Author's note: Welcome readers. This is a multi-chapter story that portrays Edward as he might have been in his early 20's (I am taking the liberty of aging him). The entire Cullen family is represented, but the main characters are Edward and an OC. This is AU. Thank you to my editor FaintingFancies. The characters represented are the creation of Stephanie Meyer and I thank her for allowing me to borrow them for this tale. 04/05/09
Chapter 1 – Reflections
June 1992
Where was the music coming from? The young girl's mind was filled with the echo of the familiar melody. Like a ghost, it eerily sifted through the heavy, wet air, its sultry tones tempting the child like a ballerina dancer. How could she resist? Its soft notes teased the senses and the soul on its way as it descended from the foothills along the gorge and the forest beyond. It was unstoppable.
What kind of torture was this? Was the hypnotic sound a gift from heaven or a product of hell? Only God knew the answer. But it couldn't be bad. Could it? She had to think it was good. Perhaps it was the music of an angel, maybe even her very own guardian angel.
But no, that was silly – very silly, indeed. Even for a seven year old. It was, after all, just a piano, wasn't it? The truth was difficult to filter away from the fantasy, and as she listened that evening, the instrument held her captive, just as it had for weeks. Her memories came flooding back to her like a river of chocolate. Each night the soft melody had ridden the currents of cold, sinking air down into her room and floated in through her open window along with the fog. Then, as she lay awake, the welcome tones settled down onto her quilt like a well-fed kitten.
It was an unsolvable puzzle. The young girl knew there were no houses up in the valley. There were no lights to signal a village in the dense forest. As far as she knew, only the Indians ventured into the dark recesses of this rainforest, and yet it was undeniably a piano that tortured her senses.
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September 1996
Her mother had insisted. It was time she learned to play a musical instrument, and wasn't the piano a perfect choice? Amy had been enthralled with the delicate sounds of the keyboard since she was a toddler; the melodies of Mozart, Beethoven and Debussy filling her dreams like the songs of angels – woodland angels that called to her in the night.
It hadn't taken long at all to find him. Ever the perfectionist, her mother had searched all the way to Seattle in her quest to locate the most talented of artists, but fate had other ideas. She found him at the local high school, and his resume was impeccable. In addition to the fawning reviews from the school's principal, the music instructor had been recommended by the Seattle Society of Performing Arts and the Rothschild School of Music and Culture. The result was a sterling combination of references.
He was, undeniably, the best tutor that Forks, Washington, had to offer. He was, in fact, the best, that the entire state or possibly the west coast could offer. He literally seemed too good to be true. What was a man like Edward Cullen doing teaching music at a local high school? It became another puzzle in Amy's life.
Undeniably, he had a reputation for musical talent. His skills they said were filled with emotion and feeling. From her mother's perspective, he alone had the potential to teach Amy Isadorra the technique that would carry the child to success. Her mother had known the girl was capable, and it could have happened … if only Amy had not fallen in love.
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October 1992
Darkness had crept into the forest that late October evening, even earlier than usual. The thick heavy ground fog had completely eliminated any source of light. She should have known this would happen. Hadn't she lived in Forks all her life?
Amy didn't think of herself as a child, but she was, after all, only seven years old. Despite the fact that she had grown up in a house full of adults and had the vocabulary of a teenager, she felt extremely afraid at the moment.
The cold air bit through her rain slicker and made her shiver again. It hadn't seemed to help. Why had she done it? It was that stupid piano. The curiosity had been much too intense that Sunday afternoon, and the weak fall sun had attempted to bestow some meager warmth to the evergreen landscape.
It had been too tempting. The trail was a tangled mass of roots and slippery pine needles. It had taken almost three hours for her to carefully creep up the slope, the music pulling her forward like a siren's song into the trees. But then it had stopped. And now she was lost, the trail impossible to see in the oppressive darkness. She had only one thought now, and that was to get back home. She knew she was afraid – very, very afraid.
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June 2009
Darkness and pain. This was not what she had expected. It had certainly not occurred to her that anything even remotely dangerous would interfere with her plans. Slowly, she tried to think back.
The weekend had beckoned with the potential of a new experience, the hike onto Hurricane Ridge filling her with excitement. Yes, it might have been a little risky. It was still early June, and the spring snows had decorated the mountaintops like so much whipped cream, but the weather had cleared. The National Park Service had just opened up the Eastern Ridge trail and the forecast promised blue, crystal skies for at least the next two days. It was time for an adventure.
There had been seven hikers in the group that day. Amy had decided to come along only at the last minute, her photo shoot with the governor having been delayed again – this time for another two days as he reconsidered his re-election plans. Well, there were other ways to indulge her addiction.
It promised to be a perfect day for other types of pictures, but these shots would be for personal pleasure. This profession that paid the bills was also her hobby, and it was the lure of this life that had drawn her back to Washington state after college. The memories and the beauty of the wilderness area had beckoned with potential. The thrill of the hunt was upon her once again. Wildlife photography was her passion.
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June 2009
Searing pain and torturous unbearable hurt seized control of her brain. This must be the agony of death. Or was it? Why wouldn't it stop? The darkness was fading slightly as the intensity of the torment increased. The fire was traveling toward her heart. But, her heart was empty. There was no life there; it had ended long ago when he left.
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September 1996
"Amy," her mother had said. "I'd like you to come and meet your new piano teacher. His name is Edward Cullen. Mr. Cullen, this is my youngest daughter Amy."
