Page 28 of In Her Memory

Finally, she came to rest on her back, staring up at the clear blue sky, gasping for breath. Her body screamed with fresh pain, but a quick mental inventory told her nothing was broken. Just new bruises to add to her collection.

The train continued its slow journey down the tracks, unaware or uncaring of its departed passenger. Emma lay still for a moment, letting the world stop spinning around her. Then she pushed herself up onto her elbows, scanning the area for Loyalynne.

The doll stood a few feet away, unnaturally steady despite the rough terrain. Her glass eyes reflected no concern for Emma’s well-being, only calm certainty.

“We’ll walk three miles back the way we came,” Loyalynne said, as if continuing a conversation they’d been having. “We’ve got to keep changing directions, make ourselves impossible to follow.”

Emma let out a bitter laugh. “Of course we do,” she said, wincing as she got to her feet. Her right hip throbbed where she’d landed hardest, and her palms were scraped raw from trying to break her fall. She brushed dirt from her clothes, more out of habit than any hope of looking presentable.

She started walking toward the dirt road, her backpack feeling heavier with each step.

They reached the road, its surface hard-packed dirt rather than asphalt. No tire tracks marked its surface, suggesting it wasn’t frequently used. Good for avoiding detection, bad for the possibility of catching a ride.

Emma’s stomach cramped with hunger. She dug into her backpack and retrieved a half-sandwich, unwrapping it carefully to avoid losing a single crumb. It had been given to her by the last woman she’d done lawn work for earlier. Grilled cheese, slightly warm from hours in her pack, but still edible. She ate slowly, making each bite last, washing it down with sips of water.

They walked in silence after that, following the dusty road back in the direction the train had come from. The landscape offered little variation: fields giving way to occasional clusters of trees, hills rising and falling in gentle waves. No houses, no people. Just empty land and open sky.

When they reached a fork in the road, Emma paused. The main path continued straight ahead, while a narrower track branched off to the right, disappearing into a stand of trees.

“The right fork,” Loyalynne said.

Emma hesitated, looking down both paths. “Where does it lead?”

“Eventually? To safety.”

“I’d settle for a shower and a real meal,” Emma muttered, but she turned right, following the smaller path into the shadows of the trees.

As they walked deeper into the wooded area, Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that this chase—this endless running—was leading her in a circle. Not physically, perhaps, but spiritually. As if she’d been here before, made these same choices, followed these same cryptic instructions from a doll that shouldn’t be able to speak.

“Loyalynne,” she said softly, “are you sure you’re leading me toward safety and not deeper into danger?”

The doll, walking several paces ahead now, didn’t turn around. “Those two things,” she said, her voice carrying clearly despite her small size, “are not always as different as you might think.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jenna’s eyes burned from fatigue, but she kept them fixed on the road ahead, because looking back only deepened the ache. Three hours of interviews in Clarksboro had yielded nothing but dead ends, along with sympathetic glances from Colonel Spelling and Chief Esterhaus. It was well into the afternoon now. A whole day was slipping away without finding Piper.

“We’ll keep looking,” Spelling had assured her as they’d parted ways. “The trail doesn’t just end with her last lawn job. People don’t vanish that easily.”

But Jenna knew better. People did vanish. Her sister had vanished twenty years ago, and now she’d vanished again.

The three residents Piper had done yard work for had offered consistent descriptions when Jenna told them she was looking for her sister: a quiet woman, a hard worker, kept to herself, never mentioned where she was staying or where she might go next. She'd said her name was Emma Kirby. One elderly woman had given Emma a bag of homemade cookies as a thank-you, and she'd seemed genuinely touched by the gesture.

“Hitchhiking makes no sense,” Spelling had said as they’d stood in the Clarksboro police station’s parking lot. “That would make her too visible. Every gas station, every diner—someone would remember her.”

Esterhaus, the Clarksboro police chief, had added, “Maybe she caught a freight train. We still get a fair number passing through. Easy enough to hop on without being noticed.”

They’d promised to check with the rail companies, to review security footage from the small freight yard on the edge of town. But the words had rung hollow to Jenna. Too many maybes. Too many possibilities stretching away in all directions.

Before she’d driven out of Clarksboro, she’d called Frank to check up on Mom and give them an update. Frank assured her that Mom was doing as well as could be expected.

Jenna eased her foot off the accelerator as she approached the “Welcome to Trentville” sign. The familiar sight usually brought a sense of comfort after a long day. Not today. Today, it only reminded her that she was here and Piper was not.

She navigated through town, passing storefronts with their afternoon displays—hardware store, bakery, antique shop. Normal life continued while her own remained suspended in uncertainty and worry. A few pedestrians glanced at her sheriff's vehicle, some raising hands in greeting. She returned the gestures mechanically, her mind still in Clarksboro, still searching.

The station’s parking lot was half-full when she pulled in. She cut the engine and sat in silence for a moment, gathering the fragments of herself. She needed to compartmentalize, to set aside Piper and focus on Donna Marsh now. Lives depended on her ability to shift between personal grief and professional duty.

The front desk sat empty as Jenna entered, but Hugh Clancy’s voice drifted from the break room. She could hear him talking on the phone, his tone light and casual—probably personal, then. She didn’t interrupt, just raised a hand in acknowledgment when he spotted her and headed straight for her office.