As my body slumped against the door, adrenaline was washing away, leaving me feeling emotionally raw. Thank goodness that confrontation was over. At one point, it seemed like the situation might get out of hand due to his aggressive attitude, but thankfully, it hadn't. Once I felt steady again, I pushed away from the door and almost collided with Zeke. He was standing in front of me, looking concerned.
"You ok Rocky?' He asked, but I wasn't sure how to respond. Was I ok? In general, I guess I was, but emotionally, no, I definitely wasn't. The encounter had shaken me visibly. Why would Ted threaten me like that over this house? He must know something about the previous family and what happened. If that was the case, was I moving in across from a psychopath? My mind started racing, going into overdrive. Zeke must have noticed my distress because he called me again.
"Rocky?" he says, "Did you hear me? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, Z, I'm fine. Just a bit shaken up." My voice came out quieter than I expected. "Do you think we should call the police and report him or let it go?"
"Yes, I think we should call and make a report. Just so there is a record of his behavior on file in case he tries something like this again," he replied. I knew he was right because I'm sure Ted is not done with us yet; he seemed determined to run us off or at least scare us away.
We contacted the sheriff's office to report the situation. The friendly deputy who answered identified himself as Deputy Lane and requested that I come by tomorrow to pick up an official copy of the complaint for my records. Zeke appeared relieved after we finished the call, but I couldn't shake the sense that this might only be the beginning of more trouble. I hope I'm wrong. Zeke gently placed his hands on my shoulders. I couldn't help but meet his gaze.
"Do you want to continue exploring the house and try to form a game plan of what needs to be done first?' He asked. I knew he was trying to distract me from everything that happened, and I was grateful for it. Shaking my head yes, he led me back to the living room.
On closer inspection, we noticed the hardwood floors needed to be sanded and restained, and the walls needed to be repainted. Two hours later, we were done with the bottom floor of the house and had a good idea of what needed to be done.
"Z, were you serious about moving with me?" I figured now was the best time to ask.
"Of course. I wouldn't have said yes before if I didn't mean it," he replied. "What is your timeline for moving? Dad wants to start looking at places for business in the middle of next month." That worked perfectly because I wanted to be moved in soon.
"I would like to be moved in there by the first of next month. We can live here while we renovate. The first few months will be rough, but I think we can do it," I said confidently. It would give me thirty days to get everything in order and ready to move. We decided to call it a night and head back to the city. We both had a lot of things to do before the move.
While packing my bedroom the next day, I faced a tough choice: what to take and what to store temporarily. The task was difficult, especially because I kept stumbling upon memories of my mom scattered throughout the room. I recalled the days when she would come in, using her key, and we would cook dinner together. Afterward, we sat and talked at length about everything, sipping coffee or tea. In those moments, I felt nearest to her. I approached the dresser where a photo rested, picked it up, and gazed at my mom holding me closely, around three or four years old. She looked so young and lively. Mom was extraordinary. I often wondered how she managed to raise me alone; it must have been tough, yet she never once complained.
I wished she had shared more about her family or even revealed who my biological father was, but she never did. She always said, "It's me and you against the world, baby girl." There was no sign of grandparents, aunts, or uncles, so I believed her. If they cared, they would have tracked us down by now. The question constantly nagged at me: what could have happened between mom, her family, and my biological father? Carefully, I wrap the picture in bubble wrap and put it in a box. The following month is filled with packing and endless reminiscing.
My last night in the apartment was bittersweet. I moved slowly from room to room, cherishing the memories I made here, knowing it was time to move on and create new ones. I was closing one chapter and beginning another as a homeowner.
That night as I slept, another dream haunted me. The same woman in a blue summer dress appeared again, signaling me to follow her, and I obeyed without hesitation. This time, I felt no fear, only curiosity about her motives. She walked gracefully through the farmhouse to the dining room, pointing at the same spot on the wall as before. Cautiously, I approached the wall and saw a small door. The moment my fingertips touched the wooden door, I jolted awake.
The feeling of uneasiness made me unsure what to make of the dream. Questions started to run through my mind; who was this woman, and why did she keep appearing in my dream? Checking out the wall in the dining room was at the top of my list of things to do when I got to my new house. Zeke is going to think I have lost my mind if I tell him why I want to check this wall out. The next few hours were occupied with the movers and heading to the new house. When we pulled into the drive, Zeke and his father, Mr. Anderson, were there with his belongings.
