All characters are the property of Stephenie Meyer. All original characters and storylines belong to some gal who drives a Subaru covered with stickers. We don't know why she drives it, but after reading some of the stickers, we kinda get that she has a bizarre sense of humor.
Check out my blog for updates, teasers, pic references and additional notes and comments about today's post... gkkstitch-gkkmouse(dot)blogspot(dot)com
**Be sure to check out the Indies! Nominations are open - short stories & novellas included this time! Get yours in today! **
www (dot) theindietwificawards (dot) com/nominations (dot) aspx
Chapter 7: When the faithful question
Halifax, Nova Scotia
The air was still as the shadows lengthened into dusk. Only the speed of their passing stirred the ravaged leaves of the brush and trees. They leapt over fallen trees and broken limbs without a sound. Edward held his pace to Carlisle's as they slipped through the undergrowth and debris left from the hurricane. They raced past prey that was too small to bother with. Porcupines, raccoons and fisher fled back into their nests and dens.
They came upon a small herd of whitetail deer, but Edward heard no change of focus from Carlisle as they approached and then passed the herd. They continued to run, ignoring the damp that began to accumulate on their clothes as they ran through the still rain soaked landscape. At the scent of a coyote pack, however, they veered together. Edward and Carlisle fell on the pack and all seven animals dropped before they even registered there were intruders.
Edward drank slowly, glancing at Carlisle as he fed. He watched his father and mentor, admiring his precision and care with his prey. Carlisle's approach to the kill was as different from the rest of them as it possibly could be. His humanity prevented him from toying with his prey as Emmett did. Unlike Jasper who leapt onto his prey alive and fed until the animal dropped, Carlisle found no joy in the kill, only the necessity of it. Even the women were more vicious in the manner of their hunts. Carlisle's approach was simple and quick, and because of his skill it was disconcerting, even to another vampire's eyes, how quickly the quarry fell when Carlisle was hunting, as if his presence alone caused the animal's death.
Carlisle finished with one animal and moved to a second before Edward finished his first. Seeing his father's hunger, Edward took his time and only moved to the second coyote when Carlisle finished his third. When that animal was drained as well, Edward waved Carlisle to the last.
Edward leaned away from the kill and watched Carlisle finish. "It's not like you to ignore your hunger like this," he said quietly, as he recalled Carlisle's words to him as a newborn encouraging him to keep himself well-fed to help fight off temptations.
Carlisle did not look up. He watched his hand stroke over coyote's pelt instead. "I suppose not," he answered softly.
When he offered no more explanation, Edward crossed his legs Indian-style, signaling that he expected a long talk. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," came the reply
"You're quiet. Even your thoughts," Edward pointed out, hearing only his own words echoing back through Carlisle's mind. "It's like your mind is empty."
Is it? Carlisle's mind seemed to ask itself. "I suppose it is."
Edward's concern grew when he continued to hear nothing. The blankness was like a void of apathy. "Carlisle," he whispered, "whatever this is has been building in you for a long time."
With a heavy sigh, Carlisle ran his hand over his head.
"Esme is worried about you," Edward continued to urge him.
"I know," Carlisle confessed.
Heartened by even this small admission, Edward pressed his advantage. "You've never kept things from us like this, and you know we can all see it eating at you."
I'm sorry about what I said earlier. Carlisle let the apology float to his gifted son. I never meant to question your judgment in friends.
"I know," Edward replied, shaking his head, "but this..." he paused, unwilling to label it, "depression," he added low, "was eating at you long before Rolle came."
The small motion Carlisle made was both a nod of agreement as well as an admission.
"It was Montreal, wasn't it," Edward asked rhetorically.
Carlisle stroked the pelt of the coyote again. I don't think I know how to come to terms with it. Images flooded his mind of the victims of that horrific attack, blending with the images of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon from the attacks in 2001. Those images blurred together with a flurry of images of battered women, beaten children, wounded soldiers, and a bevy of murder victims.
