A/N: Thanks for reading!
Thanks to my prereaders, Secamimom and Kharizzmatik and my beta, TwilightMomofTwo!
These two worlds don't belong to me. Well…this world does but the original ones don't.
This fic is rated M for mystery. And because they won't let me rate it W for weird as shit.
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"Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long year
Stole many a mans soul and faith"
(Sympathy for the Devil, The Rolling Stones)
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Then:
(June 15th, 1997)
"Why are you always following me?" I asked, glaring down at the five year old girl with the big brown eyes.
"Would you like to come to my tea party?" she asked.
"No. I'm a boy. Boys don't drink tea."
"What do boys drink?"
I groaned in frustration. "We drink boy stuff…like…chocolate milk," I told her.
She thought about that for a moment.
"Do you want to drink chocolate milk at my tea party?" she asked.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "No. I'm not going to your stupid tea party, Bella. You're such a baby. Leave me alone!"
I regretted it the moment I said it. Her eyes filled up with tears and her whole face turned down into a frown. It felt like someone punched me in the stomach to see her that upset.
"I'm sorry," I said, but it didn't matter. She ran off toward the house.
I followed quickly after her, a little panicked. I wasn't afraid she'd tattle on me. Bella had caught me breaking the rules a lot over of the years and she never once told any of our parents about it. I trusted that she wasn't going to get me in trouble now, but I couldn't stand to see her cry.
"Bella?" I said, knocking on her bedroom door. I could hear her softly crying inside the room and I felt like I had swallowed battery acid.
"Go away, stupid boy!" she yelled.
I rolled my eyes at the door. "Can I come in?" I asked, worried that she would say 'no'.
She sniffled a couple of times. "Okay."
I shoved the door open, cringing with anticipation of seeing all of her stuffed animals propped up for tea time. To my surprise all she had was a blanket spread out on the floor with two plastic cups sitting in the middle of it. They weren't even tea cups. One was a pink sippy cup without its lid and the other was a worn out Incredible Hulk cup.
"I…um…I'm sorry I said your tea party would be stupid," I apologized. I still thought the idea was stupid but I didn't want her to feel bad.
"It is stupid," she whispered, kicking over the plastic cups and running to her bed.
I didn't know what to do to make her stop crying. I just knew I felt worse the longer she did it.
I picked up the cups and walked to the kitchen where Renee was preparing food for dinner.
"Um…do you have some chocolate milk?" I asked, holding up the cups.
She smiled. "Are you going to Baby B's tea party?" she asked enthusiastically.
I nodded, with much less enthusiasm.
She laughed lightly as she filled the cups. "Oh Eddie, you will understand one day that all the annoyance is worth it."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because it doesn't matter what you're doing so long as you enjoy the person you are doing it with," she explained patiently.
I pouted, mumbling, "whatever."
She laughed as I walked upstairs to Bella's room.
"Bell…" I started to say as I walked inside. I was stopped by a pillow slamming against my face. The two cups of chocolate milk tumbled to the ground, drowning my sneakers.
"Get out," she huffed.
I stood there, dripping wet and confused as hell. "What the heck was that for?" I yelled.
"I don't want to have a tea party anymore," she pouted, stomping her feet.
"Bella, did you seriously just stomp your feet?" I laughed.
"Stop that! Stop laughing at me!" she demanded. "And stop calling me Bella. My name is Isabella. Call me Iz. Bella was a baby." She ran past me to the kitchen to inform her mother that she had changed her name to Iz.
"Women," my brother said from the hallway. "You won't win this one, Eddie. Just call the girl Iz and leave it at that." He winked before heading outside.
I scratched my head, still standing there in shock and covered in chocolate milk.
"I don't get it."
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Now:
(June 27th, 2010)
Lesson 9: Never Look Back
Edward PoV: (Rio)
I rested my head against the wall, having situated myself into the corner.
I was exhausted.
Starving.
Thirsty.
I felt like my skin was pulling away from my bones—like all the moisture and strength in my body was being sucked inward. I imagined a flame burning at the center of my body, and I could feel the light waning.
Little by little… Minute by minute… I could feel myself dying.
Food was a forgotten concept, as was civility. The stench that filled my lungs no longer turned my stomach. There was nothing left to turn.
A wave of weakness drained any fight from me, and I jerked my head sporadically to keep my eyes from closing. Sleep was not an option. Whenever I did slip into unconsciousness they would wake me up. First with freezing cold water from the sprinklers overhead, then with a screeching horn played over the speaker mounted above the door.
I used to think that living with my family was torture.
I didn't know shit about torture.
I had no clue how long I'd been locked up but I would guess it was only a few days. It was unfathomable to know that people lived for years in situations like this. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't—eventually I'd find the strength to kill myself.
Every so often Eleazar would return to my cell. I assumed his visits were daily but for all I knew anymore it could have been hourly.
