CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The clouds gathering over Wendell Gillis’s farm weren’t natural. Jenna recognized this immediately as she stood in the pasture where the man had once tended his crops. She was fully aware of what this must be, and also that something was terribly wrong.
“I’m dreaming,” she said aloud, testing her lucidity. The words were swept away by the rising wind.
In last night’s dream, sunshine had bathed these fields in golden light.
Now, storm clouds churned, dark and threatening, while lightning flashed in the distance like a warning.
Thunder rumbled across the landscape, vibrating beneath her feet.
Even the air felt different—charged with foreboding like static electricity.
The dream-version of Wendell’s cabin was there atop the hill, dark against the turbulent sky. Wind whipped through his vegetable garden, bending plants nearly to the ground.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the landscape, turning everything stark white for a heartbeat. In that flash, Jenna caught sight of a figure running toward her from the direction of the barn—a man with white hair, moving with desperate urgency.
“Wendell,” she breathed, recognizing the old farmer despite the distance.
“Jenna!” His voice carried to her on the wind, thin and frantic. “She’s in danger! Piper’s in danger!”
Alarm shot through her as Wendell closed the distance between them, his face contorted with fear. He reached for her hands, and unlike in most dreams where physical contact felt muted or wrong, his grip was solid, his skin cold against hers.
“What do you mean?” Jenna demanded, tightening her hold on his weathered hands. “What’s happening to Piper?”
Wendell’s eyes darted toward the storm clouds, which now swirled in an unnatural pattern.
“The darkness found her. Just like I feared.” His words tumbled out, fragmented and scattered like leaves in the wind.
“Couldn’t keep her safe forever. Knew she’d have to face it someday. But not like this. Not now.”
“Face what? Wendell, you have to be clear.” Jenna fought to stay calm, to extract coherent information from the agitated spirit. “Where is Piper? What danger is she in?”
Lightning struck a tree near the edge of the property, splitting it with a deafening crack. Wendell flinched, his grip on Jenna’s hands becoming painful.
“She’s wearing it now,” he said, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. “The connection. The thread between them.”
“Wearing what?” Jenna pressed, struggling to make sense of his fractured warnings.
“The scarf. Your mother’s scarf.” Wendell’s face contorted with the effort to communicate clearly, as if fighting against the storm’s chaos.
Cold dread pooled in Jenna’s stomach. Unlike their previous dream encounter where Wendell had been lucid and articulate, he now seemed to struggle to maintain his coherence, as if the storm was affecting his ability to communicate.
“Wendell, I don’t understand,” Jenna said.
“Find the one who binds with colored thread,” he replied, his eyes losing focus. “She thinks she’s doing what’s right... cleansing the community.” He gripped Jenna’s arm. “The scarf is the key. Find the scarf, find the connection.”
Thunder boomed directly overhead, so loud it seemed to shake the very fabric of the dream. The wind picked up, howling around them, tearing at their clothes and hair.
“Wendell, I need more!” Jenna shouted over the storm. “A name! Where is Piper now?”
But the old farmer was looking past her again, his expression shifting from fear to resignation. “Too late,” he murmured. “She’s already gone to face it. You have to find her before—”
A vibration cut through the dream—not part of the storm, but something external. Persistent. Rhythmic. Pulling at the edges of Jenna’s consciousness.
“No!” Jenna cried, feeling the dream begin to dissolve around her. “Wendell, tell me where to find her!”
“The scarf,” he repeated, his voice fading as he and the farm began to shimmer and distort. “Your mother’s scarf. It was a gift from—”
The dream shattered completely as Jenna jerked awake, her heart pounding. The vibration continued—it was her cell phone buzzing against the wooden surface of her nightstand. The illuminated screen showed the caller: Mom.
Jenna snatched up the phone. She realized she was lying on top of her blankets, still wearing her jeans and shirt from the previous day. Then she remembered that was because she knew she’d have to get up in the wee hours and take over from Jake.
“Mom?” she answered her phone.
“Jenna.” Her mother’s voice was high and tight. “Piper’s gone.”
The words drove the last vestiges of sleep from Jenna’s mind. She sat bolt upright, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“What do you mean ‘gone’?” Jenna demanded, already reaching for the boots she’d kicked off before collapsing onto the covers.
