Note: I do not own Twilight!!!
Chapter 1
Lost: One human girl, answers to the name of . . .
Sarah lay as motionless as possible on the damp ground. It seemed that every part of her hurt. No one needed to tell her she was badly off, she could feel the sticky ooze of her own blood as it escaped the gaping wound in her left leg. A touch of her trembling hand revealed much, the broken end of her thighbone jutted from the wound at an odd angle.
"La fierté va avant une chute," she mumbled under her breath. Talking to herself was the only distraction she had to keep from screaming in agony.
The phrase, Pride goes before a fall, was her grandmother's favorite saying. In remembrance of her sainted grand-mère, she too recited it in French. Today, more than ever, it was certainly true. It had been prideful and foolish of her to think she could make her way to safety through miles of remote wilderness all on her own, but what other choice did she have.
She felt the icy wind stir the tangled strands of her hair. The temperature had been dropping steadily over the past several hours and she could smell the coming snowstorm. If the blood loss from her wounds didn't kill her, Mother Nature would.
Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled, sending a chill up Sarah's spine. Their awful song filled the woods on the night her two best friends went missing. Absently, she groped with one hand through the leaf litter until her fingers touched the leather-wrapped handle of her cane. The slender white rod wouldn't make much of a weapon but, at the moment, it was all she had.
Her thoughts turned introspective as she listened to the wilderness around her. Why had she let Vincent and Skeeter talk her into going camping in the first place? In the back of her mind, she could hear her Aunt Olivia's stern voice bawling her out for her stupidity. She deserved every fiery word.
You let them convince you because you trusted them, she mused when the imaginary tirade was over. Ever since their fateful first meeting, she trusted them completely and without question. They were her rescuers that day, charging in like a pair of Knights from a King Arthur story, and from that day forward, they were her staunchest defenders and her best friends. She thought of them as brothers and, like brothers, they promised to always 'look after' their little Sissy.
She had no idea where her friends were now. They never returned to the campsite with the firewood they set out to gather. The sounds of their tortured screams accompanied by the howling of the wolves still echoed through her mind and haunted her soul.
The last thing she was aware of before unconsciousness took her was the sound of something large and very fast moving through the trees toward her. She was glad, as she faded into oblivion, that she wouldn't have to suffer through the pain of her own death.
* * * *
The perfect order of life's daily routine at the Cullen home suddenly erupted into chaos as Emmett and Jasper burst through the front door carrying the limp body of a young woman. She moaned softly as Emmett shifted her in his arms. Blood leaked from her leg, dripped off the heel of her left boot, and puddled on the pristine hardwood floor.
From his private study, Carlisle heard the front door slam. The sudden pungent smell of human blood came wafting through the room and he swore under his breath. In a single fluid movement, he left his desk and came to the top of the stairs to investigate the source of the commotion. Even before he saw her, the smell of her blood and the faltering rhythm of her heart told him she was near the end. Though his face remained as placid as a mountain lake, his golden brown eyes betrayed his horror.
"We found her like this," Jasper insisted as he noticed Carlisle at the banister, "at the bottom of a ravine near the boundary."
No doubt, the boy could read the shock in his eyes. Jasper had the hardest time with their lifestyle and tended to overcompensate at times.
In a flash, he was beside them and with practiced efficiency he assessed the young woman's condition. There was no time to call for an ambulance, no time to have her taken to the hospital; he would have to do what he could for her right then and there. With a sigh, he disappeared to fetch the equipment he would need.
"The kitchen table," he ordered as he went.
Ideally, she should be in a state-of-the-art operating room with a team of surgeons, lots of high tech equipment, and a cornucopia of modern drugs. To describe what he was about to do as primitive or even barbaric was an understatement, and yet it was the best he had to offer her. Luckily for her, it wouldn't be the first time he had performed field surgery under less than optimal conditions.
When he returned to the kitchen, Edward was with them. Carlisle was glad to see him, as he would need his assistance if the girl were to live. He dove into his work like a man possessed; the poor wisp of a thing didn't have much time left.
"Carlisle," Edward's voice drew his momentary attention, and he looked up from his work. It was only then that he noticed the object his son held in his hands. Dread filled him even before Edward spoke the words, "she's blind."
Blind. The word echoed through the vast corridors of his mind like a thunderclap. As he continued his life saving work, he tried to wrap his thoughts around several burning questions; what was a blind girl doing alone in the wilderness, how had she gotten there in the first place, and how had she come so close to death.
The answers would have to wait, at least for now, he mused as he refocused himself on the task of saving her.
* * * *
She drifted in her dreamscape, finally settling into a long forgotten memory. She was making her way home from the Starlight Theater. Bobby Herbert had taken her to the movies, a new sci-fi film was playing and he knew she liked them. She was really enjoying herself and Bobby was doing a great job narrating the play-by-play of the film for her, until he tried to kiss her. That's when she dumped her soda in his lap and left.
Now she walked through the night alone, the sound of her cane tapping on the sidewalk her only company. The nice thing about living in a small town was that things rarely changed, so finding her way home without her eyes wasn't as difficult as it might have been. When she reached the corner of Magnolia Street and Main she knew, once she crossed the intersection, it was exactly two hundred and twenty-seven steps to the corner of Cypress Street. A right turn and another one hundred and forty-five steps would bring her to the wisteria-draped arch in front of her aunt's house. In the summer, the fragrance of the flowers made the house unmistakable.
