A/N: Ay karamba! This one took a long time to write. Enjoy!
Acacia everywhere. It was as though the whole world had been draped in these tiny yellow flowers that gleamed in the summer sun. Almost out of habit, I plucked the largest flowers that my hands could reach as I strolled lazily through the paved path hooded by the golden flowers. Their soft petals brushed my cheek and whatever skin that wasn't covered by my velvety summer dress. Those that had withered and fallen to the ground and shielded the heels of my bare feet from the hot paved ground beneath. When I had a substantial bunch in my hands, nicely formed into a bouquet of sorts, I rushed through the yellow haven to drop them off at the familiar doorstep.
I ran into the green fields towards the village. I kept running and running some more but the town only seemed to be getting farther away from me. My feet began to feel sore and the heat of the ground sent excruciating hot flashes through my heels up to my lower back. I stood up on my toes and looked around to try and get my bearings. The acacia covered pathway was nowhere to be seen behind me and in front of me Les Fourchettes seemed to be a mere dot. I plopped down onto the ground and looked down at the bouquet of flowers.
The hot flashes didn't go away even though I was now sitting and my feet were barely touching the ground. I lay down on the ground and lifted my legs up into the air to see if that would help but it didn't. I turned my head to the side to prevent the bright summer sun from making my eyes teary and eventually closed my eyes, losing myself in the heat mixed with the light breeze; a combination which made my skin tingle.
I had almost forgotten where I was when I heard the faintest howl. I sat up, my back rigid, and looked all around me.
I was alone.
Then I heard it again.
Standing up again and I tip toed towards the place where it seemed to come from. I had only taken a few tiny steps when three figures came into my view. They each had a dog which was desperately trying to break away from its restrains. A chill ran down my spine as I recognized the figures to be the men who had been spying on the Ceccaldi Mansion. One of the men barked an indistinct order at the other two and they obeyed by bending down and untying their dogs' leashes.
My feet remained glued to the baking ground as the beasts charged at me howling from hunger. They edged closer and closer but I just stood there.
I dropped the flowers and ran the other way towards the village. I sprinted with all the speed my body would allow but the flashes of heat accompanied with the pain in my leg slowed me down. The sounds of the dogs' barks got louder and the patter of their racing paws matched the thumping for my heart.
My run was reduced to nothing more than a limp. I risked a look behind me only to elevate the fear that was close to paralyzing me. When I looked straight ahead again I saw what my eyes had been desperately seeking – help.
It was a person. I cried out for help but there was no response. I called again and still nothing. He remained still, as though a statue.
The dogs were so close I could feel their ragged breath on my back. I cried out one more time before they caught up with me. Something pierced through my flesh. I collapsed onto the ground writhing but trying my level best to get away from the monsters by dragging myself along the ground. The skin that had been caressed by the acacia petals not too long ago was now covered in a mixture of dirt and my tears. I felt as though someone was filling my insides with filth as the pain spread all over.
I looked up at the still figure again hoping against all hope that it would come to rescue me but it didn't. I called out to it again and again until my tears blurred my vision and I was blinded by what seemed like the sparks of a fire.
I started awake at the sound of my bedroom door opening. Alice entered the room singing her, "Good Morning!" She skipped to my bedside table with my breakfast tray and looked at me.
"Bella? Are you okay?" she inquired, putting the tray down.
I rubbed my neck to find that I was drenched in sweat. The pillows were moist as well. I looked up. Alice was still waiting for an answer.
"I had a bad dream."
"And how is the pain? Should I go get Carlisle? He can give you something…"
"No, I'm fine, really. Don't worry," I reassured her passing a hand over my forehead, "Could you get me a damp cloth if it's not too much trouble?"
She hurried to the bathroom and got me a damp wash cloth. I wiped my face, neck and hands with it and gave it back to her. She helped me sit up and placed the tray on a small portable table in front of me. A Spanish omelet and toast – that was my breakfast.
"Alice, this looks delicious."
She shrugged off my compliment, "I'm not much of a cook. My brother Emmett, he's the one who loves to dabble in cookery."
I stared at her with a chunk of toast in my mouth.
Her brother Emmett? The same brother that was in my room last night?
I chewed the toast and swallowed, "You never told me you had a brother."
"Well he's not here at the moment. He's accompanying my mother on a trip to South America. She's a cartographer. You know…she makes maps."
"That must be so wonderful; traveling around the world, going to new places."
"She seems to enjoy it. I'm happy right where I am in France though."
"So," I said, playing with a piece of omelet with my fork, "do you have any other siblings?"