"Hi, guys," I waved to them both as I was exiting my vehicle. As I made my way to the front door, an overwhelming feeling that something wasn't right washed over me. That's when I noticed the front door was ajar, which was strange because I knew it was locked the last time we left. I checked it twice before we left. I started to get closer to the front door to see what might have happened or to check if anyone was still inside when Zeke placed his hand on my shoulder. The action made me jump. I was so focused on the front door that I hadn't heard him walk up behind me.
"Calm down, it's just me, " he said, reassuring me of his presence. "Rocky, we need to call the sheriff. Just in case someone may still be in there." His dad was nodding his head in agreement.
"He's right, sweetheart," Mr. Anderson said, "They could find evidence or fingerprints." I agreed with them, but all of this was overwhelming and frustrating. Especially things connected to the house: the nosy/rude neighbor, recurring dreams, and now a break-in. Zeke pulled his phone out and started making a call. He took it upon himself to call the sheriff for me. They told him no one should enter the house, and they would send the nearest officer out as soon as possible.
As we apologized to the movers about the delay, we heard a car approaching. The unmistakable sound of tires crunching on the road grew louder. When it arrived in the driveway, I saw that it was the sheriff himself stepping out. Of all the officers, why did it have to be him? Ever since our first encounter, I had hoped to have minimal contact with him. We watched as the sheriff exited his vehicle and moved toward us, his intense and unsettling gaze mainly fixed on me. When he reached us, he offered a smile that seemed forced.
"Well, Miss Roxanne, I hear someone may have broken into your house?" he questioned.
"I'm not sure what happened, sir, but the door is ajar, and it wasn't like that last time we were here." I tried to be as polite as possible—no need to get on the wrong side of the sheriff yet.
"Are you sure you didn't forget to lock the door?" he asked me with a smirk. Instantly, my body went into defense mode. His tone was condescending, as if speaking to a small, naughty child. I really dislike this man, kept running through my mind. Zeke and his father remained silent, observing our exchange. They probably found the interaction confusing.
"Yes, I'm sure," I said. "I locked it myself when we left last time." His tone was grating on my nerves.
"Don't get upset, little darlin'," he reassured. "I'm just trying to confirm it wasn't forgetfulness. We all forget sometimes." He turned around as another squad car pulled into the drive. We watched as he and the other deputies examined the inside of the house, then walked the grounds. When they were finished, he approached us again.
"There's no sign of anyone in your house or on the grounds," he said, gesturing toward the house. "Sadly, we also didn't find any fingerprints or signs of forced entry. I can arrange for one of our patrol cars to monitor the area for any suspicious activity." He quickly shook everyone's hand and then left.
After the sheriff left, the movers began unloading everything into the house. The day had been long and exhausting, but the work was not yet finished. It took nearly three hours to finish moving all my things and Zeke's. By the time we finished, the sun was just beginning to set. Luckily, we live close enough to town to order pizza for dinner, as they were too tired to cook. I tried to get Mr. Anderson to stay and eat with us.
"I'm sorry, guys, but I have to go home for dinner; Momma Anderson is waiting on me," he says with a smile on his face. "Once you guys are settled in, maybe we can come have dinner another night. You guys enjoy your pizza." He hugged us both when we walked him out to his truck.
While waiting for dinner, I decided to examine the dining room wall. Zeke joined me, curious about my interest. As we entered, my eyes focused on the exact spot the woman in the blue dress had indicated in her dream. She saw the wooden door, but it was partly obscured behind a tall stand. I looked at Zeke and signaled for him to join me.
"Can you help me move this stand? I think there might be something behind that door." He grabbed the stand without question and moved it out of the way to access the door. Crouching down, I opened it and reached inside. My hand landed on a metal rectangular box. It reminded me of a small cash box or lock box. Zekes eyes widen in disbelief as he sees me pull the box out.
"Rocky, how did you know that was there?" He asks.
Taking a deep breath, I try to explain, "You're going to think I'm crazy, but I have been having vivid dreams lately, and in them the same woman in a blue dress appears and asks me for help. She told me to look at this wall in the dining room and asked for help. That's why I knew exactly where to look." He seemed skeptical of my explanation.
"Rocky, it's not that I think you're crazy, but how can a dream possibly lead you to this box?" he asked, but the question felt more for himself than me.
"I know it may sound odd, I continue to explain, " but the dream was so vivid that I couldn't ignore it. It felt like she was trying to tell me something important. That's why I needed to look, and now here we are." Zeke was getting ready to respond to me when, out of nowhere, we heard loud thumping coming from upstairs as if someone was walking down the hallway.