𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙣
⊱ ─────────── ⊰

I've been blindfolded and thrown into a car with two men on each side of me.

No music plays, no one talks during the ride. It's dead silent.

I hardly have any energy left to wonder where they are taking me, but remember hearing about the country club.

With what little hope I have left, I believe Chris will find me there. He knows the club well as a frequent visitor so I'm sure this is one of the first places he'll look for me.

The car comes to an abrupt stop and I'm pulled out of it.

"Move it." Says Marco, dragging me along like a rag doll.

The high heels Mim picked out for me clack against the road before we step up onto the sidewalk.

I smell the manmade pond water and freshly cut grass.

What time is it? Shouldn't people be at the course? Why is it so quiet? Too quiet. . .

What if they are and they're just watching me be taken to some dark room where Tate and his father do their evil bidding?

"I'm going to throw up again." I lie just to get out of the sack that's covering my head.

"Swallow it." Marco laughs at himself.

I hate Marco.

I can't make out my surroundings because they are being super top secret about everything, not even making a sound unless to bark an order at me.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

A fist bangs against a door.

Marco and whoever else is escorting me— I assume Jake— tighten their grips around each of my arms. I'm sure it'll leave a mark. There goes another five hundred.

"Enter." A muffled voice says from the other side.

The door opens and air conditioning refreshes me the second it does.

My sweat-beaded skin is relieved.

But just as I feel cooled off by the drop in temperature, my heart skips a beat.

A gasp flies through my lips.

I'm frozen with fear as I am suddenly pushed inside and locked in a room, standing parallel to a line of men filing in along the back wall.

They all dawn posh face masks covering everything but their eyes, and dark suits. The men vary in shades and sizes.

I have no idea who they are, and I do not intend to find out.

Raymond makes his entrance, the only familiar face on that side of the dimly lit room.

The feeling of not knowing where I am or what's about to happen takes me from uncomfortable to a feeling of terror.

Laying his eyes on me, a smirk strikes up on Raymond's face.

"Turn." He strikes up a demand, gesturing me to spin with his finger.

The breath inside of me pumps my chest in and out.

"For what?" I ask Raymond, unnerved.

Murmurs from the group of men make Raymond visibly nervous.

He clears his throat to regain control of the room, cueing the men to settle back into stillness.
They move as one, only mumbling amongst themselves when another does, like a hive, but not daring to while Raymond has the floor.

"Turn around." Raymond repeats himself from the opposite end of the room.

I stand at the tail end of the line and object. "No."

This sparks sudden sharp inhalations of air from the lineup, aggravating Raymond who isn't used to not getting his way.

"I'll have Marco do it for you," Raymond asserts.

"Marco," he calls in his lackey.

"No, no, wait," I panic with a sudden change of heart. "I'll do it."

Marco pauses in the middle of the room and looks to Raymond who allows me to proceed.

"Give a full three-sixty." Raymond orders.

I look at each corner of the room, locating the exits. There's two, other than the curtained windows, and Marco is in front of one. Jake and Tate wait outside of the other door.

"Go on," he requests, "they just want to get a good look at you."

The heads of all sixteen men turning from Raymond to face me one by one makes a swooping noise.

I gulp so hard I'm sure they can hear it.

With no other foreseeable options, and a total of thirty-six eyes on me, I do as I'm told under the ruse that I won't be hurt.

The woman from the bathroom dressed me in an ensemble that left little to the imagination.
I feel nearly naked in the sleeveless white ultra mini white corset dress.

"Ah." The hive of men comment in unison once I'm facing the wall.

And they make other comments such as "mm," and "interesting," or "very nice," in various accents, some unknown to me.

The dress rides up in the back, leaving my ass poking out. I can feel it.

"This is Darling as you all know," Raymond talks.

"Natural blonde as promised, taut body, not a blemish in sight," he lists.

"The highest bidder is my son, though, if you can top that at tonight's event, I'm sure Darling won't disappoint."

Turning on my heels, I complete the full circle and cover my chest with my arms folded across.

Raymond starts with a handclap and the others join in.

