The TV speakers blared into the room, the gunshots making it seem like the volume was suddenly turned up. The dim lights in the room lead to the TV flashes lighting up the surroundings, my face flashing a bright white. 

    Leila grabbed my attention as she bolted into the room, jumping onto the couch quick enough to spill the popcorn all over me. She gasped in shock before laughing, helping me brush the buttered corn off my body, "Sorry, Mic. I didn't want to miss the important parts,"

     "You're fine, Lei," I dismissed her apologies, scooping the popcorn back into the bowl and setting it aside, reminding myself to throw it out later. 

    Alis laughed from the armchair beside me, looking down at the small crumbs of popcorn on the floor. "Remember when Dad lost his thumb hunting and then had to wait a week before he could get it replaced with his toe?"

    I couldn't help but smile at the memory of our father, a significant moment when he picked up his morning coffee and tried to give me a thumbs up just as the cup slipped from his gasp. To my nine-year-old self, that was the funniest thing I had ever seen.

     "Yeah, he dropped everything. Mum almost kicked him out," I add to the story, tucking my feet under myself as Leila rested her head on my shoulder, watching the movie. 

    "Honestly, I think she was more freaked out about the idea he was only going to have nine toes after," Alis laughed as I joined in. 

    The bike engine whirls into silence as I switch it off, the headlights turning dim and plunging us into darkness. Thomas's arms slowly fall from around my waist, my legs lifting as I dismount from my motorbike.

    "Just stay here, I won't be long," I mutter, pulling the helmet off of my head and handing it to him. I flatten my hair, avoiding his eyes as I turn and head towards the graveyard

    I feel his palm circle around my wrist, stopping my movements and forcing me to turn and face him emotionlessly. He stares at me softly, looking at me like I'm something fragile, "Shout if you need me, okay?"

    "I can manage," I reply, pulling my wrist out of his hold as I look down to my feet, "But, thanks,"

    He doesn't get a chance to reply as I turn on my heels once more, holding my wrist in my hand as I trek through the open fence and down the concrete footpath. My parents have a shared gravestone, meaning it's the biggest in the lot and one of the easiest to find. 

    Before turning down the path that leads to my destination, I pause at the groundskeeper's shed and kick the door open. The old wooden thing jolts open under little pressure, the now broken lock hitting the inside wall as I hold it open and step inside. I don't spend much time in here, only latching onto a shovel before exiting. 

    My knuckles turn white around the wooden length of the shovel, my body shaking internally and not just from the cold air. It feels as though I'm on autopilot as I march down the footpath, the double headstone appearing in my line of vision.

    My feet pull to a stop at the edge of their grave, my eyes stuck on the freshly trimmed grass below my boots. It's always been hard for me to envision my parents under the layers of grass and dirt, even worse now that one of them might not be.

    "It's been a while," I say more to myself, my palms feeling sweaty the longer I stand here. I finally peel my eyes up to their grave, tracing the etched out spaces of stone where their names sit together for eternity. I swing the shovel, holding it tightly in both hands instead of one and I line it up, "Forgive me,"

    With that, I jam the shovel into the dirt, pulling the earth apart with little resistance. The more I slam the shovel into the ground, separating grass blades, the more the anger takes over my body. 

    All this time, my Father could have been alive and even worse, in town. And yet, he let me believe it was all my fault, he let me grieve him and let Leila forget them both. He let Alis throw her dreams away in order to raise two grieving children, a grief she never got to feel which turned her into what she is-- someone who can't feel things for anyone. When Leila died, she couldn't confront it, she didn't know how. 

    He did this to all of us and I can't find a reason why or how he could justify it to himself. Maybe he didn't need to, maybe he didn't feel the guilt I feel. 

    Before I can stop myself, I barrel the shovel hard into the ground, a primal sound escaping me sounding something like a groan and a scream all in one. I became a hunter because of them, everything that has happened to me is because of that one night, because of that floral wall forever stained red. That night can't mean anything.

    I slam the shovel harder, not much dirt being moved as I drive it downwards like a blade into the dirt, a blade that was forced into my hand and into the chests of Vampires. 

    After one final stab into the earth, I feel my body become weak and my knees hit the grass in front of the hole, my eyes peering down into the crater with dirt smeared across my hands and face. I still have a bit to dig until I get to their coffin, more layers that have separated me from my parents for a decade. 

