Page 12 of For Mercy

"I don't know," she admitted, "but I intend to find out."

With a deep breath, Morgan steeled herself and moved towards the lifeless form on the cold concrete floor.Judge Hawthorne lay there, his once-pristine suit now a canvas of blood and violence.He was so close to the exit, mere feet from potential safety.The sight stirred something in Morgan - a mix of pity and a grim determination to uncover the truth.

Morgan crouched beside Judge Hawthorne's body, her tattooed arms braced against her knees.The coppery scent of blood filled her nostrils, mingling with the musty basement air.Her eyes traced the dark trail leading from the makeshift courtroom to where the judge now lay.

"He almost made it," she murmured, more to herself than to Derik.Her gaze fixed on Hawthorne's outstretched hand, fingers curled as if grasping for the door handle just beyond his reach."Look at his hand, Derik.He was fighting till the end."

Derik stepped closer, his face a mask of concern."What are you thinking, Morgan?"

She didn't answer immediately, her mind racing.This scene, this elaborate setup – it reminded her of something, but she couldn't quite place it.Her fingers ghosted over the judge's bloodstained sleeve, careful not to disturb any evidence.

"The wound," she said finally, pointing to a jagged tear in Hawthorne's side."It wasn't immediately fatal.He had time to try and escape."

Morgan's stomach churned as she imagined Hawthorne's final moments.The fear, the desperation, the slow realization that he wouldn't make it.

"Morgan?"Derik's voice pulled her back to the present.

She shook her head, pushing away the memories."Sorry.It's just...this is sick, Derik.Whoever did this wanted him to suffer."

As she spoke, Morgan's eyes caught on something glinting near the judge's body.Carefully, she leaned in for a closer look.A small, jagged piece of metal lay on the concrete, coated in dried blood.

"There," she said, gesturing for Derik to see."That's what got him.Part of one of those damn traps."

Morgan stood, her knees protesting after crouching for so long.She surveyed the room again, trying to piece together Hawthorne's final moments.

"He triggered something in that mockery of a courtroom," she mused aloud."Got hit, but not bad enough to drop him immediately.He made a run for it, almost got out, but..."

"But the blood loss was too much," Derik finished grimly.

Morgan nodded, her jaw clenching."He bled out here.Alone.Probably calling for help that never came."

Morgan's eyes swept across the macabre scene once more, her mind racing to connect the dots.The fake courtroom, the intricate death traps, the judge's final desperate crawl towards freedom—it all reeked of meticulous planning and a twisted sense of justice.

"This wasn't random," she said, her voice low and tense."Look at the setup, Derik.The attention to detail.Whoever did this wanted Hawthorne to feel something before he died."

Derik stepped closer, his brow furrowed."What are you thinking?Guilt?Fear?"

Morgan shook her head, her fingers absently tracing the outline of one of her tattoos through her sleeve."Maybe.Or revenge.This feels...personal."

She walked the perimeter of the room, her trained eyes cataloging every detail.The cheap wood of the judge's bench, the carefully positioned jury box, even the tattered American flag hanging limply in the corner.It was all a carefully crafted illusion, designed to disorient and terrify.

"They wanted him to know exactly why he was here," Morgan muttered, more to herself than to Derik."This wasn't just about killing him.It was about making him face something."She turned to face him, her expression grim."I'm thinking this is just the opening act, Derik.Whoever orchestrated this?They're putting on a show.And I've got a feeling we're all going to be in the audience for what comes next."

The weight of her words hung in the air, mingling with the acrid smell of blood and fear that permeated the room.Morgan's hand instinctively went to her phone, thumb hovering over her father's number.But she hesitated.How much did he know?How much more was there to uncover in this web of corruption and revenge?

One thing was certain: the game had changed.And as Morgan stared at the lifeless body of Judge Hawthorne, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was standing at the precipice of something far bigger and more dangerous than she had ever imagined.

CHAPTER FOUR

The stench of death clung to the photographs spread across the briefing room table.Morgan's eyes burned from hours of staring at the gruesome images, each one a piece of the twisted puzzle laid out before her.Judge Richard Hawthorne's lifeless face stared back at her from glossy eight-by-tens, his eyes wide with the terror of his final moments.

She picked up a photo of the mock courtroom, studying the meticulous attention to detail.Cardboard cutouts of a jury.A judge's bench fashioned from plywood.Even a witness stand, complete with a microphone.The killer had recreated every element with chilling precision.

"This wasn't just a murder," Morgan muttered, her voice rough from lack of sleep."This was a goddamn performance."Morgan's mind raced, piecing together the killer's methodology."Why go to all this trouble?Why not just put a bullet in his head and be done with it?"

She stood, pacing the length of the room as she spoke her thoughts aloud."No, this was personal.Whoever did this wanted Hawthorne to suffer.Wanted him to feel trapped, helpless..."

Her voice trailed off as a chill ran down her spine.The sensation was all too familiar—the same helplessness she'd felt when she was framed, when the cell door slammed shut behind her for a crime she didn't commit.

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