The gentleman had bowed slightly and pretended to take off an invisible hat. The corners of his mouth twisted slightly as he fought back a smile. She remembered his eyes. They were golden and had the look of caramel candies. They had seemed so luscious that she had wanted to pluck them out of his skull and lick them. It had been a very silly thought, but one that had remained with her all of these years.
"Good afternoon, Amy," he said politely and bowed. His hands held an old leather briefcase that had worn corners and seemed to be from an antique shop. As he had bowed, his thick, curling brown hair had fallen slightly onto his forehead, and he quickly flicked it back with his long, white fingers.
That was when she had noticed his skin. It was so white. He must have spent all of his time at his art – playing the piano and never seeing the light of day. The dark navy pullover sweater he wore covered his arms, but she noticed the skin of his face and neck were also a pearly white – almost alabaster.
Amy smiled back. "It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Cullen," she had replied shyly. She remembered her exact words and the blush that risen to her cheeks.
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June 2009
"Is she going to make it? Were we fast enough? God, please … tell me we—"
"Don't rush her, Edward. You know it will take at least two more days before she recovers. But, I do think she will be fine. If it wasn't for your quick thinking, she might have—"
"Don't. Don't say it. I can't even think what I would have done if—"
"I know. Sometimes fate has a way of leading us. Let's just give her some time."
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June 2009
The steady march up the crest of the last switchback has taken her breath away. God, she was so out of shape. The long winter had taken its toll. Thank goodness for her wonderful friend Kim. She had been the one to suggest the outing, and with an enthusiastic group of hikers in the office, it wasn't long before the plans had been set in place.
The Health Club near her apartment certainly had its advantages, and the interesting clientele had always fueled the water cooler discussions at the Seattle Times. But, it was getting a little old. At 23, Amy was looking for something, but she wasn't sure what. Or, maybe it was that she did know. Maybe it was the fact that her memory was still too vivid. Perhaps that memory was a big part of her problem. No one could ever meet her standards now. It was simply impossible to improve on perfection.
It didn't help that she had to lug all of this equipment along with her up the trail, but she had to be prepared, didn't she? What if she needed one of the colored light filters, or one of her many close-up lenses? Then, perhaps, some special lighting might be required. Then there were the cameras themselves: two digital and a small pocket-sized model for surprise shots. She kept that one in her pocket at all times. The tripod and the large backpack must have weighed at least 30 pounds, and the awkward bundle flopped uncomfortably on her shoulders.
With a huge intake of breath, Amy reached the small overlook along the trail. This was exactly where she wanted to be. The entire view of Hurricane Ridge covered the horizon; the sparkling line of mountains marched into the distance like soldiers waiting for a fight. And there was an immense pile of rocks to lean against – and to sit on. Perhaps she would take just a small rest before she set up her shot.
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June 2009
The moans crept out of her half opened lips, fighting, perhaps, for coherency or something more. Those who watched could only speculate. The thick, dark hair fanned out onto the white, silk-covered pillow like a flamingo dancer as the woman's head turned restlessly in anguish. But the eyes were still closed.
He continued to stare and as his mind wandered, he prayed. It was a desperate thing to do, but that prayer held a desperate wish. If only those blue eyes would open – the crystal blue eyes that had haunted his existence for over a dozen years – if they could only remain that cerulean shade … but it was not to be.
The golden eyes of the observer had remained fixed on the woman's pale eyelids, the long dark eyelashes caressing her delicate cheekbones. The lids trembled. Unable to stop, he reached out with his long slender fingers and barely touched her cheek. The touch jolted his senses. The skin was still vaguely warm, yet much cooler that just an hour ago.
Was she in pain? Obviously, but perhaps she was over the worst of it now. Could she hear him? Suddenly, an idea formed out of the darkness that had been his life. He would help her in the only way he knew – in the only way he knew she would understand.
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June 2009
The wind had picked up the dust on the trail and blown the pebbles into tiny tornados, buffeting her hair and jacket in the maelstrom. Without warning, she couldn't see. The stinging grit had gotten under her contacts causing a stabbing irritation. That was the last thing she needed. How was she to take pictures if her vision failed her? Leaning against the granite stones, Amy tried to stay out of the wind. She just needed a few minutes – just long enough to clear the stabbing debris from her eyes. Unfortunately, she had picked the wrong place to hide.
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November 1998
"You've been practicing," he said softly, the smile on his full lips curling slightly as he gazed at her.
"Of course, Mr. Cullen. I practice every day. Sometimes twice a day. I'm going to be your best student."
"Oh, are you now? And what makes you so sure?" Edward leaned a few inches closer to Amy as they sat on the piano bench together.
"Um, well, I just know … that's all." Amy felt her heart leap into her throat under the intensity of the man's gaze. "After all, you said I had potential."
"And you do, Amy. You should listen to your mother." The grin erupted on his face at their private joke. They both knew she was listening intently by the kitchen door.
It had been two years since they had started these lessons. He had come to see her every Thursday, promptly at four in the afternoon, and she had waited. Now, at the age of thirteen, she had grown into a very mature young lady. Amy hoped with all her heart that her Edward had noticed.
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October 1992
The night grew colder yet. How could she be any colder than she had been just an hour ago? It seemed impossible, but as the little girl huddled under the huge hollow log, she felt the iciness penetrate her small body. The wetness had seeped into her clothes until they began to drip down onto her sodden hands and feet, the rivulets creeping even into her underwear. It was the numbness that finally brought welcome relief. Leaning against the log, the little girl relaxed and fell off toward sleep listening to the droplets of rain hitting the forest floor. The last thought she had before she fell into the cold void was of a prayer. If this was the end, she prayed, then maybe would the guardian angel play her a lullaby to guide her to heaven?
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