Chapter 2 - Delayed Reactions and Meeting the Locals

Bella's POV

Oh goodness. I can hear the blood running through his veins, much slower than the short balding man stood next to him which is whirring away in a high pitched vibration of speed. God, how they look so warm even in this limited light. Urgh I must not think like this; I shake my head.

The tall one – I cannot see his face properly, only a silhouette against the light coming through the door and bathing them in a halo of light – at first looked slightly taken aback only to quickly compose his face into one of mild curiosity and cock his head to the side. The fat one takes a step back muttering a string of curses and ancient wards alternately.

The American bobs his head, pardoning himself from intruding quite so rudely.

"It was unacceptable for me to do so and if there is anything that I can do for you to try and show how sorry I am, please, do not hesitate to ask." I am well aware that I have not much air in my lungs with which I can speak, and although I dearly wish to reply in my sarcastic voice that a new door would be nice, I must not use speech wherever possible and content myself with a sweep of the hand towards the splinters littering the floor. He nods, assuring me it shall be replaced to the finest standards.

He bows his head again, for once seeming slightly unsure of himself, and departs, his short friend giving me quick, furtive glances as he jumps through the door. Only when I am sure that they are gone do I let out a little of the air from my lungs and relax, walking forward slightly. I look back to the wall and see a life-size copy of me crushed into the plaster. I shall have to get that fixed…

Edward's POV

I have finally broken through the door. The wood really looked quite old and I thought it would be easy to kick through, but once I had put the axe to it, I heard that there were reinforcements inside. I began to wonder whether it was right to barge in, I seriously doubted that there was anyone in there but for the need of the extravagance of the door I felt that there must be something important residing in the confines of this room. My tour-guide kept harping on at me to stop and explained the myths surrounding the residence of this apartment, but I was too wrapped up in my own ponderings to take any notice and after a quick reassurance to him I had given up and went back to explaining to myself the reasons for this being acceptable.

I did not want to admit to cold feet but I began to realise quite how unsympathetic I was being to these people. The one thing they truly believed in, even feared possibly, and I was about to either remove the plausibility of that lone belief by proving she didn't exist or just terrorise anyone in there.

The gentleman in me wants no one to be in there, so my rash actions with an axe will not have to be explained to the owner of the door; although the rest of me wishes for there to be someone in there. I have, as of yet, no idea why I wish such a thing but I am sure all shall become apparent.

I duck my head as I slip through the door; a large chunk hacked out of the framework. The metal looks to be about an inch thick! I suppress a whistle of astonishment at the expense.

I look up as I hear something, I can't be sure but it sounded like a strangled whisper. Once my head rises up, I can see a dark outline on the wall, the edges are smudged and there is no definite outline, but it is slim and petite. As my companion clears the doorway the light streams in, landing a few inches in front of the shadow's feet. Shock crosses my face as I see a pale head above the clothing, hands pressed flat against the wall. It is impossible but it looks as if the person is slotted into the wall. I quickly compose myself and drop my head to the side as I hear oaths and protections stream in an urgent whisper from behind me. I look and see, undoubtedly, a woman. Hair cascades to her waist in luscious curls; I can see no other detail other than the traditional attire of women of the town of a long, floor-length dress has been discarded and replaced with… skin-tight trousers? I know I should be appalled and disapproving of her state but instead I find myself intrigued as to where she found such clothing that adds to her mysteriousness.

I see wide eyes sparkling from a small, oval-shaped face; I squint, trying to decipher more detail: it looks as though she has jet-black eyes, not just black irises, but black clouding her whole eye. I put it down to the light.

I suddenly realise how rude I must appear and automatically dip my head in respect. I would bow more deeply if it weren't for the interest I had in her. I dared not look away from her for too long else she disappeared. I apologise as politely and quickly as I can, adding a question in the hope of hearing her speak with a response. I am disappointed at this young woman stumping my cunning plan by merely indicating the mess that I have caused with a limp hand. I agree, reassuring her, trying to make sure she understands I am a friend and sincerely apologise for my actions. I don't know if I managed it. I lower my head again and feel loathe to leave her alone in this dank room on her own. I turn to the door, back at her and then to the door once more. She watches every move I make with those unnerving eyes of hers and I find myself walking to the door without ever remembering making the conscious decision to do so, so wrapped up in my thoughts as I was. I step outside, take a deep breath, ignore the axe outside and make my way home, the laboured breathing of my guide being drowned out by the crowds of London, oblivious to the happenings of the past half hour.

