Chapter Three
My Beautiful Rescue

I've been jumping from the tops of buildings
For the thrill of the fall ignoring sound advice
And any thought of consequence
My bones have shattered
My pride is shattered
And in the midst of this self inflicted pain
I can see my beautiful rescue

Jacob Black returned to his empty mansion on the outskirts of town around ten o'clock that evening. He had been to Edward's parents' funeral, and he'd felt very, very awkward in the midst of so many grieving strangers. He had merely gone to support Edward, but, to his great aggravation, had not seen his friend during the whole four hours he'd been there. It wasn't that big of a deal, actually, because he spent a good amount of the time talking to Bella Swan from his third period English class. They'd actually had a lot of fun talking, and even exchanged numbers and e-mails. She was really a very beautiful girl, and he wished in vain that she weren't taken.

Jacob sighed, hoping that the maid had left something good to eat in the oven. On his way through the foyer to the kitchen, however, Jacob saw the answering machine blinking. Curious, he went over to check the messages.

There were four, which was an unusually high number for the home phone. No one ever called his father here; they usually called on his cell. But the number was clear in all its digital glory, four lines construing the "four," illuminated in green.

Jacob pressed the button to hear the messages.

The first was the very calm, slow voice of Sam Uley. "Billy? It's Sam, and if you're there, pick up. I've got wonderful news that I'm sure you'll be very pleased to hear…" silence. "Oh, never mind. You're probably in your office, anyway, right? I'll come over in person…"

So Sam had been here, Jacob speculated. He'd always liked Sam. A family friend for years, Sam had been one of the original investors in Black and Company, he'd babysat Jacob for Billy when Jake was only six, and he'd asked Billy to be the best man at his and Emily's wedding. Jacob liked Sam – looked up to him as an older brother.

The second message was slightly more confusing.

"Mr. Black? Billy? God, Billy, what the fuck happened, today? Where did you go? You left your cell phone here… Well… call me when you get in or get this or whichever comes first."

Jacob looked at the machine in confusion. Had his father not returned home yet, or just not checked the machine? Before panic could sweep Jacob up, the next message started to play.

"Jacob? It's Bella Swan! I was driving home, and… oh my God, Jacob, something terrible has happened to Edward! I don't know what's wrong with him! Call me when you get this, please!"

Jacob's face was utterly blank from all the emotions he'd just felt. The initial jubilance from the sound of Bella's soft voice, the panic he'd felt when she said something had happened to Edward, and the hint of jealousy at her concern for Edward. He tried to compose himself enough to make sense of the last message.

"Jake, it's me again. I just wanted to let you know that Edward's in the hospital. I'm here, too, and we're in room B203. It's like, nine-thirty, and… Um… if you get this before visiting hours are over, you should probably come down. It's… pretty bad. I'll see you later, hopefully. 'Bye."

Any tinge of jealousy previously held for Edward vanished as this message finished. Jacob wondered what on earth had happened that was so horrible. Nonetheless, he pulled his jacket back on and grabbed his car keys from off the hook, taking off through the door to go see what had happened to his friend.


Edward lay in the hospital bed, unmoving and unconscious. Bella sat next to him, still in her funeral attire, clashing horribly with the room of white.

It always unnerved Bella to be in hospitals, ever since she was little. The smell of blood, death, and grieving that clung to the atmosphere gave her the willies, and she'd always associated the white rooms with that discomfiting feeling. And yet, here she was, sitting next to Edward Cullen's cot in the little hospital of Forks. Why, she was not sure.

It had been a scary experience. Bella had been driving down the road, singing to a song by This Providence.

She'd turned a sharp left extra slowly because of the rain when she'd seen the disconcerting sight.

Edward was lying motionless and unbreathing on the ground, his skin paperwhite and blood oozing out of a wound in his neck and where his head seemed to have hit the pavement. The blood drained from her face, and Bella slammed on the break, impulsively honking the horn. As she did so, however, Edward's chest rose in a gasp of air, and relief practically drowned Bella. She leapt from the car, calling to him.

Stand up, she pleaded with no one in particular. Please, stand up. Walk away, just stand up and walk away from this, please…

But even as she silently pleaded, Edward's breathing seemed to get slower and shallower. Bella quickly reached for her phone and dialed 911, her fingers flying over the keys.

"911, what is your emergency?" came a cool, female voice over the line.

Temporarily forgetting the emergency phonecall as Edward stirred, Bella sighed in relief before addressing him again. "Edward?"

"Ma'am?" The impatience was becoming ominous in the woman's voice. She thought this was a joke.

"Oh, yes, um. I'm on Burlington Road, I- I think there's been an accident."

"Is an ambulance required?"

"Yes."

