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  I could feel him.

  Dad. He’d been here.

  No, no… he was here.

  My body trembled, and cries shook me. I turned to face my family standing nearby. “He’s under here,” I said. “I think we’ve found him.” My breath came hard and fast, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I was holding onto the car I would have collapsed with the intensity of my emotions.

  “In the trunk?” Mr. Jenkins asked.

  “No, no. Right underneath. Under the car itself.”

  “But how—I mean…” Savannah searched for words.

  Mr. Jenkins turned around. “Boys, can you help me shift this?” He gestured to the car. “Some of it might fall apart, so be careful.” He handed out two pairs of protective gloves. The others would have to use their bare hands. He took out his phone and took a photo first. “We might need this for evidence,” he said.

  “Should we just call the authorities?” asked Serena, gripping Mom’s arm. I knew that, although she was as desperate to find Dad as we were, she didn’t feel ready. Probably never would. But I couldn’t wait any longer. My experiences had taught me to live in the moment, to not waste time.

  Mr. Jenkins looked at Mom.

  She shook her head. “Just do it. Find him.” She crossed her arms. “We’ve waited long enough.”

  Hell yes. No more waiting. No more guessing. We had to see if Marco’s vision, and my strong sense of touch, had led us to the right spot.

  Savannah joined them. “I have to help,” she said. She stood with the men on one side of the car, leaning forward, hands planted against it.

  “Ready?” asked Mr. Jenkins. “On the count of three. One, two… three!”

  They heaved and pushed. Metal creaked, bent, groaned from underneath. The car tilted, slowly at first and then, with a stronger push from the group, it tipped over in one noisy, clanging, tangled clump of metal. They all stood back quickly, unsure if any loose parts would come hurtling their way. Dust swirled around the upside-down car, like an earthly spirit wafting up from beneath. I eyed the dry, cracked, dirty ground that had been beneath the car for all these years. My hands tingled again, and I walked closer to the area where the car had been, hands reaching out, buzzing with electricity. I was about to bend down and touch my hands to the ground, but there was no need. My hands shook with the energy, and the moment I stepped back it began to subside.

  “Should we?” Mr. Jenkins asked Mom again.

  She nodded.

  He picked up the two shovels from nearby, and handed one to Leo. Together, they began digging.

  “I can’t watch this.” Serena turned away, and Damon took her to a rock to sit down.

  “Me neither.” Sasha and Jordan did the same.

  Riley had no tool, but started using his hands, moving the dug-up dirt to the side and gathering it into a firmer pile. Savannah moved back, sat on a rock, and fiddled with her onyx earrings.

  I stood back, not too far that I couldn’t see what they were doing, but not too close that it was, well, too close. Tamara stood by my side, her arm around me. Mom stood as still as a rock, her mouth taut, her eyes unblinking so as to not miss what she had been unable to see all these years.

  It took a while. Deeper and deeper they went, stopping occasionally to check if they should keep going. Mr. Jenkins brought up another shovelful of dirt, then paused. He peered into the dirt, tested it gently with his shovel, then knelt down over the makeshift grave and dug with his hands.

  Mom’s breathing was audible. My heart pounded, and Tamara’s grip around my waist tightened.

  “Leo,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Help me out here.” He tilted his head at part of the ground. Leo dug with his hands, his face creased with effort and emotion. Riley helped, and soon they became frantic. Dirt flew up and out, and then Mr. Jenkins looked over at us.

  “What is it? What did you find?” I asked.

  “A bone,” he said softly. “An arm.”

  My stomach heaved, and I almost vomited. Tamara held me up and rubbed my back. Mom stayed still and strong. “Keep going,” she said, in a calm, deep, strong voice I hadn’t heard before.

  Mr. Jenkins wiped his brow with his forearm, leaving a dirty mark on his face. Riley and Leo’s shirts were damp with sweat, but they were like Mom, focused and determined to see it through. As though getting a resolution was as important for them as it was for us.

