Page 20 of The Last Morgan

Sleep pulled Lucy under like a tide. She barely fought it — too weak and too drained. At first, the dreams were soft.

The house smelled of cinnamon and lavender again.

The sun streamed golden through the tall windows.

Her mother’s voice floated from the kitchen, humming a lullaby.

Little Lucy ran barefoot down the wide wooden halls, her laughter filling the air.

She turned a corner — there was her father, crouching low with a mischievous grin, arms wide open.

"There’s my little warrior," he said.

He scooped her up easily, swinging her high into the air.

Lucy giggled and shrieked with delight, wrapping her arms around his thick neck.

She felt safe and loved.

In another flash, she saw her mother sitting by the garden, weaving flower crowns. Behind her the background was snow filled, a terrain she was unfamiliar with,

"Wear this, Lucy. It will keep the faeries away," her mother joked, placing it gently on her head.

Lucy laughed and danced through the garden, the daises brushing against her ankles. The chill of the snow drawing her gaze to the mountains. What always provoked the memory was the people standing in the distance. She never truly understood that aspect of the dream.

The dream shifted.

The light dimmed.

The air grew heavier.

Her father’s voice again — lower, urgent.

In a hidden room, she saw him press a necklace — the necklace — into her mother’s hands.

"Keep this close to you, Nora. Always."

"I promise," her mother whispered.

Lucy frowned, feeling a strange pulling in her chest. Like this moment meant something — something she couldn't understand.

The house shuddered.

The dream cracked.

Suddenly, the walls began to peel back, the golden sunlight melting into a sickly green.

The smiling faces of her family stretched, their mouths too wide, their eyes too black.

The sweet garden twisted into thorns, bleeding against the wind.

Lucy turned and ran.

The halls — once wide and safe — narrowed into choking tunnels.

She heard it then.

The first gunshot.

It echoed, impossibly loud.

Her father's voice — not playful now, but desperate.

"Lucy, hide!"

Her brothers — Lucas and Leo — grabbing her arms, shoving her toward the hidden cupboard.

"Stay here. No matter what, Lucy."

Their faces were pale and terrified.

The door slammed shut.

Darkness swallowed her.

Inside the cupboard, the air was thick and wet.

It smelled of old wood, sour sweat, and something else — something rancid and wrong.

The walls seemed to breathe around her.

Lucy pressed her hands to her ears, but it didn’t block out the sounds.

Screams.

Gunfire.

The dream twisted harder.

The cupboard shrank, squeezing her in tighter.

The darkness thickened until it pressed against her skin, smothering her.

She looked down — her hands were smeared with her own filth.

Her legs soaked in urine.

The stench of death seeped through the cracks of the door.

Flies buzzed loudly in the growing heat.

And then she heard them.

The voices. Not her family’s anymore —

something else.

Low, whispering, cruel.

Calling her name.

"Lucy..."

"Come out, Lucy..."

The cupboard door peeled back — not opening — peeling, like skin torn from bone.

Through the gap, she saw their faces.

Twisted.

Rotting.

Her father’s eyes were leaking black tears. Her mother’s mouth stitched shut.

Her brothers were lying crumpled and unmoving in the background.

Lucy screamed.

She jerked awake in bed, the scream tearing from her throat like a wounded animal.

She thrashed against the sheets, fists flailing blindly.

Strong arms caught her.

Held her.

Rocked her gently.

"Shh... I've got you," Byron whispered. Lucy sobbed uncontrollably, clawing at him, shaking so hard her teeth clattered.

Byron held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed firmly to her trembling back. He didn’t speak again —

just held her, anchoring her to the here and now.

It felt like forever before the screams died in her throat.

Before her body sagged against him, exhausted and spent. "Run the shower," she croaked, voice broken.

Byron nodded immediately, shifting her carefully and heading into the bathroom. The water roared to life.

Lucy stripped off her sweat-soaked clothes with shaking fingers.

