Chapter 10 - The Arrow and the Song, Part II
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow in its flight
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak,
I found the arrow still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
- The Arrow and the Song by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Song
All I wanted was run to as fast as I could, and as soon as I was away from the park, when I could no longer hear thoughts of what had just happened there in any of the minds around me, that's exactly what I did. I turned off the sidewalk and lit down a cluttered alley. I registered the possibility that someone might be looking out the windows above, but if they were, I couldn't discern it in any thoughts, and besides, I was moving too fast for sluggish human eyes to follow. I leapt up a stack of crates to a rooftop, up onto it, running across several more and then descending into another alley... bursting over an empty stretch of patchy weeds to dive right into the Milwaukee River.
I didn't keep track of the miles as I swam against the current, underneath the surface. I measured my distance from civilization by the distilled voices of human thought that gradually faded from busy, metropolitan babble to scattered murmurs. When the river got too shallow, I would get out and run until it was deep enough again, then back in; it was the easiest way to stay out of sight, the quickest way home. But it didn't matter how fast I swam; the voices couldn't go away soon enough. It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, but it felt like an eternity had passed when, at last, there was blessed silence beyond the rush of water and the shift of sediment beneath its flow. I was still two miles south of Grafton when I slipped out of the river onto the eastern bank, and I didn't move beyond that spot. Finally away from human scrutiny, I froze into natural stillness on all fours, staring sightlessly at my hands curling into the bracken while turmoil raged within.
My memory of every second since I'd awakened in that basement almost ten months ago was flawless, save for those times in the first few months when the thirst would get its absolute worst, and I was reduced to pure savagery. It was a mark of our kind. While our warm-blooded mortal days fade in memory, nothing is forgotten of our new existence from the moment we wake to it- no sight, sound, sensation... no mistake. There wasn't even the temporary refuge of sleep. As Carlisle once put it, every moment is a waking moment.
I would never forget the way Aaron's scream pierced the confusion in that park, or the look in his eyes just before, when he reached out for that ball, thinking that my motions had looked blurry to him because he hadn't been focused on the game.
Like I said, he was good-natured.
I would never forget the ripping tendons and shattering bones, or the hideous malformity of his arm as he lay on the grass. I pictured Aaron Barnes laid out on the backseat of the Peerless, his eyes glazed over by shock and the effects of morphine, his mangled arm braced and slung for the drive to the hospital. The way his elbow and shoulder had been dislocated, I knew there had to have been torn ligaments and ruptured vessels, maybe even the brachial artery. He could lose his arm altogether if surgeons couldn't put it back together inside. They'd probably have to splay it completely open...
The cursed bloodlust flared at the thought, the insistent burn licking up my throat, and I couldn't contain the scream of disgust at myself. Clenching fistfuls of drenched hair, I let out a screeching wail that carried through the woods for miles, sounding more like some prehistoric animal than a person.
And that was just it. I wasn't human. I never would be. Baseball? What the hell had I been thinking? It hadn't even taken two innings to make it clear that I didn't belong there.
At least I was too far away now to do any more damage to the boy. I'd already crippled him for life. There was no way his arm would heal well enough for him to play in the big leagues now. And for what? Because I'd let myself get irritated about the asinine comments of one insecure mortal?
If only I didn't have to hear every thought around me all the time. If only it didn't take the utmost concentration to keep from destroying most things I touched. If only I wasn't what I was, God damn it!
I'd never be able to do what Carlisle had learned to do. I knew that now. I didn't know who was more foolish: me, for believing I could be like him, or Carlisle himself, for thinking the same thing.
How could I get through the next week without making some catastrophic mistake, if I couldn't even get through today? What chance did I stand in the face of what was coming?
Only a few days from now, they would be here. And everything Carlisle had been doing, thinking, was all geared towards preparing me for it, as though their visit was going to be the test of a lifetime. I could see that, even though he'd carefully hidden why he was preparing me.
I'd known it ever since the day the letter arrived.
February 11, 1919
I shouldn't have written to him about Edward... what have I done?
I glanced at the opened envelope on his desk. The letter had come from Volterra, Italy.
"The Volturi? You wrote to them about me?"
He nodded grimly. "After the New Year, I wrote to Aro with news about you."
"What's so disturbing about that?" I asked nervously.
Maybe nothing, maybe everything. This response of his... he shook his head apologetically, his gaze still stuck on the letter. "I wrote to Aro because he'd always been intensely curious about what would happen if I ever tried to change someone. He was convinced I wouldn't be able to do it- that as soon as I got my first taste of human blood, I wouldn't be able to stop..." and there were other complications he foresaw...
His mind revisited part of a conversation he'd had with Aro towards the end of his decades-long stay with the Volturi, and the scene was different from others I'd witnessed from that part of his existence. I was familiar with the sight of their polished marble halls hidden away underneath Volterra, and of the three filmy-eyed beings in their thrones. Carlisle had even given me glimpses of how they delivered their lethal brand of justice.
But this memory took place in a dormant garden enclosed by high stone walls. I'd never seen one of the ancients in the light. They usually looked more frail than others of our kind, their skin appearing thinner- perhaps with age, but more likely because of the untold centuries they spent in a kind of stasis, never venturing from where they were, doing so very little. They didn't even hunt anymore, instead herding unsuspecting humans into their lair like cattle to the slaughter. It was no wonder youthful vigor had seemed to escape the trio, even as immortal as they were. But in the sunlight, the differences melted away. Aro's skin shone with the same brilliance as mine or Carlisle's...
"I'm concerned about you, young one," he said to Carlisle as they walked along. "The path you are about to choose... do you really think you can endure eternity in such isolation?"
"I will not be so very alone," Carlisle responded. "There will be the mortals I live among and heal."
"Oh, now truly, how can you pretend that companionship of any value could come from such lowly creatures?" Aro chided. "I'm pleased that you find purpose in this little hobby of yours, but you know as well as I that you cannot find friendship among mere mortals."
As much as he wanted to argue this point, Carlisle knew he couldn't. Aro was right, at least in that the differences between vampires and humans were too great to allow meaningful interaction.
"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But how I choose to survive distances me from my own kind as well."
"Then choose differently, my friend. You would be so much more content."
"There is no other choice for me, Aro," Carlisle said, smirking gently. They'd been through this so many times. "You know you cannot convince me otherwise."
The old vampire sighed lightly, more amused than annoyed. "No, I suppose not. But I do wish to impress upon you how unbearable you'll find such solitude. I have lived for thousands of years, and, I assure you, I could not have endured the millenia alone. What a sad and empty thing life would be without my dear Sulpicia and my brothers, our guard."
Your power, Carlisle added silently. He knew all too well that the Volturi's greatest thirst was to exercise absolute authority over our kind, as they had done for roughly twenty-five hundred years. Aro was the most instrumental of the three, the greatest strategist, and the most power-hungry. Carlisle had witnessed too many of Aro's manipulations, growing all too aware that he was a pon in some of them. Their feeding habits weren't the only reason he'd decided to finally leave Volterra, parting company with the most civilized of our kind he'd ever met.
