Page 25

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Jenna Graves’s cruiser coasted to a halt in front of her childhood home. The gravel crunched beneath the tires, a familiar sound that brought a flicker of comfort despite the preceding night’s chaos. Her fingers still felt the touch of the hospital’s stiff sheets where Jake and Frank had taken her late last night.

Tommy Larson was now in custody, and Carl Reeves had been released with apologies. She had spent the night under the sterile watch of fluorescent lights and the beeping symphony of machines monitoring her every breath. The near-drowning had left her lungs aching and her spirit weary. But the discharge papers in her pocket and Jake Hawkins’ stern directive echoed in her mind: “Take some time off, Jenna. I can cover anything that comes up.”

The silence of her bungalow had been a jarring change from the constant activity of the Sheriff’s Office. A quick snack did nothing to fill the void left by the absent activity and companionship. Now, as she stepped out of the car onto her mother’s unkempt lawn, Jenna watched as a figure before her moved with her newfound purpose.

With her back turned to Jenna, Mom hunched over a patch of earth, her movements deliberate as she planted something with care. Jenna’s gaze traced the lines of her mother’s shoulders, noting how they lacked the slump of defeat that had become all too familiar. The sight offered a shard of hope piercing through the doubts that lingered about her mother’s sobriety.

“Mom?” Jenna’s voice carried lightly across the yard. “What are you planting?”

“Marigolds and zinnias,” her mother answered without turning, her tone infused with a clarity that had long been missing. “Just like I said I would.”

“Remember the drought,” Jenna reminded gently, her eyes scanning the parched earth around them. “Water’s scarce.”

“I know, honey.” Her mother straightened up, finally looking over her shoulder with a smile free from shadows of past indulgences. “I’ll be careful. Go on, settle yourself on the porch. I’ll go inside and bring us some iced tea.”

Jenna nodded and made her way to the porch, the wooden steps creaking beneath her weight—a familiar sound that spoke of stability and childhood laughter. She settled into the weathered rocking chair, its rhythmic motion transporting her back to sun-drenched afternoons when she and Piper had chased each other around the yard, their father clapping his hands in time with their giggles.

The memories were vivid amid the quiet that enveloped her. Jenna closed her eyes, basking in the echoes of a past where loss had not yet cast its long shadow over the Graves family home.

The clinking of ice against glass announced her mother’s return, the tray with two sweating glasses of tea balanced skillfully in her hands.

“Here we go,” Mom said, setting down the tray and handing Jenna a glass. The chill was a welcome reprieve from the heat that hung around them like a heavy shawl. They both took sips, the ice crackling as they settled into their chairs, the rhythmic squeaking of the rocking chair accompanying their silent communion.

“I hear that you closed a big case yesterday,” her mother ventured after a moment, her eyes curious and proud. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Jenna hesitated, the liquid coldness in her hand a stark contrast to the heat of the memories threatening to surface. “It’s... well, it wasn’t pretty, Mom.”

Her mother chuckled softly, a sound that once would have been diluted by the effects of alcohol but now rang clear and strong. “Honey, I’ve seen more than my fair share of ‘not pretty.’ I think I can handle it.”

Taking a deep breath, Jenna nodded, grounding herself in the firm reality of the porch beneath her, the safety of her mother’s garden just yards away. “The killer was Tommy Larson, a farmer over near Colstock,” she started, the words feeling heavy on her tongue. “Now that he’s in custody, he’s confessing everything. He held a grudge against his brother, Mike, and two others since they were kids. Said they almost drowned him at Sablewood Reservoir when they were playing around.”

Her mother’s expression turned somber, mirroring the gravity of the tale. “That’s no reason to—”

“He drowned them, Mom. All three, in the same waters where they wronged him.” Jenna’s voice was steady, though inside, the turmoil roiled like storm-swollen waves.

“Mercy,” her mother whispered, absorbing the darkness of human nature laid bare before her.

“And I...” Jenna paused, the next part of the story clawing at her throat, demanding release. But she balked, the danger she’d faced too grim a specter to share.

“Jenna Graves,” her mother scolded gently, a teasing glint in her eye despite the macabre subject. “Don’t you dare hold back on me now? I want to know all of it. How you caught that monster.”