She stepped under the stream, collapsing to her knees.

The water battered her skin, hot and relentless, washing away the filth she couldn’t see.

Her tears mingled with the spray.

Outside the bathroom door, Byron stood stiffly, fists clenched at his sides.

Corey leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

"I need to know," Byron said, voice deadly quiet.

"I need to know what happened to her."

Corey nodded grimly.

And told him everything.

The murders. The hidden cupboard. The days alone, soaked in terror, waiting to be found.

By the end, Byron’s face was unreadable.

But his knuckles were bone white.

Inside the bathroom Lucy wrapped fresh bandages around her side.

She stood in the mirror for a long moment, staring at herself.

Her face looked pale. Hollow-eyed. She used to have that nightmare repeatedly as a child, but as an adult regardless of whether they were few and far between, the effect would always be the same.

She walked back into her room and marched to her wardrobe.

Pulled on her black tactical outfit — her second skin.

She yanked open the door — and found herself face-to-face with Corey, Byron, and Damian.

The Three Musketeers, her brain supplied dryly.

"I need food," Lucy said coldly.

"Painkillers too."

Corey nodded, nodded towards the staff.

"I need to make a quick stop downstairs." Lucy muttered as she walked past them.

They didn’t need to ask why.

The basement was damp, the air hanging heavy like a warning.

The only sound was the sharp click of Lucy’s boots as she approached.

Rebecca, tied to the steel chair in the center of the room, lifted her head just in time for Lucy to throw a punch so savage it echoed off the walls.

THUD.

Rebecca’s body snapped back violently, the chair tipping. There was a sickening crack.

She hit the floor hard, twisting her wrist at an unnatural angle.

A high-pitched whimper escaped her lips.

Lucy didn’t even blink.

"Leave her," she said coldly, stepping back, brushing invisible dust off her knuckles.

Corey, Damian, and Byron stood still, watching her. There was no shock — only a grim kind of admiration flashing in their eyes.

"You're just going to leave her like that? In pain? On the floor?" Corey asked dryly, one brow raised.

Lucy glanced at him with the sharpness of a blade.

"Yes." she said simply. "I'm hungry. Let her rot while we eat."

No one argued.

They turned in silent agreement and followed Lucy back upstairs, leaving Rebecca moaning softly in the dirt.

The kitchen smelled of roasted meats and fresh bread.

Staff hurried to set the table, but Lucy waved them off with a casual flick of her fingers.

"Leave."

The staff scattered quickly.

Lucy sat down first, ripping a piece of warm bread.

As they started eating, Lucy spoke, her voice almost too calm.

"What about the driver?" she asked, tearing into a piece of chicken.

Corey leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. "No. I don’t think he was in on it, she waited for him to get out of the car. As soon as he popped the boot, something pricked him — boom — lights out."

Lucy dipped a fry into a pot of tomato sauce.

"Too easy," she mused. "She had no backup? No plan? Just... showed up alone?"

Byron shifted in his seat, his hands tense against the table.

"We’ll find out soon enough," Corey said grimly.

Lucy nodded once, wiping her mouth neatly.

After finishing, they rose as one, the meal forgotten, the dark business ahead pulling them back into the storm. They descended into the basement again.

Rebecca still lay crumpled on the floor, her breathing ragged, tears streaking her dirty face.

Damian and Byron hauled her upright like she weighed nothing, setting her back in the chair.

She whimpered as her broken wrist dangled uselessly.

"Please..." she gasped. "Please release my arm. It’s broken..."

Lucy knelt in front of her, tilting her head slightly.

Her eyes were empty.

"Of course," she said softly, almost kindly. "As soon as you tell me what I need to know."

Rebecca sniffled, blinking rapidly.

Lucy stood again, her voice cutting through the basement air.

"Simple question, Rebecca. Why?"

Rebecca licked her cracked lips.

"Because... your father shouldn’t have ran!”

"He stopped us from progressing”

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.

