Page 21 of In Her Dreams (Jenna Graves #7)

Jenna leaned forward in Dr. Mercer’s plush chair, her mind processing what the hypnotherapist had just said. The word “loophole” seemed to suggest answers to her questions about hypnosis.

Dr. Mercer continued, “During our sessions, Sam kept struggling to pronounce something that sounded like ‘ka-loot-ma’ or ‘kah-lut-ma’. His speech would become halting, almost as if...” She paused, searching for the right words.

“Almost as if something was physically preventing him from articulating it clearly.”

Jake shifted in his chair. “What do you think he meant?”

“I think he might have meant a hallucinogenic plant ka’lutma,” Dr. Mercer said. “Originally used in shamanic rituals in pre-conquest Latin America. It’s been largely forgotten until recent ethnobotanical research rediscovered it.”

“How does this connect to Sam’s agoraphobia?” Jenna asked, keeping her voice level despite the urgency building inside her. “To his death?”

“This is speculation, Sheriff, but if Sam ingested ka’lutma, it could have made him highly susceptible to suggestion. The drug creates an altered state where the barriers between conscious and subconscious thought become... permeable.”

“Strengthening a posthypnotic suggestion,” Jake said quietly.

“Precisely,” Dr. Mercer nodded. “And that’s the loophole I was talking about—the exception to hypnosis not causing anyone to do anything against their will or nature.

Someone could have implanted commands while Sam was under the influence—including a directive preventing him from ever speaking about the experience. ”

Jenna felt a cold weight settle in her stomach. “Are you also saying that someone could have apparently recovered from a specific phobia but then have their worst fears triggered through this kind of suggestion?”

“It’s possible,” Dr. Mercer said, her voice softening. “From what I understand, ka’lutma induces a state more profound than standard hypnosis. Suggestions planted during this state could remain dormant until triggered, compelling the victim to act against their own survival instincts.”

Silence filled the room as the implications sank in. Jenna thought of Sam, trapped in his own home by agoraphobia, somehow driven to venture into a vast openness that terrified him.

“Is there a way to prove this?” Jake asked.

Dr. Mercer shook her head. “Unfortunately, I don’t know enough about the substance. It’s far outside my expertise.”

“Who would know more?” Jenna asked, already reaching for her notebook.

“There’s an alternative medicine shop here in Pinecrest—Thompson’s Apothecary. The owner, Lucas Thompson, sells ka’lutma. I believe it’s quite legal, at least for now.” Dr. Mercer wrote down an address on a slip of paper. “If anyone can tell you about its properties, it would be him.”

Jenna took the paper, her fingertips tingling with the electricity of a breakthrough. “Thank you, Dr. Mercer. You’ve been incredibly helpful.”

“I hope it leads somewhere,” the hypnotherapist said, standing to see them out. “And Sheriff? Be careful. Whoever is behind this—if my theory is correct—they’re manipulating people’s deepest fears.”

The warning followed Jenna and Jake as they walked to their car.

“What do you think?” Jake asked as they slid into the vehicle.

Jenna turned the key, welcoming the blast of air conditioning. “I think we finally have something solid. Three victims, all with dreamcatchers, all dying while confronting their worst fears. If this ka’lutma allowed someone to escalate those fears as triggers...”

“We need to find out who had access to all three victims,” Jake said, already typing Thompson’s Apothecary into his phone’s GPS. “And who knows enough about this drug to use it that way.”

The GPS pinged with directions, and Jenna pulled away from the curb. As they drove through Pinecrest’s leafy streets, another thought occurred to her.

“Dr. Summers,” she said suddenly.

Jake looked up from his phone. “The ethnology professor? What about her?”

“She studies ancient cultures, including their spiritual practices. If ka’lutma was used in traditional rituals, wouldn’t an ethnologist be the perfect person to ask about it?”

Jake nodded slowly. “It’s worth a shot.”

Jenna pulled over and dialed Dr. Summers’ number, putting the call on speaker. After several rings, the professor’s voice came through, carrying its familiar note of distracted intelligence.

“Dr. Summers speaking.”

“Dr. Summers, this is Sheriff Graves. I’m here with Deputy Hawkins.”

