Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything in the Twiverse. I'm just playing around.

Isabella's latest decision has sent Edward reeling to another time and place. Let's find out where and with whom…

The Last Word – 10

A forgettable forest somewhere between this world and the next.

A clear night on which you could see to forever, a distance I had little desire to travel.

There were three campers, nomads really, their lust for nature overriding the common sense that would dissuade them from straying so far from civilization.

From where anyone could hear them scream.

"Edward?"

It took mere seconds to kill one, the fear from the other two rendering them immobile and unable to escape. Whatever guilt I may have felt in betraying my maker quickly drowned in the intoxicating taste of the first man's blood.

And I relished his death.

"Edward, what's wrong?"

By the time I came to, the first victim was nowhere to be found and the remaining two were disfigured beyond recognition. Limbs bent at awkward angles, bloody faces frozen in fear.

Horrified eyes accusing me beyond the grave.

"Edward, look at me!"

My gaze drifts in the general direction of the feminine voice, but I know it not. She, whoever she might be, is not here.

But he is.

"Edward."

His smooth tone lacks the censure I expect, yet I cannot meet his golden gaze. My gift becomes a curse as I see the carnage through his compassionate eyes, his focus divided between the victims and their assailant.

A kindness I do not deserve.

I feel myself retreat before officially deciding to do so, and I step back, aiming to run until I run out of earth.

"Edward, please." He tries again, his thoughts warm with affection I cannot understand. "Look at me."

I shake my head but otherwise remain still, his unwavering devotion pinning me in place. He speaks, words that make no sense, and I tune him out, unable to hear anything beyond the suffocating guilt in which I am ready and deserving to drown.

There is a tearing of fabric, and a crack of a branch as he steps forward, and I look up.

"Here." He holds out his hand, the bottom of his shirt outstretched in supplication. "It's not much, but… you should clean up."

I gape at him, my insides aflame, and my lips move without intelligible sound.

He cannot love me this way. Not now. Not after what I have done.

And yet…

"I'll do it," she says, and I feel the gentle caress of state-issue fabric against my face. The contact startles me out of my memories, and I seek the woman's eyes as she works.

But I cannot catch her gaze as she is wholly focused on her task, her trembling hands in no way deterring her pampering purpose.

"I wish I had some soap," she mumbles. "Or some water at the very least."

I remember her name. "Isabella…"

"Just hold still." Her gaze flicks to mine, turning quickly away. I cannot imagine what she sees in my eyes and haven't the wherewithal to sort it out. "I can do it."

"You don't have to…"

"I want to." She scrubs in earnest, and as I barely feel it, I realize she doesn't want to hurt me. This frail, wisp of a woman is trying not to hurt me. "This happened because you were defending me, so this is the least I can…"

"No." I gently remove her hand from my face. "You mustn't take this upon yourself."

"But those men were coming to hurt me, and…"

"Those men were doing their jobs." I release her slender wrist, placing it at her side. "I was in the wrong."

"I don't understand."

"I know, and that's…that's my fault." I turn away and walk to the window. A thick band of clouds obscures what sun might otherwise deign to shine my way. "My fault entirely."

"Edward. You forget I am a woman who was falsely convicted of her son's murder and was sent here to be executed for it."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I know a bad man when I see one. I know how to discern to whom guilt belongs. And you…with those men, you were just trying to protect me."

Her steadfast belief in me rests heavily on my shoulders, and though I long to savor it, I cannot permit such a doe-eyed view. If we…if I am to somehow ask her to endure an earthly eternity with me, then she must know who I am.

She must know the truth.

"You asked me how I did it," I begin slowly. "How I killed the others."

Her heart skips a beat. "Yes."

I walk along the wall, selecting a blood-splattered quote at random.

"This man stabbed his wife 14 times for refusing sex after an appendectomy. I nipped and nicked his neck with my dullest fingernail in 14 strategic locations, letting him bleed to death over the course of two days. His last words?" I meet her gaze. "I'm sorry, Gerta."

She pales, swallowing hard.

