Page 10 of The Unraveling

I didn’t spend another night at the hotel after that. I didn’t want to leave after feeding from his wrist, especially when he admitted it wasn’t something he let his patients do. Though I was nearly too weak to move, I likely could have made it back to the hotel if I had really tried.

Yet I didn’t. I feigned being even weaker, so much so that he carried me to his bed in fear I’d perish in my sleep. Though, I think he caught on to my dramatics—to my ploy—when I couldn’t stop my coy smirks from breaking through my pained winces after requesting a physical.

“Isla,” Dr. Todd cries, tearing me from bright thoughts that fall away, shapeless and dark.

I blink. The shelf is hard beneath my arm. “Victor . . .?”

His lip trembles. “Isla,” he cries as he winds the gauze around and around his wrist. “I keep falling through memories. I’m in my office, in the nineteenth century with Dr. Smith, and in the next moment, I return to this nightmare.”

Slowly, I turn to stare at the body on the floor. “So that’s not Dr. Smith?”

He twists to gawk at the man like he’s noticing him for the first time. “No, that’s Bradley. What happened to Bradley?”

My head jerks. “Who’s Bradley?”

Victor stares at me. “My patient. I made him immortal the previous night. Don’t you remember?” He blinks at me. “Isla, are you having trouble remembering?”

I swallow a knot, not wanting to admit how the path of reality keeps morphing into a maze. “Remembering what?”

He looks around the room, at the mess on the floor and at Bradley. “What happened to him?”

“Someone killed him,” I realize.

Scratching his head, he says, “But why? Who? He was my patient. I just turned him, like you will to complete Daisy’s treatment . . .”

Victor’s brow furrows, and he looks around the room like he’s misplaced something.

Daisy. My familiar.

“Daisy,” I echo through a breath. “Where’s Daisy?”

A revelation crosses his face before he sighs and says, “I last recall her running upstairs.”

Daisy slots into place in my mind, offering me a bit of solid ground for my weak legs. Her face fills my thoughts as I hasten from the study and cross the foyer to the stairs.

Chapter 4

I cling to the thick wooden banister. My palm slides against the smooth mahogany as my feet find the worn path of each step. I haul myself up, stairs creaking beneath my weight. My stained, damp socks leave pale red prints in the grooves worn down by a hundred years of Victor’s steps.

If anyone were to ask, the path was made by his great-grandfather, then his grandfather and father, until the home was passed down to him. One day, we will leave for a while—see the world—and return when our neighbors’ memories have faded.

I’m lost in the effort of each step and the fractured, incoherent memories of climb after climb. So focused on melding the wear of his path with mine—I’ve made some progress over the years—I can’t recall why I came upstairs once I get to the top.

My hand remains on the banister like a train on a track, curving left as I trudge a few steps forward before coming to a stop. I stare over the banister to the foyer and hall below.

Why am I up here?

I tap my twitchy finger against the banister as I scrutinize downstairs like I might have left a path of clues behind me. Victor noisily stumbles around in the study, grumbling about Bradley as drawers and cabinets creak open and slam shut.

He must be looking for something.

“Do you need anything while I’m up here?” I ask, like he might volunteer information about what I’m doing.

Am I supposed to be helping him find something?

He coughs and groans, voice splitting like his throat’s dry as he calls back with, “No, love, just bring Daisy back down with you.”

I jolt, the memories rushing to me like they only needed time to catch up. Twisting, I glance behind me at the closed double doors leading to the entertainment room, then forward down the hall where two bedroom doors are closed across from one another. I discard the idea of her being in the entertainment room. Something about the idea of her sitting on the sofa watching her favorite show—one I can’t recall despite knowing the exact shape of her face when she laughs—when this . . . horrible thing has happened.