"I must say," he informed me while placing his warm fingers against my neck to check my pulse. "You are the most complacent one they've held on to." He barked a twisted laugh when I didn't react to him shining a light directly in my eye. "I expected the kid raised by Carlisle Cullen to fight till someone slit his throat."
I didn't respond to his remark, my fears reconciled to just accept whatever fate was ahead of me. What use was there in fighting? It wasn't like Jazz was going to be able to save me now. He didn't know the first thing about where I was. Hell, I didn't know the first thing about where I was. Maybe Carlisle Cullen raised me but he wasn't here to force me to my feet.
Eleazar left the room, and I went back to my metamorphosis into oblivion.
I tried counting my breaths, the bricks in the walls, even tried recalling the exact location and date of every monster hunt I'd ever been on. Slowly, I gave up trying to place a value of time on my stay in this prison.
Eleazar returned, again. Had it been an hour, or a day? Maybe it had been a week since his last visit. I couldn't say for certain.
"Did you know her?" I asked without looking at him.
It took a minute for a response since he was clearly caught off guard by the sound of my voice. The sound was just as unsettling to my ears. My voice was a gravely snarl of sound devoid of emotion and life—I barely recognized it.
"Who?"
"My mother…Elizabeth, did you know her too?" It was the only question that I cared enough to ask. I'd spent my entire life trying to find out who the woman on fire really was. I figured before I died I should follow my last lead.
He contemplated his answer as he recorded my vitals. "Well… she was a Chosen female so I wasn't…needed on her case."
"Chosen female?" I prompted even though the muscles used to access my memory were worn out. I could only understand the surface of his words. The deeper meaning…connections to research I had collected my whole life were lost to me.
He nodded solemnly. "Yes…they…it's unwise for me to explain further but…The Chosen are very important to the work they do here…However, unless a Chosen female shows signs of a gift there is no need for me. It's with the boys…the offspring of those females that my expertise is best applied."
"Are you saying that I'm an experiment?" I gathered from the language he used to describe this interaction.
He nodded once more. "Oh yes, quite the successful one too. You are the result of generations of precise breeding. It was uncertain if you would be worth the effort of tracking down in the beginning. Your father wasn't authorized to mate with your mother and you were considered a waste. But I knew. The moment Carlisle introduced you to me, I knew…"
"You've been working for them all along?" I interjected. Some dormant part of me tried to feel surprised that our only lead to finding Carlisle had turned out to be a traitor. I couldn't muster the energy to be shocked, though.
Eleazar sighed, resting back on his haunches. "I work for no one, boy. I'm much older than any of these…things that have you. I'm above their games with humanity. But, unfortunately, I am compelled to do their biding thanks to …need for protection."
"Protection from what?" I shot my eyes to his, practically hearing his response in my head.
"Erebos?" I guessed.
I hadn't heard that name mentioned in this place. It seemed odd to me that almost everyone in my family, and extended family including Renee and Charlie, had been visited by the thing called Erebos, but he wasn't the one standing over me in this cell. With what Jazz and Charlie described from their meetings of the monster, I should have been killed in cold blood in my motel room once Erebos caught up to me. I concluded that meant these captors were working against him, or at least they weren't working with him.
Eleazar's eyes narrowed but he did not confirm or deny the name.
"What are they?" Again the sound of my voice asking questions confused me. I didn't care what his responses were, did I? I just wanted this all to end.
He shook his head slowly. "They have no real name. The oldest call them simply 'the Cold Ones'. Others have thought up more…ghoulish titles for their kind over the centuries."
I mulled that information over in my slowly turning mind. "That doesn't make sense to me," I admitted in frustration, disorientated from internment.
"You'll catch on soon enough, kid. They're playing with fire where you're concerned anyway. You're strong enough alone, and you've already discovered your match…been bonded with her all of her life actually. Don't really see the angle in all of it…" The last bit he muttered mostly to himself, his eyes unfocused as if he were looking into his memories and not at me.
It was too much information. I couldn't fully process any of it.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked skeptically. I didn't know if I could trust anything he told me and for some reason the truth of his words mattered to me.
He chuckled, standing to leave. "Edward, there is no point in me hiding anything from you. By tomorrow night there won't be a mind within a hundred miles of this place that can keep anything from you."
I narrowed my eyes as I watched him leave the room.
"So they're not going to kill me?" I whispered, feeling my heart sink.
Death was what I had been hoping for.
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Carlisle PoV (Seattle, June 20th, 1986)
I had just climbed into bed after one of the longest days of my life—sixteen hours straight of residency work followed by an all-nighter of studying up on new surgical procedures.
Two blessed hours of sleep were staring me in the face before I was due at the morgue for my night job. The phone rang the second I closed my eyes.
"What?" I mumbled incoherently into the receiver.
"Where are you? You're late." My father's voice announced. I cracked one eye open to find that I was, in fact, twenty minutes late for my job.
"I must have slept through my alarm," I offered with a yawn.
My father blustered on his end of the phone, and I quickly supplied an apology for excuses. There was no room for excuses.