Alice took up a chair and sat down next to me. Crossing her legs she said, "Well…there's Emmett who is traveling with my mother. My husband Jasper is accompanying them as well. He's a linguist. Emmett's wife Rosalie lives in Paris. She's a physicist. She hates it here because you can never get the right equipment."
A doctor, a cartographer, a scientist and a linguist all in one family. The Cullens certainly were an accomplished family. I shifted my weight a little, feeling that my simpleton ways were imposing on such highly qualified people.
But that still didn't add up. Alice mentioned one brother, Emmett and he was off in South America. Who was the man who I'd spoken to last night? I trembled at the thought of a stranger sneaking into my bedroom late at night without the knowledge of the Cullens.
"And there's my youngest brother Edward," Alice finally said.
I shook away the sudden jolt of happiness I felt at the sound of that name and looked at Alice. She was watching me intently…more intently than usual.
"Oh?" I said, "And what does he do? I'm sure it's something as impressive as the rest of your family."
Alice smiled, "He's a writer. We're rarely allowed to read what he writes but he's very good. He's taken up an interest in politics…not that he wants to get involved or anything. He's just interested in how everything works and he has been documenting it for quite some time."
He was a writer. That would explain his great storytelling skill but something about what Alice had said didn't add up. From her description, it was apparent that Monsieur Cullen's children were all grown-ups and were well established in their jobs. Monsieur Cullen didn't look like the father of three adult children though. He hardly looked thirty.
"Monsieur Cullen seems so young to have three grown children," I commented.
"Carlisle has a very big heart. He found us all when we were in desperate need of help and took us in. He and Esme took care of us as though we were their own children. They educated us and helped us become who we are today."
I believed everything she said. I looked at Alice's perfect, glowing face, "They also raised you to be kind and generous to complete strangers in their time of need."
Alice smiled and nodded. It was clear from the way her eyes looked down at the floor just how much respect she had for Monsieur Cullen. But then again, I suppose anybody would have an immense amount of respect for the person who has raised you, fed you and given you a home, like my Papa.
Papa!
"Alice!" I said all of a sudden, "Could you please get Monsieur Cullen?"
"Of course," she said getting off her chair, "Is everything okay?"
"Yes, I just really need to speak to him."
I looked into her auburn eyes and for the tiniest moment an almost aching sense of sorrow flashed across her eyes. She darted out of the room to get Carlisle before I could ask what was wrong.
"Good morning Bella," Carlisle boomed as he entered my room, "And how are you feeling today?"
"Fine, thank you."
"You didn't sleep well Bella. Your eyes tell me everything."
"I'll get used to it Monsieur Cullen. I promise."
"Pain is not something you should have to get used to. It is my job as your physician to do what I can to relieve that pain. Are you sure you still don't want me to give you some morphine?"
"Yes, I'm sure," I assured with a grin.
"Then what is it I can help you with child?"
"It' umm…well…I should have done this a long time ago, I know, but it's my father. He'll be worried about where I've been all these days. If you could maybe write him a note and tell him that I'm all right, I'd be very grateful for that."
He and Alice exchanged the most curious glance before he turned to me and smiling meekly and saying, "Of course Bella. I'll send a messenger right away."
"Thank you so much! Charles Swan, that's Papa's name. Anyone in Les Fourchettes will know where he lives."
Carlisle softly patted my bandaged leg, "Is there anything else I can help you with Bella?"
"Not that I can think of right now. I can't thank you enough for everything."
"You can thank me when you're all good and healed child. Until then…your body needs rest. You need to get as much as possible all right?"
"All right."
He and Alice left closing the door behind them. I drank some water and slowly drifted off again.
It was well past midday when I awoke. Almost as though she could hear my eyelids open, Alice hopped into my room with the lunch tray and a book.
"What's that?" I inquired, pointing at the book.
"I thought you'd be bored so this is for you." She handed me the book, The Count of Monte Cristo.
"Alice! This is one of my favourites! Thank you!"
She knitted her brows, "You've read it?"
"Yes, I have. There used to be a large library where I used to work and I'd often sneak in at night and read for hours and hours."
"Hmm…" she said deep in thought, "Well it can't be larger than ours. Carlisle has a very very old collection. Perhaps you can go there and pick out something you haven't read already."
My heart leaped in joy, "Really? That would be wonderful. Thank you so much!" I looked down at my leg and frowned, "But this will do for now. It's a fairly large book. I'm sure I'll be all healed up by the time I finish it. Maybe then you can take me yes?"
