come away little lass come away to the water / to the ones that are waiting only for you
Maroon 5, "Come Away To The Water" (feat. Rozzi Crane)

9. Paradigm Shift

Not for the first time in my life, I was facing the fight or flight dilemma. Ironic, really. Don't all preys attempt to flee from their predator? In the beginning, at least. Soon they realize the futility of their effort and simply give up. And this usually doesn't involve vampires.

The intruder must have confused the wolves, sent them off to a completely different direction. . . . They didn't know him as well as they knew Victoria, whom they'd been hunting for weeks. She'd made her tactic known to them — slipping into their lands, before quickly retreating to Cullen territory. I didn't want to consider the other possibility, the one that involved an army of bloodthirsty vampires with no self-control and an order to kill me.

"Who are you?" I rasped, trying to, I don't know, buy time? Someone would listen, someone had to listen — he couldn't be too far away. . . .

"Does it matter that much to you?" The vampire took a step forward; I receded.

"Well, if you kill me," I said, "you could at least give me that."

"If I kill you, it won't matter."

"Did you know Victoria?" I asked, prolonging our little stichomythia, hoping that somehow, someone would listen.

"Victoria. . . ." he trailed off. For a fleeting moment, I thought he would cry — but vampires don't cry.

"Yes. Victoria," I prodded impatiently. I'd found his weakness. Now if I could provoke him without igniting his lethal fury. . . . "Last time I saw her, she didn't mention you at all. She said she was all alone and that it didn't matter if she died."

The vampire's lips became a thin, straight line, eyes turned to slits. "You're lying, Swan."

I took another step back, but didn't hold my tongue. "She wanted you for that army she was creating," I guessed. "Why else would she care about you? Vampires can only love once, and she'd already loved someone."

A low growl came from his throat. So much for trying not to piss him off. "You're making this up, but it won't stop me from killing you."

"But I'm not lying. She's the liar, don't you see?" I lifted my arms in defense. "Why do you think she wanted to kill me?"

For the first time, the vampire looked doubtful. "What do you mean 'kill you'? Cullens were her. . . ."

"It was me. She wanted me. Edward had killed her mate, so she wanted to kill me. An eye for an eye, a mate for a mate. Only Edward doesn't, didn't want me . . . made it seem like that. . . ."

"Victoria loved me," my nighttime visitor stated confidently. He had to be around my age, maybe one or two years older. I recognized his stubbornness, his unwillingness to believe the truth.

"She lied to you," I pressed. For some reason, some unfathomable reason, I wanted for this boy to know the truth that his manipulator hid from him. "I know this won't stop you from killing me, but please believe me. What good would it do to me, anyway, if I lied to you?"

I dully registered the blind desperation of my words. And yet I knew it was pointless. I stared at the vampire's coal black eyes. How many innocent people had he killed? Surely it wasn't because of some vampiric grudge. It was his nature, just as Jacob had said.

As the murky waves licked and writhed at the ashen sand and the charcoal rocks before receding back into oblivion, I wondered idly if they would take me with them, once it was all over. I cast a hasty glance at my left, where I could discern a row of low, tilted roofs in the distance. I could shout, scream for help . . . but it would do no good. The vampire could snap my neck like a twig or drain my blood in mere seconds.

The question was: Why didn't he?

"She would do the same thing for me," he said with absolute certainty. He reminded me of a child, who would reiterate his parent's words with blind conviction — and, in a dark, twisted way, Victoria was something of a parent to him; she was the one that created this new, deadly aspect of himself.

"Oh, I don't think she would," I said in a small voice. "Not for you."

The vampire flinched. Soon, intent eyes were burning into mine, inches away from my face. I could feel his cool breath on my face. Beautiful, refined features contorted in a grotesque mask of pain.

A gasp escaped my lips as I regained my cohesion. It was as though something had clicked in me. The vampire's face . . . it was familiar. I had seen it, months ago, a black-and-white photograph, and the words HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? written beneath in bold font. It was a crinkled flyer, torn at the edges I'd found in one of Charlie's jackets. Riley Biers. That was his name.

"What happened to you?"

Riley sneered. "I became strong," he said, bearing his teeth. "I was never strong, always weak, always weak . . ." he trailed off.

"So, what? It was that easy for you to discard your humanity like an old sweater . . .?"