"I will manage," he replied to Aro.
"I have no doubt you will manage, Carlisle. My only question is, for how long?"
Aro drifted to a halt on the mossy path they walked along. Carlisle paused with him, then watched as the ancient approached one of the garden's centerpieces. It was a craggy olive tree not much taller than he was, and its sprawling branches, once evergreen, were mostly bare. Twisting and knobby, worn smooth and white in places, the limbs resembled warped bones more than wood. Aro ran a finger delicately along a dying bough.
"Has Marcus told you of this?" he asked.
Carlisle shook his head. He'd always wondered why they kept the thing. It was all but dead, producing only a handful olives most years, if that.
"Ah. Not surprising, I suppose," Aro replied. "But this dreadful plant is one of his treasures. Our dear, departed Didyme planted it after our first century in Volterra, but unfortunately she neglected to partner it before her demise. It has no mate, no other of its kind in our gardens, and though it has lived for nearly twenty-three centuries, it has never truly thrived. Every year, it bears fewer and fewer of those repulsive little fruits. I don't think there's another century left in its limbs." Aro turned from Marcus's prized bit of slowly decaying wood, meeting Carlisle's steady gaze. "And yet, just over three-hundred miles from here, there is another olive tree much like this one, even older than I, and it bears fruit vigorously. That tree is part of a millenary grove, though, you see. It has companions. It has young."
Aro drifted back to Carlisle's side, his sparkling face masked with concern, but Carlisle could see the delighted glint in Aro's eyes. He had long ago realized that there were layered meanings in most of what the ancient vampire said. It was simply the way Aro was, and more often than not, although their friendship was solid, Carlisle got the feeling that he and his way of life were mostly just great sources of amusement for Aro, like he was a pet who could do an entertaining trick.
"It makes me wonder, my unique friend," Aro continued. "How long will it take for you to wither in your solitude? You have great tenacity, but cannot thrive in such conditions. It is only a matter of time before the craving for a companion will be too much to bear. What will you do then? You won't even be able to create one of your own."
Carlisle's brow furrowed. "I have no wish to be responsible for any creature having to bear the burdens of this existence, Aro. But I have the capability to pass it on, the same as you."
"Do you?" Aro asked breathily, his filmy, crimson gaze dancing in amusement. "Your venom is no less potent than mine, but you are so terrified of killing one of these ridiculous mortals that you've never dared to permit yourself even one drop of their blood. I could not give the gift of immortality without exercising great restraint, and that restraint is borne of familiarity with the effects of the blood, and of being able to feast on others before and after. And yet you will not partake until you wish to preserve the life you taste? Truly, Carlisle, do you believe you could save your would-be fledgling from yourself?"
"I understand why it's unlikely, but it's not impossible," Carlisle said calmly.
"Unlikely, indeed," came the droll reply. "Even more unlikely is that this fledgling of yours would tolerate the deprivations of your diet. How will your conscience bear it, my compassionate friend? You will either kill the mortal yourself by accident, or unleash a newborn who will take so many of the lives you refrain from taking yourself."
Carlisle was silent for a long moment, disquieted by the implications of Aro's words. The scenario his calculating friend had just envisioned was all too likely.
"I suppose, were I ever to create another, all I could do is endeavor to pass on what I've learned and hope the poor soul might find merit in it," he finally said, and then smirked. "You seem very set on my prospects being bleak, Aro. It might be more persuasive if I didn't suspect that this is just one more of your efforts to induce me to stay in Volterra."
"You know me too well." Aro's laughter was almost youthful as they started strolling again. "I will miss you, but perhaps I shouldn't encourage you to stay. Do you know that, when I fed yesterday, our last conversation was fresh on my mind, and because of it I almost felt pity for my food?"
"Did you really? I'm glad to hear it." Carlisle smiled wryly.
"You're an exceedingly bad influence, my friend. By the way, I would appreciate it if what I just confided in you was kept between us. If Caius found out, I wouldn't hear the end of it for centuries."
And there the image of the garden faded, leaving Carlisle's apologetic gaze fixed on the letter.
I wrote to him just to settle those old concerns, to tell him that it was, in fact, possible to resist. Now I see I was too proud. Vain! He cursed himself. It was a mistake to indulge myself that way.
"What's wrong? Does he object to you changing me?"
"No, quite the opposite. He approves enthusiastically," he replied, agitated. "I knew he'd be curious about you, but I never imagined he'd be this curious."
My lips pressed in frustration. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"
"You may as well read for yourself." He muttered, holding out the pages. I was able to see the elegant penmanship just fine from where I was at, though, so I didn't take the letter from him. Besides...
"You know I don't speak Italian," I told him.
"You should learn." It might come in handy fairly soon.
Carlisle left the letter on the desk while he rose and plucked a volume on the Italian language off a shelf behind him, at the same time beginning to recite the letter for me in English. Because he spoke in his mind, though, combining it with his memory of the ancient vampire, I heard it in Aro's own voice- smooth and unerringly polite, with just a hint of some arcane accent... and laced with darkness.
My Dear Carlisle,
What a pleasant surprise it was to receive your letter, my unique friend! We were beginning to wonder if we would see the close of this millennium before hearing from you again.
Such astonishing news you have. I didn't anticipate that you, with your delicate sensibilities, would take a risk of such magnitude unless, perhaps, to take a companion of a much more intimate nature. Yet again, you've defied expectations. Your confidence in the boy must have been substantial. I'm curious to hear about his progress, and am hopeful, for your sake, that he isn't of a rebellious ilk. Although, as it often did during those long conversations between us, the question arises: which path is the truly rebellious?
And what an intriguing gift this fledgling of yours is blessed with! We are, as you might imagine, quite interested to hear how extensive it proves to be. I look forward to shaking his hand someday. What a fascinating conversation we could have.
As it happens, the timing of your news is fortuitous, bringing me to some news of our own. Our work, as you know, is never done, and I'm afraid there have been troublesome events taking place in the southern regions of your adopted homeland. Territory disputes are nothing new under the sun, of course, but, regrettably, these particular disputes aren't as discreet as they should be. I wouldn't be surprised if you've become aware of them yourself, as they've created quite a stir. We've received numerous complaints in recent decades, and have decided that the time to act is upon us. We've dispatched some of the guard to take care of the situation, and have already had reports from Demetri. Evidently the warring factions are numerous, more than we understood there to be, and many are fleeing as word of their impending punishment reaches them. That always prolongs matters miserably.
But let me not rattle on about unpleasant things. The good news is that Demetri anticipates the problem will be completely resolved by summer's end. It is such a wearisome task our guard is performing, I cannot help but think how refreshing it might be for them to see a friendly face before returning to Volterra, and your praise of the Great Lakes region is high indeed. As such, in my most recent reply to Demetri, I've suggested that they pay you a leisurely visit after their work is done. Their stay with you would be brief, and I don't anticipate that would be an imposition, as your letter mentioned you'll be in isolation for the next year or so. And, of course, we would all very much like an introduction to your companion. I only regret that I'm not disposed meet him in person. I'm afraid my dear Sulpicia is no more inclined to travel than she was when you were with us.
