CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jenna eased her patrol car into a spot opposite the Trentville Public Library, its familiar red-brick facade a piece of Trentville history standing in the late-morning sun. The building’s dignified architecture, with its white-trimmed windows and the modest plaque by the door commemorating its founding year, had always been a sanctuary for Jenna. As a child, she had escaped here to the world of books. That need had increased after Piper’s disappearance when she was sixteen. During all those years, the same librarian, Emily Carson, had been both an anchor and a supporter of her intellectual curiosity.

She pushed open the door, the sudden coolness of air-conditioned silence enveloping her. A few patrons were scattered among the shelves, their low murmurs and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds in the near-empty space. Emily Carson stood behind the circulation desk, her silver hair pulled back in a stern bun. Her sturdy frame was slightly bent as she attended to the only patron at the checkout counter—a young boy clutching a stack of adventure novels. Jenna lingered, observing how Emily’s stern expression softened as she placed the books into his eager hands. With the transaction complete, the boy scampered away.

Emily looked up to see if anyone else needed help. “Jenna, it’s good to see you,” she said very softly. “What brings you here today?”

“Work, I’m afraid,” Jenna replied, her tone apologetic. “Can we talk in your office?”

“Of course,” Emily said, gesturing for Jenna to follow.

They wound through the narrow corridors flanked by towering bookshelves until they reached a small, unassuming door marked “Private.” Inside, the office was a reflection of Emily herself—organized and functional amid the room’s orderly chaos of books and papers.

As soon as they sat down, Emily asked, “Is there any word on Sarah Thompson? I heard she disappeared yesterday, but I haven’t heard any details.”

Jenna knew the bond between the librarian and the town schoolteacher was more than just professional; they were friends who shared a love of imparting knowledge. “I’m afraid there’s not any news,” she replied. “Sarah seems to have disappeared the day before last while hiking in Whispering Pines Forest.”

“How awful,” Emily said sadly. “I hike there sometimes myself. It’s so easy to take a wrong turn or miss your footing on those trails. Do you have a team searching for her?”

“We do,” Jenna assured her. “So far, they’ve found no sign.”

“Sarah was…is impulsive at times,” Emily said with a sigh as she leaned back in her chair, fingers absently tapping against the desk. “The two of us have talked about being cautious out there. And about not going alone. But she has this adventurous streak—sometimes I think she believes she’s invincible.”

“It could be worse than we first assumed,” Jenna said. “Sarah’s car was found abandoned at the trailhead. It’s possible that she didn’t just get lost or injured.”

“Her car, abandoned?” Emily echoed, concern etching deeper lines around her eyes. “Jenna, what can I do? How can I help?”

“Let’s start with what you might know about someone from the past,” Jenna began cautiously, aware of how strange her inquiry might sound. “A writer named Mark Reeves who passed through Trentville about ten years ago.”

“Mark Reeves…” Emily repeated thoughtfully, her curiosity piqued. “That name doesn’t ring a bell. What’s his connection to Sarah?”

“I don’t yet know for sure if there is a connection,” Jenna admitted, her response evasive even to her own ears.

“Is he a suspect?”

“I don’t think so. Frank Doyle told me that he met him. Frank said the young man was a promising young writer, traveling across the country in search of American stories.”

Emily’s brow furrowed as she processed the information. “That’s quite poetic, but also vague.”

Jenna’s thoughts flitted back to the lost-looking figure with the angelic wing tattoo on his hand, the one who had vanished like smoke.

“Maybe he was actually searching for a sense of belonging,” Jenna said.

“But why come to Trentville?” Emily mused. “We’re hardly on the map.”

“Sometimes the smallest places hold the biggest secrets,” Jenna replied. “Or maybe the best stories.”

She wondered whether Mark Reeves had stumbled upon something in Trentville, some hidden secret that had led to his disappearance. And now, with another person missing, Jenna couldn’t shake the feeling that the fate of Sarah Thompson might somehow be connected with him.

Emily studied her for a moment, then turned to the computer on her desk, the click-clack of keys filling the space between them. “Let’s see what we can find on this Mark Reeves.”

They both watched the screen as names and faces flashed by, a multitude of Mark Reeveses appearing before them. One after another, they were discounted—until one particular entry seemed to freeze time.

“Here,” Emily said, pointing to a profile. “This must be about him.”

The librarian’s search had brought them to several small literary websites where Mark’s work had once been featured— a scattering of poems here, short stories there. His writing was evocative, rife with imagery that spoke of loss and searching, themes that resonated with Jenna more than she cared to admit. She had to hide her reaction when she saw the image on one of the sites. It was the red-bearded man from her dream.

“Look at this,” Emily said, pulling up a bio attached to a particularly haunting piece of poetry. The text on the screen revealed a glimpse into the young writer’s life: Mark Reeves, a foster child turned literary prodigy. His early success had been notable, his talent undeniable.

“From foster homes to literary promise…” Jenna murmured, tracing the arc of Mark’s brief public life with her eyes. “To think someone so gifted passed through our little town.”

“This bio says he graduated from the University of Florida in Gainesville,” Emily read aloud from her computer screen. “He got a Creative Writing degree there. It also says he had plans for a master’s at the University of Oregon in Eugene.”

Emily’s fingers flew over the keys in search of any trace of Mark’s existence beyond his Florida graduation. Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. Jenna watched the screen flicker with images and text, but the search proved fruitless; Mark Reeves seemed to have vanished from the literary world shortly after earning his degree. The dates he’d been seen here in Trentville seemed to align ominously with his disappearance from the literary scene.

