Darkened Dusk
A/N: The parts in italic are not mine. I got them from Midnight Sun, and it belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
This is a random thing I came up with while I was reading new moon the other day again, and I was like, "What was Edward thinking, when he went to go visit the Volturi so he could die?" So, here it is, my very sad attempt at getting into the mind of Edward Cullen. Hope you like it. :D Oh, and this story is going to be very short, no more than three chapter because it's the plane ride to Italy, then The Volturi, and then he comes up with a plan to get himself killed and he ends up seeing Bella's alive.
Disclaimer: Ms. Stephenie Meyer would kick me if I said twilight was mine, so instead of getting a bruise, I don't own anything Twilight.
***
It felt as though the world has stopped. I made up my mind as soon a I dumped my cell in the nearest trash can in Rio. I barely heard the minds of the people around me on the plane. All I could think about were her eyes…her voice…her scent.
It was all gone.
I would never again hear her heartbeat again. I would never again be able to breath in the scent of her hair…and it was my entire fault.
I pictured her in my mind. The soft curve of her lips when she smiled, how her eyes would sparkle whenever she saw me, the aura of strawberries and freesias that would follow her everywhere she went…
Bella…I thought…I'll be with you soon.
That is, if I could ever even make it to heaven. I wouldn't mind so much hell…it can't be worse than what I'm going through now. Or maybe, for my kind it was different. Maybe there was oblivion.
I hoped that Bella, wherever she was, she was happy. Because she deserved that much, considering I put her through so much pain that she had to kill herself just to end her misery.
Again…all my fault.
I doubt she isn't in heaven right now, waiting for me to come to her. She's always been my angel…the moon that shined my dark night…the sun on a cloudy day.
I tried not to imagine her grave. It was so hard…I still didn't fully believe that my Bella was dead. But there was proof, and there was no point hiding reality. I hummed softly to myself, trying to pass the time. It seemed hardly believable that only a few seconds had past. It seemed like hours. The familiar tune stabbed a knife through my dead heart as I recognized the melody. It was her lullaby. I welcomed the pain, mostly because the pain took my mind off of her…for a while.
More seconds past, and time was still moving leisurely. I tried not to think of my family. Especially Rosalie. Her name sent a rush of fury through my dried veins. She acted as if Bella's death was a good thing. She never liked Bella, and I wish that before I died I wanted to see her suffer like she made me suffer. I wanted her to pay for all the nasty things she said about my angel, but there was no time. I had to get to Volterra as fast as was possible.
I thought of the others, and what they would think. Oh, Esme would be heartbroken. I hated myself for how she would grieve over me. I didn't even want to think about how Carlisle would react. I put my head in my hands. He had to understand that I have to do this. I can't live without her. I can't live knowing it was my fault she was dead. Emmett and Jasper will probably never be the same again…It wouldn't be a trio anymore…it would just be a pair. Alice…I closed my eyes. What would she think of this? She probably already knows what I'm about to do, and she's probably coming up with a plan to stop me…but by the time she reaches me it will already be too late. I've made my decision, and I'm not going back on my word.
Soon my angel…I'll be with you, I thought. But even as I chanted the words in my head like a mantra, soon seemed a very long time away.
My patience was running thin, and it seems sort of comical to think that in over a century I haven't gained single ounce of patience. Not one.
I let her name enter my head again. I remember how her name just rolled off of my tongue…Bella, Bella, Bella…
Before I heard…the news, it pained me to say, hear, or even think of her name. Now it didn't really matter, because every second I was one step closer to her.
I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to remember the soft thump, thump, thump of her heartbeat. It felt as though many knives stabbed me at once when I realized I would never hear it again. I choked on a sob.
Without permission, my mind started to recall the very few moments I had with her.
I took one last deep breath at the door of the classroom, and then held it in my
lungs as I walked into the small, warm space.
I was not late. Mr. Banner was still setting up for today's lab. The girl sat at
my—at our table, her face down again, staring at the folder she was doodling on. I
examined the sketch as I approached, interested in even this trivial creation of her mind,
but it was meaningless. Just a random scribbling of loops within loops. Perhaps she was
not concentrating on the pattern, but thinking of something else?
I pulled my chair back with unnecessary roughness, letting it scrape across the
linoleum; humans always felt more comfortable when noise announced someone's
approach.
I knew she heard the sound; she did not look up, but her hand missed a loop in the
design she was drawing, making it unbalanced.
Why didn't she look up? Probably she was frightened. I must be sure to leave
her with a different impression this time. Make her think she'd been imagining things
before.