I've instructed Demetri to write to you with word as to when, precisely, he and his companions will be visiting. Ordinarily such details would be unnecessary, but I know that your peculiar lifestyle requires such accommodations, and it is no trouble. In the meantime, we look forward to hearing from you again very soon.
With My Best and Fondest Regards,
Aro
By the time he was finished reciting the letter, we were seated across the desk from each other, the Italian book forgotten in my lap. Despite having memorized the letter with the first reading, Carlisle was still examining the small pages as if their content might miraculously change.
Should I have expected this? he wondered. Maybe it's nothing to be alarmed about. I knew Edward's skill would pique their interest, and eventually we'd have to reckon with this. But I was thinking in terms of decades, not months.
"Why did you tell him about it?"
"They would have found out sooner or later, and I thought it best that they hear about it from me," he murmured, frowning. "It would be unfortunate if they got the impression that I was deliberately hiding your talent from them, especially when it's so like Aro's."
This was news to me. In our previous discussion about the Volturi, he'd never mentioned Aro's gift except to say it was powerful, and I hadn't seen anything in Carlisle's memories yet to reveal what it was.
"He's a mind-reader?"
"Yes, but not quite like you. He has to touch you to know your thoughts, but when he does, it's not just what you're thinking at the moment that he sees. In the space of a few seconds, he'll see every memory, every thought you've had in your entire life."
The implications of such a thing took several moments to settle in. At last, Carlisle's words after our first hunt made sense.
"Even though I'm not touching you? ...still just one way... already more unique than you can possibly realize."
What would it be like to know a person's entire life, all their thoughts and memories, in just a few seconds? And through touch, too. That part actually sparked a twinge of envy. Aro got to pick and choose whose thoughts he heard, and when.
While I was busy feeling jealous, Carlisle puzzled over why the Volturi would be interested in me so quickly. It can only be Edward's gift, I'm sure, but why the urgency?
"Should I leave?" I asked.
Carlisle blanched. "Why would you leave?"
"Are they going to destroy me?"
"Of course not," he replied, visibly relieved. "Don't worry about that. You've committed no crime, and you certainly don't pose a threat to them. No one does, so it can't be that," he muttered. He tossed the letter to the desk and sat back, frowning at the pages with his arms crossed. It was truly amazing how human his gestures were. He really didn't think about them. I was lucky to remember to blink a few times a minute.
It's a given, of course, that they'll want to employ your ability. They'll likely invite you to visit Volterra, ask you to join, he grumbled internally.
"They will?"
"Oh, yes," he chuckled. "The Volturi collect talented vampires like you and arrange them into their guard like pieces on a chess board. You'd be a desirable asset, to put it mildly. I anticipated they'd invite you to join someday."
"Then they're wasting their time," I growled, fighting back a swell of anger. I was learning to recognize the onset of the violent moods that Carlisle had said were a normal part of being a "newborn," and I knew my anger would get out of hand if I let it. Still, I felt it was justified right then. The decrepit old trio was going to try wheedling me into joining their regiment of murderous freaks. "Dwelling in some network of tunnels under Volterra?" I seethed. "Feeding on humans herded in like cattle? Forget the moral implications, it sounds just plain boring."
"It's not as bad as all that." Carlisle smirked. "You'd be surprised how pleasant it is there- most of the time, at any rate. They have intellectual and academic pursuits, all of Europe within easy reach; it's a cultured life with purpose and friends, and they protect each other fiercely. Safest coven in the world, really."
I snorted. "Good grief, Carlisle. You should write back and tell them not to bother coming. It sounds like you're willing to do the recruiting for them."
But he was too preoccupied to reply. It was inevitable, but why so soon? They never act on anything this quickly. This is breakneck speed for them. Well, I suppose it's not so out of the way if they already have some of the guard in the States... it's actually somewhat relieving to hear they're taking care of things down there, terrible as it will be... but Aro must know that I-
He trailed off and briefly squeezed his eyes shut, like he was in pain. When he opened them again, he suddenly looked tired. I could tell he'd stumbled onto an answer to his questions, but what it was, I didn't know, because another stream of Italian had already started from his mind.
I tapped the book he'd given me. "I'm reading this tonight. What language are you going to use to hide from me with after that?"
But he didn't respond. Carlisle sat motionless in his old chair with a haunted expression, lost in his foreign-tongued thoughts, showing no signs of having heard me. The physical silence hung over the study for a solid minute before a question arose over the Italian.
"Edward, will you be alright if I step out for about an hour?" he murmured. "Hold your breath?"
I nodded, puzzled, and then watched him slowly rise and slip through the eastern door. I listened closely, concerned when he didn't break into a run right away. It sounded almost like he was walking in a daze as he stepped up the cement stairs. His pace finally quickened, and then started growing faint as he ran.
I'd never seen Carlisle truly shaken, and as I eyed the letter on his desk, I resisted the urge to follow him surreptitiously, to listen in on his thoughts. It didn't take long to completely shun that plan of action, though. He'd never do that to me, even if he could, and so rarely did he hide anything...
I just didn't understand.
What could be so bad about any of this? I wondered. What is he afraid of? He isn't worried about them harming us. He said himself that we'd done no wrong. His anxiety must have to do with the likelihood of their inviting me to Volterra, but didn't I just tell him I wasn't interested? What else is there? Maybe he'll let me know what it is when he gets back...
In the meantime, my gaze was drawn to the southern wall with all its artwork, maps and framed mementos- a visual diary of Carlisle's immortal wanderings... but specifically to the large oil painting by Francesco Solimena. I'd studied it on several occasions in the last few months, but it was the memory of that first time he'd told me about it, what and who it truly depicted, that I revisited, wondering if there was something I missed during that conversation...
November, 1918
"I didn't have to be a monster."
"No," I replied quietly, lost in wonder.
"Neither do you, Edward."
"No."
Carlisle gave me a small smile and started arranging tinder in the cooled fireplace. In seconds he had it blazing again, and together we watched the flames in silence. I sat with my knees drawn up wrapped in my arms, with my chin resting on them, mulling over all I'd just seen...
"It's a good time to go hunting again, if you like," he said.
"No, thanks. I feel alright for now." I wanted to push myself a little. The recent development had bolstered my spirits. I could make it through another bout or two, perhaps, before hunting again.
"Are you certain? You might not feel the same way a few hours from now."
"I'm sure." I smiled crookedly and threw a piece of frame into the fire.
You must be feeling better, he mused. I haven't seen you smile like that since the first night you were in the hospital. Ironically enough, you were saying the same thing then that you are now.
"What do you mean?"
"You were insisting that you felt just fine."
We fell into throaty chuckles together.
"Sounds like me."
As our laughter settled, I tried to see into his thoughts more deeply to find something that explained him. I was still in awe of all he'd shown me, and couldn't help feeling that there had to be something... extra in Cullen that gave him the strength he had. Maybe he was wrong that he had no gift. Maybe inner strength was his gift...
