Page 24

Still crouched low, her back pressed against the wrinkled bark of the willow tree, Jenna heard a slight sound as a stone skittered into the water. In one fluid motion, she was on her feet. She peered into the twilight, seeking the source of the disturbance.

She saw no sign of anyone nearby. She realized that, by standing on the point of land by the willow tree, she might be undermining her ruse. She looked too much like herself, not like an anonymous caller who was supposed to come here to tell his story. But how could anyone have gotten so near her without either Jake or Frank texting her a warning? She knew that no one had driven into the reservoir grounds because there had been no signal from her companions. But was someone standing back there among the trees?

Before she could either greet or challenge the presence, a blunt force crashed against her skull, the impact knocking her to her knees.

***

Tommy stepped out from his hidden vantage point, chuckling at how well his pitching arm still worked. Those years on the farm team still served his current needs.

He hurried to the willow tree and loomed over Jenna, his chest heaving with shallow, rapid breaths as he surveyed his work. His head turned sharply at every flicker and rustle, expecting at any moment to see someone else arrive. Yet the whispers of the forest remained just that—whispers. They must not know he was here.

Tommy crouched beside Jenna’s motionless body, his hands steady as he unzipped the backpack he brought with him. Inside, the rocks clinked together. Even with the one missing that he’d used as a weapon, they would do the necessary job.

With methodical precision, he positioned it against Jenna’s back, securing the straps around her torso.

“Sorry, Sheriff,” he murmured, not out of pity, but as if acknowledging a player in a game who had just lost their final move.

***

Awareness crept back to Jenna slowly as the water rose around her. She struggled to clear her head from the pain of the blow. She could feel that her head was bleeding, but that was the least of her worries. What frightened her more was a heaviness against her back—a dead weight that was dragging her down. Her mind sluggishly pieced together the situation: she was wearing a backpack filled with stones, just as she’d seen on the dead bodies.

And the hands that were pulling her into the deeper water were the same ones that had drowned those others they’d found there.

“Let go, Tommy," she rasped weakly.

Tommy’s grip on her was unyielding, his farmer’s hands calloused and strong from years of tending to unforgiving land. Her attempts to resist, to dig her heels into the muddy bottom, only resulted in a guttural grunt from Tommy as he adjusted his hold and continued dragging her deeper.

“You can’t get away with this,” Jenna managed, her voice gaining some strength, though it did little to halt their descent into insistent water.

“Just watch me,” Tommy replied.

Her thoughts raced, strategizing, searching for any edge or oversight in Tommy’s plan that she could exploit. But the rocks bound to her back were relentless, pulling her down just as surely as Tommy’s determined strides were taking her in deeper.

Jenna summoned all her remaining energy, twisting and kicking in a desperate bid for freedom. For a moment, she felt Tommy stumble, his footing uncertain on the slippery bottom as he approached the drop off to a deeper level—but it was not enough.

***

“Dammit,” Jake muttered under his breath as he fished his phone from his pocket with deliberate movements.

“Come on, Jenna,” he whispered to the deepening night

No response came on his phone.

Gripped by a sense of urgency, Jake’s thumb flew across the screen of his phone texting Frank, “No response from Jenna. Something’s wrong.” The message dispatched into the ether, he didn’t linger for a reply. Springing to his feet, Jake broke into a run towards Jenna’s position, his mind racing as fast as his legs.

As he rounded a bend in the path, a figure loomed suddenly, startlingly close. Jake skidded to a halt, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. “Don’t move!” His voice cut through the stillness like a blade.

The figure froze, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. It took a fraction of a second for Jake to recognize the face that was illuminated by the erratic beam of his flashlight.

“Paul?” Jake’s grip on the gun loosened, and he reflexively lowered the weapon.

“Whoa, easy there, Deputy!” Rauer’s voice cut through the tension, his hands still raised.

“I was just coming to find you,” Rauer stammered, his breath hitching as though each word cost him. “I saw something going on across the reservoir... I think Sheriff Graves is in trouble!”

“Where? What did you see?” Jake demanded.

“By the willow tree,” Rauer managed between gasps for air, “someone dragging something... or someone... into the water.”

Jake and Rauer ran together. As they neared the willow tree, a beam of light cut across their path, and Jake zeroed in on the figure of Frank Doyle emerging from the opposite side. As they converged, a figure stumbled from the reservoir, water cascading from his drenched clothing.

“Freeze!” The command erupted from Frank, his voice resonating with decades of law enforcement command. Flashlights converged on the man before them: Tommy Larson. His clothes clung to him, outlining a frame that seemed to waver between triumph and fear.

As Frank advanced, cuffs in hand, Jake’s gaze darted past the scene, scanning the undulating surface of the reservoir.