"Get down to the morgue," he barked so loud that the phone shook against my ear. "They just brought in a fresh cadaver. I want you to clock in some training with the autopsy."
"Yes, sir," I replied, hanging up the phone and getting dressed immediately. I might have been twenty-six years old, but my father still had the ability to make me feel like a toddler.
It was a quick drive over to the county hospital. My father had set up a sort of unofficial internship for me in the morgue. It was a wonderful opportunity, since I preferred working with the dead rather than the living anyway. My father had announced that the position would help me become the next great surgeon in the Cullen family line, but secretly I hoped that the training would lead to a job as a coroner.
I never felt like I belonged in the world of saving lives. I was worried I'd screw up and end up killing more patients than I helped. Best to just start off with clients who were dead on arrival.
"Carlisle," Dr. Young greeted me as I entered the operating room. "I thought your father might send you down this morning. He expressed an interest for this particular type of case some time ago."
I offered him a polite smile but felt my stomach flip in annoyed anticipation at his words. My father treated human life like everyone was just a walking cadaver. People were reduced to the symptoms that led to their demise rather than experiences of what gave them life before ending up here. He had specific interests in causes of death and he wished for me to follow in his footsteps.
"A suicide?" I asked while I slipped on operating scrubs.
"How'd you guess?" he asked with a quirk of his brow.
I shrugged. My father had been chomping at the bit for me to work on a suicide victim for a while. Who knew what in the hell his reasoning was. It was almost like he expected something monumental to happen to my life once I had come face to face with my first suicide victim.
"Have you already completed the autopsy?" I asked, preparing for the surgery. "How do you know it's a suicide?"
"I was just about to begin. She was found floating face down in the canal back behind the church on Seventh Street."
"How does that make her a suicide?" I prompted, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
"She has multiple scars along her wrists indicating previous attempts," he noted.
I nodded. It seemed safe to assume she was in that water in yet another effort to end her life.
"Okay, how do you want to do this?"
He handed me the scalpel. "You open her up," he instructed, leaning over to turn on the recorder. "The deceased is a young female, in her early twenties. Brunette hair. Caucasian."
As he read off the visual descriptors I fond myself correcting his choice of words automatically in my head. She wasn't just some young female, she was a woman. Not just in her early twenties but the prime of her life. The shade of her hair wasn't brunette but rather a delicate chestnut with strands of auburn highlights. Her skin wasn't just white it was ivory and cream, kissed with a soft peachy blush. I would guess she was of Irish descent from her coloring and the few freckles that dotted her cheeks.
I shook my head at the ridiculous details that had just poured out of my brain like a love poem.
Focus, Carlisle, I thought. This was just a body. A woman who had ended her life because she couldn't stand living anymore.
Your life will be over if you fuck this up, I reminded myself.
Dr. Young cut her clothes from her body, and I fought an overwhelming urge to turn away and give her privacy. I had no clue why I felt like that. Even more disturbing was the fact that I couldn't seem to just focus on the job. I had an exceptional gift at detaching from situations and my emotions—that skill I owed entirely to my father. It's the reason that I preferred working with the departed. There were no expectations of me caring what their lives were like outside of this room. No need for small talk. I could just approach each job with a clear head and focus on my work. For some strange reason this case seemed different.
This woman was different.
He motioned for me to begin and my hand stalled inches above her collarbone. I couldn't help but stare at her. Her face, those lips, so endearing. She was beautiful, even in death—a frozen angel.
"Who is she?" I whispered, dropping the scalpel on to the table, abandoning all hope of pulling my shit together. Nothing else mattered anymore as I gazed at her face. I had to know who she was. Her name was the most important thing in the world to me.
A word echoed suddenly in my mind. A name. Her name.
Esme…
"Esme…" I whispered, running my fingers gently over her cheek. "Esme…" I repeated.
"You okay, kid?" Dr. Young asked, giving me a look like I was bat-shit crazy.
I ignored him, suddenly devastated by the fact that she was gone. I had never met her. Never heard her voice. Never looked into her eyes. My heart was heavy with mourning for a life I had never known.
"You can't leave me," I breathed, leaning closer to her. I kissed her lips unthinkingly, hardly aware when Dr. Young called for security.
"Come back to me," I whispered against her lips. An almost imperceptible tremble stirred those frozen lips.
"Esme?"
"Carlisle, you need to back away from that body," a voice warned from far away.
"She's still alive," I said, feeling along her throat for a pulse. To my relief it was there. It was faint and failing but her heart was still beating.
"She's alive," I repeated, looking up to Dr. Young with tears blurring my vision.
"Are you insane?" he asked with a twist of his features. "She's been in here for two days…she was found in the river face down…"
"I need a medic!" I screamed. If what he said was true she was on the brink of death already.
"Stay with us, Ez," I told her, hating the cold, sterile world she was lying in right now. There were no blankets to warm her. No devices to help revive her breathing. This place was meant to receive the dead not revitalize the living.
