It was made of old wood and it hung on the wall. From where it was, hung high up, it looked like it was watching over everything below.
Edward stared at it, fascinated until a hand fell on his shoulder.
Edward? What is it?
A smile was forced on to his face. He turned to his new companion, his parents being dead for nearly one and a half months. Concern stained the thoughts of his companion. "Nothing, Carlisle. I was merely admiring the cross."
His companion raised a blond eyebrow. Over a century old and appearing only in his late twenties, Carlisle was his only example of how time would treat him. Except, as Carlisle pointed out after his transformation, he would have someone with him, instead of being alone.
"My father made it. He was a clergyman, very devout."
"Ah." He turned his eyes away from Carlisle and looked at the various paintings hung on the walls of the study. Some paintings were still wrapped in brown paper, likely to remain that way for a few months.
Carlisle's thoughts remained focused on him and his adapting to vampire lifestyle. Suddenly, Carlisle pointed to one of the paintings. The movement made him jump slightly. Carlisle's thoughts had given him no warning. "That painting was from when I studied in France. I barely knew French when I first arrived. Luckily, I met two other vampires, Jean-Michel and Emmanuelle. They taught me how to speak the language, receiving endless entertainment from my permanent English accent and my inability to roll my r's."
An image of a handsome brown-haired man with red eyes and a black-haired woman with red eyes appeared in Carlisle's mind.
"Can you speak French, Edward?"
"Oui, je parle français. Mes parents et moi, nous sommes allés en France quand j'avais huit ans. Quand j'aurais dix-neuf ans, nous aurions voyagé en France. Aussi, je parle allemande."
Carlisle laughed. His smile turned hesitantly genuine. He had forgotten about his parents' promise. Father had used it as a bargaining tool to get him on the boat back to America. A hazy memory of Father kneeling in front of him and whispered rose to the front of his mind.
Wait! What about the war?
Automatically, he answered the thought, "A condition was added that it would only happen if the war was over by the time I was nineteen."
"And if you weren't drafted," Carlisle added.
Another memory rose in his mind. It was clearer, the clearest memory he had so far. All others were damaged from fever and pain from his transformation. Mother looking at him with dread, her face relating her fear for his life. The fear was mixed with hope.
The memory slowly faded and he felt heaviness descend on his shoulders. Carlisle's thoughts were still concerned, occasionally interrupted by random images of France.
"Maybe in a few years, you and I could go to France. We could see if Jean-Michel and Emmanuelle are still around," Carlisle said after a length of silence.
His eyes returned to Carlisle's and he smiled. "That would be nice."
Fin.