A/N: This hasn't seen a beta, so any grammar errors are mine. I've had this in my documents folder for a while, and it always calls to me, so I cleaned it up and here it is. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Saga. Stephenie Meyer has those rights. I just like to meddle with her characters.
The cool ocean mist assaulted my skin, allowing the salty water and humidity to cling to every fiber of my thin night-gown. My stomach felt hollow, the heart inside my ribs dead. I could feel it pumping and beating, but I was disgusted to feel it thrash inside my chest.
I missed my baby.
A harsh breeze blew past me, swirling my long caramel locks around my face. The ocean before me beckoned. I could hear it crash against the rocks beneath my ledge. The cry of my baby boy echoed in my head, and I listened as it fell in volume.
I couldn't live without him.
Rocking back on the heels of my bare feet, I raised my arms out, welcoming release. And then I jumped, a scream falling from my lips as I fell towards the rocks, crashing into the sea.
My body jolted forward, hands grasping soft sand. My breath was coming in short harsh gasps. I could feel her hurt, my body convulsing as it tried to release the pain. I wanted to reject the images still playing on repeat within my head.
I was hot, uncomfortable. Riley was still dead asleep beside me, having adjusted to my sudden movements long ago.
I clawed at my clothes, forcing them off in different directions as the fabric got hotter and hotter. The tears sprung to my eyes, and I wrapped my arms around my knees and held myself as I cried.
I cried for her death, and for her loss. I cried from the hurt, and the sorrow.
I had come to the right beach. My instincts still worked, my gift stilled guided.
A soft feather light touch to my right cheeks told me she was here.
"You're dead." I whispered, turning my head towards my right, a chill climbing my spine as goose-flesh covered every inch of my skin. "You need to move on. Go into the light, I know you're scared."
I choked back a sob, the soft cry of her baby boy echoing—repeating.
Slamming my eyes shut, I searched my mind for the doorway, searching for her aura, her spirit.
She appeared in great detail, the cuts to her flesh gruesome and sickening. I could see the blood that soaked her night-gown, where the sea welcomed her into their arms. She smiled at me, reaching a hand out and beckoning me towards her.
I remember the first time I made contact with a spirit. How scared I was that they'd try to take me into the afterlife with them.
My first contact had been the night of my sixteenth birthday. His name had been Edward Anthony Masen, a victim to Spanish Influenza in 1917. He'd been searching all over Chicago for his parents—who had also fallen victim to the flu.
He was an attractive young man, with dreams of joining the army and going off to war and being a hero. Naïve, but at the time, so was I. Naïve about reality, jaded to the existence of the supernatural because of my religion.
It took me two months to finally help Edward. And I cried for a week straight once he finally accepted that he was dead, and he entered the blinding white light.
My family traveled a lot, never staying in one city or town long enough to grow roots. I never made friends, because I always left them behind when we moved again. Chicago became a part of the past, three days after Edward left.
We moved to Washington next, to a tiny town of Forks. I met Isabella Marie Swan there. She'd been a victim to a freak accident. It wasn't as long before she entered the white light. But it was grueling and emotional experience.
Bella, as she liked to be called, refused to believe she was dead. She haunted her old home that she shared with her father—he had been the deputy in Forks before he too passed on from a heart attack.
Bella fought against me, stubborn and headstrong. It killed me emotionally to feel her attachments, but the release when her spirit, her soul, finally moved on.
It had been worth it.
My own voice brought me back to the present as the women before me cocked her head to the side in quiet wonder. "What's your name?" I whispered, walking towards her, with my own hands reaching to touch hers.
The connection isn't as startling anymore. I've mastered releasing spirits within a day or so of contact. Her fingers felt fragile—weak—underneath my grasp.
I loosened my hold, smiling as she stared at our hands in curiosity.
Her name was Esme Evenson. She had given birth to a baby boy two days before she committed suicide. Her husband had been a war veteran, and abusive.
"You're free Esme." The light surrounding us grew brighter, swirling my long raven locks around my face. She stared at me, before her gaze slid towards the white light. "Go be with your baby boy, Esme. He misses you."
Her image glitched, and then began to fade. I released my hold and watched as she slowly walked towards the light, only looking back for a small silent moment before the image was yanked from my vision and the expansive ocean was brought back into view.
Riley's scent bombarded my senses, and I flinched away from his sudden proximity.
So caring, so protective, so understanding, he was always there for me, always lending a helping hand. He never judged me for my gift, never complained about our nomadic lifestyle. I should have felt honored to have such an amazing boyfriend.
I should have. But my spirit was never attached with his.
"You okay Aly-cat?" He asked, arms around my waist, pulling my body backwards to lean against his chest. I merely nodded my head, reaching up to wipe away the few tears that leaked from my eyes.
