A/N: Here is my admission to findthewill, you were so right!
Chapter 5 has been reworked to better reflect its original purpose. The tweaks were necessary to improve its general readability and understanding.
Also, I have made a slight change to my penname. Edwina Cullen sounds better? Let me know.
Thanks to my Super beta, Slovesemmett, who is really Special, a lifeSaver and there is an S in aweSome too!
The delay? Let's just say I suffered a short case of newmoonitis (a disease suffered from a broken heart).
*bloodicicles* I only have Christian music on my playlists because that is all I ever listen to.
9. THE UNLIKELY HEIR: SEIZURE
Carlisle
Something had to give, and eventually it did. George Brooks had disappeared and not even Harry knew where to this time.
It had been two whole weeks since I last enquired about his health from the innkeeper of the inn where he had been staying. The disheveled man was busily sawing a piece of wood at the carpenters shop when I passed by to pick up a new piano bench for Edward. He barely looked up from his task when he muttered his apologies.
"I am sorry I do not know where he is," he said slowly and turned to walk up to me. I dipped my hands into both pockets of my coat and held my gaze firmly on his face as I stood in the doorway of the workshop where I waited patiently for the carpenter to bring my furniture. He wiped his dirty hands across his grease stained shirt and lifted hard guarded eyes to mine. "He has been gone a whole fortnight now," he sputtered.
Before I could phrase another question, the chagrined innkeeper launched into a torrent of complains, claiming that George had quietly left without settling the rest of his bills with the inn and worse, he had forgotten to blow out a burning candle the night before his departure. Apparently, the naked flame had caught on a curtain and burned down half the room he had been staying in.
As the innkeeper's rant ended, his voiced dipped as well into a whisper and his eyes turned forlorn. "Nobody saw him leaving," he said, stepping back to his task. "He just disappeared into thin air – poof!" he raised a hand up and snapped using the clicking sound to emphasize the poof.
I was mildly astounded by this news but quickly hid my dismay. I nodded a curt goodbye at the sullen man as the carpenter surfaced from the back room and begun to load the bench into the back of my car. I hurried home to drop off the bench and swiftly drove back to town to start my night shift at the hospital.
As much as I wanted to stay true to the agreement Edward and I had reached, it was hard to ignore the curiosity that ran tirelessly through my mind and forcing myself to forget George Brooks's troubles and the obvious danger that tended to accompany him and his shifty dealings was a herculean task. I was barely able to concentrate on my shift and was grateful for the uneventful night at the hospital.
What is the pale blond man up to now I wondered? In my musings, my mind dredged up another Mary, another deal gone badly and another life to pay for the coward's negligence and insecurity.
By mid morning of the following day, I quickly finished off at the hospital and was soon sitting tentatively in the Scott's living room waiting for a reasonable reply. Harry kept insisting he had no idea where George had gone but his voice seemed to betray him, his tone was swinging through emotions, first from outrage, then to disbelief before finally settling on whispering fright.
"I have no idea where he is Dr. Cullen," he murmured again in a resigned voice, his eyes faraway in contemplation. It was obvious he understood the implications of the situation as well as I did. It was only a matter of time now, before we found George's rotting corpse or a hastily dug unmarked grave. Perhaps, we would never see George Brooks again. Without another word, I left the trembling young man in his terrified stupor and walked out.
In the end, it was a reminder about the reason for the pact I made with my son that settled my careening mind. As I crossed the street from the Scott's home to my car, a little girl ran straight into me. She suddenly looked up with trusting eyes and a wide grin. I smiled back at her and she skipped on laughing to meet her friends on the other side. Immediately, I knew it was no use pursuing a dangerous venture if it consistently threatened the safety of our secret. We were better off keeping the truth hidden. The innocent inhabitants of Ashland were better off not knowing what to make of us than to begin nattering and speculating.
With my resolve not to get involved in small town scandal further strengthened, I drove home to my son. The one to whom I owed my unwavering devotion and protection even if it was with a very subtle hope that at a more opportune time, we could get back on the trail of Elizabeth's hidden treasure. However, right now, being a vampire, staying a doctor and keeping company with Harry and George were painfully impossible.
I wholly understood Edward's concern about or need to stay hidden from prying eyes and in the scant discussion that day in the forest, where meager words were spoken and a consensus reached easily, I decided it was no use arguing with the fact.
After the unfortunate incident with Mary's captors, Edward and I had hunted together nearly every day for two whole weeks. Gradually, his eyes had slowly faded into their usual gold and he began to drive his car around town again instead of sulking silently in his room. Once during our hunting trips, we accidentally strayed through the accursed and unceremonious burial ground that was my son's undoing. Edward screeched to a stop and looked pointedly at the nearly invisible grave holding the bloodless remains of the two assassins beneath the large oak tree and groaned. His hard, cold eyes swept through the clearing a short moment before he ran along with me.
I knew he was thinking about his encounter with the killers and was remembering the excitement that had followed in the wake of the murder. Ashland had come to a standstill the day folks learned about Mary's demise, most were enraged but some women who feared the same fate, huddled in their homes from fear. Later that day, a few young men planned a hunt for the people responsible for the heinous crime. They held vigils every night for an entire week in an attempt to find the disturbed soul who had been so cruel.
When it was obvious their efforts were futile, they quickly shifted their thinking to blame either George Brooks or runaway Negro slaves for the shocking brutality that ended in young Mary's death. Because these allegations were unfounded, it was difficult to dissuade each man from the belief he firmly clung to. Soon, the controversy had created rifts between colleagues, friends and even families. The real truth however, stayed hidden within my son's crimson eyes.
As soon as we had drained two stray cougars, Edward turned to me and said, "Carlisle, about my mother's. . ."