As Carlisle looked over the coyote pack, he was struck with the irony that he, a vampire, cared more about human life than the humans gifted with it. His thoughts turned to Edward and how he struggled against taking Bella's life, even though he loved the idea of her life more than his own and couldn't survive without her. Even Rolle, who was never taught different, carried over that respect for life into what he became. The assassin valued life and thought himself damned for his sins in his mortal life. These vampires had more regret about killing than humans did.
"Not all people are like that, Carlisle," Edward reminded him.
"We don't know what anyone is really like until you put them in a situation desperate enough," he replied quickly.
Edward leaned forward. "What happened at the hospital that day? Please," he begged, "let me help."
Carlisle ran a hand over the back of his neck and raised his eyes to Edward without raising his head. The worry and love in his son's eyes could not be mistaken. In a flash, he recalled all the time he had comforted Edward, helped him adjust to this life, and Carlisle felt the overwhelming paradox of a parent-figure who suddenly realizes their child can shoulder burdens, even as he recognized that Edward was already a man in his world when he was turned.
Edward nodded once in encouragement.
For all those who rise above their fear to become heroes, there are many more who cannot, Carlisle thought and he swallowed hard as a tightness formed around his eyes and mouth. A picture formed in his mind of two small children: twins. They looked about three-years old — a boy and a girl with brown curly hair and smiling green eyes. As Carlisle remembered that day, Edward felt himself pulled into the memory as if he were there himself; captured in the perfect memory of a vampire's clarity...
~•~
...He walked into the elevator foyer that separated the garage from the hospital's main entrance and spied the odd little family immediately. The father was a non-descript man in his early thirties who would have been overlooked if not for the two young creatures running about his feet. The boy was dressed in a brown and orange outfit that came over the top of his head in the shape of an animal snout. The girl was dressed in a pink dress with sparkles and a tiara on her head.
Carlisle smiled at the sight and continued to his office. He saw them again in the clinic as he picked up charts, and later again in the hall as he made his way past the cafeteria.
"Whoa, there!" Carlisle laughed as two laughing children plowed into his knees.
"Emmett Michael! Emily!" called a man's scolding voice. "I'm sorry about that."
"It's quite all right," Carlisle assured, then looked down at the children. "Did Halloween sneak up on me again?" he asked the children.
"No, this is magic day," the girl, Emily, answered.
"Magic day?" Carlisle asked with a grin. "So you're dressed up like a fairy?"
"Noo," Emmett cried on his sister's behalf. "She's a pwincess."
"A princess? Are you sure? She looks like Tinkerbell," Carlisle argued back.
"Noo," both children cried together, then Emily explained, " Tinkahbell has wings!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Carlisle said gravely. "And what are you, young man? A cow?"
"No, I'm a jerass," he said proudly.
Carlisle blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'm a jerass!" Emmett said again.
"He's a jerass," Emily repeated.
Carlisle opened his mouth in dismay. "A-a jerass?" he asked.
"No! Jer - ASS!" Emmett said slowly.
Carlisle could not stop himself from laughing as the father took pity on him and explained.
"He's a giraffe," the father explained. "Still having a little trouble pronouncing his effs."
"Oh!" Carlisle couldn't help himself. He looked back at the boy and asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather be a cow?" thinking he could save the father some embarrassment.
He was mistaken.
The boy fairly shouted, "NO, I'M A JERASS!"
Half the bystanders in the hall turned to look. Carlisle clapped his hand over his mouth in horror and delight.
Emily reached out and tugged on Carlisle's sleeve. "Are you a doctuh?"
"Yes, I am," he said, still smiling.
"Cuz we see'd a seagull outside and it was dead," she continued.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Carlisle said, immediately falling back into the role of comforting doctor.
"Do you know what happened to him?" the girl asked in all seriousness.
Carlisle masked his concern and glanced at the child's father, unsure how he'd prefer a doctor to answer such a delicate question.
"The seagull died and went to heaven, honey," the father answered kindly.
Emmett turned to him and earnestly asked, "Did God throw him back down then?"
Carlisle bit his lips to keep from smiling.
Emily reached out and hit her brother. "You gotta call him by his name, you turkey butt."
"Emily!" the father scolded. "Don't call your brother names."
