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Jake stared out the window of Jenna’s cruiser, the reflections of Trentville’s streetlights flickering across the glass. His mind replayed the town meeting - the raised voices, the sharp accusations. The community he’d come here to serve was fracturing before his eyes, and it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

The headlights swept across the front of Frank Doyle’s bungalow as they pulled into the driveway. Before he and Jenna could get out of the car, the front door opened, and there stood Frank, backlit by the warm glow from inside his home.

“Evening, folks,” he called out. “Come on in.” As Jake and Jenna stepped over the threshold, the scent of chamomile wafted through the air. Jake’s gaze swept across the room, taking in the muted colors, the well-worn furniture, and the mementos that spoke of Frank’s accomplishments and the respect he had garnered over the years.

“Figured we could all use something to settle our nerves,” Frank continued, leading them into the living room. As he followed Jenna, Jake couldn’t help but feel the history within these walls. Frank’s home was more than a dwelling; it was a chronicle of the town itself, and Jake stood there, an observer still learning to read its pages.

His attention drifted to a particular photograph as they settled into the living room. There, captured in the bright optimism of youth, was Jenna at her police academy graduation, flanked by a younger Frank whose pride was unmistakable. Jake sensed the depth of their bond, the shared experiences, and the time spent in this town, wrapped in camaraderie and secrets. Jake felt the twinge of being an outsider keenly then, an interloper standing on the edge of their story. He craved that sense of belonging but knew it was not something that could be forced or rushed.

The timeworn cushions of Frank’s couch welcomed Jake as he and Jenna settled into the cozy confines of the living room. The delicate scent of chamomile floated through the space as Frank retrieved a steaming pot and poured the tea with an unhurried ease.

Jenna wasted no time delving into the night’s events. “It was like watching a ship capsize in slow motion,” she said. Her fatigue was evident, but it did nothing to dampen the sharpness with which she recounted each argument, each accusation hurled across the community center’s floor.

“Simmons practically threw us to the wolves,” Jenna continued, her ire rising as she spoke of the mayor’s performance. “And now we’ve got half the town convinced we’re fumbling around in the dark.”

Jake took a sip of chamomile then set his mug down. “And the other half is too scared to trust anyone,” he added. “We’re no closer to finding Clyde’s killer, and now we’ve got a panicked community to deal with.”

Frank’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, mug cradled in hands that had seen more than their fair share of Trentville’s troubles. “You two are up against it, no doubt,” he rumbled. “But remember, panic and fear can work in your favor too. People will be more vigilant, more likely to report anything suspicious.”

Jake considered Frank’s words. It was true; fear could be a catalyst, driving the townsfolk’s eyes wider, their senses sharper. Yet, the thought offered little comfort. Fear could also become a wildfire.

Obviously thinking along the same lines, Jenna said, “Maybe. But panic also breeds chaos, and in chaos, the truth can get trampled.”

Jake brought up a photograph on his cell phone—the macabre tree with branching nerves that had been branded on Clyde Simmons’s chest.

“Any idea where this image came from?” he ventured. “Someone had to make it in metal to use as a branding iron.”

“Yeah, I remember when Spelling put that on the overhead,” Frank said slowly. “I’ve still got no idea where it came from. And in these parts, a lot of people have got the skill to make a thing like that.”

“Nobody in town seems to recognize it,” Jenna mused.

Frank grunted in agreement. “Back in ‘74, we had a case with a similar MO—well, an image just drawn on the body—but it turned out to be a scorned lover making it look like ritualistic work. People get creative when they want to throw us off.”

“Do you think that’s what’s going on here?” Jake asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Frank said. “My gut tells me no. This feels like it’s really supposed to mean something—if only we could figure it out. He’s trying to tell us something with that brand. It’s a message. And he’s going to keep trying to send it until we stop him.”

On that chilling note, Jake and his colleagues found themselves at an impasse. The conversation then shifted seamlessly away from the case at hand into tales of past cases, the kind that never made it into official reports. Frank recounted an incident involving the mayor’s dog, a lost diamond necklace, and a bungled burglary. Jenna laughed, the sound rich with shared history, as she added her recollections.

“Remember the Colstock cattle thefts?” Jenna asked, turning towards Frank, her eyes alight with the thrill of the chase, even years after the fact.

“Ah, yes,” Frank chuckled, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Turned out to be a bunch of kids from Pinecrest pulling a prank. Took us weeks to sort that mess.”

Jake sipped his tea, then sat the mug down and felt the fibers of the couch beneath his fingers, the slight give as he shifted closer to Jenna. He was acutely aware of her presence, the way her chestnut hair framed her face in disarray.

“Jenna,” Frank began, shifting the conversation. “How’s Margaret doing with her sobriety?”

Jenna’s gaze dropped for a moment to her own tea. When she looked up, her weary green eyes bore a tender light. “So far, so good. It’s been tough, but she’s staying strong.”

Frank turned toward Jake. “And how about you, Jake? How are you settling into Trentville? Must be quite a change from your previous posting.”

“It’s... different,” he admitted, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “The pace, the people—it’s a change of scenery I didn’t know I needed.” There was truth in his words; Trentville, with its quirks, had grown on him in unexpected ways.

“Life here has a rhythm of its own,” he continued. “I’ve found there’s a lot to admire about this town. And the work we do—it matters.”

Jenna’s expression softened at his words, and something unspoken passed between them—a mutual acknowledgment of their journey thus far. Frank grunted his approval, satisfaction in his gaze.