The line went dead, and Bella only hoped that meant one was coming.

When the men in white had taken Edward away, Bella followed in her car, lying to the secretary and telling her she was Edward's cousin so that she could follow him into the room. Normally, Bella was sure, Edward's uncle, Carlisle, would have tended to him, as he worked in the hospital. But today, he had taken off for a funeral that had felt like it'd taken place years ago, rather than a few hours.

The doctor that did take care of Edward was constantly scuffling around to the other side of the bed, mumbling to himself all the while. It became very agitating. It seemed he'd finally reached his verdict as he straightened up.

"Well, he may have a concussion…" his voice trailed. Bella waited. When he didn't continue, she practically jumped on him and ripped out the little hair he had left.

"And?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

The doctor flushed, looking flustered, and addressed his keyboard when he continued. "And… we're not sure how he attained the wound on his neck. It… it looks almost as if someone bit him, but there's no saliva to suggest that. I… I see no reason why he won't make a full recovery."

"But," Bella stopped the doctor as he turned to leave the room, "why is he unconscious?"

"Oh, well, um," he addressed the clipboard once again. "The head trauma that he's suffered may have caused him to slip into a submissive state of mind. Er," the doctor calculated Bella's confused look, "he's in a coma."

The words hit Bella so hard, it was as if she'd ran headlong into a brick wall. The doctor turned to leave, and Bella turned to sit next to the bed that Edward was laying on. He was hooked up to so many machines, it was hard to tell which were monitoring him, and which was the airconditioner, and his face was so white that it matched the white pillow, sheets, and walls of the room.

Bella didn't know what she was going to do. She'd tried calling the Cullen's house, but there'd been no answer. Besides, it was kind of late. If Carlisle and Esme had already hit the sack, she didn't exactly want to drag them out of bed after such a long, depressing day. Edward's watch beeped, signifying nine-thirty. The silence – besides the relentlessly beeping monitors – was overbearing, and Bella didn't know what to do. She finally decided to call Jacob Black. He had been at the funeral, too. He must've been friends with Edward, because Alice and Emmett had never mentioned him before. The machine picked up, and Bella left a message. After that process had been eliminated, she was restless again.Without anything else to do, Bella studied Edward.

It wasn't as if she needed to try and memorize his near perfect facial features. She knew that face by heart, knew those eyes by heart, that voice… but she couldn't keep her eyes off him for long.

Bella stared at his long, angular nose and high cheekbones She longed to touch his unblemished skin and weave her hands throughout his bronze-colored, silky, smooth hair. And his eyes… even though they were closed right now, she could never forget the emerald green strands that colored his eyes, making them look like emeralds peeking out of the snow with his milky-white complexion.

Bella realized tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she promptly felt foolish. She had a boyfriend that worshipped the ground she walked on, and Edward barely said three words to her nowadays. Why was she sitting here, next to his lifeless form, pining for a boy that she could never have?

Speaking of which, Mike would kill her if he knew she was here. In the past hour, he'd called her six times, probably to ask how the funeral was. She'd tell him it was sad, and he'd say: "Want me to come over?" and she'd tell him no. He'd come anyway,find out she wasn't at home, and go into a jealous rage when she did tell him where she was. So, Bella had simply not picked up the phone.

Mike was getting old, anyway. All he ever tried to do recently was get into Bella's pants. She'd always held him off, but how long was it going to be, now? How many more excuses could she make? Sure, there was one excuse that that would put him off for about a week, but the other three of that month were constant foreplay for Mike Newton, and, quite frankly, Bella was getting sick of it.

And, even more lately than ever, Bella found her thoughts always on Edward, fantasizing about having him as her boyfriend. It was in vain hope, though, as she was sure Edward never liked her. He'd had his chance – numerous chances. But he'd never acted upon them.

Bella sighed, gazing at his lifeless form, again. His features seemed even more perfect and pronounced than they had a moment ago. Bella frowned, now, deep in thought. She'd heard somewhere that if you talked to a coma patient – treated them like they weren't sleeping – that they were more likely to wake up.

"Well, Edward," she sighed. "Where to begin?"


The light came back, but the pain had not left. Paralyzed, Edward lay on the somehow comfortable and warm road. There was an obnoxious, steadily beeping noise, and a soft voice, murmuring things to him.

Edward wished he could turn his head toward the voice, maybe let his eyes open and look at the beautiful source from whence it came, but it felt as though every muscle in his body had been ripped to shreds, as though every bone had been shattered, as though each and every fiber of his body was on fire.

All that Edward could do was continue to breath, and even slowly at that, and try to concentrate on that voice from behind his black eyelids.

"…and I don't know what I want anymore, Edward. I mean, I knew I never really wanted Mike, but he'd always seemed like a nice guy. All he wants from me now, though, is sex, and it's not something I want to give him.

