Page 2 of In Her Fears (Jenna Graves #8)

The steady beep of medical equipment punctuated the silence like a metronome counting away precious seconds. Jenna Graves shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair, her eyes never leaving the frail woman who lay motionless in the hospital bed.

"Come on, Jill," Jenna whispered, leaning forward. "Give me something. Anything." Just once, this woman had looked at Jenna with undeniable recognition before speaking the name of her long-lost twin sister: "Piper."

The woman’s chart hung at the foot of the bed, a clinical summary of a life they knew almost nothing about. Jane Doe, known as Jill, is approximately in her fifties. Status: stable, severe malnutrition, signs of prolonged captivity, cognitive impairment of undetermined origin.

Jenna rubbed her tired eyes, memories surfacing unbidden.

Nine days ago, she and Jake had descended into the damp darkness of an abandoned coal mine, following nothing more concrete than Jenna’s most recent lucid dream.

There, in the oppressive gloom, they had rescued two women they found huddled inside a cage.

The younger one, Ginger, had been able to tell them some things about their captivity.

They had been captured by organ traffickers who called themselves “Harvesters.” The woman called Jill had barely been conscious.

A small sound from the bed pulled Jenna back to the present. Jill’s eyelids fluttered, her fingers twitching against the white hospital sheets. Jenna sat up straight, pulse quickening.

“Jill?” she called softly. “Jill, can you hear me?”

The woman’s eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then gradually taking in the sterile hospital room. They were pale blue, clouded with confusion and medication.

“Where...?” Jill’s voice was thin, barely audible over the machinery.

“You’re in Trentville Memorial Hospital,” Jenna said, keeping her tone gentle. “You’re safe. Do you remember me?”

Jill’s gaze settled on Jenna’s face, and for one heart-stopping moment, Jenna thought she saw a flash of recognition. But it faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by wary confusion.

“Who are you?” Jill asked, shrinking slightly against her pillows.

The disappointment was crushing, but Jenna had weathered this before. Each visit had been the same—Jill awake but disoriented, with no recollection of her previous moments of clarity.

“I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves,” she said, gesturing to the badge clipped to her belt. “I’m one of the people who found you in the mine. We’ve met several times since then.”

Jill's eyes darted around the room, taking in the IV stand, the monitoring equipment, and the closed door.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, her voice suddenly small and frightened.

“No, not at all,” Jenna assured her. “You’re here to recover. You’ve been through a traumatic experience.” She paused, weighing her next words carefully. “Jill, when you first woke up after we rescued you, you seemed to recognize me. You called me Piper.”

The name hung in the air between them. Jill’s brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I don’t know anyone named Piper,” she said, but there was a quaver in her voice that made Jenna wonder.

“Piper is my twin sister,” Jenna pressed gently. “She disappeared twenty years ago, when we were sixteen. I’ve been looking for her ever since.”

Jill’s breathing quickened, the monitor beside her bed registering the increase in her heart rate. “I don’t—I don’t remember. I don’t know why I would say that.” Her hands clutched at the blanket. “Maybe I was confused. I’m often confused.”

"It's okay," Jenna said, though it wasn't. "I'm just trying to understand. Do you remember anything about your life before the mine? Where did you live? People you knew?"

Jill's eyes took on a strange, distant quality. "I lived in the light. Before the dark came. The dark had many hands and many needles." She looked down at her arms, marked with track marks and bruises in various stages of healing. "The needles sang to me. They sang about the emptying."

Jenna fought to keep her expression neutral. This wasn’t the first time Jill had slipped into these kinds of paranoid confabulations. The doctors had explained it might be a result of prolonged trauma, drug use during captivity, or an underlying mental condition exacerbated by her ordeal.

“What about before the dark?” Jenna tried again. “Do you remember family? Friends?”

“The stars,” Jill said suddenly, her eyes widening.

“The stars told us where to go. We followed them into the desert, but the desert wasn’t sand, it was people.

People with empty spaces where their thoughts should be.

