Page 44 of The Unraveling

I sob, twisting to bury my face in Daisy’s neck, my skull feeling like it’s splitting. She whimpers beneath me, hand stroking my hair down my back. The thought of my body becoming limp like Victor’s—carried away from the room in his arms like Victor’s . . .

My Daisy, left behind, cold and alone. Dying.

We’re both dying—never been so close in such a way, at the same time, before.

“Dr. Smith!” I holler. Daisy grips me tighter like I might try to pull away. With her weak arms, it’s possible I could succeed this time . . .

He appears in the study doorway a beat later, tormented eyes unblinking as they settle on me. His voice is strained as he chokes out, “Yes, Isla?”

“Daisy,” I breathe. “If what happened to Dr. Watson happens to Victor and me, I need you to take care of Daisy. Treat her. Turn her.”

Dr. Smith holds his hand against his chest, a tear streaking his cheek. “Isla, I promise.”

I settle into Daisy’s arms and twist my bloodstained finger around one of her blond curls. “Thank you, Dr. Smith.”

“Anything for my oldest friends,” he murmurs before lowering his head and retreating down the hall.

Daisy cries, the thought likely terrifying for her.

“He’s a good man,” I promise. “I’ve known him for my entire immortal life. Met him when I was human. He will take good care of you.”

Sometimes he stayed with us, his own patient in the guest room while he claimed the couch in the entertainment room. He and Victor would be up for hours, well into the day sometimes, going over files and samples. Doing the most important work in the universe, though I never really could comprehend it.

“I know,” she squeezes through a cry. “I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known you.”

She has? Despite the dread of not remembering such a simple thing, there’s still relief knowing she’ll be with someone she knows and trusts without me needing to convince her.

My mind wanders into a fantasy—a future I can do nothing more than hope is for certain. Daisy, living at Dr. Smith’s cottage with the mountain river a hop and a skip away. Pale beneath the same moon I’ve stared at for over thirty years of dreamy—yet dreamless—nights.

What I would do to sit on that riverbank with her while Victor and John pore over texts and scientific instruments inside. Pick wild blueberries together for the patients filled with so much hope between John’s warm walls.

Me and my eternal best friend. We would have had so much fun.

My mind skips like one ‌of Victor’s old records, a fracture in the coherence of my mind’s tune.

Would have had? I wind Daisy’s hair tighter around my finger, contemplating how she sobs in my arms for some reason I can’t recall, only knowing it must be related to her deteriorating condition.

It must be a Freudian slip; my own subconscious is disbelieving and is trying to prepare me for the painful reality that her surviving the transformation isn’t guaranteed.

Smoothing her hair against the back of her head, I murmur, “Why don’t we go watch a movie, Daisy? Let’s get your mind off your sickness for a bit.”

She sniffles and lifts her head, her wide, glossy eyes boring into mine. “What?” she asks, voice cracking.

The floor in the hall creaks, and my eyes settle on Dr. Smith, whose expression is reminiscent of the times he’s been gripped with the rare tragedy of one of his own patients not surviving.

“Oblige her, Daisy.” His voice is breathy.

Daisy nods, the room tilting as we both stand. I feel . . . strange as I hold her clammy hand while we stumble to the stairs. Through sharing blood, I’ve become accustomed to feeling the edge of her suffering, but tonight my body mimics it like it’s my own.

I walk in the worn steps left behind by Victor and me, Daisy on her own careful, creaking path between ours and the banister. I smile thinking of the future wear from decades of her feet, since she’s promised to stay with me until she finds a love of her own.

I’m breathless, sweat—sweat?—coating the nape of my neck and forehead as we reach the top of the stairs. As we enter the entertainment room, it almost feels like she’s the one helping me.

We collapse on the loveseat recliner, and I let Daisy pick what she wants on TV.

My heart flutters in my throat, and the only thing stranger is that when I blink, I can’t recall watching the first half of the movie.

“Daisy.” Dr. Smith’s hushed voice draws my attention to the doorway where he stands with a phone against his ear. Somehow, she’s already gone from my side and is standing beside him.