I awoke, startled from a dream. Sitting up against the headboard of my boyfriends bed, I immediately reached for my journal and began scribbling down the details. The location, the names, and the cause of death.

“Another nightmare?” he asked in his husky voice as he awoke.

“Sorry,” I whispered “don’t worry, just go back to sleep hun.”

He persisted.

“This happens every other night, do you need to see a doctor? Why do you need to journal your dreams every time this happens? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“It’s nothing,” I reassured.

His persistence that I’ve been hiding things from him was stronger than ever as he began raising his voice.

I drew in a deep breath. We have been together for four years. For four years I have been making excuses for my sudden road trips with my father. For four years I haven’t told him the truth about my dreams. My visions.

Tonight will be the night I tell the truth.

.

At the young age of 13, I was introduced to my family business. In early teenage years, normal kids would begin to discover the world around them. I inherited an alternative upbringing. My father called me into his personal office, the one room in our house that he previously demanded was “out of bounds”.

I took a seat on the dark leather sofa parallel to his cluttered desk. My eyes darted around the room to overflowing bookshelves of journals, newspapers in various piles, and a map covered in pictures of strangers pinned to various locations.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked with a shaky voice. I have always been an easy child. Always obedient. My father praised me for my unusual intelligence for my age.

My father lifted his head from the book he seemed to be buried in. His lips curled into a soothing smile, then he sighed.

“I take it that you’ve been experiencing nightmares more frequently lately.”

I felt paralyzed. Whatever this was about could not be good.

“Is there something wrong with me?” I questioned.

“There is not something wrong with you. There is something different about you. Different than kids your age. I believe you are old enough for the truth. Your dreams are visions. Have you been having dreams of people dying?”

How does he know that?

My response caught in my throat. I gulped as I nodded.

“Welcome to the family business,” my father said with wide eyes.

.

This was the beginning of learning my purpose in the world. Following the hours of conversation with my dad, we took our first trip together up north to a small town on the border of Montana.

My father had a dream of a girl by the name of Adeline. He took note of the street name, her appearance, and the cause. She was going to be mugged in an alleyway near her apartment.

After an hour of scoping out the town, we parked near the alleyway accompanied by the street sign familiar to his dream. A few hours passed until we saw a young college girl walking toward the alley, presumably leaving the bar around the corner. As she stumbled around the edge of the building, my dad caught a glimpse of a man wearing all black stalking toward her.

“Stay here,” he demanded as he carefully shut the door to the car.

Running silently, avoiding being seen from the streetlights, he stood adjacent to the alleyway against the brick of the building. As the girl turned the corner, the man in black reached for her. He was too late. My father tackled him to the ground, pinning his arms to his back as he told the girl to run home and lock her doors. Within minutes my father had him tied to a light pole before he walked back to the car.

“This is our family business. We save lives. We see innocent deaths before they happen and we stop them.”

.

As I finished telling the naked truth to my love of the past four years, he reached for his phone and bag.

“You’re insane!” He yelled. “You have got to be joking right? This is all some weird joke.”

As soon as I began explaining myself, I stopped. I should have lied. I shouldn’t have told anyone. I broke my father’s only rule: shut up.

My boyfriend shut the door to my apartment before I could plead. My heart sank.