Only smoking half of his cigarette, Morgan flicks the bud onto the pavement below and watches as it sizzles in a puddle of water that fills a small pothole. He glances up, looking around at the near empty parking lot ahead of him, before turning around to walk toward the automatic doors leading into the hospital's main lobby.

The sensor takes a moment before registering that he's standing there and, after a couple of seconds, the metal doors begin to slide open. As he enters the building and approaches the front desk, in which an older woman sits behind as she reads from a gardening magazine, he looks around the lobby to see it is completely empty. He figures the few cars that are scattered throughout the front lot must be from the staff.

As the nurse glances up at him with squinting eyes, she pushes her glasses further up the bridge of her nose as her eyes finally focus on him. The magazine slips from her fingers, flopping upside down onto her desk and she pushes her chair out to quickly stand to her feet.

"Hi..." Morgan says awkwardly, not quite sure why she has taken such interest in him. He looks down at the visitor log on the clipboard in front of him and, after grabbing a nearby pen, starts to sign and date his name.

"You heard about your friend." The nurse replies, recognizing him from a previous visit. Her voice is sympathetic, as if bad news is on the verge of slipping from her tongue. Which, really, is the last thing he needs right now.

"I'm the one that dropped her off earlier." He looks up from the counter, concerning sweeping over his face. "Did something happen to her?"

"Her?" Again, the nurse pushes her glasses up the crooked bridge of her nose. "No sweetie. Weren't you the one that came to visit your sister and with her was—"

"Morgan Chase?" A stern, unfamiliar voice echoes from the hallway ahead of him.

"Yeah. Who's asking?" Morgan finishes signing his name before looking up from the clipboard to see two officers standing in front of two double doors at the end of the short hall. One not much older than him, probably someone who just left the academy months ago, and the other is a middle-aged heavyset man who he has seen on the street a few times before. Often outside of the burger joint down the block. Morgan opens his mouth, as if about to ask them what they want, when he notices the younger one slowly step forward.

The other officer places his palm against the handle of his Taser gun. He, too, begins to slowly approach Morgan as if the two are cornering a stray puppy. "Sir, we need—"

Having been in similar situations before, Morgan already knows where this is going. And it's nowhere good. He suddenly remembers that, the last time he was arrested, he wasn't there to protect Taylor when she was attacked. Hell, he was lucky that the sheriff let him leave to go visit her at the hospital as he still could have been detained for the remainder of the 24 hour questioning period. Immediately, Morgan spins around and bolts for the exit. He cuts through the many empty chairs, purposely knocking a few down behind him along the way, and the closer he finds himself to the automatic doors the more he worries that they won't open in time.

Behind him, he can hear the older man's voice as he yells into his radio.

"We got a visual on the suspect fleeing on foot from Riverside Med." The officer takes a moment to inhale deeply, already nearly out of breath even though he has ran no more than a few feet. "Repeat, suspect is at Riverside Med!"

The doors slight squeak as the two thick sheets of glass rattle in their steel frames, slowly being pulled apart.

"Sir, stop!" The younger officer yells, just as Morgan squeezes through the narrow opening in the doors and out into the small drive near the front of the building.

Running as if his life depends on it, which it very well might, he dashes toward the right side of the lot to the space his Mustang is parked in. As he fumbles with the key and unlocks the driver's side door, he can hear the footsteps of the two policemen pounding against the pavement behind him as they manage to almost catch up to him.

"Shit!" Morgan pulls the door open and jumps inside, slamming it shut behind him. He thrusts the key into the keyhole, turning it so fast that the blade nearly breaks apart from its bow as the ignition cuts on. He presses a button on the small panel above the door handle, locking the doors just as—

A hand slams against the door's window, another tugging at the handle. The younger officer gazes at him through the window, continually slamming his palm against the glass. "Open the door!"

"Sorry, officer." He replies snidely, grabbing the gear to shift it out of park. At this point, he couldn't be less sorry.

