Crazy Old Man
Malakai

"What sort of permanent damage?" We were in the attic again (surprise, surprise) and I was having second thoughts about letting Carlisle poke around in my head. I had the paranoid fear that he would be able to tell what I was thinking by looking at my brain.

"I don't know. Vampires don't usually suffer from migraine headaches."

I walked up to the Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine timidly, as if it were some ferocious lion, ready to rip my arms off the moment I made a false move. "So we are in uncharted territories, is that it?"

"You could say that, yes." Carlisle was too busy ransacking his cabinets to pay me much attention.

"Or in other words, you haven't got a clue." I don't know why I was saying these things. I didn't want to say them. They weren't nice things to say.

He turned and looked at me. "That's why you're here isn't it? So we can figure this out?"

"Yes," I admitted, painfully aware that he might hate me.

"It could be that nothing is wrong," he went on, turning back to his medical pantry. "You did say you felt better?"

"I think so."

"You think so?" He shut the cabinet, hiding whatever he had been looking for in his closed fist.

"Yes, I think so." I let out a sigh and waved him over. It was inevitable; I might as well get it over with now so he couldn't bitch about it later. "Come here. I'll show you."

"Show me?" He looked a little hesitant. I have no idea why. It wasn't like I was going to bite him.

Again.

I reached for his face with my hands. "Do I feel any different to you?"

"I believe your hands aren't as soft as they were before," he agreed and casually removed my hands.

"You feel different, too," I said sighing. I have never understood why Carlisle is so skittish of physical contact.

"Different how?"

"Just . . . I don't know. Different. You feel like you should, how a vampire is supposed to feel, I suppose. I first noticed a difference in my tactile sensation when I was lying upstairs. I think my head had just stopped pounding, and, anyway, I was lying there and my fingers. . . Everything feels like it should again."

"You're just now telling me this?"

He said it as if it were my fault. "You wouldn't shut up," I said defensively. "I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I have half a mind not to tell you at all if you're going to interrupt me again." This wasn't true, but it certainly worked to shut him up. "Right then. Well. I thought you would like to know that not only is my tactile sensation changed, but my vision seems restored as well."

"Your eyes are still blue," Carlisle reminded me. As if I needed reminding.

"Thank you. I hadn't thought to look in a mirror."

Carlisle chose to dismiss my sarcasm. "How is your vision now compared to before?"

I surveyed my fingernails carelessly. "It's a rather small change. Everything just looks sharper, like it's in HD, or whatever they call it. It's the same for all my senses, really. I haven't had blood taste so alive in months. I thought I was in heaven."

Carlisle said something reassuring and turned his back on me again. I didn't feel reassured. I already assumed I was "on the mend"—and I was grateful for it, don't get me wrong—but it didn't feel quite right. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Or maybe, if I was being honest, (that seemed rather unlikely), it had nothing to do with my recovery and everything to do with Carlisle and his ridiculously perfect family. Maybe I was secretly jealous. Maybe I really was in love with Carlisle as Emmett hypnotized. Or better yet, maybe I was just being paranoid. It seemed much more likely.

"Carlisle," I said, hardly able to hear myself.

Carlisle must have sensed a change in my tone because I certainly sensed a change in his. "Yes, Malakai?"

"Do you think he likes me?"

"Who? Edward?"

"No. Jasper." I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Edward, you crazy old man."

"I haven't the slightest idea." He stood up, walked around the desk, and joined me next to the hulking machine. "Open, please."

"Open what?"

"Your mouth."

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"I need to take your temperature." He held up the thermometer he had been hiding.

I can't say I didn't feel relieved. "Again?"

"I want to see if there has been any change."

"Why—?"

"Please stop arguing with me."

"Sorry." I let him take my temperature.

"Seventy-two," he announced after what had to be the longest three minutes of my life.

"Is that good?"

"It's down twelve degrees from three days ago but still not where I would like it to be."

"I'll try harder next time."

Carlisle didn't appreciate my joke. As usual, he sidestepped it and went on with "the plan". "There are just a couple of things before we get started," he said in his "I have a medical degree so that automatically makes me smarter than you" voice. "It's going to be a little loud—"

"I'm already aware of that." Doctors say the most obvious things sometimes.

"—and the less you move, the quicker we'll be able to finish."

I dug my hands into my pockets and peered into the narrow opening, pretending to be difficult. "I make no promises."

"Do you have any questions before we begin?"

"No. I don't think so," I said. I was curious to know why he kept saying "we" as if I were part of the decision making. He really wasn't fooling anyone.

He told me to lie down on the little . . . MRI-bed-thing or whatever it's called, and I did, but I felt very vulnerable doing it. I sat up again in a hurry. "Hold on. Wait a minute. What do you mean you haven't the slightest idea whether Edward likes me or not?"

Carlisle looked annoyed for a moment, like he didn't understand why we were talking about this again. "I mean I don't know. If I had to guess, I would say he is indifferent to you. Lie down."

I didn't lie down. "You mean to tell me that in the forty-odd hours I was incapacitated my name didn't come up at all?"

"Believe it or not, there are other things to talk about besides Malakai Ross."

"Yes, but nothing nearly as interesting," I insisted. I thought that might get him to tell me, but he only rolled his eyes. "Really? Not once?"