I stripped off my shirt and wrapped my body around hers to transfer what little warmth I could. She was like a block of ice but I could feel her body slowly draw strength from my own.
"He's in here!" Dr. Young yelled. "Get him out of here before he defiles this poor girl any further…"
"She's alive!" I shouted when the security guards fought to pull me off of her.
"Help her!" I screamed in desperation just before a blinding pain radiated from the back of my head, causing the world to go black.
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Jazz PoV (June 28th, 2010, Houston, Texas)
The first thing I wanted when I woke was a stiff drink.
Voices permeated my barely conscious state. I groaned, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand and finding nothing. I peeked one eye open to find the bottle, and the nightstand for that matter, gone.
That's because you aren't in the motel room, you idiot, I reminded myself. It had been a week since I found myself in a motel actually. Seven days since I had slept through the night. I looked around, annoyed with the assholes hanging around the room that I had passed out in. Apparently these creeps never slept.
Lucky bastards.
"Where's Charlotte?" I heard someone ask. I ignored the request and ran my hands over my face to wake up.
Hell if I even knew who Charlotte was. Names weren't something that stuck with me much. I had no need to become attached to anyone around here. Asshole number one and two were good enough descriptors for me.
"She was with Riley's scout unit this morning," another voice replied.
"Ah, I hope they had better luck," Asshole number one insisted.
"I hope so too, but I doubt that they did. There's a reason they call that bitch 'The Prophet'."
"Oh, I know…it was like chasing mist when we caught up with her. She anticipated every move we made."
"Unnecessary early morning exposition much, assholes?" I grumbled, shoving myself up from the floor.
They both gave me suspicious glances and I just shrugged. "Never mind."
At least you two finally shut up.
I headed through the dilapidated hacienda to the one working bathroom in the house. The assholes never peed either, apparently.
"How nice, you already have yourself out and waiting for me," Rhea teased, walking up behind me as I finished my business.
"Fuck off," I mumbled. Her hands slid over mine as I zipped up my fly.
"I was thinking more like on the counter behind us," she whispered seductively.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm immune to your bullshit first thing in the morning."
She laughed; that manic insane sound made my skin crawl.
"Don't worry, mi amor, we don't have much time for that anyway."
She ruffled my hair before leaving me alone. I glared at the jerk in the mirror as I washed my hands and face. Seven days ago I wasn't happy with that dude staring back at me, but I had found a way to live with him. I wasn't exactly sure what had happened to me in the past week, but I didn't recognize any part of the old me now.
I ran my finger over the scar on my cheek. Maybe I recognized a small part of me.
Doors started slamming and shouts rang out as I headed back toward the front of the house.
"What happened?" Rhea shouted.
"That bitch is fast," Riley told her, his face twisted with rage. "And she hit Garrett and Charlotte."
The guy who had woken me up with his yapping, Asshole number one, gasped at that but quickly masked his fears behind a vacant stare.
"Our numbers?" Rhea asked, ignoring the outburst.
"Intact. Charlotte will be fine; she's reattaching her arm in the barn. Garrett's leg was ripped off, he's still searching for it. What gives? Why did she just hack off some limbs? Why not just kill us?" Riley mused.
Rhea giggled, winding her arms around his middle. "She's not big on killing people. She couldn't even kill Marcus when we broke out. Had the perfect opportunity too."
"Who are you looking for?" I asked, getting pretty pissed that I had to repeat myself so much around this place.
Rhea rested her cheek against Riley's chest as she glanced my way. She watched me for a moment. I could all but see her tail swishing behind her.
"It's not important. We don't really need her. We'll…make do," she declared, ignoring my question completely.
"Riley, I need you to stay with the troops en la casa," Rhea instructed much to Riley's immediate displeasure.
"You're taking him, though, right?" he spat, glaring at me.
I rolled my eyes, shoving my hands in my pockets nonchalantly just to piss him off more.
It worked.
"He doesn't know shit about the plan…the war…why the hell are you entertaining this fantasy?" he whined.
"I told you before," she purred, stroking her hands down the sides of his face. I noticed that he didn't bend to her touch the way everyone else around her did. I made a mental note of that little piece of info.
"I know you think it's safer for me to stay behind but…querida, I can't let you go alone," he whispered emphatically. His arms wrapped around her as if he could absorb her body into his.
The way he looked at her, and the stare that she returned, reminded me of how Edward used to look at Iz when he thought nobody was looking. Even when they were kids, especially back then, he used to stare at her like she was the prize in the crackerjack box.
The empty cavern in my chest ached as another memory was stirred up by the sight. I squashed that memory back, opting to kick up some trouble to relieve the lovey-dovey bullshit.
"Are we ditching the prom date or what?" I prompted, rolling my hand in the air to show that we were wasting time.
Riley glared daggers at me to which I simply puckered my lips and taunted him further. He snarled…more like growled, taking one step toward me. I planted my feet, relishing the opportunity to fight.