I wondered where we would go after leaving Chicago, what his plans were, but I couldn't see it in his thoughts right then. Looking at Carlisle in that moment, all I saw was someone radiating deep, contented joy. At last, he thought, he was in the good company of another creature who truly knew him.
We stayed in silence like that for some time, and he let his mind wander freely... it had been a long time since he'd revisited all those horrific details of his transformation.
"He failed," I murmured after a while.
"Hm?"
"The one who made you. He failed. You aren't accursed."
"Perhaps not," he replied. "I hope not, anyway."
"How can you be? You're not a slave to the thirst. You've never killed. "
"I came so close, though, Edward. Much closer than you have so far. And I don't think that defeating the thirst alone is the ultimate triumph," he said quietly. "It's in continuing to defeat it, and finding other meaning in our existence. We may dwell on this earth in perpetuity, but we should still protect the sanctity of our souls. Like humans, we need purpose; we need to participate in this world as moral beings."
"The immortality..." I started, but then trailed off, hesitant to put my thoughts into words. He must have thought what I was thinking a thousand times or more.
"It frightens you."
I nodded slightly, glancing at him. "It doesn't scare you?"
"It used to, especially before I found my calling in medicine, and sometimes it still does. But I've come to terms with it for the most part. To me, 'forever' isn't an endless stretch of time in the future, but a continuous series of moments in the present. My life is usually made up of the day-to-day... and there have been times when it felt unbearable... the routine, time crawling by so slowly. But I never knew exactly what was coming next that might change everything." He paused, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Like you. "And there have been times when I've looked back on how long I've lived, and wondered where all the time went, even though I can recall every moment. I would remember how long fifty years had once seemed, only to realize they'd passed quickly. Then a hundred years, two hundred..."
"But eternity..."
It's a mistake to dwell on words like eternity, I think. It sounds like an abysmal prison sentence, and the more you think of your life like that, the more your life will resemble it. It's akin to self-fulfilling prophecy.
"I see."
I let the fire occupy my gaze for a little while, trying to ignore the doubt still gnawing at me about so many things, trying to believe what he said, to stay away from the idea of 'eternity.' But...
"No matter how I think of the time involved in immortality, I can't help but wonder... why protect the sanctity of our souls when there's nowhere for them to go?" I asked. "Our eternity is here."
"As I said, Edward, no one can speak for eternity. No one can speak for God-"
"You still believe?" I looked at him in surprise.
"I do," he said softly. "To be a human driven by conscience- a priest, even- only to be turned into an undead thing driven to kill? Yes, I had what you might call a crisis of faith. But when I discovered that I could function as a whole being without taking human life, I knew God hadn't forsaken me. And the first time I saved a human life, I knew I had purpose. If anything, what I've experienced since then has convinced me more than ever that there is a God, and that there's a reason for everything, no matter how awful."
"But, even then, there's no afterlife for us, is there? Humans pray to God and live according to God's rules so they're rewarded with heaven. Where's our end, if we can't die?"
A response was on his lips, but he hesitated, and quickly started thinking in Italian, and I instantly knew I was onto something.
"There is a way to die, isn't there?" I asked anxiously.
After a long moment, he caved.
There is one way.
"Tell me."
"I'm not sure that's wise."
"I won't try to kill myself," I chuckled. "I promise."
"You wouldn't be able to kill yourself," he said with an amused smirk. "Not without help." I suppose you have to know anyway, if you're to be able to defend yourself.
Humor disappeared from Carlisle's face, and he set a jagged piece of floorboard into the crackling fireplace, staring at the wood as tongues of flame started to blacken it. "It's fire. Fire will destroy us."
The very method his father used...
"So if you'd been burned at the stake after all..."
"Yes. All those methods I tried, and the one thing that should have occurred to me didn't. And it was the only thing that might have worked."
"'Might have?'"
"Even as suicidal as I was, I'm not sure I would have been able to bear the pain long enough," he said. "I've seen one vampire set himself on fire, and he put the flames out within seconds." Carlisle closed his eyes for a moment, as if to dispel a horrible memory, deliberately keeping his mind free of images I might see. "But I've seen our kind reduced to ashes," he continued, "destroyed by other vampires. We're the only ones strong enough to destroy each other." He paused, gazing at me steadily. "The most effective way is to dismember the body and burn the pieces before they have a chance to repair themselves."
"How could they 'repair themselves?'"
He gave me a small, strange smile... I'll show you... and then enclosed his right forefinger with his left hand and twisted it. The was a brief, shrill crack, like an iron spike gouging polished stone, and his thoughts suddenly screamed about pain. Before I realized what he'd just done, Carlisle tossed his finger across the room.
I stared in utter shock as the vampire seated in front of me gritted his teeth, his face contorted by agony before smoothing out again. He held up his mutilated hand so I could see the clear trickle of venom of pouring down the palm... and then I heard rustling on the other side of the room.
It can't be, I thought in dread. The noise got louder, and I forced myself to look at the source.
Carlisle's finger inched itself rapidly across the floor, making a beeline for us.
"Holy shit!" I yelled, scrambling back on all fours, gaping in horror.
The freakishly agile appendage quickly found the vampire's leg and launched itself up into his lap, then again onto his arm, continuing its gruesome crawl until the reaching the stub it had been broken from. The finger bent over to attach itself, rotated, and aligned perfectly. Skin melded to skin, iridescent bone to bone, and Carlisle's hand was whole again less than ten seconds after he'd thrown part of it away. He sighed in sheer relief.
It took effort to find my voice.
"H-how many times have you done that?"
"Just once before now, out of curiosity."
"What in the hell does that feel like?"
"It hurts," he chuckled, "and there's an urgent sort of energy exchange between myself and my finger, like a form of magnetism. I wasn't telling my finger to move- it did that of its own accord. But even if all my external senses were gone, I'd still have been aware of exactly where it was, just as it knew where I was. And because were no distractions and I was relatively still, the repair happened quickly. If I had been in a struggle with another who had done that to me, it would have taken longer."
"I'll have to take your word for that, because I won't be trying it for myself anytime soon." I sat where I'd been before, growling low in my chest. "Don't ever do that again."
"Don't worry, I won't. It really does hurt."
I glared at Carlisle, and he responded in thought, laughing.
Consider yourself lucky. The first time I saw this ability demonstrated, it was a head reattaching itself.
An image of a writhing, headless body started to come through from his memory. Its hands were scratching into a rough floor, crumbling the stone.
"Stop! Don't show me that!"
The image faded, but, still smiling a bit, Carlisle looked over at the fire and waved his hand lightning-fast through flames. The smoke took on the faintest tinge of violet, and a cloying, sweet odor, and when he withdrew his hand he immediately grabbed my bare forearm with it. I flinched in surprise- it was incredibly hot, but cooling rapidly.
"That's how to destroy our kind," he said evenly. "Several vampires incapacitate their victim, usually by ripping him or her apart, and burn the pieces immediately." Carlisle released my arm, settling back, staring into the fire again. His mind was drifting rapidly from one image of struggle to another, leaving each memory incomplete, before it got violent. And it made me wonder... I hated to ask, to even think it, but I had to know...
