CHAPTER FOUR

Jenna’s expression was grim as she drove back toward Trentville.

“Well?” Jake’s question cut through her thoughts. “Did the new photo help? Was it Amber who appeared in your dream?”

Jenna shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving the road. “I still can’t say for sure. The face in the dream was blurred, but the shape... I just got this feeling. Like it’s got to be the same woman.”

Jake’s frustration seeped into his tone. “But didn’t the dream woman give you anything? A clue to her identity?”

Drawing in a slow breath, Jenna raked her memory for any scrap of dialogue from the spectral encounter. Silence filled the car again as seconds ticked by. Finally, Jenna let out a sigh, the lines on her forehead deepening. “No, nothing concrete,” she admitted, a note of defeat sounding in her words.

“Maybe you need to push these spirits harder. Get them to talk,” Jake suggested, a touch of impatience coloring his words.

Jenna’s gaze flickered momentarily to him and back to the road. “It’s not that simple,” she replied. “It’s not like flipping a switch, Jake. My dreams, they don’t bend to my will.”

“Just tell me more about what you remember,” he replied calmly.

She reached back into her mind; then suddenly she felt the sensation, the fear. “At one point, there was this train locomotive barreling straight at us.”

“Us?” Jake queried, leaning back in his seat.

“Me and the woman—the one who might be Amber,” Jenna clarified, her voice tinged with frustration. “I tried to get her to move, to save her, but it was like we were both rooted to the spot.”

Jake’s face showed a mix of concern and intrigue as he considered her words. “A locomotive, huh? That’s... specific. Could she have been hit by a train?”

Jenna shook her head with certainty, her emerald eyes reflecting her resolve. “No, that’s not it. She told me in the dream, clear as day, ‘This is not how I die.’ She even told me it’s not how I die either. Then she told me to wake up. And so I did, my heart pounding out of my chest.”

“If not death, then what does the train represent?” Jake prodded gently. “Travel? Someone coming or leaving?”

“Sometimes, the images are just metaphors for something else entirely.” Jenna’s mind raced through possibilities, overlaying the supernatural with the concrete reality of her investigation. “Sometimes they’re more literal, but there’s no way to figure that out until I uncover more about the case.”

Jake made no reply, and when Jenna glanced at him, she saw that he was staring out the window.

“There’s more,” she said, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

“What is it?”

“In the dream, there was this oak tree, ancient and gnarled, with a large pruning scar on its side.” She paused, visualizing the vivid image from her slumber. “An invisible hand kept carving initials into the bark, then crossing them out over and over. They were initials, but I couldn’t remember the letters after I woke up, no matter how hard I tried. They felt significant, but it’s like trying to decipher a code without the key.”

“Could be a message or a location,” Jake mused. “You think it’s connected to Amber?”

Jenna exhaled, frustration lining her face. “I wish I knew. My dreams can be as cryptic as they are vivid. That oak tree could exist somewhere in Genesius County, or it could simply represent something else—obstacles, decisions... I don’t know. And I think there was more to the dream, but parts of it seem to have faded away completely.”

“Right,” Jake acknowledged, his voice laced skepticism that he couldn’t quite mask. “It’s just hard for me to get a handle on all this supernatural stuff. I mean, I’ve seen you pull out facts nobody else could, but this...” He gestured vaguely, searching for words.

“Believe me, I know how it sounds,” Jenna replied, her emerald eyes reflecting a mixture of resolve and weariness. “Part of the challenge is finding ways to tie these dreams to reality. Jake, I know you’re having trouble dealing with all this stuff. But please try to bear with me while I work this out in my own way.”

“I’m trying to be patient, Jenna. I trust you, I do. It’s just not easy wrapping my head around something I can’t see or touch.”

“Neither is living with it,” she confessed softly. “You know, sometimes I think I’d be better off without this... ability.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Jake acknowledged. “But as I understand it, you’ve got to find links between your dream world and the real world. That’s how you solve cases. So let’s try to do that. Let’s focus on what we can see, what we can prove,” he suggested, reaching over to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “At least we’ve got a tangible lead to follow. We can start with Jason Reeves.”

“Agreed,” Jenna replied.

As she turned the patrol car onto Jason Reeves’ street, she felt the familiar satisfaction of following solid information. The well-kept houses of this working-class neighborhood each told its own story of everyday life.

