A/N: Hello, awesome readers! I have one thing to say before you read this chapter—have faith.

Ever grateful to Keye and Sandy, my lovely and loyal prereaders.

Huge thanks to my awesome betas, Katmom and SassySue (chayasara), for wielding the red pens and keeping my writing coherent.

Chapter 24

~Awakenings~

Songlist:

My Heart is Broken ~ Evanescence

Breath of Life ~ Florence + the Machine

Better Place ~ Puddle of Mud

And my heart is a hollow plain
For the devil to dance again
And the room is too quiet

~ Florence + the Machine

~*Izzy*~

The start of my experience was nothing like the first time I'd blasted James. There was no sound, no tunnel, no girl in a mirror, no angel wings. One moment I was sucked into the abyss, and then next thing I knew, I was spat from its soul-sucking, swirling vortex with no awareness of how long I'd been "gone."

The sudden change in atmosphere reminded me of being deeply asleep and awakening to the clanging of pots and pans. There was pain, too. My body screamed in agony, and the very clothing lying against my skin seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. I gasped from the pain, a raspy, whistling sound. An elusive murmur of voices floated around me. I wondered if they were real or imaginary.

For quite some time, I slipped in and out of the depths of the abyss. I might be alone or hear the cadence of voices, and at times swore I heard an unfamiliar but soothing voice in murmured prayer. My limited awareness didn't allow me to discern my location, and I remained trapped within, unable to move even when semi-conscious.

There came a time of surfacing that felt different. The sounds around me magnified until I longed to scream—the shuffle of feet, the creak of a chair, the rustle of sheets as they were tidied around me. Every joint in my body ached, throbbed, or tingled unpleasantly. I felt weighted down, my skin hypersensitive. Restlessness vibrated through me, and I fought through gauzy layers of consciousness until it became possible to open my eyes. Even the eyelash follicles stung with soreness as my tender lids fluttered open.

The room was dim, the walls and ceiling fashioned of smooth stone. I looked to my left, taking in the austere surroundings—stone floor, rustic wooden nightstand, a small washbasin and mirror. My eye muscles ached, smarting again as I turned my gaze to the right. There was one arched window cut through the stone and covered by wooden shutters, a multicolored throw rug, and a scarred wooden rocking chair with a small square pillow. A vase of wildflowers sat on the stone windowsill.

I pulled in a deep breath, observing tightness across my chest and poorly inflated lungs. A shuffling at the foot of the bed caught my attention as a nun entered the room. Rosary beads were threaded through her fingers, and she looked down at her hands, lips forming silent words.

I wanted to speak, to ask her who she was and why I was here, but what came out was a dry croak that set off a coughing fit. Spasms rocked my chest, but it seemed I was incapable of coordinated movement.

"Good Lord above!" The nun clutched the rosary to her chest, mouth hanging open and pale blue eyes comically wide, then she crossed herself. "Oh, but you gave me a right scare."

I watched the nun with great curiosity as she tottered around the small room in circles, muttering to herself. The rosary disappeared into her robes, and her hands twisted together. Her lightly lined, make-up-less face made it difficult to ascertain her age, especially with her hair covered. She could have been anywhere from her mid-thirties to early fifties.

There were so many questions piling up in my mind and trying to get out that a traffic jam occurred. My lips parted, but only a soft exhalation of air came out.

The nun finally recovered enough to move to the side of the bed and lay a comforting hand on mine. "Don't try to talk, dear."

I tried again. "Am . . . I dead?" It was a raspy, barely-there whisper that hurt like hell to produce.

"Oh my, no!" She placed a hand over her mouth and tittered. "You're our miracle girl."

"Wh-where?" My mind was a bit slow, but it didn't escape my notice that there were no machines or monitors hooked up to me, and Sister Christian here was surprised to see me awake.

"You're at Our Mother of Sorrow Abbey, dear."