"Suficiente!" Rhea shouted, waving her hands between us. "You need to stay here," she commanded, holding Riley's stare with a forceful one of her own.
"And you need to pack that dick back in your pants and follow me," she informed me, waving toward the door.
"Where are we going?" I asked as we left the Adobe style house that Rhea had called Home.
"Heading down south," she replied with a twist of her lips.
"Really?" I spat with a sarcastic roll of my eyes. "You said that we were heading down to Rio yesterday." I looked around. "Looks like we're still in Texas to me."
"Some last minute…details had to be taken care of," she offered, winking over her shoulder at me.
I huffed silently to myself.
"Peter," she called. Asshole number one walked over to kneel before her silently.
"Carry him," she commanded. Before I could ask for clarification she sped off into the early morning light.
Peter stood waiting for me. "What the hell is she talking about?"
Without warning, he stepped forward, hefting me over his shoulder like I was Scarlett Fucking O'Hara and followed the rest of the gang.
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Carlisle PoV (Seattle, August 13th, 1986)
"You look so beautiful," I told her, running my hands along the white lace that ran down her back.
"Mrs. Cullen," I breathed against her ear as I wrapped my arms around her from behind. We fit together so perfectly. Two pieces of a puzzle that I hadn't even realized existed until I met her.
"I love you," she whispered. Her hands fell delicately over mine.
"What is it?" I asked, sensing that she was worried with the way her fingers squeezed mine.
"I'm not going to be able to hide anything from you, am I?" she teased.
I turned her around in my embrace so that I could look into her eyes. "Not if I can help it," I vowed.
"What's wrong?" I echoed, kissing her lips gently to let her know that I was here for her. Always.
"I'm happy with you, Carlisle. I promise that I am. It's just…" She looked away and I wouldn't have it. I hooked my finger under her chin to draw her eyes back to mine.
"Just what?" I prodded.
"Why didn't you just let me die…he was almost here. He won't get involved now unless he finds out about…why didn't you just let me die?"
The desperation in her voice was nothing compared to the desolation in her eyes as she pleaded up at me. I didn't know what to say.
It was our wedding day. I had never been more certain about anything in my life than I was about Esme. If I had let her die…we wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't be whole. It was a statistical probability that I would have died myself if I had just left her in that morgue two months ago.
"I can't live without my soul, Ez," I offered sympathetically. I knew she had been through some kind of hell before I found her. She was covered in scars all over her body. The slashes on her wrists were the most disturbing.
I wouldn't push her to divulge her secrets to me. Whatever was in her past didn't matter to me. All that mattered was that I was in her present, and now her future.
"That's all behind us now," I promised, kissing her sweetly.
Her eyes were drawn away from my face as we pulled apart. Her breath hitched in panic and she tucked her face against my chest. I hugged her to me fiercely, searching for the cause of her distress. My sight landed on the smiling face of my father.
A cold chill ran down my spine at the delighted glee in his eyes. I had never seen my father so pleased. I had no idea why he was so happy now.
Hw2HHw2HHw2HHw2H
(Alice PoV, June 28th, 2010, Rio)
"Finally," Marcus said. His sneer was vicious, the twinkle in his eyes unnerving.
"Your mother paid for her subordination as well, Jasper," he hissed. "And now it's your turn."
The sound of bones snapping registered a second before all the life drained from my body.
I gasped, coughing as I tried to stabilize my breathing.
I ducked down an alleyway to avoid unwanted attention. The vision had caught me off guard.
"She's made up her mind," I guessed. My thoughts were flooded with dozens of possible outcomes from this decision. Most of them ended the same way. Jasper would die.
I cradled my face in my hands and tried to think. There was no remedy to this curse now.
"It's the only way," I whispered.
I kept moving since standing still in this city was just asking to be caught by the Guard. My thoughts dwelled on the image of Jasper at the facility. The dark circles under his eyes…his eyes…hollowed out caverns of blue desolation.
My heart clenched at the thought.
"Oh, Jasper," I whispered as I merged into the bustling crowd of the mid-morning market.
This was all my fault. If only I had seen the bigger plan. If only I had been more patient.
If only you had just given in last week and stayed with him. I chided myself for even thinking it. It was horrible enough that I had teased him to begin with. I made a vow the day I found him that I would never force our bond on him.
Nothing good ever came from finding your match.
An image of Edward popped into my head. He sat with Bella at a small kitchen table. They shared shy, loving glances as he ran his finger over the back of her hand. My heart ached a second time, though this time it was with hope that true love would weather this storm.
So give your love a chance, my heart begged.
"Not meant to be," I muttered. I knew what they did when they found the Chosen ones. I knew who would be two steps behind us every second that we spent together.
I scanned my inner eye back to Rhea's decisions, finding my destination easily. I saw the people around me minutes ahead of my reality, anticipating the best course to navigate through the crowd.
