lol, sorry, didn't mean to be scary. :tones down prophecies of doom: ;)

Ah, Byron…he was an English poet in…well, I don't remember the years. But I got introduced to him way back in high school junior English and loved his work ever since. It has a beauty to it…and that one in particular I think would sound beautiful spoken by our lovely Carlisle. but you're so right, anything would. Like a grocery list. Hehe

And yes, I've thought for awhile that her next project should be Carlisle centric…it would make me soooo happy. I mean, he has all those other pictures in his office, all those stories….it'd be great to hear them.

Anyway, on with the story! And yes, I promise we'll get back inside Carlisle's head soon…in the next chapter I think. But everything going on right now has seemed best seen from Esme's perspective to me, so that's been the reason it's been her for the past few chapters. But we'll get back to him.

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Esme

Almost two weeks had passed, and I was hardly able to believe I could have ever been so lucky. The time had passed so smoothly. My confrontations with Charles had even been few and far between, largely because he was spending most of his time out of the house. It would have puzzled me if I had cared enough. He stayed late at work more often than not, and he had had what he had said were business meetings with a man I had never seen before. Still, it had kept him out of the house, and in a tolerable mood. He had screamed at me in front of Betty two days before, and it upset me as it always did. I worried for her heart more than for me; seeing him treat me that way upset her so. But I had been surprised at how bearable it had been, knowing Carlisle was up here, stretched out on my bed, waiting for my return.

He rarely left. I suspected that even when I went out, he stayed here more often than not, though I knew he did take some time to be with Edward. I had only met him a handful of times, and he seemed like a good boy, if a little distant. I couldn't see his resemblance to Carlisle, and I knew well enough that he looked far too old. Or Carlisle looked far too young. Another piece of information for my growing collection. Asking him questions was a dead end, I had quickly figured out. He truly didn't want me to know the answers. Looking around in the library, however unlikely, just might get me somewhere. So, that was what I had been doing, for about a half hour at least every time I was out in town. There was nothing so far, but I hadn't given up hope yet.

All in all though, life was perfect. More perfect than I could have ever dreamed. Even knowing that Charles' indifferent attitude couldn't last didn't dampen my spirits. I don't think anything could have. Well, almost.

It was past 11 o'clock and we were laying in bed together, facing each other. He held me close in the circle of his arms, my head tucked into his shoulder, my hands on his chest, his on my back. Our conversation had been fragmented, as always at times like this, but it usually flowed better. Tonight he was even distracted when he kissed me, and that wasn't like him at all. Something was wrong, but I wasn't sure how to ask what. Not when he obviously wasn't ready to tell me. I ran my fingers through his hair, rested my forehead against his. "What are you thinking?"

"I love you."

I smiled, nuzzled against him. "Other than that." Silence. He didn't seem ready to volunteer anything at all. Well, at least he was being honest. From this angle the moonlight fell just right on his face, illuminating it just enough. There were dark circles under his eyes, and I trailed my thumb across one. "You look tired."

He smiled, though it looked a little painful. "I'm alright."

"Then what's wrong?" It was pained, pleading. He was driving me crazy. Had I done something?

He sighed, pressed closer to me. "I suppose I haven't been very subtle; I'm sorry." He looked into my eyes, and the dead seriousness in his made my blood run cold. "I have to leave you tonight."

My breath stopped, and I was certain my heart did as well. No. The world stopped. Leaving…he was leaving…

"No! No it isn't like that at all." His voice rose, responding to the dead panic I knew must have been in my eyes. He pulled me fully against him, his lips meeting mine in brief, reassuring kiss. "No. You should know, I will never leave you. But for the weekend…I'm going to have to go away."

He sounded so frustrated, so genuinely pained. Something else was pulling him away, and he wouldn't even tell me what. Clearly, it was important, but it also seemed an unwanted intrusion. This not knowing was going to drive me mad. "Would it do me any good to ask why?"

He chuckled softly. "No, not really." He traced my face with his fingertips, once again serious. "I'm sorry, Esme. Just trust that I'll be back soon. And that I would not leave you if I didn't have to."