” She grabbed Jenna’s wrist with surprising strength.

“They’re listening. They’re always listening through the walls. ”

Jenna gently disengaged herself. “Who’s listening, Jill?”

“The ones who want to take pieces of us and put them in jars. They collect things that aren’t theirs.” Jill’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They took my name and put it in a box. Now I only have the one they gave me.”

“Jill isn’t your real name?” Jenna asked, leaning closer.

“Names are just sounds that stick to you until they don’t,” Jill replied, a hint of lucidity breaking through. “I had another sound once. Before the road and the van and the needles.”

“Do you remember what that sound was?” Jenna felt her heart rate increase. A real name could be traced, could create connections, could lead to answers.

Jill opened her mouth, then froze, her gaze fixed on something beyond Jenna’s shoulder. Jenna turned to see Nurse Daniels standing in the doorway, her expression stern.

“Sheriff Graves,” the nurse said, her voice clipped. “May I speak with you outside, please?”

Jenna hesitated, reluctant to leave when Jill seemed on the verge of revealing something important. But the woman had already retreated into herself, her gaze once again unfocused, fingers plucking absently at the blanket.

“I’ll be right back,” Jenna promised, though she knew Jill might not even remember she’d been there at all.

In the corridor, Nurse Daniels crossed her arms, her disapproval evident.

“Sheriff, I’ve told you before. Pushing her like this isn’t helping her recovery.

Her psych evaluation shows significant cognitive impairment.

The doctors believe she’s experiencing confabulation—her brain is literally making up stories to fill in the gaps in her memory. ”

“I understand that,” Jenna said, struggling to keep frustration from her voice. “But she recognized me when she first woke up. She called me by my sister’s name. That has to mean something.”

Nurse Daniels softened slightly. “I know this is personal for you, but our priority has to be our patient’s wellbeing. And speaking of that...” She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with what she had to say next. “I need to inform you that Jill is being transferred later today.”

“Transferred?” Jenna felt a cold weight settle in her stomach. “Where? Why wasn’t I informed?”

“To New Horizons Rehabilitation Center in Valley Bend,” Nurse Daniels replied. “The decision was made yesterday evening. They specialize in cases like hers—trauma-induced memory loss, cognitive rehabilitation. It’s a good facility, Sheriff.”

“Valley Bend is two counties over,” Jenna said, the implications sinking in. Access would be more difficult. Questions would be raised if the sheriff of Genesius County kept showing up to interview a patient there.

“I’m sorry,” Nurse Daniels said, and she seemed to mean it. “But this is the best thing for her recovery.”

Jenna nodded, not trusting herself to speak immediately. She glanced through the window at Jill, who was now staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Can I have a few more minutes with her?” she asked finally.

Nurse Daniels checked her watch. “Five minutes. Then she needs her medication and rest before transport.”

Back in the room, Jenna found Jill exactly as she’d left her, gaze fixed on the ceiling tiles, counting under her breath.

“Jill,” she said gently. “I have to go now, but I wanted to let you know that you’re being moved to a new facility today. A place that can help you recover your memories.”

Jill turned to her, and for a moment, her eyes seemed clear. “There are some memories that shouldn’t be recovered, Sheriff. Some doors that shouldn’t be opened.” She reached out, her cool fingers brushing against Jenna’s hand. “But you’ll open them anyway, won’t you? Because of her.”

Jenna felt a chill race down her spine. “Because of who?”

But the moment of clarity was gone. Jill’s hand dropped away, and she resumed her counting, as if Jenna wasn’t even there.

“Goodbye, Jill,” Jenna said softly. “I hope you find your way back to yourself.”

The woman gave no indication she’d heard.

Outside, the August heat hit Jenna like a physical wall as she exited the hospital’s air-conditioned interior. She pulled her sunglasses from her shirt pocket and slid them on, shielding her eyes from the intense summer sun.

Another dead end. Another whispered promise of answers that dissolved like morning mist. Twenty years of searching for Piper, and she was no closer now than she’d been that first terrible day when her twin had vanished without a trace.