"Hello," I said in the quiet voice I used when I wanted to make humans more
comfortable, forming a polite smile with my lips that would not show any teeth.
She looked up then, her wide brown eyes startled—almost bewildered—and full
of silent questions. It was the same expression that had been obstructing my vision for
the last week.
As I stared into those oddly deep brown eyes, I realized that the hate—the hate I'd
imagined this girl somehow deserved for simply existing—had evaporated. Not
breathing now, not tasting her scent, it was hard to believe that anyone so vulnerable
could ever justify hatred.
Her cheeks began to flush, and she said nothing.
I kept my eyes on hers, focusing only on their questioning depths, and tried to
ignore the appetizing color of her skin. I had enough breath to speak for a while longer
without inhaling.
"My name is Edward Cullen," I said, though I knew she knew that. It was the
polite way to begin. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be
Bella Swan."
She seemed confused—there was that little pucker between her eyes again. It
took her half a second longer than it should have for her to respond.
"How do you know my name?" she demanded, and her voice shook just a little.
I must have truly terrified her. This made me feel guilty; she was just so
defenseless. I laughed gently—it was a sound that I knew made humans more at ease.
Again, I was careful about my teeth.
"Oh, I think everyone knows your name." Surely she must have realized that
she'd become the center of attention in this monotonous place. "The whole town's been
waiting for you to arrive."
She frowned as if this information was unpleasant. I supposed, being shy as she
seemed to be, attention would seem like a bad thing to her. Most humans felt the
opposite. Though they didn't want to stand out from the herd, at the same time they
craved a spotlight for their individual uniformity.
"No," she said. "I meant, why did you call me Bella?"
"Do you prefer Isabella?" I asked, perplexed by the fact that I couldn't see where
this question was leading. I didn't understand. Surely, she'd made her preference clear
many times that first day. Were all humans this incomprehensible without the mental
context as a guide?
"No, I like Bella," she answered, leaning her head slightly to one side. Her
expression—if I was reading it correctly—was torn between embarrassment and
confusion. "But I think Charlie—I mean my dad—must call me Isabella behind my back.
That's what everyone here seems to know me as." Her skin darkened one shade pinker.
"Oh," I said lamely, and quickly looked away from her face.
I'd just realized what her questions meant: I had slipped up—made an error. If I
hadn't been eavesdropping on all the others that first day, then I would have addressed
her initially by her full name, just like everyone else. She'd noticed the difference.
I felt a pang of unease. It was very quick of her to pick up on my slip. Quite
astute, especially for someone who was supposed to be terrified by my nearness.
But I had bigger problems than whatever suspicions about me she might be
keeping locked inside her head.
I was out of air. If I were going to speak to her again, I would have to inhale.
It would be hard to avoid speaking. Unfortunately for her, sharing this table made
her my lab partner, and we would have to work together today. It would seem odd—and
incomprehensibly rude—for me to ignore her while we did the lab. It would make her
more suspicious, more afraid…
I leaned as far away from her as I could without moving my seat, twisting my
head out into the aisle. I braced myself, locking my muscles in place, and then sucked in
one quick chest-full of air, breathing through my mouth alone.
Ahh!
It was genuinely painful. Even without smelling her, I could taste her on my
tongue. My throat was suddenly in flames again, the craving every bit as strong as that
first moment I'd caught her scent last week.
I gritted my teeth together and tried to compose myself.
"Get started," Mr. Banner commanded.
It felt like it took every single ounce of self-control that I'd achieved in seventy
years of hard work to turn back to the girl, who was staring down at the table, and smile.
"Ladies first, partner?" I offered.
She looked up at my expression and her face went blank, her eyes wide. Was
there something off in my expression? Was she frightened again? She didn't speak.
"Or, I could start, if you wish," I said quietly.
"No," she said, and her face went from white to red again. "I'll go first."
I stared at the equipment on the table, the battered microscope, the box of slides,
rather than watch the blood swirl under her clear skin. I took another quick breath,
through my teeth, and winced as the taste made my throat ache.
"Prophase," she said after a quick examination. She started to remove the slide,
though she'd barely examined it.
"Do you mind if I look?" Instinctively—stupidly, as if I were one of her kind—I
reached out to stop her hand from removing the slide. For one second, the heat of her
skin burned into mine. It was like an electric pulse—surely much hotter than a mere
ninety-eight point six degrees. The heat shot through my hand and up my arm. She
yanked her hand out from under mine.
"I'm sorry," I muttered through my clenched teeth. Needing somewhere to look, I
grasped the microscope and stared briefly into the eyepiece. She was right.
"Prophase," I agreed.
