I hope you all enjoy this story; a tortured Edward is always so difficult to write, yet so enjoyable to read. Enjoy and please review. Also, I have written some more stories, to be posted soon. I have limited time to post/write for the next month or thereabouts, so you have a choice which story gets posted. I have a story about Rosalie trying to move on from the pain of her human life or Elizabeth's pov of asking Carlisle to save Edward. The story with the most votes wins, so review and tell me which one you want!
Disclaimer: I don't own this
Chicago, 1929
Father Mulligan was just about to start locking up the church when he noticed the boy sitting in the back pew. He was tall, probably a little over six feet, with red hair. He was so pale that Father Mulligan worried that the boy was sick. That would make sense; many sick people came to pray and to feel peace when they sensed their time was near. But this boy was different. He held himself with a stillness that Father Mulligan had never seen in all his years; it unnerved him. He began to walk toward the boy to see if he wanted to talk. The boy glanced up and Father Mulligan looked into his eyes. They were beautiful, if not unusual, an uncanny gold. The boy lowered his head quickly, but the pain Father Mulligan saw in those eyes was so deep that his heart went out to this boy. He wondered if there was some way he could help; he would do anything to erase the agony he saw in this young man. No one should be in such pain.
Ever since he'd been young, Father Mulligan had possessed a strange gift. He'd discovered it as a boy in Dublin that he could feel and sometimes ease the pain of others. He'd always been very compassionate, and believed God had given this gift to him to help the world. He had become a priest, content to do God's work and live simply, helping others whenever possible. He believed this boy was in desperate need of guidance. Though he hoped otherwise, this boy had the look of someone considering suicide. The same pained look and defeated bearing were common in the depressed and suicidal. Father Mulligan hoped he could give the boy a modicum of peace.
"What is your name, child," he asked gently. Though he had left Ireland many years ago, he still had a thick Irish brogue. "Edward," the boy replied slowly, then inhaled. "Father," he asked pleadingly, "Do you believe that there is redemption for everyone? That no matter what someone has done, God will still forgive him?" Father Mulligan's brow furrowed. This boy wasn't at all what he'd expected. Why ask such a question? "If the person is truly remorseful for what they have done, God will forgive them," he replied. This close to him, he felt the boy's deep pain and remorse, cutting deep like a knife. Just what had this boy done that he felt was so unforgivable?
"What if that person did things they knew were wrong, terrible things that they can never make right? What then?" Father Mulligan studied the boy again. He look grim, resigned to whatever Father Mulligan would tell him. "God wants us to learn from our mistakes so that we can better ourselves. He does not condemn us if we have changed our ways." Edward looked hopeful. "I wish I could believe that," he whispered, so low that Father Mulligan almost didn't hear him. "We are only human, Edward; we are not perfect, nor does God wish us to be. We were made in His image exactly as He intended." Edward smiled sadly. "He made some creatures different from others." Father Mulligan took Edward's hand, surprised to feel that it was as cold as ice. Perhaps he was right and this boy really was sick. "That is true," Father Mulligan agreed. "I have always been different from others, but I do not believe it is a bad thing. Such people can use their special gifts and talents to serve mankind."
"That's what my father does," Edward replied. "He is a good man. I left home several years ago because I… didn't agree with him and what he taught me. I wish I hadn't left." Edward's regret was sharp, making Father Mulligan wince inwardly. "Sometimes you have to go away for a while to see the world, grow, and make your own decisions," he counseled softly. "Edward, I'll be frank with you. I have a gift, as I mentioned before, that allows me to help people in need. I can feel your pain and regret as deeply as you feel them. What is it that you've done that you think is so irredeemable?"
Edward looked at him in shock. "I never knew that there were…others with gifts," he murmured. Father Mulligan nodded. Many people didn't believe, but this boy did, because he had a gift of his own. Father Mulligan was sure of it.
"Father, do you believe that other creatures exist? Non-human or supernatural creatures?" "Anything is possible," Father Mulligan replied carefully, observing the boy more closely now. He noticed that Edward was watching him closely as well, no matter how relaxed he appeared. Father Mulligan tried to keep an open mind. "Man is not meant to know everything. Other creatures could very well exist without our knowledge." Edward nodded, then ventured, "What would you say if I told you that vampires do exist, and that humans just like you are their food source? Most see nothing wrong with killing a human to feed from any more than you would think of killing a deer to feed yourself. But since they predate most human laws, let alone Christian morals, can we judge them by human standards? To humans, of course, they are monsters and killers. They deserve to be hated. Even I know this, though I used to be among the number who did not care if they killed humans." Sometime during his speech, Edward had looked down. Now he looked up. "My prey was far from innocent, but I now understand that my choices were wrong. But my guilt can never be absolved. If I wasn't already damned to hell for being a vampire, if I hadn't already lost my soul, then for all the murders I've committed, don't I deserve to go to hell for what I've done?"
Father Mulligan just looked at Edward for several moments, unsure how to respond. Finally he said, "Whatever you've done, I can feel your sincere remorse. It runs deep. You said your prey was far from innocent, so I assume you killed only bad men-" Edward cut him off. "Did you not hear me," Edward demanded in disbelief. "I said I killed people. Murdered them. I'm a murderer." And he was. But did that make him evil, for killing bad men? It was a question Father Mulligan never thought he'd be asking himself. The Catholic Church spelled things out for you so clearly you never doubted your place, but you could never ask questions, especially if you disagreed with the church.
"I believe that God judges crimes differently," Father Mulligan hedged. How could he tell someone who had so much goodness inside him just beneath the surface, goodness that Father Mulligan sensed, that he was damned to hell? "I agree with you that killing is wrong, but I believe there is a difference between killing innocents and evil people. And now that you've stopped killing humans and seen the error of your ways, perhaps you can convince others of your kind not to do so, either."
Edward stood so fast that he startled Father Mulligan. "No, I don't think that will work. My kind are set in their ways, and even if they weren't, you have no idea how difficult it is to resist the potent lure of human blood." Father Mulligan stood as well, aware that he was losing Edward. "I don't pretend to understand everything you've said, Edward, but I don't believe you're evil, no matter what you've done. But you want something from me that I can't give you. I won't condemn you. Anyone capable of genuine remorse for the pain their actions caused others can be saved. But now you must live with what you've done. I will pray that you find peace. "
Edward arched a brow. "What makes you think I deserve it?" he asked challengingly. Before Father Mulligan could answer, Edward had disappeared as if he'd never been. The air was not even disturbed. Father Mulligan would have thought it was all a dream except for the coat he found the next morning, the same coat that Edward had had beside him in the church pew. Father Mulligan kept that coat for the rest of his life, though he told no one else of the miraculous being he had met. He never saw Edward again, though he always wondered if he would ever find the peace he so desperately craved.