Page 2 of In Her Dreams (Jenna Graves #7)

“You sure about this?” Jake asked Jenna as she guided the patrol car through the early morning stillness of Trentville’s deserted streets. Dawn had barely broken, painting the horizon in smudges of pale gold against a fading indigo canvas.

She nodded, her emerald eyes fixed on the road unwinding before them.

“As sure as I can be about something that came to me in a dream.” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she remembered the fragments in her mind—the dark chamber, the whispers, and that face illuminated by a single match flame.

The words still echoed in her head: “They are collecting people.”

She felt Jake studying her profile and appreciated that he didn’t dismiss her intuition.

About a month ago, after two years working together, she’d described how her lucid dreams brought her hints from the dead.

A former city cop who’d come to Trentville for a quieter life, he’d had trouble accepting that at first. But soon, he’d had to acknowledge that many of those tips turned into solid leads.

“Tell me again,” he said, taking a careful sip from his coffee cup. “From the beginning.”

Jenna inhaled deeply, organizing her thoughts. The dreams were always difficult to articulate, slippery as fish in her mental grasp.

“A week ago, I found myself in this... chamber. Stone walls, damp air. So dim I could barely make out anything.” She paused at a stop sign, scanning the empty intersection before continuing forward. “There were voices all around me, whispering. I couldn’t make out what they were saying at first.”

The car bumped over a pothole, jostling them. Jake steadied his coffee and waited for her to continue.

“Then this man struck a match. Just one. The light barely illuminated his face, but I could see his eyes—wide, terrified.” Jenna swallowed, remembering the intensity of that gaze. “He said, ‘They are collecting people.’ And then I woke up.”

“And last night?” Jake prompted.

“Same man. Different setting—somewhere brighter, but I couldn’t make out details beyond him.” She turned onto the road that would take them to the outskirts of town. “He told me he’d been killed. Cut up and sold.”

Jake winced, his brow furrowing.

“That’s not all,” Jenna added. “He said, ‘The collected people are in the mine.’“ Jenna glanced at Jake. “That must mean the old Shannon Coal Company mine, Jake. The one that’s been abandoned for most of a century.”

The road beneath them changed, smooth asphalt giving way to cracked pavement spotted with weeds. The houses along the street showed signs of neglect—peeling paint, sagging porches, yards overtaken by nature.

“I’ve been sheriff for four years,” Jenna said, slowing the car as they approached a particularly deep crack in the road. “I’ve had these dreams since I was sixteen, since my sister disappeared. They’ve never led me wrong.”

Jake nodded, his expression serious. “I know. I’ve seen enough to believe you.” He gestured toward the neglected neighborhood around them. “Just seems like a strange place to hide people. Isn’t it a bit obvious? People still live around here.”

“The perfect cover,” Jenna countered. “No one pays attention to this part of town anymore. The mine was officially sealed off long ago. Who’d think to look there?”

The houses thinned out as they drove deeper into what locals called the Backside—the part of Trentville that had thrived during the coal boom and withered when the mine closed. Most of the remaining residents were those who couldn’t afford to move elsewhere.

“There it is,” Jenna said, pointing ahead to where the road curved around a steep, tree-covered hill.

The entrance to the Trentville Coal Mine was barely visible from the road—a gash in the hillside partially obscured by overgrown bushes and a chain-link fence that had long ago been trampled in several places. A faded sign, its paint peeling and letters barely legible, warned trespassers away.

Jenna pulled the patrol car off the road, positioning it so it wouldn’t be immediately visible from the main street but could be spotted by someone specifically looking for it.

“Shouldn’t we call for backup?” Jake asked as they exited the vehicle.

“Based on what? A dream?”

The morning air was crisp against Jenna’s face, carrying the scent of damp earth and early spring vegetation. She popped the trunk and retrieved two flashlights, handing one to Jake. “I need something concrete before I call in Colonel Spelling or even anyone on our own team.”

She also grabbed a small crowbar, the cool metal reassuring against her palm.

