CHAPTER TWO

Jenna was perched on a vinyl seat at the Sunflower Café in Trentville. The aroma of freshly baked pastries and brewing coffee created a warm, inviting atmosphere that contrasted with the unease she was feeling. She checked her watch; time was inching toward her duty hours as Sheriff of Genesius County, Missouri, and the seat across from her was still empty.

With a sigh, Jenna put down her mug of black coffee, then pulled out her phone and dialed her deputy. “Morning, Jake. I’m gonna be a bit late today—meeting with Mom,” she said, keeping her tone even as she glanced towards the door again.

“Good to hear you’re patching things up,” came Jake Hawkins’s voice, his approval apparent even through the phone’s tinny speaker. “Take your time, Jenna. After what we’ve been through lately, a family breakfast is important. I’m on my way to headquarters right now. I’ll alert you to any emergencies. But unless someone decides to start stealing garden gnomes again, I think we’ll manage without you for an hour or more.”

Jenna couldn’t help but smirk. The possibility of gnome thefts was certainly more appealing than the grisly case she and Jake had recently solved.

“Thanks, Jake. I appreciate it,” she murmured, ending the call with a tap. She placed the phone back on the table and took a slow sip of her coffee. The Sunflower Café hummed with the soft chatter of patrons and the clinking of silverware against plates. In the quiet lull of the café, Jenna’s mind was soon drawn elsewhere, ensnared by the remnants of the dream that she couldn’t quite put into the right order.

“He’s very angry,” an unidentified woman with fear in her eyes had told her. The warning had been cryptic, giving no hint about who might be angry or be the target of such wrath. There had also been an oak tree where initials were carved, letters altered again and again by an unseen hand. And she’d heard a freight train’s horn, a sound out of place. It had barreled towards her, not on steel rails but tearing along an unpaved country road, relentless in its pursuit. The symbolism was lost on her, but the sense of imminent peril was unmistakable. Jenna knew that her subconscious was painting a picture, a message she was meant to understand but couldn’t yet grasp.

She took another sip of her coffee, feeling the warmth course through her. Yet it did little to thaw the chill that had settled in her bones. In her dreamscape, Jenna was not merely an observer; she was an active participant in a world just as vivid and complex as the waking one. These were no ordinary dreams; they were puzzles given to her by the departed. And Jenna could not—would not—ignore them.

She found one measure of solace in a specific absence from her lucid dreams: only the dead ever visited her there, and her missing sister had never appeared among them. That silence affirmed Jenna’s belief that somewhere, somehow, Piper was still alive.

The bell above the café entrance jingled, but it wasn’t Mom who entered. The empty chair across from Jenna served as a stark reminder of their strained relationship. Perhaps fear had gotten the better of Mom, or maybe she just couldn’t muster the resolve to face what lay between them after all these months. After Dad had died five years ago, Mom had withdrawn from her friends, from Jenna, usually insisting that she just wanted to be left alone.

Jenna also contemplated the likelihood that her mother’s drinking had erased this meeting from her memory entirely. It was a harsh truth, one that chiseled away at the hope for reconciliation each moment the seat remained vacant. A part of Jenna wrestled with guilt for feeling relief at that prospect.

Then, as if summoned by Jenna’s conflicting emotions, Mom pushed in through the door. The sight was jarring; the once-vibrant woman now looked fragile, her features gaunt and her eyes dim. The forced smile did little to mask the toll life had exacted. It was more than the natural progression of age—it was a rapid decline fueled by grief and alcohol.

“Hi, Mom,” Jenna greeted her, attempting to infuse warmth into her voice despite the shock. It was clear that her mother’s condition was a silent scream for help, one that Jenna could no longer fail to observe. She knew that Mom had never really recovered from the loss of Piper. Then, after Dad died from cancer five years ago, she had withdrawn and often refused to even see Jenna.

Mom settled into the seat on the opposite side of the table, her hands smoothing the edges of a paper napkin with a twitch of anxiety. “Have you ordered?” she inquired, her voice tinged with that familiar rasp of disuse.

“Was waiting for you,” Jenna replied, her tone neutral, eyes briefly meeting those of her mother before calling over a waitress with a subtle gesture. They placed their orders—eggs and toast for Mom, oatmeal for Jenna, along with coffee for both. Then silence descended between them, thick and opaque.

“What’s been going on at work? Anything... interesting?” Mom’s attempt at conversation felt like an ill-fitting glove, awkward and not quite comfortable.

Jenna hesitated, not out of indecision but disbelief. The recent case was big news all over the local media and beyond. She knew it must also be the subject of shocked conversations all around Trentville. How had her mother not heard?

“Well, we just closed a big case.” She kept her voice even, watching her mother for any sign of recognition. “Turned out to be a serial killer.”

“Here? In Trentville?” Mom laughed—a short, sharp bark devoid of humor. “You must be joking.”

Mom’s skepticism came from a fog of disbelief that Jenna felt compelled to clear. “It’s no joke,” she said, her tone as firm as it was weary. “A local woman murdered two individuals over the years, and we just barely stopped her from killing someone else.”

The server arrived with their breakfast, providing a momentary reprieve from the conversation. Then, when Jenna finally said the name of the killer, she could see Mom struggling to reconcile the image of the woman she thought she knew with the monster Jenna had uncovered.

“Tell me what happened, Jenna,” Mom pressed, her curiosity piqued despite the horror of it all.

Jenna looked away, her gaze resting on the café’s cheerful decor, that clashed with the darkness of the tale her mother had asked to hear. She didn’t want to get into how the victims had been forced to die. Jenna opted for omission; those gruesome deaths were too much for this morning light.

