NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight!!!
My attempt a a story in first person. Takes place six years after Ben and Sarha's wedding. There are no POV notations but you're either in Carlisle's head or Sarah's Hopefuly I'm good enough as a writer that you don't get confused.
updated with the beta-ed version 09/09/09
Enjoy!!
Second Note as of 9/14/09: I decided to go ahead with this story so I will be updating it. I'm going to keep it in first person so if you have trouble following POV please let me know and I'll add notations otherwise I'll assume your following with no trouble. Also, if you've read this as previously posted, Ch 1&2 are the original texts, just split. Nothing new until Ch 3 . . . sorry.
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The New Pet 3: Water of Life
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Chapter 1
The Beating of Her Hideous Heart
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Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! Here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!"
The Tell-Tale Heart
Edgar Allan Poe
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Esme and I arrived at the airport in Lima, Peru in the small hours of the morning. A rental car was waiting for us to pick up for the short drive to the hotel where our youngest daughter, Sarah, and her mate of six years, Benjamin, were staying. The trip to South America had been hastily put together after Ben's frantic midnight phone call. The things my son-in-law and long time friend told me were shocking to say the least. Never before had I heard such a wild story, and never had I heard that level of panic in Ben's voice. It chilled me to the very core.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, I retrieved it and checked the caller ID even as I unlocked the car and opened the door for my wife. Ben's name appeared on the tiny screen. I took a breath before answering it; I wanted to sound as upbeat and comforting as possible. Benjamin needed my strength.
"Yes Ben, we just cleared customs not too long ago and we're getting in the car now." I tried to sound reassuring, I hoped I'd succeeded.
"You've got to hurry, she woke up about an hour ago and she's been in a rage ever since," my friend sounded very out of sorts. "She's locked herself in the bedroom of our hotel suite and won't let me in . . ." His statement was cut short by the sound of incoherent screaming in the background and then the clatter of something fragile shattering. "If she keeps this up, she'll break everything that's not nailed down. Please, you've got to hurry Carlisle!"
"Just hang in there," I soothed, "we're on our way."
I snapped the phone closed and returned it to my pocket.
"How's Sarah?" Esme asked as I started the car and put it in gear.
When I stole a sideways glance at her, I saw the agonized expression of a mother worried sick about her child etched into every beautiful angle of her face. It nearly killed me to see her this way. It was my intention to come to Lima alone, but Esme was having none of it.
I clenched and released my jaw twice before answering. "Not good," I told her honestly. "She's awake now and, by the sound of things, she's quite hysterical."
We drove in silence to the hotel. The past six years of my life with Sarah, Benjamin, and their adopted human son, Bart, as part of my beautiful family played like an afternoon matinee through my mind. Happy times for the most part with a few rough patches thrown in just to add flavoring. In that moment, emotion overtook me; it was only one of many moments over the past three and a half centuries that I wished for tears that would never flow.
When we arrived at the hotel, I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that it took me several minutes to realize I was standing outside the door of Ben's hotel room. A quick, but not so gentle nudge from my wife had roused me from my musings. Thank goodness for vampire auto pilot. I gave Esme an apologetic smile before knocking.
The door opened moments later, Ben looked haggard as he invited us in. From behind the closed bedroom door more crashing and unintelligible yelling could be heard. I shook my head, poor Sarah was throwing the mother of all temper tantrums and, unfortunately, I couldn't truly say that I blamed her.
"Thank you for coming, this was all so sudden." Something shattered against the closed bedroom door and everyone turned in silence to look.
"Has she been like this long?" Esme asked her distress was painfully obvious.
"Ever since she opened her eyes and realized what had happened," Ben answered. In that moment he looked every bit of five hundred years old. "First she begged me to . . . well, you know. When I refused and suggested we wait for you to arrive, she went ballistic. I've seen Sarah angry before, Carlisle, but nothing like this."
Another loud crash from the locked room punctuated Ben's remark. This was closely followed by a knock on the suite's front door. Benjamin answered it. I wasn't at all surprised to see the two glum-faced men that stood in the hallway; one was obviously the hotel manager and the other his chief of security. They entered the room bringing an instant air of gloom with them.
"Senor," the manager began, addressing Benjamin as if he and no one else occupied the room. "Several of our guests have complained of loud noises, like those of a fight, coming from this room." As if on cue, something crashed in the bedroom and Sarah yelled like a wounded animal. The manager glared first at Ben and then for the first time at me and Esme.
"Um," Ben began his cover lie hesitantly. "It's my wife, she's very upset, her grandmother died and she's only just gotten the news. I'm more than willing to pay for any damages, in cash of course if you like."
"I don't care about the damages, Senor, although you will most certainly pay for them; I care more about the comfort of my other guests." The manager narrowed his eyes, fixing Ben uncomfortably with his gaze. "Several of them have threatened to leave if this continues . . . that prospect does not make me happy."
Two more crashes and a scream came from the room. The manager nodded to his security officer and the burly man advanced toward the bedroom. I stopped him with a gentle hand and a smile.
