Daedalus in Exile
Chapter 11
~*~
The storm clouds rolled back in through the afternoon and by night fat pieces of snow and ice were coating the surfaces outside.
I was in my room, pretending to sleep while listening to the enthralling squeaks and moans from across the hall.
Isabella was having a nightmare.
This wasn't new. She'd had them since the first night, but it was clear from her reactions this one was more intense. I assumed it was about me…either the fateful day we met, the fateful day I saved her or even the fateful time earlier this very day when I crushed a pile of wood into sawdust only to flee and return red eyed and feral.
It really could be any of those.
So as I listened to her sharp, quick breaths and her erratically pounding heart, I sat in the chair by the window, still and quiet, fighting several different urges to enter her room. These urges frustrated and fascinated me at the same time. The whimpers sounded like one of my victims twisting under my merciless thumb. The heavy breaths caused a stirring in my stomach that I'd never considered before, and the heartbeat… it echoed through my body, taunting and alive.
The conflict would have been unbearable if not masochistically tempting.
Her feet twisted in the sheet, the noise rough and impatient and I considered how Isabella Swan brought out emotions in me I had long thought dormant. I drew forward, my hands atop my knees in anticipation as she reached some kind of climax in her dream, her heart racing and her words, "stop… stop… don't let it crush me," resonating through my walls and then she woke.
Quiet filled the air once again. Her heartbeat decreased slowly and her breathing became deeper, losing the shallowness of fear. The bed springs shift and creak under her weight and I can feel rather than hear her feet as they touch the floor. Assuming she is on her way to the bathroom, I wait, intrigued by her movements and late night activities.
She does pass by my room and I hear the door down the hall click and the sound of rushing water. But what happens next is a surprise, because as she approaches my room her feet pause and I can hear her—no feel her--hand touch my door.
Standing, I crossed the room and placed my hand on the smooth wood and yanked it back—a shock of electricity had jolted through my hand and I could sense her, on the opposite side of the door. I couldn't take it anymore and swung it open to reveal a disheveled, red-eyed Isabella on the other side.
"Oh," she gasped in surprise, her face turning red and her small hands wringing themselves dramatically.
I'd braced myself for her—holding my breath—but the attempt was futile and I inhaled deeply, reveling in the pain and delight of Isabella. "Is something wrong?"
She blinks back tears, and a human would have to strain to hear her voice, but I wasn't human. She whispered, "I had a nightmare."
Isabella looked so small. I towered over her anyway, almost a foot taller, but she was huddled and vulnerable in her pajamas and socked feet.
I intentionally furrowed my brow and went for a concerned expression. I wasn't concerned--I was excited that she had come to me. That she was sharing with me. She needed me.
"A nightmare?"
She nodded, still obviously embarrassed, but her eyes flicked toward the two chairs in the back of my room.
"Would you like to come in? Tell me about it?" I asked. I was desperately trying to figure out how to handle this, how to comfort her.
She sighed heavily, coating me with a wave of her breath. It was almost as though she stunned me, her scent like poison, causing my eyes to blink in a haze, but her smile won me over and I pushed the door wider allowing her to enter.
I gestured to one of the two chairs, and fought a grimace when she perched on the edge of one. Perching was not a comfortable position, but I kept the observation to myself and lowered myself across from her.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" Please, please, tell me about it.
Her hands shook over the arms of the chair and she replied, "Do you mind? I feel like I need to talk it out—get it out of my mind."
I nodded encouragingly. I desperately wanted to know what was in her mind.
"It was weird but so realistic. Everything was in slow motion." I nodded again, pretending to understand, "I was in a parking lot...getting into a car…my car? I don't know. And suddenly—ugh it was so loud—there was this squealing. Tires on pavement. The kind that you hear right before a collision—you just know it's going to happen." Her hands were wringing again and I considered if I should touch her, calm her—would that be the normal thing to do?
Isabella took another deep breath and shuddered, "I looked over my shoulder and saw this van, blue, and huge careening toward me."
She stopped to wipe the tears from the corner of her eye--she was badly shaken—almost unable to fully speak. This dream had quite an effect on her.
"Was that it? Did you wake up in the middle?" I blurted, consumed by curiosity. I wanted more.
"No, that isn't it. The van was coming at me…full speed and I knew, I just knew I couldn't get out of the way in time so I just froze…right in the path of the van."
I stand up and walk across the room, pulling a handkerchief out of my dresser and offering it to her as I sat back down. She wiped her eyes and her nose and instead of being disturbed by her fluids, I was angered that she would be upset by something as trivial as a dream. I didn't like Isabella upset.
It bothered me.
"So it hit you?" It was all I could think to ask. Something horrible must have happened to elicit such a response.
