adjusted, she felt Derik's presence close behind her, his breath catching audibly as he took in the scene.

"Jesus," he muttered.

Morgan's stomach twisted violently as she absorbed the full scope of what lay before them. The room had been meticulously staged, but not as a courtroom this time. This was a mockery of a hospital, eerie in its uncanny falseness.

"It's like a twisted dollhouse," Morgan breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

She took a tentative step forward, her eyes roving over the plastic medical equipment, a fake heart monitor with a flat, unmoving line, and a cheap metal bed positioned dead center in the room.

IV bags filled with colored liquid hung nearby, a grotesque parody of life-saving medication.

Derik moved to stand beside her, his face pale in the harsh overhead light. "He's escalating. This is... more elaborate than before."

Morgan nodded, her mind racing. "But why a hospital? What's the connection?"

She approached the bed, careful not to disturb anything. The stark walls and sterile shadows made her skin crawl. This level of detail, of premeditation, spoke of a mind both brilliant and deeply disturbed.

Morgan's eyes locked onto the limp form crumpled near the exit. The victim's skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent in the harsh artificial light. No visible blood, yet death was unmistakable in the unnatural stillness of the body.

Officer Ramirez approached, his face grim. "Agent Cross, we've identified the victim as Michelle Knox, thirty-four years old."

Morgan nodded, her throat tight. "What else can you tell me?"

Ramirez flipped open his notepad. "Knox was an investment banker. No criminal record, lived alone. Neighbors described her as quiet, kept to herself."

As Morgan surveyed the scene, a chill ran down her spine. The elaborately staged hospital room, the body positioned near freedom - it was hauntingly familiar.

"It's another performance," she murmured, more to herself than to Ramirez.

Derik stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "Just like with Hawthorne. But why a hospital this time?"

Morgan shook her head, frustration building. "I don't know. But look at the exit, Derik. Knox could have escaped, just like Hawthorne. But she didn't. Why?"

Ramirez cleared his throat. "There's more, Agent. A passerby reported hearing frantic screaming from inside about an hour ago. By the time first responders arrived..."

Morgan tried to piece together the gruesome puzzle. "So Knox was alive, panicking even, but didn't leave. What the hell happened in here?"

She knelt beside the body, careful not to contaminate the scene. Knox's face was frozen in an expression of terror, her eyes wide and staring. Morgan fought back a wave of nausea.

"This killer is escalating," she said, her voice low and tense. "The staging, the theme - it's all more elaborate. But the core is the same. He's giving his victims a chance to escape, but they can't. Or won't. We need to figure out why."

Morgan's gaze swept the surreal hospital setup, her mind struggling to process the grotesque tableau. The metallic scent of fear hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid odor of cheap disinfectant. She forced herself to focus on the details, cataloging each piece of evidence.

"The door was unlocked," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the hum of police activity. "Just like with Hawthorne. An escape route deliberately left open."

Derik stepped closer, his face grim. "But she didn't take it. Why?"

Morgan shook her head, frustration etching lines across her forehead. "That's the million-dollar question. According to the first responders, Knox was in a complete frenzy when they got here. Tearing the place apart, screaming..."

She trailed off, her eyes drawn to the overturned medical equipment, the scattered props. The scene told a story of desperation, of blind panic. Morgan could almost feel the terror that must have gripped Knox in her final moments.

"And then she just... collapsed," Morgan continued, her voice tight. "Died right here on the floor. But from what? There's no visible wound, no sign of physical trauma."

Derik ran a hand through his hair, his usual calm demeanor cracking under the weight of the scene. "Poison, maybe? Or some kind of drug?"

"Maybe," Morgan agreed, but her instincts were screaming that there was more to it. "We won't know for sure until we get the tox screen back. But whatever it was, it was fast-acting and devastating."

She turned away from the body, her eyes landing on the exit. The path to freedom that Knox had inexplicably ignored. "What was going through her mind?" Morgan wondered aloud. "What could possibly keep someone from escaping when the door was right there?"

The questions swirled in her mind, each one leading to another, none with satisfactory answers. Morgan took a deep breath, steeling herself. There was work to be done, and standing here speculating wouldn't get them any closer to catching this killer.