Riley only laughed. I wondered why; was it my bad metaphor or could he detect the irony in my words? Hadn't I been eager — so, so eager — to abandon my weak, inadequate, human self for what that very fate? It felt as though each time I vilified someone, it was myself. "Humanity?" he asked, and suddenly he sounded like an old man, tired and crestfallen by people, by life. "Humans don't possess humanity. And I'm not human."

I shuddered as I realized my flimsy attempts at prolonging my short life were falling short. "That's not true," I whimpered, the resignation unmistakable in my voice. Besides, my biology knowledge was too limited for me to dispute this, and I definitely wasn't prepered into a philosophical discussion about humanity and morality. Not when I was about to die. Frankly, I couldn't care less about Riley Biers' existential crisis, if the last thing I'd see would be a grey blur and a flash of white teeth aiming for the nearest artery.

I might have smiled then. Here I was, about to die and jesting about my predicament. Hmm, my predicament. If anything, by the time I died — which, admittedly, was rather soon — I would be more than qualified to write a Blackwood article.

Riley took a step forward; my lungs dragged in a deep breath.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked. It was a silly question, of course. Childish, even. This isn't the sort of question a moribund ought to be asking anyway; the seconds or minutes bought are torture, and they only make you long for that fatal blow.

Riley pulled his lips in a half-smile. "Here? No. I couldn't. There could be witnesses," he said sweetly. He reminded me too much of Victoria. His smile widened.

There was this strange, serene moment of complete calm then. As though the waves had ceased to crash onto the shoreline, and the leaves had stopped rustling in the breeze, and nature had gone to sleep. Then, all of a sudden, my arms were wrapped around the vampire's neck, held tightly there by his vice-like grip, and the world was flowing and swirling and blurring around me. Hair writhing at whatever lied behind me, eyes unable to blink. My mind could not comprehend what was transpiring, and suddenly Riley was Edward, and things were a bit more and a bit less complicated, and—

—my back hit the ground. Fingers dug into the dirt, ankles scraped the forest floor — dead leaves, and vines, and rocks covered in thick moss — and elbows strived to propel me upward or drag me away from him. It was as though my conscious floated overhead, quietly observing my body's flimsy attempts at living.I silently took in my surroundings: dense, unfamiliar woodland, trees with fat trunks, and little sunlight, seeping through the leafage. I'd ask where we were, but it didn't seem appropriate. Some small, cynical part of me felt the need to note: Oh, look. You're going to be fertilizer. Hey, don't look so grim. You're going to be useful for once.

Are you going to kill me now? I didn't dare to utter the question; anticipation was already gnawing at my insides, and this would be like hurling gasoline into a conflagration. As if answering my unspoken question, Riley leveled his coal-black stare at me.

It only took nanoseconds, but, in my mind, it was an eternity.

Fractures of moments dragged themselves into minutes, hours — an intangible state of abandon. I briefly wondered if my life would start flashing before me — fragments of images, like pieces from a puzzle — or if I would be jolted into the future, my future, only to be violently pushed back.

A grey blur. A wheezing sound. A flash of white teeth. Then lurid darkness.

Thoughts, discarted and incoherent, began to form in my mind, only to crumble like a house of cards. It only took a distraction, another thought, to obliterate them. Names and vague situations. A strip of moonlight, seeping through the windows of a ballet studio. Victoria, looming over me, a devious grin twisting her face into a groteaque mask. A perfect face, gazing at me from the shadows. A pair of warm lips and the rustling of leaves in the spring breeze.

It only took nanoseconds.

And then it happened.

I could feel Riley's presence — a scorching current, eager to shock me — which was almost a reassurance.

I could feel it . . . until I couldn't anymore.

My eyes flew open.

"Why do you always need to be saved, Swan?" Leah Clearwater spat as she exploded into grey fur. She darted, unexpectedly, in my direction, coming to a halt before me. She bowed her legs, as though I was going to climb on her back. A whirly mass dashed into her, hauling her through the air. The grey wolf landed on the slick sand.

Riley charged again.

I watched, unable to process, as wolf and vampire fought — a relentless dance, where it could not be determined who had bested whom. My eyes darted around, in desperate search of something — anything — I could use. I didn't know what I expected to find. A matchbox? A lighter? A set of superpowers? All I knew was that I couldn't stand there, merely watching Leah Clearwater bailing me out of certain death. Paying with her own life.

