hands. Her friends. Her poor friends. They hadn’t deserved to die that way.
The door closed with a quiet click and the mattress sagged when Hunter sat next to her. She smelled soap and the fresh air from their hike on his skin.
“Why? Why would someone do that to them?” She could hear the agony in her own voice.
His muscled arm came around her shoulders. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“They were so good.” Morgan’s voice broke. “Such good people.”
He pulled her closer, until her head rested against his firm shoulder.
Morgan desperately wanted to hold on to him, to hang on to the strength he offered, so she stood with her back to him. She didn’t want to need him as she had in her weakened moment by the bench in the parking lot. She was a job; he’d made that very clear. He was paid to care, which meant he didn’t care at all. It was important to remember that.
“You know, I’m okay. I really am. I’m going to be all right.” Her voice sounded hollow and weak, even to herself. “I’m going to bed.”
The mattress squeaked when he stood. His hand rested against her rigid shoulder and she closed her eyes. “I’ll give you a couple minutes to get ready, then I’ll be back.”
“No. You don’t have to. I’m all right.” Maybe if she said the words enough, she might believe them. She didn’t dare look at him; she would fall to pieces if she did. Breaking in front of him, showing him any type of weakness, wasn’t an option.
“I’m coming back. I’ll do some work in here on my laptop. We can turn off the light and you can get some rest.”
She didn’t have the strength to argue. “I need to get undressed.”
Morgan walked to the bathroom, going through the motions of her nighttime routine. Running on auto-pilot, she rubbed moisturizer on her face, brushed her teeth. She just wanted to go to bed and not think about what she’d seen anymore. How would she get those images out of her mind?
Every ounce of energy left her body on the way back to the bedroom. Her legs threatened to buckle with each step so she hurried. She changed into her green tank top and panties, crawled onto her side of the bed, sighed as her head nestled the pillow. She covered herself with starchy sheets, curled herself into a protective ball, and prayed for the oblivion of sleep.
The bedroom door opened with a creak and closed. Morgan continued to stare at the wood-paneled wall, pulling her knees tighter to her chest. She listened to Hunter move around the room—unzipping his bag, zipping it closed again. As much as she hadn’t wanted him to come back, she was glad he did. She found comfort in knowing he was close by.
He didn’t talk to her when he sat on his side of the bed. His laptop powered up, casting a blue tint to the room. She drifted off to the sound of Hunter’s fingers tapping against the keys of his computer.
Late into the night, Morgan whimpered in her sleep. She relived the horror of the pictures she’d seen in a grotesque slideshow that played over and over. The photo of Shelly staring with blank, milky blue eyes and blood on her forehead monopolized her subconscious.
The picture came to life, and somehow Morgan was there. Shelly continued to stare with her head bent back against her pack. Her hands reached out, trying to grab Morgan’s legs as her mouth began to move. She screamed and begged for Morgan to help her. Morgan turned to run, but Ian and Tom lay in her way, bloody and missing most of their faces. Their hands made a grab for her ankles and she jumped back, surrounded by the dead, shrieking.
Morgan cried out and shot up in bed. Covered in sweat, her breath sobbed in and out.
Hunter sat up next to her, instantly awake. “Hey, hey, hey, Morgan, it’s okay.” He pulled her close.
Terrified, defenseless, she let herself relax against his warm chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
He tightened his grip, wrapping his arms around her. “Morgan, you’re
The door closed with a quiet click and the mattress sagged when Hunter sat next to her. She smelled soap and the fresh air from their hike on his skin.
“Why? Why would someone do that to them?” She could hear the agony in her own voice.
His muscled arm came around her shoulders. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“They were so good.” Morgan’s voice broke. “Such good people.”
He pulled her closer, until her head rested against his firm shoulder.
Morgan desperately wanted to hold on to him, to hang on to the strength he offered, so she stood with her back to him. She didn’t want to need him as she had in her weakened moment by the bench in the parking lot. She was a job; he’d made that very clear. He was paid to care, which meant he didn’t care at all. It was important to remember that.
“You know, I’m okay. I really am. I’m going to be all right.” Her voice sounded hollow and weak, even to herself. “I’m going to bed.”
The mattress squeaked when he stood. His hand rested against her rigid shoulder and she closed her eyes. “I’ll give you a couple minutes to get ready, then I’ll be back.”
“No. You don’t have to. I’m all right.” Maybe if she said the words enough, she might believe them. She didn’t dare look at him; she would fall to pieces if she did. Breaking in front of him, showing him any type of weakness, wasn’t an option.
“I’m coming back. I’ll do some work in here on my laptop. We can turn off the light and you can get some rest.”
She didn’t have the strength to argue. “I need to get undressed.”
Morgan walked to the bathroom, going through the motions of her nighttime routine. Running on auto-pilot, she rubbed moisturizer on her face, brushed her teeth. She just wanted to go to bed and not think about what she’d seen anymore. How would she get those images out of her mind?
Every ounce of energy left her body on the way back to the bedroom. Her legs threatened to buckle with each step so she hurried. She changed into her green tank top and panties, crawled onto her side of the bed, sighed as her head nestled the pillow. She covered herself with starchy sheets, curled herself into a protective ball, and prayed for the oblivion of sleep.
The bedroom door opened with a creak and closed. Morgan continued to stare at the wood-paneled wall, pulling her knees tighter to her chest. She listened to Hunter move around the room—unzipping his bag, zipping it closed again. As much as she hadn’t wanted him to come back, she was glad he did. She found comfort in knowing he was close by.
He didn’t talk to her when he sat on his side of the bed. His laptop powered up, casting a blue tint to the room. She drifted off to the sound of Hunter’s fingers tapping against the keys of his computer.
Late into the night, Morgan whimpered in her sleep. She relived the horror of the pictures she’d seen in a grotesque slideshow that played over and over. The photo of Shelly staring with blank, milky blue eyes and blood on her forehead monopolized her subconscious.
The picture came to life, and somehow Morgan was there. Shelly continued to stare with her head bent back against her pack. Her hands reached out, trying to grab Morgan’s legs as her mouth began to move. She screamed and begged for Morgan to help her. Morgan turned to run, but Ian and Tom lay in her way, bloody and missing most of their faces. Their hands made a grab for her ankles and she jumped back, surrounded by the dead, shrieking.
Morgan cried out and shot up in bed. Covered in sweat, her breath sobbed in and out.
Hunter sat up next to her, instantly awake. “Hey, hey, hey, Morgan, it’s okay.” He pulled her close.
Terrified, defenseless, she let herself relax against his warm chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
He tightened his grip, wrapping his arms around her. “Morgan, you’re
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