CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Later that night, Jenna sat in her mother’s kitchen with her wrapped hands around a mug of chamomile tea.
The warmth was a small comfort after the day's darkness.
Across the worn oak table, her mother's face was a map of conflicting emotions—horror at the details of Vivian Crane's confession, relief that the case was closed, and something else—a mother's quiet pride that both her daughters sat at her table tonight.
The plate of homemade cookies between them seemed absurdly normal against the backdrop of murder and delusion Jenna had just described.
“So she just... confessed?” Mom asked, reaching for another cookie. “After everything she did?”
“She did. No lawyer, no demands. Just sat there and explained it all like she was reciting a grocery list. Vivian believes she was protecting children by murdering people who sanitized fairy tales. In her mind, she was restoring some kind of balance—making the world acknowledge darkness so kids would be prepared for it.”
“Those poor victims,” Mom whispered.
Jenna shuddered. “But the doll, Loyalynne—that's what seemed to drive her most of all. Vivian believes Loyalynne speaks to her, guides her. Has since she was a child visiting Ida Billings's house.”
“Sounds like the psychologists will have their work cut out,” Mom said.
“Yes, they will,” Jenna said. “Vivian created an entire mythology around this doll—believed it was her protector, that it could have saved her from childhood trauma if only Ida had let her take it home.”
Mom reached across the table and squeezed Piper's hand. “Well, thank God for you, sweetheart. Without your help, who knows how many more people she might have hurt?”
Piper's smile was thin, her eyes distant. “I just told what I saw. What I heard.”
“You did more than that,” Jenna insisted. “Your communication led us straight to Ida's house. If we'd been even five minutes later...” She didn't finish the thought. They all knew what would have happened.
“Mom's right,” Jenna added. “You saved Ida's life.”
Piper nodded, but her usual spark was missing. The shadows beneath her eyes seemed deeper than they had the last time she’d seen her. The voices and visions that plagued her—that had helped catch a killer—had clearly taken their toll.
“I think I need to sleep,” Piper said suddenly, pushing her chair back. “Today was... a lot.”
“Of course, honey,” Mom said. “You rest. We'll clean up.”
Piper hugged them both—quick, perfunctory embraces—and disappeared from the kitchen. Her footsteps sounded unnaturally heavy, as if each one required deliberate effort.
Mom waited a few minutes before turning to Jenna. “She seems off. More than usual, I mean.”
“It's been an intense couple of days for her. For all of us. But especially for Piper—learning to deliberately use her abilities instead of fighting them.”
“Do you think it's helping her? Working with you on cases?”
Jenna considered this, remembering how Piper had just described the voice that warned her about the fire at Ida's house—urgent but clearer than the confused babble that usually filled her head.
“I think so. It's giving her purpose, a way to channel what happens to her instead of being overwhelmed by it.”
Mom's eyes glistened. “I never thought I'd have both my girls at my table again. And working together...” She shook her head, as if the reality still surprised her.
“We're figuring it out,” Jenna said, squeezing her mother's hand. “Day by day.”
“You're good for each other. You always were.” Mom gathered the empty mugs. “Even when you were little, you balanced each other. You were the cautious one, she was the dreamer.” A soft smile played at her lips.
Jenna felt a pang of tenderness for her mother, who had weathered so much loss only to find herself with her family somehow pieced back together. Different, damaged, but whole in a way that once seemed impossible.
“I should get home,” Jenna said, standing. “Tomorrow will be a long day. Paperwork doesn't file itself, even after you catch the bad guy.”
Mom walked her to the door. “You know you're always welcome to stay.”
“I know, Mom.” Jenna hugged her. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Jenna Marie. Drive safe.”
The night air hit Jenna like a splash of cold water as she walked to her car. Stars pierced the October sky, impossibly bright against the darkness.
As she drove through Trentville's empty streets, past shuttered storefronts and darkened houses, the town slept around her, peaceful and oblivious.
But Jenna knew better. She'd seen too much in her years as sheriff, heard too many whispers from the dead in her dreams. Trentville's quaint exterior masked secrets—old grudges, buried sins, things that festered in the dark until they erupted in blood and pain.
Vivian Crane was locked away, but evil had a way of seeping through the cracks in this town. Jenna felt it like a coming storm, a pressure in the air before lightning struck. Whatever darkness came next, she would face it—with her badge, her wits, and her own strange communion with the dead.
She felt grateful for her family and friends, and most of all for Jake, the partner who supported her through everything—and with whom she shared tender feelings that they might someday be able to fully express to each other.
*
The roar of flames jerked Piper from sleep, her body rigid before her eyes even opened.
It was the same sound she'd heard before—a hungry, living thing that consumed everything in its path.
Her eyelids snapped open to find her bedroom transformed.
Fire licked the walls, crawled across the ceiling, danced around the bed—yet nothing burned.
No heat scorched her skin, no smoke filled her lungs.
Just the endless, impossible fire, painting the night in shades of amber and gold.
“Not again,” Piper whispered. “Please, not again.”
The flames parted like a curtain, and through their veil stepped the doll she had seen yesterday morning at the kitchen table, made of porcelain and cloth, but her china-blue eyes bright with life. Her painted lips curved into a smile that seemed almost kind.
