A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts!
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.
One Christmas Eve – Chapter 2
"We're almost there, Edward. Keep going."
"Oh, I intend to, baby."
The snow-covered, mountainous landscape whirred past me, every moment it's steep terrain inclining at a sharper and sharper angle.
"We're almost at the top, Edward. Keep going."
"Bring it!"
The snow-cap came into view, glowing in the moonlight and bathed in fresh, powdery precipitation while a riot of flurries danced around its peak. I grinned at the sight, my breaths erupting fast and furiously. But, by then, the burn in my quads and hamstrings, the ache in my glutes, and the throb in my hips were nothing to the pure exhilaration, to that sweet runner's high where nothing hurt, nothing else mattered, and not even the arduous slope could slow me down. Instead, I picked up my pace, swung my arms back and forth with a fucking vengeance, and I climbed the damn mountain all the way to the summit.
"Congratulations, Edward! You've reached the top of the mountain in a five-mile run, and you've surpassed your previous time. Shall I reset the run?"
"Yes. Reset please."
The NordicTrack's screen before me went black. In the next moment, it displayed the home screen – a picture I'd uploaded of Central Park West's summer view from my bedroom window.
"Your information is saved, and your run has been reset. Would you like to complete a different run, Edward?" my NordicTrack's somewhat robotic yet feminine voice asked. "We can travel to the Swiss Alps, the French Alps, the beaches of Thailand, the Brazilian Rainforest, or even closer to your New York City home, where we can run through Central Park or the Appalachians. Or, you can pick any place in the world with our GPS system."
"No. I'm done. Reset machine."
"Resetting all options. My calendar tells me it's December twenty-fourth, Edward – Christmas Eve. Would you like me to play some holiday music?"
"What the hell?"
Groaning, I powered off the treadmill without answering her. Then, admittedly breathing hard, I bent over and rested my hands on my damp thighs and remained that way, with my mind still in a wonderful blank. It was amazing what a top-of-the-line, in-home treadmill could accomplish.
"Who doesn't need an in-home gym?" I scoffed aloud, recalling a certain person's inability to understand why one would be necessary.
I looked up, and my eyes unavoidably panned to the floor-to-ceiling window which took up the entire north-facing wall of my bedroom. It opened up onto Central Park, though the park itself was almost hidden at the moment. It seemed at some point during my workout, the light snowfall outside had transformed into a damn blizzard. The world was covered by an ivory blanket, where the only visible objects were the dim glow of moonlight, high beams from cars slowly trudging by, and the barest hint of the park's bare branches. Covered in freshly-fallen snow, the branch's sparkled through the whiteout.
For one long moment, I stood staring at the sight.
"If one was a believer in Christmas Eve magic," I murmured to myself, "one might even call the warm glow beautiful – a veritable, poetic, winter fucking wonderland. But I'm not a believer," I shrugged. "So, I won't."
Instead, I turned away from the sight and headed to the bathroom, reaching behind me as I went and pulling off my sweat-dampened tee shirt. In the bathroom, I discarded my shorts into the hamper and jumped into the shower.
Twenty-minutes later, I emerged from the shower and switched on the recessed lights in my walk-in closet. Dropping the towel from my waist, I whistled a non-holiday tune to myself as I examined my clothing and pondered a comfortable choice for an evening at home. My entire body hummed, refreshed from the workout, the shower, and the sense of clear-headedness it had all provided.
"The weather outside might be frightful, but in here, it's a wonderful fucking life, indeed." I chuckled to myself, but the acoustics of the room made the sound echo loudly, much louder than I'd expected...uncomfortably loud. My chuckles ceased.
Nevertheless, I refused to allow strange acoustics to ruin my mood. Life was good. I had everything I needed within easy reach, and all else at my beck and call. Whatever…or whoever wasn't at my beck and call…well, I didn't really need.
I pulled out a clean tee shirt and a pair of sweats, and readied myself for a couple of hours of work, with a quick meal in between. Pondering my delivery options, I consulted my assistant.
"Alexa," I said as I walked into my pristine kitchen with a bounce in my steps, switching on the lights above the marble, kitchen island and watching the Echo's blue and green lights whir, "call the pizzeria and find out-"
The recessed lights flickered. I paused as I stared up at them.
