Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  It was sirens.

  “What did you do?” Nick yelled from the larger room of the church. The fury in his voice was thick as he ran forward, his feet pounding on the floor. “You had one simple instruction, you son of a bitch!”

  Morgan heard it all from where he stood, his body tensing with fear. He clenched his fist with no idea how to use it, but before he even had time to think about it, his assailant rounded the corner and reached for his collar. Morgan was pulled to the center of the church, the sirens growing louder. Lights flashed through the windows while the gun was pushed against his temple. He refrained from fighting, giving in to Nick’s primal urges and focusing on standing upright, walking in time with Nick’s long strides. He stumbled, was hauled up and shoved into the center of the church. The area lit up in red and blue. It was a promise of protection, but he had no idea if they could deliver. And even if they could…

  “Rachel,” he mumbled.

  “Shut up.” Nick stood behind him with one arm wrapped around Morgan’s throat. His other hand held the gun against his skull as they waited for the doors to burst open. The gun shook, losing its focus on the exact spot but still aimed at his head.

  There was no escape.

  But Morgan had to know.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “Any minute now, a whole bunch of policemen are going to come through those doors. It’s up to you if you hand yourself over quietly or go out with guns blazing, but if it’s the latter you’ll be killing an innocent woman. You have to tell me where Rachel is. You can’t die with that secret.”

  Nick paused, his grip loosening for only a moment. His mouth opened, hot breath seeping onto Morgan’s neck, but then he closed it again. There was no getting through to him.

  The doors burst open. Blinding flashlights dazed Morgan. He closed his eyes tight like vaults. Footsteps and screaming merged together as the police stormed the church, and all he felt was the viselike grip of the DC Carver’s arm across his throat as every gun in the room aimed in his direction. Morgan had heard the old tale of your whole life flashing before your eyes before you die, but all he could see was Rachel: her beautiful auburn hair fluttering in the wind like an elegant scarf, her thin lips pursed into a teasing smile while her blue eyes shone through him. Morgan’s heart began to hurt.

  “Put your weapon down, or we’ll be forced to open fire,” a cop yelled.

  “Fuck you!” Nick spat.

  Could they shoot him, Morgan wondered? Was their training so good that they could shoot Nick without accidentally hitting an innocent? Morgan, whose adrenaline was shooting through his body like white-water rapids, would have shook if he had the chance, but all he could do at this moment was pray and whisper, “Please.”

  Nick’s arm produced a mass of sweat. His arm trembled and the gun went further off balance. He stepped back, dragging Morgan with him. The police maintained an aggressive approach, stepping in time with him. They kept going until Nick’s back was to the wall, and he clutched Morgan tight, leaning into his ear. “The back room.”

  Morgan tried to turn his head, but the grip was too strong. “What?”

  It happened then, as if time slowed down. He saw the gun move from his temple, Nick’s arm extended to target one of the cops. The gunshot cracked and echoed, producing a blinding light. The bullet had not long left the gun before three more came from the other direction. Morgan heard them all: precise shots one after the other.

  One.

  Two.

  And there was a scream.

  Nick’s grip loosened. Morgan stood upright, every muscle in his body tensed as he heard the body slump to the floor behind him. The cops moved in, flashlights lowered while the afterstain blurred his vision in a rainbow-like assault. Fear rattled through him—fear of what had happened, fear of what would happen.

  “The back room,” Nick had said in his final moments.

  An officer stepped forward and offered a hand, but Morgan didn’t take it. Terror and excitement bred an unfamiliar emotion that pushed him to turn and run. He leapt over Nick’s body, ignoring the shouted commands of the officer. He passed the room he’d hidden in only a minute ago. It felt like longer; it felt like days.

  Morgan kept running, his heart dancing in his chest as he saw the door. He ran for it on weightless feet, reaching for the knob and twisting it. The lock forbade him from entering, but nothing could stop him now. Nothing. He took a step back and lunged, throwing all his might into his shoulder. The door bashed open, swinging with all the force of a comet, shaking while it shook back into an open position. It revealed a dark room with one small window and little light. There was only a fallen wardrobe, scattered trash, and a bed.

  And on that bed, a body.

  Morgan lost his breath and rushed forward. Only the worst of possibilities flooded his mind as he dropped to his knees, leaning over Rachel. Her eyes were closed, her body in the fetal position. Her mouth had been stuffed with an old rag, and Morgan tore it from her with great difficulty, his trembling hands ignoring his commands.

  “Please, no,” he said, but it didn’t feel like him. It felt as though his soul had long since left his body, and now he was merely a spectator of his deepest fears. He lowered his head and kissed her cheek, then felt for a pulse. His fingers pressed against the soft skin of her neck while he hoped—prayed—for some sign of life.

  It was all he could do not to cry.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Morgan sat in the back of the stationary ambulance, cradling Rachel in his arms while the paramedic finished stitching his arm. They’d been like that for over a half hour while the police swept the scene. There were still interviews to be given, and the paramedics kept insisting he leave Rachel in their care, but it wasn’t until now that he found the strength to do so.

