BOOK ONE: BELLA
CHAPTER 7 - Isabelle
How long will I love you?
As long as stars are above you
And longer, if I can.
How long will I give to you?
As long as I live through you
However long you say.
- Ellie Goulding
August 14, 1918 - Chicago, United States
Mrs. Potts left to prepare tea, and I am left alone in the room with 1918 Isabelle. I can't stop staring at her, my mouth agape. She looks like my twin sister—only more breath-taking, more confident, more vivacious. Just more. Physically, she looks the most like me than any of my other incarnations.
I gaze at the soft curls of her brown, silky hair with envy. Her long neck is gracefully arched as she leans over a book. She sits beside the window, and the morning light spills over the pages. Over her light, feathery fingers and up her slender elbow.
I lean over her and purse my lips. "Wuthering Heights" is what she's reading. I haven't read that book yet, at least not in my lifetime. I'm curious so I make a mental note to read it when I wake up. Hopefully, I'll remember it. The fact that I'm conscious right now as I'm dreaming this bizarre dream of my past lives in episodes is worrying for my mental health as it is. Yet, the thought of not remembering anything – anyone of the Ysabels and Isabelles and Isabelas, even this little dog-eared book – is terrifying. Am I going crazy? Do I even care if I am?
I look up at Isabelle and I'm struck once again with our physical differences. Few they may be, but significant. This is me, I think. This is the version of me when I was not a Forsaken. When my soul mate did not abandon me. When my soul was whole.
Three crisp knocks on the door startles me from my train of thought.
"Come in" Isabelle says without looking up from her book.
"Izzy," A tall man enters the room dressed in formal clothes. His bushy moustache and overlarge nose are the only difference I spot from my own father, Charlie. So I know instinctively that this must be Governor Harte, Isabelle's father. "Happy birthday, my child." And he envelopes her in a huge, if uncomfortable, hug.
I can tell that hugging doesn't come easily to them. There is an awkward pause before he releases her. "Thank you, Father."
"Are you well today?" he inquires, his hands clasped at his back formally.
Isabelle rolls her eyes. "As well as I was yesterday when you asked, and the day before that. And the day before that."
Governor Harte's face contorts and I'm surprised how very un-Charlie he seems. "The Spanish Influenza is a plague that's having its way around Europe, and has already planted its roots here. Millions have died of it, Isabelle. It is no joking matter."
"Forgive me," she says contritely. She looks at her feet. "I did not mean to make a joke of it."
"I trust you will not take your health lightly in the future, young lady."
Then, she smirks and looks up at him. Brown eyes shining. "With your daily inquiries, I'm sure I shall never forget."
His eyes warm and a whisper of a smile begins to form at his lips. "I have instructed Cook to prepare your favorite meals for the party later."
"I'm looking forward to it." She says, though her face falls at the mention of her birthday party.
"Major Withington is very excited to escort you on this very special occasion."
Isabel moves away to stare out through the window where she was reading earlier. Her body is stiff, and everything that was aglow about her dimmed. "I'm honored that my betrothed was able to take time off from his military responsibilities."
"With the war drawing to a close, I'm sure we can expect more of him around here." The governor seems oblivious to his daughter's obvious misery. "We will make the formal announcement of your engagement later."
Isabelle made a resigned nod. "Yes, father."
What? I say loudly, though neither of them hears me. I couldn't believe that she – I – would readily agree to an arranged marriage. No way.
Perhaps this was like the first me, Ysabel from the twelfth century. Sir Edward had basically won her from a jousting tournament, and things turned out alright for them - us. Is that the lesson again for this lifetime?
I shake my head. Somehow, I know it's not the same.
"Your mother had the same maidenly fears as you when we were betrothed, I was told." Governor Harte says to Isabelle, perhaps as a way to comfort his daughter. At least he noticed. "I know a little of what you may be going though, my dear. I can tell you that there is nothing to worry. Mike Withington is a good man, a fine soldier. He will be able to take care of you."
"You were able to take care of us too. Me and mother both."
"Exactly. I knew you would understand." With a stern nod, he turns to leave the room. "I shall see to the party preparations while you rest."
