Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. It is not being distributed for profit. Stephenie Meyer owns the copyright to the Twilight Saga. No copyright infringement intended.
Reminder: This story is rated M and may not be appropriate for readers under the age of 18.
Chapter 11
September 2009
EPOV
"Yes. I will find you. No matter what it takes, I will find you, my love."
My thoughts once again drifted to that encounter from two months ago, when she'd needed me so urgently that she made love to me on the floor and made me promise to find her. I still didn't know what to make of it. We had obviously grown physically closer in my fantasies, but something had shifted. Even though I knew she was just a fantasy, she was so vivid. Her actions often took me by surprise, none more so than this particular encounter that I could not stop replaying over and over. I was delighted every time she did something unanticipated, and full of despair when she was sorrowful. And I had no explanation for any of it.
All I could think was that I had a heretofore unknown aspect of the vampire brain, a layer that operated independently of the rest, similar to automatic brain functions yet quite different — because it wove a reality all on its own. Once again, I wished I could talk to Carlisle about it, but that was out of the question. I wasn't prepared to share the details of my secret life with anyone, not even Carlisle.
I had isolated myself more and more from my family since my fantasies had become so important to me. I was aware they all knew that something unusual was happening with me, but they never asked about it. Now and again, they would give me curious looks then immediately change their thoughts so that I could not read what they had been thinking. I was both frustrated and relieved not to be privy to these thoughts. As I had learned quite intimately in the past few years, privacy is precious — especially in one's mind. Guarding my own privacy gave me a new perspective on my ability to listen in on theirs, and I tried even harder to give them the respect they deserved.
And, if anything important needed to be known, I was certain Alice would tell me.
With nothing else to distract me, I thought more and more of my love. I struggled with what to do about the promise I'd given her in my fantasy. I knew that somewhere out there, a real human existed who looked exactly like her, and whose blood sang to me. For her own safety, and to protect my family's secrecy, years ago I had decided I could never have this woman in my real life. But as my fantasies about her grew, so did my longing for her. That much was obvious, as even my fantasy — my own mind — was crying out for me to find her.
I decided to simply try to find out her name. That seemed harmless. I looked on a class reunion website which advertised prolifically on the Internet, but it didn't lead me anywhere. So many names could have been hers.
But then I had a stroke of luck. I found a Forks High School Class of 2005 yearbook on an online auction site. I was surprised something so obscure was for sale, considering how few might find it of interest. Other than me, of course. The day the yearbook arrived I took the package up to my room, closing the door behind me so that the rest of the family couldn't see what I had. I flipped through each page until I found her, smiling shyly at me from a small black and white photo.
Isabella Swan.
Salutatorian. National Honor Society. Awarded four-year full scholarship to Cornell University.
I let the yearbook slip from my fingers and fall to the floor as the information sunk in. She had attended college not 50 miles from where I sat.
Where was she now?
BPOV
Time trudged along and I floated through it. My dream lover and his promise to find me were the only things I lived for, because as important as the dreams were to me, I desperately yearned for more. I knew it was crazy and yes, I knew he was probably just a by-product of some kind of dysfunction in my brain, but still I prayed every day for this wonderful, tender, loving man to find his way into my waking life. Dream or real, he was what I wanted. And god, I yearned for him to be real and to hold me in his arms and kiss me in waking life. More than anything, I yearned to see his face. I had felt the contours of his magnificent body, and I had sensed the depths of his soul, but I had never seen his face. I knew him, I loved him, yet I didn't know what he looked like, and that was almost more maddening than the knowledge he didn't really exist.
* * *
Before long, the summer break came to an end and school started. My graduate classes weren't too exciting, but it was only the first semester of my master's coursework. I was sure it would get more interesting once I chose the subject of my thesis. But for now, as part of my fellowship, I had to do research time in the lab. "Boring" looked downright exciting next to my research: I had to categorize the locomotive possibilities of various species of slime mould. No one else wanted to do it, and I was the low person on the totem pole, so the task fell to me. The only advantage was it gave me the lab to myself most of the time. And to my relief, I had not yet needed to hide from the likes of another Mike Newton since I arrived at SUNY. I was back in a familiar pattern of solitude and academic study. My comfort zone, I thought to myself wryly.
