Wow, you guys really came through – thanks so much for all the feedback! :D In my gratitude, I updated a day earlier than planned. Here's the second installment!

Though I hadn't admitted it to myself, I hadn't expected Charles Evenson to be a human being. Or anything closely resembling one. It sounds stupid, and I didn't realize it myself until I saw him standing in the doorway of his home.

I had traveled to Columbus anticipating a meeting with some grotesque monster or demon, but the man standing in the doorway was quite obviously just that – a man. He was just a bit shorter than me, with short, graying brown hair. His nose was slightly pointed and his face a bit paler than that of most humans. He wore a black suit, with a striped tie and slightly scuffed black shoes. All these traits and imperfections combined to make him appear as human as could be.

This realization did not make me rethink my plans for his demise for a moment, though it probably should have. If anything, it made me hate him even more.

"Good evening, Charles Evenson," I said stiffly, giving the austere man a smile that was really more of a grimace. Hopefully he wouldn't notice. "My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen."

Evenson raised an eyebrow as he shook my hand, obviously surprised at how cold it was. The bitter realization occurred to me that the hand I now shook had stricken Esme, not so long ago. Trying to calm myself, I tightened my grip. Hearing his hand pop, I begrudgingly let up. It wasn't broken, but it would definitely bruise. Not that I wouldn't have gladly broken Evenson's hand, but he probably would have slammed the door in my face, and I didn't want to have to break it down and alarm the neighbors.

"What are you doing here?" he asked coldly, trying to flex his hand where I couldn't see his discomfort.

"I was hoping to have a word with you," I explained, wondering all the while how my voice remained so even and even benevolent. "I work at your grandfather's hospital – I'm new to the area."

"I see," Evenson replied. He still sounding a bit frustrated, probably due to his throbbing hand, but he knew he had an image to uphold. "Do come in. I enjoy making the acquaintance of newcomers to this community – particularly those of your social standing, Doctor."

As I followed him into the beautifully-furnished house, I immediately recognized Esme's decorating style. Intricately-woven carpets were matched to simple, elegant drapes that framed the windows effortlessly. The sun would have looked lovely coming in through the gauzy fabric, but I had carefully planned my visit for rainy day. Evenson couldn't think me any more than a concerned young doctor – that is, until the time for his demise arrived.

"Your house is beautifully decorated, Mr. Evenson," I commented, prepared to make my first inflammatory stab. "Your wife's doing?"

Charles's next comment only caused my rage to flare further – as though it needed it.

"Interior decorator, actually," he replied, lying effortlessly. "I'm a bachelor, I must confess."

"I see," I replied, again amazing myself with my ability to keep my rage perfectly in check. Charles turned left at the end of the corridor, leading me into a beautifully-furnished sitting room that looked out over the courtyard behind the house. Morning glories – Esme's favorite – wound around the pickets of a white fence surrounding what I assumed must be a vegetable garden. Esme didn't grow those in our garden back home, but then again, there really wasn't any reason to…

"Take a seat, please," Charles insisted, interrupting my thoughts. "Brandy?"

"No, thank you," I replied. "I'm not a drinking man."

That was true, I supposed; not only am I not a drinking man, I'm not an eating man, either. However, Charles seemed to take this remark as a personal affront, from the way he tensed. I watched him top off the glass that he had been pouring with an extra half-inch that most men probably would have denied themselves.

The silence that ensued following this altercation would have been disconcerting, had I really been there on a social call. As matters actually stood, Charles's awkwardness only vindicated me. I could feel a fire raging behind my fragile, carefully-maintained façade of calm indifference. The scene was set for the perfect murder. Before I rushed into things rashly, though, it would probably be a good idea to look around and take in the rest of the room to ensure that I had accounted for all possibilities of evidence I could leave. It wasn't as though the authorities had any hope of holding me, but I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I led them back to my family.

Every inch of the house cried out 'Esme.' I could see the hours she had spent beautifying this space, and could only imagine the grief and lack of appreciation she had received in return. The walls told me the story of my wife's spirit being steadily broken inside their confines. And the perpetrator of this crime, this most vile of crimes, was sitting calmly in a chair across from me, drinking brandy.

"Not married…" I repeated thoughtfully, a plan forming in my mind. "That's quite a surprise, for a man of your stature."

There was a pause, before Charles turned to me and raised an eyebrow.

"Quite impertinent, aren't you, Dr. Cullen?" he inquired. I suppose he had to invite me into his home, but he didn't necessarily have to be civil. I gave him my best apologetic smile.