“Strange,” Emily murmured, echoing Jenna’s thoughts. “No further publications, no articles… It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Could you call the University of Oregon? We need to find out if he ever went to graduate school there.”

“Of course,” Emily agreed without hesitation. She found the number for the admissions department and dialed it, putting the call on speakerphone.

“University of Oregon, Eugene, admissions office,” came a clear, professional voice.

“Hi, my name is Emily Carson, calling from Trentville Public Library. We’re trying to verify if a Mark Reeves attended your university for a Graduate Teaching Fellowship about ten years ago.”

There was a pause as the clacking of computer keys traveled through the speaker. Jenna leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the phone as if willing it to divulge its secrets.

“Mark Reeves… Yes, he was awarded a fellowship here, but there’s a note in his file.” The staffer’s tone held a hint of confusion. “He never arrived on campus, and we don’t have any further records of him after that. It’s quite unusual.”

“Are you certain there’s no mistake?” Emily pressed.

“Positive. It looks as though he must have changed his mind and simply decided not to come here, but he didn’t bother to explain why. He just never showed up. I’m sorry, but that’s all the information we have.”

“Thank you,” Emily said as Jenna absorbed the news.

The static crackle of the speakerphone fell silent as Emily ended the call, leaving a stillness in her office that seemed to amplify Jenna’s unease.

The speaker’s low hum was replaced by an oppressive silence.

“So he never got to Eugene,” Jenna repeated.

It did, indeed, seem strange. A promising writer, set for a new chapter in his life, gone without a trace—just like Sarah Thompson might be now. Jenna’s instincts screamed at her: there were patterns here, sinister echoes reverberating through time and memory.

“Emily, I can’t thank you enough for your help,” she said, offering a rueful smile.

“Of course, Jenna. But you still haven’t told me … what does this Mark Reeves have to do with Sarah Thompson or with any of us?” Emily’s voice held a mixture of concern and curiosity.

Jenna hesitated. She wanted to confide in Emily, to pour out everything about the lucid dreams that had led her here, but it was too complicated to get into, and she doubted very much whether Emily could accept the truth.

“I wish I could explain, Emily, but I’m still piecing things together. Just know that any connection I find could be important.”

“Anything else I can do?” Emily offered, looking concerned.

“Stay alert,” Jenna advised as she rose from her chair. “And if you hear anything about Sarah… or if anything occurs to you …”

“I’ll call you immediately,” Emily assured her, and Jenna believed her. In Trentville, the librarian was as much a guardian of secrets as she was of books.

“Thank you. And I’ll keep you posted on Sarah,” Jenna replied as she turned toward the door, the weight of her investigation settling heavier on her shoulders with each step through the old library. Outside, the sunlight seemed to be harsher now, the town’s tranquility at odds with the turmoil she felt brewing beneath its surface.

Jenna pulled out her phone as she walked down the library steps, pressing Jake’s number into the touch screen with practiced ease. The call connected just as she reached her patrol car, the metal heating beneath her hand.

“Jake, it’s Jenna. Any updates from Whispering Pines?” She braced for his response.

“We’re still searching,” came Jake’s reply, tinged with frustration. “We’ve combed through every trail Sarah might have taken. It’s like she just… vanished. We’re not giving up, but it doesn’t look good.”

Jenna’s grip on her phone tightened, the plastic creaking. This echoed the disappearance of Mark Reeves—a pattern emerging that chilled her to the core. A writer and a hiker, both seemingly swallowed by thin air, and the link between them tugging at the edges of her intuition.

“Keep me informed, Jake. Every second counts.” Jenna’s command was firm, yet she could hear the underlying note of desperation in her own voice.

“Will do, Sheriff. You gonna be okay?” Jake’s concern was audible; he knew her well enough to sense when her resolve wavered.

Jenna pressed the phone to her ear, her other hand gripping the steering wheel of her patrol car.

“Jake, I’m on my way to Whispering Pines. I’ll join the search,” she said, a decisive edge cutting through the midday silence that enveloped her.

“Alright, Sheriff. We could use your insight,” Jake responded, his voice crackling over the line with an undercurrent of urgency.

She ended the call and slid the phone into her pocket, her mind racing faster than the engine of her car as she turned the keys in the ignition. Jenna navigated through the streets of Trentville, the quaint houses blurring past her window as she headed for Whispering Pines Forest. As she drove, the memory seeped back into her consciousness.

In the haunting clarity of her dream, Mark Reeves stood immobile before the yawning door of a bus, an invisible force anchoring him to the spot while freedom beckoned just steps away. It was only now, with the fresh knowledge of his disappearance, that the true weight of the vision pressed down upon her.

The symbolism was stark—Mark, unable to leave Trentville, not because he didn’t want to, but because something—or someone—had prevented him. Her intuition told her that this was no mere accident. It suggested a fate far more sinister, and Jenna felt a chill despite the summer heat. Had something like that happened to Sarah? If so, what did it mean that Sarah hadn’t yet reached out to her? Jenna could only hope it meant that Sarah was still alive.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, and she focused on the road ahead, willing herself to stay grounded in the present. The trees of Whispering Pines loomed in the distance, their dark silhouettes hinting at the many secrets they surely kept. Jenna’s resolve flared; if there were answers to be found within those woods, she would uncover them. For Sarah. For Mark. For all the lost souls waiting for someone to listen.