Morgan (M) POV (Patreon)

December 21st, roughly two years ago.

Whoever invented evening classes was the devil.

Of course, Morgan appreciates that they’re offered. Work makes it impossible to attend during the day, so he’d be out of options otherwise. Seriously, what could he do? Attend a two hour lecture on his thirty minute lunch break? Yeah, right.

He pulls his jacket tighter around himself, the faded denim soft under his fingers. It’s dark at this point, and the wind in Maine can be vicious. It’s about a thirty minute drive home for dinner; a very late dinner, albeit, but it’s the thought on his mother’s part that counts. At least going home sounds better than being stuffed up in his dorm.

Kiran will be there…and Cam. God, how long has it been since he’s seen Cam? A month at least. After the abrupt deaths of Elena and Mateo Ramos, Cam just wasn’t the same. Morgan supposes he wouldn’t be either if his mom died. Still, Cam loves them all even if life has caused distance, so Morgan is confident that things can only get better.

And you. He couldn’t forget about you. You’d be there, naturally, because you always are. It made his heart beat a little faster, made his palms a little sweatier. You saw each other just yesterday in the campus cafe, yet he still misses you fiercely.

He makes his way to his car, and grimaces at the sight of it. An old ass Nissan Altima that just loved to make his life difficult. He jams the key in the lock, wiggling it to the left before turning it back to the center. He jiggles the door handle and it won’t budge.

Letting out what’s totally a calm breath, he tries again. Then he tries another time. Then he turns and kicks the tire, immediately regretting his decision when his toe slams into the hard surface. He wiggles his foot, cursing as he turns back to the door.

“Shit,” He sighs sharply.

He’s finally successful after he loses track of his attempts, opening his car door and tossing his bag into the passenger seat. He double checks the back; his Christmas presents didn’t get stolen while he was in class, which is a bonus.

They’ve been wrapped for ages, but he always forgets to lug them all home to put under his mom’s tree. He would keep them in his dorm but she likes seeing a full stack of pretty gifts, so he’ll take them despite the impracticality.

Climbing in the driver’s side, he rests his head back on the seat. Exhaustion is an understatement, and so is the cold. The heater is hopeless, he knows that by now, but he cranks the dial and prays for a miracle. Putting his key in the ignition, he starts to turn it-

His hand freezes halfway through the motion.

Someone is standing right outside his car, staring at him through the fogged window. He doesn’t dare crack the door to ask questions, and he doesn’t even think about rolling down the window. Hell, he’s barely even breathing. He goes to press down on the gas, his foot twitching, but he’s covered by a shower of window fragments before he can.

A hand lurches through the mess of glass, reaching for his throat. He gets pushed backwards as his door is jerked open, and he ironically thinks that this moment is the fastest he’s ever seen his car cooperate.

He can’t even stop to enjoy his internal humor too long before he’s getting thrown on his back. The person tackles him in the car, a heavy weight weighing him down, and yet he feels mute. He wants to scream for help but even opening his mouth is exhausting. It’s like his every muscle is rebelling against him, frozen in fear.

Trying to push back does nothing, and soon he feels razors at his jugular, cutting him open. Are they tearing his throat out? God, he should be dead. He can feel all the blood slip away from him, feel his mind go foggy as he’s painted red. It covers his face, splatters his body…

The pain is awful. He wishes he was dead.

The last thought, desperate and sorrowful, is that he hopes they don’t show his mom his body. She has enough nightmares already.

…

The body was found at approximately 2:30 on the 22nd after concerned friends and family pointed the police in the direction of the victim’s university.

Severely desecrated, the victim’s throat was torn open and there are several additional lacerations along the arms and torso. They’re deep cuts, looking as if they came from sharp fingernails. All evidence points to foul play, but no DNA is found to incriminate a possible perpetrator.

Following a thorough investigation of the crime scene, the body is transported to the local hospital for confirmation of identity and autopsy.

Later, when the victim’s belongings are finally released to the next of kin, a pile of presents are found in the backseat of the car. They sit, wrapped in shiny red and gold paper, untouched by the massacre in the front seat.