It was a few weeks into the semester when I was taking my usual route to the university. The days in Binghamton remained endlessly cloudy, but on this day there was also a hint of crispness in the air that reminded me I'd better enjoy the last of the temperate weather before the snow season started. I was musing over the imminent onset of winter when the car in front of me slowed, and then came to a stop. Just what I needed before classes — a traffic jam. Looking ahead, I noticed road construction and detour signs. Gah.
Inching along, my car reached the flag man who was directing cars onto a side street. I rolled down my window and asked, "How long is this detour going to be in place?"
"At least a month, they're digging new trenches and then they have to pave," the unshaven man answered. Uh oh. "Thanks," I muttered and rolled up my window. I rejoined the flow of traffic, gripping the steering wheel just a little tighter than before.
The change from my normal route unnerved me. Having everything mapped precisely was the best way for me to deal with a new city and keep my inclination to panic in check. The detour took me onto a street I'd never been down, and I cursed under my breath. "Detour" usually meant "Bella gets lost" in my world. I didn't want to get turned around somewhere and wind up late for class.
But as I drove I was relieved to see that the detour was well marked. I was on a nice, tree-lined, residential street, nothing to be nervous about. I spotted a sign for Binghamton High School, and I could even see the student parking lot from the street. It was after 9 am, so the lot was full. As I drove by, I noticed a particular car, and suddenly a vivid series of memories cascaded through my mind. Six years ago, Forks High, first day, a strange student who made me feel . . . hated. His sudden anger at me for no reason — no, not anger but fury. His running out of the classroom and into a car and speeding away . . .
And that's when I realized what I was looking at. A silver Volvo with dark tinted windows. It looked exactly as I remembered his car. Exactly.
I shook my head and focused once again on the traffic. A car is a car is a car. No question there had to have been thousands of that year and model and color made. Not even a coincidence, just a car and a jogged memory. I laughed at my absurdity and continued my commute to the university.
* * *
My solitary life continued. I spent almost every night in the arms of my dream lover, and started each morning with my now-detoured drive to SUNY. Every day when I drove past the high school, I looked for the Volvo. I knew it was silly but I couldn't shake it. I actually started looking forward to my morning drive on this new route. It was as if seeing the car was some sort of anchor for me, something that grounded me in a way I couldn't understand.
And I needed extra grounding lately, because I had started to catch the scent of my dream lover all through the city — sometimes on the street, sometimes in shops. I finally reached the point that I didn't panic and run from it as I had done that first day, but I knew now there was definitely something wrong with me. I strongly suspected it was undiagnosed epilepsy, but as long as the symptoms were merely olfactory hallucinations and not outright seizures, I'd deal with it. I had an unshakeable feeling that if I sought medical intervention, I would lose the lover from my dreams. So I tried to convince myself it was an emotional problem, not a physical one. I told myself that encountering the scent wherever I went, his particular scent, must be related to some kind of subconscious desire. I rationalized how his scent could extend beyond my dreams — it was my subconscious reminding me that I should be searching for a man who could give me in real life what my imagination gave me when I slept.
And sometimes, hesitantly, I thought back to that time in Ithaca by the gorge. I remembered my fears, my loneliness, and the intervention by something — I don't know what — that seemed to change the course of my dreams and allowed me to empower myself in them. The dreams weren't enough, but now I had some control in them. They had become my life.
I also acknowledged the possibility that whatever I saw that day by the gorge was as much a product of mental illness as my dreams, but since it seemed to have helped me that night, I didn't question it too closely. I had reached a point where I could rationalize most of the peculiarities of my life, applying a scientific method of reasoning where it was convenient, and ignoring the inexplicable where it was not.
And so I coped. Ignoring my own inconsistencies kept me stable, or at least allowed me to venture outside my apartment without fear of additional panic attacks. If the worst that happened was having my senses infused with the scent of my dream lover, well, I could live with that.