"I know that." And I did, with a certainty that ran deep in my bones. I just wished I knew what this thing was he had to do, what had a pull on him that he couldn't ignore. I sighed. "When are you leaving?"

He hesitated, his hand drawing idly on my back. "Soon. Very soon. I wanted to put off telling you as long as I could, but I wouldn't have left without explaining myself, I promise."

Soon. Wonderful.

"I am sorry, Esme. So sorry."

I smiled for him, wondered if he saw how much effort it took. "It's alright, really. Just two days, right?"

"Yes. Just two days." I leaned in to capture his lips, eager to taste him once more. He obliged, and we both fell into the intricacy of it, a soft whimper rising in my throat at the way his hand came up to cradle my head, to tilt it back for better access. He pulled away so very reluctantly, and my heart jumped erratically when I saw him lick his lips, eyes fluttering shut. Could I possibly taste as good to him as he did to me? No. I doubted it, at least. "I should go."

My hands instinctively tightened on his shirt, but I forced them to loosen, to let him go. "Alright."

He moved to pull away, then slid back to me with a groan, capturing me for another kiss, this one more heated than before. My breath was unsteady when he pulled away, and he whispered something I couldn't hear. Suddenly he was standing, cradling my face in one hand. "I love you, Esme."

"I love you, too. I hope…whatever it is, I hope it goes well."

A ghost of a grin flitted across his face in the darkness. "It will. I'll be here Sunday night, though it may be late. You don't need to wait up for me."

"I will." I doubted I could even sleep without him now, but I wouldn't tell him that.

"I know."

Then he was gone in the blink of an eye, so fast I hadn't even seen him leave. Just like he had appeared that first night. Without a trace. Except it wasn't the same, because I knew now that he was no mirage. I couldn't tell myself he had never been there at all, and somehow that made his absence harder. I rolled over, trailed my hand over the indention in the pillow where he had lay only a moment before. His scent clung to it, and I shifted to his side of the bed to bury my face in it, breathe him in.

I knew logically that I should have felt warmer without his cool skin next to mine but that wasn't the case. If anything, I felt colder than ever.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

I didn't sleep that night, not really. I teetered on the edge of it at a point or two, but I was always hanging onto enough consciousness to not get any rest out of it. I had been used to nights with little sleep before, but the past two weeks of good sleep had spoiled me. When the sun rose, I was exhausted. And lonely. I missed Carlisle desperately already.

It was early, earlier than I usually rose. Charles wasn't up yet, I knew. I didn't really feel like breakfast. I just wasn't hungry. After dressing, I decided I could at least put some of the time to good use, rather than sitting here bored. I usually didn't leave the house or do the shopping on Saturdays, so that would have been suspicious. To Charles, at least. But I could pretend to have gone for a walk. It was something he hated, but his response to it was the one point I continually antagonized him on, and he had become almost used to it. I loved it, usually, but I had better plans for today than that, plans that would occupy my mind more fully.

I arrived at the library just as it opened. I was accustomed by now to the looks the man at the desk gave me, the one that said very plainly I didn't belong here. Heaven forbid a woman read. The thought of how Carlisle would respond to that statement made me smile even as it made my heart ache. How had I ever lived without him for so long? Simple, I supposed. I hadn't touched him then, hadn't had the chance to become truly, deeply hooked. Now he was in my every thought, my every breath.

The section I had stopped in on my last visit had rows of very old books; histories, legends and ancient cultures of other countries. The legends part was what I was particularly looking for, though I had already been partially through one volume and found nothing. I wasn't discouraged. I didn't expect this to be easy, or even likely doable. But I couldn't give up without trying, and it was perfect for today. It passed the time.

I pulled the heavy leather bound book from the shelf and let it fall open on the table, flipping to pick up roughly where I had left off. I turned the pages fairly quickly, and soon sort of mechanically. The sound, the feel grew monotonous and I had not slept. Sleep would have felt so good…Carlisle…

And then it was there, and I was glad I had thought the words so many times because even my tired eyes caught them.