“You know,” Jenna said, “Jake’s become indispensable. “I don’t know how I managed before he came along.”

“Ah, well,” Jake replied, trying to sound modest, but he couldn’t help the flush of pride warming his cheeks. “I just do what I can.”

“More than that,” Jenna insisted.

The conversation shifted again, as Jenna spoke of her sandpiper dream. “There’s a connection there, I’m sure of it,” she confided. “With a catch in her voice, she added, “Sometimes, I feel like I’m so close, like I could reach out and...” her voice faded.

Jake wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but he hesitated. His role was to support her, to be her deputy, yet here he was, wrestling with a sense of intimacy that went beyond their badges and titles.

“I think I’ll walk home from here,” Jake suddenly announced, pushing himself off the couch.

Jenna’s eyes lifted from her recollections, meeting his. “Are you sure? I can give you a ride,” she offered.

Jake forced a smile as he replied, “I’m sure. It’s not far, and I could use the time to clear my head.” He turned towards the retired sheriff, who had risen from his armchair. “Thanks for the tea, Frank.”

A few moments later, the door clicked shut behind Jake, sealing off the warm glow of Frank’s living room. Alone in the cool night air, he took a deep breath. Above him, the stars were scattered across the sky like shards of glass, cold and distant.

As he started down the path, his mind raced, thoughts colliding and combining into an overwhelming babble. The case, the brand mark on Clyde Simmons’s chest, the town’s reaction to their perceived incompetence—all these professional considerations swirled around the personal tempest that Jenna represented.

With each step, he tried to separate his emotions, to compartmentalize his growing feelings from his duty to the investigation. But it was no use; every thought of the case brought him back to Jenna—her determination, her vulnerability, her presence beside him on that couch.

Shaking his head as if to dispel the confusion, Jake focused on the tangible—the rhythmic sound of his footsteps, the whisper of the night breeze through the trees. He needed the clarity that only solitude could bring, for tonight he felt the weight of Trentville on his shoulders—and the haunting possibility of something more personal yet just beyond his grasp.

***

Jenna watched the door latch into place with a click, the sound echoing slightly in the stillness of Frank’s living room.

“I wonder what’s on his mind,” she mused aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. Her weariness seemed to deepen the shadows beneath her green eyes, eyes that had seen too much, yet had missed perhaps the most obvious.

Seated in his well-worn armchair, Frank allowed himself a soft chuckle. “If you’d been paying attention, you wouldn’t have to wonder,” he said cryptically, giving her a knowing look.

Jenna turned slowly, her gaze fixed on Frank, as a frown creased her forehead. “What do you mean?” she asked with a bit of apprehension.

“Come on, Jenna,” Frank began gently. “It’s obvious Jake has feelings for you. And if I’m not mistaken, you feel the same way about him.”

Jenna’s reaction was immediate; her eyes widened. She looked away abruptly, turning her head to conceal the truth that bloomed across her cheeks in a rush of color. The acknowledgment of such feelings was a vulnerability she rarely afforded herself, let alone acknowledged in the presence of another.

“Is it that obvious?”

Frank nodded. “To everyone but you two, apparently.”

“Even if that’s true, what am I supposed to do about it? We work together, Frank. It would complicate everything,”

“There’s no doubt about that,” Frank conceded, his voice carrying the wisdom of years spent balancing the scales between personal and professional duty. “I wish I could tell you what to do. Maybe it is best for both of you to keep this to yourselves.”

The room felt smaller to Jenna, the walls inching closer as she considered the possibility of hidden feelings in the man who worked cases beside her.

“But there’s one thing life has taught me. It’s that being a sheriff doesn’t mean you have to be alone,” Frank added after a pause, standing up to stretch his legs, his joints protesting with faint pops. His voice softened, imbued with a deep sincerity that reached beyond their mentor-mentee bond. “It’s possible to have both a career and a fulfilling personal life. I’ve had both. It’s been a good life. I’d hate for you to miss out on all that.”

Jenna processed his words, the concept of a personal life outside her relentless pursuit feeling foreign, almost indulgent. She stood, smoothing out the creases in her uniform, the fabric whispering against her skin like a reminder of the barriers she had built around herself.

“I should get going, too,” she said. “Thanks for everything, Frank.”

Frank nodded with understanding, then posed a question that halted her departure.

“Do you think you’ll have a lucid dream tonight? Something related to the case?”

Jenna lingered in the doorway, her hand resting lightly on the frame. She knew the dreams would come sooner or later, unbidden yet necessary, making connections between the living and the lost. Their unpredictability was a constant in her life, every bit as much as her search for Piper. She realized the feeling was there, that subtle vibration in her bones, signaling an imminent visitation from the ethereal realm that lurked just beyond the veil of sleep.

“Maybe,” she replied. “They don’t exactly run on a schedule, but... yeah, I’ve got a feeling one is coming. Probably tonight.”

“Take care of yourself, Jenna,” Frank’s voice held a touch of concern, but his eyes showed his belief in her strength.

A silent understanding passed between them, acknowledging the unique tool at her disposal and the heavy price it demanded. With a final glance at Frank, Jenna stepped out into the night, the air cool against her cheeks as she made her way to her car.

The drive home was a familiar one, yet tonight it felt alien, as if each turn of the wheel carried her further into uncharted territory. Her headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the winding road of Trentville that led towards home, revealing the world piece by fleeting piece—but nothing disclosed what the coming days would hold, or what spirit of the dead might haunt her this very night.