Page 58 of The Unraveling

He sighs. “Yes, but I was there, and they were reasonable, at least.”

I swallow and lean into him. He wraps his arm around me, and I sniffle so hard it hurts.

“Makes sense if they wanted to be sure nobody was hiding something capable of doing that.” My voice cracks.

He hums in agreement before saying, “I’ve . . . I’ve been digging in the garden. I’m afraid it’s time.”

I sob at the thought of a garden grave. My legs barely function, so he supports my weight through the house until we make it to the swing. I clear my eyes and take in the carefully extracted clumps of dirt rooted with roses and flowers beside a large mound at the end of a single grave large enough for two embracing bodies.

I sit motionless on the swing while Dr. Smith continues digging, my throat tightening as the pile of dirt on the grass grows. The soles of my bare feet remain planted against the cool cobblestone to keep the swing stationary. I rest to the side of the cushion as if I’m making space for Isla and Dr. Todd’s ghosts. Or perhaps I just can’t bring myself to occupy the last space they both did while he was alive.

Would Isla want to be a ghost, if they exist? She loves—loved—the idea of the paranormal. Would it make her happy to haunt the Victorian home she swept through in her long lacy skirts during her immortal life?

Alternatively, if there’s an afterlife, does being a vampire impact where you go?

I much prefer the idea of her spirit giggling and darting up the stairs. Of the possibility of glimpsing her sprawled out on the velvet sofa, leafing through pages of sewing patterns while Dr. Todd plays piano.

I bat tears from my cheeks and choke for an eye-watering moment as I try to swallow down a wave of grief.

There’s too much life in the quiet garden. It seems unfair that the crickets sing and the leaves rattle with the cool wind. That my noisy breaths leave my throat ragged.

Of all the people who might have died here, I never imagined it would be them. I often envisioned a hearse arriving for me. It’s why I dragged my feet when it came to Isla curing me.

What if I didn’t survive the transformation?

I knew she loved me to the point that it would destroy her if I died. Even though I tried each time to convince myself I was being silly, I knew from the warmth that radiated from her cold hugs and the way she doted on me that it was true.

I couldn’t bear to be her first failure.

When Dr. Smith passes by, whispering that he’s going to get Victor, I wrap my arms around myself.

My breath hitches when twitching in the mound of dirt catches my attention; I remain rigid until I identify the wormy movement. The flash of a pale end flicking from the brown clumps has me scrambling to it. I pluck the smooth length from the dirt, and it squirms and twists in the air before I fling it toward the roses. It lands against a few wilting, blackening rose petals near the dirt with a faint leafy rustle.

“Sorry, little worm.” Fresh, hot tears curl down my clammy cheeks.

Isla hated worms. I used to think it was the silliest thing—a vampire icked-out by worms. But she’d squeal and shiver with her face screwed up and tongue out, dancing between her feet as she darted around for a stick to scoop them up and relocate across the garden.

The thought that they might be all over her soon—with her unable to brush them off her body as they writhe in her eyes and ears and curl over her quiet tongue—has me folding over in a sob. I dig frantically through the massive mound of dirt to search for more that might get a nibble off her before we’re even finished replanting the roses.

A handful of earthworms are writhing against my dirty palm and between my trembling fingers by the time I give up. The garden is likely rife with them—it’s their rightful home after all.

An echo of Dr. Todd’s bright laugh rings in my ears, the way he delighted at her reaction to finding the dirty, squirming things. He’d snatch every other one and plop them into a bucket for Dr. Smith to take fishing.

I think it gave him an opportunity to rescue Isla—even from something tiny and harmless. He seemed to revel in taking care of her, whether it be brushing her hair or carrying her to bed.

Grief claws at my chest like a relentless monster, my tears wetting the soil.

Being unable to save her from this must have been torture for him.

Like Dr. Todd can’t anymore either, I know I won’t be able to protect her from the worms. I can’t do one little—but impossible—favor for her after everything she’s done for me.

I stop searching for worms and put what I’ve gathered in the nearest garden bed. Dr. Todd won’t mind them, at least.

“The worms are simply doing their job. It’s only natural,” he would tell her.

She’d make some quip about how it’s true, but that won’t stop her from making them do it over there instead.

I can barely breathe as Dr. Smith returns with a body wrapped in a red silk bed sheet. His perfect senses put me at ease as he moves across the garden, knowing he can be sure of any other humans nearby—and if any of them are close enough to catch us burying bodies.