"Sister Magdalene, who are you talking to?" An imperious voice, belonging to a rather large and sour-faced old nun, rang out through the small room, causing me to wince.

"Shh . . . Arabelle. Can't you see her ears are sensitive?"

Sister Arabelle's considerable bulk stopped short as her gaze came to rest on me, but her black robes kept going, creating a strange billowing affect. She crossed herself. "Mary, mother of God."

I glanced between the two nuns, wishing I had full use of my voice. There were so many questions I wanted to ask—the one at the top of the list being why were they so shocked to see me awake? The way the two of them were crossing themselves and calling on deities, you'd think the anti-Christ was in their midst. That thought caused one side of my mouth to rise.

"Magdalene, have you called the doctor?"

"Not yet. I suppose we should. She shouldn't be alone, right? You stay here." Sister Magdalene turned to leave.

"No," I rasped. "You . . . stay . . . please." I liked the feel of Sister Magdalene, while Sister Arabelle was akin to nails raked over a chalkboard.

"Well, all right, dear." She turned to Sister Arabelle. "You heard the girl. Shoo! Go call Dr. Cullen, and tell him the good news!"

Sister Arabelle backed out of the room with some reluctance; it was obvious she was used to being in charge. I didn't want her anywhere near me with that loud, braying voice. At least now I knew Carlisle was the doctor they spoke of. Despite the surreality of waking up in an abbey rather than a hospital, that fact gave me hope I really was alive.

Sister Magdalene opened the shutters before returning to my bedside and patting my hand. "Welcome back."

Outside, golden rays of sun played off the stone of another wing that branched out of the abbey. It had arched windows just like mine, spaced at equal intervals. Some of them were shuttered and some were open. A slice of blue sky with fluffy white clouds was visible over the edge of the roof, but that was all I could see from my supine position. A cool, crisp breeze redolent of damp leaves and fresh earth made its way gently into the room, triggering a sense of nostalgia that caused my heart to beat faster.

"Sister . . . what month?"

Sister Magdalene's eyes were sympathetic, and she patted my hand again. "November."

"But that means . . ." Seven months! I tried to grip her hand, and that's when I realized something was very wrong. The right side of my body was barely functional, the left extremely weak, the muscles quivering when I attempted to lift my arm. "What's . . . wrong?" I tried to lift my head and immediately started gasping for breath.

"Try to relax, dear. Dr. Cullen is on his way."

At first, the panic welling inside me reached a crescendo, but the cool, dry touch of Sister Magdalene's hand on my forehead had a calming effect on me. She cooed and shushed me like a mother would a distraught child, and at her instruction, I drew in long, slow, cleansing breaths. A sense of peace settled over me just in time for Carlisle to stride into the room and shatter it.

For me, it was as if I'd seen Carlisle yesterday. My mind was all muddled and twisted up, but my memories of the days leading up to whatever landed me here were crystal clear.

"Sister, will you excuse us? I need to examine my patient." Carlisle nodded curtly.

"Let us know if you need anything, Dr. Cullen. We're just thrilled about this miracle." Sister Magdalene pressed her hands together and looked over at the crucifix on the wall before her kind eyes came to rest on me once again. "I'll see you later, dear. Be well."

"Thank . . . you."

She smiled and left in a flutter of robes, shutting the door behind her.

"Papa C."

"Izzy." Carlisle nodded, his jaw tight. "How are you feeling?" His gaze roamed over my face, eyes watchful and wary.

"Like dirt." I offered up a wry smile. "It's been . . . seven months?"

"So, they told you." Carlisle nodded. "Yes, it has. We nearly lost you." There was pain behind his eyes.

"I can't . . . move my . . . right side. Or catch . . . my breath."

"Please don't worry over that. The fact you're awake tells me the rest will come in time." He slipped a hand in his pocket, coming out with a syringe filled with silvery fluid, and lifted my right hand where I noticed the first evidence of anything medical: an IV line.

"What?"