"Let's talk to the witness," she said to Derik, her voice regaining its professional edge. "Maybe he can shed some light on what happened here."

As they stepped outside, the pre-dawn chill hit Morgan like a physical force. Her eyes immediately found Gary, the man who had discovered Knox. He was leaning against a squad car, his body language screaming distress.

Morgan approached slowly, careful not to startle him. She'd dealt with traumatized witnesses before, knew how fragile their state of mind could be. Gary's hands were visibly shaking, his face ashen in the harsh glare of the police lights.

"Mr. Gary?" she said softly, keeping her tone gentle. "I'm Special Agent Cross. I know you've been through a lot tonight, but I was hoping we could talk for a moment."

Gary's eyes met hers, wide and haunted. Morgan felt a pang of sympathy. This man had walked into a nightmare, one that would likely stay with him for a long time to come.

"I... I tried to help her," Gary stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But she was just... screaming. Tearing everything apart. I've never seen anyone so terrified."

Morgan nodded encouragingly, her mind racing to connect the dots. "Can you tell me exactly what you saw when you entered the room?"

Gary took a shaky breath, his eyes unfocused as he relived the scene. "I was walking home from my night shift at the warehouse. It was so quiet, you know? Then I heard her screams. God, I've never heard anything like that before."

He paused, swallowing hard. Morgan waited patiently, giving him space to collect his thoughts.

"I thought someone was being attacked," Gary continued, his voice trembling. "So I ran to the door. It was unlocked. When I got inside, she was... she was like a wild animal. Throwing things, knocking stuff over. I tried to calm her down, but it was like she couldn't even see me."

Morgan nodded, her mind racing. The scene Gary described matched what they'd found inside, but it still didn't explain how Michelle Knox had died.

"Mr. Gary," Morgan said gently, "this is very important. Did you see anyone else nearby? Anyone at all?"

Gary shook his head emphatically. "No, ma'am. I was alone. Just me and her."

Morgan studied his face intently, searching for any hint of deception or uncertainty. But all she saw was genuine shock and distress. Gary's hands were still shaking, his eyes wide and haunted. He looked like a man who had stumbled into something far beyond his understanding.

As she observed him, Morgan felt a growing certainty that Gary was nothing more than an unfortunate bystander. His reaction was too raw, too visceral to be an act. Still, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was missing from this picture.

"Thank you, Mr. Gary," she said softly. "You've been very helpful. We'll have someone take you home soon."

Morgan turned away from Gary, her brow furrowed in concentration. She walked back towards the crime scene, her eyes drawn to the darkened building looming before her. The flashing lights of police cruisers cast eerie, pulsing shadows across its facade.

"Something's not adding up," she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible above the low hum of activity around her.

Derik appeared at her side, his face grim. "What are you thinking?"

Morgan shook her head, frustration evident in her tense posture.

"If Michelle had a way out, just like Hawthorne.

.. why didn't she make it? What was different this time?” She turned to face her partner, her eyes intense.

"The killer is escalating, Derik. They're choosing themes, creating scenarios. But what's the common thread?"

Derik ran a hand through his hair, equally perplexed. "Maybe it's not about the victims themselves, but what they represent?"

Morgan nodded slowly, her mind racing. "A courtroom for a judge, a hospital for..." She trailed off, realizing they didn't yet know Michelle Knox's occupation.

"We need to dig into Michelle's background," she said decisively. "Find out everything we can about her. There has to be a connection we're missing."

As they spoke, Morgan's gaze drifted back to the building. The staged hospital room inside seemed to mock her, a twisted puzzle box waiting to be solved. She could almost feel the killer's presence, lingering like a shadow just beyond her reach.

"One thing's for certain," she said, her voice low and determined. "They aren't finished yet. This is just the beginning of whatever sick game they're playing."

Derik nodded grimly. "So what's our next move?"

Morgan took a deep breath, steeling herself. "We work the scene, gather every scrap of evidence we can. Then we start connecting the dots. Hawthorne, Knox, the staging, the methods – there has to be a pattern. We just need to find it."

As she spoke, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. Somewhere out there, the killer was already planning their next performance. And she was determined to stop them before another innocent life was lost to this twisted spectacle.