Daedalus in Exile
Chapter 4
~*~
I stood outside her door. Willing myself to go in. To do what needed to be done. She was on the other side. Injured and needing medical attention. This I could provide-assuming I didn't kill her first. I rested my forehead on the smooth wooden door and wrapped my fingers over the knob, trying to muster the courage to go inside.
I tuned my ears to my surroundings. The house hummed quietly; I'd turned up the heat so she would stay warm. Outside though, there was a stillness coating the forest. Even after dawn broke, the birds remained in their nests, waiting for another day to hunt and feed. The snow is what ultimately pulled me from my chair. I could see the bright reflective light, and was drawn to it, peeling myself out of the position I had held for hours and looked outside.
I stood at the window and peeked out the thick leaded-Glass windows. It had snowed heavily during the night, leaving a thick, white, icy blanket covering everything. At least five inches piled on the porch railing, before it toppled over onto the ground. My eyes roamed to the thermometer hanging from one of the posts, and I saw the temperature had dipped surprisingly low. Glancing to the sky, it seemed from the looks of the clouds overhead we were due for more snow before the day was over. There was an irony here somewhere. By harming Isabella the day before, I'd actually saved her. She wouldn't have survived this night alone. Not with her clothing, or her confusion, the weather, or the prey that had found her. The other prey that is.
I pressed my fingers to the window, feeling the coolness biting from the other side, and turned back to face the room. My chair beckoned me. I'd sat in it all night, using it as an anchor. Now that I was up, my invisible tether removed, I walked closer to the room, listening for any changes in her heartbeat or breathing. She still lay bloodied and unclean on the other side of the door. I knew at some point I would have to go in and do something. I just wasn't sure of my strength.
So now I stood, gathering courage to face the battered, weak girl, who possessed me. I rolled my eyes at myself, took a deep breath and turned the knob.
Isabella was as I had left her. Head resting on a blood soaked mattress, bundled under the patchwork quilt I'd laid across her frigid body the night before. I stood in the doorway adjusting, not breathing, just absorbing the sight before me, trying to decide what to do next.
My eyes scanned the room. It was small, part of the original structure. The dark, wood-paneled walls made it seem even smaller. It was sparsely furnished, since we obviously had little use for bedrooms and their trappings. The bed, the rocker in the corner, a small table and a dresser were really the only things that occupied the room. Carlisle purchased this home in 1871. It had two rooms then. The main room which included the kitchen and this room off the side. Even then, having two rooms was quite unusual. Over the years, Esme added to it, building it into a modern retreat. Or destination of exile. Whichever was needed. I'd lived here for almost three years and had never really come into this room. I'd never had a reason.
Now, of course, that had changed.
My fingers dove into my hair, pushing through to the tangled pieces at the end, and walked to the head of the bed. I dropped quickly to my knees before I could turn away, bracing myself for her proximity. Isabella's skin was so pale, almost as pale as my own. If I hadn't heard her heart beat ringing though my ears, I would wonder if she was even alive.
Tentatively, I pushed her neck gently with just a finger, shifting her head so I could see her injury better. I winced at the sight of the wound on the back of her head. Not at the wound itself but at the matted piles of blood clotting in her hair. My nostrils flared instinctively and venom flooded my throat. Dizzy and overwhelmed, I jumped up and ran out, the house, stumbling onto the snow-covered porch, gasping for air. My hands found the railing and my fingers buried themselves in the snow, relishing the shock of the ice.
She was so sweet and alluring. So tempting... I looked behind me, half expecting her to be there. Pale, with long flowing hair. But of, course she wasn't. She was in the bed, hurt and unable to move. Waiting for me to come help her. Shame and embarrassment would have colored my features if they could have.
I was surprised at this thought. I'd moved past feeling bad about my behavior years before. Even after I'd stopped killing—it wasn't remorse that I had felt. It was exhaustion, and sickness. I'd been searching for the elusive…something I could never find and it was driving me mad.
After I had left the gas station, well fed and energized, I tore through the remains of Alaska and into the Canadian wilderness. The high was amazing. No, it wasn't the blood I craved, and there was still a lingering desire to go back and take her, but the elation from having human blood pumping through my body for the first time in decades was enough.
Except, it wasn't.
After days of travel, I pulled my car into a hotel parking lot and went inside to the front desk. To my surprise, the clerk was waiting for me and offered me a key to a room, explaining that my companions had already checked in.
Companions.
A brief look in his mind showed me an image of Jasper and Alice registering into the hotel hours before.
I accepted my key, grabbed my bags and went to face the music.
They were waiting in silence, perched next to one another on the couch. Their minds focused on distractions to keep me out when I arrived. The only way Alice and I could survive together was to learn ways to keep one another out. I kept out of her mind on occasion and she kept out of my future. It was difficult, but necessary. I also had learned to save my decisions for the last minute, keeping her predictions foggy and unsure—she, in turn, blocked my mind reading in a variety of ways.