* * *
It was a Tuesday, about two weeks after the detour started, and I had left the SUNY campus early. That meant I was driving past Binghamton High School at the same time the students were getting out for the day. Traffic came to a near standstill as cars streamed out of the school parking lot. Great, I thought, remember never to drive this way at this time of day again. Trapped in the gridlock I tried to be patient with the kids honking and shouting at each other as they squealed their tires and blasted their stereos. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I glanced over towards where the Volvo was usually parked.
Oh. My. God.
I could not believe what I saw. It was him. The guy from my high school in Forks was standing at the open driver's door of the Volvo. I was sure of it. It wasn't just a close resemblance. It was the same guy.
And standing by the passenger door was the girl. The dark-haired girl who sat at the cafeteria table with him and the others all those years ago.
My mouth fell open as I hit the brakes and just stopped in the middle of the street, gawking at the two of them. It had been six years. And here they were, still in high school, looking exactly the same. She had different clothes but his jacket . . . I could have sworn his jacket was the same one I saw him wear as he ran out to his car that day six years ago in Forks.
This couldn't be possible; this simply could not be possible. They had not aged. It was as if the fabric of time had ripped and they both stepped through from 2003 and into 2009. A strange noise came out of my throat as I gasped in shock.
Suddenly, the guy's eyes grew wide and his mouth opened as if he were startled. His head shot up like someone had called to him, but instead of looking at someone else, his eyes locked on mine.
And in that moment all time ceased, all movement around us froze, leaves stopped falling and cars stopped moving and all sound went silent. All I could see were his intense eyes trained on mine, and my heartbeat went into overdrive as I knew this was the most pivotal moment of my life without having a clue why.
He broke eye contact and turned towards the girl he was with. She had collapsed and slumped to the ground. An unseen switch flipped and suddenly cars started moving, leaves started falling, sound rushed in again.
The spell of his gaze broken, I turned away. Every muscle in my body was shaking, but I managed to drive a block up and pull over. I couldn't think straight. None of this made sense. It was six years later for god's sake. It couldn't be him. It must be a relative, a cousin or a nephew who had been given the car and the jacket as hand-me-downs. Right, a relative. That would explain it.
But it didn't explain my pounding heart, or the continuing surge of adrenaline, or the magnetic pull of his eyes.
And it didn't explain the beautiful shock of unruly bronze hair whose texture I knew as well as I knew my own.
EPOV
I broke eye contact, trembling and trying to regain rational thought. Focus right now. Focus. Alice! Alice had collapsed. I ran to her and lifted her into the car.
I had never seen her like this. "Alice, what's wrong?" She lifted her head slowly, looking dazed, reeling from the impact of a vision she was studiously blocking from me.
"Talk to me Alice! What did you see?" I reached into her mind and . . . nothing at first and then what looked like a swirl of stars, the Milky Way on a clear night and then . . . nothing again.
"Edward, drive away from here now. Let's go home," she whispered, refusing to look at me, keeping her thoughts clear, and looking as ill as a vampire could.
Running back to the driver's door I got in and got us moving as quickly as I could without looking overly conspicuous. My chest was still heaving in shock as I pointed the car towards home. I needed to get Alice to Jasper, and I was desperate for some time alone to deal with what I just saw. Shutting out everything else, I concentrated on my driving and my destination.
By the time we pulled up to the house Alice seemed to have fully regained her senses and was simply gazing out the window, appearing calm. Yet every time I attempted to read her thoughts she was translating Shakespeare into Sanskrit, preventing me from viewing what she had seen in the parking lot. I didn't think she had seen Isabella Swan or my reaction, so it had to have just been the vision that caused her collapse, but I had never known Alice to so relentlessly refuse to share her visions with me.
