PART 2, SECTION 12

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Ian slammed his shoulder into the door, and the wood splintered, but it stayed shut. He backed up and slammed into the door again, even harder this time, and now the handle broke out of the frame.

The door whipped open. 

Only twenty-four hours earlier I'd helped Ian carry a dead body that had been gruesomely mutilated. But what I saw in Morgan's room was more horrifying than anything I'd ever seen. It was horrifying on so many levels that at first my brain just kind of shut down and I didn't understand what I was seeing.

Morgan was on her back, lying atop her tiny writing desk, and bent backwards in what looked like an excruciatingly painful position.

Most of her clothes were missing, and she was bleeding. Her nose was covered in blood; her eyebrow was split. Patches of smeared blood ran from her face all down her body.

And standing over her was Mr. Hershel. 

I could barely comprehend that this was the same man who my mom always called the "gentle cowboy," who had been my closest neighbor throughout my childhood, who had even once taught me how to ride his old graying mare.

As he spun around to see who had just crashed through the door, I could see that he was wearing only an old leather holster, bizarrely. The belt was fastened around his hip, and inside the holster pouch, which was dangling down against his thigh, was no six-shooter but a very modern-looking handgun.

Morgan's blood soaked his tanned, weathered face and smeared across his bare white chest. 

I gagged. But I didn't drop the gun.

Morgan was still crying out in agony, which I hoped was a good sign only because she hadn't yet been beaten unconscious. But there was absolutely no question that Mr. Hershel had been trying to rape her. Maybe he had.

Now he planted a leathery hand on her chest, holding her down, and Morgan screamed again. Mr. Hershel was fast, but his movements were feverishly stilted. It was almost as though someone were controlling him with strings. He kept fiercely twitching his head to one side and stamping his heel as though his entire body were itching.

But with his free hand, he drew his gun and pointed it right at my face.

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Please VOTE 🌟 before continuing! Thanks! ;)  xxBailey

DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete First BookWhere stories live. Discover now