"How do you know what his name is?" Emmett challenged, phased neither by being hit nor being called names.
"Cuz they said so in church when we'd was praying wiss da teachah," Emily said, enjoying the attention of the three men around her. "Our ssadder who does art in heaven, Hawold is his name. Amen!"
Emmett tilted his head. "God's name is Hawold?" he asked sincerely confused.
Carlisle could not stop himself this time and stood back laughing.
There was no warning when it happened — no distant rumble, no shuddering floors, no sound except those from Carlisle's delighted laughter at the children. Then the whole world exploded.
The world around them ripped itself apart and vomited itself into the open hall. The floors weren't there anymore. Light didn't exist. Fire enveloped everything. The only thing that remained was the hideous sounds of concrete screaming in agony. Large chunks of the building's flesh rent itself from its body, fell inward, shot outward, collapsed under its own weight, and folded in on itself as if its bones suddenly disintegrated.
A smothering sensation overwhelmed everything. There was no thought, no sight, no sound, no feeling but for total, absolute, blinding fear that ripped through flesh and severed bodies. Frantic clawing fingers seized futilely at the shifting and decaying flesh of the building as it turned to dust before their blinded eyes.
And the world fell away.
Dust and glass showered them as they plummeted through the debris, becoming one with the girders and masonry and wood... burnt and rent and crushed under the weight of tons of rubble. Water pipes burst, rupturing their life's blood onto whatever passed in its fount. Gas mains ruptured outrageously, spitting their fiery venom in a kaleidoscopic breath of light and heat. It became a bizarre and hideous game of paper, rocks and scissors: fire beats paper, water beats fire, rock beats everything.
Then the world turned itself inside out.
The noise was unending; a thunderstorm that couldn't spend itself, rumbling, rolling, never stopping. Down, down, down, it all tumbled, spilled, smashed. Twisting, tearing, crushing in its haste. Movement began to stop for some, continued for others. Everything piled upon itself and slowed. Slowly, after what felt like days, a dangerous and precarious balance was reached until there was nothing left to do. The fuel had been spent. The energy potential had been used.
And the rest was silence.
The only sound was the crackle of the gas fires; the hiss of falling dust; the odd pebble tumbling to its resting place between the cracks. And then the screaming began...
Dazed by the blast but unharmed, Carlisle pushed himself free. He was covered in soot and blood from an unknown source. Coughs and painful cries of fear filled the air. Carlisle found he was panting and tried to make himself stop. Rubble continued to spill down on him.
He heard the faint cry of a child. The children! Powerful and frantic hands began pushing away concrete and girders. There was movement around him. A few gray lumps of debris awkwardly separated itself from the rubble in the shape of people covered in dust. They were as pale as Carlisle himself, slowly and painfully rising from the destruction. Tears and blood streaked their bodies, but Carlisle continued to dig to find the children hoping they were close, hoping they were all right. He dug further. As the wreckage shifted the cries grew less obstructed, a girl's cries.
"Emily!" Carlisle shouted to her.
His hand pressed into soft powdered fake fur. As he touched it, the dust rose to reveal a brown and bronze spot. The body under the fur was lifeless. Carlisle's hand felt no life, no pulse, no blood coursing beneath the skin. A warm wetness seeped into the material under his fingertips.
"No," Carlisle gasped. He heard the cries again as one of the ashen faces became recognizable in his peripheral vision as that of the father. "Here!" he called to the man. "They're here!"
The father rose from the rubble, his eyes wide and unseeing.
"Help me!" Carlisle yelled to him.
Another smaller explosion nearby shifted debris again, and the man lurched up and bolted away.
"Stop!!" Carlisle shouted after him in shock. "Stop!" The muffled cries from the debris called him back from his appalled dismay as the children's father fled for his life.
Though his hands dug into the poisonous rubble, his eyes could not stop replaying the shameless flight he had just witnessed. A father! Leaving his children in their greatest moment of need? Concrete crumbled under his powerful fingers as he dug. Maybe the man wasn't their true father? Maybe he was a stepfather? Carlisle's mind tried to understand. They were only babies! Was it only a moment ago he was laughing at them?
