Page 29 of In Her Wake
“Get it over with,” he whispered to himself.
He drew the sheet back slowly, revealing first hair—auburn, neatly arranged—and then a woman’s face.Her eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, skin pale with the unmistakable stillness of death.She looked peaceful, as if sleeping, but the unnatural pallor and absolute stillness told a different story.
Cody fell backward, scrambling away on his hands and heels like a crab.His breath came in short, sharp gasps as he took in the horrifying reality before him.The sheet had slipped further when he jerked away, revealing more of the body.The woman had been laid out naked, yet there was something almost reverent about her positioning—arms crossed over her chest, legs straight, hair fanned out beneath her head as if arranged for a portrait.
His mind registered these details even as his body reacted with instinctive revulsion.He’d seen dead things before—animals mostly, occasionally humans in funeral homes—but never like this.Never on his land, never so unexpectedly, never with this awful sense of trespass and violation.
Cody’s trembling hand found his phone in his pocket.He backed farther away, unable to tear his eyes from the dead woman’s face as he fumbled with the device.His thumb pressed the emergency button, and he raised the phone to his ear, the dispatcher’s voice sounding tinny and far away when she answered.
“This is Cody Rostow,” he said, his voice strained and unfamiliar to his own ears.“There’s a body on my property.A woman.She’s—” He swallowed hard.“She’s dead.”
***
Jenna’s cruiser cut through the quiet streets of early morning Trentville, her mind still tangled in images from her dream.Marjory Powell’s face on a mannequin body, begging to return to her human form, revealing that she “wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last.”
Jenna had given up on sleep after that, showering and dressing although it was still dark outside, forcing down half a piece of toast before heading out to pick up Jake.By that time, Colonel Spelling had already called, confirming his team was at the Powell residence awaiting their arrival.
The digital clock on her dashboard read 5:17 a.m.when she pulled up in front of Jake’s modest ranch house.He emerged before she could text him, looking surprisingly alert for the early hour.His sandy hair was neatly combed, uniform pressed—ready for whatever that day might bring.
“Morning,” he said as he slid into the passenger seat.“Spelling’s already there?”
“Since four-thirty.”Jenna pulled away from the curb.“Called me while I was making coffee.Said he brought four of his best evidence techs and wants us there ASAP.”
Jake studied her profile in the pale glow of the dashboard lights.“You look like you didn’t sleep much.”
“I didn’t.”She hesitated.Despite having told Jake about her lucid dreams, she still felt vulnerable discussing them.“I had a dream about Marjory Powell last night.”
Jake went still beside her.“A dream-dream or a...”
“A visitation,” Jenna confirmed reluctantly.“She came to me, Jake.Marjory is dead.”
She recounted the details as they drove through town—the gray emptiness, the sheet-covered body, Marjory’s face on a mannequin begging to return to her true form.The words spilled out of her, a relief to share her experience.
“She kept saying ‘he put me in the wrong place,’“ Jenna finished.“And then—this is what’s been eating at me since I woke up—she said she wasn’t the first, and wouldn’t be the last.”
Jake was quiet for a long moment, processing.“So we’re looking at a serial killer.Someone who’s done this before and plans to do it again.”
“That’s how I interpreted it.”Jenna slowed for a red light, though the streets were deserted at this hour.“But what do we do with this information, Jake?I can’t exactly put ‘dream visitation from the victim’ in my report.”
“Same thing we always do,” he replied.“We use what you learn to guide the investigation without revealing the source.It’s worked before.”
The light turned green, and Jenna accelerated."It's different this time.Usually, I get information about a crime that's already known—details about a murder we're already investigating.This time I'm telling you Marjory is dead when we have no body, no crime scene, just a mannequin in a kitchen."
“And a missing woman who hasn’t contacted her husband or workplace,” Jake reminded her.“That’s enough to justify a thorough investigation, even without your dream.”
Jenna nodded, grateful for his pragmatism.After his initial shock when she’d confided in him back in June, Jake had adjusted to her ability with remarkable ease.Unlike Frank, who’d had a lifetime to come to terms with such things through his grandmother, Jake had accepted Jenna’s gift without the benefit of prior experience.It was one of many reasons she’d found herself drawn to him, despite the complications of their working relationship.
“There’s Spelling’s car,” Jake pointed out as they approached the Powell residence.
The black SUV with Missouri State Highway Patrol markings sat in the driveway alongside two patrol cars.As Jenna parked at the curb, she saw officers moving purposefully between the house and vehicles, evidence collection in full swing.
Inside, they found Colonel Spelling in the kitchen, leaning close to examine the mannequin that still sat at the table, coffee mug clasped in its hands.Despite having seen it yesterday, the sight still unsettled Jenna—the eerie perfection of the face, the casual pose suggesting an interrupted routine.
“Sheriff Graves, Deputy Hawkins,” Spelling acknowledged them with a nod.In his mid-fifties, the Colonel wore his authority comfortably, silver-streaked hair cropped close to his scalp, uniform immaculate despite the early hour.“Quite the unusual scene you’ve got here.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Jenna replied, approaching the table.“Any findings so far?”
“Only prints on the mug probably belong to Mrs.Powell.Minimal trace evidence on the mannequin itself.”Spelling straightened up.“My team’s photographer has been documenting everything, and we’ve swabbed for DNA, but mannequins aren’t particularly absorbent surfaces.”
