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The streets of Trentville were quiet as Jenna drove toward the Genesius County Sheriff’s Office. Last night’s dream, vivid and haunting, still clung to her consciousness, demanding attention. Her mind also replayed the physical events of the previous day—her visit to Whitmore Lake State Forest, where reality had mirrored her visions with unsettling accuracy.

She soon arrived at the old brick building where she served as the Genesius County Sheriff and slid her cruiser into her parking space. She strode into the building, exchanging greetings with the cops on duty and making her way toward the two private offices at the back. The team’s early-morning conversations over coffee were punctuated only by the soft hum of a distant copier and the distant murmur of dispatch radio chatter.

Before Jenna reached her own workplace, she saw that the door to her deputy’s office stood ajar, light spilling into the dim hallway. She peeked in and saw that Jake was there, as she knew he would be. His broad-shouldered silhouette was framed by the glow of his computer screen, highlighting his sandy hair.

A former beat cop from Kansas City, Jake always said he’d moved to this small town for a change of scenery. Jenna knew that he’d faced more change and challenges here than he’d ever expected, and he was still coming to terms with her contacts with the spirit world, which she’d finally decided to describe to him. Jake never dismissed her dreams outright, despite their supernatural nature, which ranged far from the logic of law enforcement as he’d experienced it in those earlier days. He simply included her supernatural insights as potential information along with the evidence he gathered from his outstanding skills at more conventional investigations.

She also realized that he was often concerned about the effects those experiences had on her—a concern that she knew to be well-founded.

Her knuckles rapped against the wooden door. “Got a minute?”

He swiveled in his chair, his expression lighting up when he saw Jenna. “Morning, Sheriff,” he greeted her. “Of course, come in. How did your visit to Whitmore Lake go yesterday?”

Jenna took a step forward, crossing the threshold into the sanctuary of Jake’s well-organized workspace. His office was a bit smaller than hers, his metal desk a landscape of case files and reports. Despite the clutter, there was a meticulousness to it all, as if every paper and pen was placed with intention.

“Yesterday was... well, strange,” she began, choosing her words with care. She stepped inside and gently closed the door behind her, the soft click signifying a barrier between them and the rest of the world. Lowering herself into the chair across from Jake’s desk, Jenna took a moment to pull the scattered pieces of her thoughts into alignment.

“I found something at the lake, Jake. Something that could change everything,” she stated. “But it’s also confusing.”

“Go on,” Jake urged when she paused, his pen poised above the notepad he’d instinctively reached for.

Jenna told him all about her visit to the dense woods of Whitmore Lake State Forest, the path unfolding before her just as it had in her dream. Her recounting was methodical, each word deliberate as she painted the scene for him - the way the early morning mist clung to the trees, the soft loam beneath her boots, and the silence that wrapped around her.

Her throat tightened as she spoke of the weathered dock, the letters and numerals etched into the wood like wrinkles on an old man’s face. “And there, on the post... initials and a date were carved: ‘P.G. 7/29/2010’.”

As she finished, Jenna watched Jake absorb the tale, his expression a mix of awe and deep-seated worry.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. His gaze never left her face, searching for the subtext behind her carefully chosen words. “P.G.... you think the carving was left by Piper Graves?”

“That’s what I thought at first. But then...” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the window where the early rays of sunlight made their way through the blinds. She described the dream—the return of the sandpiper, the ghostly photograph, and the girl who had seemed to want to speak just before Jenna awoke.

“That’s... intense, Jenna. What do you think it means?” Jake asked.

Frustration creased her brow as she ran a hand through her hair, stray chestnut strands refusing to be tamed. “I don’t know, Jake. But I can’t shake the feeling that this girl, whoever she is, is trying to tell me something important.”

Jake nodded slowly. “She appeared in your dream, so she’s … not alive.”

He pivoted away from her, turning his attention to the computer, the screen a gateway to possibilities as boundless as the web it connected to.

“Let’s see if we can find out who she might be. You said the carving was dated July 29, 2010, right? And Whitmore Lake State Forest is in Braxon County.”

“Correct,” Jenna confirmed, feeling a now familiar relief that Jake was so accepting, so willing to work with such unsubstantial information from her night-time visions.

They huddled over Jake’s desktop, shoulders almost touching, and Jenna felt a familiar tingle of attraction toward her deputy—an attraction she often suspected he might share with her. But the thought of opening up about this issue daunted her—and even scared her. Professionally, they were a great team together, and they were also great friends. How might a romantic entanglement affect both their professional relationship and their friendship?

Most of the time, she figured it would be best not to find out. But at other times …

The room fell silent save for the soft clicking of Jake’s keyboard. Jenna leaned forward, her emerald eyes fiercely scanning each line of text that scrolled past, looking for anything that could connect to the mysterious “P.G.” from her dream. They combed through public records, missing person reports, and old news articles—anything that could shed light on the identity of the girl from Jenna’s dreams.

Suddenly, Jake’s cursor hovered over a link. “Look at this,” he said, his tone sharpening with discovery. He clicked on a news article from the Clendon Post Gazette.

The headline read: “Local Clendon Teen Patricia Gaines Still Missing After Week-Long Search.”

“Patricia Gaines,” the name echoed in Jenna’s head. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the grainy newsprint image. The girl in the photograph bore a haunting resemblance to the figure from her dream—the same hollowed cheeks, the same penetrating stare that reached across the boundary of life and death.

