I looked everywhere for the bead, but the white pearl no longer lay in the dirty wrapper; instead, one of deep purple had taken its place. I moved the dirty paper around, and I searched over my bedspread, but no other pearl—of any color—could be found. Luckily, when I grabbed the purple pearl, no shock shot up my arm, though the small marble was very warm. I couldn’t help but be a little mad; it seemed like a cruel joke for a renegade father to send his daughter something that zaps her.
I placed the purple bead back on the wrapper and picked up the letter. Silly really, whatever was going to hurt me the most was going to be written on the page. I opened it, a shaky breath flowing out of me.
My Dearest Jocelyn:
Great, he doesn’t even know how to spell my name right.
My Dearest Jocelyn:
I write this letter in the hopes that my parents will deliver it to you, and find you well. Happy Birthday!! I can’t believe that eleven years have passed since I last saw you. I am sure you have grown into a beautiful young woman. Do you have a lot of boyfriends? Tell them to be careful or your dad will get them.
I was torn between laughter and frustration; it seemed odd for a man I hadn’t seen in so long to be giving me advice on how to threaten boys. I almost put the letter down; maybe I should have.
I hope you are doing well in school and not giving your mom much trouble.
I know I have not been a good father. I would apologize, but I know I would not gain your forgiveness, and in truth, I do not want it. I would have taken you with me if your mother had not hid you from me. You probably don’t even remember that day; I suppose it is better that way.
I do need you to know what I have found, and why I left. I knew there was something more to your mark than the doctors could tell us. When I was in college, a young man by the name of Thom, who was in one of my classes, had something similar; and one day we found him gone, his dorm room trashed.
I was so afraid that the same would happen to you, that you would be taken from me, my precious daughter. And so, when your mom would not listen, I left to find proof. And I found it, Jocelyn!
Your mark is special; it is magical. Your mark means you can do magic. They call it Koosa! It took many years, but I found a group of people who find those with marks such as yours and save them from the people who took my friend from college. I do not want you to disappear. I only hope that those who would harm you haven’t already found you.
The people I found gave me a rock to give to you. They call it a birthstone. It will help them find you. All you have to do is touch it and it will call to them, and lead them to you. Isn’t that wonderful? I found a way to save you! I am told it may hurt when you touch the stone, so please be careful. But, touch it as soon as you can so you can be saved, and I can see you again.
Love Always,
Your Father, Jeffery Despain
I read it once, then again, and again. Then I cried for at least twenty minutes. My poor father! The smart, beautiful man that my mother had fallen in love with had lost his mind. He was talking about magic like it was real and referring me to cults so that I could be saved. I think I cried myself to sleep, clutching the necklace Ryland had given me in one hand and the cursed bead my father had given me in the other.
Three
Nothing could have stopped the nightmares I had that night. They began the second I closed my eyes and did not leave until the moment my restless night ended. Every aspect of the letter came to haunt me in one terrifying race for my life. I moved from being chased by a homeless man with sharp jagged teeth who was covered in rags, to being surrounded by extraordinarily tall people dressed all in white. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t get away from any of them. I ran through the silent dream in a trance, my body tense and terrified.
When I woke up, I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. My body was heavy and numb from emotional and mental exertion. My chest hurt with every breath, each movement straining sore muscles. I lay in bed for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep, having decided that I wasn’t going to school that day. The nightmares didn’t return, but I slept fitfully, my subconscious afraid of being haunted.