Bella's POV

I have become used to no scent, not much light and muffled sound from the street outside. These new noises, scents and sights are overwhelming and I find myself reasoning to go outside. I can now hear very acutely the conversations of people outside, oblivious to my inner-turmoil. The more 'me' side of myself wants to go out; to socialise; to support my fellow townsfolk whereas the vampire inside of me yearns to go and drink them. The thought of it repulses me yet I find myself imagining enticing a helpless pick-pocket into my room. No one shall miss it and it means nothing to nobody.

Except me.

I feel for everything out there with a heartbeat… I made it.

I know that if I went outside the vampire would win, although I fear that I shall not even be able to contain the demon in this cell of a room. It has been breached and I cannot now seal myself back up. I have tasted a slight hint of freedom. I have encountered a human and I am not wholly averse to the situation.

I find my encounter arousing the hunting instincts that came with vampire-hood. They are unfamiliar and incredibly strong. My self control is immense and I find myself biting back the taste of venom in my mouth and trying my best to ignore the ache in my throat. My body burns with thirst with every movement. I find myself frozen; I have automatically turned off all signals to my muscles. I am a statue and I shall not stir until I have full control.

I wait until it is dark and the streets have calmed down and my body is in its normal state of controlled starvation. My delayed reactions to meeting a human have passed and I find myself quite exhausted (although I cannot sleep) from the experience. I cannot fight myself any longer and I allow myself to stroll outside. I ascend the stone steps from my basement room and look around. Although it is dark I can clearly see the street and I can hear the rowdy drunks of a tavern being kicked out by the landlord. I stroll in the middle of the street keeping my distance from the houses, not going near any. The smells of the street are strong, very strong, unimaginably strong; but none appeal to the predator inside of me.

I continue on my way, remembering each house that I have built and laughing at the absurdity of the extensions of the humans. I built it as perfectly as possible, spread out but accessible and they have built layers, one upon the other so they almost meet in the middle. I breathe in deeply. I hear the swish of clothes and freeze. Ahead of me is a silhouette, a tall silhouette in a reasonable well-off looking cloak. I tentatively take a step forward, staring intently. I look at the profile carefully and my perfect night vision tells me it is the American man. I gasp, I thought inaudibly, but he still looks up at me. I see him squint and then walk towards me. I back away. I have already stopped breathing.

Edward's POV

I arrive home to a silent house, of course there are the servants but they will not speak to me but look at their feet mumbling agreements of "yes-sir" and "no-sir". I walk up to my room and sit at my desk, looking at a piece of yellow parchment wondering whether it is worth writing a letter home. Decide that I have nothing better to do and dip my quill into the ink. I begin with dear father and find that I shall have to obtain a new quill as this one is now blunt from use and cannot be sharpened any further for fear of the feathers smudging the ink. I lay down my pen and place thumb and forefinger against my scrunched up eyes.

Instead of events that I can place in my letter I find only a slight figure clad in tight, black clothes. I sit back in my chair abruptly. I should not dwell upon this woman. Although she looked more like a child, but that is impossible - no one has seen a single being pass in or out of those doors for… ever. But no matter how I think of other things - or try to - I cannot get the events of today to stop playing around the inside of my eyes.

I go downstairs to the main library with the intention of getting lost within someone else's adventures only to throw the book down upon the couch in frustration at each character being portrayed by a faceless figure resembling her.

I sit at the piano and place my fingers upon the keys, staring at the small black keys as they grow curves. I cry out in annoyance. I am so restless and for what? One girl who said not one word to me! I grab my coat and stalk out of the house to the nearest tavern. It is not one of the nearest to the coast and therefore not so busy and is in decent condition meaning that the air is not suffocated with smoke and most windows are intact. I walk in the door to have a glass of ale thrust into my hand as a small mouse-like man is thrown out of the window by two men adorned in tattoos. They follow out of the door, giving me a not unfriendly smile on their way out. Once I am sure they cannot see me I shake my head in wonderment and disbelief.

I smell the ale to find it satisfactory and sit at a table in the corner to drink in peace.