"I've been injecting you with small amounts of venom. Too much and you'll turn, so progress has been extremely slow." He punctured the end of the IV with the syringe and injected the venom.

The sight of the venom raised my heart rate as a flash of the cliffs at First Beach came to mind. Carlisle looked over at me, most likely sensing the sudden spike.

"What . . . happened?"

"In good time, Izzy."

"Where's Edward?"

"I'll be your only visitor for now."

I opened my mouth to protest. "But—"

"We can't afford to draw attention to ourselves. Your treatment is most unusual. The sisters are doing me a favor because I made a large contribution that saved the abbey, but benevolence can only go so far."

"What's wrong . . . with me?"

"You suffered multiple strokes, Izzy. You were comatose by the time we got to you and remained so until today. You were given transfusions for the massive hemorrhaging, and the CT scan showed what should have been irreparable damage, but I knew venom might counteract that. Even so, it was an excruciatingly slow process." Carlisle rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "There was no way for me to treat you at a public hospital without raising numerous questions, so I started looking for alternatives and ended up here."

"Will I . . . walk again?"

"I believe you will. Based on the progress so far, I think you'll make a full recovery. While the venom isn't turning you, I want you to understand that it has and will continue to make changes."

"What changes?"

"Enhancements in the senses for one."

I thought of Sister Arabelle's braying voice and all the amplified sounds I'd heard before waking. "Super hearing maybe?"

Carlisle smiled. "Has that manifested already?"

"Yes."

"You'll be stronger than the average human male, and it will extend your life expectancy."

"By how much?"

"Maybe double."

"Wow. What does . . . Edward think of . . . all this?"

Carlisle moved around the bed woodenly, lifting my arms and checking reflexes, then opened his mouth to speak just as a knock sounded on the door, and Sister Arabelle walked in.

I think part of me sensed Carlisle was hiding something, but I let it go because I wasn't ready to face anything else. Deep down I knew nothing would stop Edward from rushing to my side—unless he couldn't. But I pretended along with Carlisle, gifting myself the fantasy that everything would be all right for just a bit longer.

True to his word, Carlisle was my only visitor for the next few weeks. He removed the PEG tube as soon as I could hold down food. The catheter soon followed. He administered venom every three days, supervised my physical therapy, and had me out of bed and using a walker on day eight. By the end of two weeks, I was using a cane. My hearing was acute enough to hear the nuns speaking in hushed tones in the hallway outside my room—usually about mundane abbey business, occasionally exclaiming over my miraculous recovery or my ornery disposition.

One day, I finally mustered enough courage to ask for a mirror. Sister Magdalene brought me a small hand mirror, and I steeled myself before lifting it. I'm not sure what I was expecting to see, but my reflection was remarkably unchanged. My eyes looked strange without their usual dark liner, but what surprised me most were the jet-black strands framing my face. Someone had continued dying my hair.

Carlisle walked in while I was sitting in the rocker staring pensively into the mirror.

"Who dyed my hair?" I asked without looking his way.

"Alice insisted on it."

When I finally glanced up, Carlisle stood by the window. His wrist rested on the sill, but his hand was curled into a loose fist.

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm going to bring some visitors in now that you're strong enough. We'll start slowly, okay?"

"Sure." My tone was casual as I swallowed down the bile threatening to rise. Some instinct deep within was on high alert.

The door swung open, admitting Alice and Paul. Alice's eyes met mine readily enough, but her face was solemn, the faint smile she offered leaving me cold.

Paul sauntered over. "Hey, baby!" He fell to his knees at my feet, throwing off the usual heat, and chucked me under the chin. "You gave us a scare, drama queen."

I cracked a smile and caressed his cheek. "Why do things halfway?" My gaze was drawn to Alice, who seemed to be a ghost of her usual boisterous self. "Psychic Pixie! How's it going? Bet I threw you for a few loops, huh?"

"You sure did. I'm so glad you're all right."

"Thanks for being my beautician." I dragged a few fingers through my hair.

