Page 59 of In Her Wake
Spelling chuckled softly, the sound incongruously warm against the backdrop of death that surrounded them.“Never mind.I know you’re a psychic.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Jenna stood frozen.Colonel Spelling’s words delivered so casually amid the stench of death and the soft calls of retreating vultures, stripped away years of careful guardianship over her secret.She wanted to believe that she hadn’t heard him correctly, but no, the often stony-faced Superintendent of the Highway Patrol had just told her he knew she was a psychic.
Jake stepped closer, as if to physically shield her from Spelling’s observation.“Colonel, I don’t think—”
“It’s not an accusation,” Spelling said, raising a placating hand.“Quite the opposite.I find it...fascinating.”
Jenna found her voice at last, though it emerged rougher than intended.“I follow evidence and instinct, Colonel…”
“Instinct that consistently provides details no conventional investigation could uncover?”He shook his head.“I’ve worked alongside you long enough to recognize unusual patterns, Sheriff Graves.”
The morning breeze shifted, bringing a momentary reprieve from the smell of decomposition.Jenna glanced toward Alcox’s body, then back to Spelling’s expectant face.Denial seemed pointless now, yet years of careful concealment made the truth stick in her throat.
“How long have you known?”she asked instead.
“Suspected since the Harvesters case,” Spelling replied.“You led us directly to that abandoned mine where they were keeping the girls.No evidence trail, no witness statements—just your ‘hunch.’“ He made air quotes around the final word.“Your work on those ‘full moon’ murders last month cinched it for me.”
Jake shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.“We should get back to the cabin.Forensics will be arriving soon.”
“Of course,” Spelling agreed, but his intense gaze never left Jenna’s face.“We can continue this discussion on the way.”
They began walking back through the woods, retracing their steps toward Alcox’s cabin.The forest felt different to Jenna now—less oppressive, more mundane—as if Spelling’s matter-of-fact acceptance of her ability had somehow normalized the strangeness of the morning.
“To be clear,” Spelling continued as they walked, “I’ve always been interested in cases where psychics have assisted law enforcement.I’ve read everything published on the subject—case studies, academic papers, even the more sensationalist accounts.”
“Most of those are frauds,” Jake muttered, still protective.
"Indeed, they are," Spelling agreed."Charlatans looking for attention or reward money, or meaning well but self-deluded.But a handful—perhaps five percent—have elements that can't be explained away so easily."He ducked beneath a low-hanging branch."Cases where individuals provided specific, verifiable information that they couldn't possibly have known through conventional means."
Jenna remained silent, still processing the fact that her most closely guarded secret had been exposed—and met not with disbelief or mockery, but with something approaching academic enthusiasm.
“I never dared hope I’d actually work with someone who possessed genuine ability,” Spelling continued.“Yet here we are.”A rare smile softened his usually stern features.“And a sheriff, no less.That’s quite remarkable.”
“It’s not as dramatic as you’re making it sound,” Jenna finally said, stepping carefully over a fallen log.“I can’t read minds or move objects or any of that nonsense.”
“Then what exactly can you do?”Spelling asked, his tone suggesting genuine curiosity rather than skepticism.
Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake, who gave her a small nod of encouragement.She took a deep breath, suddenly aware that this conversation marked a turning point.For years, she’d kept her ability hidden from everyone but Frank, and later, reluctantly, Jake.When she’d finally confided in Jake, it had ultimately brought them closer, rather than chasing him away as she’d feared.
“I sometimes have lucid dreams,” she said finally.“And in those dreams, I’m visited by the dead.”
If Spelling was surprised by her admission, he didn’t show it.“The victims come to you?”
“Not always.Not even usually.I can’t control who visits or when.And when they do come, many of them are confused about where they are and what has happened.But they do share whatever they know, and I can usually get something to follow up on.”
“Like Marjory Powell,” Jake added.“She came to Jenna in a dream before we found her body.”
“And Alcox,” Jenna continued, the path widening as they neared the cabin.“Last night, he appeared to me as a mannequin at a typewriter.He told me he was the killer’s first victim.”
Spelling’s expression grew thoughtful.“I’ve never heard of a psychic who worked specifically through dreams, though many claim to communicate with the deceased.”
Jenna felt a weight lifting from her shoulders with each step.Frank had suggested just yesterday that perhaps she should consider widening the circle of those who knew about her gift.At the time, the idea had worried her.Now, she found herself grateful for Spelling’s unexpected understanding.
He paused, watching a cardinal flit between branches above them.“My interest in this phenomenon isn’t just academic, Sheriff.I believe it could be another tool in our investigative arsenal, properly understood and applied.”
They emerged from the denser woods onto the path leading to Alcox’s cabin.Officer Ford stood on the porch, speaking into his radio, presumably updating headquarters on their discovery.Yellow crime scene tape now surrounded the perimeter, fluttering in the morning breeze.
