CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jenna snatched up her phone. Rebecca Hartley's face from her dream still lingered in her mind's eye—encased in glass, desperate to escape, not knowing that she was already dead. As she sat up in her bed and took the call, she acknowledged the caller, “Colonel Spelling.”
“Sheriff Graves. I've been monitoring cases that might connect to Claudia Kingsley's death, as promised.”
“You found something.”
“A woman named Rebecca Hartley from Pinecrest was reported missing two days ago. A work colleague called it in when she didn't show up for work and she got no answers on her phone.” Spelling paused. “Given what happened to Ms. Kingsley, I flagged it.”
The name hit Jenna hard. The woman in the glass coffin from her dream—she had called herself Rebecca Hartley.
“Jenna? Are you still there?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes. I'm here.” She steadied herself. “Colonel, Rebecca Hartley is dead.”
Silence stretched between them for three long seconds.
“You saw her,” Spelling said. Not a question.
“In a dream, just before you called. She was in a glass coffin, just like Snow White in that story. She told me her name.”
Since their conversation months ago when Spelling had confronted her about her abilities, these exchanges had become easier, but no less unsettling. Each admission still felt like stepping off a cliff, waiting to see if the ground would rush up to meet her.
“There's more,” Spelling continued. “About an hour ago, a woman walking her dog in Heritage Park came across something on a picnic table. A cake stand with—” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “—what appear to be a pair of lungs and a liver beneath it.”
Jenna's stomach clenched. “Human?”
“The forensics team is making that determination now. Could be animal, could be human.”
The blood in her veins turned to ice. “In the original Snow White story, the huntsman was ordered to bring back Snow White's lungs and liver as proof he'd killed her,” she said, the words tumbling out.
“Instead, he killed a wild boar and brought its lungs and liver to the queen, who ate them thinking they belonged to Snow White.”
“So we're looking at another fairy tale murder.”
“Yes.” Jenna stood, unable to remain still, and moved to the window. Morning light was filtering through the blinds. “Same killer, different story, same twisted logic.”
Spelling's sigh was heavy through the phone. “I'd like you and Deputy Hawkins to meet me at the Pinecrest police station as soon as possible.” He hesitated. “I'm aware of your tense history with Chief Morgan.”
“Tense is putting it mildly,” Jenna said.
Her previous encounters with Pinecrest Police Chief Rudy Morgan had been strained at best, openly hostile at worst. Pinecrest was in Cable County, outside of Jenna’s jurisdiction.
Morgan guarded his turf like a dog with a bone, seeing any outside involvement as an indictment of his capabilities. “He won’t welcome my involvement.”
“He doesn't have much choice in the matter. A potential victim with the same M.O. as your Kingsley case—it's a pattern that crosses jurisdictional lines. I've made that clear to him.”
“And how did he take that?” Jenna asked, already knowing the answer.
“About the way you'd expect.” There was a hint of dry humor in Spelling's voice. “But I outrank him, and he knows it.”
“We’ll manage to deal with it somehow. Jake and I will be there as soon as we can. I'm going to stop by my mother's house first, check in with Piper.”
“Your sister? Has she had any insights?”
“Not that I know of, but with her... sensitivity, it's worth asking.” Jenna didn't elaborate further, though Spelling was one of the few who knew about both her and her sister's unusual abilities. “I'll call Jake now.”
“Good. And Jenna—” Spelling rarely used her first name, the shift in formality drawing her attention, “—we need to move quickly on this. If it's the same killer, they're accelerating.”
“Understood.”
The call ended, and Jenna stood motionless for a moment, processing. Two murders, both staging scenes from classic fairy tales. Both victims women. A pattern was emerging, dark and sinister, like shadows across a once-safe landscape.
She dialed Jake's number, her mind already leaping ahead to what they might find in Pinecrest. As the phone rang, she gathered her clothes and her keys.
She needed to get dressed and out fast, pick up Jake, and see Piper before they left for Pinecrest. Her sister's particular form of sensitivity—her connection to mysterious presence—might offer insights that even Jenna's dreams couldn't provide.
*
Piper stared at the eggs on her plate, pushing them around with her fork.
The yolks had broken, bleeding yellow across the white ceramic.
She took a sip of orange juice, the tartness making her wince.
It was real juice, not the concentrate she'd grown used to during her years away—years when she hadn't been Piper at all, but Emma.
“You need to eat, sweetheart.” Her mother's voice cut through the silence, gentle but insistent. “Dr. White says you need to keep up your strength.”
“I know, Mom.” Piper forced herself to take a bite, the texture of the eggs strange against her tongue.
When she looked up again, she nearly choked.
Across the table, in a chair that should have been empty, sat a doll.
Not a small plaything, but a life-sized figure with a pale white face that gleamed in the light and glass eyes with blue irises that somehow still managed to stare directly into her own.
It was clad in a faded gingham dress that might have once been blue, the pattern reminiscent of frontier clothing.
Its delicate hands rested on the table as if it were another breakfast guest.
And it was moving.
Piper opened her mouth to cry out, but the doll lifted one hand to its lips in a universal gesture of silence. Its head tilted slightly, the movement unnervingly fluid for something that should have been inanimate.