     A part of me selfishly hopes that those layers have always been separating us. That the soil of the earth is what has kept us apart and not betrayal. 

    "How could you do something like this, Dad?" I whisper so lowly that some of the sounds break off and snap away. I stare down at the dirt as if my Father could reach out and respond. I don't even know for sure if he's guilty, but every time I reach for the shovel my arm drops like my subconscious is protecting me from the truth.

    The silence angers me despite my rational mind telling me it's impossible to get a response. My hands finally grip the shovel, picking it up only to throw it at their tombstone. The shovel bounces off the stone, hitting the grass without causing any damage. 

    "Leila, oh my god, Leila," I told my head down, tears welling up in my eyes in an unfamiliar fashion. I feel them roll down my cheeks, my shoulders heaving as I try to hide my face despite no one around to see me cry. "God, I really thought she was going to be the one to escape all this shit and now? Now, she can never escape it. And because of your training, I can't get out of my own head enough to help her through the worst challenge of her life because your stupid rules have made me wish she stayed dead. I can't even look at her because I feel sick at how I feel when I do,"

    I inhale deeply, feeling my stomach wind itself sick at my admission. Years of training taught me Vampires are all evil and threaten survival. But, now Leila is one, the same girl who's been vegetarian since she was ten and was taught where meat comes from. She can't be evil, she would never. And yet, I position myself ready for a fight and mentally remember the location of my weapons when I look at her. 

     "Maybe Lance was just trying to get into my head and I'll dig up your grave and prove it. But, I'll never forgive you both for turning me into this, for forcing your job onto Alis and I. I'll never forgive you for becoming hunters because if you didn't you'd both be alive and none of this would have happened, none of it!" I yell, my chest heaving as I forcibly drag in more air, tears still spilling down my face for the first time in a long time. "I wish I could forget all my training and not hate their kind so much, not only for Leila but for... others too. Some of them care about shit way more than I ever could, how is that a monster? How am I the good guy when I can so easily look the other way and Thomas goes against everything to help the same humans who massacre his kind? I'm no better than the people I have killed,"

    I look down at my necklace, holding the blood vial in my palm and inspecting it, watching as the blood turns in the glass container. My first kill. 

    "Here, you can both have this back," I begin, yanking the chain from my neck and holding the vial in my hand. I raise my arm, launching it towards the grave and watching it shatter on the corner of the tombstone. The blood drips down the edge, the red sight familiar to me, "It's yours anyway,"

     I watch as my parents conjoined blood drips down the grey stone, my neck feeling lighter now without the reminder of what I took from my family hanging over my chest. A noise gains my attention, but I don't have to peel my eyes away from the sight to know who's walking up behind me.

    Eventually, I crane my neck, looking beside me as Thomas crouches down next to me, his hand resting on my shoulder. He takes in my appearance with a furrowed brow and parted lips, concern drowning his features. My face remains blank, mud and mascara surely tinting my skin.

    He reaches forward, pushing my hair out of my face before grabbing the end of his shirt and pulling it forward to wipe the marks from my face. I sit silently, allowing him to clean my skin. Once he finishes, he lets go of the fabric, looking down at me in silence. 

    "You are good, Michaela," He whispers as if to keep the words between just us and not the ghosts of the residents.  

    I want to tell him it's really him who's good, that I no longer see him as someone who kills people for fun rather than necessity. But, I can't bring myself to say anything, much less something that goes against everything I've been taught to know as true. 

    He doesn't seem to expect a reply from me, instead, turning to the shovel and picking it up. He turns to me first, looking at me as if to silently ask if it's okay for him to continue digging. I only nod, watching him as he jumps down into the hole. 

He jams the shovel into the group, speeding up supernaturally until the dirt is flying out of the grave like rain. Yet, not a single spec of it hits me. The dirt rain stops within seconds, his vampire speed clearing the area faster than I ever could.

    His head peaks out of the ground, his eyes meeting mine as I assess his dirty face. He reaches a hand out of the hole, waiting for me to take it in mine. I do, allowing him to help me jump down into the six-foot hole with him. 