"Have you ever killed one of us?"
His gaze flickered back to me. "Not yet." I would, though, if self-defense required it. And there were times when it almost came to that. During my first, nomadic decades, I learned to expect trouble when I happened across other vampires. While there were a few other solitary nomads that were decent enough, and even some mated pairs that were amiable, I discovered that most of our kind have been poisoned by this existence. They revel in their superiority over mortals, in their hedonism and rivalry, and more than few saw my gold eyes and took it as a sign of weakness. I had to fight sometimes, but fortunately never had to kill in order to get away... some aren't so lucky... his mental voice trailed off, but his gaze sharpened as he spoke aloud.
"If you choose to leave, Edward, keep away from the southernmost states, and Mexico, too. Vampires are territorial- we have to be, so that there aren't too many of us hunting in one area. Too many humans disappearing, dying in a concentrated area... it draws unwanted attention. Even I claim territory- not for hunting, but because I have the right to an area without anyone else hunting in it, either. A handful of covens in those southern regions are warring over territory, and it's something you want to stay far away from. It's turned into a vicious, much-too-visible war that's been going on for the better part of a century now. It's only a matter of time before the Volturi step in, if they haven't already."
"The Volturi?"
"Yes, and you need to know about them. All of our kind should, and yet so many newborns are never told, and they don't find out until it's too late." His brow furrowed. "I didn't know, either, not until my wandering took me to Italy, and I ran across them myself. Fortunately, though, I discovered the Volturi in a comparatively pleasant way. It was the summer of 1720, and it was Marcus who met me first, and invited me to their lair in Volterra... I was very impressed when he took me back there..."
Carlisle look away from the fire, at me and my perplexed stare.
"The Volturi, as they call themselves, are the most ancient of intact covens, and the most permanently fixed. They're not nomadic in the least. You'd be surprised by how much of vampire lore consists of things that the ancients of Volterra have intentionally devised to shroud our true nature." He shifted to face the southern wall. "There- that painting by Solimena, for example." I looked at the centrally placed work of art, with its myriad human figures clamoring around marble columns and steps as pale, sickly beings were driven from their midst by what appeared to be a host of angels. "The three most prominent angels- do you see? Marcus, Aro, Caius... the three Volturi brothers. Solimena knew them only as very eccentric patrons, and worked their likeness in as a measure of gratitude. If only he'd known..." he murmured.
"The fourth angel looks familiar," I said, smirking. The blond figure with its head thrown back, twisting in heavenly form, was a startling likeness to the vampire beside me.
"Yes, that's me," he confessed. "This painting was commissioned during my time in Volterra- I was there for over forty years- and it's not the only one my likeness appears in. There are others, which remain in Europe. I was a fixture in Volterra for some time..." He smiled. I even assisted Aro in planting a new figure in vampire lore that was based on me.
"What?"
"It's true," he chuckled, shaking his head. "It's a very obscure figure, but those who know of it call me the Stregone Benefici, or the benevolent vampire- a sworn enemy of all vampires who prey on humanity."
"You're joking."
"No. It was one of Aro's efforts to show me how easy it is to create legends based on half-truths. I may not hunt humans, but neither am I an enemy to those who do.
"This particular work depicts, oddly enough, the exile of vampires from Volterra many centuries ago," he continued, "and like the legend of Stregone Benefici, it's half-true. It is the Volturi who are responsible for the fact that no human, in or near Volterra, has fallen prey to a vampire for thousands of years now. Theirs is the only coven there, and they don't tolerate any hunting in the area, not even for themselves. They don't hunt anymore at all, for that matter. Their meals are lured in from elsewhere. Usually vacationers, nowadays." He paused, troubled, as flashes of those feedings burst through his mind.
"But the legend persists," he continued momentarily, reminding himself of my ability to see his thoughts. "The locals still observe St. Marcus Day every spring, to celebrate the day the angels drove out the blood drinkers. Of course, they have no idea that those 'angels' were themselves vampires who never left Volterra, and dwell there amongst them to this day."
"And Solimena used their likeness for the angels," I muttered.
He nodded. "I was amazed by what they'd accomplished," he said, "and they, in turn, were fascinated by me. I was the first of our kind they knew of who had lived on the blood of animals by choice, from the very start, never having tasted the blood of humans. Aro, especially, was intrigued, and cultivated a friendship with me.
"For a long while, I thought I had found my best chance at being content within Volterra. The Volturi were incredibly cultured; they pursued intellectual pastimes, kept histories, patronized artists, and fed human lore through such avenues." He sighed. "But, of course, there was also their power, which they built upon at every opportunity."
I looked at him quizzically.
"The Volturi are more than a large, well-established coven," he explained, gazing at me strangely. "They're the self-appointed rulers of our kind, which is why it's so crucial that you know of them. Each of the three brothers is thousands of years old, and their coven consists mostly of their mates and their guard, many of them with unique talents. Aro and Marcus both have powerful gifts themselves. They've ruled for over 2,500 years."
My brow furrowed. "Like royalty?"
"Close to it, yes," he said, smirking. How Aro thrills at such descriptions. "Except they don't actually regulate how we live, and they don't demand conventional allegiance. But they enforce their law almost without exception, and do so lethally."
"They have laws?"
"One law," he replied quietly. "And I happen to agree with it. It's crucial that humanity remains ignorant of our existence, Edward. To expose our kind to the mortals is to break that one law. That law exists not just for our sake, but for humanity's as well. In many different parts of the world, vampires lived openly among mortals at one time or another, very long ago. They were worshiped, feared, sacrificed to... but when humanity would see past our strength and speed, the odd talent now and again, they would lose their fear and imagine that they could cast us out. The eventual outcome would always be a slaughter. It's an unfortunate necessity that our existence remains shrouded. It's safer for them, and for us. Without it, we can't live freely, and humanity is jeopardized. There are numerous ways to expose us, but no matter how it happens, if the Volturi find out, they will kill you for it."
My eyes flared wide, anger surfacing as the implications set in.
"But last night, after the hunt, you told me I could go if I wanted," I exclaimed. "I didn't know about any of this! I could've been in the wrong place in the morning when sunlight hit, or killed people in plain view without even realizing what I was doing- and you were just going let me go like that?"
"No." He smiled wryly, unruffled by my temper. "I fibbed a little, I'm afraid. A lie by omission. I said youwere free to go, and you were, of course. I wouldn't have been strong enough to contain you if you wanted to leave. But I would've followed you and been a real pest."
For a moment I imagined what that would've been like... me tearing off for Chicago, lured by the scent of teeming humanity. Carlisle following discreetly, biding his time, then popping up before I could make my first kill or wander into sunlight. I probably would've tried to lose him, perhaps even fight him... and he'd just show up again, and again, and again.
"God, you would've been annoying," I chuckled, and he started to laugh, too.
"I'm so glad you decided to come back to the house," he said, shaking his head. "It would've been such a chore having to track you down and get you to listen to any of this."