Alice nodded and we talked while I ate lunch. She left me by myself while I read about the trials and travails of Edmund Dantés. After I'd had dinner that evening I tried to get some more sleep.
I giggled uncontrollably as I waited for him to open the front door and find the bouquet I'd left on the doorstep. I quickly took cover behind Monsieur Noir's cart as I heard him approaching the door.
The door flew open and out he stepped snapping on his suspenders and pulling on his black work boots. His lips curved up into a smile as he saw the present. He looked up searching the vicinity for his little admirer.
I tried my best to suppress my giggles behind the cart. Soon afterwards he went back inside with the flowers and I was left alone.
And there it was again, that burning sensation in my lower body. It was as though a thousand tiny shards of glass were being driven into my leg. I tried to walk back home but I was nailed to the ground. I mustered up all my strength and moved my leg. It did move this time but it had come apart. My flesh splayed everywhere as I tried to put it back together. The meaty substance disintegrated into a jelly and then into a vile purplish liquid.
I gasped for air and felt below for my leg.
"Bella?" I heard the familiar husky voice say.
I looked about me. It was dark and Edward Cullen was nowhere to be seen.
"Bad dream?" he asked.
"Very," I said trying to reposition myself. Once I made myself as comfortable as I could possibly be in my state I waited in silence.
He didn't say anything.
"Alice says you're a writer."
He snorted, "I suppose she has to give what I do a name of some sort. I'm not much of a writer. I just put words down on paper sometimes to try and understand things."
I didn't quite understand what he was saying. I always thought that writers put pen to paper to share their thoughts, the images they had in their head, with others. I'd never heard of anyone writing to help understand things for themselves.
"Do you mean like how in school we were made to write out a word down five times if we spelled it wrong?"
"Almost," he chuckled, "but not quite. You see, sometimes I'm thinking of something – the first half of a thought, let's say – and I don't know what the second part is going to be right at that moment so I write it down so that some day I can come back to it and complete it. Does that make sense?"
I mulled everything he'd said over. It was actually a very good idea. I'd lost count of the numerous times I'd set out to get to the bottom of something that was troubling me – the entire situation with Jacob for instance – and then lost my chain of thought along the way.
"I'd never thought of it that way. I just always thought writing was a means of recording things…sharing information."
"Bella," he chimed, "you'll be amazed at how different people use the written word differently. Most writers, when they write, they're trying to figure something out, a way of expressing a particular feeling. They try to find out who they are and why they are the way they are. Does that make any sense?"
I grinned at the silly question I was about to ask, "What do you think Alexandre Dumas was thinking of when he wrote The Count of Monte Cristo?"
"Dumas based it on the actual story of a shoemaker who'd been falsely accused of being a spy for England."
I gaped at the dark corner from which his voice sounded, "You can't be serious. I thought it was all in his imagination."
"Everybody's ideas have their roots somewhere, Bella. A writer is nothing without inspiration."
I turned my torso a little so that I was facing the corner where he sat. I looked into the dark for the slightest hint of a face, a head of hair or a silhouette but saw nothing.
"Then Monsieur Cullen, what inspires you?"
My eyes, which had adjusted to the dark, caught the faintest glimpse of his legs shifting positions.
"Morbid things that you need not be burdened with in your state."
Alice's words echoed in the back of mind, He found us all when we were in desperate need of help and took us in. Perhaps Edward's choice to remain inconspicuous had something to do with the reason why Carlisle had taken him in in the first place. Every possible scenario crossed my mind. He could have been mutated, burned, tortured…
There was only one way to find out.
"Monsieur Cullen," I whispered, "if I ask you something, you won't mind?"
"It depends on what you ask Bella."
"How come I never see you in the day with Alice and the other Monsieur Cullen."
"Well," he said, drawing out the word as though trying to choose his words carefully, "I have trouble sleeping at night. Usually I would write but now that you're here and awake most of the night, it would almost be like missing out on good company."
My cheeks grew hot, "I'd hardly consider myself good company."
"That's just because you don't have the privilege of spending time with yourself."
"But really Monsieur Cullen, why do you hide yourself from me? Why don't you come here," I said motioning towards the chair next to my bed, "so that I can see you?"
He remained silent for a minute, then for several minutes. I was beginning to think that this time I had really overstepped.
"Bella…I…part of…" he paused. He clicked his tongue, shifted positions, scratched at the carpet and then finally resumed what he was saying, "...part of what I write – the morbid things I told you about – it has to do with the way I am."
I raised my head off the pillow a little trying to get a glimpse of him again. What does what he writes have to do with me being able to see him? I needed a glimpse of him. I needed to see his body language. Without visual stimuli I didn't understand a word he was saying.