Blood sprayed through my vains at a merciless rhythm. Soon my body would be left there to rot. Soon I'd be dead — back curved, head bowed, limps bent. Hope drained from my body, pooling around my feet, washed away by the wind that carried the dead leaves back to somewhere where the grass was greener.

Another set of voices, coarse and rough, assaulted my ears. Then the sound of two wolves snarling. And my name, cried in helpless desperation.

Bella, Bella, Bella.

My vision clouded, and a buzzing noise muffled the sounds of battle. Back curved, head bowed, limps bent. Silence.

Then hands around me. My consciousness was hanging by a thread — flimsy and ready to snap as it was — and all I could do was hold onto it, dangle above the uncertain abyss of unconsciousness. My limbs also dangled, hoplessly, from Jacob's firm grasp. My head kept bumping against his hard chest. Words of reassurance were crooned into my hair — crooned or screamed? It is hazy, and I can't think here.

The yelps and growls of the wolves had ceased, in the meantime. The fight must have carried on elsewhere. It was already a foolish risk, Leah phasing where she did. I was grateful nonetheless. Briefly, before unconsciousness completely engulfed me in its sable mantle, I wondered if she would be faced with reprecussions for that. For saving my life.

I wondered if it were possible she could hate me more.

The air smelled of roast chicken.

My lids fluttered as my eyes tried to adjust to the dim light of the room. Speaking of rooms, I didn't have the slightest clue as to where I was. It was a bedroom, that much I could tell — not a hospital room. To whoever made that decision I was very much grateful.

The bed creaked rather audibly as I tried to prop myself up against the headboard.

Okay. I was in a bedroom. Not mine, I was certain. In fact, I wasn't even in my house. Roast chicken. Hmm, definitely not my house. Cooking was not one of Charlie's merits. Well, techincally, he could place a pizza in the microwave — it was up for debate whether it was edible afterward.

Snarls and growling echoed in my head — an uninvited noise.

"Hello?"

A hassle of voices, muffled and incomprehensible, errupted. The door opened broadly; light poured into the room.

"Hey."

"Jake?" My voice came out choked, and I realized I was crying. The droplets slid down my cheeks and chin, and I could taste their saltiness. I was not sad. I was not scared. I was simply at a loss.

"It's me, it's me," he whispered as he rushed to my side. "'S okay." He placed his arms around me, precariously at first. I leaned against the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply, taking in his scent, feeling at home.

"Is he dead?" I croaked.

Jacob hesitated. "No."

"N— No?" I gasped. "Leah?"

"Leah? She's . . . alive."

I heaved a sigh of relief. "I wouldn't want her to . . . I wouldn't want anything to happen to her because of— because of me."

"No one's blaming you, Bells." Somehow, I really doubted that. There was at least one person in my mind who had a different opinion. "I should never have fallen for it," Jacob continued under his breath. "But it was our only chance, our only hint, and— if only I'd stayed."

"To save me?" I asked.

"I knew it was a trap," Jacob explained. "I could sense it from the moment I got there. It was too easy, too damn easy. . . I could have stayed and killed him."

"It was your only chance," I said. "Or so you thought. There was no way to know. Besides, if Leah wasn't able to take him, what makes you think you could have?"

Jacob shook his head, invogorated by some kind of epiphany. "Once we got there, it was over."

"What do you mean?"

"It was a trap."

A trap? Well, yeah. The trap that almost resulted in my death. But I could sense that it was something else. Something more sinister or perhaps more tragic. "What do you mean?"

"There were more. The army. Thirty of them, at least. We were blindsided."

The army. Clearly, my death was personal. An eye for an eye, a never-ending cycle of revenge. The army had a new use now, too. Distract the pack. They were disposable. Jacob, Sam, Paul . . . they could easily manage casualties.

"What happened?" A sharp look of concentration clouded Jacob's features, and it was apparent that he was striving to stop his emotions from imprinting themselves on his face. Yet, for all his effort, he was unsuccessful; a strange sadness mingled with guilt poured from him — from his eyes that I could barely make out in the dim light, from the curve of his lip, from the slouch of his shoulders and the way he fiddled with his hands. "Jake—"

"It's Seth." His voice was bleak as he uttered the words, filled with hidden meaning.

Suddenly, I was back at First Beach, only this time I wasn't standing at the shore, looking back at my short life, looking into the eyes of a vampire that wanted to kill me. I was submerging, water filling my ears, obscuring my vision. "Oh."

