A/N: Here's a little something to keep you all up later than you should be!
Musical Inspiration: Carry You Home - James Blunt
Chapter 4 – Visitors
I stood and walked toward Mrs. Masen's wardrobe closet. As I opened the doors a perfume, light and slightly lavender scented hit me as if these doors had not been opened since the poor lady's demise. A shiver ran through me as I realized in all probability, it had not.
I ran my hand over her dresses hanging in the closet, soft pastels, whites and blues mostly. I selected one and walked over to the grand full length mirror, holding it up to me as I gazed. This dress must have been one from her earlier days of her marriage. It was nearly Victorian in style, long and white, well, more of an off white color or ivory. The high neckline, beaded false buttons down the front and laced edging gave it the most beautiful ethereal quality. Like the dress of an angel, or a bride. Perhaps this was her wedding gown.
As I stood before the mirror daydreaming, I noticed how quiet it had become. Another shiver went down my spine. It was eerily silent, and it took me a moment to figure out just why. The storm had stopped and the sky was clearing. I pulled out my cell phone and looked at the time; 6:45 – Charlie would be home anytime now.
I quickly returned the dress to the wardrobe and made sure to shut it just as it had been. I then hurried downstairs and out the way I had come. I took one last look around before I closed the door. How it pained me to leave. The house had even more draw to me than it had from my window, or from the library documents about the Masens.
As I stood waiting at my own doorstep for Charlie to arrive, I saw a shiny silver car slow before 112. It was getting dark so I could not make out the driver, but it seemed they were interested only in the house across the street. I expected the car to stop, but it kept on gaining speed as it pulled farther and farther away from our area of the street.
As I explained my detour to Charlie over dinner and the reason for my intrusion of the old house, the corner of my eye caught tail lights pulling into 112. I half wondered if it were the same car that had slowed before the house earlier, but when Charlie began to speak I forgot about it completely.
"Technically it's not trespassing, Bells, since the house is essentially abandoned, but I wouldn't go poking around it anymore just to be on the safe side. Better to err on the side of caution, hmm?" He said as he finished the fish fillets I had thrown into the oven as a quick fix for dinner. I was glad I had picked them up earlier in the week.
I cleaned up and went to bed early, intending to email Angela about what had happened today and how badly I had wanted to go back. As I sat down at my window seat I noticed the light on the third floor of 112 was lit. The light was very dim, as if from a candle or hurricane lantern, but that there was light at all in the old house was enough to intrigue my interest.
I squinted as hard as I could but could make out no shadows or silhouettes to speak of in the room. I wondered if the person visiting was the distant relative come down to take inventory of his possession. How odd that today of all days the person would suddenly take an interest. After ninety years they finally realized what a treasure they possessed.
I watched as long as my eyes would cooperate, which wasn't very long. And I fell asleep under my pink chenille throw blanket, with my forehead resting on the window pane.
EPOV
I drove what should have taken days in only hours. My anxiety to see her, just one last time, was insatiable. I had kept up with her for the last eighty odd years and only recently had lost any news of her existence.
I arrived in Chicago in the late evening. I struggled with the decision of whether to see her first, or set up residence in the old house. Tomorrow would likely be a sunny day, so I would be forced to take cover at some point. I turned on the local radio station and waited.
I drove by the old house, slowing a bit to see that it was in the condition I had left it thirty years prior. I had only driven by it then, but all looked well. Mrs. Bernstein, the lady who came in once a month to do light dusting and sweeping had died and I was in need of a replacement. I found one without too much trouble, but hearing her thoughts during the brief interview left me wondering if I shouldn't stay longer to find more reliable help.
The girl, who replaced staunch old Mrs. Bernstein, was young, barely out of high school, with bright blue eyes and a slightly disorganized appearance. She was honest enough, and her thoughts did not reveal any hint of deception or malice. I knew she would keep the place for me, and I knew she would not steal from me – the only concern I had was that her train of thought was quite jumbled and she seemed to forget things here and there.
I often wondered if she ever remembered to lock up at night, but with the reputation the house was getting I knew I would have little to worry about.
As I ensured that all looked as it should the radio announcer forecast the morrow would in fact be a cloudy one. My heart lightened at this news and I decided to drive quickly by the nursing home across town that I would be visiting tomorrow before returning to the house.
