My sweet girl,
If the gift has awakened suddenly and your body feels weak, it is nothing to be scared of because this is normal. You have pushed your body and mind to their limits. The first surge is always the hardest because it overwhelms the senses.
To protect yourself, you must learn to breathe through it. The gift is not meant to be forced. It is meant to flow through you. Your body is the weapon to fight evil and protect the weak.
When the dead reach for you, do not push them away with fear. Fear feeds them. Fear strengthens them.
Instead, ground yourself in the living. Touch something warm. Someone warm. Whoever or whatever it is, it has to be special to you and have a meaningful connection. It's what grounds you in the living. Let their heartbeat anchor yours.
Once you are steady, you may open the door to the other side again — gently — and the gift will answer you without tearing you apart. Remember: the dead cannot command you. You command the connection.
You are stronger than the shadows that seek you. You are special.
Love Always,
Grandma.
Zeke exhales shakily, saying, "Ground yourself in the living," while gently pressing his forehead against mine. "I'm right here. I'll keep you grounded. I'm not going anywhere," he vows like an oath. Warmth begins to spread through my body. Just from the sound of his voice, my breathing gradually steadies, slowing and becoming more controlled. The dizziness diminishes, and the tingling in my hands softens into a gentle warmth.
"She's stabilizing," Uncle Donovan says, letting out a breath of relief. "Thank heavens, because my blood pressure just tried to leave through the roof." Blinking, I open my eyes, and my vision sharpens as it lands on Zeke's handsome face. I try to smile up at him, but I'm too exhausted and end up just staring at his face.
"Hey, welcome back," he says, smiling and stroking my hair. His voice is small, relieved, and shaken.
"I hear my grandma's voice," I say. My voice is barely audible, soft as a whisper. I'm not even sure he hears me until he answers.
"I know, and you really scare me, Rocky," he says, gently brushing a thumb across my cheek. My heart is heavy knowing he has been through so much emotionally because of this night, but I am grateful he is with me. I don't think I could get through everything without him.
"Roxanne?" Uncle Donovan says excitedly as he sits back on his heels, wiping his eyes. "You didn't just activate the gift. You used it. You pushed Elias back. Mom would be so proud of you. I mean, terrified, obviously, but proud. Proud and probably yelling at me for not bringing snacks," he says. I smile at him weakly and lean into Zeke more. I am exhausted but thankfully alive.
"I didn't know what I was doing," I say tiredly. "I was so scared we were all going to be hurt or killed because I couldn't control it."
Uncle Donovan shakes his head. "You don't have to know what you're doing. You handled it better than anyone thought you could. I'm proud of you. The journal will help teach you what you need to know. Mom started writing it as soon as she found out about you. Which is good, because my lesson plan right now is mostly screaming and pointing," he says. The journal pages start to flutter once more, as if in agreement.
"We start learning how to control it together tomorrow, then," Zeke says, helping me sit up but keeping an arm around me for support. "Tonight you need rest, but we're not staying here," he says. Uncle Donovan and I nod in agreement. After what we have just experienced, neither of us wants to chance a night here either. Zeke helps me to my feet. My legs are unsteady, my skin is cold, and my heartbeat flutters like a trapped bird.
"I don't want to go home," I say, my voice barely steady. I am not ready to face anything that may still be lingering there. I need somewhere neutral but safe.
"Then we won't," Zeke states firmly.
"How about Sharon and Andy? Your dad's house must be safer than anywhere else," Uncle Donovan suggests. "At this point, I'd trust a house with pillows and nosy parents over one with murder wind and floating office supplies."
I hesitate, not because I doubt Sharon or Andy, but because I'm not sure how much more they can take. Eventually, I nod in agreement. Uncle Donovan heads upstairs and packs some clothes. He decides he wants to be closer to us until everything is solved, and he plans to stay at the house with us.
Zeke leads me to the car, walking close as if worried someone might step out of the shadows and attack. I clutch my grandmother's journal against my chest, feeling like it is my only lifeline. He carefully guides me into the vehicle so I don't hit my head on the doorframe. Once I am in the passenger seat, he hurries to his side, the driver's door. He slides into his seat and starts the engine. Uncle Donovan, holding a duffel bag close to his chest, appears and slips into the backseat, still looking pale. We sit in silence; they are waiting for me to call my father.
Taking a deep breath, I pull out my phone; my hands are trembling. I bring up his contact information, and my finger hovers over the call button. As I debate whether this is the right thing to do, Zeke speaks softly to me.
"Call him. He'll want to know you're safe and what has been going on." He glances at me a few times before pulling out of Donovan's driveway and concentrating on the road ahead.
Before I can change my mind, I hit the call button. It rings once, twice, three times before he picks up on the fourth ring. I let out a breath I don't realize I'm holding.