His laughter gradually faded as he entertained the notion some more, imagining the pain of having to accept my choice if I'd kept on and rejected his way of life. He still would have had to teach me enough to keep me from exposing my nature to humans I didn't kill, and then return to his old life, grieved by the knowledge that saving me had made him a murderer by proxy.
"That was one hell of a risk you took, wasn't it?"
He smiled enigmatically."You were worth it. I knew the chances were excellent that you'd listen. You have so much goodness in you, Edward."
I didn't reply, instead looking back at the fire, tossing the last of the wooden debris into it. I wanted his obviously high opinion of me to be well-placed, but I remembered the hell of a few hours' previous, and knew I had a long, long way to go before earning even a little of the faith he already had in me.
"Did you leave Volterra because of the killing?" I asked, deflecting the subject change. "The feeding, I guess I should say?"
Partly, yes, he conceded. It wasn't my place to object to their ways. Like all of our kind, they were following their natural instincts. But I eventually realized that, no matter how much I wanted to turn the other cheek, I couldn't live among them without being demoralized by their way of life, just as they were compelled to change my mind, as well. Aro and I spent many long hours trying to coax one another into a different way of life, neither succeeding. But there were other reasons, as well. After being seen by so many of our kind who visited Volterra and saw how close I was to the triad... my likeness in those paintings... I grew uncomfortable with being so closely identified with the Volturi. I've never sought the power they do. As much merit as there is in the law, I don't wish to kill, not even those who break it. So often I couldn't help thinking that there were other ways to deal with those who broke the law. Many didn't even know it existed, or that the Volturi existed... "And though Aro is my friend," he said, without even realizing he had drifted into using his voice, "he had no compunction about using me as an unwitting participant in some of his manipulative power-grabs. I knew no real peace there."
I cast my eyes down in contemplative understanding, dwelling silently on these ancient creatures he knew so well, able to match them up now with those images I'd seen in his mind a few times- the cloaked figures closing in malevolently around a terrified vampire.
"Will I ever meet them?" I asked.
"Probably," he replied after a long silence.
June 20th, 1919
As many times as I examined the memory of that conversation, I still couldn't glean anything from it that would explain Carlisle's anxiety about their visit, and he never did tell me after he returned that February afternoon.
But I knew something was wrong, especially on nights like this.
Carlisle was only a half mile behind me, but it was taking extra effort to stay even this far ahead of him. Lately, he'd taken to running faster than normal, using speed I didn't even know he had. I was still much faster, but there was a quiet urgency to our races nowadays, and not only that, he initiated wrestling matches between us all the time now. There was a new edge to the way he fought, too; he wasn't easy to get a hold of anymore. There was real force to his blows, and he constantly insisted that I try to expand the limits of my physical abilities. Even now, he didn't let up.
Push yourself, Edward. You should hold onto your speed, your strength, for as long as you can. Try going faster.
I snorted softly, whipping over moonlit ferns and moss-covered rocks. The trees were thinning out. "It's only been seven months," I said over my shoulder. "Shouldn't it be four or five more before you get concerned about that?"
A year is the usual, yes, but it's a little different for everyone. I've heard of newborns starting to lose their strength as soon as four months in.
"Well, you still can't keep up, old man, so I don't think I have anything to worry about yet," I chuckled.
All I heard in response was a snort of his own, his mind focusing on increasing his speed to the very limit to push me more, and, yet again, Paradise Lost. He didn't use Italian since I'd learned it in was all I heard now whenever he was shrouding his thoughts. I hated the morbid stuff.
...That in our proper motion we ascend
Up to our native seat: descent and fall
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late
When the fierce Foe hung on our brok'n Rear
Insulting, and pursu'd us through the Deep,
With what compulsion and laborious flight-
But then something slipped.
-September. He needs to be prepared for the worst- oh, damn. Edward, did you hear that?
The woods now left behind, I kept silent for a few moments as we began the stretch that took us through countryside strewn with farms. I cut through a grange, holding my breath as I sped by a distant farmhouse, trying to ignore the dreamland whispers of its sleeping occupants. This was our return from a two-day hunt, so I'd already fed and calmed down, but all the same, I didn't feel like taking on the challenge of human scent tonight. We'd been doing that constantly. I slowed to a stop once the sleepy thoughts faded away, the scent downwind.
"Yes, I heard," I told him as he caught up. "But it's not as if I haven't figured out that you're preparing me for something. I just wish you'd quit telling me that there's nothing to worry about when there really is."
I hadn't needed to hear that little slip to know he was afraid of something. After that letter from his ruthless old friend arrived, his ambivalence about how long my newborn stamina lasted wasn't the only thing to disappear. Gone also was the slow, easy timetable to get me used to the scent and presence of humans. It was still a gradual build-up, but much more rapid than he originally planned. And, oddly, he did it without any asking of mine. As early as April he'd gotten me started.
It began not with a postman, but movers coming to get things. He'd stayed upstairs, hovering protectively as they worked while I crouched in the basement, seething with mindless thirst, so close to bursting up through the ceiling and seizing one of those men. It was only by the narrowest victory of control that I managed not to. Admittedly, it was listening to their thoughts- images of their children among them- that gave me the edge over the thirst. A new rug was shredded to pieces instead of the movers.
Next had come running through farm country, like the kind we stood in tonight, passing by the houses and scenting the inhabitants, and then he nudged me along to lingering on the outskirts of tiny towns, eventually wandering into them. These excursions weren't just once or twice a week, but nearly every day. By the end of May, he'd even let me go into Chicago with him once, late at night, to get the last things I wanted from the Magnolia house before we moved here to this new interim place. He was going to have me going into Milwaukee soon.
There was a quiet urgency to everything he planned since that day. And yet he kept insisting...
"There probably isn't anything to worry about," he said now. "I'm sorry for disguising my thoughts on the subject, but it's only because I don't want to worry you needlessly. You already have too much to concentrate on as it is."
I was about to argue, but he was already running again. Come on, he urged.
Snuffing out a frustrated growl, I caught up a moment later, but stayed at his pace, beside him.
"Why don't you trust me?" I asked after a few moments.
I trust you, came the bruised reply. "It's not a question of trust, unless it's your lack of it in me. Please believe me when I say that I have my reasons."
"Will you tell me sometime, then?"
Yes, I will. I promise.
We were back in the woods after the next few minutes, and I could already hear the rush of the Milwaukee River. We were almost home- well, as much as any place we'd only be staying in for a year could be called home. He'd found a large cabin on the river, six miles north of tiny Grafton, Wisconsin. It was a secluded, well-situated place where he said we could wait out the rest of my time as a newborn, close enough to Milwaukee where I could "practice" without concern about either of us being recognized. Depending on how I progressed, we'd soon move on somewhere more permanent, where he could go back to practicing medicine.
Sometimes, though, I wondered how much of his reason for choosing this place had to do with the guests we'd receive in September.
I stopped cold when I picked up the scent of the cabin, immediately closing off the flow of air into my lungs. A low growl rippled involuntarily through my chest as a luscious, too-familiar scent beckoned to me.
