"Wait, you're the FBI agent my uncle was talking about?" I asked, my surprise evident in my voice.
"Yes, Mr. Catalano has been invaluable," Agent Williams replies. His tone is clipped and professional, and I can tell he's the kind of man who speaks only when necessary. He doesn't elaborate, and my mind immediately races. Invaluable how? How much does he know? I want to ask, but I doubt he'll divulge anything.
"You said you've identified the remains? Who are they?" My curiosity gets the better of me. I already knew who they were, but I still need him to confirm it aloud. The idea that they've been in the woods behind the house all this time upsets me. Why hasn't anyone searched the woods after they went missing? It just doesn't add up.
"Yes, ma'am. Through dental records, our coroner was able to confirm the remains are Mr. and Mrs. Catalano," he replies. Tears well up in my eyes as my emotions take over.
"Oh my gosh! I was right," I gasp. Zeke places his hand on my leg, providing me with his strength. I'm grateful for it, because I need it now more than ever.
"Were there any clues to who was digging them up?" Zeke asks.
"All I can tell you is no, we haven't found them," Agent Williams says. "Miss Sleighton, can you tell us how you knew who the remains were? Donovan told me about your mom and your connection to him and the family. We are just trying to assess why you are so adamant about the identity of these remains." He leans away from the couch, placing his hands on his knees, waiting for me to answer. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"I'll tell you, but you'll think I'm nuts," I say. "My grandmother appeared in my dream and warned me someone was trying to steal them. When I woke up, I saw flashlights in the woods and woke Zeke and Andy." His perfect eyebrow lifts, and I know he's confused. If I were in his shoes, I probably wouldn't believe it either. I can't help but chuckle, curious about what is going through his mind. "Since we moved into this house, we've had some unexplainable experiences. Experiences no one would believe unless they happened to them."
"Donovan mentioned you might have some documents that could assist the investigation," he asks. He completely dismisses my explanation, like it's too ridiculous to acknowledge, and immediately moves on to the next question, which clearly proves he doesn't believe me.
"Um, I think I do. But first I have a question for you. Can I trust you, Agent Williams?" The question is simple, but hesitation isn't an option. If the person responsible for my grandparents' exhumation finds out, they'll come after us.
"Yes, Miss Sleighton, you may. I share your desire for justice for your family," he says, locking eyes with me to convey sincerity. Fortunately, we made copies of the documents and stored the originals in the safe room in the attic. Zeke stands and collects the copies of everything for Williams. "One more question: we'd like to conduct a preliminary search of the woods to see if there are any unmarked graves. We can't rule out the possibility that the two youngest children didn't escape either. May we have your permission to search behind your house?" There's no need to think about the question. Of course, I'll let them. Finding my youngest aunt and uncle is equally important.
"Yes, of course. All we want is to solve the mystery and find out the truth of what happened that night to my family," I say, my voice steady despite the rush of questions swirling in my mind. The crucial piece of information we need is who's calling the shots. Agent Williams leaves shortly after, giving us his contact number and promising to keep in touch. Once he's gone, Zeke leans in close and whispers that he has something important to show me. He gently takes my hand and leads me to the dusty attic, its creaky stairs beckoning us upward into the shadows.
We open the door and carefully step inside the dim, dusty space. The air is thick with fine particles that continue to settle on the stacks of boxes left untouched for quite some time. As we walk across the floorboards, I notice the floorboards don't creak anymore. He's replaced them, so our steps are noiseless. We stop in front of the hidden room.
"Surprise," he says. "I fixed the door so that no one would be able to detect it."
The gap between the door and the wall is now completely seamless, no longer visible to my eye. When Zeke approaches the door, he pushes gently, and it swings open smoothly. Inside, the space is newly furnished with a comfortable couch and a cozy bed, while shelves hold freshly stocked non-perishable food. The walls are painted an off-white cream color. The floor has been carefully refinished, giving the room a clean and inviting appearance. I walk around, running my hands over everything in awe of all he has done. On the inside of the door are deadbolts. I'm impressed. When did he have time to do this? His schedule has been jam-packed with opening the new branch and helping me renovate other areas of the house.
"Wow, Z, this room looks fantastic. You did an excellent job sealing the gap. I can barely see where the door is," I say, smiling up at him. His smile widens as he soaks up the compliment. He truly deserves it; he'd completely revamped this space. Though he won't admit it openly, it's obvious he's fixed the room because of the threats hanging over us, which I'm entirely responsible for.
