A/N: Just wanted to take a moment and thank those of you who have reviewed and favorited this frightening little tale. Your reviews really mean a lot to me. Always have, always will. Now, it's Morgan's turn. We all know what Morgan's darkest demon looks like. But what did that demon look like to a 13-year-old boy? You're about to find out...
Warning: Mentions of child abuse, implied sexual abuse.
NIGHTMARE SCENARIO
MORGAN
Can't wake up in sweat, Cause it ain't over yet
Still dancing with your demons
Victim of your own creation
Beyond the will to fight, Where all that's wrong is right
Where hate don't need a reason
Loathing self-assassination
Despite the fog and haze clouding your mind, this place seems eerily familiar. It sends a chill up your spine that you haven't felt in more than 25 years. You feel fear, but you cannot figure out why. The edges of your vision are still black, but the center is beginning to clear. All of your senses are kicking in. The smell of cedar and oak. Muted tones of green and brown. The comforting crackle of the warm fire in the fireplace. The pool in the back. The cabin. For all of its understated beauty and comfort, it only serves to fill you with panic.
'How did I get here?' you wonder. You haven't been here since you were 13 years old. You know there is nothing that could make you willingly come back to this house of horrors. It still looks the same as it did back then. The familiarity unnerves you. It's as if you've stepped back in time. You see the same old, cracked mirror still hanging in the same spot on the wall over the dresser. You look into it and the reflection you see stuns you. It's you… but it isn't. Your 13-year-old self is staring back at you. You can't tear your eyes away from the scared boy whose eyes are pleading for help.
And then you hear it. The clink of the ice dropping into the glass. And you smell it. The alcohol he'll give you to help you relax and make you feel like a man. You know he's coming for you.
"Please. Please," the boy in the mirror begs quietly. "I don't want this. Don't let him do this. Please help me."
But before you can blink, Carl Buford is standing right behind you. His reflection is next to the boy in the mirror. You feel the same fear you felt all those years ago when he puts his hand on your shoulder and hands you the glass.
'This shouldn't be possible,' you tell yourself in a futile effort to calm down. 'Carl Buford is in jail.'
"Come on, Derek. Take a sip. You'll feel better." His deep voice hasn't changed. Your hand shakes as you lift the glass to your lips and take a sip to make him happy.
'Snap out of it, Derek!' you yell at yourself, but it's like you're trapped in some sort of strange alternate reality. Everything continues to play out the same as it did back then. You feel completely helpless under Buford's watchful eye. And you continue to participate in his sick, twisted fantasy to keep from making him angry. You finish your drink and set the glass on the dresser as Buford begins to massage your shoulders.
"I don't want this," you whisper, and you realize your voice still sounds the same as when you were 13. You're confined inside your adolescent self. Trapped.
"You know you always enjoy this, Derek," Buford whispers close to your ear. "You always get nervous at first, but it will be okay." His quiet voice sends a tremor of terror down your back.
"It's not okay. What you're doing is not okay."
"Just relax, Derek."
"No. Please."
But he doesn't listen, and you don't fight him when he unbuttons your shirt and slips it off your shoulders.
"Carl," your voice begins to shake.
"Shhh," he whispers. "You'll remember how much you like this soon. You'll see."
"I don't like this. I don't want this. Please." You start to beg, but it's no use. As he lays you down on his king sized bed, you begin to cry.
"No. Please, don't." The adult Derek is screaming inside for you to fight, scream, punch, kick. Something. Anything to get this man off of you. But the adolescent can do nothing but beg for it to stop.
"You'll thank me one day, Derek. When you get that great football scholarship and get out of this neighborhood. When you make something of yourself and can move your mama and your sisters away from here. You'll thank me, Derek."
As he reaches for your belt, he leans over you and whispers in your ear.
"When you become FBI Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan, you'll remember who pulled you out of the gutter. You'll remember I'm the one who made you who you are. You'll thank me for this."
Your eyes flash open and you sit up sharply in bed. Sweat is beading on your brow and your heart is racing. It takes several moments before you can catch your breath. You scan the room cautiously, then relax slightly once you're certain you're still in your hotel room and Carl Buford is still behind bars.
This nightmare has shaken you to your core. It's been at least five years since you've even thought of Carl Buford and the abuse he inflicted on you. Not since the day you put him away has he entered your dreams. But tonight has shaken you, because the man you're hunting has done the same things and worse to the children of this town. He's two steps ahead of you and has been the whole time. And you can't find him.
You get up and get a drink from the mini fridge in your room. You only take one sip before you hear the small whimper coming from your sleeping teammate. You realize this case is affecting all of you on a very deep level. You're not the only one having nightmares tonight.