Humans.
Not the freshest scent, though. They'd been gone since yesterday, but had clearly been in the cabin. Thieves! It had to be thieves. I could already imagine the terrified looks on their faces after we tracked them down, when they realized who they'd stolen from. They'd better pray they hadn't taken any of the art or antiques-
If you're thinking it was thieves, it wasn't.
Carlisle had stopped, too, just behind me, and I looked at him in surprise.
"There was more than one thing I've been trying to hide from you recently," he admitted. "I arranged for something to be delivered yesterday, while we were gone."
"What?"
"How do you feel? How's your control right now?"
"Alright," I said, puzzled.
"Take another whiff then," he said with an expectant smile. "See if you can pick up anything else that's different."
I did, curious... the air of summer was delicious, so many rich layers of vital scents, so thick I could practically feel them... I focused on the cabin a mile away, desperate to ignore the most alluring of the odors in it, and detected that there was, indeed, something different. It was probably furniture. The scent was of some kind of wood underneath lacquer, and something metal.
"Is it furniture?"
Yes and no. "Why don't you go look?"
"Okay," I said, shrugging, and took off. I couldn't imagine why he'd be so excited for me to see some new piece of furniture, let alone arrange a secret delivery, but I'd go along with it.
My ambivalence didn't last long, though. Before I even got to the river I'd pinpointed the scents- the woods under all that lacquer were birch and maple, and the metal was polished brass, and I sped up when I smelled felt cloth.
In moments I was inside the oversized living room, gazing at a beautiful, brand-new Bush & Lane grand piano. It gleamed bright in the moonlight that poured in through the windows, flawless in every aspect except for the scent of the men who'd delivered it.
It had been, almost literally, a lifetime ago since I'd played music. I'd thought about trying to arrange the shipment of the Steinway I'd grown up playing in the Magnolia house, but had decided against it. It belonged to the house more than to me, a family possession more than personal, and I knew it should stay there. Besides, I didn't dare try playing it- I'd break it for sure.
But this new piano... I hadn't broken anything yet this month. I could try it.
I sat down on the bench and gingerly opened the keyboard, wondering how Carlisle had known. Why would he get this for me? How did he know how much I'd want it? Even I hadn't known how much I wanted to play music again, until this moment. Would I even remember how?
"Happy Birthday," said a quiet voice behind me.
At a loss, I shifted around to face Carlisle, who stood in the doorway. I hadn't told him that today was... well, had once been my birthday.
"How did you know?"
In answer, I saw a glimpse of the typed date on my patient records from St. Luke's.
"I didn't know if you'd want to celebrate," he said guardedly, "but it would have been your eighteenth, after all. Your mother told me that you played. I wasn't sure which brand you might prefer, but it's a local manufacturer, so I thought-"
"I like it very much. Thank you."
He smiled quickly, gladly, and after a brief moment in which his thoughts were more like a jumble of emotion, the Milton started up. This time, though, I knew it wasn't dread about our visitors that he was trying to disguise.
September 5, 1919
I did remember how to play, as it turned out. That night, after a few tentative minutes spent learning how delicately I needed to depress the keys and pedals, appreciating the sweet tones of the perfectly tuned instrument, I played a rag that my fingers must have known very well, but I couldn't remember when I'd learned it. Other melodies flowed out after that, seeming to just appear out of thin air...
It turned out to be kind of unsettling, knowing all this music and not remembering where it came from. I stopped after about a half hour, and spent the rest of the night trying in vain to collect memories that would never come back.
I played more and more often as the summer went by... only when I was calmest.
As of today, the infernal piano was still in pristine condition, but Aaron Barnes was broken.
Hours went by as I huddled in utter stillness on the riverbank, and I didn't notice the time passing until raindrops started pattering on the orange canopy of sugar maples drifting over me with the breeze. I wanted the rain to feel cold, but it never did.
Reluctantly, I roused myself and started for the cabin.
I left my soiled shoes and socks on the porch before going in the doors that opened to the living room, passing by the piano. This room -the only room we really "lived in" in this place, was also where Carlisle had situated his treasures. There was no basement or upper floor. It was well-built enough, with high ceilings and good-sized windows, very nice for a place that had merely served as a retreat for weekend fishermen. Oddly enough, Carlisle's things didn't look at all out of place in it, and neither did the piano.
My room, such as it was, was basically just a place to change clothes. I had very little in it except a desk, on which rested a few notebooks with some of my human memories scribbled into them, a wardrobe of clothes, and some shelves containing a small collection of my old human possessions.
I stood in my room, looking around numbly. I didn't feel like taking a bath right then, so there wasn't any point in changing into fresh clothes, though the ones I had on were completely ruined. I took off the muddy, torn shirt and pitched it into an otherwise empty wastebasket, and then leapt out the window to go to the river.
Carlisle would see I'd been home- that was the only real reason I'd gone to the cabin, anyway. He'd worry if I hadn't been there by the time he got back.
Keeping to the bank, I ran three miles before stopping, listening to the rain battering the surface of the river. I'd come to this place several times now. When we'd started our trips into Milwaukee, Carlisle had also decided it was safe enough for me to be by myself now and again, and this was my favorite spot. It was far enough from the road that I couldn't hear passing cars, and there was a meadow hugging the riverbank.
The summer nights here had been peaceful, for the most part. Sometimes I just came here to be alone, with only my own voice in my head for a change. Sometimes I needed the solitude... not just for serenity, but to ratchet down from a state of extreme thirst, having been teased by the scent of humans all day. It was a good place.
The only animals that didn't seem to mind my scent and got close at all were birds, but they still stuck to the treetops on the other side of the river. They had settled into stillness in the rain tonight, though, resting silent in their perches.
The sky had darkened considerably as evening descended, though the colors of fall were no less vivid to my freakish eyes- and they were freakish. Today had taught me that, yet again. Baseball, birthdays, beer... I didn't belong to that world. My world was now a sleepless place full of secrecy and murderous thirst, strength that was too much for my fragile surroundings, and it was populated by millenia-old vampires who lived in subterranean ruins.
It wasn't just that realization that ruined the peace of my nook tonight. Knowing Carlisle wasn't at the cabin, but somewhere in Milwaukee, cleaning up my mess, made me feel somehow empty, compounding the miserable guilt that still hadn't let go.
It shouldn't let go. I'd ruined that boy's life. What was even worse was that - if I were still human - Aaron Barnes as the kind of fellow I would've wanted to befriend...
It was that thought that started the anger again.
I didn't even have the consolation of being aloof. If I had the luxury of being like any other vampire, Aaron Barnes would be nothing more to me than mere sustenance. I remembered some of Carlisle's words from that first night...
"The others feel- and I'm sure you do, too- that their humanity is gone... and it's true, to an extent. We are things apart from humanity. How can those who prey on humans be murderers when they're not even human beings anymore? Most vampires don't even know it's possible for them to live without taking human life."
