I stayed with Alex until visiting hours were over. When I got home the cops were no where to be seen and there was a package waiting for me on the front porch. I picked the package up, walked inside and went straight to my room. I sat on my bed just looking at the package, looking at the publishing house stamp that I recognised as the one who had found my writing good enough to publish.
I took the craft knife out of my pocket, took a deep breath and cut into the package. Inside was a letter with a check stapled to it for fifty thousand dollars and half a dozen copies of my book.
“Hello?” The sleepy voice of my Aunty Morgan came through after about a dozen rings.
“Oh shit, I'm sorry, did I wake you up?” I asked, looking at the time on my alarm clock and realising that it was almost half past nine.
“Yeah, you did actually. What's going on? Is Everything alright?” She sounded worried, which was understandable considering the last conversation that we'd had.
“Yeah, everything's great, couldn't be better,” I assured her. “Do you remember that editor friend of yours, the one who you introduced me too?”
“Yes I do,” Aunty Morgan replied slowly.
“Well, she came through big time, they're publishing my book,” I exclaimed.
“Congratulations! I'm so happy for you!” Aunty Morgan exclaimed. “When does it go on sale?”
“Um,” I said reading over the letter. “Next month,” I informed her.
“Sorry, I know you probably told me already, but what's it about again?” Aunty Morgan inquired.
“It's about...” I started to tell her the plot line, but then it suddenly hit me and I almost choked on my words.
“Simone, are you alright?” Aunty Morgan sounded worried about me.
“Oh my god, Aunty Morgan, it's about Tara!” I exclaimed.
“What do you mean 'it's about Tara'? How can that be? You only just met her, didn't you? I mean, you finished writing that book before you even met her, didn't you?” Aunty Morgan bombarded me with questions.
“I started writing it about a dream that I had, like last year sometime, and I don't know where it came from, but things just started flowing and now it's happening, Aunty Morgan it's really happening,” I started freaking out.
“Okay, calm down, Simone, people have precognitive dreams all the time, it's perfectly normal,” Aunty Morgan tried to calm me down.
“And write books about it, and the books become fact rather than fiction just months after they finish writing it, does that really sound normal to you? And what about the painting? How do you explain that?” I refused to calm down, my head was totally spinning off into another dimension.
“Painting? What painting? What are you going on about?” Aunty Morgan expressed her confusion.
“You know the blue painting that Nana gave me, the one with the moon and the grasses and the flaxes and the ocean? Well Tara has one, except hers is set during the day, not the night, with a sun high in the sky, not the moon. Which you would know if you'd read that manuscript that I gave you,” I explained to her.
“Look, you're flipping out over nothing. Tara seems like a great girl and you seem happier than I've seen you in a very long time, don't go ruining it because you're freaking out over this book, okay?” Aunty Morgan tried once again to calm me down, doing a better job of it the second time round.
“Yeah, you're right, but what do I tell Tara? I mean I don't want to scare her off,” I asked.
“Does she know that you're being published?” Aunty Morgan asked me.