The door closes before he hears her soft reply. "But she still left us."
"Hello, Bella" a voice comes from behind me, and I whirl around to meet my guide. She smiles at me and says, "Welcome to my memories. This is where it begins."
"Where what begins?" I ask, stepping closer to here. In my periphery, I see 1918 Isabelle moving around her room, rummaging for clothes. She's getting ready to go out.
My guide – Izzy – walks over to the Isabelle who's changing into a plain dark green dress and putting on a bell hat. She looks thoughtfully at herself, perhaps contemplating the distance between then and now. How the years have gone by. "After this lifetime, we never see him again."
"Oh," is the only reply I come up with. Well, what can one say to that? "But, you do see him. Right?"
"Yes" she tells me, her voice hitches at the word. She is sounds so grateful of merely having known him. "His name was Edward Anthony Masen and he was a very sick boy."
Just like that, I have a premonition: He dies of the Spanish Influenza.
I realize then that these blast-to-the-past episodes have given me a very blasé notion of death. Maybe it's to console myself. It's okay if he dies before I find him, there's always next lifetime. It gives me comfort that one way or another, our souls can and do find a way to each other. I want to tell Izzy that it's okay, we'll find him next time.
Then, I remember that we don't. That we never do.
"Mike Withington?"
"Became my husband. Eventually."
Anger rises sudden and unbidden inside me. Why?
Of all the billion souls in this planet, why does it have to be me and mine that gets separated over and over again? Bad luck, is that it? Could it be that capricious, that fickle a reason?
And what about this Edward character? Why did he have to go and get himself sick? Doesn't he know how to take care of himself? Doesn't he realize that somebody out there is waiting for him to get better so they can live happily ever after, and ride out into the sun, etcetera etcetera? Does he not care? All of my lives, I've been waiting for him to come back but I haven't asked myself – haven't wanted to face the question - is he's waiting for me too? As far as I can tell, he's the one who doesn't show up. How am I supposed to find someone who doesn't want to be found?
"Bella," Izzy calls me and beckons me over to Isabelle who is dressed and ready for whatever field trip she was planning for. "We have to follow her."
I don't move. I want to give up. I want to wake up.
"Please," Izzy begs. "He's worth it, I promise you."
I stare at her round eyes, so full hope that I can't refuse. I reluctantly continue on in this strange journey.
And I find myself walking down the windy streets of Chicago. Most everyone we encounter is wearing big coats and mouth masks. This is not a great time to be alive, I think to myself. Only consider that in a few more years, everyone's going to slide down the poverty line with the Great Depression. Then, World War II, of course.
"Such gloomy thoughts on your birthday, Bella." Izzy informs me.
"I believe it's your birthday today, not mine."
"You forget that I am you. We're one person."
"One soul, yes. But not one person." I amble along beside her, eyeing the hospital building that Isabelle just entered. "I'm me. You're you. We may be similar, but we're not exactly the same."
"You're right" She nods. "Sometimes, it's hard to remember who I am."
"What do you mean?"
She shrugs. "I'm a memory. Your memory. And you're fading so I am too – we all are."
We remain silent as we climb up the stairs and walk through the hospital doors. Isabelle goes purposefully through the nurse's station. I hear her ask for Nurse Clayton. It looks like the other nurse tells her to wait along the corridors so Isabelle takes a seat at one of the chairs.
"Can I ask you something?" I say to Izzy. We stay standing.
"Go ahead"
"Is it so bad? To fade, I mean." I avoid her shocked face. "Wouldn't it be easier to just accept things as they are? To stop fighting the inevitable? These are the cards we've been dealt with, and its game over."
"Bella, I-"
"Isabelle?" A nurse heads straight to Isabelle. She's wearing white, of course. But she looks like she's having a busy day. This must be Nurse Clayton. With her hair sticking out of her cap and her wide eyes wild, she looks disheveled and out of sorts. I recognize the hair color almost instantly. Renee?
"Mother!" Isabelle says with a smile and she hugs the nurse tightly, if only briefly.
