Page 58 of In Her Wake
And there, seated at the table, was a mannequin.
Unlike in her dream, this one wasn’t faceless.It wore the visage of Dean Alcox—his wild mane of graying hair, his sharp, haunted eyes frozen in an expression of intense concentration.The figure was positioned before an ancient typewriter, jointed fingers resting on the keys as if caught mid-sentence.It wore clothing that matched the photos from Silver Acre Books’ website—a flannel shirt with rolled sleeves, revealing forearms dusted with artificial hair.
The craftsmanship was perfect.If not for the unnatural stillness, the slight sheen to the skin that betrayed its silicone nature, it could have been Alcox himself, lost in the act of creation.
“My God,” Jake whispered beside her.“Another one.”
“Just like Powell and Torres,” Spelling confirmed, holstering his weapon after ensuring the cabin was empty.
Jenna approached the mannequin carefully, studying the face that had spoken to her in her dream—now rendered in silicone rather than the smooth, featureless oval she’d encountered in her nightmare.The detail was extraordinary—every wrinkle, every age spot, even the slight asymmetry of Alcox's features, perfectly captured.
“Look at the paper in the typewriter,” she said, pointing without touching.
The page was blank—and so were the pages that were stacked beside the machine.Their blankness was consistent with what she knew about Dean Alcox—that he had declared to the world that he was finished with writing.
“Ford,” Spelling ordered, “secure the scene.No one touches anything until forensics arrives.I want photographs of everything exactly as we found it.”
“Yes, sir,” Ford replied, already pulling out his phone to call for the forensic team.
Spelling turned to Jenna and Jake.“Those vultures weren’t circling this cabin.They’re somewhere deeper in the woods.Let’s find out what they’ve found.”
They left Ford to secure the cabin and headed in the direction where the birds still wheeled overhead.The forest grew denser as they walked, the path less defined, the ancient silence broken only by their footsteps and the occasional call of a bird.
After several minutes of walking, a new sensation intruded—the unmistakable odor of decomposition, faint at first but growing stronger with each step.Jenna’s stomach clenched, but she kept moving forward.This wasn’t her first encounter with death, not by a long shot, but the smell never became easier to bear.
“There,” Spelling said, pointing through a gap in the trees where the vultures had begun to land, black shapes descending to the forest floor.
As they approached, the stench intensified.Spelling waved his arms, shouting to scatter the birds.They rose reluctantly, heavy wings beating the air as they retreated to nearby branches, watching with patient, hungry eyes.
What they had been feeding on lay in a small clearing—a human body arranged on its back, arms crossed over its chest in a position of repose.A sheet had once covered it completely, but the vultures had torn at the fabric, pulling it aside to expose the flesh beneath.The face was largely intact, confirming what they already suspected—Dean Alcox, author of dark psychological thrillers, lay dead on the forest floor.
Like Marjory Powell, he was naked, his clothes now adorning his mannequin counterpart.Unlike Powell, however, nature had begun its reclamation.The vultures had focused on the softer tissues—the eyes were gone, and portions of the torso showed evidence of scavenging.Yet the positioning was unmistakably deliberate, the body laid out with the same care as Powell’s had been.
“Same MO,” Jake said, keeping his voice clinical despite the gruesome scene.“Body arranged, clothes removed, mannequin placed where the victim would normally be.”
Spelling nodded, surveying the scene with practiced detachment.“Based on decomposition and scavenger activity, I’d estimate he’s been dead three days, maybe four.The medical examiner will give us a more precise timeline.”
“The killer is moving fast,” Jenna observed.“First Alcox, then Powell, now Torres.”
“And he’s not done,” Spelling added grimly.“We need to identify his next target before he strikes again.”
They retreated a few yards from the body, the stench becoming overwhelming in the warming morning air.Spelling radioed for the medical examiner and additional personnel while Jake took photos of the scene, documenting it before the vultures could cause further damage.
Jenna stood slightly apart, trying to process what they’d found.The reality matched her dream with unsettling fidelity—the cabin, the typewriter, the author preserved at his typewriter while his actual body lay discarded in the woods., Spelling approached her.“Sheriff Graves,” he said, his voice low enough that Jake wouldn’t overhear.
Jenna felt her throat tighten.“I told you, Colonel.I made a connection based on research—”
“That’s not the whole truth, is it?”Spelling interrupted, his blue eyes sharp and penetrating.“This isn’t the first time you’ve known things you shouldn’t be able to know.Things that led us directly to evidence no one else could have found.”
She met his gaze, trying to formulate a response that wouldn’t sound completely insane.“I follow the evidence—”
“Evidence that doesn’t exist yet?”Spelling’s mouth quirked in what might have been amusement.“Evidence that led us directly to a body no one knew was missing, in a location few people even know exists?”
Jenna felt heat rising in her cheeks.“Colonel, I—”
“You don’t need to explain,” Spelling said, watching her discomfort with what seemed like enjoyment.“I’ve worked with you long enough to recognize a pattern.With every case, you’ve had insights that couldn’t be explained by conventional investigation methods.”
She remained silent, uncertain how to respond.