"And Jacob Black seems really nice. Honestly, half the time I wish I wasn't friends with the people I'm friends with. I wish I could come over and sit at your lunch table instead of mine. It's beyond boring, let me tell you… I always have to listen to Emmett and Jasper talking about cars, and Mike is always looking for someone to tell his latest lacrosse story to. It's the most monotonous and predictable lunch table you could imagine.

"Actually, Edward, I've been thinking about you a lot lately. More than is probably healthy, actually. Remember, that day? You saved me from drowning? Well… I don't know if you realized, but you saved me from that fate only to damn me to another." The angelic voice sighed, longingly. "You know, I may not have drowned in that river, but I certainly have drowned in you. Edward… Christ, I can't believe I'm about to say this… Edward, I think I love you."

The beeping on the monitors started to pick up the pace, beeping faster and faster until the rate at which they were moving sounded more like one long beep rather than many. In fact, Edward realized, it was a flat line beep. And time seemed to slow down.

He was dead. Edward was dead. Here he was, lying in what seemed to be a hospital… dead. But, if he was dead… how could he feel the pain that was still coursing through him? How could he smell the urine on his clothes and the blood that was suddenly pouring out of his mouth? How could he hear Bella calling for help? Death was supposed to be like dreamless sleep, not an agonized existence. Had he done something wrong? Had he died wrong? He didn't see how that was possible. But death was the end and Edward was positive that you were supposed to stop feeling. He must not truly be dead, then, he concluded. It was the only explanation. The machine had malfunctioned. Edward wanted to say something, reassure Bella, calm her down, tell her that her love was not unrequited, that he loved her, too, but the only thing that was coming out of his mouth was blood.

He felt hands all over him, and a shock of electricity went through his body. But the heart monitor stayed flatlined, even as he continued to bleed.

"Don't, Edward, don't leave. We need you here… don't leave…" Bella was sobbing, and suddenly, another voice joined the commotion.

"What's going on? What's happening?" the kind, husky voice of Edward's new best friend, Jacob Black, asked, also frantic.

"I don't know," came an unfamiliar voice. "I've never seen anything like this!"

Edward wanted to say something – anything – that would make them realize that he was, indeed, alive, but his jaw seemed locked and his throat felt raw, and the blood was still trickling down the side of his face, coming out of his nose, now, too.

"I'm sorry," came a deep voice. "Your brother is dead."

There was silence – aside from the screaming monitors and frantic murmurs of the surrounding doctors, all of whom were trying to bring Edward back.

And then he felt it. The worst pain he'd ever felt – heartbreak. Only it was not in the metaphorical term, this time. It felt as if his heart had been nothing but a glass bomb, and it exploded. Shards of glass were sent all throughout Edward's body, stabbing his lungs and making them fail, stabbing his kidnys and liver and stomach. Everything felt as though it was being deflated as his vital organs all ceased working.

Urine came out, again, proving that his bladder had failed, and if Edward would have had the chance to breathe through all the blood, he would not have been able to, for his lungs had collapsed. Edward wished with all his might that if everything was going to stop working, so would his Goddamned nerves so that this pain would all stop.

And it did.

Suddenly, Edward felt fine. Better than fine, he felt perfect. As if there'd never been any of the recent lapses of pain.

Finally, he thought. I'm dead.

But when he opened his eyes, he was not dead. He seemed to be in a drawer – a very closed in space in which he felt as though his body would never fit. He was in the morgue.

Edward was naked, for which he was somewhat thankful. It would have been an awful thing to wake up in urine soaked clothes. Edward wondered how on earth he was going to get out of this morgue drawer. No one would hear him yell, and no one was going to open it any time soon.

And then, Edward felt it. A new fire had erupted within him – within his throat. A thirst unlike any he had ever known overtook Edward, and he didn't care what he had to do to get out of this drawer and drink the first liquid he could lay his hands on. No, scratch that. There was something Edward wanted, the only thing that could quench his thirst. But what, he did not know. Water didn't seem thick enough to put out this fire. No, Edward wanted something more than water.

But what?

And then, there were footsteps outside his secluded little drawer. They stopped right outside his, and a rustle of keys told Edward he was opening a drawer. Perhaps if he banged on the walls of this little compartment, whoever was out there would hear him.

Edward tried to get his arm up – to make a rukkus in this secluded cube – but the limited amount of space prevented him from making the noise he needed to be heard.

It made no difference, as a key slid into the lock and someone pulled open Edward's drawer.

"Ah, hello Edward. Good to see you're done changing," said a friendly voice with a slightly British accent. And Edward looked up into smiling, kindly, topaz eyes.