Page 3 of In Her Prayers

The room around her was steeped in the quiet of dawn, yet inside her mind, the image of the girl from the photograph persisted with clarity.It presented a striking disparity to the warmth of her bed, the familiarity of her surroundings in Trentville, where the supernatural often breached the veil of the mundane.Her breathing slowed, an attempt to calm the frustration that threatened to spill into the day ahead.

The mystery of the girl clung to her like the remnants of a cobweb, intangible yet irksome.The face in her dream, so close to speaking, now felt like a puzzle piece she couldn’t place, hovering just beyond reach.With a sigh that carried the remnants of her dream, she rolled onto her side, attempting to recapture the fleeting threads of sleep.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, willing the vision to return, but the room’s persistent reality held firm, refusing to relinquish its grip.As the first rays of dawn began to seep into her bedroom, Jenna’s eyes fluttered open.Reluctantly, she acknowledged the arrival of morning.The room was bathed in a gentle glow as sunlight filtered through the curtains, outlining objects with a softness that contended bitterly with the stark reality her mind had just left behind.

With a resigned breath, Jenna swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cool touch of the wooden floor grounding her further in the unwelcome wakefulness.There was no going back to the dream now, only forward into the day that awaited.

She stood, the weight of unanswered questions bearing down on her shoulders.She drew a steadying breath, preparing to face whatever realities—mundane or mystical—the daylight hours might hold.Her routine was mechanical, a sequence of actions performed with little conscious thought as the echoes of her dream reverberated in her mind.Shower water sluiced over her body, a cascading stream that failed to wash away the persistent feeling of having been so close, yet so far from the truth.

Jenna’s body navigated the morning with a mind of its own.The shower’s hot spray pelted her skin without truly being felt, the steam clouding around her like the mists of her persistent dream.The pulsating water should have been soothing, but it was just another sensation that failed to penetrate the fog of her thoughts.

She dressed in her uniform, each article of clothing a piece of armor against the day ahead, shielding her from the town’s curiosity and concern.Jenna’s fingers worked nimbly at the buttons, slipping into the familiar guise of Genesius County’s sheriff.Her reflection in the mirror was perfunctory, the green of her eyes dimmed.

Standing at her kitchen counter, Jenna stirred her coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic in a rhythmic pattern.Normally the aroma would stir her senses, but today it went unnoticed, overshadowed by the implications of her dream.

Breakfast was a silent affair—the scrape of her knife spreading butter on toast, the soft clink of a spoon against ceramic as she scooped yogurt into a bowl.She ate because the day required it, not out of hunger.Each bite was automatic, tasteless, punctuated by the relentless replay of the dream: the sandpiper, the lake, the mysterious girl in the photograph.

She had thought that Piper must be the one who had visited the dock five years after vanishing and carved the initials P.G.there.But why did the pictured image portray someone else entirely?Was it possible that the message wasn’t left by Piper at all?

If not Piper, then who?And why leave such a cryptic message in such a secluded place?The possibility that the girl in her dream was offering clues grew heavier in her thoughts.The connection between the dreams and her waking life had always been strong, but this felt different, even more direct.

The implications of this revelation were profound.If P.G.was someone else, then what did it mean for Piper?For years, Jenna had clung to the belief that her twin was still alive, somewhere, waiting to be found.But this new development suggested some other story could be about to unfold.

The specter of a teenage girl with faded features haunted the edges of her consciousness.The girl’s appearance posed a delicate riddle.If indeed this was a spirit, what message was she desperate to convey?Jenna’s intuition, honed by years of navigating these ethereal encounters, suggested urgency—a plea or perhaps a warning.

Jenna’s gift had often provided comfort to grieving souls seeking resolution.Yet now, it taunted her with ambiguity, teasing at the edges of her consciousness with more questions than answers.She knew she could not force the revelation; the dead spoke on their own terms.Resigned, Jenna acknowledged the ghost’s presence as another piece in a puzzle, though perhaps not in the mystery of her sister’s absence.

Glancing at the clock, Jenna was jolted back to reality, its persistent ticking a reminder of the world beyond her haunted reverie.

If she didn’t leave now, she was going to be late.

She downed the remainder of her coffee in one gulp, the liquid cold and bitter.Grabbing her keys from the hook by the door, she stepped outside, leaving the confines of her home for the uncertainty that lay beyond.The warmth of a mid-July morning enveloped her immediately, a warm blanket that promised another sweltering summer day in Trentville, Missouri.

Today, like every day, her thoughts would turn again and again to Piper, wielding both her badge and her unique insight as tools against the silence that had stolen her sister.

But that girl in the photograph—was she a messenger or a guide?Or had she reached out from some other story entirely?Jenna’s rational mind grappled with the possibilities, the detective within her scrutinizing every angle.

With a resolute hand, she turned the key in the ignition.The engine roared to life, a familiar sound that marked the beginning of another day’s journey.As Jenna eased her vehicle forward, she saw the familiar streets of Trentville coming alive with the rhythm of daily life.Shopkeepers unfurled awnings, and townsfolk exchanged greetings, their lives untouched by the specters that haunted Jenna’s existence.

Ahead lay another day’s journey.Jenna hoped it would hold a discovery of life—even though she knew that the spirits that visited her dreams could only come from the dead.

“Focus,” Jenna muttered to herself.With a firm grip on the wheel, she steeled herself against the fear of what lay ahead.She understood that some stones, once turned, could not be unturned.

CHAPTER TWO

The streets of Trentville were quiet as Jenna drove toward the Genesius County Sheriff’s Office.Last night’s dream, vivid and haunting, still clung to her consciousness, demanding attention.Her mind also replayed the physical events of the previous day—her visit to Whitmore Lake State Forest, where reality had mirrored her visions with unsettling accuracy.

She soon arrived at the old brick building where she served as the Genesius County Sheriff and slid her cruiser into her parking space.She strode into the building, exchanging greetings with the cops on duty and making her way toward the two private offices at the back.The team’s early-morning conversations over coffee were punctuated only by the soft hum of a distant copier and the distant murmur of dispatch radio chatter.

Before Jenna reached her own workplace, she saw that the door to her deputy’s office stood ajar, light spilling into the dim hallway.She peeked in and saw that Jake was there, as she knew he would be.His broad-shouldered silhouette was framed by the glow of his computer screen, highlighting his sandy hair.

A former beat cop from Kansas City, Jake always said he’d moved to this small town for a change of scenery.Jenna knew that he’d faced more change and challenges here than he’d ever expected, and he was still coming to terms with her contacts with the spirit world, which she’d finally decided to describe to him.Jake never dismissed her dreams outright, despite their supernatural nature, which ranged far from the logic of law enforcement as he’d experienced it in those earlier days.He simply included her supernatural insights as potential information along with the evidence he gathered from his outstanding skills at more conventional investigations.

She also realized that he was often concerned about the effects those experiences had on her—a concern that she knew to be well-founded.

Her knuckles rapped against the wooden door.“Got a minute?”

He swiveled in his chair, his expression lighting up when he saw Jenna.“Morning, Sheriff,” he greeted her.“Of course, come in.How did your visit to Whitmore Lake go yesterday?”

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