Let Me In by Adam Nicholls (books under 200 pages .TXT) 📕

Morgan sat in a quarantined wing of the hospital, where nobody was allowed in or out except for him and Gary, who’d been able to sneak him in under his own authority. Morgan appreciated this more than anyone could know—until now he’d been sitting at home wishing the days away and waiting for some news while Rachel stayed with him for support. When Gary had finally come knocking on their door to tell him Emma Cole requested his presence, it finally felt as though his luck had changed for the better.

Tapping his heel repeatedly on the floor, Morgan made a constant flick of his head at every sound from each end of the corridor. Now that he was here, he had no idea what he’d say to Emma. He’d never been very comfortable talking with trauma victims, so this should be no different. The thing was, she wanted him in there, and there was a reason for that.

He just had to figure out what it was.

The minutes slogged by. Morgan was only seconds away from heading downstairs for a coffee when there was a click. Emma’s door inched open, and Gary stepped out with his face creased into a frown. “She’s ready. Go ahead.”

Morgan shot to his feet and headed inside before his nerves could talk him out of it. He thanked Gary and closed the door behind him, preparing himself to not make a fuss of the way she looked. He hadn’t yet seen her since she’d been rescued and cleaned up, but he didn’t want to cringe or hiss through his teeth when he saw her, so he kept the thought at the front of his mind as he ventured deeper into the large dark room where the blinds were closed and only a small bedside lamp beckoned him to her side.

“Hello again,” Emma said. Her voice was stifled, as if talking through swollen lips.

“Hi, Emma.” Morgan crossed the room and lowered himself into the seat beside her bed, letting his will slip and staring right at her. It wasn’t so bad—a couple of bruises here, a swelling there, and one perfectly neat line of stitches. All in all, she didn’t look like she’d been hurt too badly. Not in comparison to the other victims, anyway. “How are you doing?”

“Meh. I can’t feel my face, but that’s probably a good thing. At least my body is okay, I guess. They have me doing some sort of press release later on, so I’m a bit nervous about that. Otherwise…” She stared across the room like something held her attention, then shook her head. “How are you?”

Morgan let a smile part his lips. It was funny—after all she’d been through she was still concerned about his well-being. If that wasn’t the trait of a good person, he didn’t know what was. “I’m just fine, thank you for asking. But we’re not here to talk about me, are we? Why did you want to see me, Emma?”

Emma made a tsk sound into her lips, wincing as if it hurt. “I already told the police what happened, but there was one thing I couldn’t bring myself to confess. You’re a nice guy, and you seem to care a great deal about your investigation, so I wanted to open up.”

“I’m all ears.”

“But you can’t tell anyone.”

Morgan sighed. “Unfortunately I can’t promise that. If it directly relates to the case, I have a duty to—”

“Forget your duty,” she said, groaning as she sat up. “Do you want to hear it or not?”

“You seem eager to tell.”

“Call it a guilty conscience.”

Morgan hated the idea of withholding information from the police, but what could he do? If he didn’t promise to keep it a secret, then it’d all go to waste, and for what? His pride? Forget that, he thought, and gave a little nod, signaling her to continue.

“The killer—I mean, Nick Hansen—and I had a relationship in high school.”

Taken aback, Morgan crooked an eyebrow. “You said he harassed you.”

“Yes.” Emma rolled her head back onto her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “Back then, I made a mistake and slept with Nick. A few times, actually. Eventually, it turned into something of a romance, but I had to call it a day, you know?”

“So you ended it.”

“Exactly. Nick spent the next few nights knocking on my door, kicking up a fuss. My dad had to go out there with his shotgun one night, and that was the last time Nick gave us any trouble. At home, at least.” She laughed, but it was one of nostalgic reminiscence rather than humor. “I found a note in my locker the next day. It was from Nick, of course, saying that if I didn’t tell my boyfriend the truth, then he would.”

“Your boyfriend at the time was…?”

“Matthew.”

Morgan was crushed under the weight of this information. Finally, some loose ends were coming together, but they came with their own baggage. As difficult as it was to be the sounding board for Emma’s regret, he had no choice but to continue. “Go on.”

Emma coughed, reaching up to touch her face before dropping her hand onto her lap. It was obvious this was a hard story for her to tell—her constant fidgeting accompanied her guilt-ridden expression. “I was a kid, and I did what most kids would’ve done. I told Matthew that Nick was stalking me, in case he ever heard the truth. At least my side of the story was already established, right?”

“Matthew confronted him.”

“How did you know?”

“He told me.”

Emma nodded understanding. “There was kind of a fight, but it didn’t last long. Nick pretty much left me alone after that. I saw him a few times over the years, but we never spoke. To tell the truth, I felt bad about what I’d done, but it was too late to go back. I ended up marrying Matthew, and if I ever confessed, he’d never forgive me.”

“That’s why you didn’t tell the police?”

“Yes.”

Morgan understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. It gave him a motive for Nick to take Emma in the first place, but there was something missing. “The other girls?”

“Similar situations,” Emma said. “Nick told me all about what happened with them. When I saw one of them on the news, I thought nothing of it, but then I saw the second victim. It made me wonder if I was being paranoid, but when I got talking to your wife at the charity hall and learned you were investigating, I saw my chance to say something without officially reporting it.”

Morgan licked his lips, which had become bone-dry somewhere over the past few minutes. He could barely believe what he was hearing. If Carrie and Danielle had dated the killer and both had ended badly, that could be considered a direct motive for the homicides. Not to mention what he’d done to their faces. If Nick couldn’t have them, nobody should, Morgan guessed, tasting the threat of bile on his tongue as the words filtered through his mind. “I just wonder why he took you. As insensitive as it sounds, why not just kill you like he did the others?”

“I don’t know everything,” Emma said, sitting up. “But he did say I was his last.”

“Can we really trust his word on that?”

“Not exactly.”

Morgan tilted his head as if to say, “That’s it, then,” and stood. He thought about leaning over to kiss her on the head, confirming the connection he’d established with her over as many unspoken words as spoken ones. But she’d just endured a kidnapping from a deranged psychopath, and touching her would likely start an aggressive reaction. He settled for a smile and turned for the door, with no idea of what to do with this information.

But something stopped him.

“Wait.” Emma’s bed creaked as she leaned into it.

Morgan turned.

“This press release… I’m pretty nervous.”

“You’ll be fine. You have the power to stop it whenever you want.”

Emma pulled a face that was somewhere between mock terror and genuine fear, tucking her sweat-greased blonde hair behind her ear. A new bruise revealed itself on her temple. This was the worst of the bunch. “Would you go with me?”

“You mean as an escort?”

“I mean by my side.”

Morgan shifted his weight to the other foot, watching her. “What about Matthew?”

“I’m not ready to face him yet. Please.”

It wasn’t the most comfortable situation for him, but it wasn’t about him and he knew it. Morgan had been through a number of press releases—speaking on only a couple of those occasions—and they always felt like less of a big deal than they really were. It was just a case of looking over people’s heads and pretending you were talking to the wall. It was pretty easy, but he’d never done it from the position of a kidnapping victim. He thought of Rachel, and if she’d been in the same situation he’d want to be there for her.

This gave him little choice.

“Sure,” he finally said.

A tear appeared at Emma’s eyes, rolling down her cheek and soundlessly hitting her hospital gown where it grew into a perfect dark circle. “Thank you, Mr. Young. For being there for me, and for keeping my secret.”

It isn’t kept yet, he thought. But instead he offered his warmest smile and headed for the exit a second time with all this new information filling his head like water in the hull of a sinking ship. And just like that ship, he couldn’t shake the sensation of sinking.

But