“Sheriff! I was just thinking about our conversation yesterday. Have you made any progress with your case?”

“Actually, we have,” Jenna said, watching Jake’s face as she spoke. “But there’s been another death, similar to the two I mentioned to you yesterday.”

A sharp intake of breath came through the speaker. “Another one? That’s terrible. Who was it?”

“A former police officer named Samuel Rodriguez. He died in much the same way as the others, possibly of fright.”

“How awful,” Dr. Summers replied, her voice lowered. “And you think they’re connected?”

“We do. Dr. Summers, we’ve learned something that might be significant. Are you familiar with a substance called ka’lutma?”

There was a pause on the line—brief, but noticeable. “Ka’lutma?” Dr. Summers repeated slowly. “I believe I’ve heard the term. It’s some kind of plant, isn’t it?”

“A hallucinogenic plant,” Jenna clarified, “used in pre-conquest Latin American shamanic rituals. We have reason to believe it might be connected to these deaths.”

Another pause. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about it beyond the name. It’s not my specific area of research.”

Jenna caught Jake’s eye, a silent message passing between them. For an ethnologist specializing in ancient cultures, Dr. Summers’ knowledge seemed suspiciously limited.

“We wondered if you might know anything about its traditional ritual use,” Jenna pressed.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Dr. Summers said, her voice perfectly polite. “It sounds fascinating, but I really don’t have any specific knowledge about ka’lutma. I’d be happy to look into it, though.”

“That would be great,” Jenna said, keeping her voice neutral despite the alarm bells ringing in her head. “Actually, Deputy Hawkins and I would like to stop by your office to discuss this further. Would you be available?”

“I have a class this afternoon, but I could see you before that. Shall we say in an hour?”

“Perfect. Thank you, Dr. Summers.”

Jenna ended the call and sat still for a moment, processing.

“You caught that too, right?” Jake asked.

“That an ethnology professor who studies ancient cultural practices claims to know almost nothing about a plant used in those exact practices?” Jenna put the car in drive again. “Yeah, I caught it.”

“Could be innocent,” Jake offered. “Maybe it really isn’t her area.”

“Maybe,” Jenna conceded, but she felt uncertain of that.

They drove in silence for several minutes, each lost in thought. The GPS directed them down a narrow side street lined with boutique shops. Thompson’s Apothecary stood at the corner, its green awning fluttering in the breeze, large windows displaying jars of dried herbs and handmade soaps.

Inside, the shop smelled of dried flowers, spices, and something earthy that Jenna couldn’t quite identify.

Bells chimed softly as they entered. Behind a wooden counter stood a man in his late thirties with a neatly trimmed beard and round glasses, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal forearms covered in botanical tattoos.

“Welcome to Thompson’s,” he called cheerfully. “What can I help you find today?”

Jenna and Jake approached the counter, badges already out. “Mr. Thompson? I’m Jenna Graves, Sheriff of Genesius county, and this is Deputy Hawkins. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

To his credit, Lucas Thompson didn’t flinch at the sight of law enforcement. His smile dimmed only slightly as he studied their badges.

“Sheriff, Deputy, a pleasure. What can I do for Genesius County’s finest?”

“We’re interested in a product you carry,” Jenna said. “Ka’lutma.”

Now Thompson’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s not something most people walk in off the street asking for. Mind if I ask why you’re interested?”

“It’s part of an ongoing investigation,” Jake said. “We understand you grow and sell it.”

Thompson studied them for a moment, then nodded. “I do indeed. Would you like to see it? I grow everything right here in the building, in my basement garden.”

“That would be helpful,” Jenna said.

Thompson flipped a sign on the counter to “Back in 15 minutes” and led them through a door behind him. They descended a narrow staircase into a basement that should have been dim and musty but instead felt like stepping into another world.

Bright grow lights illuminated rows of carefully tended plants. The air was humid and rich with the scent of soil and vegetation. Thompson moved among the plants with obvious pride, pointing out different specimens.

“Lavender, chamomile, echinacea,” he said, guiding them through narrow aisles. “Mint, basil, lemon balm. Most of my stock is pretty standard. But over here...”

