Tala Prophecy: The Complete Series

by Tia Silverthorne Bach

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean Sam’s been talking to you?” Mom asked.

  “I hear his voice. He tells me things.”

  “I don’t think this is funny. At all. My son’s dead.”

  “Do you think I’d make something like this up?” How could she think that of me? Reagan’s heart hurt, like she could feel it breaking. She’d never use Sam to hurt anyone.

  “Reagan, when does Sam speak to you?” Dr. Ableman asked.

  Reagan considered all the times she’d heard his voice. “Usually when I’m scared or confused. It’s only been a few times,” she said, looking over to her mother. “I would never lie about Sam. Ever.”

  “Often, we hear the voice of the person we miss, especially when we didn’t get to say goodbye to them,” Dr. Ableman said, interjecting before Mom could respond. “What does he say?”

  “He usually tells me to calm down, but sometimes he gives me instructions.” Reagan knew she’d gone too far. Desperate to undo the damage, she tried to back up and cover her tracks. “Not really instructions. Just ways to feel better.”

  “Does Sam ask about me?” Mom asked. She reached over to grab Reagan’s hand.

  Reagan knew her mother needed some peace, something to make her feel better.

  “Tell her I love her,” Sam said.

  Reagan smiled. In her mind she told Sam thank you. But, she would have told her mother anyway. “He did say he loves you.”

  Mom leaned over and hugged her daughter. They held onto each other for a long time, or at least longer than they had since Sam’s funeral.

  “Our time’s up, ladies,” Dr. Ableman said. “Mrs. Cooper, I’d like to talk with you for a minute. Reagan, she’ll be right out. Thanks for your honesty today. We’ll talk more next week.”

  Reagan could take the hint, and was glad to be getting out of there without spilling any more information. Now more than ever she needed to talk to her grandmother, to find out about Sam—and their grandfather.

  On Reagan’s way through the waiting room, a pamphlet caught her attention: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Dr. Ableman had mentioned it, and Reagan remembered hearing about it when she studied the Vietnam War last year—it was a disorder often associated with war veterans. But the pamphlet redefined it as following a traumatic event that threatens your safety or makes you feel helpless, usually after an attack such as rape or assault.

  Lifting one of the pamphlets, she read about the typical symptoms: inability to remember important aspects of the trauma, outbursts of anger, being on constant alert, feeling jumpy or easily startled, feeling detached and numb, and on and on.

  Maybe this was the simple answer and she was reading much more into all she was going through. Losing her brother the way she did was certainly traumatic. As she was convincing herself that PTSD was a real possibility, she picked up on Dr. Ableman talking to her mother.

  “I’m concerned, Mrs. Cooper, I must be honest. I think it’s a case of PTSD, but I’m still not sure how severe. She seems fragile, and now the voices. I need you to keep a journal of her emotional reactions to things, anything from anger to fear. Has she been taking the medicine I prescribed?”

  “No, she refuses. She says she doesn’t like the way it makes her feel; that it makes her have nightmares. I slipped her some the other day in her tea. I just wanted to help her sleep, since she avoids it so much. But she had a bad reaction and was very angry.”

  Reagan walked closer to the door to hear more, but she knocked over a stand of pamphlets and sent them crashing to the floor. She didn’t want anyone to know she was listening, so she hurried up the stairs and out to the car. Sunshine always caught her off guard after being in that cellar of an office.

  She was on high alert after knocking over that stand and making all that noise. Buzzing in her pocket made her jump and inhale sharply. It took a moment for her eyes to focus as she read the text: CAN I SEE YOU? It was Rafe.

  She huffed and rolled her eyes.

  It only took five days for him to contact her this time. She needed to sit down with Nana and Aunt Sarah this weekend and start to understand some things about the family, about their genetic makeup. Plus, Reagan knew her mom was going to want a sit down after today’s session. Rafe was going to have to wait until she cooled down.

  She texted back: LET’S GET TOGETHER WHEN I GET BACK. As she finished typing, her mom walked up.

  “Let’s go, honey,” Mom said. “Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight, just you and me?”