"What are you doing here? Does your father know?" Nurse Clayton shakes her shoulders frantically and a flash of hurt reflects in Isabelle's eyes. Not from the physical pain, I think. Mom doesn't want us here.
"Of course, he doesn't know. He'd freak."
"As he should. It's not safe here, Izzy. Not with the plague it isn't."
"You're here."
"I'm a nurse. I have a duty to be here, especially since most of the doctors are out in Europe to help with the war effort."
Isabelle purses her lips. She couldn't argue with that. "I just want to help" is what she says but I know what she thinks. I just want to escape.
"Oh Isabelle." She studies her thoughtfully before sighing. Then, she brings out an extra mouth mask from her pocket. "Alright, come on. Wear this at all times, okay?"
"Okay, thank you." Isabelle takes the mouth mask and puts it on. Nurse Clayton leads her through the hallway and into the room. My guide and I follow them silently. There's an eerie feel to the corridors, like the very walls permeated ghosts. I shiver and realize that I myself could be considered a ghost here. I wonder how there could be ghosts in the first place if souls continually reincarnate into their next lives. I consider asking Izzy but before I could mouth the words, we stop at Room 216.
"Isabelle," Nurse Clayton begins. I find it weird to be calling my mother in such a formal fashion. In fact, I find it weird in general that my mom, my hare-brained mother who couldn't stick to one hobby at an extended period of time, is actually a nurse. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I'm sure." Isabelle replies softly. Her eyes are ablaze with determination but there's a vulnerability to her words. Like a kid pretending bravery.
"You have to understand that as a volunteer, you won't have to be exposed to the patients so much. This'll be strictly menial work – cleaning utensils, recording charts, filing documents."
"No problem" she answers. All the better to keep from thinking too much. I understand that wanting, that urge to become a robot so you can escape your own mind – even just for a little while.
"Good girl" Nurse Clayton nods. "This is our floor. I'm head of the nurses here, and you can be my assistant." She rattles off a list of tasks to be done and I almost doze off until she says, "Mr. Masen is in 216."
I perk up at the name. It's him.
"I'm hopeful for this one; he's so young yet. The first symptoms of the fever hasn't struck yet. He's only here under observation because last week his parents…" She paused then; she really didn't have to elaborate much. "Well, he'll be an orphan if he survives. But he'll survive."
Survival.
I instinctively frown at the term and the apparent glorification of it. Surely it doesn't matter if you survive, and not have anything to survive for. I couldn't fathom being an orphan, to be alone in this world with nothing to anchor you at any place or time. Just drifting. Just existing. I would rather die.
Then I realize that I've just described my current soul mate situation. I am Forsaken. I am drifting through time, merely existing. And I am going to die.
Unless…
The door opens and we come face to face with the most breathtaking man I'd ever seen in my entire life. A golden-haired Adonis with warm eyes the color of honey, sharply defined jaw and cheeks. His lips—pink and softly curved. The only imperfection is the expression of his brows, drawn together until a wrinkled ridge formed at the center. As if the very weight of the world were upon his shoulders.
"Dr. Cullen," Nurse Clayton nods to him and then gestures to Isabelle. "This is my daughter, Izzy. She'll be assisting me in my duties today."
"A pleasure, Izzy. Please call me Carlisle. " Dr. Cullen reaches for Isabelle's hand and they shake.
Isabelle makes a surprised sound and abruptly lets him go. "Sorry. I just… your hands are cold."
"Are you ill, Carlisle?" Nurse Clayton interjects.
"Do not worry about me." He says smoothly. "It's this place. It has seen too much death."
"I'm still in the room." A masculine voice joins in.
I peek over the doctor's shoulder and I find the very object of my quest. He wasn't as handsome as Carlisle, but he was striking in his own right. His hair was the color of metals – iron and bronze. His skin was a sickly bluish pale, but his eyes were a bright grass green. I'd never thought of grass as a particularly notable flora. It may have been more dramatic to describe his as sea green or emerald or something—but the hue just wasn't right. It was grass green. Ordinary, unmemorable grass green.