No matter how many lost souls I helped, it always hurt to watch them go. I felt so connected to them, learned so much about them with little touches and dreams. It was like losing a member of my family every time.
But I continued to roam and search and listen to my instincts.
Riley held me for a long time, both of us staying silent and still as the ocean crashed around us. I could feel the swift breeze and smell the salty sea air. The sun was breaching the horizon, casting shadows and creating beautiful colors in the sky.
"Do you know where this was taken?" I asked the tiny man behind the counter, holding out a postcard with a long and expansive desert land. It was gorgeous, and I could feel energy pulsing from the tiny picture.
He looked at me sideways, flipping the postcard over and reading the back for a long moment. I stood across from him, bouncing on my toes as the energy continued to pulse, flashes of the lands past.
I saw bullets, and guns. Flashes of uniforms and fallen men, it must have been a war-zone.
"Texas." Was all he said, handing the postcard back to me before his eyes locked back on the tiny television to his left. I raised a brow at him, hissed quietly, and turned away from him to find Riley and tell him of our next destination.
"Anything yet?" Riley mumbled grumpily, his head falling forward, eyes heavy and blood-shot. My body was pulsing with energy, high from the constant jabs of past soldiers and flying bullets.
Riley was always so impatient to find the place so we could set up camp and fall asleep. He never drew in the atmosphere, or the wonderful scenery.
I never understood it. I couldn't resist drinking in everything around me. I always felt connected to the land, especially when a spirit called to me. I wasn't just here to help, I was here to understand.
"Must you be so irritated?" I snapped towards him, running a small hand through my long black locks. They were tangled from the wind, and they felt hot against my flesh. I'd been debated cutting them for a long while, and it seemed like the perfect time.
I had a feeling we'd be spending a bit of time in Texas, especially if I had to help more than one fallen soldier.
"Yes, Alice, I do. We've been driving for days, and I'm dead tired." He winced at the casual use of the word and clenched his jaw, causing his cheek to flex from the pressure. The tension between us was building, and I could see that our end was near. But like the coward I was, I relentlessly avoided it.
Riley saw us getting married and settling down.
I was always going to be a gypsy, searching the world for lost souls to help since I couldn't help myself. Not since my father disowned me at that damn asylum and I managed to find my way out.
No, I was and would always spend my life on the run. I couldn't be Mrs. Mary Alice Biers, wife and mother of three children and live on Springfield Court with a large house and a white picket fence.
Even as I described the image, it refused to appear in my mind.
"Pull over then. I'll wander for a bit while you nap, or whatever." I didn't mean to ground it out like sleeping was such a horrid thing. But I was never keen on sleeping when I felt needed. And for the first time in almost three days I felt the energy swirling around me, and I knew how much those lost souls needed me.
Riley sighed, jerking the car to the side of the road and slamming on the brake. I watched him shove the car into park and yank the keys from the ignition, leaving us sitting in silence.
The tension was unbearable. But it always had been between us. We played it up—he was accepting, relaxed. He let me do as I pleased because we had been together since the beginning.
But when we fought, our true colors showed. I was never going to be the woman he hoped for. I couldn't turn off my gift—I had no urge too—and my gift always kept us moving.
I knew that eventually Riley would grow tired of it. He had always been comfortable. I loved him with as much of myself as I could—but it would never be enough to stop the life I was chosen for.
But here we sat in silence, and I knew the moment his breath hitched that eventually had finally reached us.
"What're we doing here, Aly?"
Wrinkling my nose at the nickname, I decided on playing dumb. "We're looking for the soul that called to me in that post-card?" I pointed towards the tiny piece of cardboard on the dash, and bit my lip when Riley shifted in his seat.
"No, Alice. What are we doing? Are we gonna live like this the rest of our lives? Be gypsies that travel and never stay in once place for very long? I know you've been like this since you were seventeen, but, baby you've gotta realize the only way I'm leaving you is if you tell me to go."
My heart beat fast inside my chest—alive with possibilities. I felt no ache as I drew in a breath and looked at him. Committing his face to my memory, I reached my hand out and placed it on his chest, feeling our release before the words tainted the air.
"Go, Riley."
Without a second glance, I grabbed my bag and the postcard, climbing out of the car and listening as the door slammed shut behind me.
He didn't say a word—and I never expected him too.
Riley wanted to go, just as much as I wanted him to.
We had finally reached the fork in the road where a decision needed to be made.
I walked for what felt like hours before stumbling upon an old motel. The building was weathered and aged—having seen more in its lifetime than its visitors.
I put money down for a room, gazing up at the old photo's hanging on the walls. Some of the scenes were on pause—men dressed in uniform fighting for their lives. But they didn't call out to me.