  “That sounds good,” Reagan said. “But can you promise me we’ll talk about anything but what happened today. I need to think about other stuff.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  Reagan wanted to ask for details, to ask what her mother meant about blaming Nana for Papa’s death. But the questions got stuck.

  “Wait for Nana.” Sam’s voice again.

  Post Traumatic Stress was looking better than any alternatives.

  Denver Airport was busier than usual. Reagan laid her iPad on the security belt and placed her shoes and purse in the bin. She reached over to help Nana with her stuff, too. They went through the X-ray machine and headed to their gate.

  Nana slept the whole flight, and Reagan finished another Dessen book. She found them quite an escape since she’d sworn off paranormal books. Thankfully the airline showed a movie. She’d already seen Avengers, but it was a nice distraction.

  “Ladies and Gentleman, we’re starting our initial descent into Atlanta,” the captain said over the loud speaker. The attendants walked through the aisles collecting trash and reminding people to put their tray tables up and readjust their seats.

  For the first time in months, Reagan felt close to some answers. But she kept remembering her mother’s words as she dropped them off at the airport. “Promise you’ll talk to me when you get home. Give me a chance to explain my side.”

  Reagan shook the words off, and focused on the present. No use worrying just yet over what Mom wanted to say.

  “Nana, wake up. We’re almost in Atlanta,” Reagan said, nudging her grandmother. She stirred, and Reagan noticed how old Nana looked. Mom was going to be fifty in November, so that meant Nana would be seventy-five in September. If Reagan remembered correctly, Aunt Sarah would be forty-seven. No kids.

  Nana opened her eyes, stretched her back and arms, and shook off the sleep. “Thanks, dear. I must’ve needed that.” She leaned in close and asked, “Was I snoring?”

  Reagan chuckled. “No. You were fine.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to the gate. Reagan reached down into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She went to Settings and turned Airplane Mode back off. The phone went from searching to dinging. Several text messages flowed in. Mom asking if they’d landed yet, Serena giving advice to have fun, and Aspen saying she’d miss her best friend. Even Dad sent a message to check in with them. Reagan shot a quick text back to all of them saying she and Nana had arrived safely.

  Reagan helped Nana gather her stuff and get off the plane. They went down the large hallway, up an escalator, took the tram to baggage claim, and looked for their turnstile. There was no mistaking Aunt Sarah. She had the exact same crazy red hair as Reagan. Plus, Sarah came running over as soon as she saw Nana.

  “Mom, so glad you’re back. And, Reagan, oh my God. I can’t believe you’re here!” Sarah grabbed Reagan and pulled her in for a rib-breaking hug.

  “Great to see you, too, Aunt Sarah. I guess I really did get my red hair from you,” Reagan said, pulling away.

  “I’m sure Mom told you it was from her mom, but I prefer to think you got it from me,” Aunt Sarah said. “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s having a hard time. We all are. But it’s great having Nana around.” More than anything, Reagan wanted this trip to mend something so they could all be a family again. She’d already lost so much, and so had her mom. There had to be a way to fix it.

  Once they had everything, they followed Sarah to her car and
loaded it up. Home was an hour away, and traffic was bumper-to-bumper, so they stopped for some food.

  “So tell me about yourself. Where are you goin’ to college? Do you have a boyfriend? Mom hasn’t told me too much.”

  “The more I think about it, I’m pretty sure I’m going to go to CSU. It’s in Fort Collins, so it gives me a little space from Mom and Dad. Boulder’s a bit too close, only fifteen minutes from home. I’m afraid it would be too easy to just live with them and go to school.” Reagan hadn’t put all her thoughts about college into words before then. Since Sam’s death, she and her parents hadn’t talked much about it. She continued, “But, it might help Mom and Dad if I stay at home and go to CU. Especially after everything that’s happened. I don’t want them alone.”

  “That’s tough. I think your Mom and Dad would want you to do what’s best for you,” Sarah said. “But what about your boyfriend?”

  Reagan wasn’t sure Rafe was her boyfriend. “It’s complicated.”