"Aren't people supposed to stop talking about gloom and doom stuff when the victim is around?" he continues, rolling his eyes. "I'm still kicking over here."
"Kicking and being a pain in the ass." Carlisle retorts and for the first time we are gifted with his smile. Now, when I said he was breathtaking before, I didn't know what I was really saying. Frowning Carlisle was nothing compared to Smiling Carlisle. He was the sun.
I'm amazed how quickly the serious and formal doctor transforms into a loving caretaker. Like a father, I muse. I remember my dad. How a father should be.
"This is Edward." Carlisle leads Nurse Clayton inside and Isabelle follows. "He's my least favorite patient."
"I can tell." Edward replies dryly. "Now, remind me again how often you come in here?"
Isabelle muffles a chuckle, and Edward notices her for the first time. "Oh hello."
His entire demeanor changes. Before he was slouching as he sat on his bed, and now he bolts upright and runs his hand across his wayward hair. Carlisle quickly makes the introduction before leaving for his other patients. Nurse Clayton instructs Isabelle to take Edward's temperature and clean out the dirty linens and so on. She explains the first signs of the fever: extreme fatigue, headache, coughing, bleeding from the nose and/or mouth.
I drown out their conversation. Taking my seat on his bed, right in front of him, I take the time to examine my soul mate. This version of the same person. I've seen him as a boy when I was accused of witchcraft in the eighteenth century. I've seen him as a man countless of times – when I was an English Lady of a Keep in the twelfth century, when I was a Spanish prisoner among the English during the war, when I was a French ballerina and he was the understudy in the Golden Age of Dance. But I've never seen him as a teenager. Never seen him before he became the man he was supposed to be.
I tilt my head in study, finding it strange that I've met him for the first time many times now and each encounter is different but all somehow the same. I feel a tingle of electricity that starts at the tips of my fingers. It trails up my arms until it reaches my shoulders. From there, it bursts into a web of energy that spreads throughout my whole body. And it pulses and pulses until it vanquishes the coldness I never realized I carried around. An emptiness that has become so much a part of me that I didn't even know it was there in the first place.
Now, I understand. He warms me as nothing and no one ever has. He may wear a different body, carry a different name, and speak in a different voice. But he's mine as I am his. As we have always been and are forever meant to be. The enormity of everything we have been to each other—friend, lover, teacher, defender—and everything else we have yet to be fills me. It fills me. And it leaves me breathless. It leaves me gasping as another, more powerful emotion rolls over me. It takes me a second to identify it. When I do, I burst into a laugh. A short relinquishing of breath that is equal parts of joy and despair.
"Edward," I call him though I know he doesn't hear. I touch his hand and it doesn't surprise me that I don't feel his skin against mine. "Antoine, Eddie, Anthony, Sir Edward, and whoever you'll be when we meet again, and I assure you we will, I don't know what your problem is. Why you haven't shown up. Why you've forsaken me all these years. But I want you to know, I won't go easy on you. I won't run into your arms and jump your bones when I finally see you. I'll make you chase me. I'll drive you to madness with my mood swings and my incessant nagging. I'll make you want me so much you'll never be free of me. That's my punishment for you. For making me miss you so much."
I look over to my guide. "Izzy,"
"You understand now. Do you? Why you have to fight?"
I nod, thinking about the practicalities. How would I go about searching for him in the twenty-first century? Perhaps he's on Facebook.
Then, I hear the door open and I turn to watch Nurse Clayton leave. Isabelle is left alone with Edward. He watches her thoughtfully as she waves her mother a see-you-later. Isabelle's gaze lingers on her own hand a moment before turning to face her patient.
"You know he's too old for you" is the first thing he tells her. He leans back on his cot, arms crossed at his chest. The epitome of male brooding. And I know he thinks she's thinking about Carlisle.
"Who?" Her eyes go wide as she heads over to the table where she begins setting up a bowl of warm water and linens.
He rolls his eyes. "The good doctor." He rakes his hand on his hair again and sighs so loudly it's practically condescending. "He's like forty!" he says, his arms waves in frustration.
