Author's Note: This is the introduction in which Edward returns after rebelling against Carlisle (1931). Bella will NOT be in this story. Sorry, but if you want to read about Bella this is not the place. It should be interesting, though, since it explores Edward's early life(as I see it) which didn't really get put in the book. Also, dark Edward who drank human blood...scary!

Disclaimer: I am not Stephenie Meyer, though I really wish was. Same goes for all chapters

P r o d i g a l S o n - - -

Chapter 1: Irony

He welcomed me back like the prodigal son. Arms outstretched. I was so guilt-ridden, heavy with the weight of my defiance. How could I have defied him, anyway? His honesty had been definite, so I convinced myself that it was an act. A cover, when he had treated me with such kindness. The weight was heavy on my chest.

He stared me down with a smile, glancing from my now red eyes down to my muddy boots. It must be hard for a father to see his son this way. To look him in the eye and know that he had lied.

I hoped that things could go back to normal, now. That Carlisle could forgive me. So much damage had been done, and so much of that damage could not be reversed. In his head I could see how he believed me and trusted that I would not turn on him again. I heard him think, 'Welcome back, Son.' knowing that I was listening. I tried to return his gaze, but couldn't for long.

She was still here. She sat on the couch, staring at me slowly and smiling. I was glad that she, too, trusted me, though to what extent I did not know. Esme had never thought I was capable of killing human beings before, so surely these acts of indiscretion had torn her inside. But she loved me. That much was as certain as all the others.

And they were still in love. I sighed with relief after realizing that I had not been the cause of some devastating split between them. Though I was back, I could see Carlisle's protective gaze move onto Esme, making sure she was alright and that I wouldn't hurt her.

"Mother," I said, knowing that Esme would appreciate the word. Then I turned to Carlisle, nodding my head. "Father."

"I knew you'd come back, Edward," Esme assured me. "I told him to wait, that you'd come back to us." She smiled, and her caramel hair wavered on her shoulders.

"I need to be alone for a while," I whispered, making my way to the stairs. "Just a while." The familiar trek to my room seemed to take an hour, as weary as I was. It wasn't the same kind of weariness as a human, true, but it was the feeling of unrelenting stress. On my mind more than my body.

I could not stay. Not to disturb Carlisle and the life he had created here. I had done enough already. Worse of all, I had defiled the way of living that he and his wife had created. The way not to consume human blood, to live without feeling the sweet pulse of blood inside thick veins.

The venom flowed to my tongue as I thought of pulsing blood, though I soon realized that I did want to stay here. That I did want to be a "vegetarian" with my father. And the only way to do this was to abstain from thinking of pulsing blood and the criminals that were murdering on the streets. The only humans I had killed were murderers, ironically enough. I wondered what Carlisle would think of that. He would disapprove, certainly, which was why I had come back after all. It had been a long time to go on that way, doing the things I knew were wrong.

I could hear them downstairs, talking about me. It was hard not to hear them, even if I tried. If I wasn't hearing them speak, I was hearing their thoughts. And they weren't trying to keep their voices down.

"He tried to be good, Carlisle. I know he tried." Esme was standing up for me, even though she knew as well as I did that I had not tried anything.

"If he tried, why does he look like that? He's a mess."

"Naturally," Esme whispered. "You would be a mess, too."

There was enough silence to warrant a nod. Or a frown. And then Carlisle finally spoke. "And he came back," he reminded himself. "He did come back."

I took their words carefully into consideration. Neither of them were mad at me, though they should be. Esme was still the soft comforter, and Carlisle would always accept me, no matter what I did.

I walked down the stairs, more slowly than normal. Vaguely wondering how much time had passed, I looked at where they sat–the same place they had been sitting before. Good, so I hadn't been up there so long.

"I think it's best if we leave," Carlisle said. I noticed that his eyes were hopeful, the same as they had been when I walked through the door. Esme was calmly smiling, pleased to help me in any way possible. "Maybe if you get away, Edward . . . Maybe if you go somewhere where you can forget what happened . . ."

I felt my brow furrow, and the corners of my mouth turn downward. "All I want is to stay here with you and Esme. Why do we have to leave so soon?"

"I think that your . . . focus has been compromised. I found this place in Rochester. It'll be perfect, you'll see." He smiled kindly at me. Esme knew I was falling for it, that I would soon give into Carlisle's methods of persuading me, as guilt ridden as I was.

New York? It would be a change, certainly, but maybe for the better. Maybe I could clean up and find something different. Different wasn't always bad, was it?

"Tomorrow?" I asked, knowing the answer.

He nodded, still smiling, and I felt the need to smile back. With effort.

"Sounds like a deal. Thank you both." I turned to walk up the stairs again, but Esme stopped me.

"Aren't you staying, Edward? Don't you want to talk to us some more?" Her eyes were now also hopeful. And something else. Loving.

"No. I'm going back upstairs."

I didn't know what I would do until morning. Well, not morning exactly, since it was already around 1:00. What I would do until it was a reasonable time to go back down again. I fiddled with the dial of the radio, noting for not the first time how bad the acoustics were in here. I cringed a little at the country music, since it seemed that the station was having a country phase.

I gave up on the radio and then shuddered at the silence. At first I lay on the couch, studying the walls, the door, the ceiling. Something bothered me. I realized with a start that nothing in the room had changed at all. Not one thing. I could tell that the room hadn't been entered, hadn't been cleaned. It hadn't even been touched. Had it bothered Carlisle to enter my room when I wasn't there? Had Esme shuddered at the idea of seeing the place where I no longer existed? It seemed foolish to me, but to them not so much. Perhaps the real reason was that they expected me to come back soon.

They had been expecting me, waiting for me. That was why it wasn't a total shock when I had come back. It made me uncomfortable to think that they had been putting their lives on hold for me, waiting for me to walk through the door again.

I carefully pulled a box from my closet, piling in the things I owned. I didn't own many things, but I did have a radio. And books, more books than I could fit inside. I packed limited clothing, trying to fit everything inside.

Esme was waiting outside the door, fist pressed to the wood. "We're leaving soon. Are you sure you're ready? I tried to tell Carlisle that we should stay here instead, but he insisted that it would be best–" I cut her off.

"I'm ready," I said firmly. "Just finished packing."

She stood there awkwardly, waiting for something to say. When she could think of nothing, she just smiled. "Missed you, Son."

"Missed you, too," I said, and closed the door to my room. I wondered when we would be back to the house. Even with the bad acoustics, I would still miss the room that had been my home for so long.

"You're going to be my brother, soon." She flashed her perfect white teeth. "Carlisle said that we should try a different family situation."

"So Carlisle's your husband, and I'm your brother?"

"That's right," she laughed. "It'll be a nice change. Don't slip up and call me your mother, okay? That could complicate things!"

And we laughed together. It was a little easier to laugh after years without laughter. Still, the sound shocked my ears. I had grown used to other sounds, those of humans crying, shrieking, and screaming. Laughter was a sound I had not heard.

Still, the weak sound that came from my throat was pathetic. Though when they both looked at me, angelic in all forms of the word, I knew that my attempt at laughter had been good enough. Not excellent, and not normal, but it was good enough for them.