Seeing Andy so upset is heartbreaking, yet beneath it all, an unsettling darkness lurks. He had no idea how malicious his family could be or what the old man might be willing to do. He never consulted him about his future; his father made decisions for him with cold detachment. He didn't want his son to become a teenage father with someone he looked down on—Sheriff Dawson was an invisible threat hanging over them.
Why he despises my family remains a mystery, shrouded in shadows. I understand the tension between him and my grandfather; it all stems from his threat to my mother, which prompts my grandfather to investigate his illegal activities. But why does he harbor a grudge against us long before that? That is the question, lingering like a dark cloud.
"I know," I whisper. "It's a lot to take in." I mean, it's not every day someone finds out his uncle and father tried to kill his girlfriend, who was carrying his child. Andy is handling it better than I thought he would.
"Roxanne, if I'd known... I would've taken you and your mother and run. I would have protected you both," he says, turning toward me, eyes shining with grief and fury. I smile through my tears because I believe he would have. My mom did what she thought was right to protect us. She was scared and young; she didn't want to risk reaching out to him and having someone hurt him or us.
I've had a hard time not thinking my family's misfortunes are my fault. If my mother had never gotten pregnant with me, would they all be here happily together? The more I think about it, the more depressed I feel. These thoughts are doing me no good. I still have a spirit and two men who want me dead; I have no time to feel sorry for myself. I shake the thoughts away and concentrate on Andy.
I stand, wobbly, and place my hand on his arm. "You're in my life now, protecting me. That's all that matters." He pulls me into a fierce, protective hug.
"You're staying here tonight. All of you. And no one—no one—will get close to you." His words make me want to cry again. Having my dad hug me is something I never thought would happen, but now I'm in his protective arms, feeling relieved.
Zeke stands up beside us and says, "We'll keep her safe."
"We're not leaving her side," Uncle Donovan adds. "I've already survived one demon cloud today. At this point, evil can take a number and wait its turn." Andy looks at everyone in the room, fear, determination, and love burning in his eyes.
"Then we face this together," Andy states. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I have people besides Zeke that I can count on—my family.
I feel safe with them surrounding me, not because the danger is gone, but because I'm not facing it alone. Each one of them gives me the strength to face the evil that threatens us.
After the explanations, after the shock, the tears, and the long, heavy silence, the house finally settles into a fragile calm. Zeke and Uncle Donovan quietly step into the kitchen to make coffee and give us a little space. I can hear the low hum of their voices.
I remain on the couch, the journal resting on my lap, feeling like an extension of myself I can't live without. It also serves as a meaningful connection to my grandmother, making me feel closer to her. Andy sits to my left, shifting on the couch slightly and resting his arm behind my head, while Sharon stays quietly on my right, lost in thought. Every once in a while she looks over to the journal as if she wants to touch it, but then thinks better of it. Neither of them speaks, not because they lack words, but because they are trying to process everything I've just shared. It is a shock for all of us. Sharon gently reaches out, turning my head toward her and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, her touch soft and steady.
"Sweetheart," she says quietly, her voice warm but trembling at the edges. "I'm so sorry you have to endure this and carry the burden of this gift alone. I wish there were a way to share it with you." I smile warmly at her because she has been so supportive since the day we met.
"I'm sorry, too," Andy says, letting out a shaky breath. "I had no idea. Not about my father's part in this. Not about Elias or any of it."
"I know, Dad," I reassure him as best I can.
"What you told us is terrifying," Sharon says, shifting closer. "But I want you to hear something from me. You are not a burden. You are not cursed. And you aren't facing this alone. You have many people who love and care for you." She places her hand lightly on my shoulder. I look over at her, holding her gaze, which is steady and full of love. My eyes sting with tears. My throat tightens. Her words hit a part of my heart that needs to hear them, making some of the tension melt away.
"She's right. We all love you. So tonight, let us take care of you as parents should. You're staying here tonight—all of you. And we'll figure out the rest," Andy states firmly as he reaches for my hand, squeezing it gently.
"Thank you. I didn't want to go home. The only other place I could think of was here," I say, which is true but also a lie. The house calls to me, and my skin crawls the longer I'm away from it, but tonight it doesn't affect me.
Sharon pulls me into a gentle hug—warm, grounding, familiar. It reminds me of my mom. I lean into her, letting my head rest on her shoulder. Andy places a hand on my back. We stay like that for a few minutes, just enjoying their warmth.
"I know I can't change the past. I can't bring your mother or her family back. But I can protect you from my family and anyone else who threatens you," he says, his voice low and full of emotion.
For a moment, I close my eyes and let their presence settle around me like a blanket. For the first time tonight, I feel my body relax as Sharon continues to stroke my hair.