"No," she whispered and looked at me with wide, brown eyes and soft pink lips. "No, it didn't. Someone saved me."
I swallowed and had a strong feeling about who that was that saved her. It would be common and natural for her to think it was me…after all, I had saved her from the lion attack—it was just that she transferred one incident for an imaginary one. But, I wanted to hear it from her—just to hear the thought from her lips. "Who saved you? What happened?"
She blushed, confirming my idea, "It was one of those things, you know a dream thing, where one minute it was one thing and then the next it was something else entirely. At first, just as the van was about to crush me, you darted out and pushed the van off—crushing the side and hovered over me for protection."
I could only stare. It was fascinating.
"But then it switched and I was on the ground, blood oozing down my face and this girl, tiny and afraid, was over me, lifting the van off my leg and wiping my forehead." She reached up and touched the scar that marred her skin, "Right here. The wound was right here."
My head tilted on instinct, as it tends to do when I am working out a problem. Something was off.
"A girl? With super strength?" I fought to keep my voice even—although it was close to impossible. "What did she look like." Tiny and afraid, that's what she said. Half of that sounded familiar. Too familiar.
"She was short, black hair and eyes…well, kind of like yours…golden actually. She was so small, but looked at me with such kindness." She sat up straighter, "Edward, it was so real. Everything from the squeal of the breaks, to the crunch of the metal, even the smell of my blood in the air."
"But I wasn't there." I replied…but had the strangest sense of déjà vu ever. I wasn't there but someone else may have been in my place.
She wrinkled her nose and sat back in the chair, "No, obviously you weren't. But…do you think it happened? Do you think it's a memory? I have the scar..."
I nodded slowly remembering the look of pleasure on her face when she had a memory yesterday, but this one was too close. She was so close to remembering Alice and possibly the rest of the family. I was afraid of what would happen when she did. I was afraid of what decisions I would have to make at that time. "I agree it's possible—I told you from the beginning I thought you would get your memories back. But I guess maybe they'll be jumbled up for a while."
We sat for a moment absorbing the information. The snow fell outside the window effortlessly and Isabella pulled her knees to her chest, the tips of her toes hanging off the edge of the seat.
"It was really scary." She said looking out the window.
I watched her and thought of ways to soothe her, but nothing seemed right. I grappled for words but eventually asked, "Are you afraid now?"
Her eyes slid back to mine, and held steady. "No."
~*~
I'd fixed Isabella some tea and brought her book and allowed her to spend the rest of the night curled up on the chair in my room. I pretended to read next to her while I really just watched her every move. Her dream intrigued me. It was vivid, and was most likely a memory that involved my sister and if true, it only added to the mysterious relationship between Isabella and Alice.
At dawn she was ready to return to bed, the light of day making the bad dreams less, I suppose, and once I was convinced she was asleep, I ducked out back to the workshop.
As soon as I reached my worktable I dug though the box and pulled out her wallet. I'd seen something the other day that at the time seemed trivial, but now, after recent revelations, could have significant meaning.
Quickly, I pulled the business cards from the sleeve and sorted through until I found the one I was looking for:
Dr. Mark Welling, MD, PC
Overcliff Neurosurgery
1150 Overcliff Parkway
Suite 104
Durham, NC 98112
This wasn't a doctor I was familiar with but I flipped the card over to find a phone number on the back and had opened my phone and begun dialing before I really even considered the consequences.
It only rang twice before I heard, "Overcliff Neurosurery, can I help you?" from a chipper woman responding from the other end.
I paused, what was I doing? "Hello? Is anyone there?"
"Yes…yes, this is Dr. Carlisle Cullen, I was calling in regards to some information about one of my patients." I said, using my father's name before I could think. My voice was authoritative and calm—like Carlisle would have been.
"What kind of information are you looking for?" she asked. I could hear papers shuffling and phones ringing in the background.
I sighed. I hated talking to people. "I need her files sent to my office--she came to me for a consultation."
"Name?"
"Isabella Swan."
"Okay, one moment," I heard tapping and the sound of efficient keystrokes as she searched Isabella's name. The movement stopped and I could hear her mumbling under her breath, "Isabella Swan, age twenty-two, traumatic head injury…" but she stopped and I heard the definitive rolling of her chair as she moved away from the computer.
I heard the metal slide and clank of a drawer being opened and further paper shuffling. I wondered how long she would keep me waiting and was pleased when I heard her speak again, "Yes, I have Ms. Swan's paperwork here, she signed a consent form when she first came in, but it will take a day or two to get you the information. Dr. Cullen you said?"
"Yes," I breathed in relief, ecstatic to have found it so easily, "my name is Carlisle Cullen."
"I see you are on this file as the admitting doctor from the emergency room from the original incident."
