My Pale Skin

Chapter Ten: Transformations

My hands shook as I held the phone to my ear. "He—" I gulped. "He just… fell apart. Like all of his muscles relaxed at the same time." I worried my bottom lip, my eyes wet and glassy with tears.

I could almost hear Billy's frown over the phone. "Bella… I don't know how to tell you this," He paused, thinking before continuing. "He's… he's not—"

"I'm calling an ambulance." I interrupted, moving to hang up, when I heard him yell from the receiver.

"NO!" I froze at the cutting acidity in his voice, the underlying authority, and lifted the phone back to my ear. "Isabella, listen to me. Do not call the police. Leave the apartment—"

"What?" I cried out. "I can't and won't leave Jacob like this."

There was a moment's hesitation before Billy continued, like he'd been trying to decide on something. His voice was quiet, a warning. "He'll be fine. Leave immediately. You are not safe there, Isabella."

It was like with Sam on Christmas; I had to do what Billy said. It was as if he was controlling me, and I felt compelled to leave. "Ok," I hummed softly, followed by the dial tone of my cell.

I glanced at Jacob again. His face was no longer relaxed, and instead was suffused with pain. He was still unconscious, but his fists were clenched tight. Veins bulging out from his forearms, he seemed larger, more dangerous. It was as if he had been preparing himself before for this change, this… transformation. There was this feeling inside me as I stared down at him, an inexplicable one. It was a feeling that I could only put into words as being watched. Like he was watching me from behind closed eyelids, waiting for me to turn my back.

I swallowed hard, turned on my heel and ran for my bedroom, my heart racing in my chest and my stomach twisted around it. Grabbing a bag, I packed my belongings with trembling fingers. I sighed and threw open the door. "I'm so sorry Jake," I whispered, shutting the door behind me.

I had twelve-and-a-half hours to think about Billy's words, but all I could come up with was that it had something to do with Sam Uley. Back on Christmas, when he'd told Jake to go to Volterra with him and the other kids from the reservation, he seemed… tense. And he looked like Jacob did after the call with Billy — muscular, large, and dangerous. But that connection was hardly any help to figure out what was going on. All the boys had done was check out the shops.

Ugh. I shut my eyes and leaned back against the cramped headrest as the flight attendant's voice blared across the intercom, speaking the same words I'd heard too many times in the past couple of months about the plane beginning its descent. I tuned her out and stepped back into my brain. I needed to figure this out.

I thought back to a darker time, one I'd tried to block out of my memory, unsuccessfully. All around me where white walls, and a blinding light hung above me, greeting me as I opened my eyes for the first time in two days. My heart monitor was beating steadily beside my bed and the voice of my mother sounded from the hall. She was speaking to… Billy. Yes, Billy. Then she came in and… and… I couldn't remember after that. What had she said to me? Was it important? I would just have to ask my mother, then.

The impact of the plane as it hit the runway yanked me out of my mind and back into Phoenix, Arizona. Even from the plane window I could see the heatwaves floating in the air. It was so good to be back, even if only until I could find my own place in Florence. Luckily for me, I was ahead on the curriculum, because I was likely going to miss another few weeks of school.

I stepped out of the cab, grabbing my suitcase from the trunk and tipping the driver. As he drove away, I made my way down the driveway that lead to my house. Phil and Renee had decided to have their honeymoon in Phoenix, since they'd spent so much on the wedding, and I expected them to be home. I found the key and unlocked the front door, stepping inside.

"Mom? Phil? Sorry I didn't call before, but my phone died." Silence answered me. I frowned, tossing my bag on the floor. "Mom? Phil?" I could hear music coming from the living room. It was slow, sad. Almost like funeral music. I followed it, my shoulders tense. Something felt wrong. So wrong.

I stood in the doorway, shocked frozen. There on the couch laid Phil, his face stained with tears and the carpet stained with liquor. In his hand was a photograph from the wedding, black and white just like they wanted it. There was a large gash on his forehead, dried up blood caked in his hair and stuck to his cheeks. His lip was cut open, a nasty wound that had probably needed stitches. A bag of frozen peas were tossed aside, leaving a water spot on the side of the couch. He lifted his head weakly to look at me and whispered two words softly, quietly. "She's gone."