"I wanted us to have a safe space. Especially with all the crazy things we have been through the past couple of months," he says as he walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I lean back into him, enjoying his warmth and comfort. He's become my safe space, my home.
"Z, thank you for always thinking ahead," I say softly. He kisses the top of my head and squeezes me a little tighter. We stay like that for a few minutes, just enjoying being together in the peace. My hope is that we will never have to use the safe room; only time will tell.
The following days are quiet and routine, which makes me uneasy because of the calm that surrounds us. They say there is calm before a storm, and I wait each day for the storm. We try not to dwell on those thoughts and enjoy each day to the fullest.
After dinner, Zeke and I are relaxing in the living room when we hear footsteps on the porch, and the wooden slats squeak under the person's weight. Tense and unsure of what waits beyond the door, we cautiously approach the front entrance. Zeke gently pushes me behind him and slowly turns the doorknob, opening it. The sight before us makes my anger flare. There, in all his creepiness, is Ted. His face is pressed to the window, desperate to catch a glimpse of us. He's so absorbed in what he's doing that he doesn't notice the door opening. He's trying to see into the house but can't because the blackout curtains block his view. The frustration on his face is almost comical. We cautiously step outside and approach him.
"What the hell are you doing?" Zeke yells. His deep voice scares Ted, who is crouched down. He jumps, falls over, smacks his side on the porch, and snaps his gaze our way. His eyes glare daggers at us, but he knows he isn't in a position to yell back. Instead, he scrambles to get up. It looks like he's in a skating rink the way he keeps falling over his own feet. Zeke reaches down to grab him but misses. Ted finally finds his footing, jumps up, and pushes past us as he runs down the steps toward his home. Zeke starts chasing after him, his anger radiating off him. I don't want him to get hurt running into the darkness, not knowing what Ted is capable of. I grab his arm, and he turns around and stares at me.
"Zeke, let him go. He might be leading you into something dangerous. Plus, I don't want to be left alone." The words rush out before I can stop them. I don't care what happens to our creepy neighbor, but Zeke can't get hurt again. Not because of me; it would break me.
"Rocky, this is never going to stop with him and the sheriff. They're going to keep terrorizing you. I want to protect you. You mean everything to me," he says as he pulls me into a hug. It feels like we're in a no-win situation.
"I feel the same. That's why I don't want you to follow him. Something's wrong with him. He's off his rocker. Let's call and report him again." As I speak the words, I try to gauge Zeke's reaction. He seems to agree with me slowly.
"Fine, but they'd better do more than just talk to him," he says, grabbing my hand and leading me back inside. Once inside, we call the sheriff's office, but they show little interest in investigating another call to our home—almost as if it's our fault. These terrible events keep occurring: the FBI is still searching the woods behind our house, Ted is a persistent annoyance, and the sheriff is constantly bothering us.
A deputy arrived at the house and took our statements. As he spoke with us, I sensed him looking at me now and then, his gaze more curious than hostile. Deputy Henderson likely returned to the station and shared gossip about me and Sheriff Dawson, or about my family's background. Probably, everyone was laughing at our expense. It was no secret that the sheriff and I didn't get along. The deputies were probably trying to make sense of the information. They could join the club, since I was still struggling to accept it myself. Sheriff Dawson wasn't my first choice of a grandfather; he was mean, rude, and involved in questionable activities.
After the deputy leaves, we see him drive to Ted's house across the street. All the lights are off, and Ted is probably hiding, hoping the deputy will leave. Despite this, the deputy gets out and knocks on the door repeatedly. We watch him stand there knocking for about ten minutes before he gives up and drives away. Ted has to be home; he was just at our house. He didn't have time to leave. We keep an eye on the house, looking for signs of activity. It doesn't take long before a light upstairs turns on. Our suspicion is right—the little weasel is hiding to avoid trouble.
Back inside the house, Zeke and I agree that we should get a restraining order against him. That way, if he comes back onto the property, we can have him detained. We already have enough evidence from previous reports to support the request for a restraining order.
After the frustrating encounter with the sheriff's office and Ted's deliberate attempt to avoid them altogether, we finally decide to head to bed, believing the evening's chaos is behind us. Boy, are we mistaken.