Our father who does art in heaven... Carlisle began their prayer. Harold is his name... Something pink-gray appeared under a ceiling tile. Thy kingdom come, they will be done... The cries were getting weaker. On earth as it is in heaven... Emily's face appeared, her hair matted with blood. Give us this day our daily bread... Carlisle heaved an iron pipe off her and out of the debris. And forgive us... forgive us... Emily's hand was clutched around her brother's.
"Daddy?" she asked, and she was gone...
~•~
...Carlisle sat across from the man he thought of as his own son and shook his head. "I saw him, that man, outside later, laying amongst the other victims. The others were weeping as they pleaded for news of their loved ones, but not him."
Edward's face was tight with emotion he could barely contain. He remembered the unusually emotional way Carlisle had greeted Emmett as they packed to leave Montreal. He saw now the names of the children in Carlisle's mind as he scanned the paper listing the victims of that black day: Emily Michelle and Emmett Michael.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he whispered.
"I didn't want Esme to think I was able to share it with you, but not with her. I couldn't... Children... I couldn't put her through that, not after all she had lost before we found her."
Carlisle's mind once again pictured their Emmett, unconscious on the ground; his severed arm lying away from his body. Edward shuddered at the connection Carlisle made between the two namesakes.
"A father protects his children," Carlisle whispered.
§∞•••∞§
Paris, France
Rolle slid his fingers across her temple and brow, and waited. Rachel rolled her head away from his hand and into the cool smooth touch of his lips. Her sigh turned into a hum as she pressed into his gentle caress. He pressed a kiss at the corner of her eye.
"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.
She hummed again at the comfort his voice held and rolled her body toward his, taking a deep breath as she felt the length of his entire body against her own, right down to her toes curling slowly against his.
"Rachel," he whispered, his hands traveling slowly over her back and ribs.
"Mmm," was the only word she could form.
"Can you come back to me, honey?" he asked. He trailed his fingers over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm.
She smiled at his endearment. "Did I go somewhere?" she murmured.
He pressed his lips to her brow, dragging his nose along her forehead to her temple. "Kinda." His answer confused her but she felt him smile against her temple.
"Mmm," she answered again, running her hand over his chest. "Rolle?"
He ran his fingers between hers with a feather-like caress. "Yeah?" he whispered.
"Did you call me honey?" she asked with a smile.
He pursed his lips against her temple. "Yeah." Then he paused and quietly asked, "Is that okay?"
She squeezed closer to him, sliding her leg between his with a slow sigh. "Yeah."
"How do you feel?" he asked, nuzzling his nose against her ear.
"Glorious," she purred with a stupid smile on her face that she hoped he was too close to really see.
"Mmm," he hummed, his hands moving over her hip and thigh. Then he said the words that almost made her come. "Can I have you again?" he asked as his hand came up to trace the outer curve of her breast.
She raised her eyes to look into his. His eyes were smiling back at her, but they weren't, not entirely. He wasn't unhappy, either. He knew what he wanted, but he looked unsure. He wanted her, but his expression confused her; as if he thought he shouldn't, or maybe he didn't think he had the right to ask.
Regardless of what was going on in his head, Rachel knew she wanted him again. She couldn't have him hard like that again, not yet, but by his light touches and kisses, she could tell that wasn't what he had in mind. She found it erotic that he actually had something in mind for them.
In their short time together, she had noticed his eyes were usually unfocused with whatever thoughts he had, but when his eyes were clear there was such depth and directness in them that they captured her. Sometimes when they were clear he would look at her with such an incredibly deep attention that it somehow felt quiet and private.
"I'm glad you decided to walk along the river," he whispered, twining his ankle with hers.
The left corner of her mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. "So am I," she breathed.
He leaned forward across the pillow and pressed his lips to hers as his eyes slid closed. Rachel missed his eyes instantly. There was something like gratitude in his kiss, but there was also a deep respect and longing as well. The caressing touch was slow and tender, matching the tenor of his hand over her waist. She closed her eyes and put her hand on his hip as she kissed him back.