The deputy tugs again at the door handle, the joints in his fingers popping as Morgan slams on the gas pedal and the car thrusts forwards. He turns the steering wheel, spinning it so fast that the tires on the passenger side of the car nearly lift up from the pavement, and makes his way toward the nearest exit in the parking lot.

Panting, the older man finally manages to catch up. He places his hands his thighs and leans downward, nearly about to vomit from all of the wheezing.

"Suspect got away. Red Mustang, early 2000's." The younger officer continues to talk into the speaker as he attempts to read the license plate, which grows smaller as the car, winding out of the parking lot and onto the service road, disappears in the distance.

Fortunately enough, Sheriff Martinez already has his car information logged in at the station from Morgan's last visit.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Morgan fumbles with the lock on the home screen as he tries to keep his eyes on the road. He sees he has two missed calls from Casey but, figuring he will call her back later, opens up his contacts and clicks the small icon with Taylor's picture on it. As the call dials out, he places the phone to his ear and repeatedly finds himself glancing up at the rearview mirror—expecting to see flashing lights tailing behind him any moment now. The phone rings until it goes to voicemail. Taking a deep breath, he presses the call button again in another attempt to reach her.

Easing on the breaks, he turns right at the first street he sees. It's best to stick to the side streets for now. At least until he can figure out what to do next.

"Come on. Pick up!" Morgan grunts to himself, trying his best to stay calm given the shitty circumstances. The speaker rings one last time before, again, going to voicemail. "Ugh!"

Shaking his head, he takes a deep sigh as a thought crosses his mind. He looks down at his phone, quickly scrolling up through his contacts to see if he has Marc's number saved. His finger lands on the call button and he places the phone back to his ear.

After a third ring, a distraught voice answers. It's Taylor. "Morgan?"

"Hey. You're with Marc?" Already knowing the obvious answer to his stupid question, Morgan carries on. He's just relieved that he had finally managed to get a hold of her. "Where are you guys? We have a problem."

"We do. And tonight, I'm going to fix it."

"What do you mean?" He shakes his head, not following. "Taylor, where are you?"

"He said..." Taylor's voice is still shaken from what she had seen earlier. She gulps before continuing with her sentence. "To meet him where it all began."

Still not fully understanding, Morgan takes in a heavy sigh as he realizes that his night may have just gone from bad to worse. "Who? Where what all beg—"

His eyes widen as he stops talking, knowing instantly what she must be referring to. "Taylor, you can't go. This guy is a fucking killer. Call the police and go home!"

She doesn't respond. In the background, he can hear the muffled sound of a car engine and assumes that they must already be on the road.

"Taylor!" Morgan hollers, his one hand gripping tighter onto the steering wheel. "Call the police, goddamnit!"

He can hear her sniff from the other end of the phone.

"I can't. He has Millie. If I do, he might..." She doesn't let her mind go there. "Morgan, I have to do this."

"I'm going over there right now."

"No!" Taylor screams and he can hear the phone shuffle as it nearly slips from her hands. "You can't. Not you, not the police. Nobody else!"

Shaking his head worriedly, Morgan can feel his eyes beginning to swell. He already almost lost his sister just a few days ago and now here she is intentionally putting her life in danger. "No fucking way, I'm—"

Click.

"Taylor?" He listens, hearing nothing but pure silence from the other end. No background noise, no fuzz in the reception. Nothing but dead air. "Taylor!"

Pulling the phone away from his ear, the screen lights up to show that the call had been disconnected. Frustrated, Morgan punches at the steering wheel and, as the car slightly shifts to the right, accidentally finds the tires grinding against the curb. Regaining control of the wheel, he guides the car back to the center of the small lane. "Damnit, Taylor!"

Thinking of the fastest route to get to Shady Grove, he takes a sharp left at the next intersection and slams the gas pedal down to the floorboard.

♫ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ? / ᴘᴀᴘᴀ ʀᴏᴀᴄʜ ♫