The lights turn back on and the men march out of the door from which they came in an orderly fashion as if this was rehearsed or done before.

Raymond stands at the door, holding a conversation with one of the final men who stared at me longer than the rest.

I try to listen to what they're saying, but Tate and Jake enter abruptly. The two of them entertain Marco in a conversation, leaving the first door open.
Realizing this means I have to act fast.

My eyes dart to a weapon on the conference table - a letter opener.

I begin inching towards the table, trying to remain unnoticed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jake catches me, bringing me to a standstill.

With all the attention back on me, I momentarily ditch my attempt to retrieve the sharp silver tool.

"Can't I sit," I protest, "this is taking a while? My feet hurt."

Their eyes watch me closely as I take the comfort of the office chair and cross my legs promptly.

"Tate," Raymond calls for his son. "Over here, I want you to meet someone."

Tate wastes no time strolling over to the further doorway where his father stands.

I reach my hand for the letter enveloper again, keeping my eyes on Jake who doesn't know what else to do with himself other than periodically check on me.

When his eyes fall on me again, I pretend I'm looking at my manicure.
I look at Jake casually as if I don't even see the object there.

Suspiciously, though, he marches towards me.

"Alright, what are you up to?" He asks, grabbing me by the throat.

My struggle is only momentary as I grab the cold, steel knife and drive it into Jake's groin.
Not necessarily where I was aiming, but effective nonetheless.

He drops to the floor in pain and rolls around in anguish, signaling over Tate, Marco, and Raymond.

Marco immediately guards the exit as I rise from the chair and look around for my next move.
No way am I going towards door number two with the group of masked figures waiting for me, that's out of the window.
I could jump out of the window but we went up an elevator so I have no idea how high up we are as the windows are covered by blackout curtains that I can't see through. Sure I could risk it but if the fall kills me this would all be for nothing, and I have Chris to consider.

So, I head to the back of the room with the bloody letter opener in my hand as my only line of defense.

"HELP ME!" Jake yelps.

"Morgan, what have you done?" Asks Raymond, looking down at the victim.

"Feisty." Tate says about me, stepping over his friend's body.

"Don't come near me!" I warn the father and son duo as they approach.

"Morgan, I appreciate you being brave, but you're fighting for nothing," Raymond says, shaking his head at me as he draws nearer.

His use of my real name makes me put my guard down. Something tells me to hear him out, that he's being sincere for once.

"What do you mean?" My voice trembles.

"Chris isn't coming for you." He slowly tells me, pushing my fist down by my side.

Raymond gives me a hard look in the eyes but I'm not so gullible.

"I'm sure he's on his way to me right now." I argue.

Raymond, with a regretful look on his plain face, hangs his head.

He hesitates to speak again.
"I'm sure this is the last way you'd want to find out the news," he drawls.

"Find out what?" I fret.

He doesn't answer quickly enough. I yell at him again, "Find out what?!"

Raymond let's out a deep sigh. "Chris is dead."

I start laughing because surely this is a joke.

Except, I'm the only one in on it apparently, no one else even cracks a smile.

My throat goes dry.

All laughter comes to a halt.

"That's not funny." My voice breaks.

Tate, standing behind his father's back, looks at me and then glances away, rubbing his neck.

No, I know Tate. He laughs at the most fucked up things. If his plan is to get with me and Chris is gone, then Tate should be rejoicing, right?

"What did you do?!" I scream at the men, wielding the letter opener around.

The strength in me starts to diminish, I can't even pretend that I could use the weapon if I wanted to. It slowly rolls from my fingertips and falls to the floor.

"It wasn't us, Morgan," Tate says to me in a soft tone of voice. "we've been with you the whole time."

Well that is true but it doesn't mean that Chris being dead is!

"I just received word." Raymond confirms.

"We didn't want to tell you like this." He adds, standing over me.

"I don't believe you." I cry despite hoping this is all part of some sick plot.

"Marco," Raymond beckons, "the file."

Marco walks over with his head down to pass Mr.Slaughter a large envelope. He's also sulking like this pains him.

He stands behind me as Raymond picks up the letter opener but I'm so numb, I'm not even thinking of using it right now.

