Page 3 of In Her Mind

Jenna’s breath caught as she watched the air itself carve into that wound, invisible fingers etching initials into the scarred wood with methodical precision. “MT + GN” appeared first, characters deeply grooved into the scar of the ancient oak.

Before Jenna could consider the meaning behind those initials, a harsh line scored through them, obliterating the union with a swift slash. Then fresh letters began to form: “JD + SP.” They were meticulous, every stroke deliberate, cut with fury by an unseen weapon guided by an unseen hand.

“Who are they?” Jenna asked the young woman, but she received no answer. Instead, another pair of initials was carved, and then another, each set eradicated as quickly as they had appeared. The randomness of the act confounded Jenna’sanalytical mind, the logic that served her so well in waking life now scattered in this realm of dreams.

“He’s very angry. I didn’t know how angry,” the young woman murmured, her voice trembling.

The initials continued to change, a relentless dance of letters that twisted and turned, a macabre waltz of identities lost and discarded. Jenna felt a cold realization that somewhere beyond this dream lay a mystery she needed to solve. She knew this was a message, a puzzle meant for her and her alone, born from her psychic ties to the dead.

“Angry about what? Who is he?” Jenna pressed, though she expected no clear response. The young woman’s form flickered like a flame starved of oxygen, her features still frustratingly indistinct.

Jenna’s pulse quickened at the distant horn, a sound that seemed to echo from both the dream and some far-off memory. “We need to leave,” the woman said with urgency, pulling Jenna’s attention back to the present danger. Without questioning why, Jenna followed the spectral figure deeper into the forest, gripping a flashlight she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The fog hung heavy around them, swallowing the weak beam of light as they navigated through dense underbrush. The trees loomed large in the dimness, their shapes merging with the mist to create an otherworldly tableau. Emerging onto a gravel road, Jenna noticed how it stretched indefinitely in both directions, barren and forlorn. “This must be where it started,” the woman murmured, gazing down the path with an expression that Jenna could only interpret as one of regret or loss.

“Started? What are you talking about?” Jenna pressed, though she anticipated no straightforward answer. The woman glanced at her, eyes filled with an unfathomable depth of sorrowand confusion before the train’s whistle cut through the silence once more.

In an instant, the peaceful stillness shattered. A locomotive’s light pierced the fog, barreling towards them with alarming speed. Jenna’s instincts screamed at her to dive out of the way, to haul the woman to safety, but a paralyzing terror rooted her to the spot. Her emerald eyes, usually bright with determination, now reflected the stark white beam of the oncoming engine.

“Move!” Jenna’s mind willed her body to respond, but it was as if the dream had its own grip on her, dictating the rules of reality within its confines. She looked over at the woman, expecting panic, yet found only a detached curiosity there, as if she were merely an observer rather than a participant in the impending catastrophe.

“Come on!” Jenna managed to croak, reaching out to pull the woman with her. But her hand passed through the apparition’s arm, grasping nothing but the damp night air. The ground beneath her feet trembled with the approaching roar, a vibration that resonated with a deep-seated fear Jenna couldn’t quite place.

Was this the end? Would the train barrel through them, bringing an abrupt close to the dream? Or was something else at play, a deeper meaning to this relentless pursuit? Jenna’s analytical mind raced, dissecting the situation even as the headlights bore down on them.

Jenna stood frozen, waiting for the inevitable collision, or perhaps, the revelation that would come with it.

As the spectral locomotive’s light cut through the fog, an eerie tranquility settled over the woman beside Jenna. “Strange, nobody ever comes this way anymore,” she remarked, her voice steady in the noise of the oncoming train.

“Listen to me,” Jenna insisted, her sheriff’s instincts surging despite the dream’s surreal nature. “We need to move now!”

The woman turned to her with a serene smile, her form wavering like a candle flame in a gentle breeze. “Oh, no. This is not how I die. And it’s not how you die, either. It’s time for you to wake up.”

Before Jenna could respond, the woman’s presence waned, her image flickering like a candle threatened by a growing breeze. Jenna reached out instinctively to grasp what remained of the encounter, but her fingers closed around nothing but the damp, cool air of the dreamworld that abruptly dissolved into nothingness.

Jenna’s eyes snapped open to a familiar ceiling. Her breathing was heavy, her chest tight as she sat up in bed, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. She glanced at the simple digital clock on her nightstand—it read 6:00 AM, its numbers glowing softly in the dimness of dawn.

The chill from the dream still clung to her, seeping into the silence of her bungalow. Jenna swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet meeting the cold hardwood floor. As the fog of sleep cleared from her mind, sharp fragments of the dream lingered—cryptic messages, the carve marks on the tree, and the woman’s calm demeanor in the face of impending doom.

There was something unsettlingly familiar about the rhythm of that dream, a pattern that mirrored the cadence of her life since her sister Piper’s disappearance. Each dream, each encounter with the departed, had led Jenna to true stories, their meanings often obscured until the light of day cast clarity upon them.

She stood, moving mechanically to prepare for the day ahead, her movements betraying none of the turmoil within. But as she dressed, the conviction that had been forming in the back of her mind crystallized. The dream wasn’t just a random assembly of subconscious fears; it was a harbinger, a prelude to the troubles that lay ahead—perhaps even a premonition.

CHAPTER TWO

Jenna was perched on a vinyl seat at the Sunflower Café in Trentville. The aroma of freshly baked pastries and brewing coffee created a warm, inviting atmosphere that contrasted with the unease she was feeling. She checked her watch; time was inching toward her duty hours as Sheriff of Genesius County, Missouri, and the seat across from her was still empty.

With a sigh, Jenna put down her mug of black coffee, then pulled out her phone and dialed her deputy. “Morning, Jake. I’m gonna be a bit late today—meeting with Mom,” she said, keeping her tone even as she glanced towards the door again.

“Good to hear you’re patching things up,” came Jake Hawkins’s voice, his approval apparent even through the phone’s tinny speaker. “Take your time, Jenna. After what we’ve been through lately, a family breakfast is important. I’m on my way to headquarters right now. I’ll alert you to any emergencies. But unless someone decides to start stealing garden gnomes again, I think we’ll manage without you for an hour or more.”

Jenna couldn’t help but smirk. The possibility of gnome thefts was certainly more appealing than the grisly case she and Jake had recently solved.

“Thanks, Jake. I appreciate it,” she murmured, ending the call with a tap. She placed the phone back on the table and took a slow sip of her coffee. The Sunflower Café hummed with the soft chatter of patrons and the clinking of silverware against plates. In the quiet lull of the café, Jenna’s mind was soon drawnelsewhere, ensnared by the remnants of the dream that she couldn’t quite put into the right order.

“He’s very angry,” an unidentified woman with fear in her eyes had told her. The warning had been cryptic, giving no hint about who might be angry or be the target of such wrath. There had also been an oak tree where initials were carved, letters altered again and again by an unseen hand. And she’d heard a freight train’s horn, a sound out of place. It had barreled towards her, not on steel rails but tearing along an unpaved country road, relentless in its pursuit. The symbolism was lost on her, but the sense of imminent peril was unmistakable. Jenna knew that her subconscious was painting a picture, a message she was meant to understand but couldn’t yet grasp.

She took another sip of her coffee, feeling the warmth course through her. Yet it did little to thaw the chill that had settled in her bones. In her dreamscape, Jenna was not merely an observer; she was an active participant in a world just as vivid and complex as the waking one. These were no ordinary dreams; they were puzzles given to her by the departed. And Jenna could not—would not—ignore them.

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