Page 11 of The Unraveling

“Daisy?” I call. “Daisy, where are you?”

My focus flits between the two bedrooms as I rack my brain, knowing one of them is hers but not wanting to step forward to peek in either. What will it mean if I pick the wrong room first?

My heart slams against my ribs, pounds in my temples; enduring its stutter has me gasping every few moments.

“Daisy?” My throat tightens, and I wish my heart would stop its deafening thrum. If I could hear her heartbeat or breathing, I could discover where she’s hiding. “Daisy, where are you?”

I strain for any sounds she might make, but only Victor’s voice carries upstairs as he says, “Dr. Smith, my patients will require your attention until this thirst has settled.” He chuckles. “Tell them I’m ill.”

My stomach drops as I sigh. If I can’t remember what happened to Bradley, who’s to say I haven’t forgotten something about Daisy? What if something happened to Daisy?

I stumble to the entertainment room despite knowing for certain she’s not there. Hoping she’ll come to me first is better than picking ‌the wrong room. She won’t know her best friend—the very vampire she’s linked to through her treatment of blood exchanges—has forgotten something as simple as where she sleeps.

Flicking the light on, my chest heaves as I scan the empty room. I anticipate her warm arms wrapping around me while scrutinizing the black patterned wallpaper and the thick cushioned recliners across from the massive flat-screen TV and bookshelves teeming with VHS tapes and discs.

I swallow hard. Only a few nearby titles—ones I watched as a teenager—are familiar despite knowing I’ve seen each one.

Tension winds tighter and tighter in my gut as the silence stretches. No footsteps. No sleepy mumbles that she’s coming. Just the agonizing uncertainty of not knowing if something horrible has happened without my remembering. What if something happened days ago? Weeks ago? What if she succumbed to her illness in her sleep? What if there’s a hole in her chest, too? The possibilities steal my breaths. The tension snaps on the image of her cold corpse. I spin and shriek, “Daisy! Come here now!”

Scrambling ensues within the bedroom on the right side of the hall. Daisy’s voice is muffled by the walls. “Yes, Isla! I’m sorry. I’m coming!”

The door flies open, and my heart settles like a feather softly floating into place. I heave out a breath as she leads me toward the banister. “Daisy, I was worried about you.”

Her hazel eyes flick over me. “Is everything all right now? I’m sorry I ran. I was scared.”

“Victor thinks we’re poisoned.” An anxious laugh bubbles out of me.

She presses her teeth into her bottom lip and inches closer. “Isla, you look unwell.”

“I’m starving,” I admit.

Daisy nods and rolls up the sleeve of her white sweater. Dozens of scars from my fangs are scattered across her wrist, the few most recent ones in various stages of healing layered over them. Though Victor—and his patients—prefers to draw blood like a physician, I’m grateful Daisy lets me feed straight from her veins.

Ignoring her offer, I say, “I bought sandwiches and snacks since the cupboard was empty. We should eat the sandwiches, though.”

Her arm lowers, sweater falling back over her hand. “Why would you want to eat sandwiches?”

My head tilts. “I always packed one for lunch when I was in high school, and I would take one to work every day.”

Daisy stares at me, eyes slowly widening like she believes I’m utterly insane. “Right. So, what does Dr. Todd mean by poisoned?”

As my lips part, Victor—voice split with pain—hollers, “Isla! What happened to Bradley’s heart?”

Daisy makes a breathy noise and stares at the floor. She twists her fingers together in front of herself as she contemplates with little sighs before leaning over the banister and yelling, “You put it in a jar in the freezer, Dr. Todd!”

A memory dashes past me: Bradley flailing on the floor—screaming—as Victor pinned him down. Victor’s clawed fingers burrowed into his chest as he tore through his flesh and cracked his ribs. Bradley’s body kept trying to heal, but Victor was determined.

My lips part to speak, but the memory is gone, leaving behind the mere shape of questions.

“What happened?” I ask.

Daisy’s eyes search mine. “What do you mean?”

I bite my lip, then admit with a whisper, “I can’t remember.”

“How can that be? You and Dr. Todd have perfect memories,” she says.

Do we? “Tell me what happened.”