Here is chapter 5! I hope you enjoy what happens in this one!
Chapter 5
The day was cold, the sky was dressed in a dark shade of grey and his eyes stared at it, somehow glued. Unmoving. He remembers it, he does, the tear-stained face that belonged to his wife too. Her voice, pleading and begging and crying all at the same. Really, he did try to turn his head to her, to move his gaze on hers and promise everything will be fine, not to worry. But he couldn't. The pain was so very much in his chest, as well as a hole with a bullet in it.
Fingers swimming and soaking themselves in his own blood.
Nobody saw it coming. Nobody saw Michael Davidson, their UnSub with a gun in his hands coming closer to him. His eyes were covered with black sunglasses, half of his face with a scarf and his head wore a cap. For him, Derek was an easy target at that time – finishing a flirting conversation with Penelope on the phone and pacing back and forth on the pavement while Prentiss and the rest of the team were inside the victim's apartment. The victim was a blonde woman found struggled in her house with her hands clasped in front of her. Davidson's usual way of killing.
Michael Davidson came back, to finish the job.
But who would have thought that the murderer would have stayed at the crime scene. Waiting, to trap him.
It wasn't until the phone was in his pocket and he had turned around, ready to go inside and assist with the investigation when the UnSub showed himself, aimed the gun at his chest and fired. And still, even though the place was crawling with cops he managed to get away and escape as Derek bled out on the ground, choking on the air his lungs couldn't breathe.
He believed in Heaven and Hell and he thought he would go somewhere nice.
Confused, he wakes up in a hospital moaning in pain.
''Emily,'' he whispers, he needs his wife.
''Easy,'' a female voice sounds in the room, and it isn't hers, it is different.
''Emily,'' he says again.
''She's not here.'' He blinks at the woman in front of him who smirks. ''Don't you remember me, Morgan?''
Jordan Todd, who else.
''Where is Emily?'' he demands, raises his upper body as he tries to stand up and pain shoots through him. ''Where is she?''
''Lie down.'' Jordan pushes him back gently. ''She is not here.''
He frowns. ''Where is she?'' he asks.
''To her you are a dead man now, Morgan.''
His frown deepens, forehead creases. ''What?''
She sighs. ''Davidson shot you and until we catch him you are under the protection of the FBI.'' She offers him a cup with water to sip and he declines it.
''She needs to know I am alive,'' he insists.
''That can't happen.'' She shakes her head sadly. ''No one must know. It's for your own good.''
"Why? I can take care of myself!" he protests.
"He's a dangerous man. We can't take that risk," she says, shaking her head.
"What if he comes after my wife? What about Emily?" Anger fills his veins. How was he going to protect her if she thinks he's dead?
"With you dead, she's not in danger." Then Jordan bows her head and leaves so Derek can rest.
Though she knew he would not.
Derek Morgan lay back in his bed defeated, his chest aching with every breath he took. He was helpless.
Days later, they moved him to a house outside of the city. Guarded by agents. They offered him books, to read and take his mind off the current situation he was in. He didn't have access to a phone or internet. No way to contact his wife. He could only wait and pray.
It helped a bit, to read, to be able to use these stories to escape reality and get his anger out of his system that way. His feelings. It was much more peaceful in his novels. It made the pain bearable. As for the wound, it was healing slowly and he was regaining his strength. He wished he could have her by his side, holding his hand as he made his first steps after a long time. But at the same time, he didn't. Because she would witness his breakdowns, his tears and screams.
She would kiss them away.
Oh, Emily.
''I'm sorry,'' he cried into his pillow at night.
He hugged it as if it was her.
A few months passed and the stitches were gone, replaced by a scar. A piece of red, damaged and patched skin. He noticed it when he traced the tips of the fingers of his shaking hand over it. Wincing, he lowered his shirt and sat back on his bed.
Waiting.
For what though?
Michael Davidson is a clever man, they tried to catch him and they couldn't. How will they do it?
It might take months, years.
He grabbed his latest read, placed it in his hands and started skim the pages trying to run away from this hell.
Three hundred and sixty-three days pass, almost a whole year away from her. No news from Jordan yet, and he continues to wait and wait and wait.
He scratches his beard, paces back and forth around his room.
It's when the door opens, and the agent walks in. The smile on her face makes his heart fill with hope.
She looks at him. ''We got him.''
A smile finds a place on his lips and then it fades.
''What happened?''
She shrugs. ''All I can say is that he blew himself up.''
''He's dead?''
She nods. ''Seems like you can go home, Morgan.''
God, he can't stop smiling.
Jordan is at the door when he turns around. ''But first, shave that thing off your face.''
The neighbor looked at him like he was a ghost when he politely said hi to her. Well, it's been a year since he walked down this street, since he saw the entrance of his own house.
He smiles as he stands in front of his door and knocks.
He waits one minute or two and then it opens.
''Emily,'' he says breathlessly.
Sooo? What did you think of that? I hope you liked it and please leave a review! have a nice night... or morning.. or afternoon. (I think you get the point :))