"Of course." She pursed her lips and nodded.

The room pulsated with tension and unspoken words. My heart beat faster, the breaths growing shallow in my chest.

"Spill it."

Carlisle came to stand beside Paul, but Alice remained by the bed.

"Izzy . . ." Carlisle faltered.

I glared at him. "Just tell me."

Paul grabbed my hands in his. "Baby girl, what do you remember from that day?"

My brow creased. What did I remember? I'd avoided thinking about it. Whenever disturbing echoes ricocheted around the deep well of memory, I'd pushed them back down. I knew something really awful had happened but had no desire to go there. Apparently, my little hiatus in la-la-land was over.

My lids fluttered closed, and I allowed images to flow over me.

Walking along the water at First Beach.

Watching a figure cliff-dive to the sand. James.

My breath hitched, and Paul tightened his hands on mine.

Facing off with James. He was so smug, so confident. The wolves howling as James showed me his cell phone—

"Oh, God. I don't want to see any more!" I struggled mentally and physically, but the floodgates burst wide, and I couldn't put the genie back in the bottle.

Begging James to spare Edward's life . . . agreeing to go with him, to be his plaything. The rage in his eyes when my shield came up and I couldn't bring it down.

Edward's expressive eyes full of fire and resignation because he'd sent the wolves after me, leaving himself vulnerable.

"Now watch as your precious Edward pays for your mistakes."

"Izzy, save yourself. Don't let this be in vain."

Let what be in vain? The unspoken words lay between us. Don't let my sacrificebe in vain.

"No . . ." I moaned, pulling my hands out of Paul's grip and holding my head. "I want to see Edward. He needs to be here for this."

"Baby, what do you remember?"

"James . . . on First Beach. He had Edward . . . a bunch of wolves showed up . . ."

James giving the order to kill Edward and me losing my shit. My power gearing up to tear James' arm and part of his leg from his body before I collapsed to the sand. Paul hurtling past me, leaping straight for James' throat.

I squeezed my head tighter between my hands. "You . . . I saw you attack James. Is he dead?"

"Yes. You weakened him, and I finished the fucker off." There was a hard edge to Paul's voice.

It was fitting that Paul had been the one to kill James if it couldn't be me.

Lying there helpless, losing my ability to speak or move. My face pressed to the sand, looking into Edward's beautiful, worried eyes as blood gushed from my nose and mouth. His mate. My mate.

"I want my Edward," I whimpered.

Paul pulled my hands from my head and entwined his fingers with mine. "Things happened that day. Irrevocable things."

My gut churned as I looked into his dark eyes, my mouth dry. "What things?"

"Leah and Embry." Tears filled Paul's eyes, and he swallowed hard but allowed them to fall freely.

"They were injured?" I refused to voice the alternative.

"They didn't make it."

"No! God, Paul, I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, baby." Paul's expression of sorrow was for me this time, and his fingers tightened down on mine. "So, so sorry."

"What?" I looked to Carlisle and Alice. The truth was on their faces. "No! Where's Edward?"

Alice spoke from where she was. "There were too many of them, and we . . . we were far too late."

"Too late for what?"

"To save Edward, Izzy." Carlisle laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "He's gone."

"The newborns took him?"

"The newborns are all dead. James is dead," Paul whispered. "Edward . . . gave his life for yours."

"NO! Why are you lying to me? Edward can't be gone!" I pulled my hands from Paul's and started beating on his chest. He didn't stop me. The tears finally came, a torrent of them streaming down my face and leaving me weak and limp in Paul's arms. He scooped me up and sat in the chair with me cradled in his lap. "There must be some mistake. Please, Paul."

"I'd give anything to make it so for you."

Carlisle crouched in front of me, placing a hand on my leg. "Edward loved you more than anything in this world. Your survival was of the utmost importance to him."

"Even above his own," Alice whispered.

"But his life was worth so much more than mine." My voice broke.

