Page 4 of In Her Memory

“Try to stay calm, Mom,” Jenna said. “We’ll find her.”

She ended the call and immediately dialed the number of her friend and mentor, Frank Doyle. Trentville’s former sheriff picked up on the second ring, his voice alert despite the early hour.

“Sheriff? What’s got you calling at the crack of dawn?”

“Frank,” she said, relief washing through her at the sound of his steady voice. “It’s Piper. She’s gone missing from Mom’s house overnight. I need you to meet me there.”

A brief pause, then: “When you say missing—“

“Left on her own, looks like. Took some clothes, a backpack.”

“Any idea where she might be headed?” Frank asked, and Jenna could hear movement on his end as he got up.

“No, but...” She paused, considering how much to share. Frank knew about her ability, had believed in it when few others would have. “I had a dream last night. My father was in it. He warned me that Piper was gone, that he couldn’t see her anymore.”

Frank didn’t question it, didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be at your mother’s house in fifteen. We’ll figure this out, Jenna.”

“Thanks, Frank,” she said, grateful not just for his help but for his unwavering acceptance of her unusual gift.

As she ended the call, Jenna grabbed her jacket and car keys. Another image from her dream surfaced—the desperate woman with the candle, searching for her attacker. Could the two mysteries be connected? But Piper had to come first. Twenty years of separation had taught Jenna the importance of family.

A few minutes later, Jenna’s patrol car crunched to a halt on the driveway of her childhood home. The early morning sun cast long shadows across the familiar lawn, illuminating the garden beds her mother had so carefully restored during her journey toward sobriety.

Frank’s truck was already parked at the curb, its aged frame as reliable and steady as the man himself. Jenna stepped out of her car, dread settling in her stomach like a cold stone. Twenty years ago, she’d lost her sister from this very house. The possibility of history repeating itself was almost too much to bear.

Frank was waiting on the porch, his tall frame silhouetted against the morning light. His weathered face bore lines of concern, but his eyes held the steady reassurance that had guided Jenna through countless crises. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt, hastily thrown on but still lending him an air of competence.

“You got here fast,” Jenna said, climbing the familiar steps.

“Didn’t want you facing this alone. Your mother’s pretty shaken up.”

Jenna steeled herself before opening the door and leading the way to the kitchen. Her mother sat at the kitchen table; hands wrapped around a mug that appeared untouched. When she looked up at Jenna, her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow.

“After everything we’ve been through to find her, to bring her home, to help her get well—why would she leave? Why now?”

The question was unanswerable. Jenna exchanged a glance with Frank, who stood quietly by the doorway.

Jenna gave her mother a hug, then turned, professional instincts kicking in. “I’m going to check her room.”

She climbed the stairs, each step familiar yet feeling strange under these circumstances. Piper’s childhood room—preserved all those years and now finally occupied again—was at the end of the hall. The door stood open, revealing a space that was tidy, although the bed was unmade. It appeared that Piper had woken up during the night and simply decided to leave.

Then Jenna scanned the room. As Mom had said, a few things were missing: the small backpack was gone, along with—Jenna checked the drawer—several changes of clothes. But the bottle of medication prescribed by Dr. White still sat on the nightstand, nearly full. Jenna picked it up, checking the label. These were the pills that Piper had been taking to help control the disembodied voices she heard, to keep her anchored in reality. If she’d left without them...

She couldn’t have gotten very far, Jenna tried to reassure herself.

Unless …

A terrible possibility occurred to her. She turned and hurried back downstairs, past her startled mother and Frank.

“Jenna, what is it?” Frank called after her, but she was already moving through the kitchen toward the door that led to the garage.

The space inside was dimly lit by a single window coated with dust. Since Margaret Graves hadn't kept a car in recent years, lawn equipment filled the open area while holiday decorations and other accumulated household items lined the walls. In a back corner, leaning against one wall, was an empty space where something had been—something approximately the size and shape of a bicycle.

“She’s taken her bicycle,” she told Frank as he appeared in the doorway behind her.

Frank stepped into the garage, his eyes tracing the empty space where the bicycle had been. “Then God knows how far away she might have gotten by now. But why? Why did she go?”

“Something—or someone—lured her away,” Jenna said. “The Piper who came back to us wouldn’t just leave. Not without saying goodbye, not without her medication.”