He opened his mouth and touched the tip of his tongue to her lips. She didn't hesitate at his invitation and her own lips parted, the tip of her tongue ever so lightly tracing a circle around the tip of his. His foot caressed hers, his hand moved over her back and shoulder to come to rest over her upper arm. Every nerve came alive, sensing every nuance of his touch as she waited for his next cue as to where he would take them.
He deepened the kiss slowly and she savored the returning pressure, the gentle inquisitive sips of her tongue with his. It was so different from just a moment ago that her foot started making slow curling motions against his leg. Something in him seemed to break loose and she could feel exhaustion pour off him as some unseen tension in his body released as if cut loose. Rachel wanted to go on kissing him like this indefinitely. There was something innocent and trusting in his kiss. Their kiss was only a dancing of tongues, lips barely touching, tasting each other, pressing back and forth.
The fire that had been burning in her came to life under this tender assault and her breathing hitched. She knew Rolle recognized it and he changed the tone of the kiss to something even more seductive.
Rachel ran her hand lightly against his chest to rest over his neck, her fingers threaded through his hair behind his ear. He traced her ribs until the tips of his fingers reached the curve of her breast and she gasped into his open mouth making him sigh.
Rolle was fascinated with the curve of her shoulder, intricately tracing the point where it connected with her collarbone before following the line of it to her neck. His fingers track over her jaw to her chin and then to the corners of her mouth where he lingered, touching their kissing lips.
He seemed nothing like the confident lover from the plane nor the half-crazed eager lover who toppled out of the elevator with her. When he looked down at her his expression cut her in half: confused, lost, needy. He reached down and urged her up into his arms, rolling her over until he was laying over her.
His breath still stuttered and his agitated eyes searched her face looking for something. Rachel raised her hands to his cheeks to still him and looked back at him sure and even. It took a moment but he calmed under her level gaze and the confusion faded. When he could look back at her without faltering Rachel slowly realized he had been having a panic attack. He expelled one last shaking breath and his eyes cleared again.
Rachel rubbed her thumbs over his cheeks, slowly petting him, calming him. Locked in her gaze, Rolle shifted his hips to settle between her legs again. He lowered his face to hers. Rachel let his head slip between her hands so her fingers ran through his hair, guiding him to her lips. When they touched he stilled again, just like he had done at the door. This time Rachel opened her eyes to see what he was doing and stared into the blue and gray flecked ice in his eyes that mesmerized her all over again. She almost did not hear him as he whispered against her lips.
"Can I... make love to you?" He pressed his lips to hers. "Can I try? Please?"
Rachel kissed him slowly wrapping her calves around his thighs. His cock slid against her, but he still didn't press into her. "Rolle," she whispered. He parted his lips and kissed her with quiet hunger, but his body did not shift.
He kissed down her jaw to her throat and let his lips rest there. "Say it. Rachel, please," he whispered to her neck. "I can't... take. I don't want to take." He let his hand graze down her side and his palmed her hip while he propped his weight on his elbow next to her neck. "Can I have you? Like that?"
Rachel's chest clenched at the pain in his plea and bit her cheek to keep the emotional choke inside her throat. She had never been with anyone who was so incredibly intense, but also tender, and maybe... damaged: beautiful and wounded.
"Please," she whispered, hoping that he would hear in that word what she heard when he said it to her: hunger, need, lust. She rocked her hips up, rubbing herself along his length. "I want you... please."
He exhaled and nodded once: a combination of defeat and relief. He twisted his hips and hovered over her where he felt her body ready to take him in, advancing forward in the most painfully slow increments. It was such a different feeling, coming together like this, than it had been when they first got back to the room. He didn't watch her eyes. She knew without asking that it was too much for him. He buried his face against her neck and inhaled deeply, shivering.
"Oh, yes," she murmured. She let him set the pace but it was achingly slow. Torturous. She felt her heart hammering in her chest and he pressed his lips closer to her neck, his tongue taking a soft swipe at her pulse point.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, he stilled, filling her completely. Rachel shuddered, a jarring motion that only emphasized how deep he had filled her.