“It’s her,” Jenna murmured, the realization sinking in like the chill of the morning air. “The girl from my dream.” She barely recognized her own voice, a mere echo in the quiet of Jake’s office.

It was an astonishing development, but what did it mean? The P.G. in the newspaper story and photo—it was Patricia Gaines, not Piper. But where did that leave her sister? Jenna felt the threads of hope unraveling, her certainty torn by doubt.

“She went missing on August 5, 2010,” she read aloud, her voice no more than a whisper. That meant that the date carved into the weathered dock post was not just a random etching—”July 29, 2010” was a timestamp close to a mystery she had unwittingly stumbled upon. She forced herself to look away from the photograph, to focus on the room, on the solidity of the desk, the familiar hum of the computer.

The story included an urgent appeal from Patricia’s parents, begging people to tell them anything they might know about what had happened to their daughter.

The room was silent except for the sound of movement and conversation in the rooms and hallways outside Jake’s office. Jenna’s mind raced with the possibilities of what the dream could mean, feeling an invisible thread tugging at her, urging her to act.

“Maybe,” she began, hesitantly breaking the silence, “I should reach out to Patricia’s parents.”

Jake’s eyes met hers, the depth of his concern evident. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as he searched for the right words. “What would you tell them, Jenna?” he asked softly. “That you had a dream about their daughter?”

Jenna knew he was right; dreams, no matter how vivid, were not evidence. They couldn’t bring Patricia back or provide tangible answers to the tormenting questions that must plague her family every waking moment. And, of course, she couldn’t begin to explain to them just how she’d come to think she knew their daughter might be dead. It would seem crazy—and worse, it would be cruel.

“You’re right,” she finally said, breaking the silence that had settled between them. Her voice was steady, betraying none of the turmoil that churned within her. “But if Patricia’s spirit is reaching out to me, why? What is she trying to tell me?”

Jake leaned back in his chair, considering her question. His gaze remained thoughtful as he replied, “If it really is Patricia’s spirit, she’ll likely appear in your dreams again. Maybe next time, she’ll be able to communicate more clearly. And maybe we will have something to act on.”

Jenna was moved and grateful for how he used the word “we”—meaning that he would support her, no matter what. There was a calmness to his words, the kind that came from years of facing dire and unpredictable situations on city streets before finding refuge in the rhythms of small-town policing.

Jenna nodded, pondering his response. If Patricia Gaines’ spirit was indeed reaching out, then Jenna owed it to her—and to herself—to persist until the truth was unearthed. And with luck, that truth would at least start to emerge in the form of another dream.

The shrill ring of the office phone sliced through the stillness, startling both of them. Jake swiftly reached for the receiver, his expression morphing from concern to mild amusement as he listened to the caller. It was a shift that told Jenna the gravity of their earlier conversation was about to be interrupted by the day-to-day eccentricities of the small town they lived and worked in.

He covered the mouthpiece and looked at Jenna. “Duty calls,” Jake explained, the levity in his tone a brief respite from the gravity of their investigation. “Mrs. Fitzgerald is complaining about the rooster.”

“Again?” Jenna allowed herself a small chuckle, appreciating the absurdity of small-town disputes.

His tone held a note of wry humor, a departure from the spectral world that had been whispering secrets in her sleep. “Right. And this time, Mrs. Fitzgerald is threatening to sue her neighbor about it.”

Jenna leaned back in her chair. She studied his face for a moment, wondering how someone so grounded in the tangible could also accept the ethereal realm that was part of her own reality.

“Alright, let’s go deal with that rooster,” she said, and realized that the laugh that followed felt good.

Jenna made a quick check of her next-door office but found nothing demanding her attention. She and Jake gathered their materials and crossed back through the main workspace, taking a moment to notify the team that they were off on another rooster investigation. Then they stepped through the heavy door of the Sheriff’s Office, out into the morning sun that brightened Trentville’s main street.

Yet, the image of Patricia Gaines still haunted Jenna—those eyes that held a silent plea. She shook off the image and said again, “Let’s go deal with that rooster,” as she slid behind the wheel with Jake getting into the passenger side. The engine hummed to life, a comforting familiarity amidst the unknowns. As they drove away from the Sheriff’s Office, Jenna’s thoughts lingered on the unsolved, the echo of her twin’s absence joining the chorus of voices that called to her.

The patrol car rolled forward, leaving behind the red brick building that housed more than its share of secrets. As they drove, the morning unfolded before them. Houses with picket fences lined the streets, their windows like sleepy eyes slowly opening to the day. Shopkeepers swept sidewalks, and early risers waved in friendly recognition of the sheriff’s vehicle.

Yet, even as Jenna navigated the streets, the tendrils of her previous night’s dream curled inside her mind. Unseen, they wrapped around her consciousness, a reminder of the past that lingered close, whispering of the unsolved and beckoning her toward some story that lay just out of reach.

The image of Patricia Gaines lingered, imprinted on Jenna’s mind like a photographic negative burned by too much light. Those eyes seemed to plead for understanding, for resolution.

Even as they drove to take care of a small-town drama, Jenna knew that her dream would insist on her attention again. And her dreams led her into cases that were often dangerous as well as dark.

Jenna glanced at Jake, his profile set in a mask of professionalism despite the mundane nature of their next task. His presence was a solid reminder of the real world in a small Missouri town like this, where threatening roosters were as much a part of her duty as tracking down leads on long-lost girls.