Stregoni benefici

It was buried in a page on something else, only a brief mention. I skimmed back up to the top, read the title, and felt my heart skip oddly. Really? No. No, I wouldn't have expected that at all. My eyes flicked back down, actually read the small segment within the paragraph.

There are incongruous tales as well. The most notable I have collected is that of the 'stregoni benefici', literally, 'the helpful vampire'. The legend of this creature or creatures seems to have originated in rural Italy around the town of Volterra many, many decades ago.

Reading it all, I almost laughed. Only Carlisle, only Carlisle could be called a helpful vampire. Vampire. No, that's one I certainly hadn't expected. But the helpful vampire? Clearly, whoever had started the legend truly had known him. I couldn't imagine him being unhelpful to anyone except the devil himself. Vampire. And I could see his point, it would have frightened most people. But I had slept in his arms, fallen asleep with my head on his shoulder, my neck plenty exposed. The most he had ever done was kiss my pulse with the utmost tenderness. In fact, the night I had been injured he had cleaned the blood from my cut with no problems, I realized. And of course, why shouldn't he? He was a doctor after all, and I had forgotten even that for a moment. Well. There was something to that, certainly. Something that this didn't explain, but it didn't matter, I had a better source, the real thing. I could ask. I was confident that now that I knew I could calm him down about the whole thing. Surely he wouldn't care once he knew that I truly didn't.

And how could he have ever thought I could? Vampire or not, he was my angel. And it was probably stupid, but I didn't care what he had to do to remain here as my angel. I couldn't imagine him killing anyone, but the thought hardly even crossed my mind for a second, to be honest. As terrible as it may have been, when it came to him I just didn't care. All that mattered was him, and him staying with me. So long as he was alive, I didn't care what else might have to be sacrificed for that to be the case.

At least now I knew. As strange and shocking as it was, I knew. The curiosity was finally quiet.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

When I got back home, the door was open. I stepped through the door cautiously, heart thudding in my chest. I told myself it was unnecessary, that I worried too much. But something was different, and if there was anything I had learned in my time with Charles, it was that different wasn't usually safe. I heard voices near the top of the stairs, moving closer by the sound of it and I stepped to the side, winced as my leg made contact with a trunk.

A trunk? My trunk? The one I'd had since I was a girl, the only piece of luggage I'd had when I'd first moved in with my new husband? Luggage? My heart made some sort of sickening flop, the kind of motion it would make when trying to speed up and fall rapidly all at the same time.

"Yes, just there in the hallway. We'll only be taking the clothes tomorrow, of course." His voice. And the other two belonged to young men, servants by the look of them.

No. No, no, no, no, no. "Charles?" I tried to avoid speaking to him whenever possible. The word came out higher than I expected, a little hoarse too.

He smiled brilliantly, stepped down the remaining stairs to come stand by my side. I shuddered. "My darling, you're back." Then his hand was on my back, his lips on my forehead. It was all I could do not to pull away in revulsion. He felt too warm. Sickeningly so. I hadn't realized then just how little he'd touched me lately. It had been wonderful, but I hadn't thought about how bad of a thing for me that had really been. I was used to him, before. I could handle it, stomach it. Now I was accustomed only to Carlisle, to kisses and touches that I craved. Readjusting to this would be misery.

I swallowed, forced my voice steady. "Yes. I went for a walk in the park. Charles, might I…why is our luggage here?"

He smiled even wider if it were possible, and the glint in his eyes truly did make me shiver. "Because we're leaving, tomorrow. A friend of mine from the war offered me a job with his company in Madison, management position. Excellent offer. We've been finalizing it, and he's convinced me the sooner I start the better. Wonderful man, very wealthy. His old family home is very large, and we'll be staying with them temporarily. He sent these good men over to pack our basic necessities." He was grinning, far too close to me, and that alone was enough to make me want to scream. But it was nothing, nothing compared to his words. Leaving? Leaving? Tomorrow? Why, why, why hadn't I been paying better attention?

