by Ann Simas
By the fourth and final day of reading Zach’s letters, she’d found three more cult references. One conveyed his anger because his parents wouldn’t acknowledge the announcement of his daughter’s birth, yet felt compelled to regale him with the benefits of dumping Sunny and joining them in Vale Luna. It was the first time he’d mentioned the cult by name.
In another letter, he’d included a newspaper clipping that Army Ranger Bobby Killion had passed to him about cults, in general, with more than a passing nod to Vale Luna as being one of the more radical sects around. A third letter recounted the contact he’d had with his brother, who unbeknownst to him, had joined Vale Luna. The level of both his disappointment and his emotional reaction to what he termed “Zeb’s defection” surprised her.
The final packet of letters had been written by Zach’s teammates and others he’d known in the military. Sunny set them aside to read later. For now, it was time to put away Zach’s letters. She pushed herself up off the floor, stiff from sitting cross-legged too long.
After a couple of stretches, knee bends, and bend-overs, she gathered up the ribboned packets with the intention of replacing them in the box. That was when she noticed one letter remained on the bottom.
She set the two bunches aside and reached in to retrieve the envelope, which was flap-side-up and still sealed. She turned it over and was stunned to find Zach’s distinctive hand-printing across the front. Her eyes flew to the postmark. It had been mailed four days before his death from an APO she didn’t recognize.
Staggered by the realization that she’d never opened and read it, Sunny’s hands trembled as she worked a finger under the flap.
For the life of her, she didn’t know why it had remained unopened these past two years. Had her mind blanked that it had even arrived?
Another possibility occurred. The last time she’d had the box down was the day after she’d gotten the in-person notification of Zach’s death. Since she had no recollection of having received the letter, someone in the family had probably tucked it inside with the others when the box had been returned to the shelf in her closet.
Sunny sank back down onto the floor and pulled the letter from the envelope. Even before she began to read, goose bumps raced up her arms, as if some mystical forewarning had been released from the envelope along with the written words.
Sunny, it just now occurs to me that I must be a very slow learner.
Our little angel Maisie is one month old today and I haven’t yet met her. How did Carson react when he got his first introduction to his little sister? What an amazing woman you are! You managed to give birth to not one, but two incredible little human beings all alone, with your dumb lug of a husband thousands of miles away from you, offering not one iota of support.
Yes, I know your parents were at the hospital with you, but I’m just now wishing it had been me there instead. You’re probably wondering what’s wrong with me, right? Why now, of all times, have I come to my senses about what’s really important in life? Honestly, I don’t know.
I think of my little family every day and I pray for each of you. It may surprise you, Sunny, that I even know how to pray, but I do. You’ve heard that old adage, “there aren’t any atheists in foxholes,” right? It’s true. I pray alone and I pray with my team. We all believe in the power of prayer, Sunny.
I’ve been giving a lot of thought to where I came from, where I’ve been, and where I’m going. Being a SEAL became a dream for me early in my life. I suppose it was something tangible to hold on to until I could get myself emancipated and away from my lunatic parents. If they weren’t so freaking nuts, I’d actually find some humor in making a pun between Vale Luna and lunatics!
Sunny couldn’t help but smile at his comparison of the cult members to lunatics. From what she’d heard and read about them, the term was apt. She also learned something new about Zach. He’d never told her he’d undertaken emancipation. She’d always just assumed he left home upon high school graduation and never looked back.
I’ve learned some things, Sunny, and I want you to promise me that whatever happens down the road, you will NEVER let my parents or my brother anywhere near Carson and Maisie. If you see them, run. If they phone you, hang up and change your number. If you get mail from them, throw it away without reading it. Whatever you do, have no contact with them, EVER!
I know this makes me seem like a lunatic, too, but when I see you, I’ll explain everything. In the meantime, trust me on this, okay? I don’t want to scare you, but what I learned recently about Vale Luna really is a life-or-death matter.
I probably should have called or Skyped you to give you this warning, Sunny, but something’s not right here. I can’t say exactly what it is, but I feel like I’m being watched by something evil. For some reason, it just seemed safer to write it down. I’m entrusting this letter to Bobby—remember, his folks were cult fanatics, too? Call me a conspiracy nut, if you want, but he’s leaving today, headed back to Iraq, and he’ll make sure this actually gets mailed.
There’s something else I realized, Sunny. Have I ever told you the most important thing? I love you. I do. Idiot that I am, I don’t remember ever saying those three words to you, even though I know I’ve heard them from you.
I’m still thinking about the future and what it holds for us. I put in for leave so I can be with you on Mother’s Day. It’s never happened since I became a SEAL, but I’m excited as hell about being on leave!
I apologize for my neglect, Sunny, and I pray that you can forgive me for being such a jerk. I promise to make it up to you, and I look forward to the two of us discussing where we go from here. I know it probably sounds trite, but self-revelation has been eye-opening for me and for the first time in my life, I’m optimistic about what the future holds for me and you and our children.
Please give them each a hug and a kiss from me, and tell them that I love them with all my heart. That’s how I love you, too, Sunny, and nothing will ever change that.