    I clear my throat, immediately feeling the shame and embarrassment of my earlier state. I avoid his eye, leaning down and bracing myself against the wall of the grave as I pull the coffin open. The first thing that hits me is the awful smell that emits from the previously sealed chamber. I cough, lifting the collar of my shirt up over my nose to try and protect it from the smell, Thomas copying my efforts.

     Trying to ignore the smell, I fully push aside the double casket door, letting it fall against the wall of dirt as I peer into the confinements. Two skeletons, their hands intertwined in the middle for all of time. I feel bile rise in my throat from the sight, the skeletons that once allowed my parents to move around. My eyes focus on the skeleton of the woman, my gut tightening at the thought that those bones grew me and kept me safe as I developed, the same bones that made room for me to be born and would drive me to our mother-daughter dates. 

    I then turn to the male skeleton, my heart clenching even more at the truths that rest in the bones there. The same underlying structure that taught me how to swim and how to protect myself, the same arm bones that held me up in meetings as a kid so I could see past the adults in front of me. These can't be the same bones. They look so fragile and still. 

    Before I know it, I press my palms onto the edge of the grave, using my arms to lift myself up enough for my head to exit the grave. Vomit spills out of me and onto the grass, nothing much besides stomach acid and saliva exiting me. 

    "You okay?" I hear Thomas's voice as I lower myself back down to the ground, my wrist lifting to swipe my mouth in case of any leftover bile. I look up at him, the top of his head poking out of the gravesite from his advantaged height. 

    "I'm good, just smells," I lie, turning away from him and crouching down beside my father's side of the casket. I reach for their intertwined hands, my fingers shaking as I gently separate them from each other. I hold my Dad's hand for the first time in ten years, my skin covered in goosebumps as I inspect the bones of his fingers. 

    Dad died before he could have his thumb replaced, meaning the bones there should be missing. But, before my eyes can reach that side of his hand, my eyes get stuck on the golden wedding band resting on his ring finger, the small circle staring back at me as if it has eyes. 

    Finally, I peel my eyes away from the jewellery, slowly pushing myself until I get to his thumb in my hand. Only, there was no thumb. The bone is cut in a slight diagonal line, exactly how it was when I last saw him.

    Air escapes me, my shoulders slouching as I stare down at the missing Ossein structure. To further confirm it for myself, I glance up at his skull where a small hairline fracture sits on the bones, the same place where I accidentally injured him during training. I can remember the day like yesterday, how he told me not to be sorry and he was proud of how strong I was. 

    He didn't betray me.

    "It's him," I announce, not turning to look at Thomas and instead savouring the feeling of my Dad's hand in mine, even if I can no longer feel the warmth of his blood and the tough edges of his calloused palms. These fragments were still always there, just underneath those outer layers.

    I turn to my mother, lowering his hand back down between them and linking their frames once more. I look away as I grab the corners of the lid and gently close it, my hand resting on the polished wood for a few seconds more. 

    "Let's go," I instruct, standing up straight as Thomas pulls himself up to higher ground, turning to reach down and help pull me out of the hole. I steady myself with his shoulders, still avoiding his eye while stepping back from him.

    He picks up the shovel, my eyebrows scrunching in confusion before he uses his speed to toss the dirt back over the grave, finishing his efforts by patting the dirt flat on the surface. I can't help but linger my eyes on the back of his head, wondering why he would even bother with an act of respect or kindness, especially considering what their kind was to his. 

    He finally turns to me, the shovel in his hand as he smiles softly. Our eyes stay connected, my face something of shock and appreciation all at once. 

    A small smile etches across his face, his head nodding towards the flat space of fresh dirt, "I'm gonna come back later and pawn their rings for a quick buck,"

    I roll my eyes, a smile forcing itself onto my face as I cross my arms over my chest. It's obvious he's trying to lighten the mood, distract me from what lays a couple steps beside me, "Wouldn't put it past you,"

    "Oh? But I thought I was such a good person-"

     "Don't push me while we're in a graveyard, Thomas. It would be too easy," I cut him off, shaking my head with a smile as I push past him. I hear his soft chuckles echo behind me, his footsteps following me out of the graveyard.

    Well, at least that rules out my parents as the reason behind Leila's new form. Now, to find out which member of Thomas's family is responsible.