“Don't be afraid, Emma,” the doll said, her voice like music. “The flames won't hurt you. They've set me free, and now I'm here to set you free too.”
“My name is Piper,” she insisted, but her voice lacked conviction. “Piper Graves. I told you that before. Who are you?”
The doll’s laughter tinkled like glass wind chimes. “You already know me, Emma. I’m Loyalynne.”
Piper gasped. Her sister had just mentioned that name. The woman they’d arrested … the doll that was burned …
“What are you doing here?” Piper demanded.
The doll perched at the foot of Piper's bed, smoothing her old-fashioned dress with delicate hands. She ignored Piper’s questions.
“Oh, Emma. You don't understand how dangerous this dream of yours has become.” Loyalynne's face grew serious, her perfect features settling into an expression of concern. “This fantasy world you've created—it's not real. None of it is.”
“What are you talking about?” Piper pressed herself against the headboard, trying to create distance between them. But now Loyalynne moved toward her and reached out, almost touching Piper's trembling hand.
“Emma, listen to me,” the doll said. “Your mother, all of these people—they exist only in your imagination. You created them because you were lonely. Because you needed somewhere to hide.”
“No.” Piper shook her head. “I'm Piper Graves. I ran away from my family when I was sixteen. I—”
“You're Emma Kirby,” Loyalynne corrected gently. “You've been Emma for so long now. And this dream you've been having—this fantasy about being someone's lost sister—it's hurtful.”
The flames danced higher around them, casting grotesque shadows across the walls. Piper felt sweat bead on her forehead, even though the fire gave off no heat.
“These dream people of yours,” Loyalynne continued, “they suffer just like real people. They hurt and bleed and die. And you, Emma—you have nothing to offer them except pain.”
“That's not true,” Piper whispered.
“Isn't it? Two people are dead. A third almost died. All because of your dream.” Loyalynne's eyes were hypnotic pools of blue. “How cruel to let this continue when you know what happens to the people you imagine loving you.”
Piper felt her resistance crumbling. The world seemed to shift and blur around her. She thought of the visions, the voices—were they messages from beyond, or symptoms of a fractured mind?
Her gaze turned to the side table where she kept the brooch—her anchor, her talisman. If she could just hold it, feel its weight, maybe she could ground herself in what was real.
She lunged for it, fingers closing around the cool metal and weathered stone. But instead of the rush of clarity she expected, there was... nothing. The brooch lay inert in her palm, just a piece of old jewelry, powerless and ordinary.
“It won't help you anymore,” Loyalynne said, watching her with knowing eyes. “It's time to let it go, Emma. That brooch does nothing but chain you to a life that isn't yours, but you’re breaking free of all that now.”
Piper stared at the once-comforting object. Patricia had given it to her at the Lost and Found Collective, back when she still called herself Emma.
“You should throw it away,” Loyalynne suggested, her voice lilting and persuasive. “Take it back to where your false 'sister' found it—that well in Whispering Pines Forest. Throw it in, just like you did years ago. That will release you from this dream once and for all.”
“The well,” Piper murmured. Memory flashed before her—running through trees, heart pounding, the dark mouth of an abandoned well. The weight of the brooch in her palm before she let it fall into the darkness below.
“Yes,” Loyalynne smiled. “You remember. We need to go there tonight, Emma. Right now.”
“How?” Piper asked, her voice small and faraway. “How do we get there?”
Loyalynne laughed again. “I can't do all your thinking for you. Surely you can figure that out yourself.”
Piper's thoughts drifted, sluggish and disjointed. If she took the car, her mother would surely hear …Then a flash of inspiration—the old bicycle in the garage. Her mother had kept it all these years, unable to part with anything that had belonged to her missing daughter.
“I could ride there,” she said slowly. “Use my old bike. It would take maybe an hour.”
“Perfect.” Loyalynne clapped her hands in delight. “And after, we'll just keep going. No more pretending to be Piper Graves. No more letting these dream people suffer because of you.”
Piper—no, Emma—slipped out of bed. With mechanical movements, she pulled on jeans and a sweater, then stuffed a few essentials into a small backpack. The brooch she wrapped in a tissue and tucked into her pocket.
The flames still licked at the walls, but they parted to reveal the bedroom door. Loyalynne glided ahead, leading the way through the darkened house. Emma followed, her footsteps silent on the carpet.
She passed her mother's room without a backward glance. What was there to look back at? A figment, a ghost, a woman she'd invented to fill the hole in her heart.
The night air hit her face as she eased the front door closed behind her. Stars winked overhead, witnesses to her escape. The garage door squeaked slightly as she raised it, revealing the dusty blue bicycle leaning against the far wall.
Emma pulled it out, the familiar shape of the handlebars fitting her grip like they'd been waiting for her all these years. Even the tires look okay. Loyalynne stood beside her, radiant in the moonlight.
“They'll be better off without you,” Loyalynne assured her. “And you'll be free.”
“Where will we go after the well?” Emma asked, straddling the bicycle.
Loyalynne's smile was dazzling, full of impossible promises. “Everywhere. Anywhere. We'll wander the world together, just you and me. I'll keep you safe, Emma. I'll be the only voice you ever need to hear again.”
Emma heart felt lighter than it had been in years. With Loyalynne beside her, she pushed off into the night, leaving Piper Graves and all her burdens behind.