"Are you okay?" he whispered, moving his head up to look at her.
Rachel nodded and her eyes rolled closed as she lifted her hips to encourage him. "Rolle," she whispered. "Please."
'Please' had become their soundtrack, an unnecessary word offered as currency for what they both wanted in this moment.
He slowly rocked into her, watching her reaction. Rachel watched the slow movement of his body, felt the steady building of pressure with his advance sliding deep and slow into her. Her hands slid lightly over his chest, then up around his ribs, stroking his sides. She felt his down stroke as an aching emptiness.
"More," she whispered, begging.
"This," he countered with a whispered hiss.
Rachel couldn't stop herself and whimpered. His eyes flew open and burned with hunger. A low growl echoed in his chest and he pulled out entirely before pressing slowly into her again with a low guttural moan. She could tell by the determined look in his eyes that he knew that she understood his weakness.
This time he fought against the raw hunger she stirred in him. He hated himself for needing this; a connection to something tender and gentle, and everything it represented to his barren existence.
Rachel wrapped her legs around him as she caressed his back and shoulders. She couldn't touch him enough, even with his chest pressed to hers she wanted more of him. She writhed against him trying to pull him closer in any way she could.
He continued like that, pulling all the way out of her and slowly sinking back in. Rolle trembled, his muscles straining, as he leaned down and lightly pressed his lips to hers, capturing her lip between his own. Something shifted in him then and his breathing changed. It wasn't the synchronized panting of a man overcome with passion. It was the staggered breathing of a man overcome with some unidentifiable emotion. He moved so slowly and deliberately in her that her head began to spin again, each stroke both longer and slower than the one before, caressing her in the most intimate way. Rachel began to recognize every millimeter of the connection between them, feel his skin pulled taught within her.
As Rolle struggled, she began to realize that this was different for him. It wasn't passion now. He was afraid of this. The sound of his breath was the panting sound of a person doing something that scared the life out of them.
That sound broke her heart.
Rachel pressed against his shoulder and his chin dropped to his chest. He moved heavily. Rachel tried to see his face, pressing his shoulder back to make him look at her. What she could see from the side of his face was that his expression was crumpled in sadness.
Rolle shifted his weight to the side as if he would release her when Rachel suddenly realized he thought she was trying to push him away... and he was going to let her.
"No," she gasped, locking her legs around him, stunned at his reaction and frantic to know what had happened to him. What could have done this to such a tender soul? Why was he so tormented, so alone?
Rachel rolled on top of him, not allowing him slip from her. Rolle looked up at her with a flurry of questions and confusion in his eyes until he realized she wasn't pushing him away. Rachel's eyes softened as she took control of whatever was frightening him, keeping his pace and rubbing her body against his.
Rolle pressed his cheek to hers. Her tenderness disarmed him. Her compassion pierced through his hollow chest and let the pain leak out as nothing had done since the day he lost his true love. She was a catharsis, if only for a moment in time, easing decades of aching acceptance of who and what he was; and why he was eternally damned. This was an angel lost in his world, spreading drops of forgiveness on the parched and dead earth.
She forgave him.
His breath hitched in his throat. Though he knew he could not cry, Rachel heard him and understood. She couldn't stand his pain any more, and it brought tears to her own eyes, knowing that his need for the connection was beyond understanding. Rolle pressed his lips to her cheek as she cried for him. When she reached up to wipe the tears away, he caught her wrist and dried her cheek with his own, rubbing his nose against hers to erase the drop that slid down.
He kissed her then with such reverence and gratitude that she couldn't stop the weepy groan that broke free from her chest. He pressed his hips into hers. Rachel returned the touch by taking all of him in. Once she had all of him, she stilled and Rolle stilled under her. She moved from his lips, stroking his hair from his forehead. His eyes were wet with her tears as he looked up at her. Rachel suddenly pressed down even harder using every muscle in her body to drive down impossibly far. His expression changed to alarmed concern for her even if he was unable to make himself stop her.
They felt it then. It was only a spark, but it ignited a short fuse that started a flash fire within both of them. They only had time to gasp before their climax tore through their bodies, ripping them in half with its force.