“Let’s just say her methods were... cruel. And she didn’t go down without a fight.” The memory of cold steel pressing against her throat flashed through her mind, but Jenna kept that part of the story neatly folded inside her, away from her mother’s prying eyes.

An uncomfortable silence settled as Jenna stirred her coffee, its black surface mirroring her dark thoughts. To dispel the gloom, she shifted gears. “And how have you been, Mom? What keeps you busy these days?”

Mom’s shoulders lifted in a noncommittal shrug. “You know, this and that.” The vagueness of her reply did not escape Jenna, who recognized the telltale signs of isolation and neglect.

As if in response to that moment, her dead father’s voice echoed in her mind, a whisper from the dream realm where he could still reach her. “Jenna, you’ve got to get tough. No more pussyfooting around. You understand?” At the time, the words had seemed cryptic, but now, they resonated with painful clarity.

Jenna studied her mother’s face, noting the pallor beneath the deep lines. It struck her then—in last night’s dream, her father was trying to tell her he was worried about her mother. He’d entrusted her with responsibilities that reached beyond her badge, into the tangled roots of family and the personal debts that came with it.

“Mom,” Jenna started, choosing her words as one might select tools from a kit, precise and deliberate. “I can see you’re not yourself lately. It worries me.”

“I’m fine, Jenna,” Mom retorted, but her voice lacked conviction. The lines on her face told a story of solitary nights and empty bottles.

“Is it the drinking?” Jenna pressed on, unwilling to let the matter rest. She needed to address the problem, regardless of how uncomfortable it made them both feel. “The last time we talked, you promised you’d cut back.”

Mom shifted in her seat, a faint flush rising in her cheeks. “I did cut back,” she said, avoiding Jenna’s probing gaze. “It was a rough patch, that’s all. I’ve got it under control now.”

But Jenna wasn’t convinced. Her intuition told her there was more to the story. She leaned forward, her resolve hardening. “Mom, I don’t believe you,” she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The response was instant and tinged with bitterness. “You always were too stubborn for your own good,” Mom snapped back. “And since when do you get to interrogate me? You barely have the time of day for me these days.”

Jenna felt a pang of hurt at the accusation, but she couldn’t let herself be derailed. “I’m here now, aren’t I? And I’m worried about you, Mom. You lost Piper, yes, and Dad died, and you’ll always be grieving, but drowning in alcohol isn’t the answer.”

Mom recoiled as if struck, and her voice cracked with vulnerability and anger. “You think I don’t know that?” Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she fought them back. “I’m a widow, Jenna, and a mother who lost a child. How am I supposed to cope?”

Jenna swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She understood grief—all too well—but she also knew the destructive path her mother was spiraling down. She had seen it too many times in her line of work.

“By letting me help you,” Jenna replied softly, reaching across the table in a tentative offer of support. “We can get through this together, but not if you shut me out.”

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words and shared pain. Finally, Mom nodded, a small yet significant concession. Jenna squeezed her mother’s hand, her touch promising action—a promise she intended to keep.

The shrill chirp of Jenna’s cellphone sliced through the moment like a scalpel, its urgency a stark reminder of reality outside the Sunflower Café. She could almost sense the relief that flickered across her mother’s face as Jenna retrieved her phone from the depths of her jacket pocket. The caller ID displayed Jake’s name in bold letters.

“Jenna here,” she answered as she stood up slightly to signal the seriousness of the interruption. Her mother’s gaze followed her every move, wary and expectant.

“Jenna, it’s Jake. I just arrived at headquarters and got a call from Otto Stevens. He says his daughter Amber’s missing. He sounded pretty shaken up,” Jake reported, his tone laden with a mix of concern and professional detachment.

“Missing?” Jenna’s sharp mind immediately kicked into gear, emerald eyes narrowing as she processed the information. “I’m on my way. I’ll pick you up in ten.”

“Thanks. See you soon,” Jake replied before ending the call.

Jenna’s focus returned to the woman sitting opposite her. Her mother attempted a rueful smile, grasping for humor in an effort to dispel the confrontation. “Saved by the bell, huh?”

“Mom, this isn’t over,” Jenna said, her words clipped and authoritative, reflecting not only her role as sheriff but also her resolve as a daughter. “I do have to go now, but I’ll get back to you soon.” She withdrew a couple of bills from her wallet, enough to cover both of their breakfasts, and laid them on the table. The gesture was swift, decisive—there was no room for negotiation.

Her mother watched silently, lips pursed, as Jenna turned away.

The clink of ceramic and the murmur of other patrons faded into the background as Jenna strode through the café’s door, each step carrying the weight of unfinished business and the promise of a return. She knew the conversation with her mother demanded completion, but duty called, and Sheriff Graves never shirked her duty.

The early morning sun cast long shadows across the pavement as Jenna navigated towards her car, parked just down the street. The air was already heating up, promising another sultry day in Trentville. Jenna’s hand found the warm metal of the car door, and she slid behind the wheel with practiced ease.

As she fired up the engine, her mind raced ahead to the Stevens’s home, anticipating the interviews, the search, the paperwork... the desperate hope that this was all just a misunderstanding. With one last glance toward the café, Jenna shifted into gear and drove off, leaving behind the scent of coffee and the echo of a conversation too important to abandon.

As she drove through the mundane tranquility of small-town life, Jenna felt the familiar stirring of her keen intuition. There was nothing ordinary about this day. Last night’s dream was obscure, but the warning was clear—something dark and dangerous lay in wait just ahead.