"What is this?" I ask, voice quavering, as Raymond presents a stack of papers to me.

Only, they aren't papers.

"My private investigator took these this morning." Says Raymond regretfully.

"No." I puff before taking them in my hands.

"See for yourself," he talks lowly.

My airways constrict as I snatch the photos and will myself to witness what Mr.Slaughter claims is my lifeless fiancé.

Tears stab my flesh as they stream from my eyes, feeling like shards of glass.

My lower lip quivers out of my control as I try to conceal the building emotion wanting to escape past my lips.

The first few photos are bearable, still not completely fathomable, but I can stomach them.
It's a photograph of policemen surrounding our home. One of Jabari crying terribly. Then, a photo of caution tape across the front door with images of a coroner in frame.

I flip to the next picture and it makes me stumble back against the wall.

All of the images float to the floor between mine and Raymond's feet.

"NO!" A scream rips through my body, projecting loudly.

I drop to my knees and look at the photo again.

It's a body on the floor covered by a blood-stained white sheet.
The next image zooms in to show a toe tag on the bottom right foot of the body that identify it to be Christopher Omar Vaughn.

This isn't Chris, I think in my head, finding some hope. Chris has a tattoo.

I flip to the next photo, another zoomed in image, this time, of the top of the right foot, showing Chris's tattoo.

I just... break down.

All of my sense goes out of the window. I'm no longer in control of my thoughts, actions, or body.

I surrender to the darkness and pain that begins to seep through me, and let it out.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!" I bawl, swatting at Raymond only because he was the closest one to me, but I can't bring myself to get off of the floor or take my eyes away of the dead body in the photograph.

"We wouldn't have done this to him," Tate bewails.

"That's bullshit, you bastard!" I growl, rising to my feet to use a burst of energy and take out my rage on Tatum.

Marco only allows me to punch Tate a few times before he pulls me away.

I slip out of his arms and melt onto the floor again, crawling to the photos.

"You might remember Sage Petrov, Malcolm's long time security," Raymond talks.

"He escaped from prison," he says, cautiously kneeling to show me the next picture in the stack.

It's a photo of Sage. I hate Sage.

His head is skinned bald with a suggestive tattoo inked on his scalp.

"He said all that he wanted... was revenge."
The surveillance photo shows him outside of the prison walls, the next is him with a gun in hand, and the last slide is of a man in the same dark clothes as Sage in the previous pictures, outside of my home.

My eyelids flicker open for no reason other than my body telling it to.

I feel awful. Sick, even.

I look all around, hoping I'm home in my own bed next to Chris and that this is all a bad dream.

Rising from the mattress, I feel something in my arm that makes me stop moving.

It's an IV.

"What the hell?" I grumble, looking all around.

I'm in a white oversized t-shirt and nothing more.

And this isn't Tate's red velvet room, but I take that as a good sign.

An IV, a floral mural on the wall to my right, perhaps I'm at the hospital, I think.
Or at least some legitimate facility, away from The Slaughters and their evil clan.

Feeling relieved, only a little, I sit up in the bed and rest my head against the wall behind me.

My imagination strikes up other possible explanations for why I'm in here:

Maybe I had some sort of stress-induced panic attack and passed out. Yeah. I only dreamed up that I was kidnapped and that Chris died.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Good," a voice appears before I see the person it belongs to.

"You're awake." He hums.

I close my eyes and then open them again, trying to focus my blurred vision.

"What? W-who are you?" I trip over my words.

A slender body closes himself in the room with me.

He's dressed in all white scrubs like a nurse at a sanatorium.

"You don't remember me?" The voice suddenly rings familiar.

I panic upon realizing and scurry to the edge of the bed.

"You were my favorite patient at the retreat." Dr.Mark Towson grins, hovering over my body.

"What do you want from me?" I monotone.

He lays out a range of medicines and drugs on the bed next to my body and grins.

I start to remember my time at the retreat, how I had a bad feeling about him:

"Morgan." Dr.Mark Towson greets me with a hug.

"Good morning." I return, awkwardly stepping around his body.

