And I learned to disappear in those years. I sang Flora’s song in my mind and floated away. Flora was one of the women who was kind to me. She was a cook and a part of my life for several years. I’ll never forget her.
It didn’t always work but it was the best I had. And now, with Dante, everything is different. I think I love him. No, I don’t think it. I know it. From before, from when I was little. He was always different to me. Special. I didn’t understand it then but now that he’s back in my life, now that we’re older, I get it.
Dante and I are destined to be together. Like our souls are linked. We belong together.
And no matter what he says, he feels it too, I know it. But it still hurts.
Frustrated, I push the blankets off. I won’t be able to sleep. Not here, in this room. In this house. There are too many ghosts. Strange how I can forget my grandmother but that night? The night those men came into this house and massacred the Grigori family? That I still feel deep inside. And it’s not just memories of Lizzie, of the moment of her death. Of how she died. It’s more. It’s like all their pain, their screams, their terror, it’s been swallowed up inside me, like it’s alive inside me. A part of me.
And I need to get away from it. From here. Because everything is so much louder here.
I slip my arms into the sweater I’d found in one of the drawers. I’m wearing a pair of loose-fitting pajama pants and a tank top. I go to the window, open it. A cool breeze blows in, and I hug my arms around myself. But it feels good to breathe in the fresh air. This house is stifling. Suffocating.
On the desk I see a stack of pretty, flowery paper. I pick up the pen lying on top and write a note. Because I don’t want my grandmother to hurt any more than she has. Any more than I’ve hurt her, even today, when I couldn’t be who she wanted. Who she expected. I don’t want to hurt any of them.
I write three words. That’s all. Because there’s nothing to explain.
I am sorry.
And I am.
I open the bedroom door and half-expect half-hope Dante to be sitting outside keeping vigil. My guardian angel. But he’s not there. No one is. I don’t let myself feel the disappointment that creeps up at the realization.
Sconces cast a soft light along the corridor. The house looks different than it used to although that could be my memory. I make my way quietly down the hall. If there’s one thing I’m good at it’s being quiet. Weightless. Soundless. Like a ghost myself.
I don’t let myself even glance at Lizzie’s room a little farther down the hall. I can’t. But when I get to Dante’s door, I stop. Because maybe I knew all along how this would go.
I stand there for a long minute. I think if I concentrate hard enough, I can smell his aftershave. I know it’s just my imagination though. I put my hand against his door, then lay my forehead on the cool wood. And it takes effort to keep quiet.
But exhaustion helps and I am exhausted. Exhausted of these unending, constant tears.
He will be sad, I think. Will he think I betrayed him? After he saved my life. After he risked so much and lost one of his men.
But I can’t do that. Can’t go there. My life is forfeit and I think some part of him knows that as well as I do.
I steel my spine, swallow down the tears, and turn away from his door. I go down the stairs without making a sound. So strange, after all these years, the house smells the same. Stranger still that I remember that detail when I’ve forgotten so much.
Downstairs is as dark as upstairs. No guards inside. But I see two smoking outside of the front door, so I head toward the kitchen. I remember the layout. Even some of the paintings are familiar, the one of Lizzie’s mom the most prominent. I pause in front of her. I remember that she was kind. Remember how we always thought she was a magical princess become a queen. She was so beautiful. Lizzie would have been as beautiful if she’d lived.
I turn and continue to the kitchen. It’s dark too and I’m only surprised when, before I get to the door to exit the house, I hear a small whine. I turn to find Cerberus, the hulking German Shephard, in his bed in the corner.
He lopes toward me, tail wagging even though his steps are slow. I woke him.
“Hi,” I say, crouching to pet him. He licks my face, lays his head in the crook of my neck and I find myself laying mine on his. “You’re so sweet,” I tell him, and am reluctant to stand, feeling a chill when I look down at him staring up at me with those huge brown eyes. It’s almost like they know.