  Mr. Jenkins looked up again. “Mountain Workwear,” he said. “The shirt, it’s here.”

  “Oh my God.” Savvy trembled, her hand on her chest. “Oh my God.”

  Mr. Jenkins appeared to be reaching in and around, trying to move all the dirt around, and then his hand rose and he held something up, dusting it off until it glinted in the brightening sunlight.

  I took a step closer.

  So did Tamara.

  My twin reached out her hand, and Mr. Jenkins stood and came up to her, handing her the item. She gasped. “Dad’s lucky coin,” she said.

  I could feel the cool metal on my skin without even touching it. Memories of childhood came flooding back. I had found his friendship bracelet at the cabin, and now we had found his lucky coin. It hadn’t brought him luck that day, but now it was our reassurance, along with the workwear shirt, that we had found him. Finally.

  “I need to…” Mom stepped forward with shaky steps.

  “Rose.” Mr. Jenkins held his hands gently out toward her. “Rose, you don’t—”

  “I need to know for sure!” she blurted, lurching forward. But Mr. Jenkins caught her, wrapped his arms around her, and encouraged her to move back.

  “You don’t want to see,” he said. “You don’t need to.”

  “Mom,” I said, holding onto her arm. “It’s him. It really is. It’s over. We’ve found him. That’s all that matters.”

  I wasn’t going to look either. Seeing his lucky coin was enough, and knowing that he was wearing the outfit Savannah had seen his ghost wearing.

  But Savannah had other plans. While we stood around Mom, she lunged urgently forward and peered into the grave, Riley grasping her from behind to keep her from falling in. Her face paled, and she turned away and released her stomach contents onto the ground.

  “Savvy!” Mom called out.

  Riley rubbed his girlfriend’s back, helped her sit down away from the grave. She threw up a second time. Then she cried.

  “Leo,” said Mr. Jenkins. “Call Detective Larson. Tell him what we found.”

  Leo nodded and got out his phone. “No reception,” he said. “I’ll walk back up the hill, hang on.” He disappeared in a hurry.

  Tamara and I embraced Mom, Mr. Jenkins held us steady, and Mom released ten years’ worth of tears in one go.

  As our tears joined hers, a bird squawked in the distance, and I looked up. I held a hand up to cover my eyes as the day began to reveal itself. Through the tall trees, high up in the sky, spearing through muted clouds, were five thin streams of sunlight shining brightly down into the forest.

  Chapter 24

  The perfect notes of Serena’s original violin composition swept through the crisp afternoon air of the Iris Harbor cemetery. As guests tossed flowers on top of the casket, now lowered into the grave, I stood holding a single rose, my eyes not leaving the headstone. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be reading my father’s name engraved in stone, above where his body was finally laid to rest. I needed to process it, to stay with it until my mind registered that it was actually true.

  It was only after Serena finished playing and the silence returned that it hit me. The day had come. We had grown up, developed our gifts, and they had led us to this moment.

  He had found his resting place. We would visit him every day we possibly could, even though I knew he was all around us, guiding us, supporting us wherever we went.

  Though we still didn’t know exactly what had unfolded between Dad and the Bolt brothers on that fateful day, we knew enough. A bullet hole had been found in the back of the workwear shirt Dad
’s body was found in. And dental records had confirmed it was him, even though we’d already known. DNA testing had also shown that the shirt had been worn by Dave Bolt, as well as Dad. And they had found the money Dad had hidden, and taken that Dale guy into custody, charging him with an array of other crimes they were able to link him to, as it appeared he had become involved with the Bolt brothers after Dad’s disappearance. Along with the money, folded discreetly between layers of cash, was a note written and signed by Dad, indicating that he had been blackmailed by the brothers, and listing a man called Brent as having had a role also, along with a couple of others. He had also written a list of who the brothers had stolen money from, small amounts that, when added together, had enabled their kitty to grow to a sizeable sum, and asked that the funds please be returned to them. He included a simple diagram of the device component he had made, explaining that the job had started out under the façade of needing a piece of fancy equipment for a home recording studio, a surprise for someone’s partner, hence the secrecy, but when he’d progressed further with the work, he realized what it was that he was actually making. But by then they had him hooked in their web.

