Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns everything in the Twiverse.

Where is Edward going? Let's find out…

Chapter 4: Like a Fool to a Flame

Edward's POV

I run.

I run past the parked car in the driveway, through the trees shielding our home from view, and toward a horizon I do not wish to reach.

I run to escape her voice, to get lost in the squealing of the wind as it whips against my face.

I run to ignore her struggle, to untangle myself from the lure of its complexity.

And I run to forget, to silence the indiscreet voices from my criminal past conjured up by her pleading.

I do not know when or why I come to a stop. I know only that my limbs have exorcised their demon of speed, and I am no longer frantic.

My surroundings are unfamiliar, yet they reek of something once lost, remnants of a place where someone should not have been.

And as I flip through the memories that its scent and sounds inspire, I realize where I am.

I am standing in the place where Miss Hale should have died.

I expect a flare of anger to accompany the realization, but instead I feel strangely comforted, as if I were running not away but toward something.

Something that should not exist.

The air still sings with the aromatic notes of her blood, and I am surprised by my lack of interest. And as I reflect on the night, I realize that at no time have I been the least bit tempted to taste her.

Not for a moment.

Interesting.

The doctor said there were no footprints to be found, and I hoped rather than believed him to be mistaken. But my inspection confirms his report, and my latent fury makes its appearance.

Sifting through the myriad scents in the air, I concentrate on those which taint the space where her lifeblood was spilled. There are five, one fouler than the rest.

My nostrils flare at the stench, revolted by its undertone of self-satisfaction.

The monster within me licks its predatory fangs, and I tremble with resolve.

The offending animals will not survive the night.

I will end them all.

I will end them all and take great pleasure in it.

And I will save the King for last.

But as my inner beast stretches to life, a discomforting flutter forces me to pause.

Should I decide to act, I would embark on a trek toward a precipice so steep there would be no possibility of return. Were I to suckle once more at the sweet teat of revenge, its lethal, luscious nectar would be my eternal undoing.

And loathe though I am to admit it, there are those who would be irrevocably injured by my permanent loss.

Two such creatures, in fact.

I have never given any thought to their wishes, resuming my place in their lives only for a lack of appealing alternatives.

But in this dark alley where Miss Hale's purity was poisoned, the compassionate faces of my maker and his wife linger behind my lids, and I am shocked by the tenderness the vision inspires.

It seems that even vampires can be emotionally overwrought.

Shaking off the image, I expel an aggravated breath and accept the change in my course.

There will be no more bloodshed tonight.

The monster within me roars its dissension, and I muffle the sound with a groan of my own, wishing I had been out of doors when Dr. Cullen brought home his pet project.

She has wreaked nothing but havoc on my faculties since her arrival, and I am already weary of her presence.

I need a break.

With my attention focused on the woodsy wilds on the other side of town, I put my swiftest foot to the ground again, determined to leave Miss Hale and her afflictions behind me.

-B-I-

It is morning when the house comes back into view.

And though I am but a mile away, it is not what I see that arrests my attention.

But what I hear.

Even at this distance, I can tell that the doctor has moved his patient to the soundproofed lower level. Were a human standing on the other side of the locked door, the clamor would be inaudible.

But my senses are not so restricted.

And I am trapped by Rosalie's cries.

I expect their volume, understand their strength.

But their nuances, the intricacies of their design, hasten me home as if in answer to a siren's call.

I cannot move quickly enough.

Her wailing presses in and around me without respite as I fly into the house, past the salon and down the back stairs, coming to a stop just outside the door to her chamber.

'Please!'

She knows I am here.

The thought is comforting.

I push open the door with human speed so as not to startle her, and vulnerable violet eyes scorch mine.

'Help me!'

She is rigid with pain, her limbs straining against the creamy softness of the bed as another guttural cry pierces the air.

I am at her side in an instant.

'Please! I cannot...'

Her head rolls from side to side as an elegant hand rises off the mattress. I take it in mine without a second thought.

'Thank you.'

I almost smile.

For a female human, her grip is strong, and as she squeezes, I realize that this is the first time a mortal has touched me out of something other than fear.

The only time I have held a woman's hand.

'What is happening to me?'

I now realize that doctor and his wife are away from the house.

They must be in town.

'Why am I on fire?'

When they should be here, answering her question.

"You are changing."

'Am I in hell? Is this vanity's revenge?'

She cannot hear me, and that is just as well.

My answers provide no comfort.

Her eyes pinch together as another tremor slashes through her body, and I look away, ashamed.

I can offer her nothing.

I try to extract my hand from hers, but she refuses me.

'Please! Don't go!'

It would take nothing to break her hold, but I am paralyzed by her plea.

I have never been needed before.

The sensation is intoxicating.

I caress her fragile hand with my thumb, singed by her satin and blind faith.

"I shall stay."

-B-I-

Time crawls as I sit by Rosalie's side.

Morning becomes evening becomes dawn again.

And still I sit.

Dr. and Mrs. Cullen flit in and out, their initial surprise at my vigil yielding to understated delight. They are not callous enough to rejoice at Rosalie's suffering, but my refusal to leave suggests the amorous attachment they wish to see.

"The change is proceeding normally," the good doctor observes on day one. "She should awaken before midnight two days hence."

I do not respond.

"Esme brought some of her clothes from home," he says that evening. "And the pearl-handled comb and brush from the night table in her room."

I spare him a nod.

"Royce is telling everyone that Rosalie left him," Mrs. Cullen offers on the second night. "That she seeks to be the next Jean Harlow."

My eyes darken with fury, but I say nothing.

"I fear I have supported his claims by lifting some of her things from the house."

Her mind floods with guilt as she begins to take her leave.

"You were trying to help," I mutter.

Her surprise is profound, and I can feel her relief as it spreads. "Thank you."

The Cullens leave Rosalie to me once again, assuming a romantic motive.

They could not be more mistaken.

I stay with Rosalie because her misery provides a worthy respite from my own.

With every primal cry, she entices me from my wretchedness.

With every agonized thought, she draws me away from my grief.

With every tender memory, she reminds me to forget myself.

She is a distraction from every terrible thing that I am.

And I am addicted to the peace of her pain.

-B-I-

Day three.

The end of the end is near.

Dr. and Mrs. Cullen come into the room when the young girl's heartbeat slows to ten beats per minute.

"It won't be long," he says.

His wife nods, unable to voice her feelings.

There are too many to name.

Nine...eight...seven...

"Is her first meal prepared?" she asks.

"I have a few ideas," her husband replies. "Her reaction will dictate what I will do."

Six...five...four...

"Do you think she knows what's happening?"

The doctor doesn't reply, and after a moment, I realize that the question is being addressed to me.

I have been sitting here long enough.

I rise from the stool and walk toward the door. "No."

"You're not staying?" the wife asks.

I stifle an impatient groan. "I have things to do."

"I would think she would want to see a familiar face," the doctor observes.

"She doesn't know me," I snap.

The doctor's eyes actually roll.

Three...two...one...

Silence.

Stillness.

Fear.

Her thoughts are coming at increasing speed, and the onslaught overwhelms me.

I have to get out.

I open the door. "Say nothing of my presence here."

"Edward, I think you should..."

"Where am I?"

Her rich, musical voice fills the void, the innocent query shaking me to my core.

But I keep walking, ignoring it all.

Can he really walk away? We shall see...

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