~Alice~
Floodgates
I've always been in control of my powers, my special talent, my unique insight – focusing when I needed too, and viewing the secure future of my loved ones – well, most of them. I could block my visions too. I do so on my every one of my 'birthdays' – I never miss a chance for a party, and though the decades never add age to my family or I, it is still thrilling to be the center of attention for a whole day, to be showered in gifts which were actually a surprise for once, to be adored, and not scolded for completely overdressing! It took some effort, but when you knew what you were trying to avoid seeing, you could avoid it – if that makes sense. You could close the stubborn door completely with a stern push, and then forget about it until you opened it again, indulging in the comfort and security you felt washing over you with the knowledge that everything was all right.
Lately though, the visions have just flooded my mind, come unwelcome, pushed so hard, that the door jammed in place, not closing at all, just letting the tides of the future roll in and wash me away with strong currents and nothing to hold on to.
It was nothing alarming at first, a bit irritating at the most. The essay question to a surprise test in history class sneaked its way into my mind. I was not looking for it. I was excellent at American history! I had lived through most of what we studied in class, and I had to be careful not to expose myself by purposefully achieving only mediocre results in finals and such. It only surprised me, took me by shock that my powers had tried to help me cheat in class. Carlisle as my father figure had always inspired me to be honest and never use my… advantage, to cheat. Emmett obeyed Carlisle but did not agree. He saw the obvious reason to not join the wrestling team – we didn't want to pulverize anyone – but he complained when Carlisle disallowed him from joining the track team. Being part of the background was key.
Then other visions came to me –visions of people whose future did not concern me. I saw the argument that Bella's friend Jessica Stanley would have with her mother when she found the mousey girl stealing out of her purse. I saw Mike Newton and his mother discuss the financial difficulty they were facing. I saw Katie Marshal sitting in her room, alone, rocking back and forwards sobbing over Eric Yorkie. These things were private and it was not my place to see them. I did not want to intrude, but the visions imposed themselves upon me.
Yesterday my visions took a freak turn for the worst and I saw myself. I saw my past. But –my past? My visions were of the future –What could it mean? Would I be human again? Soon? Would I be able to remember all the things I had forgotten? Would I be burned and see salvation on the other side in my true, human form?
I am glad my boys were away hunting yesterday, Jasper would have sensed the uneasiness in me, and he would have alerted Edward, who would have intruded my mind and had me committed. Again. That was my vision.
I stumbled into my father's office - my long ebony locks bouncing - and announced giddily that a stunning stranger named James had asked me to a Ball. My father had looked at me oddly, "When did you see this gentleman? You know it is improper to meet with a man in your home! And without formally introducing him…" He looked at the clock by the door "and when did you speak with this gentleman?" he asked suspiciously "There is no 'James' in Biloxi, Mary, are you feeling faint?"
I giggled and told my father that I had met a handsome traveler with pale white skin and an exotic Northern accent just the day before, and that this morning when talking with Cynthia, I had seen him approach me in the street, asking me to come with him to a Ball. I told him that I had had a flash of the scene in my mind, and that I knew it would happen.
My father just looked at me as if I was a lunatic. "Father are you all right, shall I call the servant?" I gasped concerned – fixated on his extended arm.
"What on God's earth are you speaking of?" He demanded angrily, rising out of his big chair, just in time for the chandelier above him to fall, slashing and slicing his hand into a bloody mess.
"I saw it hurting you before it fell father, I saw it fall just before it did, are you all right?"
My father never told me if he was all right – but he called out something about a demon child and omens, and hurriedly pushed past me out the door.
I had always wanted to know about my human past. I always thought that I would have been a treasured daughter of a Mississippi businessman, who was torn from her family by the tragic strike of an out of control newborn vampire. The picture I had painted myself of human life had been something out of a fairytale.
I had pictured that my mother had mourned over my death. That she had cried in the streets when she found only shreds of my satin dress in a pool of blood when out looking for me, beside herself with worry. I had imagined that my father would go red in the face when he heard, and demand that my killer be hunted down, putting a hefty bounty on the head of the man who stole his sweet Mary Alice away from him, his precious daughter, the light of his life, the apple of his eye.
The visions last night shattered that illusion.