After assuring that this was indeed the same home I had read about, I headed back to 112, my childhood home. As suspected, Debra had forgotten to lock the back door, her entry and exit point, but there were no other signs of mishap. As I entered the house, however, my senses heightened. Something was wrong; Debra's faint scent lingered in the air, the scent of yellow cake and honeysuckle, but there was a stronger one – more recent, more invasive.
I walked through the house following this new trail. It was covering a nearly visible trail on the carpets, over the banister, up the stairs. My mouth began to water, the more it pulled me in the hungrier I became. The scent lured me up the stairs, an invisible assailant, taunting, teasing me, and begging me to devour it.
I walked, the scent beguiling me now as no smell ever had, the smell of freesia, lilac and strawberry. The mouthwatering aroma was focused mainly in my parents' old room. I followed it to my mother's vanity table, then to her wardrobe… I opened the closet. My eyes blackened, half out of hunger for the new, incredible aroma, half out of fury.
How dare this stranger, this invader, touch my mother's things. My anger raged within me – I felt violated, as if I had been vandalized, but the vandal had taken nothing, stolen nothing, and harmed nothing. Only touched… as if out of curiosity.
How dare they. These things were mine. After my visit to Plantation Oaks Nursing Care tomorrow, I would inquire of Debra as to this visitor. If it were a guest of hers I would make it clear that no other individuals were welcome in 112 Masen Lane. If it were an intruder she knew nothing about, she would receive a stern warning about remembering her duties to lock the doors as she left the premises.
I went upstairs to my old room. It was the first time I had seen it since I left it so long ago. Ninety years had passed. It was just as I remembered it. I lay down on my bed, anticipating my visit tomorrow. I contemplated whether or not it would be worth it to try to talk to her. I wanted to speak to her just one last time. I wanted her to know what really happened to me, that I was sorry for not contacting her sooner. That I wished I had made my move before I fell ill.
As the night turned into day… the morning dawned cloudy and dull, just as the weatherman had predicted. Excellent.
I drove to the nursing home I had passed the night before, parked my car and got out. I walked to the visitor station in the middle of the large lobby and caught the attention of one of the head nurses.
"Excuse me, Nurse Rhea, my name is Edward Cullen, I had a vase of yellow roses sent here that should have arrived just an hour ago or less. I was wondering if they had come."
She paused, before holding up one finger signaling for me to wait. She returned promptly with the vase of flowers in hand.
"You're here to see old Mrs. Patton, correct?" she asked in a southern drawl.
"Yes, I am. Is she available?" I asked knowing from the nurse's mind that she was ready and waiting in the visitors lounge.
"Sure is… couldn't imagine who must want to be seeing her, though, as the note had no name on it. Just clip this 'visitor' tag to your shirt pocket and you can go on in… down the hall to your left and take a right at the first turn – lounge is on the right, she's the only patient in there right now." She said.
I nodded my thanks to her and began down the hallway to my left. I reached the visitors lounge without incident and peeked around the corner inside. I couldn't believe the butterflies that suddenly sprang up in my stomach.
She sat facing the window, away from me. I walked slowly, silently toward her. To my great surprise she heard me; most humans could not hear us if we did not want them to.
"I know who you are and I want you to know I'm ready." She said; her voice quiet to human ears, but loud and clear to mine. I frowned at her meaning… her thoughts indicated she was talking to…how did she put it… the angel of death.
"I'm not death, Willow, just an old friend." I said, kneeling at her side.
She turned; a look of shock and terror crossed her face as she turned to face me. Her features were withered, but still recognizable. My Willow, beautiful, Willow.
"Edward Masen?! You're dead… you've been dead for ninety years." Her face calmed. "Are you here to lead me to heaven?" She asked quietly.
"That's why I'm here, Will… not to take your life, but to apologize. I didn't exactly stop existing when I died ninety years ago. But I couldn't bear to hurt you by staying around… I should have come before now." I said, words tumbling from my mouth.
I hadn't intended to tell her so bluntly if at all, but for some reason I never could keep my composure around Willow Charleson, now Mrs. Willow Patton.
In our youth she was, for lack of a better word, my sweetheart. Both of us were painfully bashful and we never actually courted. I heard from my friends that she felt the same about me as I did about her, but I never found out for myself; a week later I was ill with influenza, never to really recover.
