"Holy shit," she murmured. "Holy fucking shit."
"Yeah, my feelings exactly. But her journal doesn't make sense, Ingrid. None of what she wrote makes sense. She's talking about dreams as if they were visions, about some sisters and an island I have never even heard of."
"Whoa, whoa, visions? Was your mom drinking Kool-Aid when she wrote it?"
"I don't think so," I huffed. "But the worst part is that she didn't run away from my biological father. She was running away from someone."Or something, popped into my mind. "But I don't exactly know what. It's all very cryptic, confusing, and this fucking island is not on any of the maps. It basically doesn't exist."
"Maybe she didn't want you to know about it and she used a fake name?"
"No, I don't think so." I looked at the book I had picked up and placed on the table, and took it in my hands. "There are so many things my mom was hiding from me. I don't think I ever knew her at all."
"Oh, Kaira. That's not true. You knew your mom. You know she loved you and your family and that she would've done everything for you guys."
"I know. I know all of that, but there's this whole part of her that I didn't know. There's her past, and I have a feeling I have just scratched the surface with these two journals." Not to mention this weird feeling that started rising in me ever since I started reading those pages as if there was information just out of my reach.
As if there was something, waiting, beckoning me, and it didn't start with her journals. It started with an accident. Absentmindedly, my finger dragged over the scar through myleft eyebrow, and instead of reminding me I was the only one that had managed to survive, it just made me further question that entire night.
How did I manage to get out of the car? Did I get out on my own, and if I did, why couldn't I remember that part? I could swear I saw someone out there as I lost consciousness, but I kept telling myself it was only my imagination. Now, I wasn't so sure.
My mom believed in the supernatural world more than any of us did. My father did too, but not like her. She was almost religiously creating offerings and talking about spirits and the other world as if all of it were true. We often argued over my lack of belief and her over-the-top behavior when it came to those things.
"What are you going to do?" Ingrid asked. She knew me too well and that no matter what happened in my life, I hated not having all the answers. I hated getting only partial information.
My mom ran away from Nevermere Island for a reason, and perhaps it was stupid of me to try to find my way back there, but every single atom in my body was screaming at me to go. I wasn't a superstitious person, but I believed everything happened for a reason.
The accident, the grief that took over my entire year, me finding these journals and deciding to read them, maybe there was a reason for it all.
Or maybe it was just another coping mechanism for me to not think about the sorrow wrapped around my heart. Or the emptiness in this house. Maybe this was just a way for me to somehow move forward.
"I'm going to try to find that island, Ingrid. And," my finger dragged over the worn-out leather of the journal from 1996, "I think I need to go there. Apparently my mom had a sister as well. I have an aunt somewhere, and I need to know the truth. I feel like I would never be able to restart my life if I don't find out thatpart of my mom's story. I need to see if my biological father is still there too."
I stopped, seeing the familiar name on the screen of my laptop.
"Do you think it's crazy?"
Ingrid stayed quiet for a second, maybe a second too long for my liking, before she spoke again. "I think it's only crazy if you decide to stay inside that house and rot, Ira. And yeah, maybe it is just a little crazy, but honestly," she took a deep breath. "It's been almost a year since I heard the excitement in your voice, and at this point I would take even a wild chase for an island that might not exist over the apathy you've been living in since the accident."
"Yeah," I smiled, loving how honest she always was. "It does feel just a little crazy."
"But crazy isn't always so bad, you know. If finding out the truth about your family would bring you some closure, then I say go for it. I loved your mom, you know that, but that doesn't mean she was perfect. None of us are. Hell, I'm having a child right now and I know I would do everything for this little bundle of joy, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't lie to them in order to protect them."
"I know." And I did. On some level I understood the secrecy, but that didn't mean I had to like it. "I get what you're saying."
"The only thing that worries me, Ira, is not knowing what it was your mom was running away from. I mean, I obviously don't know the entire story, and I'm sure you'll tell me eventually, but I do hope it isn't something crazy. I don't want you to be in danger. Holy moly," she exclaimed. "What if your bio dad was part of the Mafia or something like that and your mom was from the rival family?"
"This isn'tRomeo and Juliette, Ingrid." I laughed. "Have you been reading those romance books again?"
"Listen, I'll ask you once you have a child how you're spending your free time, and we'll see what the answer is then. Besides, the men in these books are something else."
"I hear you, but no, I don't think it was anything like that. The tone of her entries, I don't even know how to describe it. It feels as if she was talking about a different world, and I don't know why I'm getting that feeling."
"Ooooh," Ingrid whisper-shouted. "Maybe it's a fantasy book. Maybe you're the daughter of some dark elf who was a prince and your mom was a commoner, so everyone was against it." I laughed again, but thinking that I was some long-lost princess was better than thinking my mom was running away from some dangerous people.
I started reading the post on the forum I had opened as Ingrid continued talking about the imaginary world where I was a long-lost princess who had to reclaim her throne now and fight an evil witch in order to do that, when a familiar name reappeared again.
Ashbourne.
Wait—my mom mentioned Ashbourne in one of her entries.
