CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Jake?” Jenna prodded gently, watching him closely, searching for a sign of acceptance or disbelief. She saw no derision there, just a cautious curiosity that she thought might be asking, Are you both out of your minds?

“I’m listening,” he assured her, the corners of his mouth betraying a hint of strain.

Jenna leaned forward, resting her elbows on the kitchen table as she shared the details of her dream with Frank and Jake. Her voice conveyed facts, not fear.

“It started in this narrow hallway,” she began, fixing her gaze on a knot in the wooden table as if it were a portal to her memory. “There was a woman—agitated, hurried. Three suitcases lay at her feet, each one looking like it had seen better days.” Jenna traced the knot’s edges with her index finger. “She said she needed to get out while the going is good.”

Jenna thought for a moment.

“Then it shifted,” she continued. “The light… it just drained from the space until we were in darkness.” Her voice remained matter-of-fact, even as she recounted the chilling details. “The same woman was there, but now she sat on the floor, barely visible. She complained that she was thirsty. She said that several times before I woke up. And I remember she held a little light on a book she was reading.”

Jake asked softly, “Could you see what book it was?”

“No, but she was worried that it was overdue. She had to return it to the library. And she said something about five years.”

“Just like Mark did,” Frank muttered.

“At one point a man’s voice was calling her by name, and the woman was terrified,” Jenna said. “He sounded angry. She said she was afraid he was going to kill her.”

Jenna cleared her throat, the tightness there a reminder of the tension she felt. “The woman in my dream, she mentioned that another woman was also in danger. She said—and I remember this vividly—‘She’s a reader too.’ But she wouldn’t tell me her name.”

“Anything else about this other woman?” Frank prodded gently, aware of the delicate thread they were following.

“Only that she seemed truly worried for her,” Jenna replied. “It was more than just concern; it was fear.”

As she spoke, Jenna could feel the lingering remnants of the dream—a sense of urgency, a need to warn, to protect.

“Then,” Jenna continued, drawing in a deep breath as she prepared to relay the final pieces of her nocturnal vision, “there were these glimpses of a wind-powered water pump. They were fleeting, like snapshots flashing before my eyes. I couldn’t tell you where, but it seemed significant to whatever danger this woman is facing.”

“Water pump…” Jake murmured, almost to himself, his posture shifting as though he were piecing together a puzzle only he could see.

“Then I woke up,” Jenna concluded, feeling their gazes upon her. There was no need for embellishment or dramatic pauses; the facts of her experience were stark enough. As Jenna had detailed her dream, she’d watched, seeking any signs of doubt. Jake’s expression remained carefully neutral, giving nothing away, yet his focus never wavered from her narrative. The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the kitchen table, but the atmosphere was charged with an undercurrent of tension.

“Have you both always believed in… this sort of thing?” Jake finally asked.

“Belief didn’t come easy,” Jenna admitted, her voice low. “And anyway, it’s not about believing. It’s about accepting what’s there, even when it doesn’t make sense.” Her hands rested on the table, fingers laced tightly together, betraying her anxiety about his judgment.

Frank nodded, his gray eyes locking onto Jake’s. “I’ve seen enough in my time to know the world’s got layers most folks don’t see. Jenna’s gift peeled back some of those layers.”

Jake let out a slow breath, his previous skepticism seemingly suspended in favor of the evidence before him: the conviction of two people he respected. He leaned back in his chair, still processing, the furrow in his brow less pronounced. Jenna felt a cautious relief. Jake might not be ready to believe, but he was trying to understand, and for now, that was enough.

“Oh, and Frank,” Jenna remembered, “when I told her I was the sheriff, she said no, that the sheriff was you.”

Frank leaned back in his chair, a frown creasing his brow as he sorted through the implications. “Can you describe the woman from your dream for me?” he asked, shifting his focus back to Jenna.

She closed her eyes briefly, summoning the image of the woman with the three suitcases. “She had brown hair streaked with silver, worn long and loose. Her eyes were a dull green, tired but resilient. She dressed plainly, like she’d seen hard work and didn’t care much for appearances. There was this… strength about her, despite the fear.”

“And you said a man was calling out to her by name,” Frank said. “What did he call her?”

Jenna thought hard, then she said, “Birdie,” the name she’d heard shouted in the dream.

Frank’s expression shifted subtly, an edge of recognition dawning. “That sounds like Melissa Brennan,” he said slowly, as if testing the name against the image Jenna had painted. “Lucas Brennan’s wife. They live—or lived—on a farm not far from Trentville. He’s a bit of a survivalist, keeps to himself mostly. I saw only Melissa a few times when Lucas came into town for supplies. She was like a shadow behind him, you know? He called her Birdie.”

“Lucas Brennan,” Jenna murmured, the name familiar, like a bitter aftertaste. “I remember hearing about him. His wife vanished five years ago.” Her voice trailed off as she considered the implications, the puzzle pieces starting to align with an ominous click. “That was back when you were still sheriff, Frank,” she added. “Lucas Brennan told everyone that Birdie had packed up and left, didn’t he? He claimed he didn’t know where she’d gone.”

“That’s right. Lucas was adamant that Birdie just up and decided to leave Trentville. No note, no warnings… nothing.”

“Yet,” Jenna pressed on, feeling the threads of the past weaving through the present, “Lucas has a history, doesn’t he? Assault charges that paint a picture of a man quick to anger.”

“More than just charges,” Frank admitted with a heavy sigh. “Violence follows some men like a curse. He was arrested several times. Each incident more violent than the last. The town’s been gossiping about it for years.” He paused, his expression darkening. “The rumors around here… they say he might have done something terrible to Melissa. That maybe she never left at all.”