It wasn't until I stumbled upon an old jacket that had been folded up and placed inside glass that my eyes fogged over and the scene played before me.
My ears were clogged with gunfire and screams of agony. The gun in my hand felt heavy, but I was in control. Nothing would stop me, not the tracheal down pour, or the constant sound of guns popping.
My uniform felt tight around my neck, but I wouldn't touch it. My eyes were heavy, but they stayed open, searching the grounds for enemies.
"Major Whitlock! Sir, we have men down!" Turning my head, I locked eyes with one of the new recruits, his eyes wide with terror, the gun shaking in his hand. We only held gazes for half a second before another pop sounded and I saw the crimson liquid begin to soak his uniform.
I watched him fall, all of my instincts telling me to drop my gun and help a fallen soldier.
But I'd been in this too long, and that would show weakness. I'd become vulnerable, I'd be next.
I watched his body fall to the ground from my peripherals, blood flooding his mouth as he gasped, trying to find the air and will to fight the influx of pain.
"M-major!" He managed to yell, the sounded muddled by his loss of oxygen.
It stung, to listen to him call me for help and know every bone, every fiber in my being would continue to fight without looking back. I couldn't be weak; my family was waiting for me back home. My little sister Lucy expected me to return with great stories. She expected me to come back a hero.
And a hero helped everyone, whether it made them weak or not.
My heart skipped in beats as I turned on my heel, my back to the war zone and fell to my knee's beside one of my fallen soldiers. He looked up at me, blue eyes slowly glazing over as the life poured out of him.
I wouldn't be able to help him. He'd lost too much blood already. But I'd be here with him when he passed on, when he went into the light.
"I'm sorry, soldier." The words were almost swallowed by violent pops, more screams of agony as bodies fell to earth. He merely looked at me, his face covered in his own blood, and sweat. I could see dirt clinging to his soaked fingers.
I watched him raise a shaky hand and dig into his coat pocket, pulling out a picture of a young woman. Tell Charlotte that I'm sorry I never got to make her mine. The back of the picture read.
I nodded my head at his orders, clapping a hand on his shoulder, watching the last bits of life leave his body.
Stuffing the worn picture into my coat, I grabbed my gun and stood to my feet, eyes finding the enemy immediately. I raised my gun, locking on my target and squeezing the trigger.
It all happened in slow motion.
I watched my target fall to the ground, when a sharp pain hit my abdomen, causing me to drop my gun in shock. Both of my hands grasped my coat, soaking them in my blood.
My knees went weak, and I fell to the floor with a quiet grunt.
I'd been hit.
Gasping, I felt the tears flowing down my cheeks. Reaching up with shaky hands, I brushed them away, eyes fixated on the coat.
He was calling to me.
He needed my help.
"You can see him," a voice whispered beside me, causing me to yelp and jump away. When my eyes snapped up and focused on the man, I felt my knee's go weak.
"H-how did you know?"
The man smiled, blue eyes crinkling at the edges. "I've had many mediums in my motel, trying to unravel the stories of these fallen men. But they only wanted answers. You don't."
Shaking my head, I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ears and sighed. "Answers never help the fallen. It's acceptance that helps them move on."
"You're different."
"I suppose I am. I've been doing this for awhile. I just want to give them peace."
Nodding, the man handed me a piece of paper. "Stay as long as you need. It's all on me."
Looking at him in shock, I jumped to disagree when he squared his shoulders and shook his head.
"That coat belongs to my family. He's here, you know? I can feel him most of the time. He likes to pace the halls," his lip quirked, his eyes wandering towards the staircase for a moment. "I'll talk to him sometimes. But it never helps. You can pay me by helping him."
"You'll miss him," I whispered, warning him with my eyes.
He nodded, "I don't doubt that. But he needs peace."
Mulling it over for a moment, I looked back up at the coat—flashes of the bloody past eclipsing my view—before nodding my head and sticking my hand out towards the man. "It might take a while. He seems stubborn."
Gently placing his hand in mine, he laughed and nodded. "From what I've heard, he was."
"I'm Alice, by the way."
Shaking my hand, the man smiled, "pleasure to meet you, Alice. I'm Carlisle."
A/N: Will there be more? I don't know. I was always hoping to make a multi-chaptered fic out of this, but it would end happily. I figured this was a good place to leave it. I love this kind of story though, and I had originally begun this for a supernatural fic challenge and never finished it. My A.D.D. can be annoying sometimes.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! I like taking a break from things every once in awhile. My T25 entry should be complete-I've finished all 25 prompts and now all I need is for my beta to look them over-by the middle of January. Then I might focus on settling down and start a multi-chaptered fic.
Much love, and a happy New Years m'dears,
Beloved