I walked in and tossed my luggage on the bed and began rummaging inside. I hadn't bathed or changed since I'd left Denali.
"Edward…" Alice began but I walked out of the room and into the spacious bathroom to shower. I closed the door with a solid click, yet didn't twist the lock. She wouldn't follow me.
I emerged twenty minutes later, clean and changed, my hair damp from the shower. They were waiting exactly the same way, other than the fact Jasper's hand was gripping the couch end so tightly, I thought it may snap.
I dropped into the chair across from the casually, whatever it was they had to say didn't interest me, but I could pretend for their sake. I ignored the way Alice couldn't stop looking at my eyes.
Jasper and Alice looked at one another, deciding who should speak first, when Jasper took the lead, "Look Edward, you know I'm not going to judge you for this. I've done worse, the fact this is your first mishap in seventy years is impressive. But it's time to come home."
"I'm not going home."
Alice jumped in this time, frantic almost. "We won't go home. We can go anywhere you want. Back to Chicago? To your home? Or South America? You loved it there."
"No."
She stood up this time, untwining her hand from her husband's and falling to her knees before me. Jasper turned his eyes in pain, running his hand through his hair uncomfortably.
Don't you dare hurt her.
His words pounded in my head.
"You can't do this. I've seen it. The path you're on right now will destroy you—all of us. Come back, it's not too late. Bella, she—"
I cut her off with a roar, jumping to my feet, "Do not mention her name!"
Before Alice could get to her feet, Jasper was between us, protectively pushing Alice aside. "You have a choice here, Edward. We always do. Carlisle taught us all that. Don't blow it." His words came out measured and calm, but the anger was clear under the surface.
Alice ducked under Jasper's arm and whispered, "I've seen what you'll do. Horrible, horrible things."
She presented me with a flash, accumulation of her visions, of girl upon girl, all looking like Isabella, but none actually being her. They were drained, broken, bodies--limp and red. I was there, every time, wiping my mouth of their fluids, my eyes tinged red, my face hard and emotionless.
"Stop," I directed, clutching my head in my hands, but she didn't stop—it continued on until I screamed, "Stop!"
Alice fell into Jasper's side, heaving tearless sobs, and I moved quickly across the room to gather my things. I went to the door, and pressed my head to the wood, sighing heavily.
"I'm sorry." I spoke to the air, wanting to believe the words as they crossed my lips.
I wrenched open the door and stepped onto the plush carpet that lined the floor. I made a quick exit to the stairway at the end of the long hall.
Edward! This is bigger than you. I've seen it. You think you can escape, but you can't…
Alice was screaming these words in her mind and they bounced off my back, as I ran down the stairs. I didn't want her visions. I didn't need their support or their understanding.
I'd only needed to get away.
The memory stunned me as I stood on the cold porch. Alice knew even then I couldn't escape this fate. But again, we had free will—we could make our own decisions. And although I still wasn't sure where my destination was, at that moment I decided my first steps.
~*~
Taking several last gulps of air, I went back inside, and shut the door to the cold air behind me. I darted immediately up the stairs, on a mission this time, and opened the linen closet, pulling out several clean cloths and towels. Around the house, I found some alcohol and gathered two bowls--one filled with water, and went back to the guest room.
Isabella was exactly where I left her, her head still pushed to reveal her wounds. I went to her side, placing the bowls on the bedside table and the linens on the edge of the bed. Something in me altered. I felt a noticeable switch in my demeanor. As I methodically dipped the cloth into the water and began cleaning the wound, I was no longer Edward the vampire, instead I was more like I imagined Carlisle was, a doctor and healer.
Her hair was so thick and matted that I considered cutting it, but this seemed wrong, so I persevered. Using my fingers, I separated the strands of her hair and diligently wiped each piece with the cloth, ignoring the red-streaked marks left behind with each pass. Once I tugged too hard, having caught on a thick, matted section and surprised myself by whispering "Sorry," under my breath, and checked to see if the poking and prodding had roused her.
Eventually though, I removed all the sticky blood and the cut proved smaller than expected. I did notice there was a large amount of swelling and bruising across the back of her head and I wiped the cut with alcohol, hoping infection had not set in from my earlier neglect. Relieved that the wound was no longer bleeding, I still suspected she should have stitches, although I didn't have the supplies needed to perform the procedure. Instead I wrapped her head carefully with cloth and assessed the rest of her body.
Her long sleeved t-shirt was stained with blood, now dried for the most part. I had made it and the bed wet in my efforts to clean her up. Her jeans were dirty from her time in the woods and her fall and I realized, with a bit of apprehension, I needed to get rid of her clothing. The blood alone needed to be removed for her safety and my sanity.