My breath stopped. My heart may as well have stopped. I felt my mind go numb, and then it felt tingly as his words sank in — Renee was gone. If my mother was gone, what else did I have to live for? Despair swelled up inside me, but there was only one emotion stronger: complete and utter, not to mention totally irrational rage. I didn't care for the story in that moment; I could only replay the last time I'd seen her. The wedding, when I had made Phil promise to take care of her. My breathing started up again, faster and faster until my chest barely had time to rise, and I lifted a heavy finger, pointing it towards the man on the couch.

"You," I seethed, venom dripping from my voice as it traveled towards him. "You promised! Do you even remember? You promised you'd take care of her. YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD KEEP HER SAFE!"

He didn't stand up, or even sit up. He laid back down and closed his eyes, as if everything was alright. Nothing was alright. "Bella, listen—"

"No, Phil. You listen. I don't care if you are my stepfather — get out of this house." I sounded different in my own ears. Dangerous. He flinched, and I turned away, staggering towards the stairs. "Just leave," I whispered. I waited until the door shut behind me to collapse against the steps and stayed there, awake, for a long, long time, until Phil came home and carried me upstairs to my room, and I was too numb to fight it.

They said it was an accident — that they lost control of the car and hit the tree, hard. But Phil was driving. He killed her, no matter whether or not he meant to. Now I have another day to mark on my calendar every year, just like December 27.

We had a small funeral. Less than ten people. I didn't look anyone in the eye, and nobody tried to offer me their condolences. Charlie wasn't there, although I couldn't figure out why. There were so many things I couldn't figure out, but I did remember one thing during the funeral; I remembered what my mother had said to me in the hospital. I closed my eyes, lost in a memory that I had wanted to forget, but now clung to like the frightened child that I was.

"Mom, you look upset."

She walked up beside me and held my hand. "I just don't want you to be alone right now." Oh… "That's why I've asked Billy to send Jacob with you."

What?

"What?" I asked, immediately sitting up, to the discontentment of the nurse. "Jake's coming with me? What about school?"

"His school on the Reservation has the same program going on for next semester as a way of, how did Billy put it, 'inducing the phasing'? Strange one he is."

Inducing the phasing… that was definitely something. I'd tried to figure it out, but I'd never heard those words before that day. But why was Jacob dangerous, and what did Billy know about this?

These were the thoughts on my mind for the next week in Phoenix, and the entire plane ride back to Florence. I couldn't count how many times I'd gone back and forth between the countries, but I had to go back. I couldn't stay in Phoenix with Phil any longer, so I decided that I would finish the semester in Italy and wait it out until I was 18. There were just no other options at the time. Well, there was one, but it hadn't even crossed my mind until… the incident.

When I arrived, Jacob's bedroom door was wide open, and there was a dent in the wall beside it in the shape of the door handle. His shorts were on the floor of his room, tattered and ripped to shreds. I crouched by them and inspected the rips. They were like nothing I'd seen before, as if he'd just… exploded out of them? I rubbed my throbbing temples — none of this made any sense.

I stood and called out for him. "Jacob? Where are you?" No answer. Panic started to rise, and I grabbed my phone to call. No answer. That was when I noticed a shard of plastic on the ground, and I followed the trail to the wall, where the remains of his phone laid at my feet. "Ugh!" I cried out, frustrated, and tossed my phone onto his bed. There was nothing I could do to contact him. Nothing.

Days passed. Weeks. Months. Jacob was gone, for good this time. He had just disappeared off the face of the earth, and I was beginning to lose hope. I was falling apart. I had no one left, nowhere to go — everything I'd been looking forward to when I'd first come to Italy was dead to me now.

