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At the sound of the outcry, the team sprang into action. Jenna’s pulse quickened as she moved closer to observe.
The divers worked with practiced precision, guiding the body they’d found up from the dark abyss. It emerged on the surface of the water like a specter, clothes clinging to its frame unnaturally. Jenna noted the signs of prolonged submersion: the way the waterlogged garments wrapped around the partly skeletal remains. They pulled it ashore with solemn efficiency, laying the body down on the cold ground.
Jenna crouched beside the remains. It appeared to be another man, but any details of his features had been obscured by the ravages of time and water. As Jenna looked upon this third victim they’d found, she felt a growing weight of responsibility. Here was another soul seeking justice, another whisper in the night reaching out to her. This was someone’s son, possibly a brother or a father. A life snuffed out and discarded, left to be forgotten in the murky depths until now.
She stood back as the coroner approached and crouched beside the victim, her hazmat suit crinkling softly amidst the hushed whispers of the onlooking officers.
“Same M.O.,” Melissa’s voice was matter-of-fact as she pointed to the ragged backpack, its fabric decayed by years submerged in the murky depths, the straps frayed and algae-stained.
“There are still some rocks in there,” Melissa added, peering through her protective visor. “Based on the level of decomposition and the aquatic fauna. I’d say this body has been underwater for some period of time between the two others. Perhaps about four years.”
“Four years,” Jenna repeated under her breath, her voice barely a whisper.
“Any idea who this one might be?” Melissa asked.
“I haven’t got a clue,” Jenna said unhappily.
“Identification isn’t going to be easy, I’m afraid. But I’ll do my best. And with the other one, too.”
Jenna couldn’t ask anything more from her longtime friend and colleague. Meanwhile, timeline was emerging. Yesterday’s discovery had only been in the water for two years, while the one they’d found earlier today had been there for six years. Every two years a life had ended and the body sent to the bottom of Sablewood Reservoir. That meant there was likely a killer still living among them, one who had evaded detection for years. They had to find out who and stop him before he struck again.
***
Later, after the grim night’s work was done, Jenna steered her cruiser along the winding road away from Sablewood Reservoir, the dashboard’s glow casting a soft light on her focused expression. Jake broke the silence that had settled between them.
“Melissa Stark’s team sure is efficient,” he remarked. “Those bodies were out and on their way to the coroner’s lab in no time at all.”
Jenna nodded. “Melissa doesn’t mess around especially not with something like this. And Chad Spelling’s got a patrol set up around the reservoir. No one’s getting near that scene now unless they’ve got a badge.”
“And it’s a good thing, too,” Jake said, a hint of relief softening his voice. “The last thing we need is some local YouTuber trying to get footage of the crime scene.”
“Or worse, contaminating evidence,” Jenna added.
Jake changed the subject with a hint of unease in his voice, “Mayor Simmons is so damned worried about the media. I’ll bet she’s planning to issue a statement that skirts around the word ‘murder.’ Thinks it’ll keep people from panicking. Do you think that’s the right tactic?”
“Keeping the peace is important,” Jenna replied, “but so is preparing people for the danger that might still be out there. I’m just glad it’s not my decision to make.”
“You think it’s a serial killer?” Jake queried, turning to gauge Jenna’s reaction.
“Well, we do have three murders,” Jenna said with a shrug.
“I mean, someone who might still become active again?”
“Can’t rule it out,” Jenna said, her eyes fixed on the deserted road ahead. “Every two years. That pattern—if it holds—means we’re soon due for another.”
“Could it be the killer has moved on?" Jake suggested, his voice a low rumble in the quiet car. “Maybe he’s nowhere near these parts anymore.”
Jenna shook her head, “Or maybe he’s still here, waiting. Planning.”
Jake replied, “Which would mean that someone else is in danger.”
The dashboard clock bled neon green into the darkened interior, marking the passage of time towards midnight as Jenna navigated the patrol car through Trentville’s tranquil streets, the distant glow of a half moon illuminating patches of fog that clung to the ground. Jenna eased the cruiser to a stop in front of Jake’s modest house, the porch light casting a golden glow across the lawn. She killed the engine, plunging them into a hush that seemed too intimate for colleagues.
“Tomorrow,” she began, “we’ll have to go over everything again. I think we should head back to Colstock. I snapped a photo of that chain on the neck of the victim we found this afternoon. Tommy Larson might recognize it, confirm whether the victim was Clive Carroway.”
“Yeah.” Jake nodded, collecting his gear. “We’ll catch this guy, Jenna. We have to.” His conviction was a testament to his dedication to the small community that had become his refuge.
“Melissa might have something for us by morning that could give us a lead,” Jenna mused aloud, a part of her seeking assurance in the routine of procedure. “Whatever it is, we’ll follow the evidence.”
Jake nodded. “We always do. We’ll find something tangible to tie these cases together—to give us a possible reason for these murders, and maybe a hint about how the killer got hold of each one.”
“Get some rest, Jake,” Jenna urged, though her own mind raced ahead to the endless possibilities and dark alleys their investigation might lead them down next. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a silent acknowledgment of the dreams that she was certain awaited her—dreams where the dead whispered secrets she would rather not hear, but needed to listen to all the same.
“Think you might get another one of those dreams tonight?” Jake said with a note of concern.
“I don’t know. Could be.”
“Your dreams… they’ve helped before.”
“Helped and haunted,” Jenna corrected, a rueful smile touching her lips. “I’m scared of what I might see, Jake. But yes, they could be the key.”
She knew her dreams had a way of piercing through the veil, revealing truths hidden in plain sight. Yet each visitation came at a cost, dragging her into an ethereal world where the dead spoke and peace was a stranger.
