Page 8 of The Last Morgan

“It’s a good thing your aunt and uncle are out of the house,” Corey said as he found Lucy standing in the hallway.

“It’s time for you to relive that night. Like we discussed.”

His voice was calm, steady — but it struck her like a command.

She swallowed hard, the heat in her throat climbing too fast, too sharp.

Behind her, Corey’s voice came again — this time, firmer.

“It’s time for you to visit the dreaded cupboard.”

Her whole body stiffened.

She had known this moment would come. Part of the process. Part of the training.

Return to the place where it all ended. Revisit. Re-examine.

Knowing didn’t make it easier.

The thought of crawling back into that tiny space where time had stopped made her stomach turn.

Fortunately, her awful aunt and uncle had taken their dreadful children with them for the night.

No watching eyes therefore no judgment.

Just her — and the ghosts.

She didn’t speak. She simply turned and followed Corey.

They descended the staircase, their footsteps echoing through the cavernous space.

The chandeliers above cast long, warped shadows across the marble floor.

The house felt so big.

Then they reached the hallway.

A narrow passage tucked just off the main room. The air here felt colder and heavier.

And there it was.

The cupboard.

The same one she’d been shoved into.

The same space where her childhood ended.

She stopped. Her fingers hovered near the handle. The wood felt rough beneath her fingertips.

Thirteen years of silence pressed against her chest like a weight.

“Go in,” Corey said.

She took a deep breath and obeyed.

Crawling inside felt strange now. She was too tall. Her knees bumped the walls. Her back curved against the low ceiling.

But the panic came just the same.

Then — click.

The door shut behind her.

Darkness closed in, thick and complete.

The scent inside was heavy with age — old wood, dust, and the faint, rotting edge of something never spoken.

She placed her palms against the walls. Her breath hitched.

And then the memories came.

Not like before — not in fragments.

They surged all at once, a flood of noise and color and feeling.

She turned the handle, instinct screaming to escape, but it wouldn’t budge.

Corey was holding it shut.

“Remember, Lucy,” he said through the wood. “You have to remember.”

She sank to her knees.

And it began.

Laughter.

Warmth.

The smell of pancakes drifting through the air.

Her mother’s voice calling gently: “Come eat before they get cold!”

Then — chaos.

Footsteps pounding on the floor. Doors slamming.

Her father’s voice, sharp with fear: “Hide.”

Lucas and Leo grabbing her hands, pulling her toward the cupboard.

Her father’s eyes — wide, frantic. Full of something she hadn’t seen before: terror.

“Stay here. Be quiet. No matter what,” he told her.

She remembered how her brothers had squeezed in beside her, their shoulders tight against hers.

Then came unfamiliar voices.

A man’s voice. Cold. Businesslike.

“Mr. Morgan now is it?, we’ve been looking for you and your wife. Where is it?”

Her father responded, voice cracking under pressure.

“Jimmy — please. You want money? I’ll give you money — just don’t do this—”

Then came the first shot.

Her mother’s scream.

Her father again, desperate: “Nora! She had nothing to do with this! Please — stop — please—”

Beside her, Leo’s voice was barely a whisper: “We have to help Dad.”

Lucas locked eyes with her. “Stay here. Stay silent.”

They were gone in the next breath.

Before leaving, they pushed something heavy against the door.

Their final act of protection.

Then came more shouting.

More gunfire.

Her father’s voice, shredded by anguish.

“My boys! Not my boys! Oh God — please—”

Another shot.

Then silence.

“What do we do now, Jimmy?” a woman’s voice asked calmly.

“Take Max and find what we came for,” he replied. “And Rebecca — be quick.”

Lucy’s breathing turned ragged. Sweat ran down her back. Her limbs trembled.

The door creaked open slowly.

A flood of light spilled in.

Corey stood over her. She pushed herself upright, her hands shaking, but her gaze steady.

“I have names.”

Corey didn’t interrupt.

“Jimmy.

Max.

Rebecca.”

There was no hesitation.

He gave a single nod.

“That’s where we start.”