Murder at Sunrise Lake

“Why would you have nightmares when you were such a little girl, a five-, six-and seven-year-old? Then again when you were a teenager? You were a teen when you began having those same nightmares again, Stella. You were in a foster home, in high school, getting good grades, powering through school, and suddenly it was happening all over again. You knew there was a serial killer before anyone else. The nightmares started when you were fifteen, but no one believed you but your foster mother. She took you straight to the cops.”

“She was pretty cool. I don’t know what I would have done without her. My world had spun completely out of control when my birth mother committed suicide and I was put in foster care. She was the emergency home, but she ended up keeping me permanently. I don’t know why I was such a mess.”

Stella hadn’t thought about those early days ever. She never let herself go back to the time when, at nine, she’d found her mother dead from a mixture of alcohol and pills. Anne Fernandez was wearing her best dress, her makeup and hair perfect. She even had on her favorite pair of silver heels and the jewelry she loved most.

“My foster mother, Elizabeth Donaldson, had a dog, a great big bear of a dog, and she let him sleep in my room every night. She was the most amazing woman. By that time I didn’t trust anyone, especially adults, but she didn’t seem to mind when I refused to talk or give anything of myself to her. When I did start opening up, little by little, she always listened. She stopped whatever she was doing and acted like it was the most important thing in the world to hear me out. She never dismissed a single thing I said. Eventually, we had discussions. I didn’t know what a discussion was until she so very patiently taught me. So, to answer your question, when I told her about the nightmares, she believed me and took me to the cops. They didn’t believe me.”

“Even though they knew who you were?”

“Especially because of who I was. I was a girl in high school who wanted attention. What a perfect way to get it, right? Because what girl wanted to bring that kind of attention to herself?” Stella tightened her arms around herself. “I detest looking into my past. Others might have bright, happy memories, but mine suck.”

“Not all of them,” Raine pointed out. “You had Elizabeth Donaldson as a foster parent. She sounds like she was a lovely woman.”

Stella had to concede that point. She was guilty of trying to block those memories in order to close the door on her previous life, the life of Stella Fernandez. She had started her life in college as Stella Harrison and just moved forward from there. She hadn’t meant to leave Elizabeth behind. She’d only changed her name and used her trust fund after Elizabeth died from breast cancer. She’d stayed with her until the very end. It had been Elizabeth who had discussed the possibilities of legally changing her name. She owed everything to her foster mother and yet she’d left her behind.

“I did have Elizabeth and have so many memories of her. Even when she was so sick, she was sick with such dignity and grace. I was terrified of losing her.” Stella blinked back the sudden tears. “Thank you for reminding me, Raine. I don’t want to lose any of the memories I have of her. She taught me so much.”

Raine nodded. “I’m glad you had her, Stella.” She took a visible breath. “She faced life head-on and I see that in you. She gave that strength to you, didn’t she?” Her voice was very gentle, compassionate even, but there was no hiding from her observations.

“I see where you’re going with this.” Stella rubbed at the goose bumps rising on her arms. “I’ve thought about the why of my nightmares a million times. Why one serial killer and not another. If it was just the close proximity, then yes, I should have dreamt of the one while I was in college, but I didn’t.”

That familiar little chill went down her spine, the one she got when she knew she was on the right track— and she didn’t want to be. She bit her lip and avoided Raine’s eyes, her stomach churning again.

“Obviously, I had a physical connection to Jose Fernandez, my father. I lived in the same house with him and he picked me up. We were a family,” she said.

“There was no obvious connection to the second one, when you were a teenager, Stella,” Raine said. “I searched. I got into the FBI files and couldn’t find anything. I even went back to the original police files when your foster mother took you to them to report your nightmare. There was nothing to indicate you had any physical contact with the killer.”