"Which pizzeria would you like me tooooo…."
The Echo's female voice trailed off as the blue and green lights dimmed and then disappeared. Above me, the recessed lighting flickered yet again.
Shaking my head, I pursed my lips and sighed. "This damn storm is gonna ruin my night."
As if to illustrate the point, the building's security intercom suddenly beeped. When I walked to the wall and answered it, the face of the old man, the temp concierge worker – George, was it? – appeared on the screen.
"Mr. Cullen, sir, it's George," he said, confirming his name for me. "Just checking to make sure you're all right up there. The building's power is on the blink."
When he grinned, he showcased those brilliantly white teeth, and the memory of how they'd practically sparkled in the lobby earlier made me frown.
"So, I see. You'd think with how much we pay for these apartments, the building's management could take care of that."
George chuckled. "Well, it is a pre-war building, sir, but I wanted to assure you they're working on the issue."
"All right, thanks."
I was about to turn off the screen when George spoke again.
"The snow outside really is beautiful, though; isn't it, sir? Doesn't usually snow like this on Christmas Eve 'round these parts, does it? It's almost like Christmas magic."
Again, as when I'd been down in the lobby, it was all I could to resist an eye roll.
"It's snow, George," I said dryly. "Frozen precipitation. I don't know if I'd call it magic."
"Don't you believe in magic, Mr. Cullen?"
"I believe in what I can actually see for myself and touch for myself."
George nodded slowly. "So, if you can't see it or touch it yourself, it isn't real?"
"No, George. It's not. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I have some work to do tonight, and-"
"Work to do on Christmas Eve, sir?"
"Yes, George. Work to do on Christmas Eve. It's not a night of merriment for everyone."
I recalled where I'd heard almost those same exact words spoken last, by whom, and in reference to what, and I could no longer stop her image or her name from flitting through my mind.
Isabella.
I flinched.
"Are you all right, sir?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, George. Just recalling something that wasn't my fault."
"Usually, when things aren't our fault, they don't make us flinch, sir. Might I share a thought, Mr. Cullen?"
Withholding the impulse to point out that he already had – more than one, actually – I nodded.
"Go ahead."
"Well, here's my thought, sir: Sometimes, things are real even if they can neither be seen nor touched – or rather, I should say, they can be real if we strive for them enough."
Isabella.
"George, I really don't want to be rude, but-"
"Looks like that storm is growing worse, sir. I suggest that, if you have any important calls to make, you make them soon. Don't know if the power will hold up."
Isabella.
I shut my eyes for a moment.
"All right. Thanks for the heads up, George."
"And one final thing, sir, before I let you return to what will likely be an extremely busy night for you. You have a package down here, and it looks like an important one to me. So, I'm going to have Little Tim bring it up to you, and then…well, then, we'll leave you in peace for the night."
My brow furrowed. I couldn't think of any urgent packages I was expecting. Perhaps it was one of those guilt gifts my parents sometimes sent; perhaps even something from Alice. That last thought kind of made me feel like shit. I hadn't gotten her anything.
"I appreciate it, George. Have a good night."
"A good night to you too, Mr. Cullen. And Merry Christmas!"
"Yes, yes. Thanks." I switched off the intercom and headed to the living room, where I sat heavily on the plush, white leather sectional before the lit fireplace. The flames danced and crackled as I stared at them. At some point, that wonderful feeling of clear-headedness abandoned me. Perhaps it was because now my thoughts were on Alice.
No, it wasn't the thought of Alice herself which made me uncomfortable. We weren't the closest of siblings, no – after all, our parents never exactly encouraged family intimacy or affection – but I was genuinely fond of my little sister. Unfortunately, with a six-year age difference between us, I was already in Princeton by the time she was old enough to consume enough space to be considered a person in her own right.
Alice lived in England now. Last year, at twenty-two, she'd managed to earn herself an internship with a prestigious law firm based in London. I remember how excited she'd been when she'd called to tell me. But her call had come in right before I was expected at court for an important case, so I'd only managed hasty congratulations before I'd had to end it. Since she'd left, we'd been in touch perhaps a handful of times.