“Rumors sometimes hold a fraction of truth,” Jenna mused. She knew how tales spread through the tight-knit fabric of Trentville, taking root in the fertile ground of imagination and growing wild and untamed. But if Melissa’s disappearance was not voluntary, then every suspicion took on a sinister new meaning.

“Lucas insisted she just up and left,” Frank said, rubbing his thumb along the edge of his coffee mug. “No note, no calls after. Nothing.”

“But you never opened an investigation?” Jake asked.

Frank shook his head slowly. “We checked what we could. There wasn’t a shred of evidence to suggest anything other than what Lucas claimed. No signs of a struggle, no financial anomalies, no witnesses. Just a husband saying his wife took off.”

“Given his history…” Jake’s voice trailed off.

“Exactly,” Frank agreed with a sigh. “But suspicion isn’t enough to warrant destroying a man’s life. We needed cause, and at the time, there was none we could find.”

“Sarah Thompson disappeared the night before last, and Reeves ten years ago,” Jake said, his mind ticking over the timeline. “If Melissa’s disappearance five years ago is tied to theirs, we’re looking at a pattern. And,” he added hesitantly, looking at Jenna, “it does seem to match the time frame you heard in your dreams.”

A contemplative silence fell over the kitchen, and then Frank spoke up again. “Jenna, if Melissa Brennan is indeed tangled up in all of this, it’s time to check out her husband again. I think that you and Jake need to pay Lucas a visit.” His eyes, sharp as they were with age, held a glint of caution. “But be careful. Lucas has always been rough around the edges—violent and paranoid. It’s going to be tricky.”

“We can handle that,” Jake told him. This sounded more like the kind of investigation the former city cop had some experience with.

“Maybe so,” Frank conceded, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the table. “But tread lightly. Lucas isn’t a man to take kindly to accusations, especially from law enforcement.”

Jenna knew Frank’s warnings were not to be dismissed; the prospect of confronting Lucas Brennan brought a familiar surge of adrenaline. “We’ll be on our guard,” she assured him.

“Good. And keep me posted. Anything feels off, you get out of there, understand?” His tone was firm, protective like that of a father ensuring his child remembered to look both ways before crossing the street.

“Understood,” Jenna confirmed. Jake echoed her sentiment with a nod, his expression mirroring the seriousness of the situation even though he hadn’t had much time to adjust to the source of their information.

The remnants of breakfast lay forgotten on the plates as the gravity of their next steps turned away from the comfort of the meal. Jenna pushed back from the table, her chair making a soft sound against the linoleum floor.

“Thanks for the breakfast, Frank. And for the advice,” Jenna said, her gratitude evident in her eyes. She appreciated more than just the food; Frank’s insights were invaluable, his experience a guiding light in the murky waters they were about to navigate.

“Anytime, Jenna,” Frank replied, standing up to see them off. He clasped her shoulder briefly—a gesture of reassurance.

Jake stood as well, his movements collected and purposeful. He muttered a thanks to Frank too, and they shook hands. Then Jake and Jenna left the kitchen together, stepping out of Frank’s house into the pleasant June day.

Jenna felt the early sun on her face, its rays doing little to ease the chill of uncertainty of this morning’s conversation. As she and her deputy walked to their patrol car, the frontier between the safety of the known and the perils of the unseen seemed to her to still be a bit shaky. She glanced over at Jake, wondering if he truly comprehended the depth of what lay before them, approaching a suspect with only evidence from a dream in hand.

“Are you okay to drive?” Jake asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Jenna gave a curt nod, sliding behind the wheel. The keys jangled as she inserted them into the ignition, the sound oddly piercing in the silence between them. She started the engine, the familiar rumble offering a semblance of normalcy in the chaos of her thoughts.

As Jenna began to drive toward Lucas Brennan’s home, the reality of what lay ahead settled in. The confrontation with Lucas, unpredictable and dangerous, loomed large. But it was the uncertainty in Jake’s silence that unsettled her most. Did he believe her? Could he accept the supernatural thread woven into the fabric of their investigation?

The gravel crunched beneath the tires as they made their way down the driveway that would lead them away from Frank’s home and toward Lucas Brennan’s secluded farm. Jenna kept her eyes fixed on the winding road, but her mind wandered. She was not only thinking of the confrontation with a man whose reputation was as wild and unforgiving as the surrounding Ozark hills, but also about the precarious balance of trust between her and Jake. He sat beside her quietly, without comment, and every mile closer to Lucas Brennan’s home amplified her concern.

A glance Jake’s way found him gazing out the window, his expression unreadable. His profile was set in a contemplative stillness, leaving Jenna to wonder if he was piecing together the fragments of her dream or simply absorbing the reality of her gift. Did he believe now in the messages from beyond that guided her actions, or did skepticism still cloud his judgment?

She felt the familiar itch to ask questions, to fill the void with words and seek reassurance, but she held back. Although he seemed to have respected the story she’d told them, she couldn’t help but wonder how the truth of her psychic abilities would weigh on their partnership. Would Jake see her gift as a tool for investigation, or as a wedge driving a gap between them? Her doubt left her feeling isolated within the confines of the patrol car, even with Jake mere inches away.

As the trees lining the road blurred past, Jenna turned her focus back to the road, the solid reality of asphalt under tires grounding her racing thoughts. It was up to her to prove the worth of her abilities. Today her first job was to face Lucas Brennan, no matter what kind of threat he might pose.