CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

As Jenna maneuvered the cruiser along the winding roads back to Trentville, she had to wonder where everything stood now between her and Jake. Jake had said nothing at all since they left Lucas Brennan’s farm. He was just methodically scanning their surroundings as they passed through the countryside. But their case was as full of questions as ever.

“Jake, you really don’t think Lucas is our guy, do you?” she asked.

He turned his gaze from the window, his expression inscrutable for a moment before he shook his head. “No, I don’t. And I’m guessing that you don’t either.”

“True,” Jenna affirmed, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Lucas’s place… it’s too ordinary, too open. Hardly the lair of a serial killer. That basement where we saw the suitcases wasn’t even locked up. We need to restart our thinking, go over everything from the beginning.”

“Seems like it,” Jake agreed. “We don’t have a suspect, but we do have a pattern. Three disappearances in ten years, five years apart, no bodies, no ransom notes, nothing. That length of time must have some significance to the killer.”

“So you think the victims could be someone who just turned up at the wrong time, chosen at random?”

“Possible, but there’s likely to be some other kind of connection, maybe someone they all offended. Or maybe they had something specific in common that we haven’t spotted yet.”

“Nothing except a trail of questions and ghosts,” Jenna muttered, her eyes fixed on the road ahead while her mind raced through the possibilities. “In my lucid dreams, Birdie Brennan complained of thirst, and so did Mark Reeves. It’s my guess that Sarah is experiencing the same kind of pain. If she is, she can’t last very long.”

“For most people, about three days is the most they can live without water. Of course it varies, a few will go longer, and it also depends on the specific conditions.”

“Then if we don’t find Sarah soon …” Jenna whispered sadly.

“We’ve got to find her, Jenna. As soon as possible.”

Trentville was quiet as Jenna drove through it. The people out on the streets looked peaceful, and no raucous escaped pets broke the peace. She glanced at Jake, his profile set in concentration as they rounded the corner to the sheriff’s office.

“We’ve got Mark and Birdie, now Sarah in the pattern,” he said in a cautious tone. “What about before that—say twenty years ago?”

She exhaled slowly. “You mean … could my sister Piper be part of this pattern? You know, I’ve wondered about that too.”

The question seemed especially dire now. Had her twin sister suffered that terrible helplessness? Had she died deprived of water? Yet, despite the dread that filled Jenna’s mind, one belief remained unshaken. “But I still feel Piper’s out there, alive, because she’s never visited me in a lucid dream. It’s the same reason that I believe we can still rescue Sarah, but time for her survival is closing up on us. She’s the one we need to focus on.”

She slowed the car to a stop outside the Genesius County Sheriff’s Office, the engine ticking as it cooled. Jenna’s gaze lingered on the building’s aged brick facade, considering their next move. Many kinds of answers were hidden among the shadows and dust of old records and forgotten stories in that building.

“Let’s go over everything again inside,” Jake suggested. “We might be missing something, a detail that could blow this whole case open. We should be able to track something on your computer.”

It sounded like a good idea, although Jenna couldn’t imagine where they’d start their search.

A fleeting shadow passed over her vision as they went into her office. She blinked it away, attributing it to weariness, but the sensation lingered, a whisper in the recesses of her mind. Then the vague, nagging feeling grew stronger. It was an itch, a puzzle piece waiting to be placed. But it was there—a link, a clue that taunted her with its obscurity.

“Jake,” she started, her tone hesitant, “Birdie’s overdue book. And what Lucas said about Birdie and Sarah being readers, always at the library.” A pause; Jenna searched for the elusive thought that seemed just out of reach. “And then there’s Mark Reeves, aspiring writer, lover of words.”

“Are you thinking there’s a connection with books?” Jake queried.

Jenna nodded, her gaze distant. It seemed too significant to ignore—the passion for reading binding the victims together in a macabre tapestry.

“Emily Carson,” Jenna murmured. “The library… there has to be a connection with the books.” Her thoughts were like leaves caught in a whirlwind, each one fluttering close to revelation but never quite landing.

Jake’s presence was a grounding force, and he turned to her, his eyes encouraging her to continue. “You’re on to something. What is it?”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I’m thinking we should revisit the library, get Emily’s help once more.” But Jenna’s voice trailed off, a sudden doubt clouding her judgment. Why did a terrible uncertainty nudge at her now? She cleared her throat, trying to dispel the fog of confusion.

“Go on,” Jake prompted, adjusting his posture to face her more directly.

“Looking back,” Jenna started again, slower this time, “there’s something off about Emily’s behavior. She reached out to me at Whispering Pines with information, pinpointing where Sarah might have been taken.” Jenna paused, grappling with the implication. “It was almost too precise, as if she knew more than she should have.”

“You suspect the librarian?”

Jenna swallowed down a knot of anxiety.

“No, that would be crazy,” Jenna said, trying to sound steadier than she felt. “Emily has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. She was always there in the library, pushing me towards new books, challenging me to explore different worlds through reading. It’s absurd to think she could be connected to this… madness.” Yet the seed of doubt had been planted, sitting in her gut like a dead weight of irrational dread, and it refused to be ignored.