"Roxanne?" Andy's voice filters through the phone, laced with worry. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"Dad..." I say. My voice breaks as my throat tightens at the sound of his voice. The dam of emotions breaks, and I ask tearfully, "Can we come stay with you tonight, please? It's me, Zeke, and Donovan." Andy takes a sharp breath and doesn't respond at first, as total silence envelops us for a moment.
"Of course, of course you can. Are you hurt? Do I need to come get you or call someone?" Just hearing his voice and how worried he is makes me feel better. His unconditional fatherly love brings a small smile to my lips.
"No, just please don't ask anything right now. I can explain when we get there. Thank you, Dad. I love you." My voice is tired, raw, and low.
"I love you, too, kid. Come straight here and just be careful. Text me when you pull up, and I'll unlock the door," he says steadily.
"Thank you," I say, sincerely appreciating his love and strength.
The car ride is quiet but not peaceful. It is the kind of quiet that comes after a storm, heavily charged with emotions and waiting for the next strike. Uncle Donovan shifts in his seat, enough to make it noticeable that something is bothering him. Finally, he leans toward my seat and looks at me.
"Roxanne, what do you plan to tell your father?" Uncle Donovan asks. "I understand he deserves the truth, but you don't need to tell him everything tonight. Honestly, I'm not sure if he or Sharon can handle all of it. It might be overwhelming. And by overwhelming, I mean the kind where people either faint or start alphabetizing canned goods for control."
I shake my head, disagreeing with him. "No, they need to know it all. Especially if they are involved in my life."
"Don't worry, we'll tell them together," Zeke says, agreeing, threading his fingers through mine for support.
The rest of the drive is quiet as I watch the scenery blur past my window. My eyelids start drooping on their own. Exhaustion takes over, and I fall asleep.
Before I know it, Zeke is gently shaking me awake. My eyes don't want to open; they still feel heavy. After what feels like minutes, I am finally able to open my eyes. Andy is standing on the porch, light glowing behind him. He rushes down the steps as soon as my car door opens.
"Roxanne," he says, pulling me into a tight hug. His shaking hands tremble against my back. I sink into him, letting his warmth steady me. Zeke and Uncle Donovan stand nearby, giving us a moment.
"What happened? You look shaken," he asks as he pulls back, his warm hand cupping my face. I lean into his hand and sigh.
"Can we talk inside?" I ask. My legs are still weak and feel like they are going to collapse at any moment.
He nods immediately and ushers us all into the house. Zeke and I sit on the couch, and Uncle Donovan sits in a chair across from us. Andy sits in his armchair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on me.
"Okay," he says softly. "Tell me." My hands start to tremble as they lie in my lap. Zeke places his hand over them.
"Start wherever you need to," Andy says calmly. Sharon enters carrying a tray of coffee, still dressed in sleep pants and a shirt. She distributes cups of black coffee to everyone and settles next to me on the couch, gently bumping my shoulder with hers. I manage a slight smile to show my gratitude for her support. Their warmth—Sharon's and Zeke's—is a comforting presence I can lean on.
"The night Mom's family disappeared, your family was involved," I say, carefully watching his face. He looks at me like I am speaking a foreign language, as if he doesn't understand what I have just said. But the moment it clicks, his face goes from worry to shock and disbelief.
"My family? Are you talking about my father? Roxanne, what are you saying?" he forces out. He doesn't sound mad, just shocked. He knows his father is a bad man capable of things like this, but I don't think he ever thought he would do it to someone he loved.
"Your father, Sheriff Dawson, wanted Momma dead. He didn't want me to be born because he thought I would ruin your life. He thought Momma got pregnant to trap you. So instead, he convinced your uncle Elias to kill her, and he agreed to do it." I let out a sob when I am done.
"No, I mean, I know my dad's an asshole and wasn't happy about the pregnancy or the situation, but why would Uncle Elias agree? No, this can't be true." He says it more to himself than to any of us. He is fighting with the people he knew and the truth of their evil nature.
"Andy, it's true. He was there the night my parents died. He pulled the trigger. I saw it all," Uncle Donovan tells him. "And believe me, if denial worked, I'd be living there with central air and a screened-in porch."
"It was not only because of the pregnancy but also because of what I am or who I am," I explain.
"Wait, what do you mean? What are you? I'm confused," Andy says, running a hand over his face. He is already in information overload and has a hard time processing it all.
"I have a gift," I say as I grab the journal from Zeke and open it. "Grandma had it too, but someone else wants it."
"A gift?" His voice cracks. "What kind of gift?"
I hesitate for a moment, then tell him everything: the entity, the attack, the voices, the shockwave, Grandma's journal, the unknown man's obsession, and the danger I am born into—my legacy. By the time I finish, Andy's hands are shaking, and he looks distraught. He stands abruptly, startling us all, and starts to pace the room, running a hand through his hair.
"My God, all these years... I had no idea," he says angrily. At last, everything clicks into place, and all he feels is rage toward his father, uncle, and anyone else who tried to hurt me. His anger is fueled by the loss of his child and girlfriend. He mourns what we lost, yet we continue to thrive in the world.