The rest of the morning is spent looking through old journals, photo albums, and anything else that might help me, or at least take my mind off the dreams. I know how those will end. I doubt that we will find the key to saving myself in my grandpa’s bookshelves, but I can’t stand to sit idle. In the end, though, the lure of the dreams Katie and I shared become too strong to resist. My grandpa is reluctant to let me see it. Finally, after an endless amount of begging, he hands over Katie’s diary.
I read, captivated at seeing my own dreams dictated by another’s hand. The events are exactly the same, as are the feelings they stir. Katie describes the dreams in words different than I would use, but the closeness I feel to my dead aunt overrules the years between us. Turning the pages hungrily, I am sorely let down when I reach the end of the diary. Katie didn’t finish recording the dreams. They stop three days before she died with the happiest comment she had made in the week prior to her birthday being, “Robert is coming home today. I can’t wait to see him.” And then it ends, the rest of the pages left empty. Disappointed, I go back to the beginning of the dreams, hoping for something that might help me.