"Excuse me, we haven't been introduced, I'm Dr. Cullen. Sarah is a patient of mine." My voice exuded smooth confidence. "If you're agreeable, I think we can help each other." Something thudded against the door and I smirked because it sounded like a shoe. Perhaps Sarah was running low on ammo. "Benjamin summoned me when his wife got out of hand. Obviously a little sedation is in order."
To prove my point I set my medical bag down on the coffee table and proceeded to draw up a measured dose of medication into a syringe. I capped the needle before slipping it into my pocket; Sarah hated needles and there was no use provoking further agitation in her.
"Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll take care of this," I dismissed them and approached the door. As my hand brushed the knob lightly I called out to her through the door. "Sarah, I'm coming in now, honey, please don't throw anything at me."
"Go away!" she shouted from within.
After taking a deep breath, I opened the door and was instantly met with my daughter's wrath for doing so, a table lamp, complete with lamp shade, sailed past me. It barely missed my head before smashing against the door frame. Sarah stood by the bed, her back pressed tight against the wall, a look of anger mixed with a healthy dose of terror was fixed on her face.
She groped over the bedside table, searching with hungry hands for something else to hurl. I closed the door behind me. I didn't want an audience for what was about to take place, I owed my daughter her dignity.
"Sarah Wiseman de Mont Virun!" I whispered her full name sternly. I wasn't angry with her, she was obviously in pain, but I hoped it would startle her to her senses.
My hopes were dashed as her groping hand found a glass ashtray and she cocked her arm back in preparation to let fly. I always thought Rose was the hot head of the family, but Sarah's rage was sheer perfection. I took stock of the bedroom and only one word came to mind, devastation. In the back of my mind, I could almost see Rosalie smiling her approval.
"Go away . . . all of you! Can't you see I'm hideous? Don't you hear it; don't tell me you can't, because I certainly can?!" She grabbed the front of her shirt with her free hand, as her face contorted in to a tortured mask of anguish. "Make it stop, Papa, please . . . just make it stop!"
With that the ashtray fell harmlessly from her hand to land with a dull thud on the carpeted floor. I watched helplessly as my Sarah slowly slid down the wall until she melted into a crumpled heap. With her knees pulled tight against her chest, she began sobbing into them. I resisted the urge to rush over to her; instead I started towards her at human speed.
Could I hear it, of course I could! I'd heard it even in the hall way outside the room, I'd heard it over the sounds of Sarah's raging behind the closed bedroom door, and now as I scooped her into my arms I heard it so loudly that it was nearly deafening. It was there, but it shouldn't have been. It was there, but I didn't know why. Yes, it was there and it was unmistakable, it was the strong frantic pounding of Sarah's beating heart.
"Make it stop, Papa, please make it stop," she pleaded into the folds of my pale blue oxford as I held her trembling body in my arms. Soon the dampness from her tears soaked through my shirt and I was very much afraid that if I didn't calm her, she'd cry an ocean before she was done. I wasn't fooled by her breakdown, however, I knew my Sarah all too well. The rage was by no means gone from her, and I could tell she was near the edge of exhaustion.
And her request, dear God, how that made me hurt inside, it seared in my chest like fire, I could hardly stand it. My daughter, my beautiful daughter whom I loved, was asking me, no she was begging me to stop her heart . . . to end her life. Of course I knew what she really meant by this, but in essence it was the same thing. I tightened my embrace just a little, kissed the top of her head, and shushed her quiet as I slipped a skilled hand into my coat pocket to retrieve the syringe. I flicked the cover off the needle with my thumb and . . . as gentle as I could, I jabbed the needle through her clothes and into the supple muscle of her hip.
"Forgive me, Kitten," I whispered into her hair as I pushed the plunger home, emptying every last drop of the sedative into her system. "This will make you feel much better, I promise."
I felt her body go rigid from the sting of the needle and then slowly relax as the medicine took hold. The frantic pounding of her heart gave way to a strong regular rhythm, and her breathing became shallow and even. When I finally felt her slump in my arms I picked her up and placed her lovingly on the bed.
I hated drugging her, but it was necessary, or at least that's what I told myself to ease my guilt.
Now the bothersome hotel manager would be satisfied and leave us in peace. Now I could do a proper physical examination on her. Now I could interrogate Ben more thoroughly and ascertain just what had happened to cause all this. Now, without my daughter's rage thundering in my ears and her piteous pleading threatening to rip open my very soul, perhaps I could put the pieces of this puzzle together and arrive at the answer . . . Why, or rather, how had Sarah gone from being a vampire back to being a human.
* * * *
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
"Make it stop, Papa, please make it stop."