§∞•••∞§
Halifax, Nova Scotia
Bella stood by the window and watched the four men disappear into the trees. The hunt had been Edward's idea, to get Carlisle out of the house. They were hunting together a lot lately and today Jasper and Emmett joined them; Emmett bouncing back to his usual self, unphased by the events of only a few days ago. With arm fully healed and now knowing the truth behind Rolle's behavior, all was forgiven as far as he was concerned. The thing she loved most about Emmett was his uncanny ability to simply live in the moment.
Alice came up quietly from behind and slid her hand into Bella's, then hugged her arm tight, resting her head against Bella's shoulder. They stood together in comfortable silence watching the trail their husbands had taken away from the house. Bella leaned her head to one side and rested her cheek on Alice's head.
Nothing was determined yet; nothing was settled. The family's indecision about what to do hung in the house like dust suspended and directionless in the air. Something was to be done, but no one could decide what that something looked like. Alice, too, felt like the dust in the air... waiting for the first breeze of decision to give her direction and vision again.
"What are you thinking?" Alice asked at last.
Bella laughed softly through her nose, running her hand over Alice's hair. "You sound like Edward."
"He doesn't ask you that any more," Alice argued idly.
"I know," Bella replied.
Alice looked up into her friend and sister's face. "I'm afraid of what I'm seeing, Bella," she whispered. "Please tell me what you're thinking."
Bella looked into Alice's worried amber eyes and sighed. "What would you do? If Rolle did this for you, what would you do?"
Alice ignored the question. "You're going to Italy, aren't you?" she asked. Her voice was small and worried. She already knew the answer even if the decisions were not firm.
"I don't know," Bella answered honestly.
Alice smiled sadly. "You wouldn't try to talk Edward out of it?"
Bella shook her head. "What do you see? What are some of the things you're seeing?"
Alice rested her head against Bella's arm again, silent. Whatever she was seeing it was making her sick with worry. Bella pulled Alice into a hug and just held her. They stood in each other's arms a long time simply drawing comfort from each other.
"The problem with finding happiness," Alice said at last, "is that it comes hand in hand with worry."
Bella rubbed her hand over Alice's shoulders. "What do you mean?"
"You're always worried about losing it."
§∞•••∞§
Jasper ambled back into the small clearing and glanced around. Branches were scattered over the ground, the splintered ends still bright yellow-white from being ripped from their trees even though the leaves on the ends were starting to brown and curl. He knew Edward was nearby, but obviously not in plain sight. He automatically scanned the trees and found his brother sitting in a Tom Sawyer pose with his legs dangling and swinging over the side of a branch twenty feet up. With two carefully placed jumps, he was soon across from his brother in a neighboring tree.
"Good hunting?" Jasper asked.
Edward shrugged. "Lynx. You?"
Jasper shrugged. "Just a small black bear." When Edward only acknowledged this with a nod, Jasper regarded him thought fully. "You realize that whatever you're growing determined over doing, you won't be able to leave Bella behind, right? I reckon she'd leave Rolle to it if you even thought of asking her to stay."
Edward glared mildly at him for this observation, though he knew Jasper was right. Hearing the confirmation of his thoughts only served to irritate him.
"Go ahead and get mad, if you want," Jasper said with a shrug. "Just start wrappin' yer head around the fact that whatever you decide will involve her, too."
"Who?" Emmett asked from below.
"Bella," Jasper answered for Edward, knowing his brother was starting to feel stubborn about the topic.
Emmett laughed from below. "That didn't take long," came his deep chuckling voice. "Once an arrogant knight in shining armor, always an arrogant..."
"Alright already!" Edward snapped without malice. "I got it."
"You know, brother, you get tunnel vision when it comes to her," Emmett observed.
Edward's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? That I want to protect my wife?"
Emmett shook his head, climbing into the tree hand over hand to join them, using only his arms to pull himself up, enjoying the chore of it. "Nah... we all want to protect our wives. I just mean, you're so wound up about how to keep her from going to Italy that you're forgetting we all want to go."
"All?" Edward asked, moving aside to share his bough with Emmett.
