Revenants and Redemption, or a Twilight Christmas Carol
Chapter 3: The second of the three ghosts
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the tears dry. Edward takes a deep breath to steady himself, then slowly rises to his feet. He turns his gaze toward the clock; it reads 1:59.
But that can't be right, can it, readers? Unless it's 1:59 in the afternoon. Edward walks up to the window and pulls the curtain. Nope, still dark outside.
Now that just doesn't make any sense. He's been gone more than an hour, he was sure of that. There is no way that all of that happened in only fifty nine minutes. But a whole day?
As Edward tries, and fails, to wrap his head around it, the clock changes from 1:59 to 2:00.
"Ho ho ho! Edward Masen! Get out here!"
Edward jumps at the booming voice, and carefully makes his way out of the room. He slowly walks past Christmas decorations he never put up, and in fact doesn't own, and into his living room, decorated with a giant Christmas tree and occupied by a giant man wearing a Santa costume.
This is no joke. The man is about seven feet tall, and his width matches his height, though you can tell it's all muscle and no fat. The giant has forgone the beard and white wig, and rather showed curly black hair and a clean shaven face, complete with dimples.
"Hmm, hi?" Edward asks timidly.
"Hello! Nice to meet you, man. I am Christmas."
"Christmas?"
"That's right! The embodiment of this wonderful day, December 25th 2011. Aren't I awesome?"
Edward studies the spirit for a moment, before saying: "Shouldn't you be dressed like Jesus?"
"Depends on who's looking at me, my secular friend. I don't especially care either way. You didn't answer my question. Don't you think Christmas is awesome?"
"Ahm, well," Edward awkwardly shuffles around, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "I used to," he finally answers, his head still filled with the memories of his past Christmases. "But then I kind of forgot, I think."
"Well then, it's about time someone reminds you. Let's go, we've got a lot of ground to cover."
The spirit wraps an arm around Edward's shoulder and pulls him out of the room. Together, they watch people from all over the world celebrate Christmas. They see parties and family dinners and opening of presents. All the little moments that make Christmas special.
The spirit takes it all in with the wide-eyed innocence and wonder of a child. He sings along with carollers, he licks his lips at the food, he plays along with all the games as if the humans could see him. Edward smiles at the joy he witnesses, but that joy feels foreign to him. Even if he could interact with the people he sees, he would have no idea where to begin.
As they walk along, Edward notices two children standing some distance behind them, dressed in rags. He guesses that they are brother and sister, but couldn't tell anyone what made him say that. The boy has dark hair and the girl has pale hair. They are both pretty small, but all kids are small. The eyes are the most similar: they are black, vaguely menacing, and trained directly on him.
Edward gulps. In the many hours he spent with the spirits, no one has given any indication that they can see him at all. Except for the spirits, and now these children.
"Spirit?" he asks timidly. "There are two children behind us."
"I know." The spirit is undisturbed by this; he is busy watching a gospel choir animating a mass and dancing along with them.
"Are they yours?"
"Nope, they're yours."
"WHAT?" That is impossible, Edward thinks. There's no way. The only girl he ever got pregnant was Tanya, and those kids are older than the four or five years old his own children would be. Right? Besides, those children look nothing like him, or Tanya. Right? But what about someone else. He's been with Tanya for three years, and during that time he was faithful to her, but what about before?
"Relax, man," says the spirit, rolling his eyes. "I don't mean yours specifically. I mean they are the children of men. Ignorance and Want. She's Ignorance. Look out for her. They are both bad, but she's the worse."
Edward keeps staring at the children, who stared back at him. It was getting disturbing.
"All right, Edward Masen," says the spirit as he turns to him. "You've been a good little boy. You deserve a treat. Anyone special you want to see?"
Edward only needs a moment to think about it. "Carlisle, my uncle. I want to see him."
"Awesome!" And a moment later, they are standing Carlisle's living room. There is a party going on, with many people Edward does not recognize. There is some jazzy Christmas music playing in the background, an electric fireplace, many drinks poured.
The guests are gathered around one man, who is doing imitations. He goes through all the classics, like Elvis and Robert de Niro and Marlon Brando. Everyone is laughing, but soon they begin to goad him to do something more challenging.
"All right, all right, I've got this." The imitator clears out his throat and takes his position: shoulders straight, head high, looking down at everyone. "Do I look like a damned charity organisation to you? I don't give money, I loan money, and if you can't pay me back, you lose the collateral, plain and simple."
Everyone in the room, including Edward and the spirit, look at the man. They are all confused. The man smiles, satisfied that he stumped his friends for once, and goes on. "I don't care about people. I let my best friend die alone in his bed. Why would I do anything more for you?"
"Oh shit," says Edward.
"Well, no wonder nobody guessed: he got the voice all wrong!" As upset as Edward is to realise the extent of his horrible reputation, that strangers made fun of him behind his back, and in front of his uncle too, the spirit is doubly so. His perfect streak of guesses broken, because of a faulty voice.