Suddenly, I sort of wished I'd gotten to know my sister better throughout the years, and certainly better before she left. George's advice abruptly ran through my head:
'If you have any important calls to make, I suggest you make them soon…'
With a deep breath, I picked up my cell phone from the side table and scrolled through my contacts.
Merry Christmas Eve, Alice, I typed.
I swiftly erased the message, for two reasons:
Number one, with a six-hour time difference, it was already Christmas Day in London. Number two…In the spirit of attempting to establish a somewhat closer sibling relationship, I decided to try out a different title for the little sister.
Merry Christmas, little sis.
Considering the time difference, she responded with surprising speed, and even more surprising affection.
Merry Christmas, big bro! My God, we had the best night yet!
I snorted. It looked like my little sister was partying it up indeed in merry old London.
Did you? What was so special about it?
Again, she replied quickly.
Ha, ha. Very funny, Edward. Then again, every Christmas night for the past few years has been special, hasn't it? Thanks to Bella and the baby.
I frowned down at my phone screen.
Who are Bella and the baby?
With an inexplicably racing heart, I anxiously watched the three, little bubbles indicating she was typing out her reply
You're hilarious tonight, Edward. But you're right. I'm sorry. The bab(ies). Better? :) God, I'm so happy for you!
My frown deepened, heart rate spiking all the more. But then…I grinned to myself, chuckled even, pleased for her if she happened to be in love. At least one of us-
I stopped that thought dead in its tracks.
Al, is Bella your girlfriend?
Of course, she is! She's my girlfriend, my mentor, and my sister, all rolled into one. I'll never be able to thank you enough, Edward, or to thank enough what Bella always calls 'The night of your Grand Gesture,' lol. It changed everything, didn't it? I'll see you tomorrow, okay?
You will? You're in town?
How much eggnog have you had tonight, Edward? Go to bed! Your wife is probably waiting for you, and Lily's not going to let you guys sleep in come morning!
"What the fuck?" I shouted out and jumped to my feet. "Shit," I muttered to myself as I raked a hand through my hair. "Damn it; she's on drugs. Fuck, I should've been a better brother."
I began my next text. "Alice, what are you on, and for how long has this been-"
Before I could finish or send off my next text, the doorbell buzzed.
"Shit," I spat as I ran to the door, all the while, making plans:
I had court in a couple of days, but maybe, if I could find a flight to London in the morning, I could retrieve Alice quickly, and we could be on the next flight back to New York before-
When I opened the door, a young, red-headed, and freckle-faced teenaged kid I assumed was Little Tim grinned at me while shoving something into my hands so swiftly I almost dropped my cell phone.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid! Hold on!"
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Cullen! George asked me to deliver this to you! Says no one needs it more than you do right now."
The kid turned on his heel and strode right back into the elevator.
"Wait a minute? Don't you want a tip?" I asked.
The kid chuckled heartily. "No. Not at all." He was still laughing as the elevator doors closed.
I only managed a few seconds of vague bewilderment before the package in my hands caught my attention; not because it was a large package. It was shaped like a cube, about the size of a box of pop-tarts, and wrapped in shiny, red gift wrap, tied with a white bow, from which hung a white gift tag reading: To Edward Cullen. Use it with care. Good luck.
"What the hell is this now?"
Sticking my phone in the pocket of my sweats, I turned the box over from side to side, yet I found no return address.
"And who the hell from?"
Muttering a string of curses under my breath, I unwrapped the package with little care, letting the bow and ripped paper tumble to the wood floors.
"I don't have time for this," I gritted through my teeth as I pulled the box open and stuck my hand inside. "I've got to fly to fucking London and rescue my drug-addicted…
When my hand came out of the box, I held a small, silver bell up in front of my face.
"What in the…"
Instinctively, as one does when holding a bell, I moved it from side to side, not the least bit surprised when it made its expected chiming sound.
What did surprise me was when, at that exact moment, all the lights in the penthouse flickered…flickered…and went out.
A/N: Thoughts?
Glad so many of you enjoyed by closing A/N for Chapter 1. ;)
Facebook: Stories by PattyRose
Twitter: PattyRosa817
"See" you guys soon!