Page 12 of In Her Path

Piper paced the length of the living room, her socked feet silent against the worn carpet. Frank Doyle—the former sheriff and family friend—would soon arrive to drive her to her appointment. She’d been ready since breakfast, dressed in jeans and a soft sweater. The waiting was making her restless, her skin prickling with nervous energy she couldn’t shake.

She paused at the window, staring out at the quiet street. Mom’s neighborhood had always been peaceful. Nothing like the restless darkness Piper had once seen everywhere, the shadows that had convinced her she needed to run.

She pressed her palm against the cool glass, wondering what Jenna was doing right now. Probably at the crime scene, collecting evidence, asking questions. Her twin sister working the case while she sat here, useless.

The pills in her system kept her stable but dulled the edges of her senses. No voices or visions had come for about a week now. Dr. White said that was to be expected, that they were prioritizing her mental stability over her unusual perceptions. But without her abilities, what good was she? Why had Jenna tracked her down after all these years if not to use the gift they shared?

The sound of a car arriving pulled her from her thoughts. Frank’s old pickup pulled into the driveway. Piper grabbed her purse from the coffee table and called out, “Mom! Frank’s here!”

“I’m in the kitchen,” her mother called back.

Piper found her by the sink, washing a coffee mug. Mom had aged since Piper had left home twenty years ago—her once-dark hair now shot with silver, her face lined with the twin burdens of grief and time. But there was color in her cheeks now, and her hands were steady as she dried the mug and set it in the dish rack.

“Do you need anything while we’re out?” Piper asked.

Her mother shook her head. “Just to know you’re taking care of yourself. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

The doorbell rang before Piper could respond. She pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek and headed for the door. Frank stood on the porch, a tall figure in a leather jacket and jeans. His white hair caught the light, and the lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled at her.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Pretty much.” Piper stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her.

They settled into the car, Frank adjusting the rearview mirror before backing out of the driveway. The radio was tuned to a classic rock station, the volume low enough for conversation.

“How are you holding up?” Frank asked as they turned onto Main Street.

Piper shrugged. “I’m fine. Just frustrated.”

“About the voices?”

“About everything.” She watched the storefronts slide by—Meyer’s Hardware, the Five & Dime, Dan’s Diner with its retro neon sign. All so familiar, yet strange after so many years away. “Jenna won’t let me near this new case.”

“She’s worried about you,” Frank said, his eyes on the road. “We all are.”

“I know.” Piper sighed. “But sitting on the sidelines when I could be helping...” She trailed off, not sure how to explain the hollow feeling in her chest.

Frank was quiet for a moment, navigating a turn onto Oakridge Drive. The silence stretched until Piper broke it.

"Jenna told me about your grandmother," she said. "Esther. She said she had the sight too."

"Jenna talked to you about her?"

"Just in passing. Said knowing about your grandmother helped her understand what she was dealing with." Piper turned to look at him. "What was she like?"

Frank kept his eyes on the road, but something shifted in his expression. "Esther? She was... practical about it. Didn't make a fuss. She saw things, warned people when she could, and let the rest go."

"Did she ever talk to you about it? When you were growing up?"

"Some." Frank accelerated, the hospital coming into view down the street. "She used to say there was a darkness in Trentville. Old, patient. That it woke up from time to time."

Frank paused, as if thinking back.

“She died when I was twenty, but I remember her clearly. Small woman, big presence. She’d wake in the night, talking to people who weren’t there—people who’d been dead for decades. And she knew things. Things she couldn’t possibly have known in any ordinary way.”

Piper felt a prickle of interest. “Like what?”

“She predicted my father’s heart attack three days before it happened. Told my mother exactly which drawer he kept his insurance papers in, though she’d never been to seen where we kept them.” Frank’s voice took on a reverent quality. “But it was her warnings about Genesius County that really stuck with me.”