“Whatever happens, you’re not alone in this,” Jake reassured her, placing a comforting hand over hers for a brief moment before pulling away.
“Thanks,” she said, drawing strength from his solidarity. His presence, solid and reliable, was an anchor in the maelstrom of her thoughts.
Jenna felt the familiar thrum of the case pulsating between them, a silent language of shared purpose that had become their norm. But beneath that, another current tugged at her resolve. She unconsciously fidgeted with the keys, betraying her restless thoughts.
“Alright then, we’ll start early. Get fresh eyes on everything,” she said, more to fill the silence than anything else.
“Early, it is,” Jake agreed, his voice low.
The moment hung suspended, like the last clinging note of a song that had just ended, before Jenna turned her attention back to the steering wheel. It was time to say goodnight, yet neither moved.
“Jenna,” Jake began, but he hesitated, leaving his thought unfinished.
“Goodnight, Jake,” Jenna said quickly, a little too briskly, feeling an urgent need to retreat from the vulnerability of the moment.
“Goodnight,” he echoed, and with those words lingering between them, the car door opened and shut again with a soft click, leaving Jenna alone with the hum of the engine and a swarm of thoughts that refused to be silenced.
Jenna watched Jake walk up the path, the muscles of his back shifting under his shirt, a steadiness in his stride that belied the complexity of their partnership. He paused at the door, glancing back at her with an expression that held a depth she wasn’t prepared to dive into just yet. Then he disappeared inside, the door closing softly behind him.
Jenna felt the weight of her attraction mingling with the gravity of their work. He was more than her deputy; he was the one person who saw beyond her well-tailored facade of a tough small town investigator. But with so much at stake, with her sister’s ghost forever between them, how could she dare to explore the treacherous waters of what might be?
She started the car and flicked the headlights back on, casting beams onto the empty street, and pulled away from the curb.
Soon the late drive through Trentville’s slumbering streets led Jenna’s cruiser past the silhouette of her childhood home, the one-story structure now a mere profile under the moon’s silver gaze. No lights flickered through the windows; her mother had surrendered to sleep, the house’s darkness a blanket of assumed tranquility from the outside. Jenna’s eyes lingered on it, a pang of concern etching lines in her brow as she wondered about the battles that might have raged within those walls today—silent skirmishes against the bottle.
She thought of her mother’s hands, once steady and strong, now trembling with the effort of resisting the urge to drink. Jenna knew that it was going to be a long process, perhaps a whole lifetime; each day was a stone added to the weight her mother carried. It was like watching someone walk a tightrope—any moment could spell a disastrous fall, yet Jenna couldn’t be there to catch her every time.
“Stay strong, Mom,” she whispered an unspoken promise to check in soon. The cruiser pulled away, leaving behind the house that held as many memories as secrets, its disrepair mirroring the fractured family narrative.
Upon reaching her bungalow, Jenna sat for a moment in the driver’s seat, gathering her resolve. She reminded herself to call Frank Doyle tomorrow whenever she had any meaningful news to share with him. He’d want to know about the bodies, about the creeping fear that their killer might still be lurking in Genesius County. Frank’s wisdom, sometimes delivered with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, had often guided her through the murk of difficult cases. This time would be no different.
Exiting the car, Jenna stepped into the night’s embrace, the air thick with summer heat and the scent of earth. Her home welcomed her with the familiar creak of the screen door and the soft sigh of the wooden floorboards beneath her boots. She made her way through the dimly lit hallway, toeing off her footwear and letting the badge of office—the gun belt—slip from her waist, placing it on the side table where it always rested.
The routine was methodical: a quick hot shower, watching the droplets scatter like tiny prisms around her, drawing at least some of the tension out of a body that ached from her day’s endeavors. Each action was a deliberate untethering from the day’s grim discoveries. Brushing her teeth, Jenna avoided her own gaze in the mirror, not wanting to confront the weariness that lay there. Instead, she focused on the mechanical motion, the bristles scrubbing away more than just the remnants of coffee.
In the quiet sanctuary of her bedroom, Jenna changed into a simple cotton t-shirt, the fabric whispering over her skin. She sank onto the edge of the bed, allowing herself a moment to breathe—to be not the Sheriff but simply Jenna Graves, whose heart was haunted by loss and whose dreams were both a curse and a calling. With a final glance around the room, she reached over to switch off the lamp, surrendering to whatever sleep might offer.
The mattress yielded softly as Jenna lay back, the springs whispering beneath her weight. Her room was steeped in darkness, the kind that seemed to seep into her pores, a tangible reminder of the day’s grim discoveries. She pulled the lightweight blanket up to her chin, its familiar scent a faint comfort against the chill of unease that had settled over her.
Closing her eyes, Jenna tried to steady her breathing, to coax her mind toward rest. But the quiet only amplified the undercurrent of thoughts that churned relentlessly through her troubled brain. In the blackness behind her lids, shadows began to morph and twist, a spectral procession of unresolved cases and haunting memories that refused to be banished to the depths of sleep.
The sense of foreboding was strong, as if the spirits were already lining up at the edge of her consciousness, eager to impart their silent testimonies through the cryptic medium of dreams. The boundaries between the living and the dead, so resolute in daylight, frayed at the edges as Jenna teetered on the brink of slumber.
She exhaled slowly, surrendering to the inevitable descent into the dream realm where answers often lurked, shrouded in enigma. It was here, in this liminal space, that Jenna found her most potent clues, though they came at the cost of peaceful rest.
As she drifted off, the feeling intensified—a prelude to the nocturnal visitations that awaited her, an intangible whisper that promised revelations and riddles intertwined. The ghosts in her head began their mysterious dance, and Jenna knew it wouldn’t be long until she joined them in their silent waltz.