I trudged down the hallway to the school cafeteria, ignoring everything that made me uncomfortable. I ignored the stares at the back of the head, the noise of chairs scraping across the floor, the clusters of sweaty teenagers, but the one thing I couldn't ignore were the whispers. The cruel words wore me down like the harsh tundra or the dry desert, beating down my body, crushing my heart. I didn't know whether to be hot or cold, whether to be strong or hurt, but it was looking like I didn't have much of a choice in that matter.

"It's her again," they whispered too loudly; for all I knew they could have been speaking straight to me. "She looks scary." The rest nodded.

Another piped up. "Maybe she killed him. She is a vampiro, remember?" They giggled at this, reducing their chatter to mindless comments about my hair, my face, my clothes. But I was shot, and those words echoed in my head — over, and over, and over.

Maybe she killed him. She is a vampiro.

Vampire: a corpse that leaves its grave at night to feast on the blood of the living. That's what they thought I was. They thought I killed Jacob.

Tessa. Crystal. My mother. Jacob. Everything I was trying to block out caught up to me in that moment, and something broke inside me, something important. Something I needed but no longer had.

I turned to the girl slowly, and we locked eyes. Then I ran. No, I didn't run towards her — I ran away. My feet hit the ground hard each step I took, past the gate, through the city, and into the forest. My heart was pushing against my neck, trying to escape, the blood rushing faster than ever through my body, and I could almost feel its path. My breathing was laboured, my lungs aching. When I collapsed onto the ground, I wasn't surprised. I knew it was coming and I didn't stop. I was looking for Jacob, but I didn't find him. I found something else, for better or for worse.

The sky was pitch black, no stars and a new moon. The trail that lead me into the forest was long gone, faded into the sticks and stones and dirt along the cold floor. Time had lost all meaning to me — I didn't know how long I'd been running or how long I'd been on the floor. I took sharp breaths, painful breaths, and curled into a ball. Hours passed, and I glanced at the sky. It looked to be about 3 am: the devil's hour.

Then it happened. I felt two razor-edged teeth sink into the skin of my neck, suck up my blood, and then pump it back into my body. I could feel the blood flow through me, like a wave in the ocean. Then the pain started.

It was the worst pain imaginable. All of the beatings and bruises I'd gotten before were like paper cuts to this. This was like touching a candle with your finger and having the fire spread, reaching over my body, burning every crevasse. My skin was being torn from me, consumed by flames. This was the worst way to die, the worst.

Then… why wasn't I dying? I was going to burn forever. What had I done so wrong to deserve this? Now I would never see my mother or Tessa, because they were in heaven. This was the opposite.

The burning was in my heart now, but it kept burning. I could hear screams, and then I realized that they were my own. I begged to die, to end this torture but I only felt another bite on my wrist, and then another. How long had it been? Minutes? Days? Years? I could feel the blood flow through my heart, again and again and again until it finally met the final drop of blood that wasn't singed, and signed it. That was when the burning stopped — when every part of my body was finally on fire. Then my heart stopped, and so did the pain.

I thought I was dead. I waited… there was no light, no memories flashing before my eyes. There was no heaven's gate or demonic flames. There was only strength — not just enough to open my eyes, but enough to lift a skyscraper. I settled for opening my eyes.

Everything was so clear.

I could see specks of dust floating in the air, and every detail of them. I could see the grains of paint on the wall, and I could see colours in the light, colours that didn't exist a moment ago.

I could also see the room I was in, lying on a king sized bed. The room was bigger than my entire apartment with Jacob. It was definitely still in Italy, decorated to look like an ancient Roman castle, lined with gold that I could see with my new eyes was real. But, here in this room fit for royalty, I was not alone.

There were four of them, but I didn't know what they were at the time. At first glance they were beautiful men, one much more so than the others. Three of them seemed older almost, with papery white skin and blood red eyes. Two had long black hair, and the other had shorter blond hair. I could see that their intentions regarding me were greedy and self-indulgent.

The final one was fraught with guilt, and I could tell as soon as we locked eyes. There was something about those eyes that lured me in.

There was just something about those golden eyes.