I was still too unsettled to look at her. Breathing as quietly as I could through my
gritted teeth and trying to ignore the fiery thirst, I concentrated on the simple assignment,
writing the word on the appropriate line on the lab sheet, and then switching out the first
slide for the next.
What was she thinking now? What had that felt like to her, when I had touched
her hand? My skin must have been ice cold—repulsive. No wonder she was so quiet.
I glanced at the slide.
"Anaphase," I said to myself as I wrote it on the second line.
"May I?" she asked.
I looked up at her, surprised to see that she was waiting expectantly, one hand
half-stretched toward the microscope. She didn't look afraid. Did she really think I'd
gotten the answer wrong?
I couldn't help but smile at the hopeful look on her face as I slid the microscope
toward her.
She stared into the eyepiece with an eagerness that quickly faded. The corners of
her mouth turned down.
"Slide three?" she asked, not looking up from the microscope, but holding out her
hand. I dropped the next slide into her hand, not letting my skin come anywhere close to
hers this time. Sitting beside her was like sitting next to a heat lamp. I could feel myself
warming slightly to the higher temperature.
She did not look at the slide for long. "Interphase," she said nonchalantly—
perhaps trying a little too hard to sound that way—and pushed the microscope to me.
She did not touch the paper, but waited for me to write the answer. I checked—she was
correct again.
We finished this way, speaking one word at a time and never meeting each other's
eyes. We were the only ones done—the others in the class were having a harder time
with the lab. Mike Newton seemed to be having trouble concentrating—he was trying to
watch Bella and me.
Wish he'd stayed wherever he went, Mike thought, eyeing me sulfurous. Hmm,
interesting. I hadn't realized the boy harbored any ill will towards me. This was a new
development, about as recent as the girl's arrival it seemed. Even more interesting, I
found—to my surprise—that the feeling was mutual.
I looked down at the girl again, bemused by the wide range of havoc and upheaval
that, despite her ordinary, unthreatening appearance, she was wreaking on my life.
It wasn't that I couldn't see what Mike was going on about. She was actually
rather pretty…in an unusual way. Better than being beautiful, her face was interesting.
Not quite symmetrical—her narrow chin out of balance with her wide cheekbones;
extreme in the coloring—the light and dark contrast of her skin and her hair; and then
there were the eyes, brimming over with silent secrets…
Eyes that were suddenly boring into mine.
I stared back at her, trying to guess even one of those secrets.
"Did you get contacts?" she asked abruptly.
What a strange question. "No." I almost smiled at the idea of improving my
eyesight.
"Oh," she mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."
I felt suddenly colder again as I realized that I was apparently not the only one
attempting to ferret out secrets today.
I shrugged, my shoulders stiff, and glared straight ahead to where the teacher was
making his rounds.
Of course there was something different about my eyes since the last time she'd
stared into them.
To prepare myself for today's ordeal, today's temptation, I'd spent the entire weekend hunting, satiating my thirst as much as possible, overdoing it really. I'd glutted myself on the blood of animals, not that it made much difference in the face of the outrageous flavor floating on the air around her. When I'd glared at her last, my eyes had been black with thirst. Now, my body swimming with blood, my eyes were a warmer gold. Light amber from my excessive attempt at thirst-quenching. Another slip. If I'd seen what she'd meant with her question, I could have just
told her yes.
I'd sat beside humans for two years now at this school, and she was the first to
examine me closely enough to note the change in my eye color. The others, while
admiring the beauty of my family, tended to look down quickly when we returned their
stares. They shied away, blocking the details of our appearances in an instinctive
endeavor to keep themselves from understanding. Ignorance was bliss to the human
mind.
Why did it have to be this girl who would see too much?
Mr. Banner approached our table. I gratefully inhaled the gush of clean air he
brought with him before it could mix with her scent.
"So, Edward," he said, looking over our answers, "didn't you think Isabella
should get a chance with the microscope?"
"Bella," I corrected him reflexively. "Actually, she identified three of the five."
Mr. Banner's thoughts were skeptical as he turned to look at the girl. "Have you
done this lab before?"
I watched, engrossed, as she smiled, looking slightly embarrassed.
"Not with onion root."
"Whitefish blastula?" Mr. Banner probed.
"Yeah."
This surprised him. Today's lab was something he'd pulled from a more
advanced course. He nodded thoughtfully at the girl. "Were you in an advanced
placement program in Phoenix?"
"Yes."
She was advanced then, intelligent for a human. This did not surprise me.
"Well," Mr. Banner said, pursing his lips. "I guess it's good you two are lab
partners." He turned and walked away mumbling, "So the other kids can get a chance to
learn something for themselves," under his breath. I doubted the girl could hear that.