Carlisle looked at me reproachfully. "Malakai, please. I would like to get this done sometime before noon. Then maybe we can play 20 Questions. Is that reasonable enough for you?"

Reasonable, he said. As if reason had anything to do with it. There were several things I wanted to say to him about what was reasonable, but, to save us both another argument, I did the "reasonable" thing and obliged him.

The next few hours were dull as hell. The MRI went off without a hitch. Carlisle got his pictures and subsequently spent the early hours of Saturday morning fawning over them. He kept saying things like "remarkable" and "how peculiar." I took a look at the grainy gray pictures of what was supposedly my brain but couldn't see what was so spectacular about it; it looked like a brain to me. When Carlisle noticed I wasn't looking as enthusiastic as he was, he started to explain how it was remarkable that we, (why did he insist on using that awful word?), were able to see inside my skull at all, that vampire skin was too dense to penetrate with an X-ray—or in this case an MRI.

I left when I could.

I thought it might do well to check my inbox on my Blackberry while I had the opportunity, (four days was more than enough time for it to fill up). Within a minute I had reunited my mobile office with its battery and saw I had my work cut out for me; there were one hundred sixty-nine missed calls, (I didn't bother with those), ninety-two unread text messages, (I skimmed these. Over half of them were from Grigoriy in Moscow and it sounded like he was getting desperate. Damn kid really should be careful who he makes promises with.), and sixty-four new voicemail messages. I started here.

Carson's voice was the first to crackle over the line. "Goddamn, Kai! I've called you a dozen times already. Turn on your goddamn phone! It's important I speak with you as soon as possible."

I looked at my watch. It was nearly four. What time was it in Spain? I gave him a buzz.

He answered on the fourth ring. "Bloody hell, Kai,"—it sounded as though I had woken him up—"why didn't you call me sooner?"

"You said to call as soon as possible and I have."

"I left you that message yesterday." He didn't sound pleased. I heard him turn away from the phone and drop his voice. "No, it's just my boss." I distinctly heard another voice in the background. "Yeah. I'll be finished in a minute."

"Is someone there with you?" I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't his wife. I wasn't "just his boss" around Haley.

"Yes, Kai. As usual you call me at the most inopportune time."

"Well, my apologies for ruining your chances of getting laid today."

"Wait, Kai. Don't—"

I hung up on him and returned to my inbox, hoping the next message would be nicer to me. It wasn't. Instead I found myself being cursed at in angry Vietnamese. I deleted that one. I managed to get through half my messages—nine of them alone were from Alex the lawyer—before I felt I couldn't take any more of this abuse. Rather than throwing in the towel then and there, I foolishly talked myself into just one more. It was from an anonymous number I didn't recognize.

"Hey, Kai . . ." a very familiar voice greeted drolly.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed, nearly dropping the phone in horror.

". . . it's Felix."—How the hell did he get this number?—"Sorry not to call earlier. I know you've just been dying to hear from me." He chuckled. "Do you know what I had to go through to get this number? Anyway, the reason I called—actually there are several." There was a pause. I could tell he was deciding how much he could get away with saying. "Firstly, I got your letter the other day, and . . . I feel the same way. Secondly, your so-called friend in London is an ass. Be sure to tell him I said so. Thirdly, (this is really why I'm calling, by the way), Aro sends his love, if that means anything to you, and he would like you to call him on this number. He's ordering you, in fact. There are a few other things, but nothing I can risk saying over the phone. Oh, and thanks for the, uh, interesting experience last time. Just give me a call if you ever want to try it again."

I was frozen. This was not good. Felix should not be calling me. Especially not on the number I kept exclusively for business associates, (and Felix was the furthest thing from a business associate), and especially not when I was in Carlisle's house! I hesitated. Experience had taught me it was best to get these things over with as soon as possible, but was it worth the possibility that Carlisle might overhear? What would he do to me if he did? I imagined the possibilities a second longer and hit redial.

Felix answered after just one ring. "Hey! It's Kai!" he boomed for all the world to hear. "I was wondering when you were going to get back to me."

"Felix!" I hissed angrily. "Have you gone mental! How the hell did you get my work number?"

He chuckled, the same obnoxious laugh he had left in his voicemail. "Let's see. No, to the first question, and since when do you call what you do work?"

"I'm not joking, Felix. How did you get this number?"

"Luke gave it to me. That is his name, right? Luke the—"

"Luke?" I said incredulously, hardly believing my ears. It wasn't like him to sell me out. "Why the hell would he do that?"

"I made him an offer he couldn't refuse—Oh, Kai, you'll never guess who wants to say hello."

"No. Don't you dare put him on. I'll hang up."

"Now, we both know you wouldn't do a thing like that."

"Try me, Felix, I dare you. Listen, do me a favor and tell your damn boss I have no desire to talk to him tonight. Or any night, for that matter."

"Kai, come on."

"Don't call me again." No sooner had I hung up than my phone started to ring again. I stared at it in horror. I had this horrible feeling it wouldn't be Felix waiting on the other end this time. I felt like I was going to be sick.

As if my luck couldn't get any worse, Carlisle chose now to appear outside my door. "I have good news," he announced.

"Good God, Carlisle!" I all but threw my phone across the room. "Don't do that to me!"

Carlisle paused just inside the room.

My cell screamed at us from somewhere under the bed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to get that?"