"Are you trying to say you're a bad man Monsieur Cullen? Because I don't think you are. Your family has been nothing but good to me and you – you haven't harmed me in any way, even though any other man probably would if he was alone in a room with a helpless girl in the dead of night. If you're a bad man I don't know it."
"I can't help who I am Bella. I'm a monster and seeing me will only make it worse for you."
"But how do you know that? I'm not a little girl who's afraid of the monsters that lurk underneath my bed! I've probably seen far worse than what you think will scare me."
He let out an angry growl, "Enough is enough Bella! I think you should go back to sleep now."
There was a finality to his words. They were laced with authority and anger. I dared not speak another word in fear of giving him the impression that I was disrespectful in any way. His family had, after all, saved me from the clutches of death.
The excitement of our conversation wore down faster than I expected and let out an all-consuming yawn. I wanted more answers from the stranger in my bedroom but my body had other intentions.
Alice was staring down at me with the largest, toothy grin on her face, when I woke up the next morning. I'd just about managed to rub the remnants of sleep away from my eyes when she shoved my toiletries into my hands and placed the portable basin in front of me.
I looked at her, curious as to the cause of all her excitement. "Alice, what's going on?"
"You just hurry up now. Go on, rinse away."
I rinsed and then ate my breakfast quickly. Once I was done, she took my tray and danced out of the room. She then returned with a chair on wheels.
"Well?" she asked as I looked it over, "What do you think?"
"I've never seen anything like it. What is it?"
"It's a wheelchair darling! So that I can take you to the library!"
My heart leaped in joy! I was finally going to leave this room…if not just for a little while.
Alice carefully began taking my leg out of the sling attached to the posts of my bed. She did it slowly, very slowly. It almost looked like she was nervous. Of course she had every reason to be. Carlisle had made it very clear that any sudden jolts to my leg at this stage of the treatment can set progress back by months. It was usually he who handled all business regarding my leg. So where was he?
"Where is the doctor Alice?"
Her movements stilled and she averted her eyes from me, busying herself with the bed drapes, "He has some engagements in the city. It's only me and you today."
"Oh," I frowned at her awkward answer, "Is this all right with him?"
"What? Going to the library? Oh yes, I asked him about that. He said to be careful and to bring you back at the slightest sign of fatigue."
"Ok then," I said putting my arm around Alice's neck so that she could help me onto the wheelchair. She lifted me up effortlessly and put me into the chair. I looked up at her with a raised brow. For such a tiny woman, she was frighteningly strong. Alice seemed to get wind off what I was thinking and simply shrugged.
The corridor outside my bedroom was lined with large two paneled window panes that had all been draped by the thick foliage outside. On one end of the corridor was the beginning of what I imagined to be a grand staircase that led to the floors below and on the other side was a pair of French doors adorned with the most delicately beautiful paint work I had ever laid eyes upon.
Beyond those doors was the library…well part of the library at least. Like the house, the library was three storeys high, each level separated by a narrow spiraling staircase. Each floor was small but packed with hundreds, no, thousands of books. It was a very intimate setting. It was a place I felt comfortable in immediately.
Due to my handicap, I couldn't explore the two lower levels but there were more than enough books to browse through on the third floor alone. Alice left me to my own devices once she made sure I was comfortable in the chair. I wanted to look at everything all at once but there were just too many books. I decided I needed to follow a strategy so I started looking at the books in the shelf on the far end. The bottom shelf was inundated with large scholarly leather bound books. Most of them were too heavy for me to lift without hurting myself so I didn't really bother looking at them. I'd skipped almost all the books in the bottom-most shelf when my eyes fell on a comparably thinner book. It was falling apart at the spine so I inspected it with the utmost care.
Beobachtungen über das Gefühl des Schönen und Erhabenen by Immanuel Kant. I didn't know what it meant and I thought myself downright foolish when I began flipping through the book written in a language I didn't even understand. As I did so several sheets of paper fell onto my lap.
From the look of it, they had been crumpled up, flattened and then folded as neatly as possible. Reflexively, I looked behind me to see if Alice was gone. She was. I unfolded the sheets to reveal writing in impeccable penmanship:
A toast to Monsieur Edward Cullen…
I put the sheet of paper back in the book and closed it. I had no right to read something addressed to Edward without his permission. It wouldn't be respectful to the family that had tended and cared for me when they could have easily left me to be nipped away by forest rodents.
But I needed to know what was stopping the stranger who visited me at night from showing his face. Perhaps this could shed some light on why Carlisle had adopted him in the first place.
