Page 40 of Two Sides of Sin

“She is already a permanent fixture,” I spat.

I hang up before he can argue further. I turn back to the cemetery garden, watching June stand among the headstones. I am about to give her exactly what she wants—proximity—and in doing so, I am sealing her fate with a tombstone.

The funeral was small, quiet, and exactly what Nana would have wanted, if it weren’t for the fact that she was being laid to rest on the grounds of a house that belonged in a Gothic horror novel.

The spot I picked is perfect. It’s in the private garden, nestled between the sprawling white rose bushes and an ancient, weeping willow tree. When the sun hits the Manor just right, the light reflects off the library window and pools over her headstone. June can see it from her new bedroom. I made sure of that. I want her to feel watched. I want her to feel held.

Now, we are standing in the kitchen of Nana’s house for the last time. The air smells of stale bread and the memories of Sunday roasts that will never be served again. The floorboards upstairs creak, and a moment later, June appears in the doorway. She’s clutching a small bag to her chest—her childhood journals, a few photos—the things that define her.

“I’ve got it, Junebug,” I whisper, my hand brushing hers.

The bracelet I gave her earlier today catches the light, a bright spark in the dim room. It matches the heart locket necklace I gave her all those years ago—the one she never takes off. I’d missed her last birthday when we were on our break, so I owed her a present. But more than that, I just wanted to give her something to try and lift her spirits.

She doesn’t argue. She just leans her head against my shoulder for a brief second. I help her carry the remains of her life out to the car. I feel like a thief, stealing the last remains of her normalcy.

I close the passenger door for her and shift the car into gear, driving towards the Manor. To her new home. To her gilded cage. I reach across the centre console and take her hand, my thumb tracing her knuckles. She squeezes back—a silent thank you that makes me want to scream.

As we pass the heavy stone gates of the estate, I realise that I’ve finally done what Cain wanted. I’ve brought the lamb to the centre of the slaughter, and she’s holding my hand the whole way there.

Chapter 30

June

I’m sitting on the damp grass outside, the moisture seeping through the thin fabric of my skirt, but I don’t bother to move. My back is pressed against the rough, weeping bark of a willow tree, its long, shadowing branches creating a curtain of green that shields me from the rest of the world.

I have a book of poetry open in my lap, its leather cool and grounding against my thighs. I’m reading the verses out loud to Nana. It feels silly…a performance for an audience that can no longer hear me, but it’s the only way to fill the screaming silence that’s been following me around since the ambulance lights faded from Nana’s driveway. When I speak, the vibration in my throat reminds me I still exist.

I miss her so much it feels like a physical deformity. Part of me is still caught in a loop, expecting to hear the familiar whistle of the tea kettle or the comforting creak of the floorboards late at night. But then I look at the marble headstone, stark and white against the green, and the reality hits me like a shot to the heart.

I’m grateful for the home Julian is trying to build for me here at the Manor. They’ve spared no expense, turning one of the grand guest rooms in the East Wing into a space that is mine. It has soft, plush rugs, heavy velvet curtains to block out the world, and shelves filled with every book I ever mentioned in passing. Julian spends every evening perched on the edge of my bed, coaxing me to eat, his eyes searching mine with a desperate pleading intensity.

Even Cain has been… different. He’s been doting on me in his own chilling, detached way, ensuring my tea is never cold and my path is always clear. But there’s something else simmering beneath the surface, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, gleaming in his eyes when he looks at me—the same haunted, hollowed-out look he had after Annie died. I hate it. I hate feeling like a broken porcelain doll in a house full of clumsy giants.

The neighbours have been relentless with casseroles and sympathy cards, but I can’t face them. Not yet. Hearing people say they’re “sorry” only makes everything feel more real. It quickly turns Nana into a memory. I look at the pristine grass beside her plot and find myself wishing Annie were buried here, too. I’d feel better if I had them both within arm’s reach.

I’ll ask Julian to take me to see Annie tomorrow. He won’t say no; he never says no to me, he never really has, but right now it’s like he’s been atoning for something—the silence of the last six months, perhaps…though I’m too tired to investigate the depth of his guilt. For now, I just lean my head against the bark and keep reading.

A sleek, crow the colour of midnight cuts through the gloomy afternoon sky, landing directly on top of the marble angel guarding Nana’s tombstone. I jumped, my head snapping up from my book as its loud, harsh caw shattered the silence of the garden.

My heart did a quick, familiar flutter before settling back down. I closed the book in my lap, watching the bird preen its dark, iridescent feathers against the pale stone. I’d had a pair of crows visiting me every single day for the last week. In a place so heavy with grief, their constant presence had become a strange sort of comfort. I leaned back against the willow tree, a soft, melancholy smile touching my lips. I liked to think it was Nana and Annie, coming back to see me in the only way they could, letting me know that wherever they were now... they were okay.

A twig breaking behind me breaks my concentration. Julian’s presence is like a magnetic pull, a sudden shift in the air. I keep reading, the words of the poem a shield between us. He doesn’t say a word as he moves behind me and gently pulls me back until I’m sitting in his lap. He wraps his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder, letting me lean into the solid strength of his chest while the cool breeze stirs around us. Nearby, the soft, fading rhythm of Blue Öyster Cult spins out from the record player inside, the distant lyrics whispering we can be like they are right into the heavy silence between us.

For a long time, we just sit there beside Nanas grave. His fingers trace idle, repetitive patterns on my arm. He finally reaches out, his hand covering mine on the page, and gently takes the book. His voice is a low, soothing drone as he picks up where I left off.

“Julian?” I whisper.

He stops instantly. “Yeah, Junebug?”

“Can you take me to see Annie tomorrow?” I ask. “I haven’t been… not once since we buried her. I need to tell her about Nana.”

He stays quiet for a heartbeat, his grip on my waist tightening. Then he leans in and kisses the side of my head. “Of course. I’ll take you first thing in the morning. We’ll get some fresh flowers on the way and take some roses from the garden.”

He pulls back slightly to look at me, his thumb grazing my cheekbone, tracing the fading yellow of the bruise Billy left behind. “Are you okay, June?”

I just shrug, my throat feeling like it’s been lined with lead. “I’m sorry,” I sob, finally breaking, burying my face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t know why I can’t stop. I’m so tired of crying.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, his fingers tangling in my hair, holding me close. “Just breathe, June. I’ve got you.”