I paused over her, unsure how to proceed. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I shifted some as I considered the task at hand. I'd never removed a woman's clothing before. I'd never even seen a woman undressed before-outside of other's minds. Seeing Isabella without clothing seemed unnatural and odd. She was my nemesis. A prize. After all this time, I'd come to possess her and stripping her of her clothing seemed almost inappropriately demeaning.
But I was helping her, I rationalized, my hands fisted into tight balls in my pockets. I was acting as her doctor. She needed to be cleaned, in order to get better. I needed her clean in order not to slip up. The thought of her blood strengthened my resolve and I moved towards the bed. I reached for her shirt and reasoned it couldn't be removed over her head, not after I just cleaned and bandaged it. Taking a razor sharp fingernail, I easily sliced through the fabric, cutting it straight down the middle. I kept my eyes adverted, not looking at her stomach or her chest or the way her collarbone jutted out so sharply.
"I'm not looking," I said to the quiet room, keeping my eyes on her face. "You just need to get out of these clothes."
My voice was too loud, strange. It echoed off the hardwoods, but for some reason, I continued.
"I'm throwing away this shirt. Burning it even. Not that you could use it torn like this." I rambled about, moving my hands to the closure of her jeans, keeping my eyes locked on her smooth eyelids. "I think I can wash these pants and your coat, although your other things…it may be too…much."
Her pants came down easily, once I shifted them over her rear. I never allowed my fingers to touch her flesh, I never stopped to see the dip next to her hip, or the curved out hollow of her navel. I did notice that her legs pricked with goose bumps, her skin cold from contact with the air, and once I was finished I threw the blanket quickly back over her body.
"I'm a doctor," I stated to no one--to her. "I've been through medical school twice. Your injury is unclear, although I suspect you will wake soon. It wasn't that severe." I was trying to justify my presence, my hands on her body, the reason I kept lingering near her.
I realized belatedly that I had nothing to re-dress her in--that her backpack was left in the woods, near the remains of a mountain lion and a blood-covered rock. I also realized that I couldn't leave her in this room, on a blood-stained mattress. It would have to be removed and destroyed. Isabella would have to take up residence in another part of the house.
I sighed and whispered, "I'm going to have to move you—to another room. This one…," my eyes slid to the blood stain, "won't do."
Steadying myself, I pushed my fingers under the weight of her body, between her warm flesh and the heated sheets of the bed and lifted her up into my arms. I cradled her head in the crook of my elbow, keeping it as still as possible and carried her from the room, up the stairs and into the hallway. I paused, unsure of what to do. My room was to the left. I didn't sleep there, of course, but I used it in a variety of ways. I frowned at the proximity. This girl was now too close, entering my space, disturbing my solitude.
My eyes fluttered down to her body, hanging limply over my arms under the quilt, and I groaned. I brought her here and did this to myself.
"Well," I said aloud, "I guess this will do." And turned to the right, to the room across from my own and placed her on the bed. I ran to the bathroom and pulled towels from the racks and smoothed them under her head to keep the blood from spilling onto this mattress as well.
I stood over her. She looked smaller in this bed. It was larger, with an extravagant, ornate, iron headboard, and a thick down comforter on top. The fabric was a deep blue, causing her skin to stand out in contrast. "I should find you some clothes…" I muttered, feeling stupid for talking to her, but still feeling the compulsion to do so. It provided a distraction from my thoughts and musings. It made her human and it made me feel the same way.
I said these words but continued to hover, as though waiting for a response I knew wouldn't come. Again, I fisted my hands into my pockets and left the room, going into my own. She needed something to wear. Anything. I couldn't let her wake up naked and alone with a man. A strange man, at that. I laughed at the thought. In fact, I bent over in hysteria at the idea. A strange man? Yes. I was strange. But not only a man.
A predator, a murderer. An addict.
I struggled to compose myself. Leaning my body against the wall of my room, I exhaled. The last twenty-four hours had been surreal. The hunt and the girl--now I was pushing clothes around in my closet looking for something that she could wear that wouldn't hurt her head when I put it on.
It was ridiculous.
I was ridiculous. I was a raving, talking to comatose girls, kidnapping, clothes burning, doctor-faking fool.
With an audible groan, I flung the clothing aside and snatched the first button down shirt I saw off a hanger. Slamming the door behind me, I walked into the other room and stood over the blanketed Isabella and with vampire speed quickly redressed her, checked her wound one more time and walked out of the room to prepare for what came next.
A little progression. Still plan on once a week updates.
Let me know what you think.
Thanks:
to my betas Lts929~happy birthday!
And Bethaboo who has an awesome new fic out-i'll link it on my faves.
And AG who you know makes me happy (whoalsohasabirthdaycomingupbutimnotsureimsupposedtotell)
And OCD, because no matter what other people think. I think yer kinda awesome.
Oh and i have a thread on twilighted dot net-thanks cartnee! come play or ask questions if you have them
angel