I didn't have to kill. I still didn't want to. But why couldn't I strive for the same cold distance the rest of my kind took for granted? Maybe there were things I could learn from this Demetri who was coming, and his unknown entourage. Maybe I should just get it over with and go with them, if they invited me.
That's when I heard a subtle movement just over a hundred yards behind me, and something small slicing through the air. Ordinarily I would've responded on instinct and turned aropund ready to attack... but in the same instant I picked up the telltale scents of leather, rubber, cork...
A baseball splashed into the river in front of me. It quickly bobbed to the surface, rotating in an eddy before the current grabbed it.
My morose resolve tightened as I picked up Carlisle's normally comforting scent, and my huddled sitting position solidified. My gaze followed the brand-new ball, though, as it slipped down the Milwaukee. My curiosity got the best of me.
"Will he lose his arm?" I murmured.
No. He'll never have full use of it again, but he won't lose it.
"The brachial?"
Intact, luckily, though surgery was needed.
I heard him throw a second baseball, but made no move to intercept it. It sailed over the river and then crashed through a few branches before landing with a splat onto wet ground.
"You?"
I'm afraid not. There was no excuse I could devise to be alone with him long enough to operate on his arm myself. His friends were too eager to stay by his side. Very helpful, really.
I saw something in his mind similar to what I'd imagined earlier: Aaron, laid out in the backseat of the Peerless, senseless with morphine, but this time there were details my imagination never anticipated. Aaron was covered by my jacket, and Carlisle was in the backseat with him, holding his injured arm in steady position, my tie serving as part of a makeshift sling. It was an anxious Harry at the wheel of the car, driving as fast as he dared, dodging Saturday traffic, and Finny in the passenger seat, leaning over to the back, telling Aaron that everything would be alright...
I stayed at the hospital long enough to listen after the surgeon started working on him. The boy is in good hands.
Another ball came whizzing by me, right into the river again, closely followed by a fourth and then a fifth, but I still didn't move.
"He won't play pro ball though, will he?"
No. That he won't do.
I didn't hear anything but the patter of rain for a some moments, and then...
I know this might sound odd, but how badly you feel about all this... it's a very good sign.
"What?" I muttered incredulously. At the same time, a baseball hit me in the head. Annoyed beyond all reason, I shot to my feet, grabbing the ball that had just hit me. I nearly crushed it in anger, but not before I'd whipped around, sending it back to where it came from. Carlisle stood on the far side of the meadow, drenched, a tin pail full of baseballs beside him. He was wearing a new glove, too, which he moved right in front of his face to catch the ball I just threw.
"Are you insane?" I shouted. "You call this good? Do you have any idea what I'm considering right now?"
"I think I do," came a strong reply. "And you've already decided that you won't kill. Isn't that right?"
Clenching my jaw, I conceded with a few moments' silence before speaking again.
"I can't do what you do, Carlisle. I can't live among them like you can. It didn't even take two innings-"
"What you've accomplished is extraordinary, Edward. You've come so far-"
"Not far enough! I can't take back what I did to him."
"No, you can't." He plucked another ball from the pail and threw it right at my face. I caught the thing reflexively, without meaning to. "But you didn't mean to. It was only a mistake, and he'll recover," Carlisle continued. "He'll still have a full, long life. And it is good that you you feel badly about hurting the boy. It will make you more careful next time."
"There won't be a next time," I snarled, hurling the ball at him. And now, at last, he paid for all his encouragement that I keep up my newborn strength. The thing moved too fast for him to catch or dodge, and exploded against his chest into a cloud of cork dust and torn leather. The impact actually made him stumble back a step, and I instantly regretted it.
I cast my gaze down and blinked a few times, shedding raindrops that had settled on my lashes, as Carlisle regained his posture.
"It was my mistake, too," he said softly, after a long moment. "You've been doing so well... I let it cloud my judgment. It was too much for one day. I shouldn't have encouraged you."
"Don't turn this around on yourself," I muttered. "It was my doing. You shouldn't feel guilty-"
"Yes, I should," he argued, picking up another ball. He tossed it up once, catching it. "And so should you."
He threw the ball then- hard. I barely managed to catch it, and the velocity made my arm vibrate on impact. I looked at him warily.
"Take the regret and learn from it, Edward, but you can't let it discourage you like this. This isn't the only mistake you'll make, I guarantee it," he said. "If guilt ruled my actions, I would never have continued to practice medicine. I've seen patients on the verge of dying from some horrible injury, knowing my speed would save them, but there were too many witnesses present for me to use it. People died because I deliberately held back. Is that something I should feel guilty about? You tell me."
"No," I said, blanching. "You can't help it if-"
"Can't I?" he interrupted, his gaze flaring. "Is protecting my secret worth a life?"
His troubled gaze gave me pause, and I looked down. I hadn't thought of that before. I guessed I could see why he'd feel guilty sometimes... but it shouldn't cripple him. Not when he sacrificed his very nature to do so much good. Of all people, I knew what that sacrifice involved.
"I guess it's natural to feel regret," I murmured, "but you can't quit just because you have to hold back sometimes. If you revealed what you are, you'd jeopardize whatever chance you have of helping the ones you can save."
"Exactly." His features smoothed instantly. "You made a mistake, Edward, but it was only a mistake. Think of everything else you've been able to do. You're a newborn vampire..." he trailed off, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "Only ten months into this existence... and since only your eighth month you've been able to be in cities, and you still haven't taken a life. It's miraculous. Don't throw it away. You can't let this boy's broken arm jeopardize your chance to find your better purpose."
I stared at the wet ground beneath my bare feet as his point sank in, unable to decide if I should be angry or grateful that he'd trapped me so easily. After a few moments of stewing, though, I came the conclusion that there was nowhere to channel my frustration, because he was right.
But it couldn't be that easy. I couldn't let it be.
"I want to pay his hospital bill," I murmured.
Now that's reasonable. "I'm sure his family would appreciate that."
"And continue to cover the expenses of rehabilitation."
"It will be an extensive healing process, so, again, they would likely be grateful for the help."
"His brother was injured in the war somehow. I want to help if he has any medical needs, too."
"That can be arranged." I know which people to contact.
I snorted softly, looking at Carlisle's pail full of new baseballs. He must have cleaned out the sporting goods store in town.
"So I guess you decided you like baseball, huh?" I murmured, tossing him the ball I'd kept hold of.
"It's growing on me," he said, making the catch and throwing it back to me. "Maybe you could give me some pointers sometime?"
"Okay."
We threw back and forth a few more times, neither of us making it challenging for the other. There was no running, no false throws; just a game of catch. Mind-numblingly simple, but soothing, somehow.
"You know, my father and I had these matching Cubs shirts, from the year they had the pinstriped uniforms," I said, after a little while. "We used to wear them to games at Weeghman."
"Sounds like a pleasant tradition," he said with a small smile and a catch, throwing back to me.
I nodded. "They're still back in Chicago, at the house."
"Would you like to go get yours sometime?"
"Well, yes, but the reason I brought it up is... I think his would fit you, if you'd like it."
I threw the ball to Carlisle, and it took a few moments for him to return it.
I'd like that very much.