  “Men are always complicated,” Sarah said, as she stuffed her face with forkfuls of a huge salad.

  The rest of the meal was catch-up time. Reagan was filled in about Sarah’s newest boyfriend and about her job as an Osteopathic doctor. Thanks to living near Boulder, Reagan knew something about this. It was like being a medical doctor but working outside normal medicine, considering herbs and alternative treatments like acupuncture. Actually Boulder was a much more logical fit than Georgia.

  From the restaurant, the drive to Nana’s house was quick. Reagan closed her eyes against a growing headache while Sarah and Nana caught up on all the stuff that happened while she’d been away. An anxious feeling spread over Reagan that she couldn’t explain. She’d been looking forward to this trip for weeks, so why did she feel so jumpy and off kilter now?

  Shaking off the growing discomfort, she pulled out her phone and booted up her favorite zombie game. But her headache was only getting worse. She rubbed the back of her neck and twisted her head from side to side, trying to alleviate the shooting pains.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Aunt Sarah asked, looking at Reagan through the rearview mirror.

  “Just a horrible headache.” She rummaged through her purse for some Tylenol.

  “I have something you can try when we get to our house. An herbal remedy I’ve found works quite well.”

  Reagan would try anything to ease the headaches. “Sure, that sounds great. I have so much I want to talk to you and Nana about while I’m here.”

  Nana turned to look at her. “I know you do, dear. But it’s late. Let’s get you home so you can unpack your things and settle in for some sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

  Reagan knew Nana was right, but it didn’t help the need for information. Leaning back against the seat, Reagan closed her eyes again. Not too long after, they pulled into a driveway. She turned her aching head just enough to look out the car window. Nana’s house was small with a wrap-around porch. In classic Southern style, there was a white bench swing to the right on the porch and two wicker chairs to the left.

  They gathered their bags and walked inside. Reagan couldn’t help but notice it seemed a lot more like Nana’s house than Aunt Sarah’s. Everything seemed aged, antique. There was even wood paneling on the walls.

  Nana led Reagan to a small bedroom with a twin bed. “It was your mother’s room.”

  Taking it all in, she spied pictures of her mom at various ages around the room. Most of them Reagan had never seen.

  She picked up a frame from a small desk in the corner. “Is this my dad?”

  “Yes. They hadn’t been dating long when that was taken. They married a few months later and moved.”

  Reagan knew her parents were young when they got married and they’d traveled a lot before they settled down. Her mom had to have a couple of procedures to have kids, so they were married for a number of years before Reagan came along.

  “Cool,” Reagan said. “Nana, do you have another candle here for me? I didn’t feel comfortable bringing mine on the airplane.”

  “You won’t need that here, although I’m glad you’re still wearing your necklace. This house will be all the help you need. I can almost guarantee you a great night’s sleep here,” Nana said. “I’m exhausted, and I know you are. Why don’t you get settled in and get some sleep?”

  “I will. I love you, Nana.”

  “I know. I love you, too, Reagan.”

  ↄↄↄↄↄ

  Morning sunshine flooded the room. Nana was right, Reagan felt rested. It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in a long time. She sat up and stretched. Her nose picked up the scent of breakfast, and she hurried into the kitchen to get some.

  “Good morning. Did you sleep well?” Aunt Sarah asked.

  Reagan pulled out a chair so she could sit down at the kitchen table. It was already set and several food items were in the middle, ready for the taking. “Yes, I did; really well. I’m starving. Do you mind if I dive right in?”

  “Help yourself. Mom is outside makin’ sure I didn’t kill anything in her garden. You’d think she’d trust me with things like that by now. But moms can be funny about stuff, can’t they?”

  “That’s for sure.” Reagan filled her plate with eggs and bacon. Then, she grabbed a piece of toast and slathered some jelly on it. She could tell it was homemade, because it was in a cute little mason jar.

  Aunt Sarah seemed to notice Reagan pick up the jelly jar. “You’ll love it. I made it myself. It’s from fruit in our garden and some herbs. Oh, and speaking of herbs, I have some here for your headaches. You steep them in your tea.”