A few of the guest are still confused, they do not know the history of Edward Masen. The rest of the guests are equally divided between those who find the imitation funny, and those who find it uncomfortable.
"Alistair, you are such a jerk," says a brunette who looks to be closer to Edward's age then Carlisle's and wears glasses. She clearly falls on the Uncomfortable side.
"What?"
In the face of Alistair's confusion, the brunette looks pointedly at Carlisle, then back at him. Carlisle, for obvious reasons, is not laughing. He looks at his glass pensively. A pretty woman with a heart-shaped face and caramel hair is wrapping her arms around him. Edward guesses that the woman is Esme, Carlisle's new wife.
"Oh. Carlisle, man. I'm sorry, but, you gotta admit, the guy's a jerk."
"Oh yes he is," adds another guest, a tall man with golden skin, who speaks with a strong Middle-Eastern accent. "And yet you invite him every year. I don't know why you do this. Imagine if he was to accept. It would make this party so awkward."
"I wish you wouldn't be so harsh on my nephew, Amun. He may surprise you. And I invite him because I wish him to have a pleasant holiday season. You should feel sorry of Edward, my friends. Who suffers for his sour disposition but himself? He does not feel even those few moments of pleasure he brought you today."
"In fact, I would like to propose a toast to him." Carlisle raises his glass, and waits until all of his guests follow suit. "To Edward Masen. May he find some joy in this holiday season." The guests repeat the toast and sip their beverage.
"All right, we have to go now." says the spirit. "Time is running short, and we have one more stop to make."
The spirit takes Edward to a small, rundown house Edward. "Where are we?" asks Edward.
"The Swan residence."
"Swan? You mean Charlie Swan, my clerk?"
"That's right. Good old Charlie Swan, celebrating Christmas with his family."
The spirit pulls Edward inside. Edward is momentarily distracted from his former concern, which had been "why was he looking at the Christmas day of his employee?" His current concern is "Charlie has a family?" For some reason, he always imagined Charlie as an old bachelor, and never cared enough to ask. The idea that he has a wife and children feels strange.
As he enters the kitchen, the world stops turning, and his universe shifts. While Edward is aware that there is another woman in the room, pulling a tray of cupcakes from the oven, and that she was blonde and in her mid-thirties, he only saw her.
He could tell so much from her, just by that first glance. She is beautiful, with long silky chestnut hair, big doe eyes, skin like peaches and cream, a small rosebud mouth. She is talented, drawing little holly sprigs and candy canes on another batch of cupcakes. She is a perfectionist: the effort she puts in making her holly leaves perfectly symmetrical is adorable.
She is unwell. She stops and closes her eyes, swaying as she puts a hand up to her temple.
"Bella," her mother runs to her side. "Let me finish those, honey. You go take a nap."
"No, I'm fine."
"Isabella Marie Swan, I agreed to let you help with the cupcakes for the Charity Boxing Day event tomorrow, on the condition that you wouldn't tire yourself out."
"I'm not, I promise. I only want to finish those few."
"You call a whole dozen cupcakes 'a few'?"
"The new batch has to cool off, mom. I meant those three. And I'm almost done with this one, so it's more like two and a quarter. Just let me finish, and then I'll go take a nap. Okay?"
She is generous, and stubborn. She knows her way around the kitchen. She needs plenty of rest, which means she is more than just unwell.
"She is sick, isn't she, spirit?"
"Yup. Lymphoma. Just diagnosed last month."
"Is it serious?" Edward asks, even though he knows the answer. Lymphoma is a form of cancer, and cancer is always serious.
"Well, it depends on how you look at it. See, there are lots of types of lymphoma, but they mostly fall into two categories: those that can't be cured, but also can't kill you, so you go on feeling like crap for the rest of your life, and those that can be cured, but if you don't get the treatment, you'll die. Bella falls in category number two. She could make a full recovery..."
"But her parents can't pay for the treatments." Edward watches as she finally finishes her cupcakes and let her mother guide her to the couch for a much needed nap.
He walks up to the couch and crouches besides his now sleeping beauty. Her mother goes back to the kitchen to clean up and to decorate the last twelve cupcakes by herself. Edward does not care, he continues to watch her sleep.
"She just has to hold on for a few years," Edward whispers. "Eventually, everyone will have health insurance, and she'll get her treatment. She just has to hang on. She can do it. Can't she, spirit?"
"Dude, you're asking me about the future? I don't know anything about that. I'm the present. All I how is what things are today. One month into the diagnosis, and she's already losing weight, she gets tired more easily, and her parents can't get her into treatment. I mean, she COULD get a miracle, but, you know ..."
She has to have her miracle. Edward knows this just as well as he knows that the Earth turns around the sun. Bella must live.
"What do you care if she dies anyway?" asks the spirit. "If she dies, it'll reduce the population surplus."
"She's not surplus!" Edward turns to face the spirit, ready to fight him should he try to bring about any harm to his angel.