My mind reeled at this information. "Yes, I am, when I worked in Forks."
"You're no longer there?" she asked.
"No, I moved into private practice, in this part of the country actually," I replied, digging my hole deeper and deeper. "Isabella came to me as her primary caregiver and I wanted to be updated on her current history."
"Of course," she replied, "I will send these, although it may take a day or so."
"Fine," I answered and offered my P.O. Box as an address in town.
After I thanked her and hung up I reached for the newspaper clipping once more and unfolded it. I now knew for certain that my sister and my father had contact with Isabella while in Forks. Alice and I hadn't spoken face to face in over two years. Carlisle and I met monthly, yet, he had never said a word even though he knew the state of mind I was in. Probably due to the state of mind I was in.
I figured I had two days or so before the paperwork would come in the mail. I was eager and excited to see it—to learn more. I wondered if part of it was in Carlisle's own hand. How he blocked this from me for all these years was a mystery, although, by the time I returned to them they had moved from Forks and were carrying on a different set of charades.
I hid the wallet and went back to the house. I was surprised to find Isabella in the kitchen heating water on the stove.
"Hi," I offered, and shut the door behind me, wiping my boots on the mat by the door.
"Cold out?" she asked, giving me a light smile.
I had no idea really, the temperature didn't effect me but I saw the thermostat by the door, it read 20 degrees. "Yes, it's really quite cold." I shivered dramatically.
"I still couldn't sleep so I came down and saw you were out…" she said, letting her words trail. Her tone was indifferent but her eyes were questioning.
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the wet spots from where snow hit me on my way to the barn. "I have a workshop out back, in the old barn…I went out to check on some things."
"A workshop?"
I shifted and ran my fingers through my hair a second time. She was eyeing me intently, focused and…she seemed more interested than she had been before. "Yes, just tools and stuff…nothing really important." I wasn't ready to share my projects and hiding spots with her—not yet.
The whistle blew on the kettle, exhausting warm, moist air into the kitchen and she ran over to remove it from the heat. I watched as Isabella poured the water and placed bags of tea into two mugs she must have located in a cabinet.
She turned and offered me one, "I made one for you."
I reached out for the handle, "Thank you."
The whole scene was civilized--even domesticated. It felt oddly calming but at the same time a bit stifling. When did Isabella decide to prepare tea in my kitchen? For me? Someone she has never seen eat?
My fingers wrapped around the mug and grazed her warm fingertips. She jumped and blushed, a shy smile crossing her face.
"Your fingers are so cold." She said, rubbing the tips that touched mine with her other hand.
I shrugged and played it off but couldn't help but notice the strange look on her face. She seemed…flustered. "I forgot my gloves outside."
She gestured toward the living room and I followed but stopped before sitting in my usual chair while she tucked into the couch. I was happy to note that Isabella looked comfortable. I wasn't sure why she was now, after the dreams and my violent outburst from the day before, but nevertheless she did.
"Do you mind if I check your wound?" I asked, thinking it had been since yesterday that I'd looked it over for infection.
She nodded her agreement and I placed my mug on the table next to the couch. I walked behind her and used my finger tips to push her head forward lightly and inspected the area of the injury. Despite the fact my hands were warmer from holding the hot mug of tea, Isabella still shivered under my touch.
"Are you cold?" I asked, brushing her hair away from the wound. "Are my fingers still cold? I apologize."
"No," she replied, but shivered again, barely, as I graced the skin on her hairline. "I'm not cold."
Perplexed by her chills, I rested the back of my hand over the white flesh on her neck checking for fever. "You don't seem feverish" I told her.
Isabella twisted her head toward me, "I'm fine Edward, just a little chill."
I dropped her hair gently, smoothing it with my hand, fingering the strands at the bottom. I was content her wound was healing appropriately and picked up my mug of tea and sat in my chair.
"It looks fine—like it's healing." I explain to her.
She smiled gratefully, "Thank you." She ran a hand through her hair and made a disgusted face, "Ugh. Do you think it will ever grow back…from where you cut it?"
"Around the wound? Yes. On the wound and scar itself? Probably not, but it's well hidden I promise." I stifled a laugh at her vanity, thinking of how her beauty to me was not in her physical attributes but in more obscure ways.
She rolled her eyes but seemed accepting of my words.
"Are you feeling better now? You must be exhausted if you haven't slept yet." I said, while pretending to take tentative sips from my hot tea.
Oddly her eyes lit up, "I do feel better and I'm not really tired. I think I'm too excited to be tired."
"Excited?"
She blushed a little and took a deep breath, "I've decided my dream was real." She must have seen my dubious expression, which wasn't really dubious but was really just my way of trying to stay collected because she continued, "Not all of it. But I think the accident was real—or parts of it—and I think the girl was real."