"I could have done something, gotten there faster— Fuck!"

"Does Leah know?"

Jacob nodded. "She nearly phased in my face." There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he said that. "I can honestly say I've never felt more terrified before." The smile that had began to form vanished abruptly. "It's not funny."

"I can't believe it. He was so young."

"Was?"

"He— You just said that—"

"That he's injured? Bells, relax. He's not dead. Besides, he's a werewolf. We heal faster than normal people. A lot faster. And, if anything that couldn't be fixed happened to Seth, you and I both know I wouldn't be here to tell you." A faint smile shaded his features.

"I want to talk to her," I blurted out, relief surging through me. "Thank her. If it weren't for her, I'd be dead." I heaved a sigh. "She was right; I do need to be saved all the time."

"Not really, though."

I gasped, and my head snapped upward. Leah, lean and tall, was leaning against the doorframe, a small smile curving her upper lip. "Le-ah."

"Well, you heard her, Black," she said firmly. "Get out. Girl talk. No boys allowed."

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Whatever, your heighness," he muttered under his breath, before squeezing my arm one last time. Leah promptly grimaced, though Jacob ignored her completely as he ambled past her.

"So. . . ." Leah began, trailing off.

Unable to look her square in the eye, I focused my attention on my lap. I vaguely registered the itch on my injured hand. "Thank you, Leah. Really."

"Don't mention it."

We stood there — well, I half-sat, half-lay — for a while, before either one of us said anything. I was the one to break the silence. "What did you mean? Before, I mean."

"Oh." Leah contemplated my question for a moment; a crease formed between her eyebrows and her lower lip got caught between her teeth. I couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. "Well," she said, "Jacob told us about that time when you kicked that leeche's ass. I mean, technically, it was Jacob who killed her, but you saved his ass. Honestly, that was pretty fucking badass." She smiled amicably, and I nearly blushed. Leah Clearwater was actually singing my praises. "For a plain human, anyway."

Well, never without a good dose of snark, anyway.

"Thank you."

"I mean it, though." A smile appeared across her face. "You know, I don't hate people as much as they think I do." A beat. "Okay, sometimes I do. But only sometimes."

"Are they angry at you?" Leah arched an eyebrow. "For phasing, I mean."

"Oh. Oh. Well, Sam wasn't exactly pleased." She snorted. "But Jacob did thank me. It was . . . odd. I mean, he usually says shitty things he probably doesn't mean . . . which doesn't change the fact that I want to rip his head of sometimes." It is I who smiled now. "Misandry for life," she jested mirthlessly.

There was a pause.

"Thank you, Leah. Thank you a million times," I repeated.

"Nah. Don't mention it."

Charlie was pacing up and down the living room, when I got home.

"Dad?"

"Where have you been? Wait, I know where have you been, and that's not thanks to you, that's for damn sure— Bells?"

It took all the strength I had in my to stretch my lips into something that resembled a smile. "Sorry, Dad. I didn't realize how late it had gotten." I feigned a yawn and stretched my arms over my head for effect. "I'd really like to go to bed now. Don't worry, I've eaten. Emily cooked chicken."

"That's all?"

I paused on the first step. "Yeah," I said, my gaze glued to a dark point ahead. "Jacob actually had stuff to do — homework stuff," I added, hoping to soften Charlie's opinion of him, "so I mostly hung out with her and Leah."

"Leah? I thought they hated each other." Apparently my father was up to date with the rez gossip.

"Not really, obviously. Anyway . . ."

Charlie shrugged, offered a small smile, and disappeared into the living room. Soon muffled voices and muted glow reached me.

In my bedroom, Jacob was waiting for me, perched on the foot of my bed, like a wounded bird. "Hey. Do you want me to leave?"

"No. Stay." The "stay" part was sort of implied, but I still felt the need to spell it out, for fear of an incorrigible misunderstanding. I walk up to the bed, gingerly sit beside him. "We'll figure this out," I say, meaning nothing in particular.

"You know, now would be a good time to run away together." Jacob laughs heartily.

I gaze at his profile for a few moments, then say, "Perhaps."

Next: Epilogue

Side Note: Yes, this has been disappointingly short, but I promise I will rectify that as long as The Year Of No Time Ever finishes. (Well, academic year.) So please bear with me.