The Phantom Ritual (DCI Morgan Chester: Case One)

Chapter Four

Her eyes fluttered open to the moonlight that crept between the slit in the curtains and emitted a radiant glow on the bewitching form that laid on top of the duvet; her powerfully toned abdomen, curved hips, and sensational perky breasts. She heard the shower turning on in the next room. A smirk played on her soft lips as memories of the past couple of hours flooded her mind.

Morgan's mind had stolen the ability to have a full night sleep even when her body yearned for it. She knew the battle would be futile. It had been like this since her twin brother died.

She raised her torso off the mattress with ease and swung her freshly shaven legs over the side. Her feet planted on the soft carpet. The oversized grey nightshirt peeked from under her pillow where she always kept it. She slipped it on as she climbed off the bed and retrieved the black lace thong discarded hours ago when they fumbled at each other's clothes like erratic teenagers. Her tiny feet padded on the cold wood floor as she entered the kitchen through the hallway. Outside the large window that overlooked Camden Market, the sky was dark but clear.

The coffee machine sat proudly in the corner of her kitchen. It was an expensive housewarming present Morgan had brought herself.

If her mind refused her sleep, she would indulge in a cup or two of coffee. Without a second thought, she fed three generous spoonfuls of roasted African coffee beans and added water from the filtered jug in the fridge. A second filter was prepped and waited patiently by the machine as it purred to life. She required an aggressive caffeine jolt to function.

Superintendent Oliver Bruce's words from a few days ago spun in her mind like a broken record. The Academy in Quantico wanted her to teach a semester to the new cadets. She remembered her first day fondly walking through the doors to The Academy. At the age of twenty-one and after five years of service, she left the army to become a cadet and study with the Behavioral Science Unit. The opportunity came as a particular recommendation from her unit General after profiling and diffusing a hostage situation, which resulted in the criminals being apprehended, and the hostages unharmed.

The coffee machine sang its finishing tune. Morgan grabbed a marble printed mug from the cupboard above the counter, scooped two sugars in, the scalding liquid, and finally a splash of soya milk.

She ignored the silver rack that cradled five pale pink cups that her mother had brought her as a present. The Rack of Shame she had named it. Since unboxed, not one cup had been touched; not even her guests would suffer drinking a hot beverage from such atrocity.

Morgan plotted herself on the comfortable charcoal corner sofa with her coffee in hand and turned the TV on, muting the sound with the remote as the picture sharped on the screen. BBC News played silently to her; in the bottom right-hand corner, the time showed as half-past twelve. She briefly read over the headline news—nothing of interest to her.

Filters and rolling paper littered the table between the sofa and the TV. A tray was carefully placed in the middle, and on it was a red plastic grinder she brought in the market for one pound, and a clear bag containing a green plant sat proudly on the lid. She stopped herself from giving in to the temptation that growled inside her. She needed a clear head to finish her closing report. She slid her body onto the grey rug and rolled herself a cigarette using liquorice paper.

The breeze bit at Morgan's arms, and her nipples hardened under her shirt as she opened the window. She lit the cigarette with the lime green lighter she kept by the sink under the window. The intoxicating smell floated down to her lungs as she inhaled the burning tobacco. She exhaled the smoke and watched as it floated into the world beyond. She was satisfied with the taste that lingered at the back of her throat.

She could see a group of young men and women dressed in clubbing attire heading down the high street towards the underground station outside the window. One person discarded a plastic up onto the pavement and walked away from it. Morgan detested people who littered, especially if a bin was nearby.