Page 30 of In Her Sights

He glared at her, his posture unyielding against the backdrop of yellowed wallpaper and faded tourism brochures.

Jenna masked her disappointment with a practiced nod. The absence of records was a setback, yet not an unanticipated one. As a small-town sheriff, she had learned to navigate the often-frustrating voids in data that rural recordkeeping presented. If the physical evidence had long been discarded, perhaps human memory would prove more durable.

“You seem to know this place well,” she commented, her tone more casual and chatty. “Were you perhaps working here during that time? Your familiarity with this place could be very helpful.”

The man paused, his eyes narrowing as he appraised her once more. He seemed to weigh the merit of engaging further, the creak of his chair marking the passage of silent seconds. Finally, he conceded with a slight tilt of his head, “Yeah, I’ve been managing this place since before the turn of the century.”

Jenna felt a flicker of relief. Her intuition, that strange internal compass honed through years of navigating the blurred lines between dreams and reality, suggested she was on the right track. This man was a living archive, a potential key to unlocking tales of the past. Now all she needed was for the man’s recollections to emerge from the fog of a decade’s worth of guests and transients who had passed through the doors of the Twilight Inn.

“I’m hoping you might remember a particular guest—Mark Reeves.” She watched for any flicker of recognition that might cross the man’s features. As she spoke, she summoned the image of Mark from her dream: the buzz cut, the red beard, and especially the tattoo—an intricate pair of wings etched into his skin.

“Medium height, buzz cut, red beard,” Jenna continued methodically, as if presenting evidence to a jury. “He had this distinctive tattoo of wings on his forearm.” She paused, letting the details sink in, then added, “He was a memorable character, a writer, one who probably had stories to tell. Just traveling through, but he did some fishing while he was in Trentville.”

“How do you know …?” Jake hissed, and she glanced at him in time to see the surprise on his face at the vividness of her description.

“Frank described him to me,” she explained quickly.

The manager leaned back in his chair, which groaned under his weight. His eyes seemed to drift into the past as he considered her words. Jenna held her breath, hoping for at least a small shard of memory that could be the key to unlocking a door long sealed shut.

“Reeves,” the man behind the desk murmured, his voice a low rumble that barely rose above the hum of the aged air-conditioning unit. A frown creased his brow as he delved into the recesses of his mind, sifting through transitory faces and forgotten names.

Jenna remained silent, giving him space to recall, hoping beyond hope that the name and description would dredge up more than just a passing recollection. She needed a breakthrough, something concrete to grasp onto in the ever-twisting maze of her investigation. Mark Reeves was a piece of the puzzle—a vital one—and she couldn’t afford to let it slip through her fingers.

The manager’s eyes widened as recognition flickered behind his spectacles. “Red beard, right. Reeves,” he said with a note of surprise that made Jenna lean in closer. “I remember him, alright. Didn’t pay his bill, left a bunch of his things behind in the room. A green duffel bag and an old fishing rod, if memory serves.”

Jenna’s heart skipped at the confirmation—not only had Mark Reeves been here, but his personal effects had been abandoned at this old motel. That was a strong indication that their owner might have disappeared in Trentville, as she had suspected. Besides that, the belongings could hold vital clues or maybe even fingerprints, something tangible to link the past to her present search. “Did you keep those belongings?” she asked, her voice tight with restrained excitement.

Again, the manager’s scoff sliced through the brief silence that followed Jenna’s question. “Keep them? Certainly not,” he grumbled, his aged hands fidgeting with a pen on the countertop. “Those items were taking up valuable space. And why would I store someone’s belongings when they skipped out on their bill?” His gaze held hers for a moment, as if the very idea was preposterous.

Jenna felt the disappointment seep in, a cold undercurrent beneath her initial surge of excitement. She knew better than to expect favors from a man who dealt in nightly transactions rather than sentimental keepsakes. The possibility of Mark Reeves’s duffel bag and fishing rod revealing something crucial now seemed to evaporate into the musty air of the Twilight Inn’s front office.

“Fair enough,” she conceded, masking her dismay with a nod of understanding. “It was a long shot, but worth asking.”

Before another word could be exchanged, the front door creaked open, admitting a weary traveler dragging a suitcase behind him. The man’s entrance was a reminder of the endlessturnover of guests, each with their own stories, none lingering longer than necessary.

“Excuse me,” the newcomer said, approaching the desk. “I need to check in.”

“Of course,” the manager replied, turning his attention to the new arrival with practiced ease.

“Thanks for your time,” Jenna said, offering a polite smile to the manager before motioning to Jake. They stepped out into the night, leaving the dimly lit office behind. The air outside was thick with the scent of summer foliage, and the chirping of crickets accompanied their walk back to the patrol car.

“Leaving his stuff here, that does seem to support your suspicions that this guy might never have left Trentville alive,” Jake remarked quietly as they neared the vehicle, his voice tinted with the frustration Jenna herself felt. “Of course, we still have no proof of anything, nothing really to go on. The old guy’s memory could even be wrong, or he could have been misleading us.”

Jenna was silent for a moment. Jake’s silhouette stiffened beside her, his confusion palpable in the dim light.

“But I still don’t get it, Jenna. Why are you so fixated on this Reeves guy, anyhow? He didn’t even show up in the database of the missing or dead.”

“Sarah and Mark are pieces of the same puzzle,” she insisted. “I can feel it. We’re still missing something crucial here.”

She stared at Jake for a moment. He was rational, grounded in the tangible world, while she navigated realms that defied explanation. They had already searched for tangible leads, grasped at the wisps of decade-old memories, and they hadn’t turned up the evidence they needed. Now Jenna was sure that the truth they sought lay just beyond the reach of conventional investigation.

“Look, I deserve a better explanation than that,” Jake said.

Jenna realized he was right. It was time to open the door to her most closely guarded secret, her gift that blurred the lines between the living and the dead. She hoped Jake would understand, despite the invisible walls that secrecy had built between them.

“Jake,” she began, “there are some things I’ve never told you. But now, it’s critical you know … well, everything.”

She watched him, a frown on his brow as he waited for her to continue. Jenna took a deep breath; the moment of revelation, once so daunting, now seemed like the only path forward. But not here, standing in a motel parking lot. Without another word, she motioned across the desolate road toward the neon lights of Hank’s Derby truck stop.

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