I sobbed those words into the front of my father's soft cotton shirt. My tears fell like rain, saturating the fabric, but I couldn't help it and I didn't care. I knew if it didn't soon stop I'd lose ever last shred of my sanity. I couldn't stand it anymore, ever since the moment I opened my eyes it thundered in my ears taunting me, reminding me of what I once had and cackling madly about all I was about to lose.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
Sometimes, like now, it was a raging rhythm that pounded wildly out of control and at other times it had been steady and even like the constant ticking of some monstrous clock. It fact, it was a clock, ticking away the precious seconds of my existence until, like the sands of an hour glass, nothing would remain but emptiness.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
I felt Papa tighten his embrace, pulling me more fully into his eternally strong arms. His cold marble lips pressed tenderly into the crown of my head making me cry even harder. His whispers of comfort were lost in the well of my grief. Did he say he loved me; did he assure me that everything would be alright, or was it a promise to get to the bottom of this and make it all better? I couldn't hear the words exactly over the sound of my own sobbing, but for the first time since opening my eyes to this nightmare I felt the faintest stirring of hope.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
"Forgive me, Kitten," he murmured, I heard that quite clearly. "This will make you feel much better, I promise."
Was he going to do it, is that why he was apologizing to me? I remembered the agony of Cane's bite and the fiery hell that consumed my body as his venom took hold and rewrote the molecular structure of every cell in my body. I braced myself for Papa's bite, willing myself to remain still while he sank his fearsome teeth into my tender neck. It would hurt, I knew that from experience, but Papa would surely be gentler than that fiend Cane had been.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
Then I felt it, but not a bite to the neck, instead it was a stabbing pain in my hip and then a burning rush as the medicine entered my body. I tensed with shock from the bite of the needle, but as the medicine began to take effect, I felt myself begin to go limp in his arms. His embrace tightened as he took on my weight. Why Papa, I tried to ask but my brain couldn't make my body obey. Moments later, the steady thundering in my chest slowly began fading from my awareness as blackness overtook my world.
Lub-dub . . . lub-dub . . . lub-dub . . .
Soon I was drifting on the gossamer mist of the dream world and I was reliving the last moments of my happiness.
"Sarah, where are you my love?" Ben called out to me in the dream.
I slowly got to my feet and shook myself off, the fall must have been some forty feet but I wasn't hurt. One of the perks of being a vampire was virtual indestructibility. I was a little embarrassed though; if I would have paid more attention to Ben's footsteps I wouldn't have fallen. Instead I was distracted by the night symphony of the jungle and by my own excitement at finding the hidden Inca ruins. I felt so . . . Indiana Jones and I smiled as the theme music began playing in my mind.
"Down here," I called.
Within seconds I heard a loud thud as Ben landed near me. "Ah, a damsel in distress," he teased happily. "Would Milady like some assistance?"
"Where are we?" I asked. Our voices echoed all around me just like they had in the maze beneath the Volturi palace. The memory of that long ago trip to Italy made me shudder.
"Some sort of grotto beneath the ruined temple," Ben whispered. "I wish you could see little love, this place would take your breath away . . . especially the pool; the water seems to almost glow."
Pool, I thought, what pool, and took a deep breath? Water had a very distinct smell that I'd learned to pinpoint because deer and other large animals congregated near it. The scent that filled my nose was confusing; the first note was mustiness which indicated we were underground. Beneath the mustiness, however, was a heady perfume that was pure ambrosia, it made me moan with pleasure.
"I know what you mean love," he whispered. "It does smell wonderful."
I took his elbow and we began exploring the chamber. Ben was disappointed that there was no lost idol or other such treasure to be had. By his reckoning, someone else must have raided the place ages ago.
"Most likely the Spanish," he insisted. Then he made a most unusual suggestion. "How about a little midnight swim my love. The pool looks to be spring fed and . . ." he paused and I heard him stir the water. "The temperature is quite pleasant."
"Are you sure it's safe?"I asked as the Indiana Jones music continued to play softly in my mind. I remembered each plot line in glorious detail, and usually these sorts of situations didn't bode well for Dr. Jones. "What if there's a curse or something. You know . . . Abandon all hope ye who swim here!" After all wasn't there always a curse.
"Silly Sara,"Ben laughed. Suddenly I found myself being tugged forward by the wrist.
The water was pure heaven and we swam for what seemed like hours. Finally I found a rock ledge that allowed me to dangle my feet in the blissful water while I relaxed. I settled myself on it and listened to Ben as he told me yet another fantastical story about his days with the Knights of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem.
He must have been feeling frisky, but it didn't show in his voice. Were I not blind, I would have been able to read his mischievous intentions on his face. Without warning Ben grabbed my ankles and hauled me from my perch. So sudden was his childish act that it took me by surprise and I opened my mouth to scream, but before any sound could escape, my head sunk below the pool's surface and my mouth filled with water.
I fought to break the surface and ended up swallowing several mouthfuls of water in the process. Ben was laughing at my fury.
"You look angrier than a wet cat, Little Love," he giggled.
Then the dream began to fade and the hideous rhythm in my chest slowly picked up in intensity. It beat like an Inca war drum and its cadence was the proclamation of my doom.
Lub-dub . . . lub-dub . . . lub-dub . . .
The water my mind screamed from the black void of unconsciousness, it was the water. I began to struggle against the effects of whatever drug my father had given me. I had to tell Papa about the grotto and the pool.
If anyone in the world could figure out what happened to me and fix it, it was my father, my beloved Papa, the brilliant scientist and physician, Dr. Carlisle Cullen.