Jenna slid into her patrol car, the leather seat uncomfortably hot against her legs. She sat for a moment, hands resting on the steering wheel, allowing herself exactly thirty seconds of disappointment before pushing it away.

Her phone buzzed from its holder on the dashboard. The name on the screen—FBI Special Agent Hugh Cody—pulled her immediately into sheriff mode.

“Sheriff Graves,” she answered, starting the engine and letting the air conditioning battle the oppressive heat.

“Sheriff, good morning,” Cody’s voice came through, carrying its usual mix of intensity and professionalism. “I wanted to update you on our progress with the Harvesters case.”

Jenna pulled out of the hospital parking lot. “What have you got?”

“We’re closing in on their leadership structure. The evidence you uncovered in that mine was invaluable. Near the women’s cage we found medical equipment with serial numbers, supply orders, even a couple of partial fingerprints. We’ve linked this cell to operations in three other states.”

“Good,” Jenna said, feeling a small sense of satisfaction despite her earlier disappointment. “Any leads on who’s running the show?”

“We have names, but they’re aliases. Still, we’re making progress.” There was a pause before Cody continued. “I have to say, Sheriff, your instincts on this case have been remarkable. Finding that mine location... if I didn’t know better, I’d say you had an informant on the inside.”

Jenna tensed slightly. This wasn’t the first time Cody had probed about her unconventional investigative methods. “Sometimes traditional investigative techniques miss things,” she said carefully. “I just followed the trail.”

“A trail no one else could see,” Cody remarked. “Well, however you did it, you saved lives. I’ll keep you updated as we make progress.”

The call ended as Jenna pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office. The small brick building sat in the heart of Trentville, its modest appearance belying its importance to the community. Jenna had barely stepped out of her car when her phone rang again.

The screen displayed a number she recognized immediately: Colonel Chadwick Spelling, Superintendent of the Missouri State Highway Patrol.

Their working relationship had developed over several cases, built on mutual respect and a tacit agreement not to dig too deeply into Jenna’s investigative methods.

“Colonel,” she answered, remaining beside her car in the shade of the building. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“Sheriff Graves,” Spelling’s voice was as gruff as ever. “I’m in Pinecrest. We’ve got a situation here I’d like your input on.”

Jenna frowned. “Pinecrest is outside my jurisdiction, Colonel. About an hour away.”

“I’m well aware of where Pinecrest is located,” Spelling replied, a hint of impatience coloring his tone. “I’m not asking for official intervention. I’m asking for your perspective.” He paused. “It’s a homicide case with... unusual characteristics.”

Jenna’s interest piqued despite herself. “Unusual how?”

“Male victim, mid-forties, found in Pinecrest Cemetery last night by a teenager. Initial assessment suggests he was killed elsewhere and staged at the scene.” Spelling lowered his voice slightly. “He was tied to a tree with a wooden stake through his chest.”

“A stake?” Jenna repeated, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

“Yes. And there’s more, but I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Look, Sheriff, I know you have your own jurisdiction to worry about, but your insight on unusual cases has proven valuable in the past. I’d consider it a personal favor.”

Jenna knew what he was really asking. Spelling had never directly acknowledged her “gift,” but he’d witnessed enough to know that she sometimes had access to information that couldn’t be explained through conventional means.

She thought of Jill being transferred away, another potential link to Piper slipping through her fingers. Perhaps a change of scenery would be good. And she’d never been one to turn down a puzzle.

“I can be there in about an hour,” she said. “I’ll bring Deputy Hawkins with me.”

“Good.” The relief in Spelling’s voice was evident. “I’ll text you the address. We’re maintaining the scene until you arrive.”

As she headed into the station to find Jake and brief him on their unexpected field trip, Jenna wondered if the new victim would visit her lucid dreams. Of course not all the dead ever spoke to her, and sometimes she had to depend on more ordinary investigating skills like any other sheriff.

Even so, she had an eerie sensation that something beyond a bizarre murder scene was waiting for her in Pinecrest.