Pulling up to Jason’s home, they were greeted by the sight of an empty driveway and an empty open garage. Jenna killed the engine and stepped out of the car, her deputy following suit. They stepped onto his porch with purpose, and Jenna knocked on the door, announcing their presence with authority. “Jason Reeves, this Sheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins. We need to have a word with you.”

Silence answered that call.

“Take a look at this, Jenna,” Jake said, looking in through a window. Jenna moved closer and peered inside. Chaos was visible—the living room was a disaster zone, furniture overturned, cushions slashed, and personal belongings strewn about as if a tempest had torn through the space. It looked like a physical manifestation of rage, and it chilled her to the bone.

“Hey, Sheriff Graves,” a voice called from next door.

Jenna turned to see a middle-aged woman leaning over the adjacent fence, concern etched into the lines of her face. Jake also stepped back from the window, his expression grim.

“Are you looking for Jason Reeves?” the woman inquired, her gaze flitting between Jenna and Jake.

“We are,” Jenna confirmed, her tone steady despite the undercurrent of urgency churning within her. “Do you know where he might be?”

The neighbor shook her head, the morning sun glinting off her glasses. “He’s not here, but something’s not right with that boy.”

Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake before they approached the woman. “What happened?” she asked.

“Last night, he came home from work like a tornado—angry, shouting at nothing. You could hear him all through the neighborhood.” The woman’s voice trembled slightly as she recounted the ordeal. “And then, the noise that came from his house... sounded like he was tearing it apart.”

“Did you see anything else?” Jake asked, his voice calm.

“After sundown, he stormed out, got into his pickup, and sped off. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since,” the woman disclosed.

“Thank you,” Jenna said, taking down the woman’s name. As they returned to the patrol car, the pieces fell into place with disturbing clarity. Jason Reeves was now more than just a hot-tempered ex-boyfriend—he was their prime suspect.

“Let’s get the Highway Patrol on this,” Jenna decided, twisting the patrol car’s radio dial to a secure channel. She glanced at Jake, who gave her a curt nod, acknowledging the gravity of their next move. She was soon connected with Colonel Chad Spelling, superintendent of the Missouri Highway Patrol.

“Colonel Spelling,” she announced crisply when his gruff voice answered, “this is Sheriff Graves from Genesius County.”

“Graves?” Spelling replied, “What’s the situation?”

“Sir, we have a missing person—Amber Stevens, nineteen, last seen yesterday evening. Her ex-boyfriend, Jason Reeves, has also disappeared, and his home...” Jenna paused, recalling the scene of chaos they’d witnessed through the window, “...it’s been trashed.”

“Sounds messy,” Spelling replied noncommittally.

“Can we get an APB on both Stevens and Reeves? We also need to start looking for Reeves’s pickup truck, starting with finding out his license plate number.”

“You’re talking about Otto Stevens’s daughter?” Colonel Spelling asked.

“That’s right. And Jason Reeves is a young mechanic who works for him. Her parents noticed her absence this morning after she didn’t come home from work,” Jenna explained.

“So Amber Stevens has only been missing since last night, you say?” Spelling probed, skepticism coloring his words. “You know, Graves, those two aren’t children. I’m not going to drain resources on a case that probably doesn’t even exist.”

“Sir, every minute counts in a missing person’s situation,” Jenna countered.

“Look, you’re running high from nailing that serial killer, and naturally you’re still cranked up about it. But we don’t have all that many big cases here these parts,” Spelling continued, dismissively. “And people just naturally vanish and reappear all the time. You know that at least as well as I do. Amber will probably stroll back any moment now. By the way, you did a great job with that serial killer.”

“Thank you for the kind words, Colonel,” Jenna replied, the words tasting like ash. “But I really don’t think I’m just overreacting.” She didn’t know how to convince him of that. She couldn’t reveal the spectral warnings of her dreams, the reason an unyielding dread clung to her about Amber’s absence.

“There’s Jason’s trashed living room,” she protested. “And he’s gone missing too.”

“Let’s not get hasty. Give it some time,” Spelling advised before ending the call with an abrupt click.

Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake, his face showing concern. She thought that even he seemed unsure now, his steadiness giving way to doubt.

“Jake,” she began, breaking the silence that had befallen them, “I can’t shake this feeling. It’s not just intuition; it’s more than that.”

He nodded, understanding the depth of her conviction, yet unable to offer the tangible support they needed. “What’s our next move? Without Spelling’s help, we’re flying blind.”

Jenna released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “We keep pushing. We follow every lead, every hunch. We owe Amber that much.”