The next morning, I wake up feeling good—energized and mentally clear—despite the aches and pain lingering throughout my body. Those can't be helped; only time will heal them. I know I need to get up, but the comfort of lying beside Zeke tugs at me to stay nestled right where I am. The urge is strong as I watch him sleep peacefully next to me, his gentle snoring filling our quiet room.
Shifting in the bed, I prop myself on my elbow to look at his sleeping form and admire his serene and beautiful face. That term may not be typical to use for a man, but it doesn't matter. That's how he looks to me in this moment: beautifully handsome. I continue to watch his chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm that nearly lulls me back to sleep. I trace my finger down his nose, along his chin, and onto his chest, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and belonging. He is mine, and I am his. I could stay in that spot all day, but I have to get up. Leaning over, I kiss him softly and then roll away before I change my mind and stay. His arms reach out instinctively, missing me. I place my pillow in them, watching him smile as he hugs it, making me chuckle. I quickly slip from the bed and tiptoe across the floor, not wanting to wake him.
While searching through my closet for comfortable clothes, my mind keeps drifting back, reminding me over and over to copy the new information we found for Agent Williams. I don't want to forget anything important. After a few minutes, I settle on a soft sweater and well-worn jeans. After getting dressed, I move around my room, collecting the paperwork and the shoebox into my arms. On my way out of the room, I grab my phone off the charger and tuck it into my jeans back pocket.
Reaching my grandfather's home office—now mine—I step in and pause for a moment, letting the gentle warmth and familiarity of the room wash over me. It has been some time since I last entered it, but the comforting aura makes me feel as though my grandfather is quietly watching over me, guiding me from afar. Smiling at the thought, I carefully place everything on the desk, then turn and head straight for the kitchen, intent on having my morning cup of coffee to help me start my day.
Uncle Donovan is already at the kitchen table, holding a cup of steaming coffee. His face lights up with a warm smile when I enter, signaling me to sit down. Rising from his chair, he walks over to the coffee pot and carefully selects a cup with a delicate rose pattern—the one my mom liked best—and pours hot coffee into it. I sit watching him closely, happy to have another family member nearby. He notices me smiling at him and softly sets the steaming cup down in front of me. I accept it with gratitude and watch him settle into his seat. He leans back comfortably, as if this is a normal part of his routine.
"It's been ages since I just sat in this kitchen, lazily drinking coffee," Uncle Donovan muses, his gaze distant, as if he is recalling old memories, fond ones. "I forgot how good it feels to do nothing with purpose." He seems to know what I am feeling even before anything is said. "Hey, kid, how are you feeling? Be honest. I've already had coffee, so I'm emotionally prepared for bad news," he asks, his voice gentle with concern woven into each word.
Picking up my phone, I type quickly, "My body is still sore, but mentally I actually feel good today. A lot better than normal," and place it on the table where he can see the words himself. A smile creeps across his face and broadens. His relief and happiness radiate across the table, enveloping me.
"We have some time before Agent Williams arrives. How about I make us breakfast, like your grandma used to?" he asks. My stomach answers for me, growling loudly, already on board before I can say yes. Hearing that, he laughs and gets up to head to the fridge. "Well, there's my official yes. Always trust the stomach; it has no manners, but it tells the truth. I hope you don't mind, but I've already checked what's in your fridge. How about sausage, mushrooms, onion, and cheese for omelets? Omelets are my specialty; your grandma taught me how to make them, which means I come with training and only minor fire risk," Uncle Donovan rambles. Giggling at his nervousness, I gently place my hand on his arm to pause his chatter.
"Omelets sound great," I type out. "But I could cook; you're our guest." Looking at my phone, he shakes his head no and smiles at me.
"Please let me do it. I miss cooking in this kitchen. Every weekend, Mom, Amber, and I would cook and dance to the music playing through the radio. It brings back so many great memories. Plus, it would be an honor to cook for my niece. Don't rob an old man of his dramatic kitchen comeback," he says thoughtfully. Tears gather at the bottom of his eyes as he reminisces.
I nod in agreement at his request, knowing I could never refuse him something like that. It feels right with him here. Like the house wants him here. It feels like it belongs not only to me but to my mother's siblings as well; the invisible force that seems to bind me here also binds them. Every time we try to clean out the other bedrooms, something always stops me, like an invisible wall that can't be penetrated. I never question the feeling, and we work on other areas throughout the house instead, like the kitchen. We have updated it a lot, but it still has the same cozy, warm feeling.
The childhood bedrooms of my aunt and uncles remain untouched, and no one has entered them; all their belongings remain as they left them on that tragic night. The only room I am comfortable entering is my mom's. I plan to keep a lot of her mementos. Eventually, we plan to clean out the master bedroom—my grandparents' room—and move in, but I want my uncles and aunt to go through their possessions with me; that's why it is so important to find Samuel and Betty. I am sure there are some keepsakes they want to hold on to.