She began scrawling loops across her folder again.
Two slips so far in one half hour. A very poor showing on my part. Though I had
no idea at all what the girl thought of me—how much did she fear, how much did she
suspect?—I knew I needed to put forth a better effort to leave her with a new impression
of me. Something to better drown her memories of our ferocious last encounter.
"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" I said, repeating the small talk that I'd
heard a dozen students discuss already. A boring, standard topic of conversation. The
weather—always safe.
She stared at me with obvious doubt in her eyes—an abnormal reaction to my
very normal words. "Not really," she said, surprising me again.
I tried to steer the conversation back to trite paths. She was from a much brighter,
warmer place—her skin seemed to reflect that somehow, despite its fairness—and the
cold must make her uncomfortable. My icy touch certainly had…
"You don't like the cold," I guessed.
"Or the wet," she agreed.
"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live." Perhaps you should not have
come here, I wanted to add. Perhaps you should go back where you belong.
I wasn't sure I wanted that, though. I would always remember the scent of her
blood—was there any guarantee that I wouldn't eventually follow after her? Besides, if
she left, her mind would forever remain a mystery. A constant, nagging puzzle.
"You have no idea," she said in a low voice, glowering past me for a moment.
Her answers were never what I expected. They made me want to ask more
questions.
"Why did you come here, then?" I demanded, realizing instantly that my tone was
too accusatory, not casual enough for the conversation. The question sounded rude,
prying.
"It's…complicated."
She blinked her wide eyes, leaving it at that, and I nearly imploded out of
curiosity—the curiosity burned as hot as the thirst in my throat. Actually, I found that it
was getting slightly easier to breathe; the agony was becoming more bearable through
familiarity.
"I think I can keep up," I insisted. Perhaps common courtesy would keep her
answering my questions as long as I was rude enough to ask them.
She stared down silently at her hands. This made me impatient; I wanted to put
my hand under her chin and tilt her head up so that I could read her eyes. But it would be
foolish of me—dangerous—to touch her skin again.
She looked up suddenly. It was a relief to be able to see the emotions in her eyes
again. She spoke in a rush, hurrying through the words.
"My mother got remarried."
Ah, this was human enough, easy to understand. Sadness passed through her
clear eyes and brought the pucker back between them.
"That doesn't sound so complex," I said. My voice was gentle without my
working to make it that way. Her sadness left me feeling oddly helpless, wishing there
was something I could do to make her feel better. A strange impulse. "When did that
happen?"
"Last September." She exhaled heavily—not quite a sigh. I held my breath as
her warm breath brushed my face.
"And you don't like him," I guessed, fishing for more information.
"No, Phil is fine," she said, correcting my assumption. There was a hint of a
smile now around the corners of her full lips. "Too young, maybe, but nice enough."
This didn't fit with the scenario I'd been constructing in my head.
"Why didn't you stay with them?" I asked, my voice a little too curious. It
sounded like I was being nosy. Which I was, admittedly.
"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." The little smile grew more
pronounced; this career choice amused her.
I smiled, too, without choosing to. I wasn't trying to make her feel at ease. Her
smile just made me want to smile in response—to be in on the secret.
"Have I heard of him?" I ran through the rosters of professional ball players in
my head, wondering which Phil was hers…
"Probably not. He doesn't play well." Another smile. "Strictly minor league.
He moves around a lot."
The rosters in my head shifted instantly, and I'd tabulated a list of possibilities in
less than a second. At the same time, I was imagining the new scenario.
"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him," I said.
Making assumptions seemed to get more information out of her than questions did. It
worked again. Her chin jutted out, and her expression was suddenly stubborn.
"No, she did not send me here," she said, and her voice had a new, hard edge to it.
My assumption had upset her, though I couldn't quite see how. "I sent myself."
I could not guess at her meaning, or the source behind her pique. I was entirely
lost.
So I gave up. There was just no making sense of the girl. She wasn't like other
humans. Maybe the silence of her thoughts and the perfume of her scent were not the
only unusual things about her.
"I don't understand," I admitted, hating to concede.
She sighed, and stared into my eyes for longer than most normal humans were
able to stand.
"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him," she explained slowly, her tone
growing more forlorn with each word. "It made her unhappy…so I decided it was time
to spend some quality time with Charlie."
The tiny pucker between her eyes deepened.
"But now you're unhappy," I murmured. I couldn't seem to stop speaking my
hypotheses aloud, hoping to learn from her reactions. This one, however, did not seem as
far off the mark.
