These are familiar faces I love and wish I had more time with: my mom and her parents. Seeing them together is a sight that will be ingrained in my memory forever. A smile lights up my face as I settle into the empty chair, feeling a sense of belonging. To my left, my mom sips her coffee with gentle familiarity. She looks peaceful and happy, which is comforting. On my right, my grandmother looks at me with a warm, loving smile; it feels like she is trying to memorize everything about me since she had never been able to before. It is both nice and uncomfortable. Across from me, my grandfather sits tall, appearing less intimidating than in his photos. Strangely, Uncle Donovan resembles him remarkably—sharing his jawline, build, and height; there is no way Grandpa could have ever denied him. I wonder if Samuel also resembles him. Seeing my grandparents in my dreams feels surreal; I often wonder how different life might have been if our fates had only been different.
All of their eyes are suddenly trained on me. It feels like they are staring into my soul as I try to understand why they have come to me again in my dream. Don't get me wrong, I am enjoying being able to sit in their presence, even if only in a dream, which fills me with warmth and nostalgia. Everything feels right just by being in their presence. Yet, a lingering question remains: why are they here? In every dream beforehand, there has been an important reason for their visits. It doesn't seem like they have come to warn me about danger, unlike previous dreams. No frantic rushing, no ominous warnings—just a calm presence. These thoughts stir my curiosity further. Again, why are they here? What is the message behind this visit?
Silence continues, as if everyone has something to say, but no one is willing to speak. They all just keep passing looks back and forth, as if they are having a conversation with only their facial expressions. It is unnerving. The longer the silence goes on, the more suffocating it feels to sit under their stares. When my nerves can't take the suspense of waiting any longer, I break the silence first.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, even though I dread the answer. "I'm just going to assume everything is fine, or you would have warned me by now," I babble, and judging by the calm atmosphere, they don't notice it.
"Everything is fine," a deep male voice states. Initially, I'm surprised because no one has spoken aloud. As I scan my surroundings, I realize that only my grandfather could be the source. I wonder how his lips haven't moved, yet I'd heard his voice—in my head—so clearly. Just as I am about to ask if anyone else has heard it, my mom's voice suddenly fills my head.
"Sweetheart," my mom says. "We need to talk about your uncle Samuel and your aunt Betty," she states.
"Whoa, wait a minute. Why can I only hear your voices inside my head, but you're not actually speaking? This is freaking me out," I said to no one in particular, hoping someone had an answer.
"Roxy, we need to stay focused," Grandma responds to my momentary freak-out. Looking in her direction, I nod, trying to rein in my feelings.
"They are still alive," Grandpa states, which leads me to my next question.
"How do you know they are?" I ask. My curiosity is getting the better of me. They always know things before they happen. It makes me wonder how the afterlife works.
"We just do," Grandma says, shutting down any more questions I might have. However, that is too vague for me and only incites my need to know more.
"Honey, listen to your grandparents. Now is not the time for interruptions or questions. We only have so much time," Mom pleads. Again, I nod and let them continue speaking.
"That fateful night, we saw Donovan get them out the back door before the intruders even noticed, then he went upstairs to get your mom safely out. They were so focused on us, they never saw him," Grandpa rushes to explain.
"Everyone got split up that night, and no one knew the others' fates," Grandma says tearfully. "We hoped the children would reunite and help each other, but obviously, in some cruel twist of fate, it never happened," she sobbs. Grandpa even has tears in his eyes as he listens to his wife speak so emotionally about their children. He reaches across the table to grab her hand and squeeze it tightly. She smiles up at him through her tears. I can tell they love each other deeply.
"We want to help Donovan bring you and the others back together as a family," Mom insists.
"Tell him to investigate not only foster care but adoption records for Samuel and Betty Menton—the names I used on their fake paperwork. Also, make sure he looks into the surrounding towns and not just ours. If they escaped, they may have gone to another town for safety reasons," Grandpa says in a voice that is firm but caring. This is a valuable lead for Donovan, providing a starting point. My only response is to nod, feeling the weight of the moment, and to promise to call him first thing in the morning to relay the information, knowing this could change everything for my family. My heart aches knowing all four siblings were separated from each other due to a fate beyond their control.
Not long after they relay their worries, Mom tells me they need to leave now; they have stayed longer than they are supposed to. She won't elaborate on what that statement means. It is hard to say goodbye and see their retreating figures as they walk away, disappearing in the distance. I want to race after them and bring them home with me, but I know it will never happen. Tears well up in my eyes, only letting go after they disappear. The ache of loss settles deep, making me wish I could hold onto that moment longer, feeling the weight of their absence.