Before the sensible side of me could stop the rash side, I opened the book and began reading:
A toast to Monsieur Edward Cullen. To a new name, to a new beginning…an unwanted beginning.
A conversation with death
It was a familiar walk, a walk I'd walked long before I'd fully realized the frailty of life. There he was at the raised land at the end of our farm smoking his pipe like he always did.
But this time…This time was different because after eight years of maintaining silence while we watched the sun set below the horizon, he finally spoke to me.
"When a man comes to a cross-road in his life," he says to me, "It is his father who shows him the right way to take. He cannot pick the way for him. He can only hint at what's right."
I sat there waiting for instruction, not feeling much of a man, but feeling like an infant waiting for his father to take his hand and teach him how to walk.
"On the one hand you have life and the on the other you have the honour of being in the Almighty's presence. Choose the latter and you will be free for eternity, your soul at peace. Choose the first, and you will have all the things that you have come to know and love."
It seemed an easy enough choice. Men cross continents and take lives to be closer to God. This very opportunity that most people wait their entire lives for was being handed to me with a bow tied around it. It was the right choice.
But I was a man after all. Perhaps not a grown man, perhaps just a boy but still a human being. How can my heart not weep at the mother's loss of her one and only son? How can my body not mourn the loss of the feel of a woman's naked breast or the taste of her plush lips? How can I abandon this world at an age when all the responsibilities of the world are weighing down on my shoulders?
"Life is too important at the moment", I tell him, "If I could I would want to live in this moment forever."
"So be it then," he said, removing his pipe from his mouth and producing two glasses filled with wine out of thin air, "so be it! A toast to you Monsieur Edward Cullen. To a new name, to a new beginning."
An unwanted beginning.
I was left dwelling over Edward's little passage the rest of the day. He wasn't joking when he said he wrote about morbid things. A conversation with death; such an idea would never have even occurred to me. I suppose that is why he was a writer and I was a maid.
But while it was clear there was something that deeply troubled Edward, I still couldn't understand why he wouldn't show himself to me. Alice seemed to insinuate that she and her other brother had troubling pasts as well but she didn't seem to have any problems with the way she looked.
That night I dreamt of the faceless man speaking to death.
A man comes to a crossroad in his life.
Life or joining God?
A part of me wanted to get a closer glimpse of the two men but another dominant part of me wanted something else.
It was hot and I couldn't take it anymore. I turned around and ran towards the creek, stripping out of everything except my undergarments.
He was waiting for me in his underpants when I reached the bank.
"Come on Bella," he said with outstretched arms.
I jumped up onto him and we both fell into the water. The excitement that pumped through my veins overshadowed my fear of drowning. He decided to have some fun of his own and dunk me into the water. The thrashing of the water was intermingled with our giggles and I soon forgot that I had even been afraid of the water in the first place.
He let go of me after a while, showing me that I could swim alone by myself. I stayed afloat and then soon moved around. Whenever he'd seem distracted I'd try and do some sort of trick to draw his attention back to me.
We'd been swimming for quite some time when he finally got out and told me to do the same. I didn't want to get out of the water now that I knew how much fun swimming could be. Most importantly, I didn't want to leave him. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd been alone with him for such a long time.
He began pulling his clothes on and told me to get out again, "Bella, your Papa told me to get you back my sundown. He's going to be very angry."
"It's okay. He's never angry with you."
"You're going to get sick Bella. Get out of the water and dry yourself up."
"No," I said sticking my tongue out at him.
"Enough is enough Bella!" he said sternly.
I froze momentarily as the harsh tone of his voice pierced my lovesick heart.
Enough is enough. Enough is enough…
Why did that sound so familiar?
The water was going up my nose, down my throat, blurring my eyes. I need air. I need air now!
The blanket was balled up into my fist as I stared out the window. It was dark outside and I knew if I called out, my stranger would be there ready to talk to me until I fell asleep again.
I needed more answers.
So I turned around but was taken aback by what I found. Instead of a dark, seemingly vacant space by the door, I was met by Carlisle's melancholy eyes.
A/N: Uh oh...wonder what's up. The book Bella found Edward's little text in was "Observations on the feelings of the Beautiful and Sublime" by Immanuel Kant. Looks like our Edward is a bit of a philosopher. Any ideas on what happens next?
Wish me luck! I'm getting my A Level results tomorrow so if I don't update again for a while it'll probably be because I'm sulking about my horrendous grades.
The story's been getting TONNES of hits but next to no reviews :( Come on guys, I really want to know what you think so REVIEW!
