Morgan (F) 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 she’d be out of options otherwise. Seriously, what could she do? Attend a two hour lecture on her thirty minute lunch break? Yeah, right.

She pulls her jacket tighter around herself, the faded denim soft under her 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 her mother’s part that counts. At least going home sounds better than being stuffed up in her dorm.

Kiran will be there…and Cam. God, how long has it been since she’s seen Cam? A month at least. After the abrupt deaths of Elena and Mateo Ramos, Cam just wasn’t the same. Morgan supposes she wouldn’t be either if her 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. She couldn’t forget about you. You’d be there, naturally, because you always are. It made her heart beat a little faster, made her palms a little sweatier. You saw each other just yesterday in the campus cafe, yet she still misses you fiercely.

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

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

“Shit,” She sighs sharply.

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

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

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

Her hand freezes halfway through the motion.

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

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

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

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

The pain is awful. She wishes she was dead.

The last thought, desperate and sorrowful, is that she hopes they don’t show her mom her 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.