THE GRAVEDIGGER'S HANDBOOK → ISAAC LAHEY

[xxiii] Josh Diaz

November 14

9:05 P.M.

Tonsla Household

   Nobody heard from Phoebe for that next week except for her mother, whom she'd only shared her sorrow with. Joy practically raised Derek, so his death hit her just as hard, if not harder. Phoebe stayed home and curled against her mother all hours of the day, sobbing over their loss.

Phoebe silenced her phone and refused to answer the door whenever they heard a persistent knocking. She knew it was the pack merely coming to check up on her, but she couldn't let them see her like this. So weak and broken- Not even Lydia, and definitely not Isaac.

The mother and daughter buried Derek unbeknownst to the pack. They decided on doing it in front of the old hale house, next to his sister. They laid blue flowers over his chest and spoke farewell words to his corpse before covering him with dirt, sealing the deal forever.

The news of the death of a Beacon Hills High School alumni quickly spread around the school, and since Phoebe and his relationship was no secret, it was obvious why she hadn't showed up to school. People flooded her phone and social media with positive messages, and while she appreciated them, they ultimately fell on deaf ears.

She made it appoint to go to school the next day; Thursday. She had to recover, quick. What happened, happened, and she needed to accept that, just as she'd always been taught. But, she wanted to spend just one night longer with Derek; Or, what used to be him, rather.

She hugged herself tightly to keep out the chill as her light boots trailed her back to the Hale house. Biting her lip, she walked straight past the graves and up the oh-so-familiar broken down wooden stairs that led to the front door. The alpha pack's symbol was still there from years before, and once again, Phoebe's throat began to burn as she felt tears begin to form.

But she quickly blinked them away, pushing the door open and taking a shaky breath.

So many memories, good and bad, surrounded the atmosphere of this aged home. So many tragic stories of death and pain clashed with the stories of relief and reconciliation. It had always been Phoebe and Derek, Derek and Phoebe, forever. Never once would she think she'd be on her knees in the middle of his darkened home crying while his body was buried just feet away outside. It was never considered a possibility.

"What a sad sight." A voice spoke behind Phoebe, their footsteps stopping just behind her.

She said nothing. Her eyes remained fixated on the floor. She knew that voice anywhere. It had been etched into her mind and skin; How could she ever possibly forget it? God, how she wished she could.

"What, cat got your tongue?" Donovan chuckled, cocking his head at her heeled over form. "Hm. You're not trying to kill me. How come?"

"I don't have my weapons." Phoebe muttered back, nails scratching against the wood floors before joining in her palm and pressing into the skin there. Deep down, she wanted to pounce on him, to rip him to shreds for what he'd done to the people she loved. Yet, she was far too numb.

"Like that's ever stopped you." He scoffed, squinting suspiciously at the girl. When she didn't reply, he continued, "So, you're saying that I could kill you right now, and you wouldn't even fight back?"

"You could, but you won't."

"You're absolutely right." He nodded once more, quicker this time. "Because I can't torture you if you're dead."

Phoebe sighed and rose to her feet, turning to face him. He looked exactly the same as he did before, clean shaven, clean clothes, and styled hair. It was obvious someone was taking care of him, and she wouldn't be surprised if it was his sad excuse of a father.