  “She’s suffered a little shock, but she’s going to be okay,” the female paramedic told him. She was of middle age with deep, trustworthy eyes. Morgan took one look into them and knew he could believe her—it was just a matter of leaving the ambulance.

  Captain Bray waited for him outside, and although Morgan expected a barrage of abuse, he got nothing more than a pat on the shoulder and a slight nod of the head. “Will she be okay?” he asked. “Your wife?”

  “They say so.” The truth was, Morgan didn’t know. A feeling deep in his stomach told him it was all over, and he was inclined to listen to that instinct. The only problem was, he was still in shock himself. “I really thought she was gone.”

  The captain glanced around only half listening. “But she’s okay. You’re okay too. I gotta say, you did a good thing here tonight. It was, uh… irresponsible, but it all worked out for the best. I’m just glad you’re not against us.”

  “Why would I be?”

  Captain Bray laughed. “Not a lot of people respect the law these days. Anyway, I’ve got this shit-show to wrap up. If there’s anything you need, let me know.” He turned on his heel and made his way back toward the church.

  “Actually,” Morgan called.

  The captain turned.

  “There is one thing you can do for me.”

  Morgan went on to explain what he wanted. It was a lot to ask, and nothing could be done on the record, but Bray heard him nevertheless. Morgan gave a little more detail on his investigation and promised to give a statement with no fuss in the near future, if only he could be granted this one simple request.

  “You’re sure that’s what you want?” he asked.

  Morgan nodded.

  “Then follow me.”

  It was an unusual experience to be escorted to the back of a police car by the captain himself, but it felt right. Morgan glanced back toward the ambulance, which was now rounding the corner. He let out a half smile while being led to the only other ambulance on the scene and stepped up into the back.

  “Two minutes, and not a moment longer,” Bray said, and then he closed the door.

  Morgan was left alone in the confined area. Only he wasn’t completely alone; Ni
ck Hansen lay on a stretcher. His shirt had been removed, and bloody patches on his arm and shoulder had been smeared to make room for assessment. They’d been told he would survive, and for that Morgan found himself oddly relieved.

  He’d said it before, but nobody deserved to die.

  “Got a minute?” he asked, watching Nick’s eyes inch open with all the strength of a butterfly. Morgan took a seat on the opposite stretcher, a strong whiff of something medical filling his nose. When Nick saw him and jerked to alertness, Morgan continued. “I wanted to tell you that I forgive you. Taking Rachel and putting her in danger was the worst thing you could’ve done to me. If anything had happened to her, I might not be in here saying this to you. But as it stands, I forgive you.”

  Nick watched him with astonishment, his eyes widening and struggling to find their focus. When they finally landed on Morgan, his thin lips curved into a wry smile that could’ve spooked the Devil himself. “But I don’t forgive you. I had to kill my own mom because of you. If you hadn’t interfered…”

  Morgan wanted to tell him the truth and wipe that smug grin from his face, but he figured it could wait another minute. After all, he’d just gone to Hell and back, so what was sixty seconds between archrivals? “You did that yourself. The only real wonder was how you managed to get Emma Cole past her. A woman like that—she has to keep a watchful eye over her son, whether she chooses to step in or not. What happened?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because nobody else will listen.” Morgan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “I’d hurry up though; the captain gave me two minutes, and I’m figuring we have around thirty seconds left.”

  Nick glanced at the door and then tried to sit up. He winced, a trickle of blood oozing from his wound, and slumped back down. Groaning, he craned his neck. “I didn’t have to hide it. My mom knew all about what I was doing. She knew from the very beginning.”

  The reveal should’ve hit Morgan harder than it did. He sat in silence, studying Nick’s expression, which was nothing short of wounded superiority. He couldn’t believe that the horrors he’d seen had all been caused by this one little man who was now bleeding all over himself like an injured animal. It was the least he deserved.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Nick said, grinning from ear to ear.

  The door swung open then, and the captain stood in the moonlight pointing at his watch.

  Morgan stood and bent over to keep from hitting his head on the low ceiling. He made for the door, ready to leave, but there was one little nugget he couldn’t help but tell. It was the one thing he had to rub in Nick’s face, and he simply couldn’t resist.

  “What you didn’t know,” he said, turning his head just enough to watch his expression change, “is that you didn’t kill your mother. She survived the gunshot and is currently recovering in hospital. She’s given her statement, and she’ll testify against you in court.”

  Nick’s jaw dropped in both amazement and horror. His eyebrows contorted into a pained and confused expression. He shook his head rapidly from side to side. “What? That… No. Why…” He gave up on speaking, his cheeks turning ghostly pale.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Morgan let out his own grin, turned, and stepped out of the ambulance, closing the door behind him. With any luck, that would be the last time he’d ever see the man known as the DC Carver—a demented man killing for revenge—and with the exception of one little errand, the investigation had come to an end.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  They entered without a word, Gary storming toward the hospital bed while Morgan rested his back against the nearest wall, where he watched, waiting. It was never going to be an easy thing to watch, but it was better that he was there; Gary was likely to be aggressive, and he wanted to ensure no harm came to her. Not under his watch.