He led them to a section at the far end of the basement, where plants with distinctive star-shaped leaves grew in a neat row. The leaves were a deep green with purplish veins running through them.

“Ka’lutma,” Thompson said, gently touching one of the leaves. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t seen that name or an image of these on any list of illegal substances,” Jake asked, peering closely at the plants. “But you’re sure it’s legal to grow and sell it?

Thompson chuckled. “I wouldn’t be giving a tour to law enforcement if it wasn’t, Deputy.

Ka’lutma currently falls into a regulatory gray area.

It hasn’t been specifically classified by the FDA or DEA.

I suspect that won’t last much longer once awareness of its properties becomes more widespread. For now, though, I’m in the clear.”

“Tell us about it,” Jenna said. “What do you know about its origins and use?”

Thompson’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “It’s fascinating, really. Ka’lutma was sacred to the Zalticans, a pre-Columbian civilization in what’s now the country of Verasura. They used it primarily in their Chantico rites.”

“Rites?”

“Yes, ceremonial practices designed to help people confront and overcome their deepest fears.” Thompson adjusted his glasses. “The Zalticans believed that fear was a barrier to spiritual enlightenment. The Chantico rite was their way of breaking through that barrier.”

Jake exchanged a glance with Jenna. “How exactly did the rite work?”

“That’s where things get a bit murky,” Thompson admitted.

“The Zalticans vanished centuries ago. Most of what we know comes from the few codexes that survived the conquest. But from what scholars have pieced together, participants would ingest ka’lutma under the guidance of a shaman, who would help them navigate the hallucinations and face whatever fears emerged. ”

“And dreamcatchers?” Jenna asked. “Were those part of the ritual?”

Thompson looked surprised. “Yes, actually. The Zalticans had their own version of dreamcatchers, believed to trap negative energies. Each participant in the Chantico rite would receive one, specially made to address their particular fear.”

Jenna felt cold despite the humid warmth of the basement. Everything was falling into place with terrifying clarity.

“Mr. Thompson,” she said carefully, “who buys ka’lutma from you? Would you be willing to share that information?”

His expression turned guarded. “I’m afraid I can’t reveal my clientele, Sheriff. That would be a breach of trust.”

Jenna studied his face, noting the slight tension around his eyes. “Let me ask you something else, then. Is Dr. Olivia Summers one of your customers?”

The flicker in Thompson’s eyes—a momentary widening, a flash of recognition quickly suppressed—told Jenna everything she needed to know before he could even form an answer.

“I really couldn’t say,” he replied, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Mr. Thompson,” Jenna pressed, “three people have died after confronting their worst fears, each with a dreamcatcher nearby. If someone is using ka’lutma to conduct twisted versions of the Chantico rite, lives are at stake.”

Thompson’s gaze dropped to the plants before him, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I don’t discuss my customers,” he said quietly. “But I will say that certain academics have shown professional interest in ka’lutma for research purposes. Its historical and cultural significance is considerable.”

“Research purposes,” Jake repeated flatly.

Jenna looked at her watch. “We’re due to meet with Dr. Summers soon. Perhaps she can elaborate on her research interests.”

Thompson nodded slowly. “I’m sure she’d be more informative than I could be on the historical aspects.”

“I’m sure she would,” Jenna agreed, holding his gaze until he looked away. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Thompson. We may have more questions later.”

As they climbed the stairs back to the shop, Jenna’s mind was already racing ahead to their upcoming meeting with Dr. Summers. The professor had claimed to know little about ka’lutma. And, yesterday, she had denied any familiarity with the dreamcatchers they’d found with the victims.

When they returned to the car, Jake voiced what they were both thinking. “So an ethnology professor who specializes in ancient cultures claims to know almost nothing about ka’lutma, yet she’s buying it from Thompson?”

“And she denied knowing anything about the dreamcatchers found at each scene,” Jenna added, starting the engine. She couldn’t shake the feeling that shadows were gathering around them, drawing them deeper into a place where ancient rituals and modern murders converged.

“You think Summers is conducting these rites?” Jake asked. “Why?”

“I don’t know yet. But I intend to find out.”