"It is, isn't it? How far did you run today?" He asks.

"Oh, uh, I made it to the fishing hole."

"You get further and further everyday. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to run away." He laughs at himself.

I force one, too, and look around his frame so I can start to walk towards where I was originally going.

"Well, I'll see you in group later-" I say sheepishly, trying to leave but he grabs me by the wrist.

"—If I did something to you, you can tell me because I feel like there's this tension. I don't know, maybe it's just me, but." his voice trails off and eyes do the same, wandering to my cleavage.

"No," I respond firmly, "it's just you."

And then I recall the night he was taken away:

"Doctor Towson's been arrested." Tish tells me.

"For what?" I gasp.

"You know Marnie?" Asks Tish, referring to the patient who said she hates me.
"She was messing with Doctor Towson."

"No!" I'm shocked.

Tish nods. "Turns out they're pretty fucked up. Details aren't known, but they said somethin' about pushing drugs through here to a few patients."

"What?!" My disgust cannot be hidden.

"Mhm," she mutters, "they're just crazy."

✕

I wake up dazed again, wondering where I am, who I am, and what day/time it is?

My head is throbbing and I feel like death itself.

My eyes blink open to a group of men surrounding me.

Jumping out of my skin, I react with terror, starting to scream.

"Shh, shh, shh." Dr.Towson silences me. "You don't want to stress yourself out and pass out again, do you?"

"We can't have that, we need her ready in a few hours," says Tate, looking at the time on his wristwatch.

"How is she?" Asks Raymond, looking down at me without acknowledgment like I'm some inanimate object or an old car they're fixing up.

A bright light shines directly in my eyes briefly and then Dr.Towson— why am I call him doctor— puts his finger in my face.

Angered by him, I try to fight him off but my arms are handcuffed to the bed. I hate that I'm getting used to this.

"She's fine," he tells them, "might be a little woozy from the drugs but they will wear off soon."

"Good," says Raymond. "she has a big night."

"What did you give her?" Tate asks for all the wrong reasons I'm sure.

"Don't you dare think about it," Raymond snaps at his son.

"We know what happened the last time you tried to get a hold of some drugs you couldn't handle."

"How long are you going to blame me for Jason's death?" Tate wails.

"As long as I have to make nice with Lydia Agustin, you will hear about the death of her son. Now go get everything in order for tonight - no loose ends." He orders.

I stare at the painting of flowers on the wall in the room. There's also mushrooms and lemons and a cactus.

"What do you want to do with her?" Asks Mark with nefarious undertones.

"Don't get any ideas, Towson, that's Tate's grand prize," Raymond suggests.

"Unless you have seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars for me..."

"If I had that type of money, you'd be working for me." The ex-psychologist laughs and Mr.Slaughter joins in.

"Well, let's leave her here until the festivities start." Raymond orders.

"Yeah," Mark agrees, following Raymond out of the door. "she'll need the rest."

"Raymond," I call his name out.

He allows Mark to continue on while he turns to come back inside of the room.

"Yes, Darling?"

I start to laugh, gradually becoming more and more hysterical.

"Let me out of here. Spare yourselves. You know you won't get away with this, and you know there's no way I'm going to roll over and let it happen." I speak matter of factly, my face falling to a straight expression.

Raymond blinks, stunned by my sudden audacity.

He looks over my body and then gently strokes the side of my face with the back of his hand.

"It's already done," he tells me in my ear.

"You're not getting away with this, I hope you know that." I utter surprisingly calm.

Raymond sarcastically pouts. "No? What's gonna happen, is Chris going to come save you? Oh wait, he's dead." He laughs as he exits the bedroom.

I hold it together until the locks of the door fasten.

Click.

Silence fills the air.

Lip quivering, my eyes fill with tears as I look around the otherwise desolate room until I can't take it anymore.

✕

A/n: I know there's been a lot of chapters since Dr.Towson's character was mentioned, and he wasn't prominent before but clearly you see it was all on purpose now, so feel free to go back at read chapter 4 if you need a refresher because I included direct quotes in this chapter from that part! Anyway, thanks for reading 🤍