Page 17 of In Her Dreams
The birds descended without warning.
They poured from the fabric sky like a living waterfall—ravens, crows, hawks, birds of prey that Jenna couldn’t name, their feathers an impossible blend of natural and unnatural colors.The woman screamed as they enveloped her, a sound that pierced Jenna’s core.The birds’ wings beat frantically, creating a whirlwind of feathers that obscured the woman from view.
Jenna lunged forward, hands outstretched.“Hold on!”
For an instant, the woman’s face appeared in a gap in the feathered tornado—mouth open in a scream that could no longer be heard over the thunderous beating of hundreds of wings.
Suddenly, the birds dispersed with a sound like a thunderclap, scattering in all directions.The force of their departure knocked Jenna backward.
Where the woman had stood, there was nothing.
Jenna jolted upright in bed, her heart hammering against her ribs as though it was trying to escape.Sweat cooled on her skin as reality reasserted itself—her bedroom, her sheets tangled around her legs, the first pale light of dawn seeping around the edges of her curtains.
But the feeling remained.The awful certainty.Someone was dead.That woman had been attacked by something and had died violently even before Jenna had heard her call for help—because only the dead could reach her in a lucid dream.She hadn’t witnessed the woman’s death.She’d witnessed its reenactment—the woman’s fear reverberating into her own consciousness.
She reached for her phone, checking the time: 5:47 AM.Early, but not too early to call the station.She dialed, waiting through three rings before a familiar voice answered.
“Genesius County Sheriff’s Office, Officer Mendez speaking.”
“Mendez, it’s Sheriff Graves,” Jenna said, trying to sound more alert than she felt.“Has anything come in overnight?Any calls about...someone found dead?”
A pause on the line.“No, ma’am.It’s been quiet.We had a minor fender bender on Main around midnight, and Mrs.Whitaker complained about teenagers again but nothing else.Everything okay?”
“Just checking,” Jenna said, forcing lightness into her tone.“Had a feeling.”
“You and those feelings,” Mendez said, and Jenna could hear the smile in his voice.Her deputies had learned to respect her hunches, even if they didn’t understand them.Mostly, they avoided asking about them.“Want me to call if anything comes in?”
“Please.I’ll be in the office after my run.”
Jenna hung up and sat on the edge of her bed, the dream images still vivid behind her eyes.The woman.The birds.The overwhelming sense of terror and helplessness.
She pushed herself to her feet.Standing still wouldn’t change anything.Better to move, to run, to clear her head.There had been no time for a morning run yesterday, and she felt the need to get back to a healthier routine.
Jenna dressed quickly in running leggings and a lightweight shirt.She grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen.The actions were already comforting in their familiarity, an anchor in the unsettling waters of her morning.
Outside, the air held the cool bite of early morning.Grantville was still mostly asleep, though lights were coming on in a few houses as early risers began their days.
Jenna stretched briefly on her porch before setting off at an easy pace, her feet finding the familiar path.The steady rhythm of her footfalls on the pavement provided a counterpoint to her racing thoughts.
The dream clung to her, refusing to fade like ordinary dreams did.The details remained sharp—the woman’s face, the birds, the odd environment.Twenty years of these visitations had taught Jenna to parse their meanings, to work on separating symbolic elements from literal ones.Just one thing was consistent: those dreams always featured people who were dead, coming to her with messages or warnings.
The woman in her dream had been taken, at least in her own mind, probably just as Jenna had seen.As sometimes happened, at first she hadn’t even realized that she was already dead.The dream she sent to Jenna was a cry for help that was already too late.
But who was she?There was something vaguely familiar about her face, like someone Jenna might have passed on the street or seen at a community event.
Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket.Jenna slowed to a walk as she pulled it out, checking the caller ID: Melissa Stark.
“Morning, Melissa,” she answered, trying to sound normal despite her racing thoughts.
“Good morning, Sheriff.”Melissa’s voice was crisp and professional as always.“I apologize for calling so early, but I thought you’d want these results as soon as possible.”
Jenna’s pace slowed further.“Richard Winters?”
“Yes.I finished the autopsy and preliminary toxicology last night.Worked late to expedite things, given the...unusual nature of the case.”
“I appreciate that.What did you find?”
“Cause of death was indeed cardiac arrest, as we suspected.Mr.Winters did have an existing heart condition—just a mild arrhythmia, nothing that should have been immediately life-threatening.But what’s interesting is the biochemical picture.”
