Page 29 of In Her Sights

Jenna pushed away from the desk, stood and stretched, her muscles protesting the long hours of immobility. She walked over to the window and peered out into the night, the town of Trentville bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. It was peaceful, almost idyllic, and for a moment she allowed herself the luxury of considering a different reality—one where disappearances were just stories, and dreams were never prophetic.

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Jenna spoke aloud, more to herself than to Jake. Perhaps there was no thread connecting Mark Reeves to Trentville, no sinister force snatching souls beneath its homely veneer. And yet…

“So where do we go from here?” Jake asked.

Then two words flashed through her mind, as if lit by neon lights.

“Twilight Inn,” Jenna said abruptly, turning toward Jake, her green eyes alight. The name had been echoing in her mind, a call she could no longer ignore. It was another piece of Trentville’s puzzle that beckoned to her.

“Wait, what?” Jake looked at her sharply.

“The Twilight Inn,” she repeated, “We need to take a look around there.”

The Twilight Inn—a place time seemed to have forgotten, its neon sign flickering like a beacon for weary travelers and lost souls. It sat on the outskirts of town right across the highway from Hank’s Derby, a sentinel watching over the comings and goings of those who sought its refuge.

“Why there?” Jake asked, but Jenna could see the readiness in his posture.

“Frank told me Mark stayed at the Twilight Inn during his visit here,” Jenna clarified, her eyes snapping open with renewed focus. “There’s something there, I can feel it. We need to go now.”

Together, they grabbed their notepads and cell phones and locked up the office. They left the building in silence, their steps synchronized as they descended the stairs. Outside, the night was cool and pleasant, the sky overhead a canvas of stars. Jenna led the way to the cruiser, her mind racing ahead to the Twilight Inn—a place that felt like a scrap of the past clinging to the present. She could almost picture it in the darkness, waiting for them with its untold stories, and perhaps holding the key to the riddle that had consumed so many of Jenna’s waking thoughts.

“Anything I should know before we go poking around there?” Jake asked as they drove, the road stretching out before them like a black ribbon.

“Keep your eyes open,” Jenna said, her hands tight on the wheel. “And trust your gut.”

As the cruiser’s headlights cut through the night, illuminating the path toward the decrepit motel, Jenna felt a shiver run through her body. Whether it was anticipation or foreboding, she couldn’t say. Whatever awaited them at the Twilight Inn, she could only hope that it would bring them closer to the answers she was searching for.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jenna guided the patrol car into a space in front of the Twilight Inn, its neon sign flickering weakly against the nighttime sky. The building hunched beneath the weight of years, paint peeling like sunburnt skin, windows reflecting streetlights with a tired gaze—a relic from an era when such places thrived on the hopes of passing travelers. She killed the engine, the sudden silence pressing in on her. What secrets did this old place hold within its worn walls? Could it harbor clues to a mystery that eluded her so relentlessly?

Her hand rested on the ignition key for a moment longer than necessary, her mind racing through the possible outcomes of this impromptu visit. Jenna’s intuition, that unspoken companion, murmured softly, urging her forward even as her rational mind cataloged the odds stacked against them.

Jake made no comment, but she could feel his gaze on her profile, his features undoubtedly mirroring the questions she sensed from him.

“Something on your mind, Jake?” she asked, preempting his questions.

“Well, you could say that,” he replied wryly, though his tone carried an undercurrent of concern. “Now that we’re here, I’m not convinced that this establishment is likely to keep much in the way of records. We could be just wasting our time.”

“Well, besides what Frank told me, let’s just say I have a hunch,” she said, finally turning to meet his questioning eyes. “And you know better than anyone, my hunches often turn out to be right.”

Jake nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. He trusted her, but his need for logical explanations pressedheavily between them. “Then let’s see where this hunch leads us,” he said, and they both stepped out into the cool night air.

The door to the front office creaked as Jenna pushed it open, a bell above announcing their entrance. Dust swirled in the air, visible in the sparse illumination provided by a solitary light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Behind the desk, an elderly man sat hunched over a crossword puzzle, his silver hair thinning and his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. His gaze lifted from the newspaper, and his weathered face creased into a semblance of a smile—or perhaps a grimace—as he took in the sight of the uniformed sheriff and her deputy.

“Evening,” he greeted, his voice rough like sandpaper. “What can I do for you, officers of the law?”

“Good evening,” Jenna replied, her tone professional. “I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves, and this is Deputy Hawkins. We’re looking for information about a guest who might have stayed here around ten years ago.”

The manager’s face was a canvas of years spent overseeing the comings and goings of countless guests, and the lines seemed to deepen as he contemplated her question. His bushy eyebrows rose slightly, skepticism etched in the deep lines of his face. He leaned back in his chair, which groaned under his weight, and regarded her with curiosity.

“Ten years is a long stretch,” he said slowly. “A lot of people come and go. Memories fade.”

Jenna nodded, understanding the difficulty of what she was asking. But she had learned long ago that the past could speak volumes if one knew how to listen—and she had come here hoping that the echoes of history would yield something, anything, to help solve this mystery. Her gift had led her into this line of investigation, and she needed to follow up on it.

Her voice betrayed none of the urgency that pulsed beneath her skin. “I understand that, sir. But by any chance, do you still have records from back then? People who signed in and out?”

The man’s scoff sent a ripple through the musty air of the Twilight Inn’s front office, and he shook his head as if in disbelief. “Nope,” he grunted with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if trying to swat away the absurdity of her request. “No such thing here. Paper gets old, space runs out. We don’t hold onto things nobody comes back for.”

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