Jake, seated beside her, considered her words with a measured calmness. “Look, the hunches we don’t like, the ones we wish we didn’t have—well, in my experience, they’re the ones we’ve really got to listen to. You’ve got to trust that instinct of yours.” His eyes met hers briefly before returning to the road ahead. “It’s gotten us this far, hasn’t it?”

Jenna let out a deep breath and nodded. Jake’s faith in her intuition was a steadying force. But right now, she wished her intuition was telling her anything but this.

Jake continued, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “Back in Kansas City, I came across all kinds—people who hid their true selves behind masks of charm and goodwill. Some of them turned out to be the most skilled manipulators, sociopaths who had fooled everyone for years. Tell me, what do you know about Emily’s past? Has she always lived here in Trentville?”

The question sent a shiver down Jenna’s spine. “No, she moved to Trentville from somewhere else, but I never really knew about her life before that.”

“Maybe it’s time we look into it,” Jake suggested gently, his gaze lingering on Jenna with an unspoken understanding. They were crossing into territory where neither of them wanted to tread, but the path of duty was rarely a comfortable one.

She and Jake stepped out of the car into the warmth of the late morning, the sun high above Trentville, offering no reprieve from the relentless churn of their thoughts.

They entered the office, stepping into the familiar hum of air conditioning and the automatic greetings of those manning the front room. Jenna made her way to her private office, the room small but functional. Jake moved past her to boot up the computer, his fingers deftly moving across the keyboard as he navigated through security protocols he understood better than she did.

“Let’s start with public records, social media footprints, anything that predates her move to Trentville,” Jake suggested, his voice steady and methodical. Jenna watched as he opened multiple windows, his approach systematic yet swift. It was digital sleuthing—public databases queried, social networks skimmed, background check services engaged. His familiarity with the virtual trails left by human lives was something she admired, even envied at times.

“Here we go,” Jake murmured, adjusting his posture as he zeroed in on a particular entry. A news archive site yielded results, displaying a headline that caused Jenna’s heart to skip a beat. It was an article dating back decades, detailing an appalling case of child abuse in Detroit.

The screen showed a grainy image of a young girl, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. The accompanying story chronicled the harrowing ordeal of Emily Carson, just ten years old at the time, who had suffered at the hands of her own parents. Chained in the basement without water, she had been left to endure an unimaginable nightmare before her rescue.

“Four days…” Jenna whispered, her voice trailing off as she absorbed the information. The article went on to describe how Emily had nearly succumbed to dehydration, the brink of death averted only by the timely intervention of authorities. The revelation of foster care and the conviction of her parents for child endangerment added layers of background. The story also indicated that the child had possibly been mistreated before. The social workers had been contacted five years earlier when a neighbor had noticed the child’s seeming absence and her parents’ apparent avoidance of the topic. That time she had been rescued from what had seemed to be accidental entrapment in a room in the parents’ basement, with no real evidence to the contrary.

The article on the screen was a window into a past so bleak it seemed to cast shadows in the bright confines of Jenna’s office. Jake watched from over her shoulder, his presence a silent support she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

“Jake,” she started, her voice barely audible, “could Emily be…?” She couldn’t finish the question, the implication too monstrous to give voice to.

“Jenna,” Jake said, his tone measured, “we can’t jump to conclusions. But this—it could be significant. Childhood trauma, especially that severe, it can leave marks on a person. Marks that don’t always fade.”

She nodded, but her mind churned with turmoil. Emily Carson had been a fixture in Jenna’s life, a constant since those early days when Piper would drag her along to the library. To think of that gentle librarian, who had sown seeds of curiosity and knowledge in so many young minds, as a killer was almost beyond comprehension. And yet, the pattern—the victims, all lovers of literature, all connected to the library in some way—it was a path that twisted back toward Emily, no matter how much Jenna wanted to look away.

“Let’s keep digging,” Jenna decided, her voice steadier now. “If there’s more, we need to find it.”

“Right,” Jake agreed. “I’ll see what else I can uncover about her time before Trentville.”

They worked on, the silence punctuated only by the clicks of the mouse and the soft hum of the computer. Jenna’s gaze kept sliding back to the grainy photograph of a young Emily, her eyes hauntingly familiar. The feeling of betrayal sat heavy in her chest, like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through her entire being.

“Look at this,” Jake said after a while, breaking the silence. He’d pulled up records tracing Emily’s journey after foster care—schools, a scholarship, a move to Trentville where she seemingly remade her life. It was the story of someone who had overcome incredible adversity—but now with a sinister undertone.

“Any criminal records?” Jenna asked, hoping for a clean slate that might dispel her doubts.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Clean as they come.”

“Of course,” Jenna murmured. “You wouldn’t expect less from a sociopath, would you?”

“Jenna…” Jake began, but she held up a hand.

“Let’s not kid ourselves, Jake. If Emily is our perpetrator, then she’s been hiding in plain sight, manipulating everyone around her for a long time. Including me.” Jenna’s voice cracked, the weight of her realization threatening to shatter her composure.

“Jenna, let’s step back,” Jake suggested softly. “Emotions are high, and we’re dealing with a lot of ‘ifs’ here. We need concrete evidence before we can proceed.”

She knew he was right. They needed more than a tragic childhood and a series of coincidences to make an accusation. But they had to find out quickly if they were going to save Sarah Thompson from a horrible fate.