"And?" she said, as if this was not even an aspect to be considered.
I continued to stare into her eyes, feeling that I'd finally gotten my first real
glimpse into her soul. I saw in that one word where she ranked herself among her own
priorities. Unlike most humans, her own needs were far down the list.
She was selfless.
As I saw this, the mystery of the person hiding inside this quiet mind began to
thin a little.
"That doesn't seem fair," I said. I shrugged, trying to seem casual, trying to
conceal the intensity of my curiosity.
She laughed, but there was no amusement the sound. "Hasn't anyone ever told
you? Life isn't fair."
I wanted to laugh at her words, though I, too, felt no real amusement. I knew a
little something about the unfairness of life. "I believe I have heard that somewhere
before."
She stared back at me, seeming confused again. Her eyes flickered away, and
then came back to mine.
"So that's all," she told me.
But I was not ready to let this conversation end. The little V between her eyes, a
remnant of her sorrow, bothered me. I wanted to smooth it away with my fingertip. But,
of course, I could not touch her. It was unsafe in so many ways.
"You put on a good show." I spoke slowly, still considering this next hypothesis.
"But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."
She made a face, her eyes narrowing and her mouth twisting into a lopsided pout,
and she looked back towards the front of the class. She didn't like it when I guessed
right. She wasn't the average martyr—she didn't want an audience to her pain.
"Am I wrong?"
She flinched slightly, but otherwise pretended not to hear me.
That made me smile. "I didn't think so."
"Why does it matter to you?" she demanded, still staring away.
"That's a very good question," I admitted, more to myself than to answer her.
Her discernment was better than mine—she saw right to the core of things while I
floundered around the edges, sifting blindly through clues. The details of her very human
life should not matter to me. It was wrong for me to care what she thought. Beyond
protecting my family from suspicion, human thoughts were not significant.
I was not used to being the less intuitive of any pairing. I relied on my extra
hearing too much—I clearly was not as perceptive as I gave myself credit for.
The girl sighed and glowered toward the front of the classroom. Something about
her frustrated expression was humorous. The whole situation, the whole conversation
was humorous. No one had ever been in more danger from me than this little girl—at
any moment I might, distracted by my ridiculous absorption in the conversation, inhale
through my nose and attack her before I could stop myself—and she was irritated because
I hadn't answered her question.
"Am I annoying you?" I asked, smiling at the absurdity of it all.
She glanced at me quickly, and then her eyes seemed to get trapped by my gaze.
"Not exactly," she told me. "I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to
read—my mother always calls me her open book."
She frowned, disgruntled.
I stared at her in amazement. The reason she was upset was because she thought I
saw through her too easily. How bizarre. I'd never expended so much effort to
understand someone in all my life—or rather existence, as life was hardly the right word.
I did not truly have a life.
"On the contrary," I disagreed, feeling strangely…wary, as if there were some
hidden danger here that I was failing to see. I was suddenly on edge, the premonition
making me anxious. "I find you very difficult to read."
"You must be a good reader then," she guessed, making her own assumption that
was, again, right on target.
"Usually," I agreed.
I smiled at her widely then, letting my lips pull back to expose the rows of
gleaming, razor sharp teeth behind them.
It was a stupid thing to do, but I was abruptly, unexpectedly desperate to get some
kind of warning through to the girl. Her body was closer to me than before, having
shifted unconsciously in the course of our conversation. All the little markers and signs
that were sufficient to scare off the rest of humanity did not seem to be working on her.
Why did she not cringe away from me in terror? Surely she had seen enough of my
darker side to realize the danger, intuitive as she seemed to be.
I didn't get to see if my warning had the intended effect. Mr. Banner called for
the class's attention just then, and she turned away from me at once. She seemed a little
relieved for the interruption, so maybe she understood unconsciously.
I hoped she did.
As I looked back at the memory, I realized that maybe I should have never come back from Alaska. If I would've never come back to Forks, she wouldn't be where she is right now. But she was intoxicating; I couldn't take my mind off of her when I stayed in Alaska for about a week after I had first met her.
I leaned back against the soft snow bank, letting the dry powder reshape itself around my
weight. My skin had cooled to match the air around me, and the tiny pieces of ice felt
like velvet under my skin.
The sky above me was clear, brilliant with stars, glowing blue in some places,
yellow in others. The stars created majestic, swirling shapes against the black universe—
an awesome sight. Exquisitely beautiful. Or rather, it should have been exquisite.
Would have been, if I'd been able to really see it.
It wasn't getting any better. Six days had passed, six days I'd hidden here in the
empty Denali wilderness, but I was no closer to freedom than I had been since the first
moment that I'd caught her scent.