Alice walked forward slowly. "He didn't see it that way, Izzy. To him, you were his destiny—wherever that took him. Edward lived more and loved more in the time he had you than in the past century."

Everything became too much—Paul's warm arms, Carlisle's and Alice's kindness even though a beloved son and brother had been lost, the rapidly expanding guilt inside me.

"Paul, put me down." I pushed my way free from his arms and stood unsteadily. "I love and respect all of you, but I need to be alone now."

"I'm not sure-" Carlisle started, but I held up a hand to cut him off.

"I'm very sure. Leave me." The echo of my latent power flexed within. "Preferably before I start shielding."

The three of them agreed, spewing well wishes and condolences on their way out. My mind couldn't comprehend any of it. The door couldn't close fast enough for me.

Once I was alone, a great trembling started that shook me to the core. A high, keening wail tore out of me. Rather than ripping everything apart as I normally would, I ended up in the corner of the room curled into a ball with my fist stuffed in my mouth to hold back my screams.

All threats had been eliminated; months had gone by, but for me, the nightmare was just beginning.

Days went by. I banned everyone from my presence, spending most of my time curled in the corner of my room against damp stone. I refused to eat or drink, to brush my hair or bathe.

I could hear them all out there in the hall with my accursed hearing—speculating, plotting, commiserating—and Carlisle enlisting Sister Magdalene to convince the other nuns to give me time to grieve. He assured them I wouldn't die if I refused sustenance, bathing, or medical treatment for a few days. He promised to step in if I didn't come around.

Sister Magdalene finally managed to talk her way into my room. She brought a tray with a bowl of broth and placed it on the dresser without a word, leaving me to decide for myself if I wanted some. She settled in the rocker, never seeming bothered by the fact I huddled in the corner or that I must have smelled pretty ripe.

She sat in the rocker and said the rosary, then she got up and left.

The untouched broth was exchanged for another steaming bowl the next time she returned. Again, Sister Magdalene said the rosary and left.

The third time, I made my way over to the broth when Sister Magdalene was halfway through her prayers. Her eyes remained closed, nimble fingers moving along the wooden beads as she went. For some reason, the soft murmur of her words soothed me when nothing else did.

I scooped up a few hot, salty spoonfuls of broth.

Without opening her eyes, Sister Magdalene said, "Careful, child. Slow and easy, or it'll come right back up." Then she resumed her praying right where she'd left off.

She was right—the first bit came back up. A strategically placed garbage can caught it, avoiding quite the mess. I narrowed my watering eyes at the praying nun and wondered if she had second sight.

The next time Sister came, she filled the washbasin, then brought in soap and a washcloth in addition to the tray of broth and dry toast. Again, she didn't say a word or try to talk me into anything.

Once she left, taking the half-empty bowl of broth with her, I stripped off my dirty nightgown and washed myself. The lukewarm water felt good. A fresh nightshirt was draped over the foot of the bed, and I wondered when the crafty nun had put it there. Wrinkling my nose, I balled up the smelly one I'd been wearing for days and tossed it in the garbage.

The next day, Sister Magdalene tucked the rosary in her pocket and fixed her clear blue eyes on me. "Would you like to talk?"

I opened my mouth to say no and found my answer was yes. "Maybe."

"Only what you're comfortable with." She sat in the rocking chair and waited patiently.

I must have looked like a distrustful stray dog cautiously approaching a Good Samaritan holding out a treat as I inched my way across the small chamber, finally settling on the floor by her feet and wrapping my arms around my knees.

I peered up at her kind face and wondered what her hair looked like beneath the habit. "How old are you, Sister?" Realizing how rude the question might sound, I amended my comment. "That is if you don't mind me asking."

"Why should I mind? I'm forty-eight."

"What color is your hair?"

"It's light brown with many streaks of gray. What color is yours?" Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she gazed down at me.

My lips twitched. "My natural color is a deep chestnut with red highlights."

"Ah, beautiful, and yet you wish to cover it with flat black hair-dye. Part of your armor?" Her expression was sympathetic but not pitying.

