Page 59 of The Unraveling

He carries Dr. Todd down into the hole and whispers words I can’t hear as he gently lays him upon the dirt. He dashes tears from his eyes before clearing his throat and effortlessly climbing from the grave as if he was floating rather than engaging muscles.

I try to speak, but no words make it past my lips as I mouth, “Love you, Dr. Todd. Thank you.”

When Dr. Smith returns with another body wrapped in red silk, I can hardly feel my tingling fingers. From the way my chest aches like it’s being stomped on, I fear that he might have to widen the grave to include me.

“Do you have anything you want to say?” Dr. Smith murmurs as he squats down with Isla across his lap. He takes one hand and wipes tears from my cheeks, his cold breath wafting across my face in timed intervals that I do my best to match.

There were centuries—millennia, I had hoped—of things I wanted to say. I don’t have each word now, but I always believed we had the time for them to come.

When I regain control of my senses, I slide the silk from her forehead, brush loose curls away, and summarize all I could ever say with a kiss against her cool flesh.

I sit at the edge of the grave while he carries Isla down and nestles her body beside Dr. Todd’s. My lip trembles as he uncovers them just enough to position her head on his shoulder and sprawls his arm across her body.

They look just as they did in bed, though now eternally dead.

Time moves strangely as Dr. Smith swiftly fills the grave and replants the flowers above them. Only the thought of rose bush roots winding protectively around their bodies—securing them to one another—gives me the strength to rise back to my feet.

With the garden back in place, Dr. Smith stares up at me with a silent plea in his eyes.

I inhale the crisp, fragrant aroma of the garden and exhale the last bit of reservation from my body. “I would like for you to cure me now, Dr. Smith.”

The patch of roses marking Victor and Isla’s grave are thick with rich red velvety petals three months later. So healthy and vibrant against the rest that what happened seems to scream at me. I brush a soft bloom with my pale hand, steadier than it’s ever been, then lower myself onto the grass and cross my legs.

I turn on the camera I bought a few weeks back and set it on the little tripod to capture me with the roses. I’ve become more interested in the paranormal since Isla died and chase the likely unhealthy obsession to capture her voice. I haven’t heard anything with my own sensitive ears yet, but I tell myself I might not be on the same audio frequency as the device.

Dr. Smith and I split what money and assets were left behind. Though the house is technically mine to do with as I wish, I don’t know when or even if I’ll do more than simply live here and preserve it. It gives me ample time to spend with Isla. Plenty of time for her to reach out, if she can.

The aroma of the garden is a thick perfume—I can hardly smell Isla and Victor below it all. I draw it deep into my lungs, so strong now that aside from moments of overwhelming emotion, I never find them aching and desperate for breath.

In order to distract myself from the thirst that threatens to scald my throat, I push the overlapping calls of dozens of mouthwatering neighborhood heartbeats to the back of my mind, and instead focus on John during his scheduled visit with one of Victor’s fledglings.

The sound of his ballpoint pen on a notebook page is crystal clear, even from within Victor’s study. I try to figure out what information he’s recording by decoding the smooth loops and stops as he writes, but I can’t. I could always pull the notes off the shelf later if I care enough to know. Truth be told, I haven’t even bothered to read the handfuls of fresh notebooks that multiply with each visit. I’m not sure if I’ll get around to it before the shelves are cleared for more—which will inevitably be brought back to the castle, too.

I swallow rising emotion—almost as sharp as my thirst—and sigh. “I missed you, Isla and Dr. Todd. I’m sorry I haven’t come to chat for weeks like you’re used to, but I’m here now.”

I wipe my eyes before tears have a chance to start, and tilt my head back to gaze up at the expanse above like I can pour them back inside my skull where they belong. Swirling hues—pinks, purples, and blues—of the milky way stretch through the expanse of space, where constellations astronomers could only dream of twinkle in such a way that nothing but immortal eyes like mine could ever capture them so perfectly.

It’s funny how as strong and powerful as I am now, I can still look up and feel so small.

“You should see the view from the castle,” I tell them. “There are miles and miles of old-growth trees below an endless sky. It’s in one of Romania’s forests—the king keeps it secret with cloaking—so there’s no light pollution from nearby towns. Plenty of breathtakingly tall turrets to study the scenery from.” I smile wistfully at the thought of Isla joining me in one of them, the way she’d look surrounded by all that gray stone. “You’d love it there, Isla. The guards would probably have to beg you to take a break from running up and down the halls in gowns, though. There are hundreds of rooms, but about half of them are empty—there was some horrific tragedy years back that nobody wants to talk about—so you can imagine how many halls there are.” A teary giggle drifts past my lips. “I’m sorry, Dr. Todd, but you’d despise it there. Everyone is in everybody’s business all the time, and they aren’t like you and Dr. Smith. They pride themselves on being vampires first, which . . .” I sigh. Well, it isn’t wrong. “Isla would fit in a lot easier, is what I mean to say.”

I listen to Victor’s fledgling tell John about the new vampires she’s sired over the past couple of years since she last saw Victor. She cured her new husband, and then an orphaned teenaged boy, who was dying of sepsis, to become their son. His pen dashes across the page as he records how her husband hasn’t presented an ability yet, so he’ll need a blood sample taken, but her son has pyrokinesis like herself. I know King Viorel doesn’t care about those abilities, despite how John meticulously tracks everything that occurs within his own practice.

Viorel’s more concerned about the cure popping up in any of Victor or John’s descendants and causing another tragedy—or a kidnapping, since John’s relentless calls for help while Julian was dying spread wide before word made it to the king.

I sigh and comb my fingers through my hair, the night’s moisture hanging in the air and dampening my curls. “Anyway, we plan to split our time between the castle, where Dr. Smith will continue the work you two did together—in addition to the slow study of the poison—and the house and cabin here in Canada.” I swallow and rub a velvety rose petal between my thumb and forefinger to give myself something to do. “So don’t worry, I’m not going to abandon you.”

A breeze pushes through the garden, petals and stems fluttering with the sound of rustling leaves. I hold my breath—listening as if I might hear their response—until it passes so I don’t risk the overwhelm of scents.

“There’s not much progress with the research yet, Dr. Todd,” I admit. “Nothing, I’m allowed to know, anyway. The king was impressed with all the records you kept, though Dr. Smith said he expressed that only after he concluded you weren’t interested in vampire eugenics. Dr. Smith tested his moral stance by asking if such research would be grounds for execution. That was a stern yes, considering Viorel was an anomalous product of his own maker’s eugenics mission.”

After that conversation, Dr. Smith returned to my assigned chamber looking like he had a near-death experience. He and Dr. Todd had severely underestimated how the broader vampire world might interpret their benign curiosity.

I sigh and trail my fingers over the lush grass, damp to the touch. There are so many other things I want to say but am unable to shake off the guilt. I shouldn’t have to sit at their feet and recount my eternity to them. They should be here.

Isla should be overpacking suitcases with dresses larger than life while Victor complains that he already has his own family and doesn’t need to live with a bunch of ancient vampires in a castle that’s approximately a thousand years old. That his humble study is more than enough for his research. But he would come anyway, because as he’s always said he’s a doctor first, and if such trips earn him more knowledge . . .

Tears blur my sight of the garden and drip onto my white lace skirt.