"You have to understand, I'm a newly married man myself. These matters are of the greatest interest to me."

"I see," Charles gave me what looked vaguely like a smile for the first time since I had arrived. "I trust your marriage is a happy one?"

"The happiest," I replied. "It was a small ceremony, planned by my new wife, Esme."

I heard his heart rate speed up – I didn't require my son's abilities to know that he was remembering what he had done, and the memory was not one he found comforting.

"Lovely name," he said quickly, coughing discreetly into his sleeve.

"Quite lovely," I agreed, acting entirely oblivious to his nervous breakdown. "Esme is a lovely girl. She has a very sad past, though."

The effect was instant. I could see beads of sweat forming on Charles's forehead, which was steadily becoming paler. Stupid human – there was practically no chance, according to common logic, that my Esme and his could be one and the same. At least, that is, according to the measly amount of information I'd given him so far. He could start panicking when I got to the part of the story where he came in.

"Do tell," he said quietly. He would regret that.

However, I nodded acquiescently and began my account.

"I'm her second husband, though she's only twenty-six. Well, technically she's twenty-eight, but she takes age very well."

He would need this information – however cryptic – to successfully piece together the logic of his own indictment. I continued my account.

"Esme was married originally at the age of twenty-two, and was one of the last of her friends to wed. She had resisted for quite some time, trying to pursue her dream of becoming a teacher. But eventually, at her parents' urging, she gave in and accepted the proposal of an upstanding man in the community."

Charles nodded slowly, looking increasingly ill.

"I'm sad to say that her marriage was not a happy one. She lived in fear of the man she called her husband, as he was prone to violence at the least provocation. Though he left for two years to fight in the Great War, his life was spared, and he returned home."

Charles opened his mouth as though he was going to try to say something, but he couldn't find the courage. Hardly thinking, I advanced on him slowly as I continued.

"It didn't end there. Things were soon as bad as before, if not worse – and as a coup de grâce, if you will, Esme soon became pregnant with this ungrateful man's child."

Evenson had been following along so far, albeit in terror. However, as the shock that instantly registered on his face at those words could attest, this was a part of the story with which he was unfamiliar. The possibility that that could be the case had not occurred to me.

"Pregnant?"

"Yes," I hissed, undaunted. "Unable to imagine raising a child in a hell like hers, she ran away."

"What happened to Esme and the child?" Evenson whispered, his voice cracking. I now had my hands rested on the arms of his chair, our faces inches apart. I couldn't imagine hating anybody in the entire world and the eternity I had left to spend there as much as I hated that man in that moment.

"Since when have you cared about the fate of your family, Charles Evenson?" I demanded icily. Charles shrunk back from my freezing breath, but his horror-filled eyes never left my own soon-to-be-red ones.

"You're going to kill me right here, aren't you?" he asked dully.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

My words fell like a pall between us despite our close proximity. The terror and uncertainty in his eyes was like a drug to me. We both knew that I had planned on killing him, but I was beginning to realize something new.

I would much rather keep him like this forever.

A shrunken, silent man – at last the prey. His dark days as a predator had ended. The anticipation of being ripped limb from limb by a man strong enough to half-crush his hand by mere touch was perhaps even worse than the real thing. His breath was bated.

And then the unimaginable happened.

I silently stood up and backed away from him, turning to face the opposite wall.

All I heard was silence; he still didn't dare to move or speak.

"Get the hell away from me, Charles Evenson," I whispered.

"…what?"

"I said get the hell away!" I shouted, my shaking voice reaching a terrifying level. "Before I change my mind!"

What was I doing?

I was supposed to be tearing this monster apart. I had intended him to become nothing more than a day's worth of strength in my centuries-old veins, a repast to get me through to my next hunt. And I was letting him walk away unscathed.

How could that be?

After three hundred years of fighting tooth and nail to deny myself the gratification of human blood, how could it suddenly be so difficult to give in? And to a man so despicable, so worthy of such a fate? It should have been easy; it should have been a luxury!

I could hear him get to his feet shakily and slowly, but it was hardly a moment before he suddenly sped up and ran as fast as he could for the door. I heard the knob rattle under his trembling fingers and the rain pouring on the pavement as he raced outside, stumbling over the threshold of the door.

This was my last chance; he could be mine yet…

No.

I'd had my revenge.

One chapter left – let me know what you think so far! :)