When I stared up at the jeweled sky, it was as if there were an obstruction
between my eyes and their beauty. The obstruction was a face, just an unremarkable
human face, but I couldn't quite seem to banish it from my mind.
If I was truly honest, I would say that I didn't regret coming back. Those eight months I spent with her, I couldn't have been any happier. But I regretted it for her. I ruined her life, because I was to selfish to give her up.
Rosalie's palm smacked down on the table with a loud bang. "We can't allow the
human a chance to say anything. Carlisle, you must see that. Even if we decided to all
disappear, it's not safe to leave stories behind us. We live so differently from the rest our kind—you know there are those who would love an excuse to point fingers. We have
to be more careful than anyone else!"
"We've left rumors behind us before," I reminded her.
"Just rumors and suspicions, Edward. Not eyewitnesses and evidence!"
"Evidence!" I scoffed.
But Jasper was nodding, his eyes hard.
"Rose—" Carlisle began.
"Let me finish, Carlisle. It doesn't have to be any big production. The girl hit her
head today. So maybe that injury turns out to be more serious that it looked." Rosalie
shrugged. "Every mortal goes to sleep with the chance of never waking up. The others
would expect us to clean up after ourselves. Technically, that would make it Edward's
job, but this is obviously beyond him. You know I'm capable of control. I would leave
no evidence behind me."
"Yes, Rosalie, we all know how proficient an assassin you are," I snarled.
She hissed at me, furious.
"Edward, please," Carlisle said. Then he turned to Rosalie. "Rosalie, I looked
the other way in Rochester because I felt that you were owed your justice. The men you
killed had wronged you monstrously. This is not the same situation. The Swan girl is an
innocent."
"It's not personal, Carlisle," Rosalie said through her teeth. "It's to protect us
all."
There was a brief moment of silence while Carlisle thought through his answer.
When he nodded, Rosalie's eyes lit up. She should have known better. Even if I hadn't
been able to read his thoughts, I could have anticipated his next words. Carlisle never
compromised.
"I know you mean well, Rosalie, but…I'd like very much for our family to be
worth protecting. The occasional…accident or lapse in control is a regrettable part of
who we are." It was very like him to include himself in the plural, though he had never
had such a lapse himself. "To murder a blameless child in cold blood is another thing
entirely. I believe the risk she presents, whether she speaks her suspicions or not, is nothing to the greater risk. If we make exceptions to protect ourselves, we risk
something much more important. We risk losing the essence of who we are."
I controlled my expression very carefully. It wouldn't do at all to grin. Or to
applaud, as I wished I could.
Rosalie scowled. "It's just being responsible."
"It's being callous," Carlisle corrected gently. "Every life is precious."
Rosalie sighed heavily and her lower lip pouted out. Emmett patted her shoulder.
"It'll be fine, Rose," he encouraged in a low voice.
"The question," Carlisle continued, "is whether we should move on?"
"No," Rosalie moaned. "We just got settled. I don't want to start on my
sophomore year in high school again!"
"You could keep your present age, of course," Carlisle said.
"And have to move again that much sooner?" she countered.
Carlisle shrugged.
"I like it here! There's so little sun, we get to be almost normal."
"Well, we certainly don't have to decide now. We can wait and see if it becomes
necessary. Edward seems certain of the Swan girl's silence."
Rosalie snorted.
But I was no longer worried about Rose. I could see that she would go along with
Carlisle's decision, not matter how infuriated she was with me. Their conversation had
moved on to unimportant details.
Jasper remained unmoved.
I understood why. Before he and Alice had met, he'd lived in a combat zone, a
relentless theater of war. He knew the consequences of flouting the rules—he'd seen the
grisly aftermath with his own eyes.
It said much that he had not tried to calm Rosalie down with his extra faculties,
nor did he now try to rile her up. He was holding himself aloof from this discussion—
above it.
"Jasper," I said.
He met my gaze, his face expressionless.
"She won't pay for my mistake. I won't allow that."
"She benefits from it, then? She should have died today, Edward. I would only
set that right."
I repeated myself, emphasizing each word. "I will not allow it."
His eyebrows shot up. He wasn't expecting this—he hadn't imagined that I would
act to stop him.
He shook his head once. "I won't let Alice live in danger, even a slight danger.
You don't feel about anyone the way I feel about her, Edward, and you haven't lived
through what I've lived through, whether you've seen my memories or not. You don't
understand."
"I'm not disputing that, Jasper. But I'm telling you now, I won't allow you to
hurt Isabella Swan."
