Page 3 of In Her Memory

“Biscuit?” the woman called, frowning with concern. “What is it, boy? What’s the matter?”

The barking intensified, growing more frantic.

“I need to know who you are,” Jenna pressed, sensing the woman’s attention slipping away. “Tell me your name. Tell me how I can help you.”

The woman opened her mouth as if to respond, but a sudden gust of cold air caused her candle to flicker wildly. Then her form began to fade, as if the darkness was reclaiming her.

“Wait!” Jenna called out, reaching toward the dimming light.

The woman’s final words were barely audible: “Find who did this... before they—“

Then she was gone, leaving Jenna alone in the darkness once more. But not for long.

A familiar warmth filled the space where the woman had stood, and the quality of the darkness changed, becoming softer, almost comforting. A figure materialized, his edges blurring and reforming as if he wasn’t quite able to maintain a solid presence.

“Dad?” Jenna whispered, her heart constricting with a familiar ache.

Greg Graves stood before her, looking as he had before the illness took him—strong, steady, with that reassuring smile that had always made her feel safe. But now, his expression was quite solemn, his eyes reflecting a concern that transcended even death.

“Jenna Marie,” he said, using her middle name as he always had when the matter was serious. “I don’t have much time. It’s Piper. She’s gone again.”

“What do you mean, gone? She’s at Mom’s house. She’s safe.” The words sounded hollow even as she spoke them, doubt already creeping in.

“I’ve been watching over both my girls, and your mother, too—even from beyond. But Piper... I can’t see her anymore. Something’s pulled her away, hidden her from me.”

“No,” Jenna shook her head, denial rising like a tide. “We just got her back. After twenty years, we finally found her. She wouldn’t just leave again.”

Jenna turned all around, eyes straining to see through the gloom. The ground beneath her feet began to dissolve, the dreamscape collapsing around her. Her father’s voice reached her one last time, faint but unmistakable: “We’ve got to find her, Jenna Marie. Before something terrible happens to her. I’ll keep looking too.”

Jenna’s eyes snapped open, her body jerking upright in bed. Sweat dampened her nightshirt, and her heart hammered as if she’d been running. Morning light filtered through the curtains of her bedroom, the ordinary surroundings a stark contrast to the otherworldly experience still vivid in her mind.

She pressed shaking hands to her face, trying to sort through what she’d witnessed. The woman with the candle had felt distinctly real—a genuine presence reaching out from beyond. Jenna had encountered enough spirits in h not just a figment of her subconscious, but er dreams to recognize the difference. This woman needed help, was searching for someone, for justice perhaps.

Jenna knew that the woman who had appealed for help was already dead—for only the dead appeared to her in these lucid dreams.

But the visit from her father … could he be right about Piper …

The jarring trill of her cell phone cut through Jenna's daze. She flinched, the dream images still so vivid that reality felt like an intrusion. She fumbled across the nightstand to find the vibrating device. One glance at the screen sent a fresh wave of apprehension through her—Mom. Never one for such early morning calls, especially since she’d begun working to stay sober. Something was wrong.

“Mom?” Jenna answered, her voice rough with sleep and concern.

“Jenna!” Her mother’s voice cracked on the single word.

“What’s happened?” she asked, already swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“It’s Piper.” The words came out in a rush. “She’s gone, Jenna. I got up to make coffee, and I thought I’d check on her, and her room was empty.”

The chill that had gripped Jenna upon waking intensified.

“Mom, slow down,” she tried to keep her own voice steady. “When did you last see her?”

"Last night, before she went to bed. You were still here, too."

Jenna had remembered her visit to Mom and Piper last night. Mom had said that Piper seemed “off,” and Jenna had felt the same way. But she hadn’t expected anything like this. Jenna stood, phone pressed to her ear, and began pulling clothes from her dresser with her free hand. “Is anything missing? Her clothes, her bag?”

“Yes... yes. That small backpack she keeps by her bed is gone. And some clothes from her drawer. Oh God, Jenna.” Her mother’s composure finally broke, a sob escaping. “Why would she leave?”

Jenna winced at the raw pain in her mother’s voice. After twenty years of not knowing if Piper was alive or dead, they’d finally found her, brought her home. For the past few months, they’d been rebuilding their family, piece by fragile piece. Piper’s mental health issues were complex—voices that sometimes spoke to her, guided her, tormented her—but she’d been working with Dr. White, taking medication, finding her way back to stability.