Then the doll spoke to her. “She can't see me,” the doll whispered, its voice a dry rustle like fallen leaves. “No one can. Only you, Emma.”
Piper shook her head slightly, mouthing the word “Piper” without sound.
The doll's head tilted further, an eerily human gesture of disagreement. “No, you're Emma. You've always been Emma. You just forgot for a while. But you'll remember soon enough.”
“Piper? Are you all right?” Her mother was looking at her with concern, completely oblivious to the third presence at their table.
“Fine,” Piper managed. “Just—thinking.”
“Your name is Emma Kirby,” the doll continued, its painted mouth somehow forming words. “You ran away because you knew what you were. What you are.”
Piper gripped her fork tighter. She wanted to deny it, to say aloud that her name was Piper Graves, that she'd only been Emma because she'd been lost, confused. That she was home now. But something in the doll's glass eyes held her silent.
“I understand you,” the doll said, its voice oddly sympathetic. “I know what it's like to bring death and evil wherever you go. To poison everything you touch.”
The accusations struck a chord that vibrated through Piper's entire being. That was her greatest fear, the reason she'd abandoned her identity, her family. Had she been right to run away? Had some part of her really known she was dangerous to others?
“That's not true,” she thought fiercely, fighting the urge to speak aloud. But doubt crept in. She'd had visions of violence before it happened. What if she wasn't just sensing evil—what if she was somehow drawing it to her?
The doll leaned forward against the edge of the table. “They always find you, Emma. The evil follows. You know this.”
As the doll continued talking, insisting that Piper was really Emma, a whisper rose at the edge of Piper's hearing. The sound grew, multiplying, until it seemed like dozens of voices were filling the kitchen, drowning out the doll’s voice until Piper could only see its lips moving.
“The huntsman,” the voices hissed. “The huntsman.”
The chorus swelled louder and louder.
“The huntsman,” they repeated, an urgent warning or terrible promise, she couldn't tell which. “The huntsman.”
The doorbell's sharp ring cut through the cacophony of whispers. Piper jerked in her seat, head snapping toward the sound.
“I'll get it,” her mother said, rising from her chair. “Probably Jenna checking in before work.”
When Piper turned back to the table, the chair across from her was empty. The doll was gone, vanished as if it had never been there, and the voices had fallen silent, leaving only the echo of that strange word in her mind: huntsman.
She heard her mother's greeting at the door, followed by the familiar voices of Jenna and Jake. Their footsteps approached the kitchen, bringing the scent of morning air with them.
“Want some breakfast?” her mother offered. “I've made plenty.”
"No time," Jenna replied. "We've got some new information. Colonel Spelling just called. They found organs—a liver and lungs—in a park in Pinecrest. Nobody yet."
Mom gasped. “Like in the original Snow White Story,” she said.
Standing in the doorway, Jake added, “We need to head straight to Pinecrest.”
Piper looked up at her sister's face, seeing the familiar intensity in those green eyes that matched her own.
“I had a dream last night,” Jenna continued, glancing between Piper and their mother. “A woman named Rebecca Hartley appeared to me. She was in a glass coffin.”
Margaret Graves sank back into her chair, one hand rising to her throat. “A glass coffin? That’s in the Snow White story too—even the milder versions.”
Jake replied, "It's more than just a fairy tale again. A woman by that name is missing. And those organs have been found. Nobody yet."
“The huntsman,” Piper whispered, the connection suddenly clear. In the fairy tale, the huntsman had been ordered to cut out Snow White's heart.
Jenna's gaze snapped to her. “What did you just say?”
“The huntsman,” Piper repeated, louder this time. “I... I heard voices saying it, just before you arrived.”
“Did you have a vision?” Jenna stepped closer, her eyes searching Piper's face. “A visitation of some kind?”
Piper hesitated, remembering the doll's warning gesture not to tell anyone about her. She felt torn between her instinctive trust in her twin and a strange compulsion to keep the doll's existence secret.
“Just voices,” she said finally. It wasn't a lie, not exactly. “They kept saying 'the huntsman' over and over.”
“Did they say who he is? This huntsman?” Jenna pressed.
Piper shook her head. "No. They just kept saying, 'the huntsman, the huntsman.' Whoever he is, he must be important somehow."
“Important in both stories,” Jenna agreed. “One kills a wolf and rescues the people, and one refuses to kill the child, Snow White. The huntsman is a good guy both times.”
“That’s nice,” Piper replied, feeling a touch of relief. “But the voices didn’t say anything about that.”
“We need to go,” Jake said quietly.
Jenna squeezed Piper's shoulder briefly. “Call me if you hear or see anything else, okay? Anything at all.”
They left as quickly as they'd arrived, the door closing behind them with a finality that made Piper shiver. Her mother remained at the table, staring into her coffee cup as if it might hold answers.
Piper pushed her plate away, appetite gone.
The eggs had congealed, cold and unappetizing.
She couldn't shake the doll's words from her mind, the accusation that she brought death and evil with her.
Looking at her mother's worried face, at the empty doorway where her sister had just stood, she wondered if it might be true.
If the doll was right, if she really was Emma—if she really did poison everything she touched—then what danger had she brought home with her to the people she loved?