"I like you, Sister."

She laughed, a lovely, throaty sound. "Well, thank you! I like you, too."

"Why did you become a nun?" I asked softly. Religion had always escaped my understanding. Having faith and praying to a God who never answered, who let horrible things happen to good people, never made sense to me. Yet I felt soothed by the presence of Sister Magdalene and this place and loved listening to her pray. There was something special and different within these walls.

Sister Magdalene's perfectly arched brows drew together and storm clouds flitted over the clear blue of her eyes for a moment. Then she looked away, her eyes unfocused. "I didn't expect that question." She laughed, but it was no longer lovely—it was tinged with sadness. "Well, I've had two great loves in my life: Timothy Rollins and God. Tim went to be with God, and I . . . followed him as far as possible without committing a mortal sin."

"What sin?"

"The taking of one's own life."

A shudder ran through me as a looming precipice threatened to suck me into the dark vortex of pain. I'd managed to stay rather numb so far. The rocker creaked, and I glanced up at Sister Magdalene, who watched me carefully.

"You became a nun to . . . get close to Tim?"

"Initially. My seeking and questioning led me here—first as a guest, and later I decided to take my vows." She smiled, the sadness leaching from her eyes to be replaced by great joy. "Sometimes we're led to our destiny in unexpected ways."

"So you're happy with your life?"

"Yes, very. Don't get me wrong—there are times I still mourn Tim and the life we might have had, but I'm grateful for my life here. Serving the Lord brings me inexplicable joy."

"I lost someone, Sister." My voice was a whisper, yet it burned my throat like a scream. When she waited expectantly, I gathered the courage to continue. "He was everything to me. I—I don't know how to do this without him . . . or if I even want to."

"The answers will come. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Aren't you going to tell me I'm young and have so much to live for? That I'll find someone else?"

"It's not my place to do so. It's nobody's place. You must forge your own path." Her voice was gentle, but it struck a nerve inside me.

"And you don't think it's wrong of me to be angry with God? I'm staying here in His house, and I don't even know if I believe in His existence."

Sister Magdalene chuckled, not unkindly. "Of course you believe in Him, dear. How else could you be angry at Him?"

I glared up at her and sputtered but ended up falling silent. It was true—just as it was true that I'd needed Edward all the times I'd pushed him away or denied him. No matter what ugly tempest churned inside me, I couldn't deny that I was holding it together much better at the abbey than I would outside its walls.

"There is something special about this place."

"The abbey is nothing but a stone structure until it is filled."

And it was filled to capacity with love, faith, patience, and perseverance.

~*IWIPB*~

I allowed Carlisle to continue the venom treatments and physical therapy. I began to venture out of my chamber, occasionally taking meals with the nuns and frequently walking the long, quiet halls. As I grew stronger, I ventured outside on unseasonably warm days to walk in the garden.

Sister Magdalene taught me to pray the rosary. She gifted me with a simple set of beads like her own, and I found peace when rubbing the pads of my fingers over the satiny curves of wood.

Jake and Paul visited me once or twice a week, and those times were usually bittersweet but uplifting. Alice's visits were strange and infrequent. She was solemn and no longer spoke of the future, except for the day in December when she arrived with a basket of hair products.

"You saw," I said.

"Yes." Alice rolled her eyes. "I sometimes see when the wolves aren't surrounding you. At least you have a future now."

The last sentence seemed to be a mumbled afterthought, but it caught my attention. "Wait—what do you mean?"

Alice put her basket of supplies on the floor and turned to face me, leaning against the dresser. "You had no future until just recently. It's been murky or blank since..." She halted and looked down at the floor.

"And now?"

"It's morphing, but you're clear. And you want to return to your natural hair color."

"Yeah. It's time."

