Prologue

"Hey! You can't smoke that in here."

I stared up at the nurse from my seat on the plastic orange chair in the waiting area of the Gilbert Clinic. I was sure I knew her name, but I couldn't summon it from the back of my mind. Fiona? Felicia?

"Go away." I answered before taking a deep drag of the cigarette.

She pursed her lips, hazel eyes narrowing, "We have patients requiring treatment. If you won't put it out, Miss Gilbert, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave."

"What's your name?" I asked her, smoke creeping from my nostrils as I exhaled.

"Flora, Miss Gilbert."

"Flora, you're fired."

She was pressing her lips together so tightly they were barely visible, "Miss Gilbert, I understand this is a distressing time for you, but I am only trying to do my job and you don't have the authority to dismiss me."

I remembered her suddenly. She'd come down from Whitmore to help my dad with something or other. From the looks of the deserted corridors of the building she was the only person my dad had left on duty tonight.

"My name is on the side of the fucking building." I snapped, crushing the cigarette between my fingers, "I do have the authority to dismiss you."

"This is bigger than you." Flora folded her arms, "I have research to complete – research far more important than the whims of a teenage girl."

"How d-"

"Danielle?" I broke off and turned at the sound of my name.

One of my father's live-in patients was limping down the hall, leaning heavily on her IV. She was a lady named Mrs Goldstone suffering from Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and by the time she had been diagnosed she was so far down the rabbit hole of Alzheimer's she didn't have much of an idea what was going on in her body. But if it was a good day, she knew my father and if it was a very good day, she knew me.

"Hello, Mrs Goldstone." I said, a switch turning somewhere in my brain, replacing my shattered nerves and aching chest with icy calm. Behind me, Flora huffed and stomped back down the hall.

"Well haven't you gotten big? Shoulder height, last time I saw you."

"You saw me yesterday, Mrs Goldstone."

"Nonsense, I would remember it." she insisted, taking my arm and leaning heavily on it, "I've been looking for Dr. Gilbert."

"He-" I faltered. What was I supposed to say? That he was dead? She would forget before the hour was out and I didn't have the energy or the patience to keep repeating it. Not like my dad. Not like Elena.

"He needs to tell us when he adds new corridors to the building, Danielle. Look at me, I'm all lost." she went on without noticing my hesitation.

"I'll take you back to your room, Mrs Goldstone." I led her back down the corridor. Her room was at the end, next to the staircase. It was lucky she had turned left instead of right, I doubted her birdlike bones could take a hard fall down them.

"Thank you, Danielle." she gave a wrinkled smile as she hobbled back to her bed, "You're a good girl. Tell the doctor to come see me."

"I will." I breathed, quickly shutting the door.

I braced myself outside her room, staring at the round mark that had appeared on my palm where the smoking end of my cigarette snuffed out against it. A small bubble was forming, and a half-formed childhood memory floated to the top of my brain. Don't pop the bubble, my father had told me, it helps the burn heal. I had looked up at him through wet eyelashes and allowed him to disinfect it, wincing through the stinging pain. I had shied from it then. Now I embraced it, pressing my thumb against the wound. This was a pain I could see and understand. This was a pain I knew would heal.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up and I glanced around to see Flora lurking at the other end of the hall. I shot her a vicious look and stormed down the stairs, taking them two at a time until I was on the ground floor where the offices were kept. I barrelled out into the night air and took several gasping breaths, sinking down to sit on the cold pavement next to the door.

My father's clinic was a strange mix between a morgue and a clinic on the bottom two floors with the top floors converted into a hospice for terminal patients like Mrs Goldstone. Its close location to the local hospital made it ideal, as patients could be moved and established in the ICU in minutes if necessary. Next door to the morgue was even a small lab. My twin and I used to dare each other to go into that room, touch the surgical bed in the middle and dash out before our father caught us.

My parents were downstairs. It was a tiny morgue, usually only used if one of the inpatients receiving palliative care died. It seemed right, somehow, that they rest here in the heart of the doctor's surgery my father had loved so much. I had seen them briefly. They didn't look like my parents any more. My mother's skin was a warm olive, not mottled white and bloated from being underwater during the three hours it took for the Mystic Falls Police Department to drag them out of the lake. My father's hands were warm and comforting. Not stiff and cold and slimy.

My twin sister was down the street laying prone in a hospital bed. She'd breathed in a lot of water but the doctors said she'd be fine. Somehow, she'd managed to get out the car and drag herself onto the banks of the lake. A miracle. Something to be thankful for, at least.

My hands were shaking as I lit another cigarette. My aunt, Jenna was here somewhere. At the hospital? I could see the harsh white lights at the end of the street. Had I walked here? I must have, but the memory was hazy. Somewhere nearby a merry tune played over and over again. I scowled in annoyance, glaring round at the deserted street before I realised the sound was coming from the pocket of my old hoodie. I pulled out my cell phone, the screen flashing with the name Caroline. Of course, she'd know by now. Her Mom had been the one to break the news to us.

One of the streetlights was flickering, a pool of light illuminating a pale blue car with a dark-haired guy sat in the front. He wasn't looking at me, but I got the feeling he was watching all the same. I'd never seen him before which definitely counted for something since I didn't think the population of Mystic Falls was above a thousand. My phone lit up again, a text from Jenna this time:

Elena's awake and asking for you.

I didn't know what they thought I could do to calm her. I was her older twin, sure, but we were like chalk and cheese. It was more likely I'd hug her, and she'd smell the smoke clinging to my clothes before flipping out. I gave a deep sigh, pulled myself up and stomped down the street to the hospital.

Mine and Elena's shared car was parked sloppily in the ambulance bay outside the giant double doors. Dick move, I'll admit that, but not even Jenna had griped over it given the circumstances. I patted down my pockets, taking a quick inventory of what I had on me. A pack of Marlboro's, car keys, a lighter and shoved inside my bra, a purse containing a credit card, a debit card, some loose change and my fake ID. I deliberated a moment, glancing towards the hospital before pulling my car keys out and hopping into the car. Let someone else explain to Elena our parents were dead. I was getting as far away from Mystic Falls as possible.