Page 28 of In Her Wake
Her bedroom was dark, the digital clock on her nightstand showing 3:17 a.m.in harsh red numerals.She lay still, allowing her pulse to slow, processing what she'd seen.
It wasn’t just a nightmare.She knew the difference by now—had twenty years of experience separating ordinary dreams from these visitations.Marjory Powell was dead.And according to what she’d said, she wasn’t the killer’s first victim.
“I wasn’t the first.And I won’t be the last.”
And if Marjory wasn’t the first, it meant there was at least one other victim she and her colleagues didn’t know about yet.They were dealing with a serial offender, someone who had killed before and would strike again.The case had just become more urgent, more deadly than anyone had realized.
Jenna rolled onto her side, trying to recall any other details from the dream that might help identify the killer.Marjory had said “he,” so they were looking for a man—one more reason not to suspect Liza, or Rebecca Ashcroft, for that matter.She’d also said he “didn’t mean harm,” suggesting he might not view his actions as malicious—perhaps he even believed he was helping his victims somehow.
The mannequin connection was still the most disturbing element.Marjory’s consciousness trapped in a mannequin body, desperate to return to her human form.Was that symbolic of whatever the killer had done to her physical body?Or merely her mind’s way of processing her death, given the mannequin left in her place?
She knew she wouldn’t learn anything more right now.The lucid-dreams visitations never came twice in one night, as if the dead understood the toll they took on her.Jenna sighed and closed her eyes, knowing she needed to rest before morning.Colonel Spelling’s team would arrive early.Somewhere out there, a killer was perhaps already selecting his next victim.
As sleep began to reclaim her, Marjory’s words followed her down into darkness: “I wasn’t the first.And I won’t be the last.”
CHAPTER TEN
Cody Rostow's pickup jolted over the uneven pastureland, headlights cutting weak paths through the pre-dawn darkness.The familiar stench of manure and wet grass filled his nostrils as he rolled down the window, letting the sharp chill of early morning slap him fully awake.Every day for twenty-seven years, he'd risen at four-thirty to check on his cattle before the sun broke the horizon.This morning was no different—steering wheel cold beneath his calloused palms, thermos of coffee wedged between his thighs, eyes scanning the dark shapes of his livelihood dotting the hillsides.
He took a sip of coffee, wincing as it burned the roof of his mouth.The truck’s headlights swept across a cluster of black Angus near the eastern fence line.Cody counted silently, lips moving as he tallied.Sixteen.All accounted for in that section.He made a tick mark on the notepad he kept mounted to his dashboard.
Last week, he'd lost a calf to coyotes.The week before, one of his pregnant heifers had developed an infection.The margins in cattle farming were too thin for losses like that, especially with the drought driving up feed prices.Every morning, he half-expected to find another problem waiting for him.
Cody steered the truck toward the lower pasture, the one that bordered Trentville Creek.The gully that ran through his property was bone-dry most of the year, but the recent rain had left shallow pools reflecting the gradually lightening sky.He counted another twenty-three head near the watering trough, making another mark on his pad.
Something white caught his eye in the gully below the ridge.A flash of brightness against the dull browns and greens of his land.
“What the hell?”he muttered, squinting through the dusty windshield.
Probably just trash blown in from the highway.Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s garbage had found its way onto his property.Fast food wrappers, plastic bags, even a deflated kiddie pool once.People treated the countryside like their personal dumping ground.
Cody considered ignoring it.He still had the north forty to check, and the sun was beginning its slow ascent, a faint pink tinge appearing on the eastern horizon.Whatever it was could wait.
But something about the shape bothered him.Too uniform, too deliberate-looking to be trash scattered by the wind.
“Damn it all,” he grumbled, turning the wheel sharply and directing the truck down the rough path toward the gully.The suspension protested as he navigated over rocks and through patches of scrub brush.
He parked about twenty yards from the white object, the truck’s engine ticking as he cut the ignition.The early morning was quiet, as usual—just the occasional lowing of distant cattle and the whisper of wind through dry grass.
Cody heaved himself out of the driver’s seat, boots landing with a dull thud on the hard-packed earth.The cold air bit through his flannel shirt, and he wished he’d thought to grab his jacket from the back seat.Too late now.Whatever that white thing was, he wanted to check it and get on with his rounds.
As he approached the gully, the white shape resolved itself into what looked like a clean, white sheet spread over something solid beneath it.Something that was disturbingly human-sized.
Cody’s steps slowed, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.Maybe he should call the sheriff first.But what if it was just someone’s laundry that bounced off a truck?He’d feel like a fool calling out law enforcement for that.
The soil grew softer as he neared the gully, his boots sinking slightly with each step.The sheet-draped thing lay in the shallow depression, partially sheltered by the eroded bank.Now that he was closer, the outline was unmistakable—it was a human form, lying flat on its back.
“Hello?”he called, knowing it was useless, but needing to break the oppressive silence.“Anybody there?”
Nothing but the whistle of wind answered him.
Cody approached until he stood directly over the sheet.No movement.No sign of breathing.
His mouth went dry.He should back away, return to his truck, call the sheriff right now.But some terrible compulsion drew him forward instead, the same instinct that made people slow down to look at highway accidents.
He crouched beside the sheet, noticing how carefully it had been arranged.Not thrown or dropped haphazardly, but laid with precision, corners stretched out smoothly.The morning dew had dampened the fabric, making it cling to the form beneath.
Cody's hand shook as he reached for the edge of the sheet, where it covered what had to be the head.He hesitated, knowing that crossing this threshold would change something irrevocable in his quiet life.