The spirit smirks at him. "How's that medicine tasting?"
Edward remembers the visit from that charity organisation. How long has it been? He remembers his offhand comment about population surplus, made to shock the solicitor and get him to leave. He remembers the countless occasions before that. The medicine tastes bitter indeed.
It was at that moment that Charlie walked into his house, carrying a pizza box and a plastic bag. The sounds and smells wake Bella up.
"Here's my Christmas Bells." says Charlie as he puts the pizza on the table. "How are you, honey?"
"Dad, I'm getting too old for that nickname."
"Never." Charlie removes the contents of the bags: a two litre bottle of generic soda, a bag of microwave popcorn and a box of discount Christmas cookies.
"You brought pizza?" Bella has gotten up from the couch and is now walking to the table.
"Yeah, I knew you and your mom would be using the oven for most of the day for those cupcakes, for I figured it would be a nice holiday treat. The cakes look great, by the way."
"Thanks, but I haven't finished decorating ... them ..." Bella's voice trails off as she sees that every cupcake on the counter is iced and decorated. "Mom! You were supposed to wake me up."
"I tried, honey. A nuclear bomb wouldn't have woken you up." Charlie's wife walks up to the table, carrying three plates, three glasses and a handful of cutlery.
"Dad woke me up when he got home," mumbles Bella. Edward marvels at her. She's smart enough to know that she's being lied to, and to understand why, even though her pride makes it impossible for her to just take this white lie at face value.
"That's because you're hungry. And so am I. Let's sit down and eat."
Edward looks at the Christmas dinner of the Swan family. It is plain, to say the least. And yet, by the look of contentment on Bella's face, he could tell that she wouldn't change it for anything.
Once every one is served and seated, Charlie raises his glass. "I would like to propose a toast. To Edward Masen, who gave us the means to be together and celebrate today."
Edward is shocked. So is Charlie's wife. "Edward Masen! He gave us the means to celebrate? That miser jerk?"
"Yes, Renee. It is thanks to him that I have a steady job, and have had it for four years now. I am grateful for this job, as it gives me the ability to care for my family." There's something in Charlie's tone, that sounds like an accusation. What is that about?
"Personality aside," continues Charlie, "I think this deserves a toast. God bless Edward Masen!"
"God bless us, everyone," quietly replies an uncomfortable Bella.
As the whole family raises their glass, Edward turns to the spirit.
"Charlie's always been the principle bread winner of the family," explains the spirit. "He washed out of police academy in the first year of their marriage, and found a job as a security guard at a mini-mall. Four years ago in September, the mini-mall went bankrupt and closed down. After four months without a job, he was getting pretty desperate. When you offered him that clerk job in December, you saved him and his family. They completely depend on you."
The whole family depends on the salary he gives to Charlie. Charlie must pay the rent on this little house, without any hope of ever owning it or another one, and pay for food and clothes and all of their needs, and he must do so on seventy hour weeks at minimum wage. And Edward berated him because he was obligated to pay him for that one day, Christmas day, he would spend with his family.
"Doesn't Renee work?"
"On and off, little jobs here and there. Thing is, she's not the most practical minded woman. If she doesn't like a job, she just quits. With that kind of work history, people are hesitant to hire her in the first place. She quit her most recent job a month ago, after Bella's diagnosis. It caused some conflict between Charlie and Renee, but they try not to show it, for Bella's sake. Charlie already feels bad about what he said."
Exclamations of joy ring around the table. The Swans have opened their presents: a pretty bait for Charlie, a few colourful trends, the kind used the braid friendship bracelets for Renee, and a paperback copy of Wuthering Heights for Bella. The tension of the previous moment has disappeared. "See," says the spirit. "They've learned the hard way to make every moment a happy one, as much as you can. All you have is the present."
Edward watches Bella. He stares as she laughs, as she tells a story to her parents, as she takes a big bites of pizza. Even when the spirit takes him by the shoulder and gently pulls him out of the house, he keeps his eye on her, until she has completely disappeared from sight.
The spirit guides Edward in the middle of a storm cloud. At least that's what it feels like. Edward can barely see anything around him. He's never been in a fog so thick in his life.
"Sure is foggy tonight," says the spirit.
"Where are we, spirit?"
"The final stop."
The final stop? What does that mean? What place in the world could be so foggy?
"Is the final stop San Francisco?" finally asks Edward. This makes the spirit laugh.
"You're a funny guy, Edward Masen. You should joke more often."
Before Edward can ask any more questions, a bell starts to ring, loudly.
"There it is," says the spirit. "Midnight. The end of the day, and the end of my life."
The spirit starts to fade in front of Edward's eyes. This makes our boy panic. "Spirit, wait! You have to take me home. I'm supposed to meet the third one at midnight."
"Oh, don't worry about that, Eddie boy. The last spirit will find you. We're always watching." The spirits laughs as he disappears into the night.
