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Chills skittered down Jenna’s spine as she processed the implications of what Tommy Larson had just told her. She understood that her gift, her curse, had already given her yet another piece of this puzzle, but she had made a mistake in interpretation. That wasn’t unusual. The messages she received from the dead were often unclear, and decoding them could be a struggle.

Jenna extended her hand. “Tommy, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve shared,” she said. “We might need to talk to you again. Could you give me your phone number?”

Tommy nodded, digging into his pocket to produce a crumpled piece of paper, scrawling his number across it with a pen borrowed from the counter.

“Anything that helps find out what happened to Mike... and Sly,” he muttered, the last part of his sentence trailing off as if caught by a sudden gust of wind. Jenna folded the paper with precision, tucking it safely into her jacket pocket.

As they passed through the store, they saw the widow at a checkout line, working as she must have done every day for many years. For a moment, Mary glanced up, but she quickly turned back to the customer, who seemed bent on chatting with her. Jenna felt a pang of sympathy for how all of the woman’s assumptions about what had happened to her husband had suddenly been burst.

Jenna and Jake continued on their way toward the exit. When they emerged from the store, the chime above the door tolling once, twice, its sound heavy in the stillness of the Colstock afternoon.

When they both slid into their seats in the cruiser, “Jenna—” Jake began, concern in his eyes. “Why’d we leave so quickly?”

“Jake, I just had a realization about my dream,” she replied. “The figure from the waters wasn’t saying ‘I’m alive.’ He was saying, ‘I’m Clive.’”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Clive Carroway?” he echoed. “The friend Tommy mentioned? Nicknamed Sly?”

“Exactly. And if Clive is appearing in my dreams...” she began, her voice taut with revelation.

“He’s dead, too," Jake responded quickly.

“Not just dead,” Jenna countered. “From what I saw, potentially murdered and dumped in the Sablewood Reservoir, just like Mike.”

“And Sly vanished six years earlier.” Jake reclined, giving himself a moment to absorb the chilling implications of their new lead. “But Jenna, the figure in your dream said something else, didn’t he?” Jake queried, eyes narrowing as he sought confirmation.

Jenna’s response came through clenched teeth. “He said, ‘There are three of us.’ If I’m right about this, it means there are two more bodies in that reservoir.”

Three lives snuffed out, three stories concluded prematurely beneath the deceptively tranquil waters of Sablewood Reservoir. Jenna felt a familiar chill creep up her spine, a spectral whisper that spoke of things unseen yet deeply felt. Somewhere beneath those still waters lay the answers, entwined with the reeds and lost to the depths—answers that she was determined to dredge up.

The V8 engine of their unmarked cruiser growled as Jenna started it and headed towards Sablewood Dam. The town of Colstock retreated in the rearview mirror as the vehicle surged forward. Jenna’s mind raced alongside the engine’s rhythm, piecing together a puzzle from beyond the veil.

As she drove, she again recounted her dream to Jake, making sure not to miss the smallest detail. Jake listened intently, his detective’s mind cataloging every detail. And now an image came back to Jenna that she’d almost forgotten—the haunting image of the willow tree, its limbs heavy with sorrow, fronds dipping into the murky water where the ghostly figure had appeared.

“Every branch seemed to be reaching for something just out of grasp,” Jenna described, her voice steady despite the unnerving nature of her visions.

As the car crested a hill, the Sablewood Reservoir came into view, a vast expanse of water bordered by the stoic guardianship of trees.

“Let’s stop here,” Jenna instructed suddenly, pointing towards the shore where three willows stood sentry. They exited the vehicle, and Jenna immediately set her sights on the middle tree, its trunk twisted with age, branches caressing the water’s edge like a mother soothing a child. “That one, Jake. The one on that point that juts out over the water. It’s identical to my dream.”

They got back into the car and continued on to Paul Rauer’s office, a small structure posted on one end of the dam. They knocked on the door and heard Paul call out, “Come in.”

They entered to see a workspace created of necessity rather than design, crammed with the tools of Paul’s trade. Maps dotted the walls, lines and notes scrawled across them in an organized chaos only decipherable to a practiced eye. Monitors flickered with readings and charts, each a silent custodian of the reservoir’s health and of the dam that held those waters in place.

“Paul,” Jenna greeted, barely containing the urgency in her tone. Immersed in his work, Paul Rauer turned, his expression shifting rapidly from surprise to concern as he absorbed the gravity of their presence.

“Jenna, Jake. What brings you two out here?” Rauer asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Jenna exchanged a quick glance with Jake, silently communicating the need for discretion. “We have information suggesting there might be more to find in the reservoir.”

“Specifically, at least one more body,” Jake added. “Maybe two.”

Jenna watched Rauer’s reaction, noting the way his shoulders tensed under the weight of the news. He was a fixture in this town, known for his silent strength, but even he seemed shaken by the implications of what he was hearing.

As Rauer absorbed her words, he nudged the precarious edge of his glasses back up again as if to brace for a clearer view of an unwelcome reality. “Damn it, this is going to be a nightmare,” he muttered.

Rauer’s gaze lingered on Jenna. “Where did you get this tip about another body—or bodies?”

Jenna met his questioning eyes with a steady gaze. This was one of those situations where honesty was out of the question.

“I’m not at liberty to share that information,” she responded, her voice firm. And, of course, there was a germ of truth in that.

Rauer hesitated, then nodded slowly, understanding the delicate balance of knowledge and secrecy in the Sheriff’s line of work. He turned away, leaving Jenna to wait in the oppressive silence, punctuated only by the distant hum of the dam’s machinery that took away water to be purified for human use.