XO // Z
Tears streamed down Sunny’s face. Zach had realized late how deep his feelings ran for her and his children, but not too late. She’d never been given a blow-by-blow account of how he died. His commander had said his death was instantaneous and that he’d suffered no pain. She hoped to God that was true.
Better late than never, he’d embraced his new-found realizations and held them close to his heart. It comforted her knowing that he’d left this world as a man at peace with his life.
. . .
Sunny bathed the kids, then the three of them settled in on Carson’s bed while she read them one of her children’s books.
“I wub Mist’a Fwog,” Maisie murmured, her tiny index finger tracing over the image of Mr. Frog in the book. “He wooks wike Kuhmet.” An avid Sesame Street watcher, her daughter always made comparisons between the fictional Mr. Frog and the Kermit who lived on television. Sunny couldn’t see the resemblance, except that they were both green, but she never tried to convince Maisie otherwise.
“I love Cookie Monster,” Carson said, growling. “Gimme cookie!”
“I wub cookies, too. Wet’s bake cookies Mommy!”
“Tomorrow okay?” Sunny said. “We’ll bake Daddy’s favorites, shall we?”
“Choc’a chip!” Maisie cried. “My fabrit!”
“Me, too,” Carson chimed in.
Sunny finished reading the last two pages of Mr. Frog Takes a Leap and closed the book, setting it aside on the night table between the twin beds. She slid an arm around each of child and said, “I found a letter today that Daddy wrote to me just before he went to Heaven.”
Two little faces peered up at her with curious faces. “Can Daddy write letters from Heaven?” Carson asked.
“No, he watches over us from Heaven, but he can’t send us any letters from there.”
They digested that in silence.
“I found this letter in the box where I keep all the letters Daddy wrote to me. For some reason, it had never been opened,
but I read it today.”
“What did he say?” Carson asked.
“He asked me to tell you that he loves you both with all his heart and he sent you both a big kiss and a hug.”
“I wike kisses an’ hugs,” Maisie said, clapping her chubby little hands together.
“Me, too,” Carson said.
Almost as if they’d choreographed it, they popped up to their feet.
Sunny kept her arms wide to prevent them from toppling off the bed. Somehow they both encircled her neck with their own arms, with Carson kissing her right cheek and Maisie, her left. Both were a little slobbery, but they were still the sweetest kisses she’d ever received. She rained Zach’s kisses over their cheeks, eliciting a swell of youthful giggles, and finished up with a hug each.
Sunny fell backward on the bed, tickling their ribs. They squirmed and squealed and laughed, trying to tickle her back.
“Hey, what’s all the racket about?” Angie asked from the doorway, smiling.
“I’m turning their giggles into squeals, making them squirm like slippery little eels.”
“That sounds like a line out of one of your books.”
“It isn’t yet, but I like it. I think I’ll use it in a book about an eel.” She tickled Carson and Maisie again. “What do you say, you squirmy little eels?”
Their laughter escalated into screams of stop, stop against her tickling fingers.
“Way to settle them down before bedtime,” Angie said, her tone facetious yet fond as she turned away.
Sunny grinned, uncaring that it might take longer than usual to calm the kids down enough to actually fall asleep. She let them tickle her back, ignoring the twinge in her side and feigning laughter because she’d never been ticklish.
Fifteen minutes after they should have been well on their way to childish dreams, she tucked each one into bed, then sat on the floor between them and developed the story for yet another new book. She planned to title it Feel the Squeal, Mr. Eel.
. . .
Sunny retrieved the box of letters from her workroom, along with her laptop, and headed for her bedroom.
Carson and Maisie were asleep in their beds, perhaps with visions of squirmy, giggling eels dancing in their heads.
Libby had gone to a movie with Trey and hadn’t come home yet.
Angie and Carmine were in the kitchen, experimenting with a cake recipe they wanted to use for their parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. They were probably making a big mess, but as long as they cleaned up, Sunny didn’t care.
Luca’s parents, Elena and Matteo, or Matty, as he preferred to be called, were hosting a party at their house on the weekend. Sunny, Libby, and the children were all invited, along with Bebe and Harry, who had become quick friends with the Amorosis.
Sunny set the box inside the door to the walk-in closet. The laptop, Zach’s last letter, and her notebook she put on the bed, then changed into her shorty pajamas. With a few more preparations that involved booting up her laptop, stacking her bed pillows up against the headboard, and opening her window so she could get some fresh air, she was ready to settle in on her bed.
First, she reread Zach’s letter.
Next, she picked up her spiral pad and reviewed all the notes she’d made from his letters.
Finally, she was ready to do some research.
The name Vale Luna hadn’t really registered with her at the time she’d first read it in Zach’s letter, but today she studied it with new eyes. She’d taken Latin in junior high school, and to this day, certain words stuck with her, especially those with modern derivatives.
Luna equaled moon, but she couldn’t remember the meaning of vale. To save time, she went to Google Translate and plugged Vale Luna into the translator, Latin to English. Farewell the Moon.