"Sure," Jasper added. "Rolle's our friend, too. We don't want him there any more than you do."
"No one is going to Italy," came Carlisle's voice now as he leapt from treetop to treetop. Though he was still a ways off, they heard his voice easily. "It would dishonor Rolle's sacrifice."
Edward's anger flared again. "I'm not going to leave him there," he said adamantly.
"And we're not going to let Edward go alone," Emmett added.
As soon as the frustration began to climb, it immediately abated, when Jasper snapped, "Look! If you guys don't stop, I swear I will make everyone so horny you won't come out of your bedrooms for an eon."
"Really?" Emmett grinned.
"I'm sorry," Edward apologized quickly, knowing better than anyone how hard the past few days had been on Jasper. "But I do think we need to talk about this, Carlisle. It's not right for you to dictate this, and you know it."
"Dude, can you really make us horny for that long?" Emmett asked Jasper, amazed.
"Focus, Emmett," Jasper told him.
He pointed a large finger at Jasper. "We're talking later," he promised.
Jasper rolled his eyes as Carlisle joined him on the branch.
"All right, Edward," Carlisle capitulated. "I'm sorry. I know I haven't been..."
"Reasonable? Sane? Rational? Happy? Stable?" Emmett offered.
Carlisle shot Emmett a hard look. "Open-minded...." he filled in for himself, "...when it comes to what happened this week."
"I understand that," Edward agreed gently, "and I understand what it means to be over-protective, Carlisle."
At this, both Jasper and Emmett gasped mockingly and dramatically rolled their eyes or slapped a hand over their cheek to express their dismay. Edward chose to ignore them.
"But Bella mentioned something the other day." He looked around at each of them now. "When I left her in Forks, doing what I thought was right, would you all agree that I was woefully wrong?"
"Hell yes!" Emmett said loudly.
"Of course," Jasper agreed.
Edward nodded, knowing this was their feeling already. "And if you had to do it all over again, would you let me leave?" he asked, looking now to Carlisle, knowing already how hard that separation was, not only on Bella and himself, but also on the entire family, especially Carlisle.
Carlisle sighed softly. "I would have done more to convince you how wrong you were."
"And if you couldn't?" Edward pressed. "If I left anyway, would you have come after me?"
A quiet tension filled the treetops as both Emmett and Jasper bit their tongues and simply waited for Carlisle to answer.
Their patriarch sighed softly. "Yes."
Edward did not nod or make any other motion to acknowledge he'd won this debate. Instead he said, "Would you agree that maybe we should try to learn from that mistake?"
Carlisle looked thoughtful and considered everything Edward was trying to say. This is hard for me right now, he thought to Edward.
"I know," Edward said gently. "I just need you to consider it. What Rolle is doing is noble, but... wrong."
Carlisle regarded his first son, unable to help the pride he felt in Edward. Despite their unchanging nature, Edward had changed. Or maybe it was just easier for him now to be the man he had always been.
Carlisle turned suddenly to Jasper, recalling a conversation they'd had many years ago. "If no one ever knew who Rolle was, and no one had ever seen him kill, then how did Charlotte and Peter hear about him? Where did the rumors about 'the assassin' come from?"
"I could call Peter and ask," Jasper offered.
"Peter carries a cellphone?" Emmett asked skeptically.
Jasper chuckled with a shrug. "It's the new thing in the nomad experience."
"Call him," Carlisle instructed, and Jasper pulled out his phone and dialed. The conversation was brief and they all shared the same moment of shock when they heard the answer through Jasper's phone.
"Eleazar?" Edward repeated.
"Makes sense if you think about it," Emmett replied. "He's the one who can figure out gifts, right?"
"Maybe this is all just the grapevine effect," Jasper said as he slid his phone back into his pocket. "So next we call Eleazar and ask him where he heard it from."
§∞•••∞§
A/N: As always, my thanks to my previewers: Irishgirl, Milalencar, and LolaShoes. Thanks to Nikki Pattinson over at Twilighted, and thanks to George.
Reviews will give you a sneek peek into what Alice actually saw... So I've heard...