My body suddenly jolts awake, and I gasp loudly. Zeke looks at me with concern, and once he sees I am crying, he quickly sits up and pulls me into his arms for comfort. We don't say anything; he holds me, gently rubbing my back and kissing the top of my head. He keeps holding me until my crying subsides, then gently wipes away my tears.
After he calms me down, he asks what caused me to cry in my sleep and wake up with more tears. Given previous events, he must think something is wrong, serving as a warning. It takes me a few minutes to compose myself before I explain that those are happy tears because my grandparents and my mom are together in the afterlife. There will be no more worries about her being lonely; her parents are guiding her. Additionally, hearing my grandparents talk, even if only in my head, is special. This interaction makes me wish they had been part of my life as a child. Someone took that happiness from my family and me. I am determined to find the person who killed my grandparents and destroyed our family.
When we make our way down to the kitchen, Andy and Sharon are already awake, cooking breakfast. They have just set the last dish on the kitchen table when we walk in.
"Perfect timing, sleepyheads; breakfast is ready," Sharon tells us. Smiling, we quickly sit down at the table.
"Sorry, I had another dream last night and woke up crying," I explain.
"Was it another warning, or what happened?" Andy asks, concerned about me. It is still unknown whether they think my dreams are delusions. If they do, it is never shown; they only give me undeniable support.
"Actually, it was a good one this time. Mom and my grandparents approached me to discuss Samuel and Betty. Grandpa asked me to inform Uncle Donovan about the names they might be using," I explain. After telling them more details about the dream, we resume eating in silence. It seems like everyone needs a minute to digest the information.
Once everything is cleaned up, I step out to the front porch and call Uncle Donovan. He seems surprised to hear from me but is stunned when I relay the message from last night. At first, he doesn't seem to believe what I am saying. The more details he hears, the more he realizes I am telling the truth. Finally, he agrees to look for them under those names and check out neighboring towns, too. Of course, I will also verify the information. It isn't that Uncle Donovan is untrustworthy; on the contrary, he is one of the few people we trust. I just need to do this to soothe my mind. After these past months, verifying information on my own is the only way to know the truth. So far, we have Zeke's parents, Donovan, Andy, and Sharon. He says he will pass the information on to Agent Williams, since he is helping us look for them when he reaches our house. At first, what he says doesn't register until the line goes dead. Pulling the phone from my ear, it clicks: he must be on his way to our house now. How far out is he, I wonder.
As I slide my cell phone into my jeans, I hear footsteps in the driveway. I look up to see Ted standing in front of me with hatred seething out of his eyes. Instantly, my skin breaks out in goosebumps; it happens every time he comes around. He creeps me out; there is just something not right about him. We stand staring at one another in a standoff. Neither of us budges, nor are we willing to back down. Finally, he speaks.
"You think you're pretty clever, don't you?" he says nastily.
"I have no idea what you are spewing about now. Do me a favor and stay on your side of the street," I smart off. It is probably a stupid thing to do, but at this point, I am not putting up with any more overbearing men. The sheriff is bad enough; throw Ted into the mix, and it is a nightmare. Ted is shocked at first; he must have thought I would cower from his menacing presence or nasty words. He is wrong. No matter how scared I am, I will never back down.
"You know exactly what I'm saying," he states cockily. "He's not going to let this go." He laughs. He is enjoying taunting me. The air around us seems to change eerily. He is acting crazy.
"Who, Ted? Who is behind this?" I ask, hoping he will slip up and give me a clue about whom I am up against. Instead, he gets mad and reaches out, wrapping his large, calloused hands around my neck, squeezing. Frantically, I claw at his hands to get him to release me, gasping for air. My body feels like a prison at that moment. No words come out, only weird sounds, because of the lack of oxygen. My vision starts to blur, my lungs feel like they are on fire, and my body starts to give out. No one inside must hear me struggling, oblivious to the chaos. As blackness begins to take over my vision, I apologize to my loved ones who are alive for leaving them, and to my mom and grandparents for not finishing what I started. As I say the last word in my head, air rushes back into my lungs as my body hits the rough gravel driveway.
Looking through the slits of my eyelids as they close, barely clinging to consciousness, I look at Ted one last time. He is as white as a ghost as he looks at the person who pulled him off me. At least they got him before he killed me. That is the last thought I have before the dark void of unconsciousness pulls me in.