“I woke up a few minutes ago—I thought I heard the front door. When I went to check on Piper, her bed was empty.” Her mother’s voice cracked with fear. “Her medication is still on her nightstand, but she’s not in the house. I’ve checked everywhere. The front door was unlocked.”
Jenna shoved her feet into the boots. “Did you see which way she went? Any idea where she might have been heading?”
“No. I called her name outside, but nothing.” A muffled sob. “God, Jenna, what if she’s having some kind of episode?”
Wendell’s warning echoed in Jenna’s mind. The scarf. Your mother’s scarf. Grasping at the only lead she had, Jenna asked, “Mom, this might sound strange, but I need you to check. Is there a scarf missing? One Piper might have taken?”
“What? Why would—”
"I can't explain right now." Jenna forced herself to take a deep breath. "Just look at it and tell me if there's a scarf missing."
“I have several scarves. They’re all right here in the coat closet.”
“Please, Mom. Just check. It’s important.”
Through the phone, Jenna heard rustling sounds—hangers scraping against the metal rod, her mother’s impatient questions,
“Jenna, what’s this about? How would you know if—” A pause, then, “Yes, there is one missing. The blue and purple one.”
Jenna froze, “Blue and purple?”
“Yes, the one Sophie knit for me five years ago, after your father died. About a year before she...” Her mother didn’t need to finish the sentence. They both knew what had happened to Sophie Bowers.
Sophie Bowers—Elena Bowers’s sister.
In a rush, everything connected in Jenna’s mind.
The photograph she’d seen in Elena’s office yesterday.
Elena and Sophie together, both smiling, arms around each other’s shoulders.
Elena had mentioned her sister during their interview—how Sophie had struggled with mental health issues, how she’d made gifts for people in town before her suicide.
Gifts like a hand-knit scarf for a grieving widow.
The killer who had strangled Derek Sullivan and Amanda Hartford had wrapped their bodies as if they were nothing more than pieces in a twisted artwork. The image of Piper similarly bound made Jenna’s stomach lurch.
“The yarn. She’s using Sophie’s yarn.”
“What? Jenna Marie, you’re not making any sense.”
“The killer, Mom—it’s Elena Bowers. She’s been wrapping her victims in colored yarn that Sophie never got to use.”
Her mother gasped. “But what does that have to do with Piper? They’ve never even met!”
“In spite of that, Piper sensed both murders” Jemma grabbed her keys and rushed toward her front door, phone pressed to her ear. “I’m going to call Jake now. You stay inside, and call me if Piper comes back or if you hear anything.”
“Please find her, Jenna,” her mother pleaded, her voice breaking.
“I will. I promise.” Jenna ended the call and immediately dialed Jake’s number as she unlocked her front door and stepped out into the night. The air was cool against her face, the real world dark and quiet in contrast to the chaotic dream-storm at Wendell’s farm.
Jake answered on the first ring, alert despite the hour. “I was just about to call you,” he said. “I was hoping you were ready to take your shift.”
“Jake, I know who the killer is.” Jenna cut him off, her words tumbling out as she jogged to her car. “It’s Elena Bowers. And Piper’s missing—she could be in danger.”
A beat of silence. “Elena Bowers? The community center director? What makes you think—”
“I don’t have time to explain everything, but it makes sense.
The colored yarn, the murders—they’re connected to Elena’s sister Sophie, who killed herself four years ago.
Piper took my mom’s scarf tonight—the one Sophie knit for her.
I think Piper sensed something and went to confront her.
I need Elena’s home address,” Jenna continued, climbing into her cruiser and starting the engine. “Now.”
She heard Jake typing rapidly on the other end. “Pulling it up... Got it. 1427 Oakwood Drive. That’s in the Hickory Hills subdivision.”
Jenna committed the address to memory as she pulled away from the curb, tires squealing on the empty street.
“I’m heading there now. Call it in, get officers to that address ASAP.
And try to get Elena’s license plate and vehicle information—in case they’re not at the house, we’ll need to look for her car. ”
“On it,” Jake replied, professional efficiency taking over. “I’m leaving now. Should be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll see you there.” Jenna hung up and tossed her phone onto the passenger seat, then pressed the accelerator harder.
The streets of Trentville blurred past her windows as she sped toward Hickory Hills, where Piper might already be in Elena’s grasp.
She forced the thought away, focusing instead on the road ahead.
Find Elena. Find Piper. Stop whatever was about to happen.