The security alarm exploded into life overhead, a harsh mechanical shriek.

Everyone stiffened instantly.

Corey’s hand flew to his earpiece.

Damian swore under his breath.

"There's a breach." Corey said, his voice hard.

Lucy’s body tensed.

Rebecca’s head snapped up.

"No!" she screamed hoarsely. "Wait! Don’t go!"

But they were already moving.

Lucy, Corey, Byron, and Damian sprinted upstairs toward the chaos.

Outside, the property grounds were flooded with light, shadows stretching long over the grass.

The guards were scrambling, barking into their radios.

Something had triggered the outer sensors — but when they reached the perimeter, there was nothing.

No sign of anyone.

The four of them stood there Confused. Until It hit them slowly one by one, “Its a distraction "Lucy said. “Rebecca!” Shouted Corey.

Downstairs, the basement door creaked open.

A figure stepped inside — shadowed and hooded.

Their steps were silent.

They walked right up to Rebecca, who was still tied to the chair, sobbing quietly.

She looked up.

Recognition and fear exploded across her face.

"You were about to tell her everything," the figure said coldly.

Before she could plead, before she could explain, the muzzle of a silenced pistol pressed against her forehead.

One soft sound.

Rebecca’s body slumped instantly, blood pooling on the cracked concrete floor.

The figure turned and slipped away, melting into the shadows like smoke.

Moments later, Lucy, Corey, Byron, and Damian stormed back in.

The air smelled wrong.

Lucy froze halfway down the stairs.

She knew — even before she saw.

Rebecca was slumped in the chair, her head lolled at a grotesque angle, blood painting the wall behind her.

Dead.

"FUCK!" Corey roared, slamming his fist against the wall.

Lucy moved closer, her face cold and unreadable.

Byron stepped protectively beside her, his hand hovering near the hilt of his knife.

"Someone was here," Byron said, his voice dark.

"And they silenced her."

Lucy stared at Rebecca’s body.

For a brief moment, she felt... nothing.

No satisfaction.

No victory.

Just a cold, gnawing rage burrowing deeper into her chest.

They had been so close.

So close to answers.

And now Rebecca — their only living thread — was gone.

Lucy turned slowly, her eyes burning.

"How the fuck did this happen?”

The basement was heavy with silence. The smell of old stone and fresh blood curled together into something sour.

"So, uh, time to call Carter?" Corey finally said, his voice a little too casual.

Lucy tilted her head, as if considering.

"Can't we just... hide the body?" she said, her tone so flat it was almost comical.

Corey nearly choked.

"Hide the—Lucy. Jesus. It's a corpse, not leftover takeout."

Lucy smirked faintly.

"Won’t he get mad if we just deliver him a corpse? I mean, technically we didn’t kill her. Protocol should’ve had Carter here earlier, if you think about it, this is kind of his fault." Lucy, said this in a serious tone

Corey turned to her slowly and shook his head “Let’s just hide the body, I honestly can’t deal with Carters reaction to this mess right now.”

Lucy shrugged like they were debating where to order pizza from.

"We will tell Carter all about it later. Casual. Maybe over drinks."

"You're insane." Corey muttered, but he didn’t argue.

The conversation was cut short by pounding feet on the stairs.

Barnaby burst into the room, his face pale, clutching a device in his hand.

The little black box beeped frantically, shrieking like a dying animal.

"Something’s down here!" Barnaby shouted, breathless.

Corey and Byron immediately stepped forward to block his view, but they were too late.

Barnaby’s wide, innocent eyes found Rebecca’s broken body.

He stumbled, nearly falling backward.

Lucy winced.

Barnaby wasn’t made for this part of their world. He belonged behind a keyboard, not in bloodstained basements.

Still — his hands tightened on the device.

"Please—someone take this closer. It's freaking out."

Corey grabbed it, moving cautiously toward the body.

Each step made the device screech louder.

"Closer," Barnaby insisted. "Right on her."

