Chapter II- Wilderness

Everything was foggy, a total blur shadowed her eyes as hot tears rolled down her cheeks and blood bubbled from her pale lips. A bright hue of lights saturated her container. Red flickered from side to side, passing quickly and fading away as her vision slowly blackened. She thought to herself, as her long lashes softly fell and tickled her face, maybe if she just closed her eyes she could reopen them and be alright. Oh god how it's bright. She could feel hands grasping her but paid no attention to it.

Is this how it ends? I don't want to die like this, not here, not now.

Morgan Rodjers, twenty years old, she was a lamb compared to most. When people thought about the young girl, they would speak of good things like how she always went to church and loved children. She wasn't the most popular growing up but the girl had a talent for getting what she wanted and out of virtually anyone. No one would figure the beautiful young girl would die like this, not so traumatically, not so gruesomely. Her mother always pictured her dying on a hospital bed in her late eighties or nineties, surrounded by roses and her children, falling into a deep slumber peacefully.

Just not like this.

Her mother never saw it ending this way. Morgan's mother loomed over her child's body. Limp, nearly lifeless as needles and monitors were strapped and stabbed into her little girl. Dear god how the room stunk too. Blood was everywhere; the crimson liquid was covering practically every surface. Tears streamed down her mother's face as she continued to watch Morgan slowly die on the operation table. Her chest was ripped open as doctors probed and sewed her torn organs. Morgan's pale blue eyes seemed hallow as she stared out into the empty space; her lips cracked and slightly parted, small wheezes escaping as she flinched.

The heart monitor suddenly rang, a hissing, loud beep rang throughout the room. The older woman screamed trying to push through a dozen nurses to reach her baby. She was forced out of the room and seated firmly in the waiting room. Hours went by, feeling like days before a doctor came out. The strong frown that was carved into the elderly man's face told her all she needed to know, but the tired mother wouldn't accept it. She screamed out, shouting to see her child. The doctor held her forearm, attempting to calm her.

His words were barely heard as she burst into Morgan's room. She's alive, but it doesn't look good. Morgan laid on the white cotton sheets, wrapped tightly with bandages and strung with machines. She was asleep, looking more fragile than ever, like a flower in a rain storm. Her skin as pale as the bed she rested on, her brown hair was in disgusting coils filled with sweat that clung to her face in large, knotted clumps.

Behind those dead eyes she dreamt, but not gracefully. She was screaming on the inside, staring up at the face that will now torment her for the rest of her life. His wild eyes stared back down at her, blood shot and crazed with a smirk that stretched from ear to ear, tearing open even wider and dripping small pellets of rose water onto her trembling face.

Morgan's eyes snapped open, her hand felt heavy as she strained to shield her eyes from the blinding light of the hospital room. Her mother grasped her opposite hand, tears streaming down her freckled face. She observed the rest of her company. At the foot of the bed was an elderly man in a white jacket, clearly her doctor and to her right was two police officers.

The younger one cleared his throat, looking anxious as he spoke up, "Morgan Rodjers? There was an accident, do you remember what happened?"

There was a pause, her eyes wandered around the room. She coughed violently, motioning for someone to bring her a glass of water. The cup was carefully pressed against her lips, relief washed over her as the cool liquid burned her lungs. The officer repeated the question, quickly silencing as her mother shot him a cruel glare. Morgan nodded, placing the cup of water on the stand to her side.

The other officer took out a notepad. "Could you tell us who did this to you? Did you see their face, or anything that might help us catch them?"

Her eyes set back, anger filling the pale blue until they almost looked black. "His name," she almost choked again as she thought about that night, hands shaking as fear and pain were overcome with fury. "His name… is Jeff the Killer."

Morgan knew at that instant, she was to be hunted by a man, no, a creature that plagued the news. Afraid? Of course she was, terrified even. But more than anything, she wanted revenge. Because of course, revenge is a bitch.

"Can we live without death? Can we love without hate? Can we want without need? (I've fallen once again) Do we ever live our lives enough to appreciate that we can never truly grasp one without the other? That a concept has no meaning without an opposing force? If hate is what's inside us, if hate is what defines us, then we will use our hate to drive us. (We are the damned) Let death not deprive us. Do we want this, or do we need this? You can always rinse the surface but the stain will remain."