"You and Zeke can have the guest room. Donovan can take the couch," Sharon says. She has already brought a blanket and pillow out for Uncle Donovan; they are stacked neatly on the coffee table.
"Thank you," I say again, smiling weakly. Sharon kisses the top of my head as Andy squeezes my hand again.
"You don't have to thank us. You're our girl," Sharon says lovingly.
From the kitchen, Zeke's low and steady voice filters through, followed by Uncle Donovan's softer reply. "If coffee can't fix this family, I'm switching to holy water," he mutters. The aroma of coffee wafts through the air as they come out with our cups refilled. We stay sitting, chatting, and savoring our coffee until I begin to yawn. Sharon hugs me again, laughing, then pulls back after a few moments to look at me.
"Get some rest, sweetheart. We'll face whatever comes next together." Her words are comforting. After she releases me, Andy and Sharon finally get up and head to bed, though neither looks like they'll sleep much. Uncle Donovan is already half asleep in the recliner, snoring softly. "Tell the ghosts I'm off duty unless they brought snacks," he mumbles, eyes still closed. I giggle at him.
Zeke and I go to bed with the journal clutched tightly. We are worn out from the day's events, and my body feels sore in ways I have never experienced before. All I want is a hot shower and a cozy, safe bed. The room is a decent size, connected to a bathroom. In the center stands a queen-size bed draped with a homemade quilt. The gentle scent of lavender fills the air, creating a calming atmosphere. It is perfect—safe, quiet, and exactly what I need.
"You look exhausted," Zeke says as he closes the door behind us.
"I feel like I've been hit by a train," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing my arms. Zeke kneels in front of me, resting his hands gently on my knees.
"Let's relax and get some sleep," he says softly. I look at him and smile, nodding my agreement. Grandma's journal rests on my nightstand, drawing my gaze. It feels like it's calling to me—not urgently, but insistently, like a whisper that won't be ignored.
"Hey, do you want me to read another entry?" he asks. I nod, grateful he offers. He climbs onto the bed beside me, leans against the headboard, and opens his arm for me to snuggle against.
"Come here," he says gently. I don't hesitate and curl my body along his with my head on his shoulder, and his arm wraps securely around me. His warmth grounds me instantly. I open the journal, and the pages start fluttering again, stopping on a new page, as if it knows what I need to hear.
"Okay, Grandma, what've you got for us this time? Hopefully, you're teaching my girl how to use this gift safely," Zeke says as he gently takes the journal from me.
My Sweet Girl,
The gift is awakening, and you might feel overwhelmed—that's normal. Life might seem different, and it is. You could feel afraid, which is natural. When you accept your destiny, things will become clearer. You were born to carry this gift, as it is your legacy. However, remember: the gift was never meant to control you. It was designed to respond to you. To use it safely, you need to learn three vital lessons: grounding, breathing, and intention. Without them, you could face danger you're not ready for.
Later in the journal, I will explain how to use each one safely. Practice these steps before you attempt to encounter the spirits. Never go in unprepared. This gift is powerful, but you must remember you are stronger. And remember, my sweet girl, you are never alone.
Love, Grandma
Zeke leans over and wipes a tear from my eye. Then he closes the journal, and I let the words wash over me. "Grounding, breathing, and intention," I repeat over and over in my head. Zeke must notice my distracted gaze because he places the journal on the stand and looks down at me.
"Her words make sense. You were spiraling before because you didn't know any of this," Zeke says as he brushes a thumb along my arm.
"You're right. I didn't even know what was happening. I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess," I whisper.
"Rocky, it is my choice to stay, and I would choose it every time. You're not doing this alone," he says as he kisses the top of my head.
"Zeke, what if I mess this up somehow, or what if I hurt someone?" My eyes sting as I say the words. I am terrified someone I love will be badly hurt. I don't think I could live with myself if they are.
"Roxanne," Zeke says, tilting my chin up gently so I'm looking at him. "Listen to me. You just blasted an evil spirit across the room without meaning to. Just imagine what you could do if you meant to. You are so much stronger than you think, baby. We will figure this out together."
He's right: believing in myself is the first step. As I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, I make that decision. The soothing sound of his heartbeat, steady and warm, grounds me just as the journal describes. Zeke is my connection to this world—perhaps he always has been. My breathing aligns with his—slow, even, and secure. I'm half asleep before I hear him speak.
"Rest, Babygirl. We'll figure the rest out tomorrow," he whispers gently into my hair. And for the first time in days, I finally drift off, not into fear, but into the warmth of someone who refuses to let me face this darkness alone.