I catch a hint of an amused smile from Isabelle and I can tell she likes riling him. She replies, "More like thirty, I'd say."
"Thirty then." He raises his brows and crosses his arms again. "Still practically decrepit."
"No matter." Isabelle soaks a cloth in the warm water and heads over to wear I'm seated next to him. Since its weird having myself sandwiched between them while they're in conversation, I stand and move to the other side. "It was just the strangest thing." She continues to say. "When I held his hand, it was like déjà vu. Like I've done it before and had the exact same reaction. It was as if I'd already been his patient which is impossible since I've rarely been sick enough to require hospitalization."
"Lucky you" says Edward.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel—"
"Don't worry about it. I'm a tough pickle."
That made Isabelle smile which, in turn, made Edward smirk. And the room just felt brighter.
It takes me another second to realize that there was indeed something peculiar about Carlisle. In my previous life as Marie, a French ballerina, I was hospitalized after falling down a flight of stairs. I can't remember his name but I had a doctor who was very attractive too. But that's just coincidence, right? It can't have been the same doctor because then he'd be a hundred years old and Carlisle, despite Edward's suggestion, is not decrepit.
"I have those moments too, you know." Edward resumes in a superior tone. Without her saying anything, he gives his right arm to her and she begins washing him with the warm linen. Obviously, he's used to taking such baths. "Déjà vu stuff."
"Oh?" Isabelle says.
"Oh yes, ma'am, I do. I remember meeting you once before when the world was younger. I said to you 'Do I dazzle you, peasant?' and you smacked me."
Isabelle chuckles. "That so?"
I, on the other hand, freeze. That was exactly what Sir Edward said to Ysabel the first time they met. The first time they met ever. Could it be? Could he possibly remember?
"That's exactly so, I kid you not." He gives his other hand to her, and Isabelle continues to clean him. "Of course, I then proceeded to charming you and you turned all but putty in my hands."
"Hah. Now I know you're making that up!" Isabelle pushes his blanket off and begins washing his long, frail feet. "Besides, I would never smack you. I'm too much of a lady to resort to such antics."
"You're right. You didn't. Not that time." At his tone, she looks up to him but his eyes are closed. Peaceful. It didn't seem like he wanted to continue the conversation. He looked quite pale so she probably thought he needed to rest. As for me, I would've shaken him awake and forced him to explain himself.
"What the hell, Izzy!" I turn to my guide. "Does he remember us?"
Izzy looks at me. "This is the other thing I wanted to show you, Bella."
I turn back to Isabelle as she continues to clean Edward. I watch like a hawk.
After Isabelle is done, she returns to the bedside table. Edward grabs her hand, "Carlisle," he begins but says no more.
"I don't like him that way" answers Isabelle.
"Your boyfriend would mind, huh?"
Oh smooth. I can't help but roll my eyes at both of them.
She sighs. "I don't have a boyfriend."
"You have a fiancé" I tell her, and of course neither of them pay attention to me. This business of being ignored is starting to get on my bad side. Not that I wanted Mike Withington to intrude in any way.
"Really?" he asks. "Well, you should be with someone your own age. How old are you anyway?"
"Seventeen."
"What a coincidence! I am too." He smiles at her, his eyes shining. Grass green may be an ordinary color, but it was a warm and comforting one. "I propose we have a torrid love affair."
Isabelle laughs and shakes her head. She picks up the clipboard at bottom of the bed and writes down her notes. "You, sir, are not a gentleman."
"Gentlemen never have any fun."
Isabelle is the one having fun. She has all but forgotten Mike Withington and her father and the dismal betrothal that awaited her. "Gentlemen get the girl, you know."
"Not necessarily." he coughs. "Only when they have time to court said girl they do."
She looks up, a retort ready to strike but she gasps instead. The clipboard and pen fall callously to the floor, forgotten. She races for the used linen she had tossed in the bedside table. Carefully, reverently, she wipes the blood that spilled from his nose.
His head falls back to the pillow. He looks up at her sleepily, tiredly. Perspiration lined his forehead where there was none before. I knew this would happen. Izzy had told me it would. But knowing and experiencing are two different things.