“Fair point,” Jake conceded, checking his service weapon before securing the holster. “But if we do find something, we call for backup immediately. No heroics.”

“Agreed.”

They approached the mine entrance cautiously. What had once been a wide opening reinforced with timber supports was now a jumble of weathered plywood sheets and two-by-fours, nailed haphazardly across the entrance. Spray-painted warnings had faded to ghostly remnants.

“This mine powered the town for nearly seven decades,” Jenna said, studying the boarded entrance. “My great grandfather worked here before he opened his hardware store. When the veins dried up, so did a lot of Trentville’s prosperity. It took decades for the town to thrive again.”

Jake ran his hand along one of the boards. “Some of these have been removed and put back recently,” he observed, pointing to where nails had been extracted and reinserted. “See the fresher scratch marks? The lack of rust on these nails compared to the others?”

Jenna nodded, impressed and unsurprised by his observation. Jake had the eye of a detective, one of the many reasons she valued him as her deputy.

“Let’s get in there,” she said, positioning the crowbar against one of the more recently disturbed boards.

The wood groaned in protest as she applied pressure. Jake added his strength, and with a splintering crack, the board gave way. They worked methodically, removing only what was necessary to create an opening large enough for them to slip through.

The darkness beyond the entrance was absolute, swallowing their flashlight beams within a few yards. Cool, musty air wafted out from the opening, carrying the mineral tang of underground water and the earthy scent of undisturbed soil.

“Smells like a tomb,” Jake muttered, switching on his flashlight.

Jenna activated her own light and drew her service weapon, holding it alongside the flashlight in a firm grip. She ducked through the opening first, her boots crunching on loose gravel and debris.

The main tunnel stretched before them, disappearing into gloom. The ceiling was supported by timber beams placed at regular intervals, most showing signs of rot but still holding. Their flashlight beams caught dancing motes of dust and occasional glints of moisture on the stone walls.

“Watch your step,” Jenna cautioned, noticing how uneven the floor had become over years of neglect. “And keep an eye out for sink holes or shaft openings.”

They moved forward cautiously, their footsteps echoing in the confined space. The weight of the earth above them pressed down, not physically but psychologically—a constant reminder of how isolated they were.

“How far does this go?” Jake whispered, his voice carrying in the stillness.

“Miles, according to the records at City Hall. With dozens of branching tunnels and vertical shafts.” Jenna swept her flashlight along the walls, noting the occasional tool marks still visible in the rock. “We’re looking for signs of recent activity. Footprints, trash, anything out of place.”

The main tunnel began to slope downward, leading them deeper into the earth. The air grew cooler, the silence more profound. Only the sound of their breathing and the occasional drip of water from unseen sources broke the quiet.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only fifteen minutes of careful progress, they reached a fork in the tunnel. The left passage continued to slope downward, while the right remained level.

Jenna directed her flashlight beam down both options, seeing nothing to guide her. “Left,” she decided. “If they’re hiding people, they’d want to keep them deep, away from any chance of sounds carrying to the surface.”

They had taken only a few steps in that direction when Jake suddenly stopped and gripped Jenna’s arm.

“Wait,” he whispered, his head tilted slightly. “Did you hear that?”

Jenna froze, straining her ears. For several seconds, there was only silence. Then, faintly, a sound reached her—a thin, wavering cry that might have been human.

“That came from the other tunnel, off to our right,” Jake said, turning his flashlight in that direction.

Without hesitation, Jenna changed course. “Hello?” she called out, her voice bouncing off the stone walls. “This is Sheriff Graves. Is someone there?”

The silence that followed was so complete that Jenna began to doubt what they’d heard. Then it came again—weaker, but unmistakably a woman’s voice.

“Help... please...”

They quickened their pace, following the sound. The tunnel twisted and turned, branching off occasionally into smaller passages that they ignored. Jenna kept calling out, and the voice responded, growing slightly louder with each exchange.

The beam of Jenna’s flashlight suddenly caught a gleam of metal ahead. As they drew closer, the light revealed a crude but sturdy cage set into a natural alcove in the rock wall.

“Oh my God,” Jake breathed.