~*IWIPB*~

Though the abbey didn't receive many visitors, the nuns went all out decorating for Christmas. Garland was strung gaily along the utilitarian halls and around doorways. Wreaths adorned the main entrance and the wall behind the altar in the chapel, and dozens of poinsettia plants were placed strategically around the abbey. An old-fashioned Christmas tree with all the trimmings twinkled in the reception area.

The sight of the tree caused a lump in my throat as I recalled my special moments with Edward exchanging gifts last Christmas. I still wore the leather cuff he gave me and always would. I rubbed my finger over the rich leather while standing in front of the tree breathing in the rich scent of pine. A tear trickled down my cheek, the first one in a while.

Something niggled at the back of my mind, but I squelched it. Don't go there, Izzy. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Or so I thought.

While I stood there, eyes unfocused, the front door of the abbey opened, letting in a gust of wintry air. A few seconds after the heavy door closed with a thud, the atmosphere filled with a commanding energy.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for—" Jack strode forward as he spoke but fell silent, gaping in shock when I turned to face him. "Izzy."

I couldn't hold back a satisfied smile. "I believe this is the first time in the history of the world that you've been rendered speechless."

"Come here. Let me see you." Jack recovered himself quickly, the command seeping back into his voice.

I took a few steps closer, and Jack walked around me, taking in my T-shirt and leggings, my face devoid of make-up, and my newly-restored hair color. When he came to stand in front of me again, he skimmed his fingers over my glossy hair, looking at it with wonder. Then he ran his index finger over my face.

I shuffled my feet nervously and let out a shaky laugh. "Speechless again so soon?"

"I—yes." The deep baritone of Jack's laughter surrounded me, echoing around the high-ceilinged lobby. "You're stunning. And I wasn't expecting to find you . . . like this."

"Like what?"

"I thought you'd be curled in a ball somewhere." He placed his large hands on my upper arms and squeezed gently. "They wouldn't tell me where you were, or I would've been here sooner. I was so worried about how you would handle . . . things."

"Things." My tone was flat, almost angry. "You mean the death of the only person who's ever put me first. He sacrificed it all—for me."

Jack held his hands up. "I didn't mean to minimize what he meant to you. This isn't an easy thing to talk about, and I wasn't sure . . ."

"How I would handle things? Because I should be curled up in a ball and cursing everyone out? Or maybe doing some blow . . . smoking a blunt? That sound about right?" Anger jettisoned through me with an adrenaline chaser, and I could feel my cheeks reddening.

"No, Izzy!" Jack looked horrified, his brown eyes, usually cool and frosty, filled with apology and concern. His hands returned to my upper arms in a gentle hold. "I'm so proud of you. I honestly didn't know what to expect after the last time we spoke, but I know there's a wellspring of strength inside you."

"I'm sorry." I lowered my head. "What else would you expect? You have no idea what's gone on since I woke up—or even what really happened . . . before."

He placed a finger under my chin and lifted my face until our eyes met. "Then tell me. Help me understand you."

I smiled sadly and shook my head. "No. It's not a story I intend to repeat to anyone, ever. Now, are we going to stand around the lobby all day, or do you want to see my room?"

I took Jack by the hand and led him down the halls of the abbey until we reached my little chamber. By that time, I'd added a small bookshelf under the window and an extra chair for visitors. I had no computer or phone, preferring to write in leather-bound journals or read instead. Carlisle had given me the materials to continue my "home schooling" so I could prepare to receive my high school diploma.

Jack looked around in wonder and laughed. "Wow. This is so . . . not you."

I smacked him on the arm. "Welcome to my humble abode. Life here is gloriously uncomplicated."

"You're not thinking of becoming a nun?"

I grinned. "The very walls would crumble if I even considered it. No, I'm just recovering and discovering a new me." My throat worked, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. "I promised."

Jack took my hand in his. "Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?"

"No. Just being my friend is enough."

"I'm here for you."

"Likewise. How's . . . what's her name? Lucinda?"

"What makes you think I'm going to discuss her with you?" The amusement in Jack's tone didn't quite reach his eyes; I'd hit a sore spot.