She focused her attention on the intersection in front of her. By the sound of the traffic she could tell if the light was in her favor or not and if it was safe to cross. She was about to step off the curb when a familiar hand grasped her by the shoulder.
"Sissy, what are you doing out by yourself at this hour?" Skeeter asked. Notes of deep concern rippled through his voice.
"Yah, I thought you had a date with that Bobby guy from your geometry class." It was Vincent. He was beside her now, gripping her other shoulder.
"Were you two following me?"
"Of course," Skeeter answered plainly, and then he took her by the elbow and guided her across the street.
"The date ended early," she began. Vincent's question was a far safer topic than why her friends thought it necessary to follow her. "I didn't like the movie and I decided to walk home."
"Sure, that's why you dumped your Coke in the little pus-wad's lap." The anger in Vincent's voice simmered at a low boil.
Sarah stopped abruptly. "You were at the theater too?"
"Don't be angry Sissy," Skeeter soothed. "You know how we feel about you. Besides, Olive Oil would never forgive us if we let anything happen to you."
She hated it when they called her aunt Olivia by that name; she owed her spinster aunt a huge debt of gratitude for taking her in after her parents died. Her annoyance, as always, evaporated quickly and they continued to walk together. A faint breeze stirred the night air and she felt a strange shift in the dreamscape. The familiar night sounds of her little hometown were suddenly gone, replaced by those of the deep woods. Her cane no longer tapped its comforting rhythm on the cement sidewalk but instead thudded against broken branches and swished through dead leaves. A wave of fear made her shiver.
"Guys, where are we?"
"Shush," Skeeter whispered. "You're not safe Sissy. Vine and I did our best to protect you, but we failed. He's hunting you. That's why we took you camping, to get you as far away from him as possible."
"What are you talking about, who's hunting me?"
"I wish we could tell you, ma chère," Vincent's voice was sad, "but to do so would mean your life."
"Unlock your memories and you'll have the answer, Sissy." She felt Skeeter's cold fingers caress her cheek. "In the mean time, trust the people that are helping you. They'll be good to you, we promise."
"Yah, you know us," Vincent chimed in nervously, "nothing but the best for our little Sissy. We wouldn't let just anyone look after you."
"Wait," she shook her head, trying to make her mind understand what was happening. "You're supposed to look after me, that's what you promised." Memories of the long ago night at Skeeter's fish camp, and their secret oath came rushing back to her. "What's going on, it sounds like . . . you're leaving."
"We're sorry, Sarah, we never meant for it to end this way," Skeeter's voice sounded distant now, "but don't worry, everything is going to work out just fine."
His last words to her echoed through her, even as she screamed after them.
* * * *
She woke from the nightmare still screaming. When she tried to get up a pair of strong hands restrained her, pushing her gently back against the bed.
"Easy, young lady, it's all right, you're safe now," a male voice murmured to her.
"Where am I?" she demanded, trying to sound brave in spite of her fear, "and . . . and who are you?"
"I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen, you're in my home," he answered in a calm voice.
"Did I . . . walk here?" The last thing she remembered was the wolf howling and the scent of the approaching storm.
"No, my sons were out hiking. They found you and brought you to me." She felt his weight settle on the edge of the bed. "Now that you know my name, might I know yours?"
She relaxed a little and her mind and senses kicked in. For the first time, she actually heard the voice of the man speaking to her. It was bright and musical, like cathedral bells on Easter morning. In a strange sort of way, it reminded her of Skeeter and Vincent.
"Sarah Babineaux," she managed.
"Forgive me if it seems like I'm prying, but how long have you been blind, Sarah?" his tone was gentle and soothing.
She didn't answer right away, thinking about that bleak day made the dark void in the center of her soul hurt. "Since I was eight, an accident."
She heard him sigh softly and felt tension gather in him as he prepared to ask his next question. "I don't mean to sound condescending but, given your condition, what were you doing alone in the middle of the wilderness?"
"I wasn't alone," she answered sadly. "My two best friends were with me." She paused briefly, "Did your sons find them too? Are they here?"
"I'm sorry, they only found you." Dr. Cullen's voice reflected his sorrow; the somber notes of the emotion danced through the brightness of the bells. "If you give me their names I can check with the authorities, and the local hospitals. I'm sure they must be looking for you."
Hope stirred within her and a faint smile curled her lips. "Vincent St Roman . . . but he goes by Vine, and Skeeter Landry. I've known them since high school; they're like brothers to me."
"Skeeter, that isn't his given name, is it?"
"No, his real name is Aloysius; he said he was named for his grandfather."
She gave him as much of a description of her friends as she could. Approximations of their height relative to her own was the best she could do. She knew the length of their hair, Skeeter kept his pulled back in a horsetail and Vincent's was always short and neat. She was able to tell him their hair color too but only because Skeeter had told her once. Vincent had a thin scar over his right eye; her sensitive fingers found it once on one of the rare occasions when he let her look at him. In the same manner, she had discovered Skeeter's unusual nose.
"I'm sorry, I wish I could give you better descriptions."
"Not at all, Sarah," he reassured her, "you've done very well. Rest now, I'm going to go and make a few phone calls."