  Remembering the time her mom slipped drugs into her tea, Reagan was a little gun shy. As she reached for the herbs, her hand shook. “Okay, thanks.”

  A rush of wind swirled into the kitchen when the back door opened and Nana came in. “Garden looks good. Not that I expected any less.”

  Sarah winked at Reagan. “Glad you approve, Mother. Come sit with us and have some breakfast.”

  Nana sat down. Reagan felt like now was as good a time as any to get started; after all, everyone was present and relaxed. “I have so many questions. But most of all, I want to know why my mom ran away.”

  Sarah and Nana looked at each other and hesitated. “Shouldn’t you talk to your mom about this first?” Nana asked.

  “I should, but every time I thought about asking her, something told me to ask you guys first. I can’t explain it.” Reagan knew she couldn’t completely disregard her mom’s feelings and thoughts. If Mom’s side got heard first, Reagan was afraid she’d be more close-minded to what her aunt and grandmother had to say. That chance couldn’t be taken.

  “Your mom wasn’t completely on board with our beliefs, but things became much more strained when your grandfather died.” Nana lifted her coffee cup to her lips. When she put it down, Reagan noticed the bright red lipstick stain on the side of the mug. For some reason, that amused her. It seemed like such a typical old lady move.

  Reagan shook off the moment of normalcy, and chose her words carefully. “Mom mentioned in our last session that she blames you for her dad’s death.” Her muscles tightened; she didn’t want to hurt Nana, but answers were needed. This seemed like as good a place to start as any.

  “She never said those exact words to me, but I suspected as much. She doesn’t understand, because she never wanted to.” Nana forked a pancake onto her plate and drizzled syrup over it.

  “Doesn’t understand what?” Reagan asked, already getting annoyed about the continued cryptic nature of the answers Nana gave.

  “Your grandfather was a hunter.”

  Reagan threw in a thought before Nana could continue. “You mean like my dad?”

  “Well, no, not like your dad. Papa hunted some bad influences around town.” Nana and Aunt Sarah exchanged looks. Reagan felt clueless.

  A realization of sorts hit her smack between the eyes. “Do you mean he hunted humans?”

  What made me ask that? It’s p
reposterous!

  Aunt Sarah cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Not humans, exactly.”

  “I don’t understand. Maybe I’m being dense. Rafe accused me of that recently. Said I should understand more.” Aunt Sarah and Nana exchanged glances again. “Stop doing that! Talk to me.”

  “You need to figure this out for yourself. It’s essential. To know thyself is a huge part of what we believe in,” Nana said. “Your grandfather was a great man, and he knew what he was put on this Earth to do.”

  Reagan perked up. She felt shivers run all over her body from the anticipation.

  “Wiccan blood flows through my line, but your grandfather was Sioux. He knew the ways of the spirit world. It’s part of the reason he was drawn to me.”

  Spirit world. Wiccan blood. It was all so surreal, like the plot of one of her paranormal books.

  “Stay focused. Listen.” Sam’s voice. She settled down and tried to pay attention.

  “Several killings happened. Wolf attacks. We believed they’d been taken over by evil spirits. We thought it was that simple. Jed was a great hunter, a natural, and a man steeped in tradition; Sioux tradition. We had no clue what he would encounter that night.” Nana’s hand was shaking. “There had been so many unexplained killings. They needed to be stopped.” Nana stared off. Reagan sensed it was an attempt to gain composure.

  They? Who? Reagan felt like she was watching a movie, and the scene was amping up to a big revelation. She was on the edge of her seat.

  Aunt Sarah reached over and began rubbing Nana’s back. “It’s okay, Mom. I can pick up the story for a moment. I remember that night like it was yesterday.” Sarah’s gaze shifted to Reagan. “I was only fifteen, your mother was eighteen. Mom sent him with spells and all the other tools we had, plus he had his guns and other ways. Susie always fought her true nature, but she had an uncanny sixth sense if you will, and that night she was adamant he shouldn’t go. She begged him to stay. She never told us why she was so determined he not go.” Now it was Sarah’s turn to cry, heaving sobs racked her body.