While she never claimed to be an expert in astronomy or meteorology, Sunny understood enough about the Earth’s relationship to the moon to know that if said romantic orb wasn’t dangling amongst the stars on a daily basis, the Earth’s existence was in dire jeopardy. She couldn’t explain it exactly, but she knew it had to do with the tides and the gravitational pull. Lose those and Earth is a goner.
She again reviewed her earlier notes and from those, she chose four words to plug into a Google search: black moon february 2018.
She read literally dozens of articles on dozens of websites. She also read blogs and question-and-answer sites. It took her hours.
Libby and Trey returned and joined Carmine and Angie in the kitchen. Sunny suspected they were sampling the cake. If the baking aroma was any indication, the final product must be delicious.
Sunny kept on reading.
The hum of neighborhood living on a beautiful summer evening gradually dwindled to the occasional faint growl of a car engine.
The house quieted around her as first Carmine, then Trey, bid their goodnights and Libby and Angie turned in.
The night sounds of crickets and chorus frogs wafted in through her open window.
Sunny yawned and decided that after one more article, she needed to get some sleep.
By the time she shut down her laptop and made one final note in her spiral pad, she was even more frightened than she had been after reading Zach’s letter.
While she brushed her teeth, she pondered her husband’s final words to her.
Then she wondered about the Fyfes trying to get custody of Carson and Maisie.
And after that, she considered why Zach’s brother, Zeb, would join Vale Luna.
Finally, she reviewed Zach’s warnings. If you see them, run. If they phone you, hang up and change your number. If you get mail from them, throw it away without reading it. Whatever you do, have no contact with them, EVER!
He couldn’t have known that his batshit-crazy parents would try to take Carson and Maisie away from her if something happened to him, so the warnings must have been about something else.
Or were they?
Even as the possibilities flooded her brain, Sunny’s blood ran cold.
Chapter 22
. . .
Sunny couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived the visions.
Her parents incapacitated at the least, dead at the worst.
Her children stolen.
Not being there to stop it. Not knowing when it would actually happen, though the location was obvious.
It wasn’t like she’d never gone a night without sleeping. As a single parent of two small children, she’d had plenty of sleepless nights. Colds, flu, fever, teething, bad dreams. All of it treatable by either medication or cuddling.
How did you treat a vision where the people you loved most in the world were hurt or killed or spirited away?
She climbed out of bed at four a.m. and went to the kitchen, where all she could think to do was brew a pot of coffee. She measured one extra scoop of French Roast, hoping the added caffeine would give her a boost, since it was obvious she wasn’t going to nod off any time soon.
Once it had brewed, she padded off to the workroom and sat down to start painting.
Normally, Sunny could compartmentalize. Kids, always at the forefront. Writing and painting, important and close to the forefront. Problems, shoved into a back corner of her brain, to be dealt with once work was out of the way.
This morning, her system was out of whack, though she was surprised when she abandoned her painting table to discover she had completed two more scenes.
How was that even possible when her mind had done nothing but regurgitate the visions?
Just thinking about the lengths someone would go to take her children was enough to debilitate her.
If she let it.
Sunny stiffened her spine.
The visions came to her for a reason, to show her what could happen and, if she made the right decisions, how she could prevent chaos, or even death. Yes, it had only happened to her once before, so did she really have a substantial example on which to base her resolve? True, five different visions of one e
vent had allowed her to choose wisely, insofar as keeping herself and Della alive, but look what had happened afterward—brutality against her person that she never would’ve previously imagined possible.
She didn’t dare let herself relive those moments. Instead, she verbalized a reminder. “You’re alive, Sunny, and that’s what counts.”
She had to keep that in mind.
Those first visions involving Della were the teacher visions. They had to be. God would not be so cruel as to gift her with the power to see alternate schematics of a future event if it were not possible to make informed, life-saving decisions about those events.
These looks into the future would not get the better of her. She would get the better of them.
Her parents would not be knocked out or killed. Her children would not be taken.
With that settled, she considered how to proceed. Could she deal with this thing alone, or did she need to bring someone in to help her? If seeking help was the right choice, who did she seek for assistance? Her parents? The police? Luca, specifically?
Her ruminations came to a screeching halt when her world dissolved into a quiet fog that again immobilized her.
Sunny could only watch in horror as the latest version of the kidnapping of her children unfolded before her.
From the beginning, it was evident that this rendition was completely different than the others. One person snuck up on her parents, and using a gun with a suppressor, shot them both in the back of the head, execution style. Two other individuals snatched her children—Maisie from the sandbox and Carson from the slide.
Neither of the abductors wore masks or faced her directly, but Sunny glimpsed the shooter from the side, if only for an instant.
Dressed all in black, the trio worked efficiently and quickly. They showed the children no kindness or consideration, grabbing each around the middle and slapping a hand over their mouths. Hysterical, they kicked and screamed, but whatever was on the cloth their captors wedged against their small faces knocked them out within seconds, rendering both her babies limp and unconscious.
