God had sent me His angel.
I wrapped my work coat around Gabrielle and ran as fast as I could to the sexton's house, carrying her in my arms. I kicked the door open and headed straight for the bathroom, where I filled the bathtub with hot water and turned the heating up high. Once the water had cooled slightly, I carefully undressed her. Her burial clothes felt coarse and filthy against her soft, pale skin.
She was even more beautiful than I had imagined. Her hair had turned pure white, just as it had been in my dream. Perhaps the terror of waking inside a coffin had drained it of colour. Or maybe it was the illness that had nearly claimed her.
I helped her into the bath. At first, I feared how she might react, but as the warm water enveloped her, the tension left her body. She seemed barely aware of me as I sat on the floor beside the tub. Not wanting her to feel ashamed when she fully came to her senses, I slipped out and closed the door. I left a set of my clothes for her; certain she wouldn't want to wear her burial gown again.
Finding a living girl in a grave had shocked Mario and his gang far more than it shocked me. I had never held superstitions about death or the afterlife. Being buried alive was rare, but entirely possible. It had nothing to do with the dead rising.
My food supplies were modest, but I doubted Gabrielle would be picky after two days underground.
The kitchen door creaked behind me. I turned to see Gabrielle standing in the doorway, wearing my grey sweater, which reached to her knees. She still looked disoriented, yet her eyes were alert. They kept darting between me and the kitchen table.
"You can sit down," I said gently. "Eat whatever you like."
She hesitated, then hunger won. She snatched a tomato and ate it greedily while standing, never taking her eyes off me. Only when she realised I meant her no harm did she sink into a chair.
For half an hour I watched her eat in silence. She especially loved the bitter orange juice I kept for myself.
"What happened to me?" she asked at last, assembling another cheese sandwich.
The sound of her own voice seemed to startle her. I realised she must have spent hours screaming into the dark earth.
"They thought you were dead," I said, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "I was at your funeral."
"You're the caretaker, then? What's your name?"
"Nicolas." My face burned as she repeated it softly.
"I'm Gabrielle," she said, as though I didn't already know.
"What's the last thing you remember before they buried you?"
"I felt terribly sick. I kissed my father goodnight while he was reading in his study. I went upstairs, but the stomach pain kept me awake. Then Santana knocked and brought me tea, like she always did after my mother died. She said it would help me sleep. It tasted so bitter, no matter how much sugar I added. Eventually I drifted off. When I woke up… I was in the dark, in a tiny space. I was cold. My limbs hurt. I screamed and screamed, but no one came. There wasn't enough air. I must have fainted several times. Then I heard digging and voices. I was so happy… but when they opened the coffin and I reached out, they screamed and ran."
Tears stung my eyes. I blinked them away. Gabrielle still didn't seem to fully grasp how close she had come to dying, or how lucky she was that the grave robbers had chosen her that night.
She left the room briefly and returned with a small white velvet pouch. Inside lay a magnificent necklace set with glowing red and white stones.
"It belonged to my mother," Gabrielle said. "She always told me it would be mine. I was buried with it, and this ring, too, though it doesn't fit me. I took the necklace off when I woke up. It felt too heavy on my chest. Do you think they were after it?"
I nodded.
"Who else knew you were buried with it?" I asked.
"Only two people," she whispered, her lower lip trembling. "I suspect one of them… but I have no proof."
"Don't be sad. You're safe now. No one can hurt you here. Your father will be overjoyed when he hears you're alive. I'll tell him gently, so the shock doesn't—"
"No!" Gabrielle cried, turning pale. "You can't tell him. Not yet. No one can know I'm alive."
Her sudden terror confused me.
"The person I suspect is Santana," she continued, voice trembling. "My stepmother. She never loved me. She wanted me gone the moment she married my father. I wouldn't be surprised if she had something to do with my mother's death, too. She used to be my nanny."
"And your father? Surely, he deserves to know."
Gabrielle's eyes filled with sadness. "Santana is all he sees now. I don't think my return would make him happy."
It angered me deeply that anyone could wish harm on someone as gentle as Gabrielle. Her presence alone seemed to radiate peace, softening even the darkest corners of the room. Yet she couldn't trust her own father.
"Alright," I said softly. "We won't tell anyone for now. You're exhausted. Let me take you to bed."
I lifted her in my arms and carried her to my bedroom. As I laid her down, she kissed my cheek quickly and whispered her thanks. The spot where her lips touched burned long afterwards.
I sat in the old chair by the window, watching Gabrielle breathe, unable to look away. Only when she was deeply asleep did I return to the graveyard. I repaired the damage Mario and his men had left behind, shovelling the earth back into the pit and placing the two broken halves of her tombstone together again.