Not five minutes later I am awoken from my trance-like state by the two giants and their small companion, grinning sheepishly with a gummy grimace.

"Introductions" one man with a red-breasted robin peeking through his shirt begins. "I'm Robin. That's Red" he points to a man with a big, blotchy red mark upon his jaw and leading down his neck and into his clothing, "and this here's Squeaker!" he hits the small man on the back with such force that Squeaker is slammed into his beer-mug and consequentially starts choking. "You're the American" concludes Robin with a jab of his finger across the table in my direction. I can do nothing but nod. Robin lets out a big hearty laugh and reaches for my drink, throwing it over his shoulder and signalling for the barman. "You don't want to drink that stuff: it's Squeakers. We water it down; he can't have the proper stuff." I try to assure him that it's fine but am silenced with a large mug of strong smelling, thick liquid. Robin and Red grab their mugs and hold them up looking at me expectantly. I quickly raise my own glass to theirs with a chorus of "Cheers!" from all. Although I do not drink much, I decide to have at least one, so as not to seem rude.

My taste buds are screaming at me as another tumbler of the drink slips down my throat, burning as I shudder to a new wave of happiness. I have lost count of how much drink I have had and am swinging my beaker around in front of me, one arm wrapped around Robin's shoulders as I sway on the tabletop singing many songs along with Robin and Red. I sit down at the end of the song, wondering if this I what drunkenness is. I try to recall what has been said and remember one conversation:

I had inquired as to why they were called what they were, leaving out what unusual names they possessed as I had already witnessed some of their ways of dealing with their anger.

"Well, I used to carry round a red blanket with me everywhere and climb in the trees over there. In winter they're full of robins and I had the knack of getting them to land on me. They used to call me the robin charmer! Then just Robin. I got this tattoo when I was eight as well so that added to 'Robin'." That was Robin's response. I then questioned Red. He merely pointed at his red mark. Robin interjected, on Red's behalf, that it was a birthmark, "he's a bit touchy about it so best to just leave it at that."

Squeaker then exclaimed without prompting that his namesake was his high-pitched squeak of a voice and also his face.

Somehow the conversation progressed onto that they were all living on nicknames purely that they couldn't really ask their parents as they abandoned them on the doorsteps of a doctor. Red believed it was his mark that was the cause and Squeaker his ugliness. Robin refused to talk any further and, even in my addled state, I could tell this was a subject not to push.

I couldn't really remember anything apart from that and felt tired from trying. I recalled a lot of noise, much merriment and singing and drinking and then I decided to sleep. I woke up from the barman pushing me with all of his strength and a pitcher of water being poured on my face. Wiping my eyes I saw Robin, his eyes creased by an ear-to-ear grin: "someone can't hold their drink!" boomed a loud voice. I groaned and rolled off the table. I stood up, steadying myself on the stools. I carefully let go and the floor came up to meet me in a sickening lurch. I heard the barman whispering urgently, I picked up snippets: "looking sick" and "get him out" and "I aint cleaning that up". I was picked up in two muscled arms and taken out into the cold. I was placed on my feet and a hand grabbed the back of my head forcing it downwards. I couldn't breathe; I panicked and opened my mouth to scream replacing the little air in my mouth with water, cold and un-oxygenated. I fought back and suddenly I could breathe again with a laughing Robin next to me. I scowled at him.

"What the hell?"

"Did it work, though?" was Robins reply.

"Did what work?"

"Do you feel steadier on your feet?" he answered infuriatingly calmly.

I hadn't realised but I had indeed been advancing upon Robin and my head wasn't spinning anymore. I grudgingly nodded my head as Robin chuckled beside me.

We walked down the road and I finally noticed how big he was. He was huge, tall and muscled. Still bristling with indignation, I carried on observing in silence. He had short, dark, curly hair and a big jovial face with an easy grin. He was a giant but a gentle one to friends which I now believed I was. I grinned.

We carried on in silence until he signalled that we had reached his road. I bid him goodnight and carried on my own way home. I reached home within a matter of minutes and started undoing the bolt. I thought I heard something and looked up to see the girl.

To check it wasn't my imagination I took a step forward to help focus. She walked away into the shadows and I squinted after her. This was no imaginary woman…

This was her.

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