We stared at each other—not glaring, but measuring the opposition. I felt him
sample the mood around me, testing my determination.
"Jazz," Alice said, interrupting us.
He held my gaze for a moment more, and then looked at her. "Don't bother
telling me you can protect yourself, Alice. I already know that. I've still got to—"
"That's not what I'm going say," Alice interrupted. "I was going to ask you for a
favor."
I saw what was on her mind, and my mouth fell open with an audible gasp. I
stared at her, shocked, only vaguely aware that everyone besides Alice and Jasper was
now eyeing me warily.
"I know you love me. Thanks. But I would really appreciate it if you didn't try to
kill Bella. First of all, Edward's serious and I don't want you two fighting. Secondly,
she's my friend. At least, she's going to be."
It was clear as glass in her head: Alice, smiling, with her icy white arm around the
girl's warm, fragile shoulders. And Bella was smiling, too, her arm around Alice's waist.
The vision was rock solid; only the timing of it was unsure.
"But…Alice…" Jasper gasped. I couldn't manage to turn my head to see his
expression. I couldn't tear myself away from the image in Alice's head in order to hear
his.
"I'm going to love her someday, Jazz. I'll be very put out with you if you don't
let her be."
I was still locked into Alice's thoughts. I saw the future shimmer as Jasper's
resolve floundered in the face of her unexpected request.
"Ah," she sighed—his indecision had cleared a new future. "See? Bella's not
going to say anything. There's nothing to worry about."
The way she said the girl's name…like they were already close confidants…
"Alice," I choked. "What…does this…?"
"I told you there was a change coming. I don't know, Edward." But she locked
her jaw, and I could see that there was more. She was trying not to think about it; she
was focusing very hard on Jasper suddenly, though he was too stunned to have
progressed much in his decision making.
She did this sometimes when she was trying to keep something from me.
"What, Alice? What are you hiding?"
I heard Emmett grumble. He always got frustrated when Alice and I had these
kinds of conversations.
She shook her head, trying to not let me in.
"Is it about the girl?" I demanded. "Is it about Bella?"
She had her teeth gritted in concentration, but when I spoke Bella's name, she
slipped. Her slip only lasted the tiniest portion of a second, but that was long enough.
"NO!" I shouted. I heard my chair hit the floor, and only then realized I was on
my feet.
"Edward!" Carlisle was on his feet, too, his arm on my shoulder. I was barely
aware of him.
"It's solidifying," Alice whispered. "Every minute you're more decided.
There're really only two ways left for her. It's one or the other, Edward."
I could see what she saw…but I could not accept it.
"No," I said again; there was no volume to my denial. My legs felt hollow, and I
had to brace myself against the table.
"Will somebody please let the rest of us in on the mystery?" Emmett complained.
"I have to leave," I whispered to Alice, ignoring him.
"Edward, we've already been over that," Emmett said loudly. "That's the best
way to start the girl talking. Besides, if you take off, we won't know for sure if she's
talking or not. You have to stay and deal with this."
"I don't see you going anywhere, Edward," Alice told me. "I don't know if you
can leave anymore." Think about it, she added silently. Think about leaving.
I saw what she meant. Yes, the idea of never seeing the girl again was…painful.
But it was also necessary. I couldn't sanction either future I'd apparently condemned her
to.
I'm not entirely sure of Jasper, Edward, Alice went on. If you leave, if he thinks
she's a danger to us…
"I don't hear that," I contradicted her, still only halfway aware of our audience.
Jasper was wavering. He would not do something that would hurt Alice.
Not right this moment. Will you risk her life, leave her undefended?
"Why are you doing this to me?" I groaned. My head fell into my hands.
I was not Bella's protector. I could not be that. Wasn't Alice's divided future
enough proof of that?
I love her, too. Or I will. It's not the same, but I want her around for that.
"Love her, too?" I whispered, incredulous.
She sighed. You are so blind, Edward. Can't you see where you're headed?
Can't you see where you already are? It's more inevitable than the sun rising in the east.
See what I see…
I shook my head, horrified. "No." I tried to shut out the visions she revealed to
me. "I don't have to follow that course. I'll leave. I will change the future."
"You can try," she said, her voice skeptical.
"Oh, come on!" Emmett bellowed.
"Pay attention," Rose hissed at him. "Alice sees him falling for a human! How
classically Edward!" She made a gagging sound.
I scarcely heard her.
"What?" Emmett said, startled. Then his booming laugh echoed through the
room. "Is that what's been going on?" He laughed again. "Tough break, Edward."
I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I shook it off absently. I couldn't pay
attention to him.