Corey crouched, scanning her carefully.

His sharp eyes caught it — a small brooch pinned to Rebecca’s jacket.

He ripped it off.

The device in his hand shrieked.

Barnaby seized the brooch, threw it to the floor, and stomped on it, shattering it into jagged pieces.

The device in his hand instantly went dead.

Barnaby sagged in relief.

"Listening device," he said after careful inspection. "They More than likely heard everything."

Lucy looked down at Rebecca’s corpse, feeling the weight of it settle on her chest.

"They killed her because she was about to talk."

Barnaby’s face changed suddenly. He was still holding his black scanner, and it beeped again — softly this time.

He frowned.

"Something else," he said. "Something else is still active."

Lucy straightened up.

"What?"

Barnaby shook his head, tapping furiously.

"There’s another signal. Faint. Dormant. Not active, but it’s here. Somewhere in the house."

Lucy’s heart pounded.

Without waiting for permission, Barnaby took off up the stairs, his device leading the way like a divining rod.

The others followed, adrenaline sharpening every step.

The house was too quiet.

The polished floors seemed to mock their heavy footsteps.

Barnaby’s scanner led them deeper into the heart of the house.

Lucy realized, with a sinking feeling, that they were heading toward the east wing.

Toward her room.

"No" she whispered.

Barnaby didn’t answer.

The beeping grew louder.

Her door loomed ahead, the scanner screeched.

"It’s here." Barnaby said grimly.

Lucy hesitated, her hand trembling slightly before she twisted the knob.

The room smelled like lavender and fresh linen.

Moonlight streamed in through the big windows.

Nothing looked out of place.

Everything looked normal.

Barnaby stepped inside first, his device held out like a shield.

"Where exactly?" Byron asked, eyes narrowing.

Barnaby frowned, sweeping the device back and forth.

The closer he got to Lucy’s jewelry stand, the more it beeped.

"It’s in here somewhere," Barnaby said.

He carefully opened the velvet-lined drawer.

Rings. Bracelets. Earrings.

Nothing special.

Except—

The necklace.

Lucy's fingers brushed against it almost without thinking — the thick silver chain, the old, beautiful cross that had belonged to her mother.

The scanner howled.

Barnaby went still.

Everyone froze.

Lucy stared down at the necklace, her mind suddenly screaming.

Memories crashed over her, her father whispering to her mother,

"Keep it close. Always."

Her mother tucked it under her blouse like it was sacred.

Barnaby stepped closer.

"Lucy..." he said quietly.

"I think that's it."

Lucy swallowed hard.

Corey stepped closer, frowning.

"What the fuck is hidden inside that thing?" he muttered. Barnaby shook his head slowly. "I don’t know yet, but it’s not just jewelry, that thing’s emitting a dormant signal. Old tech — old security tech. Really old."

Lucy curled her fingers tightly around the cross.

It felt heavier now.

Hot against her skin.

Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, breathing through the rising panic.

"Someone knew," she whispered. "Someone knew the necklace was important." "That's why they're after me, all for a damn box!."

She lifted her head to look at Corey, “Maybe this is the Key?”

She opened her eyes, fierce and blazing.

Barnaby looked at her.

His voice was soft but determined.

"I'll build a secure station. We'll crack it open carefully. Whatever’s inside, we'll figure it out, Get some rest sis, you literally rolled out a car a few hours ago” Byron stepped closer to Lucy without thinking, his body brushing against hers protectively.

The tension between them was sharp enough to cut glass.

Lucy didn’t step away.

For the first time, she let it happen.

She let herself feel safe.

For just a moment.

Corey Spoke with Damian in the hallway “Let's get the body on ICE and secure the property, we need to figure out how they got in!” “Or if they’re still in”, Damian said with a low voice.

Downstairs, in the cold dark basement, Rebecca’s dead eyes stared up at the ceiling

her secrets may be buried a little deeper, but not deep enough.