It was odd being back in Brazil, strange to be this close to the Guard. I found that the panic and fear that had kept me away for so long was drained from me. Maybe I'd just spent too many hours in Edward's depleted near future, but I could feel resignation settling into my bones.
"How many pesos for a phone call?" I heard him ask as I neared the small cantina.
Jasper stood at the bar having a very animated conversation with the waitress. Apparently Spanish was not in his repertoire, and it seemed sign language wasn't beneficial to his plight either. I hid a giggle behind my hand.
It was a trap. She had been clever enough not to decide how to spring the trap, and therefore kept the near future a secret from me, but Rhea wouldn't have left him unguarded, especially in this place, without a reason. I watched from the shadows, perplexed by the outcome of Jasper's phone call.
Darkness. All I could see in the future was darkness.
Hw2HHw2HHw2HHw2H
Carlisle PoV (December 10th, 1986)
"Carlisle," my father called as I rounded the corner of the hospital hallway. I silently groaned.
"Hello, Father."
"I had hoped to find you this morning. There's someone I'm excited for you to meet," he announced, clapping his hands in almost sadistic glee. My stomach dropped at the thought. I had no desire to meet any of my father's friends. They were all the same- heartless, ambitious pricks.
"Dr. V," my father called. I turned to a find a man in his mid thirties walking towards us. I could read what kind of man he was. He was tall, with dark hair and pale features. He wore glasses but something about the way his eyes roamed his surroundings told me that he probably didn't need them. The angles of his face were sharp like the blade of a scalpel.
"Ah, this must be the prodigal son," Dr. V said, reaching his hand out in invitation for me to shake it.
I reluctantly did so, noticing that his hands were freezing to the touch.
"Dr. V," I greeted him.
"Oh please, call me Marcus." He offered a charming smile but something about it made me think he was hiding something.
"You'll be working with Dr. V now; he can get you on the right track," my father proclaimed.
As with every other moment in my life I just bit my tongue and nodded. It wasn't any use to question with my father. He was ruthless when it came to his plans for my future. He'd made that quite clear the day I got married to Ez, showing me documentation that he drafted that could put her away in a mental institution if I chose to suddenly leave town and start a new life with her.
"Call it security for your future, son," he told me. "You are still very young. We wouldn't want you to make a foolish mistake because you love the girl too much."
I vowed that day that I would never become my father by forcing my kids into a future against their wishes.
"It will be my pleasure to work with you, Marcus," I lied.
Marcus smiled. "I promise to not be too hard on you kid," he joked. I tried to laugh in response but felt bile rising in my throat.
"Good, good… such good news," my father said, wringing his hands like some villain from a silent movie.
"We should probably get to work, Dr. Cullen," Marcus dismissed my father with a nod of his head. To my complete amazement it worked.
"How did you do that?" I asked as my father trotted away to ruin someone else's life for a change.
Marcus shrugged, reaching for a clipboard on the nurses' station in front us. "I have a way with getting people to do what I want, I suppose."
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Jasper PoV (Rio, June 28th, 2010)
I handed the man at the bar a twenty, and he held it up to the light as if it were monopoly money or something. I rolled my eyes. "Teléfono?" I asked in my broken Spanish. He nodded to a phone tucked off to the side of the bar.
I dialed Charlie's cell; thankfully I had the number memorized. Rhea had commanded that I leave everything behind in Sinton. I had complied with everything but my gun.
"Uh…hello?" Charlie answered warily.
"Charlie, it's me, Jazz."
"Jazz…hey, what's up?" His voice was strained, on edge. I groaned at the sound. I was standing in the middle of a hole-in-the-wall cantina in the middle of South America, having ridden on the shoulder of a dude for the fastest trip in my life. I didn't need anymore stress right now.
"Everything okay, Chuck?" I asked, finding myself somewhere between genuinely worried and sarcastically unfazed.
"Uh…yep. How's it going on your end? Found your brother yet?" His voice raised in pitch at the end of the question. It was a rookie tale of lying. Not like Charlie at all.
Is he possessed or something?
"What did my dad always carry in his back pocket?" I asked, knowing that only a handful of people would really know the answer to that.
Charlie huffed. "He carried a rosary with a locket attached to it," he responded flatly.
"What was in the locket?" I prompted, still not convinced.
"A worn-out picture of his wife." There was a pause. When he spoke again I could hear anger in his voice. "I ain't renting space to a demon, kid," he assured me.
"Well, then you wanna tell me what bush we're beating around here, Charlie?"
I heard him mumble something away from the receiver. "Nope. All's good here."
That canned response pissed me off. What the hell is it with people keeping shit from me?
"How're the repairs going?" I fished.
More mumbling. "Good…good…the..uh…Car…um Carlisle…your dad is just about street ready, I guess." He rambled around his response like a blind man feeling up an elephant.
"You guess?" I echoed. I could feel rage rising inside of me. I was reaching my limit of people hiding information from me.