My hand immediately shoved in my hair nervously. My first reaction was to deny it but at the last moment I decided not to be a jerk and brush her off. Instead I went for my doctor role and began probing for more.
"Okay," I said, placing my mug on the side table, "Tell me exactly why you think the girl was real. Exactly what do you recall about her."
Isabella became quite animated at my question. She sat taller and folded her legs into one another. "Okay, so, she was small—I told you that."
"Wait," I interrupted, and having no clear idea why I would do that, "how much smaller than you? Because really, Isabella, you're pretty tiny yourself."
Again her face heated and she twisted a little in her seat. "She was smaller than I am, her hands…when they touched my forehead…were so cold. I felt an immediate sense of relief."
"Relief?" Isabella just described a vampire's touch and felt calmed by it. This woman was extraordinary.
"I felt safe," she said quietly and even lower she whispered, "like I feel with you. Like I know everything is going to be okay."
How I wanted to tell this fragile being in front of me that everything was going to be okay, and that she was safe but it just wasn't true. The statement settled into the space between us. It was bold and I was too weak to respond with the truth. Instead I whispered in return, "How do you know that? How do you know it will all be okay?"
Because I for one, was not sure at all.
Isabella's face twisted. Her eyes began blinking rapidly and she responded, louder than before, "Because Edward, I have no memories—no past. I know nothing of my life or my future. All I have is hope. And my dream last night showed me that. That even in a moment of crisis, someone will be there to help you and to give you hope. In my dream it was that woman but in life, right now, it is you."
I felt my head shift to the side and my eyes narrow at her words. I was incredulous. No one had ever spoken such words to me. I didn't think they were true. I knew they weren't true.
Isabella looked at me with kind, watery eyes and I couldn't take her hope away, like mine had been stripped so long ago. "I'm glad you have faith in me." I responded, unable to promise any more than that.
Her next question shocked me, "Have you ever had to trust someone explicitly? To follow them blindly, to hope they would see you through to the other end?"
I thought of Carlisle and everything he had done for me, how he taught me and showed me the ways of this life. I considered how he fulfilled my mother's wishes and for decades did everything he could to give me hope. Yet, for all his efforts, I was still without hope.
I swallowed and acknowledged, "My father. My adopted father. He tried to be this for me."
"Tried?" She asked, her eyes searching my face, "Does this mean he failed."
I caught her eye and held it steady, "No, Isabella, he didn't fail. I did."
I was allowing too much. More than I had before—her innocence and vulnerability left me exposed. I felt sick from revealing this information. I felt weak and powerless. Admitting my failures was unheard of and now, she was placing her trust in me. In me!
She was foolish and I was pathetic. I was a vampire that couldn't even kill the one he wanted most. No, instead I chose to torture myself further, prolonging my madness.
I broke eye contact and stood abruptly, briskly walking to the door--making an effort to stop and get my coat, hat and gloves for her benefit.
"Edward," she called, and I stopped, tilting my head so I could see her in my peripheral. She was still on the couch, but on her knees, leaning over the back of the couch toward me. "I'm sorry. Don't go." She said--it almost sounded like begging.
She wanted me to stay. She wanted me to stay. Even after I admitted I was inadequate.
Isabella was confused, and had no idea what she was getting into. I looked away from her before I relented and walked to the door. I needed some air and space and time alone but as my fingers touched the knob I could see her reflection in the window. Sincerity was flashing from her eyes and she was just so…small. I dropped my hand and turned, removing my winter clothes. Inexplicably, she sighed in relief and smiled a tiny smile.
I returned it and understood that even though I was inadequate, she wanted me. I was all she had. I also understood that in turn, she was all I had as well. We were in this together.
"I'll stay," I announced, feeling awkward and strange.
Isabella had a power over me I hadn't expected.
She offered me a smile and gestured back to the chair I had been sitting in.
With an intriguing red face and a quickly thudding heartbeat, Isabella burrowed back into the couch and said, "Never feel like you have to run from me Edward."
I felt an odd, unidentifiable, spasm in my stomach and promised, "I won't--not anymore."
OOkay!
Sorry this was "late" but I told you so.
NM was awesome. Was there enough Edward? No. but we knew this going in. It's why we write AU's. Can i wait for Remember Me? No. poor AG is already about to kill me.
Special Thanks to Revrag for the beta~~
Thanks to the 5 awesome readers who bought pre-reads in the Fandom Gives Back Auction!
Recs for the holiday weekend--what I'm reading right now...
The Caged Bird~by Kristen Nicole
Fourteen~by Crimsonmarie
Northern Lights & Whiskey Lullabies ~ by songirl (this one is a special fave--give it a shot)
I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter and please have an awesome Thanksgiving if you celebrate!