Page 40 of All the Things We Buried

They always have.

It’s easier to bury what we can’t face, easier to hide what hurts. But somehow, everything we try to forget crawls back from the dirt, whispering to us through the walls. And eventually, everything we bury becomes a ghost.

And someday, so do we.

Ezekiel stepped inside, snapping me out of the memory. He moved quietly, creeping close until he stood beside me, staring out at the garden.

I could feel his breath at my neck. I could feel his sins clinging to his skin like the smoke of those cigars he always smoked. And deep inside, I knew what was coming. I could feel it crawling closer.

But I had no choice.

I had to protect Lenore.

She had carved herself under my skin in a way no stepsister ever should. What I felt was wrong. It was forbidden. It tasted like sin, and I knew it. I knew the ghosts would come for us both. They always come for sinners.

But I would rather be haunted for the rest of my life and whatever came after, than spend a single day without her.

She was my need. My necessity. My sweetest poison.

And if it meant dying a thousand deaths to spare her just one, then I would.

“Your mother said you wanted to talk,” Ezekiel said, arms crossed. “Then talk.”

“I know what you did to Lenore,” I said, my voice tight as I swallowed. “I know what you and Viviene have been doing to her. For years.”

He turned to look at me, smiling widely with those white teeth. “You don’t know anything.”

“I do,” I cut him off, stepping forward. “And I’m here to offer myself instead.”

He laughed.

My fists curled tight at my sides.

“Whatever you plan to do to her, do it to me instead. Twice. Three times over. I don’t care. Just leave her alone.”

He raised a brow, his jaw tightening. “Interesting.” His eyes darkened. “You care about her that much, huh?”

There was something in his expression that hadn’t been there the day I arrived. I couldn’t name it, but I didn’t trust it. Not for a second.

“Follow me,” he said.

And I did.

We walked through the kitchen, down the long hallway, to the basement door. Each step down was colder, like the house was trying to stop me, like it didn’t want me to see.

But I kept going.

And the moment my feet hit the basement floor, I saw it.

I knew what was going on.

The basement had an altar on the left, with Ezekiel’s photo in a golden frame. Next to it, black robes hung on rusted hooks, and chains draped beside them. On the right side, more chains twisted along the wall. No one ever touched them, but they felt alive somehow. All of it felt familiar.

Especially the metallic taste of blood in the air.

As I stepped into the center of the room, I saw cages lined up in the back, still stained with blood.

And that’s when I remembered.