Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“If your mother is buried in there?”
“She is,” he said quietly, his face turning almost reluctantly toward the maze as if pulled by invisible strings. “Your father taunted me with it. During one of the torture sessions, I…I called for her.” He fell silent, goose bumps rippling over his body. My skin pimpled in response, imagining what my father must have done to make Nestore cry for his mother. “After that, he kept mentioning her and told me he knew my father killed her. He buried him on top of her because it was my father’s favorite position.”
I shuddered.
“I can’t bear the thought that she’s found her last resting place beneath my father.” The tortured look in his eyes made my heart clench. “I want to bury her properly. But—” He shook his head as if he was trying to free himself from invisible reins. “I can’t bring myself to enter this fucking maze.”
He closed his eyes. I looked down at the hand holding the thing I hadn’t recognized before: a shovel.
“I’ll come with you. We can do this together.” I held out my hand despite my own anxiety at the mere idea of entering this graveyard disguised as a maze.
Nestore took my hand, expression flickering with confusion. “Why do you always want to help me?”
“Because I care. Because I can’t stop loving you. Because loving you carries me through the dark days, too.”
He exhaled, then his expression became resolute. His fingers around mine tightened, but it was a comforting touch, not the one meant to exert dominance. Side by side, we entered the narrow pathway between the rose hedgerows. Despite Nestore’s impressive height, the hedge still towered about ten inches over him. Soon, the darkness cloaked us. Nestore paused and took out his phone, then turned on the flashlight to illuminate the path ahead of us. He handed it to me and kept the shovel. I directed the beam of light to the ground so we didn’t stumble over anything. My breathing quickened as we moved deeper into the labyrinth. The thick rose bushes dimmed the noises of the outside world. The heavy sweetness of thousands of roses in bloom clung to the back of my throat, an overwhelming sensation that made me gag.
For a while, we walked side by side in silence, turning left and right. Every twist and alley looked the same as the one before. I wasn’t sure if we were circling back to the entrance or actually going somewhere.
Nestore seemed to be drawn by an invisible line as he led us deeper into the maze. To him, the chaotic uniformity of tightly woven vines made sense. In some alleys, the vines had grown out of control, narrowing the pathway. Thorns snatched at our skin and clothes, but we didn’t stop. The silence was eerie. Our feet sank into the mossy underground, untouched by sunlight. It was colder in here than in the rest of the garden. I shivered, not just from the cold, but from a feeling of utter discomfort and apprehension. Nestore slowed as we reached the center of the maze, his body growing taut. I followed his gaze toward the ground where moss grew over a slight rise in the surface. It was bumpy, as if someone had haphazardly covered something with soil.
“Do you think this is the place?” I whispered.
Nestore nodded, his lips thinning as he stared at the spot that likely marked his mother’s last resting place. He released my hand and approached the spot, but didn’t start digging.
I hadn’t visited my mother’s grave since she’d been buried. Father had never allowed it, and it felt wrong to do it now after all this time. How did Nestore feel knowing he would have to unearth the last remains of his mom?
He moved closer, then stopped. Despite my abhorrence of graves, I moved to his side. With a low growl, he slammed the shovel into the ground and began digging. He tossed soil behind himself. When the shovel hit something more substantial than earth, he halted. I moved a step forward to get a better view just as he pushed aside some soil to reveal a bone. Nestore stared down at it, his expression hardening. The air I drew in felt heavier, earthier, and a little musty. The odor of decay was very faint, nothing compared to what I remembered from the basement.
I wished I could help, but I hadn’t thought about bringing a shovel, and I couldn’t bring myself to dig up a skeleton with my bare hands. Nestore uncovered more of the skeleton with the shovel. Soon, it became apparent that two corpses were on top of each other, one rib cage pressed against the other. My stomach sank. Why had my father tortured Nestore in this fashion, too? Couldn’t he at least have respected the dead?