Home Sweet Home

Greg yanks Morgan through the doorway of the empty new house. She melts into him at once, mouth open, hands climbing his back. They make it five steps before Greg leaves her in the hallway to check the kitchen. Nothing on the shelves but dust. He promises he’ll grab takeout and disappears down the drive. His headlights wash over Wes and Carrie thumbing on the shoulder—exchanged glances, a quick lie, they’re in. Wes volunteers his name first, Carrie’s second. When they reach the house Morgan’s smile dies on contact. Dinner lasts maybe twelve minutes. She stares across the table and asks flat-out what they’re running from. Wes mumbles something about family trouble. Morgan doesn’t buy it. Greg cuts through the tension, says they can crash. Wes and Carrie scramble like they won the lottery, shut the bedroom door, then mouths together without sound: no relation, same last name on the marriage license, cash is the reason they’re here. Carrie eases down the hall to Morgan’s purse on the sofa. Morgan steps out of the dark, fists full of Carrie’s hair. Carrie’s breath jumps; the pain spikes straight between her legs. She hisses she’ll scream for Wes. Morgan just laughs—low, certain—says call him. Wes shows up bare-chested, bruises and fresh intent. Morgan lets Carrie go and steps into the space between them. It’s three shadows on the wall, and somebody’s going down before daylight.