Page 46 of In Her Grasp

“Paul?” Jake’s grip on the gun loosened, and he reflexively lowered the weapon.

“Whoa, easy there, Deputy!” Rauer’s voice cut through the tension, his hands still raised.

“I was just coming to find you,” Rauer stammered, his breath hitching as though each word cost him. “I saw something going on across the reservoir... I think Sheriff Graves is in trouble!”

“Where? What did you see?” Jake demanded.

“By the willow tree,” Rauer managed between gasps for air, “someone dragging something... or someone... into the water.”

Jake and Rauer ran together. As they neared the willow tree, a beam of light cut across their path, and Jake zeroed in on the figure of Frank Doyle emerging from the opposite side. As they converged, a figure stumbled from the reservoir, water cascading from his drenched clothing.

“Freeze!” The command erupted from Frank, his voice resonating with decades of law enforcement command. Flashlights converged on the man before them: Tommy Larson. His clothes clung to him, outlining a frame that seemed to waver between triumph and fear.

As Frank advanced, cuffs in hand, Jake’s gaze darted past the scene, scanning the undulating surface of the reservoir.

Then he plunged in and dove. His eyes stung, visibility near zero, but he forced them open, desperate. His hands, driven by fear and resolve, swept through the water, searching for any sign of Jenna. The need to find her pushed him deeper, lungs screaming for air, until he caught a glimpse of something that might be pale skin.

***

Jenna descended through the dark water, the crushing weight of the stones tied to her back dragging her into a cold, silent abyss. She inhaled some water, and panic gave way to an eerie calm as darkness threatened to consume her consciousness. Then, amid the suffocating pressure, a vision bloomed in the void—an ethereal woman cradling a sandpiper, its delicate form contrasting the brutality of her current predicament.

The image was vivid, a mirage born from the depths of Jenna’s own mind, echoing that haunting dream which had lingered with her since its occurrence. The unseen woman’shands, gentle and reassuring, seemed to urge Jenna towards something—some hidden truth entwined with her past. As the murky waters obscured her senses, a whisper threaded through the chaos, a reminder to seek answers from the one person who might hold them: her mother.

***

Gripping the material he had taken hold of, Jake kicked upwards, emerging with Jenna’s lifeless form cradled in his arms. He gasped for breath, the night air sharp in his lungs as he fought the water’s resistance to drag her back to the bank. His mind reeled, every second an eternity, the distance from shore an insurmountable expanse that he had to conquer.

“Jenna!” he called out, voice ragged with the strain of terror. Her vibrant green eyes were closed, her face hauntingly still. The shore met them with unforgiving solidity, and he heaved her onto the bank, her body limp and unresponsive.

“She’s not breathing!” Panic edged his words, each syllable a shard of ice. Jake positioned himself over Jenna, fingers trembling as they found the correct placement for compressions. It was a rhythm he knew well, yet each push felt unfamiliar, fueled by a potent mix of adrenaline and dread.

“Come on, Jenna,” he murmured between compressions, his plea a silent prayer. Each downward thrust was a demand for her return, a battle against the grip of the abyss that threatened to claim her. The pulse of his own heart thrummed in his ears, a counterpoint to the absence of hers.

Jake’s forearms ached from the exertion, his movements automatic as he continued the life-saving compressions on Jenna’s still form. The cool night air of Sablewood Reservoir was punctuated by the rhythmic sound of his efforts, each push a silent testament to the urgency of the moment.

Beside him, Frank Doyle stood motionless, the lines on his weathered face etched with concern. The former Sheriff’s eyes were fixed on Jenna, willing her to draw breath again. Paul Rauer, the dam operator, hovered nearby, hands clenched, his gaze flitting between Jenna and the handcuffed figure of Tommy Larson who slumped against a nearby tree, his wet clothes clinging to him, a picture of defeated malice.

As moments ticked by, Jake felt the weight of Jenna’s life in his hands. He blocked out everything except the task before him. Each compression squeezed hope into her lungs, each release a plea for her tenacious spirit to fight back.

And then, when Jake’s strength waned and his resolve flickered, Jenna’s body jerked violently. Water erupted from her mouth, and she drew a ragged, spluttering breath. Jake’s heart leapt. He quickly rolled her onto her side, supporting her as she continued to cough up the reservoir’s murky water.

Relief surged through Jake’s veins, mingling with the fatigue that threatened to buckle his knees. Frank and Rauer exhaled in unison, a sound almost lost in the commotion of Jenna’s struggle for air. In the midst of chaos, there was a single, crystalline moment of triumph—Jenna was alive.

***

Jenna’s lungs heaved, drawing in the cool night air as her consciousness clawed its way back from the murky depths. Her emerald eyes, usually a beacon of determination, now flickered with confusion as they peeled open. The world was a blur, shapes and shadows melding together under the backdrop of stars beginning to prick the twilight sky.

“Jake?” The name scratched its way out of her throat, a ghost of a sound. She squinted up at the figure looming over her, the lines of his face coming into focus. “What... what happened?”

His hands were gentle but firm as he eased her into a sitting position, an arm around her shoulders like a shield. “It’s okay, Jenna. You’re safe now.” Jake’s voice was a steady drumbeat in the quiet chaos of the evening. “We got him. We got Tommy.”

Relief should have flooded her, but Jenna found herself adrift in a sea of questions. Safe? How could she be safe when moments before death had been a tangible thing, cold and wet and pressing down on her chest? Yet here she was, alive, the ghostly fingers of her supernatural intuition whispering that this ordeal was not just about survival—it was a sign, a nudge towards unsolved mysteries that clung to her like shadows.

But for now, she allowed Jake’s presence to anchor her, to hold back the tide of her thoughts as she simply breathed, each inhalation a silent note of gratitude.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Jenna Graves’s cruiser coasted to a halt in front of her childhood home. The gravel crunched beneath the tires, a familiar sound that brought a flicker of comfort despite the preceding night’s chaos. Her fingers still felt the touch of the hospital’s stiff sheets where Jake and Frank had taken her late last night.

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