I instantly understood the route to take with this conversation and lifted a hand to stop him before the remaining words tumbled out. "Yes, I understand," I said. It is not worth the toll on human life. He looked up sharply to search my eyes and scowled, and then turned away. It dawned on me a bit too late that I may have misspoken but Edward simply shrugged and set out in a trot towards home. I followed silently, hoping he understood that I had not meant him at all.
His only reassurance, after we had reached home was a tight smile and a mumbled "I'll be right back," and he was out the door. As he did daily, when he climbed into his new Cadillac and sped down street, he was long gone before I could ask where he was off to. I was glad, even though a bit anxious, about his daily drives and chalked it up to his need to change his scenery every now and then. Maybe, he has a girl he goes to see?
I smiled broadly at the near impossibility of my thoughts and started to walk through the hallway to my room. Before I reached the door, I glanced around the living room and my gaze settled on the shiny black piano seated in the middle of the well-furnished room. He has abandoned you for a girl, huh? I asked the object rhetorically. Edward's only girlfriend was his car. He often referred to his machine as a female and chatted about her like a newlywed man would do about his bride.
A real girl was undeniably the last thing on my son's mind. Besides the fact that it was not safe for any woman to get too close to him, Edward never showed an interest in any of the many who threw themselves at his feet. He thoroughly ignored all their subtle innuendos and kept a straight face. His pathetic father on the other hand, pined hopelessly for the love of a teenage human woman he was never likely to meet again.
It seemed as though I could feel my heart ache with the insistent yearning that could never be satisfied, and the pain of the finality of it was unabated no matter how secure I was in my decision. Leaving Esme was the hardest thing I had done in all of my years, and the pain of unrequited love haunted me almost daily.
She was a human girl, vivacious and intelligent with sky blue eyes that had danced periodically from my face to her badly torn leg and back again as I worked to quickly stitch the gaping wound close. Her shy smile and that little pink tongue that darted out to lick her lips when I was done treating her leg were seared in my memory forever. She held me captive in her warm, rounded beauty and could undoubtedly bring me to my knees.
I wondered once more if I could have waited just a few more years, until she was old enough to marry, and then – and then what Carlisle Cullen? I sighed and headed back into my room. I closed the door gingerly and plopped into my dark brown recliner. For a moment, I understood the pain that brought George Brooks to his knees when he had learned about Elizabeth's death and even now, I understood the misery that shrouded him in his loss of Mary. Twice, death had laid its icy grips on the women he loved.
George mourned passionately and quite shamelessly after Mary's passing. The day after her burial, he moved back into town and removed the contents from her room in the boarding house where she used to stay into the small room he rented for himself in an inn nearby. He also insisted on inundating her grave with an obscene amount of flowers. Every morning, he would go to tend them and replace any that were withering with new blooms. Worst of all, he developed a drinking problem. He now spent most of his days in an intoxicated stupor.
Every saloon in town had to close its doors because George drank them out of whiskey. The only way to sate his desires would be for him to open his own distillery, and even that would not be enough for the mourning man. If they only knew what really distressed the man, they could sympathize with him better, could they not?
George refused any sympathy. He chose instead to frequent the brothels and bars in the town till he could barely stand upright. He would stagger through the streets every night complaining to any passer-by about how unfair his life was. I could hardly do more than offer medical advice and hope he did not take his own life.
The last time we spoke I had to give him the news, his face had fallen when I told him about my decision to quit Elizabeth's charge. He had begged me to reconsider my decision, claiming Elizabeth's letters were the only reason he still lived. Such over-sentimental gibberish!
The hospital was unusually quiet the night I saw him last. Several patients had been healing well and were discharged to spend the winter with their families. Moreover, it was a week to Christmas and unless it was absolutely necessary, doctors were reluctant to take cases lest they be called away from their families during the Yuletide. I stayed behind that night after my shift, to help with a rather complicated case.
The patient had been suffering from constant headaches, dizziness, chest pains and a persistent cough. I sighed when I realized there was nothing else to do for her. I decided to take a more purposeful whiff on my next intake of breathe and suddenly stiffened.
I smelled the blood first, and then later, the nasty odor of a man in need of a long bath, from many meters away. I bolted out of my seat at human pace and headed towards the fading scent of George Brooks. He lay motionless in the snow near my car with his arms wrapped around his chest acting as inadequate protection from the cold. As I got closer, I noticed he was hugging a metal box close to his chest and his once lush whitish hair was caked in dry mud and debris. His knuckles and elbows bled profusely and his right eye was nearly forced closed by a dark bruise.
I knelt beside him and listened to his heart beat flailing and stuttering. His pulse felt weak beneath his rapidly cooling and paling skin where I touched, at the base of his palm. His eyes were unfocused and flickered distractedly over me. He blinked rapidly after a moment and finally shoved the silver box at me. He raised his hands to signal that I bring my head closer to his face. He parted his lips very slightly to say something and I drew my head close to the weak words he spoke.
"Here, here are the Anthony Masen letters. Please Dr. Cullen, take them and don't give up on Elizabeth yet," he breathed.
I lifted my head and turned to look at the dying man. His lips were trying to smile and his eyes were slowly drifting shut. Thanking God silently for the darkness, I hauled him up into my arms and begun to run.
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How will Carlisle respond to a dying man's wish?
Playlist: I'm Sorry – Flyleaf (Flyleaf)
Out the Crib – Fedel (I Live)
There for You – Flyleaf (Flyleaf)
I am mightily impressed with the "one twist in midair" werewolf transformation in the New Moon Official trailer. Great work Chris Weitz!
Coming Soon: Portraits
