Chapter Two – You're either living or you're dead
It was a very rainy morning in the town of Couer d' Couers. In fact, the entire week had been composed of consistently rainy days. As a result, the townspeople had a stronger urge to stay dry than for one of the pie maker's delicious pies, and the Pie Hole experienced a decline in customers. Chuck sat in one of the many empty booths, her face pressed up against the glass. Ned stood a few feet away, watching her awed expression at the inclimate weather.
"It's such sad weather today, like the world is crying." She traced the streams of water falling down the window with her finger pressed against the glass.
"Why shouldn't it be crying? Poverty, global warming, pollution, overpopulation...there's plenty for the world to be sad about."
"Then maybe a good, long cry will help." Beauty radiated from Chuck's innocent smile. The Piemaker watched Chuck with the same awed expression she had when watching rain fall slowly outside. He found the bleakness of the gray clouds outside made him appreciate the luminous qualities his true love held even more.
Their tender moment was sharply interrupted as Emerson Cod burst noisily through the door of the Pie Hole.
"You!" He said breathlessly, pointing one long finger in Ned's direction. "You're on."
"What does that mean, I'm on?" Ned asked, slightly confused and still bewitched by his love for Chuck.
"I mean we've got a dead guy." He paused for a contemplative second, a small but greedy grin on his face. "A rich dead guy."
Chuck rolled her eyes. "Do you ever think about anything other than money? This man had feelings, emotions. He had a family..."
"Thinkin' about this guy's emotions is not going to pay my heating bills or put food on the table, is it?"
Chuck had no response to that. She wandered over quietly towards the closet as the Piemaker and Emerson watched her carefully. When she returned, she was holding a long black umbrella, folded neatly in her hands.
"Take this—it's raining cats and dogs out there." She was careful not to have any contact with his skin. Even though both of them wished to have a kiss goodbye, they knew how disastrous and far-reaching the consequences would be. The piemaker had to remain content with a farewell smile.
Ned jumped into the driver's seat of his car, Emerson taking shotgun without question. Before he stuck the key into ignition, he turned to Emerson with a very pressing question. "Are we going to the morgue, or a brutal crime scene? Because I'm wearing new shoes and Chuck will be upset if I ruin them at a bloody crime scene. I can run in and change, if necessary."
Emerson shook his head. "Your shoes will be fine, just drive."
Having been trained to follow simple instructions, Ned turned the key and the car roared with life. "So who's the victim? Any possible leads?"
"Not sure yet." Emerson answered quickly, in the manner of someone who has something very big to hide. "Turn up here."
"Wait, you're not sure? Usually you have an entire memoir for me." The piemaker quickly noted Emerson's sneaky expression, and realized that something was going on. "You're not telling me something. Why are you not telling me something?"
The facts were these: Emerson Cod was supposed to have spent the night in the Mermaid Motel, investigating a possible insurance fraud. But the motel room he believed to have reserved had, in fact, been occupied by a very pulse-less young man. Upon a technologically-advanced Google search, Emerson discovered that this room's occupant was the 17-year-old foster son of Dr. Carlisle Cullen, a wealthy doctor living in a small town called Forks, Washington.
"Let me get this straight. You found this guy in the hotel room by accident. You didn't call the police or the paramedics." Emerson nodded in agreement to all these statements. "How do you know he's dead?"
Emerson rolled his eyes in annoyance at the Piemaker's insinuations. "He's pale and cold. I checked for a pulse, and there was none. That is the definition of being dead. I checked him out; turns out he's the son of a wealthy doctor in Washington. Looks to me like a drug overdose, but you can never be too careful when there's the potential for reward." With a Cheshire cat grin, he motioned for Ned to go towards motel room.
Reluctantly, Ned left the dry sanctuary of his car, and entered the pouring rain. He synchronized his watch, a normal habit when bringing back the dead, and proceeded to enter the unlocked door. Emerson stood in the doorway, partly to keep guard from any intruders, but mostly because he did not care to witness Ned's encounters with the dead.
Ned poked young Mr. Cullen in the chest, as a young boy would do to wake his sleeping friend. With a gasping breath, the bronze-haired boy awoke. "What was that?" He asked, his hands examining his body in a panic, like he were searching for his wallet.
The Piemaker felt the boy deserved an explanation. "You're dead, Edward. And I brought you back. Do you know how you died?"
"I'm not dead." The boy insisted.
"We're kind of on a timeline here. My partner found you without a pulse. By definition, you're definitely dead."
"I can assure you that I'm not dead." The boy insisted even more insistently.
Ned looked down at his watch, and noticed that all this arguing had devoured exactly 46 seconds. Knowing he would soon run out of time, and assuming that this was indeed an accidental overdose, he pressed his finger against the temple of the rebuffing man.
Surprisingly, he did not return to his previously deceased state. He sat up, still breathing and watching with wide eyes.
"Why aren't you dead?" The piemaker asked, bearing that same wide-eyed look of astonishment.
"Do you hear that?" He asked breathlessly, ignoring Ned's question, his hand resting on his chest. Ned exchanged confused glances with Emerson, staggered at the fact that the boy was, in fact, not dead. "Do you feel that?" Edward quickly grabbed the piemaker's hand and placed it on his chest.
"Feel what?" Ned asked, uncomfortable with this close contact. He snatched back his hand and stuck it in his pocket.
"My heart." The boy asked, in absolute wonder of the beating of his own heart. "It's beating."
"Yeah, it means you're alive." Emerson said unenthusiastically.
"No. It means I'm human."
There was a long and dramatic silence. Ned and Emerson reeled from that statement, contemplating all possible meanings of that expression.
"What do you mean, you weren't human before?" Emerson asked, finally breaking the palpable silence.
To their surprise, the boy shook his head. "Not entirely."
"What does that mean?" Emerson asked with a semi-disgusted tone. He did not wish to consider all the gruesome possibilities.
"I can't tell you." Edward whispered with a pained look on his face.
"Ghost?" Ned asked, suddenly consumed by the mystery that had presented him with. Edward shook his head in disagreement, disproving that theory. "Yeti? Dragon?" Both suggestions were refuted.
"Zombie?" Emerson proposed. Edward disagreed with a scowl.
"Vampire?" Ned merely suggested as a joke, a subject he found to be very laughable. Even with his supernatural gift, the idea of vampires and other mythical creatures was an absolute fantasy.
The boy did not laugh. He did not shake his head, or give any kind of refusal.
"So you're a vampire?"
"I am." He whimpered. Noting his newfound pulse, he quickly amended, "Or, I used to be."
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