Inside the cage, huddled against the far side, were two women. One appeared to be in her twenties, thin, with dirty blonde hair that hung in greasy strands around her face. The other was older, perhaps in her fifties, unconscious or sleeping on what looked like a thin, filthy mattress.

The younger woman shielded her eyes against their flashlights, her face pale and drawn in the harsh illumination.

“Are you real?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Or is this another hallucination?”

Jenna holstered her weapon and approached the cage, keeping her movements slow and non-threatening. “We’re real. I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves, and this is Deputy Hawkins. We’re here to help you.” She examined the cage door, which was secured with a heavy padlock. “What’s your name?”

“Ginger,” the woman replied, crawling toward the bars. Up close, Jenna could see how gaunt her face was, how her clothes hung from her frame. “The other woman is Jill. At least that’s what she calls herself. She’s been unconscious most of today.”

Jenna nodded. “Ginger, how long have you been down here?”

Ginger shook her head, her hands trembling as they gripped the bars. “I don’t know. Weeks? Months? It’s always dark. They bring food and water sometimes, change the bucket.” She gestured to a corner of the cage where a plastic bucket sat. The stench of human waste was strong in the air.

“Who are ‘they’?” Jenna asked, crouching to be at eye level with Ginger.

“They wear masks. Three men. They call themselves the Harvesters.” Ginger’s voice dropped to a whisper. “There was another person here—Omar. They took him away, I don’t know how long exactly. He didn’t come back.”

The name sent a chill down Jenna’s spine. The man in her dreams—it had to be him. “Did anyone tell you anything about why you were taken?”

Ginger nodded, her eyes darting nervously between Jenna and Jake. “Omar said they’re organ traffickers. They take people, keep them until they have... buyers.” Her voice broke. “Omar overheard them talking. They took him for his heart and lungs.”

Jake cursed under his breath. Jenna felt sick, but kept her expression controlled for Ginger’s sake.

Examining the lock, Jake said quietly to Jenna, “This is a master padlock, hard to pick. Maybe impossible. We need a bolt cutter. I think there’s one in the trunk of the patrol car.”

Jenna replied, “I need you to go back and get it. Out there, you can get cell reception. Call for paramedics and contact Colonel Spelling at the State Police. This is bigger than us.” She turned back to Ginger. “We’re going to get you both out of here. But it might take just a little more time.”

Jake hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you alone down here.”

“I’ll be fine. The kidnappers aren’t here now. The sooner you go, the sooner we can get these women to safety.”

Reluctantly, Jake nodded and began retracing their steps, his flashlight beam bouncing along the tunnel until it disappeared around a bend.

Jenna turned her attention back to Ginger, tilting the flashlight so that it shone on her own face. “Were you abducted from Trentville?”

“Kansas City,” Ginger said, sinking back to sit on the dirt floor.

“I was walking to my car after a late shift at the diner. Someone grabbed me from behind and put something over my face. I woke up here.” She gestured to the unconscious woman.

“Jill was already here. I don’t have any idea where she’s from.

She doesn’t talk much, and she doesn’t make sense when she does. ”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, the older woman stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then landing on Jenna’s face. A strange look of recognition crossed her features.

“It’s you,” she said weakly, her voice barely audible. “You’ve come back.”

Before Jenna could question her, Jill’s eyes rolled back and she slipped into unconsciousness again.

“What did she mean by that?” Jenna asked, but Ginger only shrugged.

“She gets confused sometimes. Dehydrated, maybe.”

Jenna studied the unconscious woman’s face, searching for any hint of familiarity. Had they met before? She didn’t think so. Jill must be confused.

Unless...

A possibility formed in Jenna’s mind, one that made her breath catch. Could Jill have met Piper? Was she mistaking Jenna for her twin sister? The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through her body.

That was followed by a sense of dread. Could Piper have also been taken by the Harvesters? But how could that be when Piper had been missing for 20 years and was apparently still alive?

She reminded herself that only one thing was certain—if the Harvesters were real, they had a serial killer/organ trafficking ring on their hands.