"How long?" I ask my guide, dreading the answer.
"The Spanish Influenza was known by different names." Izzy replies with sad eyes. "Grippe, Spanish Lady, purulent bronchitis, sandfly fever, Blitz Katarrh. I never liked those. I mean, you'd think they could come up with a more dramatic one for a pandemic. Like, say, the Black Death. But that's already taken, though. Not any of those names capture the horror of the plague, except maybe one: the three-day fever."
I gulp. Three days. Seventy-two hours.
"You're going to be okay," says Isabelle as she cleans the blood. I can tell she's trying very hard to make her voice sound calm, but I know I'm not the only one who hears the frantic undercurrent. "I'm going to go get Dr. Cullen. You just stay put here and I'll be right back. Just stay put."
He doesn't reply as she leaves for the door. She opens it and looks back at him one more time before looking for Carlisle. But before the door closes, Edward realizes she's gone. "Isabelle?" he calls and opens his eyes a tiny bit before closing it again. Quietly, I almost don't catch it, he whispers, "Isabelle, do you remember me?"
"Oh god," I exclaim, tears welling in my eyes. I turn to Izzy. "He remembers. He remember us."
With everything that's happened, how could I not believe this is possible? Now, I know that I am not alone in this. Oh somewhere at the back of my mind, I do realize that if I'm Forsaken because I haven't been with my soul mate, then he is too because he obviously hasn't been with me. And whatever it is that's happening to me now—with the past coming back to push me to look for him- then that same magic must have been pushing him to do the same. This must be how the universe ensures that soul mates find each other. There's an intuitive element that's borne from the many lives we've lived before. Sometimes, I don't remember him like this lifetime as Isabelle Harte. But now, as Bella Swan, I do. And there must have been times when he remembered me as he does now as Edward Masen. But in my lifetime, he doesn't. If this is true then there sure as hell were times when neither of us remembered, and we still found each other.
This, however, doesn't explain why I haven't encountered him in the lives I've lived since this one. If my theory is right, and the universe does have a built in mechanism to keep soul mates together then, there must be something else keeping us apart. Something external and out other our control.
So where does that leave me?
That I don't know. But one thing is for sure. It is not his choice to forsake me any more than it is mine. And if he's fighting for me, then how could I not fight for him too?
"Bella," my guide pulls me out of my thoughts. "We're almost done here."
"What do you mean?" Before Izzy could answer, the scene in front of me changes. Like everything's in a blurry fast forward. Dr. Cullen giving him medicine and Nurse Clayton telling Isabelle attend to other patients. Edward vomiting and bleeding in the mouth.
"Wait!" I tell Izzy as I watch the light slowly but surely dimming in his green eyes. "Wait, it's too fast!"
But it keeps going and going.
Isabelle is crying in her room for a love that never really properly started. Isabelle celebrating her birthday party with dead eyes. Her father proclaiming a dashing Mike Withington as her would-be husband. Nurse Clayton barring her from caring for Edward as it is too dangerous for her now since he is definitely sick with the flu and the chance of being infected herself was high. Nurse Clayton calling her father, the governor, because Isabelle wouldn't listen.
I turn to Izzy. "Make it stop! I want to see him. Make it stop!"
The scene stops as the door of 216 closes with Carlisle leaning over Edward like he's whispering goodbye.
I am face to face with Izzy. "Why did you do that? I wanted to-"
"Linger." she finishes for me. "I know you do. But it won't do us any good to linger in the past. We must look to the future."
I look down at my feet. I so wanted to stay in that hospital room. I could talk to Edward for hours. Of all the versions of him I've met, he was the most fun and the most charming. I wonder if I would feel the same way for whoever he turns out to be in my lifetime. "How would I recognize him?"
"You will. We always recognize each other. I've only known him for a short while, but I knew deep down that he was someone important. When he died, I didn't even get to see his body. I didn't get to say good bye. But I thought of him a lot. He was so full of joy and fun and life. Even when his world was torn apart by the loss of his parents and the dreadful disease that finally took him. But you know what, in the end, all that bad stuff lost to him. Because his spirit was unbreakable. Because even in the midst of that, he still found it in himself to make those around him smile and laugh."