With a reluctant smile, acknowledging her mother’s insistence on sharing the burden, Jenna began to recount the capture of Tommy Larson, reliving the determination and cunning it had taken to bring a murderer to justice. As she spoke, the shadows cast by the afternoon sun stretched across the porch, silent witnesses to the unfolding confession of a day that had tested the limits of her resolve.

Jenna’s fingers curled tighter around the glass, the ice clinking softly as she took a deep breath. “There was a moment, in the water, when I thought... that’s it. The end of the line for Jenna Graves.”

Her mother reached across the small gap between their rocking chairs, a touch of concern knitting her brows. “But you’re here now, thank the stars. What happened?”

“Jake dove in and pulled me out,” Jenna replied, a half-truth hanging between them. The full truth—a spectral figure, a message from beyond—was a secret too heavy to lay upon her mother’s shoulders.

“I couldn’t …” her mother stared away for a moment. “I couldn’t stand it if you …”

Unable to finish the thought she had started, Mom straightened up and said, “You always were a survivor,” nodding as if to convince herself. “I’m proud of you. Your father would be proud, too. So would your sister.”

The mention of Piper tightened something in Jenna’s chest, and without fully understanding why, she found herself bridging the gap to the unspoken vision. “Mom, does the word ‘sandpiper’ mean anything to you?”

“Sandpiper?” Her mother’s voice hitched slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her weathered features. “Why do you ask?”

“Something jogged my memory, that’s all.” Jenna’s evasion was smooth, but her heart raced with the anticipation of a revelation.

“Ah, the sandpiper...” Her mother’s eyes softened, drifting towards a distant point in the past. “Piper loved that bird. Had a book about birds she would carry everywhere. She’d trace the picture of the sandpiper with her little finger, over and over. It’s probably still in her room, buried under years of memories. Let’s go inside, I can show you.”

Jenna followed her mother into the dimly lit hallway. The door to the room the girls had once shared creaked open, revealing a sanctuary untouched by time, dust motes dancing in the shafts of light that pierced the half-drawn curtains. Jenna had avoided venturing here since her sister had vanished.

Her mother moved with an uncharacteristic reverence as she approached the bookshelf nestled in the corner, its shelves sagging under the weight of years and memories. As Mom reached for a tattered spine, Jenna remembered the book, its cover worn from the countless times small hands had flipped through its pages. It was the bird-watching guide, its presence alone conjuring up a silent ache that filled the room.

As Jenna took the book from her mother’s hands, her fingers brushed against the textured paper, feeling the echo of Piper’s touch in the grooves where she had traced the sandpiper’s image. Opening to the page, the illustration of the slender bird seemed to leap out at them, its details sharp against the yellowing background. Both women flinched, struck by the immediacy of the loss that the image evoked.

“Here,” Jenna’s voice was steadier than she felt as she pointed to the text beside the illustration, “is a list of places where sandpipers can be found. Even mentions spots right here in Missouri.”

Her mother leaned in, eyes scanning the page before nodding slowly. “Piper would’ve loved to see them in the wild,” she murmured.

Jenna nodded, absorbing the information but feeling the tug of something deeper. The vision of the woman holding the sandpiper surged to the forefront of her mind, vivid and demanding attention. Who was this spectral visitor, and why lead her to this moment?

“Mom...” Jenna hesitated, chewing on her lip as she grappled with the significance of what lay before her. Was it merely a coincidence, or was there intent behind the vision’s guidance?

“Is everything alright, Jenna?” Her mother’s gaze was sharpened by concern, picking up on her daughter’s internal struggle.

“Fine, just thinking.” Jenna closed the book gently, the sound final in the quiet room. This clue, if it was one, opened more questions than answers. What did it mean for Piper? And was her twin, whose existence was a constant hum in the back of Jenna’s consciousness, trying to reach out to her after all these years?

With the guide cradled in her arms, Jenna allowed herself a sliver of hope. Maybe this would help unravel the mystery that had haunted her since they were sixteen— whether her twin was alive or dead. And if alive, then where?

Was she already holding in her hands the information she needed? Or would she still need to find answers veiled in the shadowy realm of her otherworldly dreams?