"Fall for a human?" Esme repeated in a stunned voice. "For the girl he saved
today? Fall in love with her?"
"What do you see, Alice? Exactly," Jasper demanded.
She turned toward him; I continued to stare numbly at the side of her face.
"It all depends on whether he is strong enough or not. Either he'll kill her
himself" —she turned to meet my gaze again, glaring— "which would really irritate me,
Edward, not to mention what it would do to you—" she faced Jasper again, "or she'll be
one of us someday."
Someone gasped; I didn't look to see who.
"That's not going to happen!" I was shouting again. "Either one!"
Alice didn't seem to hear me. "It all depends," she repeated. "He may be just
strong enough not to kill her—but it will be close. It will take an amazing amount of
control," she mused. "More even than Carlisle has. He may be just strong enough…
The only thing he's not strong enough to do is stay away from her. That's a lost cause."
I couldn't find my voice. No one else seemed to be able to either. The room was
still.
I stared at Alice, and everyone else stared at me. I could see my own horrified
expression from five different viewpoints.
After a long moment, Carlisle sighed.
"Well, this…complicates things."
"I'll say," Emmett agreed. His voice was still close to laughter. Trust Emmett to
find the joke in the destruction of my life.
"I suppose the plans remain the same, though," Carlisle said thoughtfully. "We'll
stay, and watch. Obviously, no one will…hurt the girl."
I stiffened.
"No," Jasper said quietly. "I can agree to that. If Alice sees only two ways—"
"No!" My voice was not a shout or a growl or a cry of despair, but some
combination of the three. "No!"
I had to leave, to be away from the noise of their thoughts—Rosalie's self-
righteous disgust, Emmett's humor, Carlisle's never ending patience…
Worse: Alice's confidence. Jasper's confidence in that confidence.
Worst of all: Esme's…joy.
I stalked out of the room. Esme touched my arm as I passed, but I didn't
acknowledge the gesture.
I was running before I was out of the house. I cleared the river in one bound, and
raced into the forest. The rain was back again, falling so heavily that I was drenched in a
few moments. I liked the thick sheet of water—it made a wall between me and the rest of
the world. It closed me in, let me be alone.
I ran due east, over and through the mountains without breaking my straight
course, until I could see the lights of Seattle on the other side of the sound. I stopped
before I touched the borders of human civilization.
Shut in by the rain, all alone, I finally made myself look at what I had done—at
the way I had mutilated the future.
First, the vision of Alice and the girl with their arms around each other—the trust
and friendship was so obvious it shouted from the image. Bella's wide chocolate eyes
were not bewildered in this vision, but still full of secrets—in this moment, they seemed
to be happy secrets. She did not flinch away from Alice's cold arm.
What did it mean? How much did she know? In that still-life moment from the
future, what did she think of me?
Then the other image, so much the same, yet now colored by horror. Alice and
Bella, their arms still wrapped around each other in trusting friendship. But now there
was no difference between those arms—both were white, smooth as marble, hard as steel.
Bella's wide eyes were no longer chocolate. The irises were a shocking, vivid crimson.
The secrets in them were unfathomable—acceptance or desolation? It was impossible to
tell. Her face was cold and immortal
I shuddered. I could not suppress the questions, similar, but different: What did it
mean—how had this come about? And what did she think of me now? . I could answer that last one. If I forced her into this empty half-life through my weakness and selfishness, surely she would hate me.
But there was one more horrifying image—worse than any image I'd ever held
inside my head.
My own eyes, deep crimson with human blood, the eyes of the monster. Bella's
broken body in my arms, ashy white, drained, lifeless. It was so concrete, so clear.
I couldn't stand to see this. Could not bear it. I tried to banish it from my mind,
tried to see something else, anything else. Tried to see again the expression on her living
face that had obstructed my view for the last chapter of my existence. All to no avail.
Alice's bleak vision filled my head, and I writhed internally with the agony it
caused. Meanwhile, the monster in me was overflowing with glee, jubilant at the
likelihood of his success. It sickened me.
This could not be allowed. There had to be a way to circumvent the future. I
would not let Alice's visions direct me. I could choose a different path. There was
always a choice.
There had to be.
There was another choice. I chose it, and look where I am now.
"Sir, can I get you anything?" A steward asked me.
Yes, can you please tell the pilot I'm suicidal and I need to get to Italy as soon as possible?
It's what I wanted to say, but instead of scaring the poor steward, I said, "No thank you."
The steward nodded, and moved on to the next passenger.
"Attention, passengers. We will be landing shortly, please put on your seatbelts."
I closed my eyes. I was one step closer to death, and Bella.
***
(To be continued…)