"So I know you'll recognize him, Bella. I know that when you see him, you'd recognize his spirit. It's simply too bright to ignore. This is what I learned from this lifetime and what I want to share with you. Each of our lives will be riddled with obstacles and difficulties. Things, events, people- they'll bring you down. They'll break you. They'll take things from you. But there's one thing they can't steal, and that's your spirit. Your love for life. Your brightness. And this you should share with the people you love and even those you don't."
With a wave of her arm, Izzy show me another scene. Isabelle is an old woman, sitting at the head of the table, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. An equally old Mike Withington leans over to kiss her on the cheek and I see her close her eyes, smiling softly. Content.
"I don't understand." I say to Izzy. "How could you have been happy without him?"
"How could I not live a long and full life for both of us, Bella? He wouldn't want me to live the rest of my life mourning for him. He would have wanted me to be happy. Soul mates—they come in to your life like a wrecking ball and they wreak havoc. They change the way you think about yourself and about the world. They make you look at your scars and they allow you to cry over them and accept them. They heal you and they make you a better person. That's the happily ever after, Bella. Not the first kiss or the wedding bells or the riding off into the sunset. Though, those things are nice too."
"You're right. He was all those things to us in all our lifetimes - Ysabel, Isa, Elizabeth, Marie. He saved us, one way or another." I look up to Izzy. "We've saved him too."
Then another more terrifying thought comes to me. "We need to save him now."
Izzy nods somberly at me. "Whatever it is that's keeping us from meeting him in our next lives is unnatural. Something has happened to his soul."
"I will save him." I promise her as I feel the pull of wakefulness settle over me. I open my eyes and I'm back in my own room at my own time. I say to myself "This time, I will."
November 25, 2004 – Phoenix, United States
"I'm probably the only person spending Thanksgiving in the hospital." Charlie tells me over the phone. I know I should be listening but I'm currently surfing the internet researching my old lives, looking for a pattern, looking for a place to start looking for him. More important matters are on hand other than my dad spraining an ankle while he was shoving snow off his driveway.
Still, I make an effort. "You know, there are a lot of places where you won't have to encounter ice at all. Like, oh I don't know, Phoenix."
"Tsk. A week-long visit is about the longest I can deal with. Me and the sun don't mix, baby girl."
"You did not just call me baby girl!"
"Speaking of vacations, why don't you fly over here for the summer?" He says. It's not the first time he suggests this. I've spent summers with him before and then it kind of just stopped when mom began dating my stepfather. It's not totally a bad idea, it's just that Forks, Washington is not my kind of place. It's cold and rainy and damp and just plain gloomy. At this point of my life as a Forsaken, I couldn't have any more gloom than I already do. Plus, if I gave the old clairvoyant lady at the carnival any credit, I should try to be more careful now that the Shadows are out to take me out of the picture. Riding an airplane now would just be tempting fate.
I'm about to turn him down one more time when I hear him say. "I'm good to go Carlisle."
"Who was that?" I grip the phone tighter.
"Oh, that was just the doctor. He wants to keep me for the night. Probably because he knows I'm alone in the house and he wants me to socialize with the nurses around here. I told him that staying for a night in the hospital for spraining my ankle was an affront to my manhood."
I tell myself to calm down. "What's your doctor's name?"
"Carlisle. Dr. Carlisle Cullen."
I gulp. My hands are shaking in my keyboard. "Can you spell that for me?"
"Why, you need a doctor, Bella? Are you sick?"
"No, nothing like that. I just…" my breath hitches. "I want to make sure my pop's in good hands."
"Hah" is his reply but he spells it out for me anyway.
I carefully type the letters and hit enter. I find his picture in seconds. I don't say anything as I contemplate the impossibility of his existence.
"Bella, are you still there?" my dad calls.
"Yeah," I reply weakly. "Yeah, I'm still here."
"So, how about that summer huh?"
I take a long, deep breath. "Do you one better, dad."
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