  But what had secured the conviction of those responsible for Dad’s disappearance and murder was that Sean, now a quadriplegic, had confessed to the murder in order to receive better medical care during his incarceration. Dave had refused to cooperate, until his brother’s confession had left no doubt about their joint involvement.

  As my mind processed all that had happened since the kidnapping, I didn’t even notice that Marco had sidled up next to me. “Do you want to keep the rose?” he asked, curling his hand around my wrist.

  I glanced down at the rich, red, velvety flower. “No,” I said. “Dad deserves his rose.” Marco hooked his arm in mine, and we walked to the grave, Marco with his newly acquired limp, which I’d told him made him look like a swaggering cowboy. With that and the scar, he was feeling quite the wounded hero.

  Splashes of color littered the top of the glossy wooden coffin, and I added to them when I tossed the rose in. It landed in the center, right where Dad’s heart would have been. I kissed my fingers and blew the kiss down into the earth, imagining it filling with love and peace for Dad in his final journey. “Goodbye, Dad,” I said. “I’ll never forget you.” My voice wavered, and Marco slid his arm around my back as tears blurred my vision. I then picked up the handmade iris sculpture I had placed on the ground and carried it over, placing it next to the headstone. “For you, Dad.”

  I moved away from the grave, toward my family, and we stood in a cluster together as the service wrapped up. People asked if we were okay and if we needed anything. People gave their condolences, which felt weird, because although we were sad, we were also relieved. This wasn’t the sad day it would have been had Dad’s body been found right away. The years of uncertainty provided a contrast to this moment now blessed with certainty and closure.

  It was tragic still, traumatic still, but now we could move forward. We could live the life he’d given us.

  As guests returned to their cars or walked away down the coastal track overlooking the ocean, we wandered toward the shade of a nearby tree, as though it were Dad towering over us and wrapping us in an embrace.

  Marco joined my sisters’ boyfriends and Mr. Jenkins as they wandered over to the bench seat Mom had carved Dad’s initials into, leaving us alone to finish this pivotal moment in our lives.

  The breeze washed gently over us, and my skin tingled with its freshness. My four sisters and I huddled in a circle with Mom, arms around each other, connecting: an unbreakable bond that I would carry with me wherever life took me.

  And then I felt the jolt.

  And the bubbles.

  And the familiar tickling inside that told me we were about to sense something.

  I thought Mom would back away and let us do our thing, but she stayed with us, and it seemed to be working even with her here, so my arm remained around her back.

  I felt the heavy-duty fabric of a shirt, felt it slip over my arms and around my back. Then there was cold metal on my hands, like I was carrying something. I could feel the ground beneath my feet, the texture changing from something hard like concrete to something looser like dirt-covered ground, tiny pebbles poking into my feet, which felt like they were encased in shoes.

  As my sense of touch became enhanced and my mind processed all the details, I became aware of another sense. Sound. I heard muffled voices. Were they simply guests from the funeral, perhaps wondering what we were doing? No, they seemed to be in the vision itself. I had Serena on my left side—was I somehow hijacking her auditory vision? Bizarre. Before I could make out what the voices were saying, I could smell cigarettes, and some kind of mechanical smell. Then a bitter taste worked its way into my mouth. And then my heart rate rose as an image began forming in my mind.

  What the hell?

  As though a light had gradually gone from dim to bright, I saw the exterior of the cabin I had been held in. And like a movie, I saw someone exit, in a hurry. My internal eye squinted, and I recognized the shirt. And the face.

  It was Dad. Dad was in my vision.

  But why was I seeing him instead of feeling the physical sensations he had felt?

  I didn’t have time to try to understand it; I could tell my sisters afterwards. The vision was playing out as though in real time.