Then he plunged in and dove. His eyes stung, visibility near zero, but he forced them open, desperate. His hands, driven by fear and resolve, swept through the water, searching for any sign of Jenna. The need to find her pushed him deeper, lungs screaming for air, until he caught a glimpse of something that might be pale skin.

***

Jenna descended through the dark water, the crushing weight of the stones tied to her back dragging her into a cold, silent abyss. She inhaled some water, and panic gave way to an eerie calm as darkness threatened to consume her consciousness. Then, amid the suffocating pressure, a vision bloomed in the void—an ethereal woman cradling a sandpiper, its delicate form contrasting the brutality of her current predicament.

The image was vivid, a mirage born from the depths of Jenna’s own mind, echoing that haunting dream which had lingered with her since its occurrence. The unseen woman’s hands, gentle and reassuring, seemed to urge Jenna towards something—some hidden truth entwined with her past. As the murky waters obscured her senses, a whisper threaded through the chaos, a reminder to seek answers from the one person who might hold them: her mother.

***

Gripping the material he had taken hold of, Jake kicked upwards, emerging with Jenna’s lifeless form cradled in his arms. He gasped for breath, the night air sharp in his lungs as he fought the water’s resistance to drag her back to the bank. His mind reeled, every second an eternity, the distance from shore an insurmountable expanse that he had to conquer.

“Jenna!” he called out, voice ragged with the strain of terror. Her vibrant green eyes were closed, her face hauntingly still. The shore met them with unforgiving solidity, and he heaved her onto the bank, her body limp and unresponsive.

“She’s not breathing!” Panic edged his words, each syllable a shard of ice. Jake positioned himself over Jenna, fingers trembling as they found the correct placement for compressions. It was a rhythm he knew well, yet each push felt unfamiliar, fueled by a potent mix of adrenaline and dread.

“Come on, Jenna,” he murmured between compressions, his plea a silent prayer. Each downward thrust was a demand for her return, a battle against the grip of the abyss that threatened to claim her. The pulse of his own heart thrummed in his ears, a counterpoint to the absence of hers.

Jake’s forearms ached from the exertion, his movements automatic as he continued the life-saving compressions on Jenna’s still form. The cool night air of Sablewood Reservoir was punctuated by the rhythmic sound of his efforts, each push a silent testament to the urgency of the moment.

Beside him, Frank Doyle stood motionless, the lines on his weathered face etched with concern. The former Sheriff’s eyes were fixed on Jenna, willing her to draw breath again. Paul Rauer, the dam operator, hovered nearby, hands clenched, his gaze flitting between Jenna and the handcuffed figure of Tommy Larson who slumped against a nearby tree, his wet clothes clinging to him, a picture of defeated malice.

As moments ticked by, Jake felt the weight of Jenna’s life in his hands. He blocked out everything except the task before him. Each compression squeezed hope into her lungs, each release a plea for her tenacious spirit to fight back.

And then, when Jake’s strength waned and his resolve flickered, Jenna’s body jerked violently. Water erupted from her mouth, and she drew a ragged, spluttering breath. Jake’s heart leapt. He quickly rolled her onto her side, supporting her as she continued to cough up the reservoir’s murky water.

Relief surged through Jake’s veins, mingling with the fatigue that threatened to buckle his knees. Frank and Rauer exhaled in unison, a sound almost lost in the commotion of Jenna’s struggle for air. In the midst of chaos, there was a single, crystalline moment of triumph—Jenna was alive.

***

Jenna’s lungs heaved, drawing in the cool night air as her consciousness clawed its way back from the murky depths. Her emerald eyes, usually a beacon of determination, now flickered with confusion as they peeled open. The world was a blur, shapes and shadows melding together under the backdrop of stars beginning to prick the twilight sky.

“Jake?” The name scratched its way out of her throat, a ghost of a sound. She squinted up at the figure looming over her, the lines of his face coming into focus. “What... what happened?”

His hands were gentle but firm as he eased her into a sitting position, an arm around her shoulders like a shield. “It’s okay, Jenna. You’re safe now.” Jake’s voice was a steady drumbeat in the quiet chaos of the evening. “We got him. We got Tommy.”

Relief should have flooded her, but Jenna found herself adrift in a sea of questions. Safe? How could she be safe when moments before death had been a tangible thing, cold and wet and pressing down on her chest? Yet here she was, alive, the ghostly fingers of her supernatural intuition whispering that this ordeal was not just about survival—it was a sign, a nudge towards unsolved mysteries that clung to her like shadows.

But for now, she allowed Jake’s presence to anchor her, to hold back the tide of her thoughts as she simply breathed, each inhalation a silent note of gratitude.