"You…you didn't tell me."

His smile turned almost wicked, as close to it as he could come in company. Wherever he might be seen by strangers, he was the model husband. "I didn't want to stress you with worry about the details, my dear. You needn't be concerned, it's all sorted out. We leave on the train tomorrow morning."

"Charles-" I don't know why I was trying to protest when I knew so clearly it wouldn't work, but my heart was screaming and my throat refused to be controlled. He gripped my wrist hard, still trying to be subtle but applying almost crushing force. I winced.

"I really don't think a walk was wise this morning, darling, you feel rather warm." His hand came up to my forehead, pressed a little too hard against it. "You aren't well. Perhaps you should lie down. Go to your room." And it was amazing how, in that context, it sounded like genuine concern. I could see past the icing, the thin veneer of gentlemanly behavior. It was an order, not a request. When he released me I moved quickly, eyes downcast to appease him.

Moving. Moving. I shut my door, leaned back against it. The world was spinning. I could hear the men's boots in the hallway, the scraping of what was probably the last trunk on the wood. I already knew without checking that he would have packed all my things first. If I had even considered leaving, he would have been trying to make it as hard on me as possible.

My mind wasn't quite working right, but I was fairly sure nothing was. I could hear very acutely, but even the processing of the sounds seemed to slow. My awareness of myself came even slower. It was ages before I realized I had slid to the floor just behind the door.

Carlisle. Carlisle. No, this wasn't fair, it wasn't right. I couldn't have just found him only to lose him now. What would he think when he came back and I was gone, my room empty? My heart spasmed painfully and I let out a strangled noise unfamiliar to my own ears. For the first time in my life, the pain was too great for tears. This transcended everything, every fear I had ever had. This fear was monumental, debilitating.

From where I lay on the floor I could see the sun, then the moon march across the sky.

I did not get up.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Charles wasn't speaking to me, and that was unusual, for public. He was always such a good husband when the world was watching. This morning, however, I had angered him enough that he didn't even want to keep up the pretence. I should have been afraid. Petrified. I couldn't find it in me to care, not in the slightest.

He had come to my room, knocked and knocked for around five minutes or so. Strangely patient, for him. I could hear him, feel the vibrations of the knocks from the door my back rested against. When I had slumped to the floor the day before I had ended up curled into a ball, and I hadn't moved since. Even if I had wanted to move I was stiff, frozen. But that was just an excuse, because I hadn't wanted to move. What I wanted, however, had never and would never be the issue where he was concerned.

He had shoved through the door, knocking it into me hard enough to cause pain I also didn't care about. He had wrenched my listless body to its feet, and for the first time I had fought him, if sort of passively. Still, he hadn't taken well to it, and he had kept a vice grip on some part of me all the way to the carriage and all the way to the train. He had released me then, and I could feel the bruises starting to throb under my skin. It was a welcome feeling.

It was snowing outside, and I let my head fall against the window. The glass was cold, ice cold. My mind flipped back five days, and in it I was in my old bed, head tucked into a familiar cold neck, my angel's arms around me. The cold, hard skin of his neck hadn't felt so very different from this.

I was still unable to cry, which I suppose should have been good considering who was watching. I still felt even unable to scream, though it felt like it was coming. It would be funny if it chose to make its appearance somewhere crowed, like at the train station. Once I started screaming, I probably wouldn't be able to stop. Perhaps he would kill me quickly then, and this would all be over.

I closed my eyes, fell into the rhythm of the train clacking. It sounded like a background rhythm, the music cold and dark. Exhaustion tugged at me, and I wondered which way I would go. I wondered if I was as yet capable of sleep. I squeezed my eyes tighter, forced myself not to focus.

When the glass under my forehead warmed, I moved my head until I found a cold spot again.

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Poor Esme. I do hate hurting her. :hugs:

And I'm so sorry this wasn't posted yesterday, it should have been….but it ended up only half done last night, because I'm an idiot and had to write the religion paper I had been putting off…and continued to put off until this morning, really. And now, I'm really sleepy so….yeah. sleep.