Uncle Donovan moves easily around the kitchen, dancing to soft rock music playing through his phone. I smile at the scene and can imagine my mother dancing right alongside her big brother; in fact, she used to do this with me when I was a kid. Every time we cooked or cleaned, she would turn on the radio, grab my hands, and twirl me around the room while smiling brightly and singing at the top of her lungs. Tears start to fall, coating my cheeks, and the longing for my mom seems to press hard on my chest. The ache of her loss never goes away, especially in moments like this that make it almost unbearable; she should be here right by my side.
A plate filled with fragrant food is set before me, interrupting my train of thought. My stomach growls loudly, making us both laugh and prompting us to start eating. We eat quickly and silently, pausing only to clean up and prepare the documents for Agent Williams's arrival. Everything is delicious, though swallowing still causes some pain, which lessens each day gradually. I hope my vocal cords recover enough for me to speak again, as typing is becoming increasingly tiring. After finishing our meal, we hurry to tidy up, refill our coffee cups, and head to the home office.
"Are you ready for this, Roxanne?" Uncle Donovan asks as we sit at the desk. "No pressure, but if paperwork had teeth, this would be the part where I offered it a chair and backed away slowly." I offer him my best smile and nod to reassure him. I pull the items from the box, and we hurry to copy them, placing them into piles of originals and copies. Agent Williams will keep the copies for his records; the originals will stay with us. I won't give them up easily. I still don't fully trust Agent Williams; he hasn't done anything to justify my distrust. It is more a matter of caution on my part. As Uncle Donovan finishes the copies, I quickly print the document about my dream, detailing everything that happens to the twins. Agent Williams might think I'm crazy, but that is okay. If the information helps, that's what matters.
We are so engaged in our activity that we don't hear the doorbell or notice Zeke coming downstairs. We startle when Zeke knocks on the door frame, causing both of us to jump. As we look to see who is there, we see Agent Williams standing slightly behind Zeke, who is leaning against the door frame, smiling at us. Clearly, he is amused because he scared us.
"Hey, Zeke, we didn't hear you come downstairs," Uncle Donovan greets him before turning to Williams. "Good thing you knocked. At my age, surprises come with sound effects." He clears his throat and nods toward the agent. "Hello, Agent Williams, glad you were able to make it." Zeke steps farther into the room to let Agent Williams enter as well.
"Thank you for allowing me to come," Agent Williams replies as he extends his hand to each one of us, giving a strong, steady handshake. "Mr. Anderson was gracious enough to let me in and lead me here." He speaks with an air of authority that radiates from him.
"No problem," Zeke says, then turns his attention to me. "Rocky, I need to go to the office to help Dad organize some things for our upcoming worksites next week. It should only take a couple of hours. Will you be okay until I return?" I nod and walk over to hug him. "I can stop by and bring home some takeout tonight. I'm sure you both will be too tired after today to cook." I smile warmly, showing that the idea sounds good to me. He leans down and kisses my forehead.
"Don't worry, Zeke. I'll take care of our girl while you're out," Uncle Donovan says to ease Zeke's worries. "I've got coffee, a phone, and enough anxiety to power a small alarm system." Since the last attack, he isn't comfortable leaving me home alone. Having my uncle here seems to make him feel more secure about my safety.
"Thank you, I appreciate it. I told Rocky I'd pick up something to eat tonight. Let me know if Andy and Sharon show up; I'll get enough for them, too," Zeke explains. Uncle Donovan assures him that we will check in later. He says goodbye again and leaves quickly, needing to go to work after spending too much time taking care of me. Guilt weighs on me because I've already taken up so much of his time with recent incidents. After the front door closes, I focus entirely on Uncle Donovan and Agent Williams.
"Okay, so where do you want to start?" Agent Williams asks. "We can start with the shoebox you found or discuss Samuel and Betty."
"Let's start with Samuel and Betty first," Uncle Donovan states, then glances at me. "But before we jump into the deep end of the nightmare pool, Roxanne still can't use her voice yet. Please bear with her while she uses her text app. It's faster than charades and much safer for everyone involved." I appreciate him telling Agent Williams. Of course, Agent Williams already heard about the incident the day it happened. He seems concerned about my proximity to Ted as well.
"I understand completely. Miss Sleighton, if at any time you have something to add, tap the desk, and we will stop and listen," Agent Williams says in a calm voice. He never gives away his emotions. He always has a calm, collected look on his face; it must be something they teach at Quantico. Instead of waiting for me to acknowledge his words, he continues to talk. "There's a woman who says she thinks her family was murdered when she was a child. She said her name was Betty and her brother's was Samuel. Her information was taken down, and a statement of details was obtained. She described what she could remember of the night she and her brother met their adoptive parents."
As he continues explaining the call to my uncle, I quickly grab the document describing my dream and tap the table to get their attention. Grabbing my phone, I type, "What she described of the night—does it sound like this?" Laying the phone near the agent, I also hand him the paper. He slowly picks it up and reads. This is the first time I have seen him allow any emotion to cross his face. It is shock. He slowly raises his head, cooling his features, and looks at me.
"Where did you get this information?" he asks curiously.