  Dad was running, frantically. Carrying a device of some kind, constantly looking behind him. I could hear his labored breathing. I could hear the sounds of trees and branches being pushed aside as he ran through the forest, just as I had done. And when he came to a clearing, I heard a gunshot. Not at him, but into the air. It made him stop and turn, and his face changed from adrenaline-filled determination to resignation. In that moment, he knew he had no chance.

  I gulped, not sure if I wanted to see what would happen next.

  “Come back, David.” I recognized Sean’s voice, though it sounded less gravelly.

  “I can’t do that,” Dad replied. “I refuse to play your games any longer.”

  “Good thing you’re finished with what we wanted you to do, then,” he said with a chuckle. “Just give the device back. Don’t let your hard work go to waste.”

  “Never,” he said. “I won’t let you, or whoever is asking for this, hurt innocent people.”

  “Nobody’s innocent,” said Sean.

  Dad turned away slowly.

  “You know what I’m going to have to do if you keep moving.” Sean stepped forward, gun pointed.

  Dad paused, then dashed for cover behind a tree. A gunshot rang out, and Dad dashed to another tree. Another gunshot. Sean was getting closer.

  Dad turned to face the evil man. “You won’t win,” he said. “You won’t win.” Then he turned away from him, and slowly stepped forward, and all I saw, as though the camera had moved to focus on Sean, was the next shot he fired. The last shot. I saw Sean’s face; I saw his weapon lower. I saw him walk toward my father.

  He rolled my dad onto his back, Dad’s mouth gaping open and struggling to draw breath, but his eyes still present, still seeing.

  “I’ll take that,” Sean said, grabbing the fallen device.

  “It’s… no use… without… the component,” Dad said with a loose, weak chuckle.

  “What?” Sean opened some metal part on the device and searched frantically. “Where is it? What did you do with it?”

  Dad replied in a whisper. “Maybe… you… shouldn’t have… shot me. Now you’ll… never know.”

  “Goddamn it!” He rolled Dad over to his side, put pressure on the bullet wound and tried to stop it bleeding. “Tell me! Tell me where it is!”

  “Never.”

  He rolled Dad back over when he realized it was no use, and Dad’s eyelids began drooping up and down.

  “We’ll find it,” Sean said. “We’ll win.”

  Dad laughed a weak but assured laugh. “No you won’t. The money’s gone too. Hid it with… all the in
formation… the cops will need.”

  Sean ran a frustrated and bloody hand through his hair.

  “Love,” Dad said. Then, in a weak, drawn-out voice as his eyes began to glaze over, he said his final words: “Love… always… wins.”

  His breathing stopped, and his face went still.

  The scene faded to black.

  My heart pounded through the silence. The emptiness.

  I wanted to release the connection, end the vision, but something kept me there, holding onto my family.

  I felt another bubbly sensation, like we were getting a round two.

  And then I felt warm. Warm, and calm, and secure.

  A gentle breeze tickled the hairs on my arms. I felt cool, smooth, curved glass against my hands. And then came the other senses, like before. I could taste and smell the salty sea air. I could hear ocean waves. I could see a pool. People splashing about. My sisters! And my mom, laying next to me on a deck chair, a cocktail with a paper umbrella in her hand.

  The vision of Dad had been in the past. But this was the future. Our future. And it felt amazing. We had been through a lot, a hell of a lot more than average people, but right here, in this moment I was sensing, everything was all right. We were safe. We were secure. We were happy. And most importantly, we were together.

  The scene faded and another one came into view.

  We were at home. Tamara was baking, Leo was helping her in the kitchen, and Savannah and Sasha were pretend-fighting each other with fancy self-defense moves. Serena and Damon were seated next to each other on the couch, both staring at their phones, pausing occasionally to show each other something on their screen and then laughing. And me, I was standing there, watching it all, Marco by my side, massaging my shoulders like I was one of his clay figures. And in the distance, through the patio doors, Mom was dancing with Mr. Jenkins in the garden like they were a couple of ballroom dancers. They laughed and relaxed their postures, and he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her forehead, caressing her curly hair.