Page 26 of The Unraveling

Understanding tries to close in, but my mind flees, leaving it behind in a mess of warped and nauseatingly malformed implications.

Chapter 9

A whirlwind of disjointed sounds and colors, flashes of images—dreams perhaps—barrages my mind like I’m Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. I gasp as I jolt against hard darkness, ears ringing as my vision trickles in like mud clearing from water.

Dr. Smith’s face fills my sight, and a wet cough rises from deep in my chest. I drop my gaze to his chilly hand on my flesh, where a vial fills from the needle in the crook of my arm.

“Dr. Smith? When did you get here?” My voice strains, and I cough again like claws are trying to hold it back. I wince from a zapping pain in my skull. “I didn’t realize you were coming to visit Dr. Todd today.”

“I arrived about an hour ago,” he says, smiling tensely.

Today. What day is it today? I try to remember mere moments ago but can’t.

I rub tears from my heavy eyes. Thin crimson smears are etched on the heel of my palm. I stare at the color breathlessly before wiping it on my skirt and telling myself it wasn’t from my eyes exactly, but merely somewhere nearby on my face. It wouldn’t make sense for my tears to be bloody, right?

“Did I pass out?” I whisper.

Dr. Smith gives me a single nod, and I sigh.

“Where’s Dr. Todd?” My head feels like it weighs a ton against the chair, and I can’t move despite wanting to look for him.

Dr. Todd’s strained voice makes my heart jolt. “Isla.”

I let my head loll to the side. He sits sideways across from me at the desk, his unfamiliar pallor leading me to think he must be starving. My lips twist in confusion, knowing the little vial won’t do. And just as I recognize the discrepancy between my assumption of his thirst and his lack of crimson eyes or fangs, swift movement behind him has my gaze shifting.

I’m thrust back into reality, mind staggering at the sight of Dr. Watson standing back and staring at the microscope lit up with a slide in place. He laces his fingers together on top of his head.

“John,” he calls tersely. “Look at his blood.”

“What’s wrong with my blood?” Victor demands as he grunts and plants his hands on his desk, arms shaking as he forces himself to his feet. “What has you alarmed? Let me see.”

One step forward, then another, and Victor’s folding and rattling with thumping, stiff limbs against the floor. I gape—frozen uselessly again—as Dr. Watson dashes to him, turning him onto his side. His body blocks the sight of Victor’s face as guttural gasps escape.

Dr. Smith curses under his breath as he finishes taking my blood sample. He shifts like he’s about to step away from me, but Victor stills.

I hold my breath as I wait for him to make another noise—to say something since I can’t see if he’s alive or dead with Dr. Watson’s back blocking my line of sight.

Dr. Smith squeezes my hand and murmurs, “He’s still breathing.”

It feels like an eternity passes before Victor finally groans and mumbles, “What’s wrong with me?”

Dr. Watson glances over his shoulder at me before saying, “Let me help you to your microscope, Dr. Todd. You can look for yourself.”

I chew my lip, gut writhing as Julian helps Victor to his feet. Daisy appears in my vision from behind Dr. Smith as he crosses the room to join them.

Her eyes brim with tears as she sits on the arm of the chair and leans against me, wrapping me in her warm grip.

“Where did you go?” I whisper, unable to recall her whereabouts after Victor’s attempt at eating cake in the dining room.

She sniffles and wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. Shuddering, her words are burdened with tears as she squeaks out, “I cleaned the garlic up, but I’ve just been staying out of the way. I don’t know how else to be helpful.”

I rest my twitching hand against her soft arm, pressing it to me. “This is helpful.”

Victor’s sharp gasp of horror has my attention flying to him. Dr. Watson grips Victor’s arm as he snaps away from the microscope, nearly knocking over the sample, glass slides, and stain bottles in the process. Brushing Julian off, Victor stumbles to the side and leans against the nearby shelf as he rakes both his hands through his hair and gapes at the floor. His noisy breaths fill the room.

“Victor?” My voice escapes shrill and Daisy squeezes tighter.

Dr. Smith rushes forward, leaning down to peer through the eyepieces. He stiffens for a moment before adjusting the magnification.