Ironically, almost as if she could read my mind, Alice turned to me and wanly smiled. "Don't let it bother you Edward, I saw something unexpected and it startled me a bit. I just had an overreaction, that's all. It's probably been too long since I've hunted. I'm fine now, really." She smiled again, effectively ending the conversation. I knew she was not telling me everything, but there was nothing more I could do or say to get her to talk. The coincidence was too great, but I trusted Alice. Whatever she was keeping from me, she had her reasons. And I had other pressing priorities at the moment . . . My room. Privacy. Stay calm. Isabella Swan.
Once in the house, I went immediately to my room, closed and locked the door and put a Debussy CD in the stereo. Surrounded by the music, I gave myself over to the joy and shock of what I had just seen.
It was Isabella. There was no mistaking her. She was HERE. How, why, I had no idea. I only knew that I had seen Isabella today . . . beautiful, vibrant Isabella Swan.
I wanted to leap out my window and run . . . run for the exhilaration of it, run until I could find a place where I could laugh and celebrate and give voice to my euphoria. The person I saw today was not a fantasy, not a figment of my elaborate imagination, but the living, breathing girl — no, a woman now — staring at me with as much shock in her eyes as I felt, and with as much recognition. Or at least I wanted to think so. But could she have recognized me so quickly? We shared only two glances 6 years ago, and she was human — surely she would not have remembered me so clearly.
But it did not matter, not right now, maybe not ever. My fantasies had barely done her justice, her beauty was ethereal. Her high cheekbones and full lips . . . her eyes, oh, her eyes were even more captivating than I had remembered. Mysterious and deep pools that drew me in, and they now contained the wisdom of a woman. The passage of time had only magnified her beauty and the unearthly attraction she held to me.
And then it hit me, the reality that this woman now lived in the same city as me. No wonder I had detected the scent of freesia all over town. It wasn't a hidden garden, it was Isabella. She was actually here — living around me, close to me, within striking distance of me and — I realized with a jolt of excitement — within touching distance of me.
I found her! My whole being sang with the knowledge of it.
But soon my breathing became erratic as I thought of the implications of pursuing something outside my fantasies. Could I? Dare I? Perhaps to be no more than her friend, or even less . . . Should I just watch her, unseen, as she shopped, as she walked around town, always keeping myself at a safe distance, but bathing in her glory if only for moments at a time? I looked down at my hands. They were trembling. Finding her was the thing I desired the most, and yet it was the thing that could drive me mad. She had the most tempting blood I had ever encountered, but she was the personification of the love of my life. I lowered my head into my shaking hands. My entire being yearned to be near her, but . . . would the monster let her live?
The disarray of my own thoughts frustrated me. I needed to think, to plan, something!
Taking a deep breath I realized the first step — although it might turn out to be the only step — had to be desensitization. If I could not get my bloodlust for her under control, things would end before I ever knew her, and potentially end badly. Now that I had seen her car, it would be a simple matter to follow her, discover where she lived. Perhaps a few visits to her home when she was not home would be a start — spending time immersed in her scent while she was safely absent. In addition, I could take a small article of her clothing — something that she wouldn't miss — and keep it near me all the time. If I could grow accustomed to her scent, I might begin to control my craving for her blood.
It was a start at least. A plan. Temporarily satisfied, I closed my eyes and saw her face again — that lovely face I saw today, this wondrous, impossible day. And tonight, when everyone else was otherwise occupied, I would go to her — my fantasy improved with new knowledge — and I would love her as never before.
And I would love her knowing there was a chance, no matter how small, that one day it would not just be my imagination holding her in my arms.
A/N Ending the week with a bang. Well, okay, we ended the week, no bang. More bangs to come...oh...nevermind.
Chapter 12 will post on Monday, and then again, each weekday through Friday.
If you've been following the dates, we're now into what would be the future for us, but it's not their future. They're following a consecutive timeline that just happens to move past our own.
Thank you all so much for your reviews, and thank you for your support! Chapter by Chapter playlists are on Lilliput's profile, and I can often be found at the thread on Twilighted(dot)net, under Alternate Universe. Yeah, I'm probably there too much. C'est la vie. In fact, it's become my whole life. I wonder if I have an undiagnosed brain condition. You'd think the least I could get out of it are some cool dreams.