"I knew you weren't dead, Edward. They never produced a body, I knew something had happened, but I knew you didn't really die." She said calmly. "I said so to everyone who would listen until they started considering putting me in an institution. Then after a while I started to think they might be right. But I always held on to hope." A single tear fell down her pale withered cheek as she spoke.
"I'm so sorry for the pain I've caused you." I said as I moved around to sit before her, looking up into her still beautiful face, though now etched with the lines of time and life.
"Don't apologize to me Edward. Send me home." She said as she reached out to touch my hand.
I withdrew it out of habit; humans usually started at the temperature of our bodies, but she would not be deterred, she reached further and grasped my hand in hers.
"I can't send you home, Will. I don't have that power." I said; my eyes down cast.
"Yes you can vampire." she said, her voice only barely above that of a whisper.
"Yes, I know what you are; what else could you be?"
I was speechless... how had she known?
"I expected you… I didn't know when – over these last few years I had heard of someone keeping up the old Masen place. I knew you had no relatives living. I inquired as to whom, they told me Edward Cullen, a distant relative of yours." She laughed feebly.
"I remembered Dr. Cullen… how young and beautiful he was. A friend of your father's he was, but his hands were so cold, his eyes would change between dark and light. I knew he cared for you when you were sick, you and your mother. I asked him about your body. Where it was, why hadn't you been given a better funeral… just a memorial service? His silence on the subject was deafening. "She smiled knowingly.
"I knew he was involved. It took me many years to put it all together, but after aloy of research, reading, and speaking with people that others labeled as 'lunatics' I put two and two together. I've known for over thirty five years." She smiled slyly.
Now my face was the one that registered shock. "Willow, why didn't you contact me then? I would have come."
"I know you would have, but I also know that you have a lot longer to register regret than I do; I wouldn't want you to feel undue remorse any longer than you must, Edward. It is a little late to tell you, but I was fond of you too. I only wish you'd not have fallen ill. I'm sure we would have courted." She said, a demure smile playing on her lips.
"How has your life been, Will? Have you been happy?" I asked, hoping to change the subject we were drawing close to; I wasn't sure I could handle it.
"It's been lovely, Edward. Three years after your death I married Robert Patton. We had three children, all of whom died in infancy. We had two girls, Sarah and Eleanor, and one boy, Edward Anthony. Twenty years ago Robert joined them and now it's my turn." She said.
"Don't talk like that, Will… you're going to live a long time yet." I said, though I could smell differently; just as flowers' unique scents become intensely sweet just before they die, so do humans, though, to my knowledge, it is detectable only to my kind.
"Don't toy with me, vampire. I'm old, but I'm not senile yet, and if I'm correct you can't go senile in a few days or so." She laughed easily.
"I'll stay with you, Will, if you want me to. I won't leave your side, not for a moment." I said, desperately hoping she would agree.
"I'd like that Edward. Very much; no one wants to die alone. I'd appreciate your presence more than you know." She whispered.
If I could cry I would have, of sadness, relief, sorrow. What a life I had wasted, she had known about what I was, and yet she trusted me here in this place.
I suppose she thought that no one here would really have anything else to lose and might even acquiesce to the opportunity of an assisted death. I never told her about my special diet, I felt there was no need; she was not afraid of me, nor was she afraid of death. She had lived a long life and felt she was ready to pass on to the next stage.
I stayed with her; I was by her side day and night, pretending to sleep in a chair every now and then when nurses would come in to tend to her needs. We talked endlessly about the past, the present and all its wonders and what the future would hold, mostly for me.
But mostly I just watched her sleep. I loved listening to her dreams, which were primarily memories of her life. She was right; it had been a lovely one. I was glad that she had gone on without me. In a way I wish I could have done the same, but if I had, there would be no one to hold her hand in her last days.
I suppose sometimes fate has a strange way of working things out.
A/N: Does that quell the curiosity a bit? I wrote this because I felt Edward needed a good reason to be so doggone moody all the time. Other than the fact that he was immortal and lonely and feeling all monstery and junk - that's already been done by a hot vampire... Louis (from Interview With The Vampire) so I decided to give Edward some background beyond what Stephenie tells us!
Hope you like!
Heads UP! -Next chapter will be up soon, if you don't have a box of tissues, I suggest you go buy one!-
Tootles! -Please review!-