“There aren’t too many places where that body could be without having turned up already,” he finally said. “Not at the far end where swimmers go in, and not anywhere where the water is shallow enough to see the bottom. Of course, the swimmers and boaters are banned from the reservoir now that the water is so low.”

“We need to look specifically near one of the willow trees along the bank,” Jenna said. “Where the shoreline juts out into the water.”

Rauer looked a bit shocked. “That’s near where the first body was found,” he said. “It’s deep enough there to hide more than one.”

Jenna nodded, but gave out no more information about her source. “Time is critical,” she pressed.

“Let me make a call,” Rauer said, reaching for the phone. He spoke hurriedly as he arranged for a boat. Jenna could see by his expression that he fully sensed the pressing nature of what lay beneath those still waters.

“Carl Reeves will take you out there,” Rauer told them when he ended the call. “He’s good, knows the waters like the back of his hand.”

“Thank you, Paul,” Jenna said.

In a few minutes, the sound of footsteps approached, then the office door swung open, and Carl Reeves’ bulky frame filled the doorway. Jenna remembered Carl from having been here yesterday, an anxious-looking man. Rauer didn’t waste time on pleasantries as he explained what they needed from Carl.

“Understood,” Carl said with a worried nod, his eyes briefly meeting Jenna’s before he turned to gather the necessary gear. His movements were deliberate as he led them outside and loaded up a motorboat with rope, grappling hooks, and the other tools need for this morbid task.

Minutes later, Jenna stepped into the boat, feeling the slight give of the vessel as it adjusted to her weight. Jake followed, casting an uneasy glance at the water. Rauer remained onshore, binoculars ready to observe their progress from a distance.

Carl started the engine, and the boat lurched forward, cutting a path across the glassy surface of the reservoir. The water’s edge was bare and brown, newly exposed by the drought.

As they neared the designated willow tree, its branches swaying above a cluster of rocks and mud, Carl cut the engine, allowing the boat to drift closer in silence. The quiet of the reservoir settled over them, broken only by the occasional call of a bird or the soft lap of water against the hull.

Jenna leaned over the side, the cool metal pressing into her stomach. She switched on the light that Carl handed her, the strong beam slicing through the murkiness below. The water obscured everything, hiding its secrets in shades of green and black. Her breath was steady, her focus absolute as she scanned the depths. The image from her dream—a figure rising up out of the water, the haunting whisper of a name—played on a loop in her mind.

“I see something,” she murmured suddenly, more to herself than to Jake or Carl. She steadied her hand, holding the light firm as the shape of something took form in the watery gloom.

She jutted a finger towards the indistinct figure, her voice slicing through the air with an edge sharpened by the gravity of their discovery. “There!” The word was both a revelation and a burden, heavy with the weight of what it meant. A form lay in the depths, obscured, but its outline was vaguely human.

Carl Reeves hoisted the grappling hook, the rope coiled in his rough hands as he prepared to breach the stillness of the reservoir’s surface. The metal arc of the hook parted ways with the boat, diving into the depths with a muted splash. The sound seemed too gentle for the violence of what they were about to unearth.

Then Carl began the methodical process of reeling in the line, every turn of the crank echoing like a drumbeat in the quiet afternoon. Jenna watched, her gaze locked onto the murky water where the hook had disappeared.

Jenna held her breath as the rope’s tension increased, the fibers groaning under the stress. There was a momentary pause, a resistance from the depths as if the reservoir itself was reluctant to give up its dead. Then came a subtle shift, a telltale sign that the hook had found purchase. Carl’s arm muscles tensed visibly as he worked with determination to retrieve whatever lay beneath.

The boat rocked ever so slightly with Carl’s efforts. Jenna felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, her senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. They were on the cusp of revealing something long concealed by the waters of Sablewood Reservoir.

Carl’s arms worked with a relentless rhythm, the veins standing out like cords as he hauled the rope in. The water churned, and then, breaking the surface, the remnants surfaced from the lake’s opaque abyss. The man’s body had been submerged for half a dozen years, lost to time and nature’s macabre processes. Jenna had braced herself for the unknown, but the sight that met her eyes was beyond unsettling.

What once was a living, breathing human being was now reduced to a skeletal figure, an eerie effigy of the man he once was. Flesh had given way to bone, skin bleached ghostly white by the relentless underwater currents and scavenging aquatic life. Tattered remnants of clothing clung stubbornly to the skeletal frame like spectral reminders of his past existence. Wide straps that could have been part of a backpack still wrapped around part of the remains.

His face, or what remained of it, bore little resemblance to any discernible human features; only hollow eye sockets stared back at Jenna with a chilling emptiness. The waterlogged hair, still clinging to the skull in patches, fluttered in the water like spectral tendrils. The corpse bobbed grotesquely in the water, swaying with the gentle motions of the boat. Jenna steeled herself against the visceral reaction that clawed at her insides. With each ripple that washed over the ghastly form, more of the murky reservoir water cleansed away the silt of oblivion, revealing the undeniable truth of violence past.

Her gaze didn’t waver from the body, the confirmation she needed lying in the physical evidence before her. Despite the revulsion that twisted her stomach, she knew that the dead had stories to tell, and she was there to listen.

Her mind couldn’t help but wander to the supernatural whisper that had led them here, to this body that must belong to a man who had disappeared years ago. Her intuition had pierced through the veil separating life from death, guiding her to this gruesome discovery. This was a moment of grim vindication—her dream had led them here, and though the path was lined with horrors, it was the course she was meant to follow.

“Not going to be easy to come up with an identification on that,” Carl muttered. “Not much left to work with.”

Then Jenna noted a detail that she knew could be crucial for their investigation.