  Lyonette Hansen wrapped her large fingers around the rail she was handcuffed to. She inclined the electric bed, slowly coming to and meeting Gary’s stare with wide eyes. She looked like one cat being bullied by another, backed into a corner and growing defensive. “If you came here to interrogate me, I’ve already told my story,” she said.

  “I’m not here for that. I came because I have something to say to you.”

  Gary turned back to Morgan, silently seeking approval.

  Morgan nodded with caution.

  “Your son is in custody, Mrs. Hansen,” Gary stated, dragging his shoulders back to make himself look stockier than he was. “He murdered an acquaintance of mine, went after her friends, and then he was shot three times while attempting to execute my best friend.”

  Her wide face fell into a heavy sulk, as if she’d lost control of her muscles. But she didn’t say anything—she simply chose the pity-me performance and ran with it, lowering her eyes as her chin touched her chest. It was a painfully annoying thing to watch.

  Gary cleared his throat, a dry croak creeping in and threatening to break his voice. “I was never officially a part of this investigation, but I hired the man behind me to ensure that your son was brought to justice. You’ll never know the pain I’ve felt, because you’re sick and twisted. And you know what? Your screwup of a son is no better.”

  “Hey—” Morgan stepped away from the wall, taking a warning step. For as long as he was here, it was his job to keep Gary in line. Otherwise, who knew what would happen? It wasn’t a secret that Gary wanted a few minutes alone with the man who’d killed his ex-girlfriend, but the mother who’d let it happen wasn’t about to get away with it.

  Morgan could only imagine his rage.

  “Okay.” Gary waved him off and crept closer to the bed, making Lyonette quiver in his shadow. “I’ve nothing left to say to you. Only that I hope your precious son becomes somebody’s bitch in prison. And he will—believe me, he will. The toughest, most badass killers in Washington will use him for things he never thought he’d do, and then they’ll make him clean up the mess. He’s just a small boy, Mrs. Hansen. A small boy who picked on small women. I want you to go to bed each night knowing that you made this happen.”

  Something shocking happened then; Gary hocked up some phlegm and spat in her face. Lyonette recoiled, the spit joining the tears as it dripped from her red cheeks. She made a noise that sounded like “ormph” and wiped it away at once, wincing with disgust.

  Morgan, who hadn’t been given the chance to stop it from happening, took Gary by the arm and dragged him out of the room, squeezing a little harder than he should have. He closed the door behind him, shoving Gary a few feet away from it. “A little too much.”

  Gary began to pace. “I know, but I feel better.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Do you think I got to her?”

  The truth was, Morgan didn’t know. If somebody had spoken to him like that, it’d stay with him for sure. In fact, the spit would only ingrain it deeper into his memory. But Lyonette Hansen? After what she’d allowed to happen, it was a wonder she was even able to register things emotionally. Morgan settled for a soft nod. “For sure.”

  Gary stopped pacing. He looked Morgan dead in the eye and straightened his tie. “It feels like a bit of an anticlimax. I was hoping that when this moment came it would be some big, controlled speech. Like it would make everything okay again.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “But it’s not, is it? Carrie is still dead, and nothing will change that. The only difference is that her killer can’t hurt anybody else. And I… I have you to thank for that, buddy. You’re more than just a strong investigator. You’re a good friend. I shouldn’t have made you do this. The things you went through, and with Rachel…”

  Morgan spared him the words and rushed forward, embracing him. It wasn’t something he was conscious of in front of the cops; Gary was his best friend, and he had no problem showing that, especially if it helped keep Gary from tears. “It’s over now. Let’s just keep looking forward, right? Because now the job is done, and it’s time to move
on.”

  The words were meant for Gary, but Morgan took them on board too. After all the drama, the worry, the confusion, and the heartache, he was ready to go home to Rachel. Whatever happened next—whatever life threw at them—he was sure they would face it together, and that would make them unstoppable.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Morgan stepped through the scanner at Dulles International Airport, collected his belongings from the tray, and fixed his belt, which was much harder with the gunshot wound taking its time to heal on his arm. Stuffing his keys and wallet back into his pocket, he hurried to the back of the large room, squeezing past other fliers who were in more of a rush than he was. Today marked the first of seven days where time wouldn’t be an issue, and he was in no hurry.

  He found Rachel at the back, standing beside a tall green potted plant that complemented her red hair. She beamed a wide smile when she saw him, taking him into her arms and squeezing tight. When she finally let go, she took his hand and walked with him in the direction of the departure lounge.

  Finally, it was time to fly.

  “I’m so glad we did this,” Rachel said, playfully knocking her shoulder against his.

  “You deserve the break,” Morgan said, reaching out to hold her close. After all they’d been through, he’d probably never let her out of his sight again. At least, that was how it felt in that moment. “Especially since… you know.”

  It’d been days since the traumatic events at Mosaic Church. It turned out Rachel had simply passed out due to the shock of Nick Hansen’s aggression. When he’d first found her in the back room of the church, he thought it was the end. The world had seemed to collapse around him, and the mere thought of going on without her was nothing less than a fresh hell. But now that she was up and running, seemingly unaffected—at least on a physical level—he could work on earning her forgiveness.

  Not that he needed it.