I blur across the room, pointing at a section by the door. "He kidnapped two women who thwarted his attempt to rape their friend. By the time the police found them, they were both pregnant and both dead." I held up my index finger. "I sodomized him for three hours, refusing his filthy blood. His last words were a string of expletives punctuated by a gurgled scream."

"Edward."

"Oh! You'll love this." I return to the window, dragging my hand along its lower edge. "In 1988, this man was sentenced to eight years in prison for robbery. Upon his release, he lived as a model citizen for another eight years, all the while plotting his revenge. He learned the judge had trouble conceiving and waited until she was in her third trimester before carving the baby out of her belly with a rusty…"

"Edward, stop!"

"But you knew all this, right?" I move toward her, a predatory bent to my gait. "Given that you know how to discern where guilt belongs."

"That's not what I…"

"So wouldn't you say your friend is the guilty party here? The filthy, unredeemably guilty party in each of these scenarios?"

She covers her ears, shaking her head. "I don't want to do this with you."

"Ah, but you must." I grab her hands and place them against the very skin she tried to cleanse a moment ago. "You must get the full picture of who I am before you can decide my guilt or innocence."

"No, I don't," she grinds out. "I know what I know, and nothing you say can change my mind."

"You lie."

"No. I know we all have a past, but our past doesn't have to determine our future. And if we decide to change, to embrace a new path for ourselves, then we can…"

"God!" I release her in a huff, storming away. "You sound just like him!"

"Who?"

"Carlisle!" It is the first time I have spoken his name in half a century. "You sound…it is as if his spirit lives inside you."

"Is that your father?" I can't speak, and she gasps. "Oh, my…he's your…oh, what's the word…"

"Sire." The word is a groan. "He…he was my sire."

"Was? Does that mean he's…"

"Dead?" A dagger to the heart. "Yes."

"Oh, Edward. I'm sorr…." She comes toward me, and I hold up a halting hand. "What's wrong?"

"Did you…did you not hear anything I just said?"

"Yes."

"So what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm telling you I understand, well, that I can try to. I mean, you lost the man who made you, someone who was like a father to you, I'd imagine. I never knew my father, so I can only imagine what that loss must have done to you, must be doing to you, and I'm…"

"Stop defending me!"

"Edward, I just…"

"No! Stop defending me and making excuses and trying to tuck my shitty life into a palatable package. I am a monster, Isabella. A shameless murdering monster who enjoys the atrocities he commits, so stop trying to turn me into someone else!"

I turn away as the room falls starkly silent. If not for her heavy breathing, I might believe I am alone.

How I wish I was alone.

I rake my hands through my hair, dragging them down my face as I collapse into a heap. I am as far away from her as this modest room will allow, yet I am still too close. If she has any sense at all, Isabella will walk out that door and demand to be transferred to another facility. I doubt they would grant her unprecedented request, but if she leaves, I will fly from this place at once and never return.

She deserves a better death than any I might give her. And the notion of sullying her eternity by tethering her to me is blasphemous.

Yet the greater sin lies in my repudiation of my maker's creed, my determination to render his influence of no effect.

An effort which continually fails.

"God created each of us on purpose, Edward. On purpose, with purpose. It is our job to discover that purpose and use it to minister love, healing, and reconciliation to others. If we can do that, or at least try to, then we will have discovered the most significant truth about life."

I roll my eyes. "And that would be?"

His golden eyes shine with love. "We are nothing without someone to love."

"Fine." Isabella sniffles behind me, ambling to her feet. "If that's how you feel, then fine."

I close my eyes, praying she takes the out I have tacitly given and leaves this chamber as soon as her malnourished limbs will allow.

She moves behind me, but from the echo of the sound, she is heading in the wrong direction.

"Get out," I growl.

"No. If you're such a monster with no redeeming qualities, prove it."

"And how would you have me do that?"

"Do it."

"Do what?"

"Do what you came here to do." I whirl around as Isabella comes to a stop in front of me and tilts her head to one side. "Kill me."

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