IN HER PRAYERS by Blake Pierce

Author:Blake Pierce [Pierce, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-05-06T18:30:00+00:00

Frank nodded, his expression unreadable, but Jake caught the briefest glimmer of recognition in the older man’s eyes. That look – it was more than mere familiarity. It was an acknowledgment of a shared history with the lyrics or perhaps their implications.

The former sheriff’s face lost some color, and he took a long swig of his coffee, his hand trembling ever so slightly. Jake filed the observation away, an important piece of the puzzle they were slowly assembling.

“Any ideas why these songs, Jenna?” Frank asked, as if hoping to glean more from her response. “Why they’d be the ones to come to you in your dream?”

Jenna shook her head, her weariness evident. “Not sure, but there’s always a reason,” she replied.

“I take it there’s more to this story,” Frank said.

Jenna nodded, “Jake and I just visited Melissa Stark at the morgue.”

Jake sat quietly, watching Jenna’s lips move, her voice steady as she recounted the stark atmosphere of the morgue. The chill of the coroner’s office seemed to have followed them into Frank’s cozy kitchen. When Jenna spoke of Dr. Stark’s findings: one body from around 1960, another from about 1990, Jake observed Frank closely; the former sheriff’s stoic face was a mask hiding an internal struggle.

“1960 was before my time as sheriff, but 1990...” Frank’s voice faded into the space between words, suggesting a narrative left unfinished. His eyes shifted away, focusing on a spot in the grain of the wooden table, as if it held the answers he couldn’t articulate.

The silence that settled was telling. Jake sensed the undercurrents of history and regret that lay beneath Frank’s half-spoken sentences. It was more than just the shock of the gruesome discovery; there was a personal connection, Jake felt sure of it. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his own instincts urging him to dig deeper, to understand the significance of Frank’s hesitation.

Before Jake could voice his thoughts, Jenna’s hand flinched, a subtle tremor betraying her tension. She drew in a breath that seemed to pull the morning light into her, steeling herself.

“There’s something else, Frank,” she whispered, her voice low in the quiet room. “I think... I think there must be another body hidden somewhere in the church. The man with the autoharp from my dream.”

Frank’s gaze lifted slowly from the table, meeting Jenna’s earnest eyes. His jaw clenched, a visible sign of the inner turmoil he was wrestling with.

“So you say the date was around 1960 for one of the women?” Frank repeated, almost to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a distant quality to his tone, as if he were reaching back through years, sifting through memories long filed away. A faint crease formed on his forehead, the mark of a man trying to piece together fragments of a past that refused to stay hidden.

Jenna nodded, her expression marked with the vulnerability that came from sharing one’s deepest intuitions.. “But the man with the autoharp... I don’t think he belongs to either time. Not exactly, not in the way we understand it.

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