"Right…well, you know Em is doing the detail stuff and I'm mostly here for moral support. My back has been giving me grief and…" he started to ramble again.
"Are you drunk?" I asked in annoyance.
"Uh…hell, you got me, kid," he offered hastily. "Yep…bout ready to throw up and pass out."
I narrowed my eyes. My brother might be the one who was damn near psychic but I could smell a big pile of shit just as easily as the next guy.
"Put Emmett on the phone," I requested. The phone was passed on with heated whispers that I couldn't make out.
"Jazz," Em said like it was the first time we had spoken to each other in months.
"I need you to look something up for me," I told him, forgoing the awkward repeat performance of what-are-these-two-idiots-trying-to-hide-from-me.
"Sure thing, Rosie, boot up the laptop please," he said away from the phone.
"Rosie?" I asked.
Em chuckled. "Rosie's my girl," he informed me and I could practically hear his smile in his voice.
I rolled my eyes. "Cool," I said sarcastically.
"What do you need?" Em asked.
I opened my mouth to reply when a sharp pain suddenly radiated from the back of my head. I grunted as I fell face first into a bowl of guac on the bar before passing out.
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Carlisle PoV (May 1st, 1987)
I walked into the bedroom holding the test strip that I had found on the counter in the bathroom. My mind was both blank and rapidly spinning in out of control fantasies and fears.
"Um…Ez?" was the only greeting that I could muster while my brain battled with itself.
She looked up from the book she was reading, her eyes widening as she took in my expression and what I was holding.
"I meant to throw that out," she mumbled, her cheeks growing pink.
I offered her a goofy smile, shaking my head in reassurance. The test read negative but just the idea that we might one day have kids together was making me lightheaded with joy.
"It's okay…I hadn't…I mean, you never…" I stammered.
I shut up when I realized that she wasn't mirroring my enthusiasm for offspring. In fact she looked downright ill at the idea.
"What is it?" I asked, rushing to the bed to hold her hand.
She sighed, looking away from me for a moment. This was something to do with her past. She always shut down when what we were talking about touched upon her past.
"I'm not…able to conceive Carlisle. I thought maybe…but I'm pretty sure God had only one child destined for me." She spoke so softly that it took me a minute to understand what she meant.
"You've been pregnant before?" My confusion caused the words to sound more like an accusation than just an observation. Esme flinched back from me, causing my heart to break.
"I didn't mean it like that… It's okay, sweetheart," I promised, pulling her into my arms.
She trembled in my arms, her breath catching as she started to cry. "I'm so sorry, Carlisle. I wanted to tell you…I can't…"
"Shh," I offered, trying to calm her worries. "It's okay, Ez." It truly was okay. Whatever she was afraid of we would work through. "We can adopt."
She shoved herself up to look at me. I brushed the stray tears from her cheeks giving her a gentle smile.
"You don't want to know what happened?" she asked, warily.
I shook my head. "Does it matter? I love you. Tell me what you want, or don't." I shrugged.
"I wasn't just pregnant," she broached cautiously. "I…had him a few months before I met you…it was a boy…but he…" The tears overtook her once more and I enfolded her in my arms, rocking away her fears.
"It's okay, Esme. We'll start over. If you want to have kids we'll find a way. I promise."
"No," she said, pressing her face against my chest. "I can't have another one, Carlisle. I just can't…"
"Shh," I shushed her again. "We don't have to decide anything right now. Let's get some sleep?"
She nodded and I laid us back to snuggle under the covers.
"Thank you," she whispered after a few moments. I just squeezed my arms around her in reassurance.
We laid there for a while, just holding each other in silence. I started to drift off; hearing her speak but not sure if it was real or a dream.
"I think you would have liked him, Carlisle," she whispered. "He had blue eyes…just like yours. It broke my heart to say goodbye to him."
I made a noise in response but was too far lost in sleep to speak.
"One day you'll understand."
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Edward PoV (June 28th, 2010, Rio)
"He doesn't look too good, Alec," a female voice noted.
I was trapped somewhere between consciousness and death. My eyes were open but I didn't see anything. It had been too long since I had any food or water- too long since I was thrown into this room.
"He's just about ready to be dosed," a male voice determined.
"Do we have to touch him?" the female whined. "He stinks."
"Marcus will be here momentarily. If you would prefer, we could tell him you were too good to follow his commands. He's known for his eternal forgiveness, after all." I couldn't see their faces but I could tell he was being sarcastic.
I'd heard the name Marcus mentioned a few times. I had also heard the term 'dosed' a lot since arriving here. Whoever this Marcus person was, he was about to shoot me up with something. I idly wondered if now would be a good time for me to attempt suicide. My body was too weak to follow any commands my brain tried to give it, though.
Just one more failure to add to your list, Edward.
"You carry his top half," the female said in resignation.
I felt hands slide under my arms and was lifted into the air like I was a toddler.
"I do agree about the smell," the man relented from behind as they carried me from the room.
