Chapter 2 – Alone – September 1948

The shadows deepened as the sky fell below the western horizon, and the trickles of light that had snuck through the holes in the shutters to cloak Jasper's room in pale light during the daylight hours slowly receded and finally disappeared.
Jasper had planned to leave Philadelphia tonight, but could not will himself to rise from his seated position in the darkest corner of the room. He had not been able to earlier, when he should have been packing his sparse belongings, and he could not now. He simply did not have the strength or energy to fight the lethargy that had overcome him.

So he sat in the corner, arms around his knees, and stared into nothing, as he had all day. There was no emotion in his eyes. No pain, no sadness. Just – nothing. A bleak, empty nothingness had settled over his very being like a fog.

Out of nowhere, he suddenly missed Peter and Charlotte. He thought of them only rarely anymore, but tonight he longed for Peter's easy laughter, or for the warmth of Charlotte's smile. He had been happy, at first, travelling with them. He had enjoyed having others of his kind with whom to spend the time during the day. But, in time the fact that they were mates – and very devoted ones – began to make Jasper feel unwanted, and even worse – lonely. Watching their happiness had only gone to illustrate his own solitude; he had served as a contrast to their love and devotion, and in doing so, he had been a dark cloud hovering above their joy. They had tried to be kind, they had tried to be accepting, but in the end, Jasper profoundly understood, he simply wasn't worth it. To have his company was not worth accepting the dark turn his moods often took. Jasper had been able to feel the emotions that they had tried to hide, the words that they had not wanted to say. But he knew, nonetheless. They did not want him there. They did not want to deal with the darkness he brought. And so he had left them, and he had sensed that while they were sad to see him go – they were also glad to have the time alone and together.

Alone.

Jasper knew the meaning of the word intimately, but it had not always been so. Once, in memories so old he could scarcely believe they were his, he had been a part of a family. He had a sister, parents… And there had been women, in those years. Nobody in particular, no one who had captured his heart, but he had been popular with the camp followers, both for his dedication and passion for the army, and for his looks. And he once had friends among his peers; fellow officers who shared his goals, or at least respected them.

But then Maria came, and everything changed. She had made herself his everything, his whole world, his alpha and his omega. Maria's desires had been the ones that mattered; Maria's anger the one to be feared. And before long, all others had been forgotten.

And now they were long dead and buried.
He returned his thoughts to Peter and Charlotte. They had loved each other so deeply, so profoundly. Jasper had thought at one time that he had loved Maria, but what they had had not been love. It had been Maria exercising her power over him in the most primal way possible. She had controlled his actions, his thoughts, his hunting habits, and finally his body as well. She had used him for her pleasure. He had, at first, even been honored by her attentions. ..

Jasper shuddered at the memories, pushing thoughts of Maria back into the corner of his mind where he could control them. He could not face them, not now. His demons were too close on this dark evening, as he sat here completely and utterly alone.

Love. Had he ever known it? Perhaps, in memories too distant for him to recall, he had loved. Perhaps he had even been loved in return. He could not remember, try as he might. And now, he would never know.

For who could love him? He did not ask the question out of self-pity, but out of a true conviction that there was nothing about him worth loving. For what was he? Putting aside the despicable fact of what he truly was, he was a creature stained with the blood of his own kind. He had murdered not for self-defense or for love, or for one of the few other honorable reasons to kill, but to expand Maria's territory, to help her extend her cruel tyranny. He had killed because she had told him to, and he had done it well, because death was his business. He was an efficient and deadly killer, an enemy none wished to have. Others of his own kind, who could see the scars he tried desperately to cover, looked at him only with fear in their eyes. They would not look past the crescent shaped marks; even in Jasper's mind they were marks of something that rendered him grotesque and unlovable. He was a killer and deserved no one's love. And furthermore, he did not need it, or want it.

He raised his head from his knees to peer into the darkness again and forced himself to admit the lie.

He did want it, as crazy as it sounded. Within his killer's body and inside his still and unbeating heart, his very essence yearned to be loved. Somewhere, in waking dreams he did not even admit to himself, he walked hand in hand with someone who could accept him for who he was, who could love him despite his many faults. Someone for whom he would give his very life to protect; someone who could banish the shadows and demons that haunted him daily, instead of recoiling from them, or pushing him away. His savior. His love. His lady.

Burying his face again on his knees, he chastised himself for his foolishness. Love was not for him; it never would be. His days would be spent alone, his nights wandering the lonely streets in search of prey. And every day he would become more and more the monster, until finally, there was nothing left of the man who had once been Jasper Whitlock.

And this was the only future he could see.

He gasped, a very human reaction to the emotional onslaught that hit him, this time from himself. Hopelessness, despair, even rage joined with the other miseries as he glanced down the path that was his future. He had not asked for this life; he had not wanted it. He had had dreams once, great dreams. He had wanted to go to University, to have a family, to hold grandchildren on his lap and tell them stories that lit up their faces. He had dreamed of growing old with the one he loved, of holding her hand as they walked down dirt lanes, laughing and sharing their souls. He had wanted to live, to know life, and to die contented that he had been a good man. This entire life had been murdered by Maria, and he had been forced into this Hell that was infinite and inescapable.

To be hated, to be feared, to be alone. To walk the human world as a shadow, existing on the darkest corners of nightmares. To appear human, but have the heart of a monster. This was his lot.

He yearned for death, for escape, for release. But there was nothing he could do himself, and he knew very intimately how difficult it was for one like him to die. He could provoke the Volturi, but they were the only ones he feared even more than Maria. He had witnessed their cruelty, and it was not the way he wanted to end.

Every way was blocked. Every escape was impossible. He must continue to live, for his very being gave him no choice in the matter. But they could not force his damned soul to live. And every day it died a little more. He was dying, sure enough. Soon, he would be nothing but the monster. He would give in completely to the evil, and these memories, these regrets, these pains would be gone. He would be an animal, a monster in entirety, and the pain, at last, would ease.

Nothing Jasper foresaw could stop this transformation. It would take a great power, a redemptive force far beyond what he had ever known to pull him back from the precipice over which he stood. It would take love. A true love, a complete love, a love unselfish and non-judgmental, who could love a monster like Jasper Whitlock unconditionally, and who would hold him at her heart as his soul bled. A patient love that would wait for him as he healed. It would take a miracle and an angel, and neither happened to monsters.

But perhaps, once he had given in completely to the animal instinct that lurked within him, he would no longer be human enough to feel the pain. That, at least, was something.