Chapter 22

I woke the next morning, thinking about the dream. It was the most interactive dream I’d ever had. And it felt different, maybe because it was more direct. There was more communication, less confusion. And yet, much of it was still open to interpretation.

I was leaning up against my headboard, piecing through the dream, when Giovanni walked in with a glass of orange juice and a plate of sourdough toast. He handed me the glass, set the plate down on my nightstand, and slid in next to me.

“You were tossing and turning throughout the night,” he said. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I had an interesting dream.”

He raised a brow. “Was it one of those dreams—a dream trying to tell you something?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

I grabbed a piece of toast, took a bite, and thought about how to explain what I’d just experienced. “Most dreams like these are hard for me to interpret. I feel like people speak in riddles, or give me bits and pieces, but not enough context to understand what they want me to know.”

“How was this one different?”

“I was at a park not far from Cora’s house, except it’s a park I’ve never been to before. Owen was there. He was standing behind a tree at first. He said he was waiting for me to wake up. Then he walked over and sat beside me.”

“Owen is the kid who used to be Cora’s neighbor, the one she fancied, right?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He knew Cora was alive, and he knew he was dead. He was aware the other four teens at the cabin were dead too. He made a comment about them being stuck here, in limbo. Seems like they’re unable to move on.”

“Why do you believe he came to you in your dream? Do you think he was trying to give you a message or a clue about his murderer?”

“I’m not sure he was trying to do anything. It seemed like he just wanted to have a conversation with me.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I asked him to tell me what happened right before he died. He didn’t say much that I didn’t already know. He acted like time had taken a toll, blurring his memories from the events of that night.”

“Did he say anything useful to you?”

“It wasn’t what he said, it was something I observed. In the crime-scene photos, Owen isn’t wearing a chain around his neck. None of the young men are. In my dream, he had a gold chain around his neck. I asked him where he got it, and he said it was a gift from their football coach. All the star players had them.”

I pointed at a vintage black satchel sitting on a chair on the opposite side of the room.

“Would you mind grabbing that for me?” I asked.

Giovanni stood, retrieved the bag, and brought it over to me. I undid the flap, opened it, and pulled out the case file. Grabbing the photos, I spread them out on the bed. In the crime-scene photos, Aidan, Jackson, and Owen did not have a chain around their necks.

“Maybe it’s a clue, and maybe it isn’t,” I said. “It’s worth talking to Whitlock and Harvey, to be sure. I don’t remember reading anything in the case file about missing gold chains, but one of the parents could have mentioned it.”

My phone buzzed.

I grabbed it off the nightstand and looked at the time, realizing I’d slept in a lot later than I’d planned. I needed to get up and get going. The buzzing sound was a text message from Hunter, asking me if I’d gotten the address she’d sent over for Xander’s place. I confirmed I had.

“What is it?” Giovanni asked.

I took a few more bites of toast, drank the orange juice, and tossed the blankets to the side, sliding out of bed.

“Hunter sent me Xander Thornton’s address yesterday,” I said. “He’s the kid who was bullied in school. The good news is, he’s not far. He lives in Cayucos.”