The world beyond my cell was foreign to me since I didn't have any memory of that first day here. At the time I had believed I was following Isabella somewhere very important, but I didn't remember what the building looked like, or even what state we were in.
I wondered if Jasper had found any information on my whereabouts yet. Maybe he and Charlie were working on a plan to break me out. I was too weak to look for their faces in the crowd of people who surrounded the operating table that I was brought to.
"Remove his shirt," a female voice ordered. The man, Alec, the one who had helped carry me from my prison ripped my shirt from my body as if it were made of tissue paper.
"What are you?" I heard myself ask. I didn't really care what the response was. My mind was no longer capable of relating any information to memory.
I just wanted to die.
"You'll find out soon enough," the voice promised. My arms and legs were secured to the table. I'm not sure why. I was drained of every ounce of energy I had. I couldn't struggle if I wanted to.
The temperature in the room dropped significantly in the next second, causing my body to shake from the cold. My breath was a broken cloud floating from my lips.
"My Lord," everyone around me whispered in unison. A reverent hush followed this greeting. It was silent but for the sound of my teeth chattering.
"Ah, little lion cub," a voice I could only assume belonged to Marcus said. "I've searched for you for far too many human years."
He made a discerning sound, slapping his hand against my arm. I jerked against the restraints. Apparently there was still strength left me in.
"I would have expected more ferocity from you, little one. Your parents were such…difficult test subjects."
I stared up at the ceiling, unseeing.
"The doctor did prove useful after all," he remarked, continuing his inspection. "You won't need these any longer," he sighed, "such a pity to mar the flesh…" I felt freezing fingers trace my tattoos. I shivered, feeling more violated than if I were being possessed.
"Not all marks are useless, Master," a familiar voice offered from somewhere to my right. I recognized the voice even though it had been months since I last heard it.
"Too right you are, my darling. Have you outgrown your amusement with that project yet?" Marcus asked, poking me like I was a rump roast.
"For now," Cris informed him.
"The fun was lost when that pack of mutts dug up our cover," another voice added in dejection.
"Ah, you were playing with fire to begin with then. And what, I wonder, possessed you to play so close to the flame?" he questioned, slapping my arm a second time.
"We needed to find the boy. He was bound to return home eventually, was he not?" Cris replied.
"You make me proud, daughters. None other of the Guard would have risked so much for this."
A face floated above me then - a pale man with dark hair. His face was cut in sharp angles that were enhanced by his scrutiny of my eyes.
"You have Elizabeth's eyes," he remarked casually. I focused those green eyes on his black pupils out of interest in his words. He pursed his chalky lips. "You are the spitting image of your father though. That will cause aggravation in Italy."
"She named him after the traitor as well," Alec added.
"Yes…perhaps you can be the prodigal son that Edward Senior failed to be," Marcus said, squeezing my cheeks to force my mouth open for inspection.
My father's name was Edward too?
"Disgusting," Marcus muttered. "The human body is said to be a miraculous achievement in God's creations," he mused. "What say you, Eleazar?"
The old man cleared his throat. "Humans did…start the ball rolling."
Though I knew nothing about the man he had been my constant companion throughout my stay in prison. Even if he meant me harm, I couldn't help but feel a fondness to him now.
"Yes," Marcus agreed. "A rough draft to be drastically edited."
The group laughed as if prompted.
"Time to fix you, Edward," he whispered into my ear. I closed my eyes, giving up completely. I didn't want to be fixed. I just wanted to die.
Just kill me, I pleaded over and over in my head.
Teeth tore into the flesh on my neck and I found the strength to scream.
Everything was pain. Intense, blinding pain. More than anything I had ever felt before.
But the pain was nothing compared to the burning that began to pulse from the wound, spreading through my veins like lava pouring from a volcano. He bit me again on my arm. My leg. My wrist. Over and over he sank his teeth into my flesh - a dozen wounds throbbing with liquid fire.
I writhed, straining against the restraints on my limbs with all of my might.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was dead.
And now I burned in hell.
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Carlisle PoV
Regrets.
A man reaches the end of his life and all he can do is reflect on all the missed opportunities. The mistakes that could have been avoided. The errors that should have been corrected.
I'm driving down some dark road with only one real destination in mind - the end.
I have miles to go before I sleep but my exit for death is just up the street.
There are things I should have been smarter about. Better ways so that I could have reached this destination, but it doesn't really matter in the end. Dwelling on should've, could've, would've is a one-way ticket to purgatory.
I'm okay with knowing I'm heading to hell. I made peace a long time ago with the fact that the Pearly Gates just weren't in my cards.
All I have ahead of me is darkness.
The pedal presses to the floor as I speed off into the blackness.
This I won't regret.
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A/N: Only one more chapter to go. Thanks for reading and for sticking with this story. I know I take a long time to write stuff so I appreciate your patience and support. As always your comments are greatly appreciated.
Spanish Translations:
Mi amor: my love
Querida: dear, sweetheart
en la casa: at the house
Suficiente: enough