"Just remember—none of us knows how much time we have. If you care about her, do something about it."

"When did you get so wise?"

"It took a seven-month coma to finally crack me."

After Jack left, I stared out the window for a long while, thinking. The sky was a grayish white, and I could tell by the scent of the frigid air that snow was on the way. Seeing Jack reminded me of so much. As usual, whenever my mind strayed into dangerous territory, I found a way to deflect it. I avoided my journals and pulled out my rosary beads instead.

My appetite was pathetic at dinnertime, so I had broth and toast in my room and watched fluffy white flakes fall from the sky, coating the grass and trees as I ate. Still bothered by something but refusing to entertain it, I decided to turn in early.

Izzy.

My eyes popped open in the dark. I held my breath and listened until the silence was almost painful, but my name was not repeated. Eventually, I slipped into a dreamless sleep.

The next time I opened my eyes, freezing air swirled around and drifted up my nightshirt. My feet were growing numb, half-melted snow clinging to the bare bottoms and oozing between my toes. I blinked up at the night sky, watching in fascination as flakes floated down in slow motion.

What the hell was I doing outside in the middle of the night?

Izzy.

My heart pounded in my chest. I started to run, ignoring the pain in my feet. I crested a hill and rushed down the other side into a thicket, determined to find the source of that voice. His voice.

As I picked my way through the trees, their branches laden with snow, I came out into a clearing—our meadow. The grass was green; the trees still had their leaves, and wildflowers beckoned as they swayed to and fro. The sky was gray, but it was lighter here.

Soft blades of grass caressed and soothed the bottoms of my cramping feet, and I held my arms out and twirled around, only stopping when I noticed a figure from the corner of my eye.

Edward.

I stopped short, almost falling to the ground, and turned my head. Edward was on his knees in the grass watching me.

"E-Edward?"

He held his hand out, and I rushed across the field and flung myself into his arms. He caught me, leaning back so my knees wouldn't hit the ground.

"Oh, my God! They told me you were dead." I buried my face in his neck, breathing deeply of his heavenly scent, and my lips found their way over cool, smooth skin. "Where have you been?"

"You must know that my love for you is eternal." Edward's arms tightened. "Never let go of that."

"What are you saying?" I raised my head and looked into his topaz eyes, trying desperately to read the message there. Even though he was holding me, and I was clinging to him, a feeling of distance grew between us. "Edward? Don't leave me, please."

His hand cradled the back of my head, pulling me closer until his lips grazed my ear. "Remember how much I love you—what this connection between us means."

His words sounded like a goodbye. I couldn't seem to get close enough to him, and I was determined not to let go for any reason.

"Edward, no, no, no—don't leave me!"

"Never."

His promise faded along with his hard form and the neutral temperature. Wetness seeped through my nightshirt, and I opened my eyes to find I was lying on my back in a mound of wet snow staring up into the sky.

The bells of the abbey rang in the distance.

"Edward!" I cried out his name over and over, hot tears spilling down my face.

The bells continued to chime, and then I heard the thundering of feet.

Paul came into my line of vision in wolf form at a full gallop. He stopped short, sending a spray of snow arcing through the blustery air. Trotting over to me, he nudged me with his damp nose and snuffled against my neck.

"Edward . . ." I moaned, turning away from Paul's heat and burrowing deeper into the snow.

Paul phased, and a few seconds later, I was cradled in his arms. "Baby, what are you doing out here? The nuns must be frantic!"

"Why?"

"Didn't you hear the bells? They've been ringing them for an hour, probably hoping you'd make your way back." He gazed down at me, his eyes full of anxiety. "What the fuck are you doing out here? Do you have a death wish?"

"Edward was here . . . in our meadow." I glanced around us, finding only a thicket full of trees bent under the weight of the heavy snow. "There was no snow. The grass was green, and the wildflowers were . . . and Edward. He—he held me."

The look of pity in Paul's eyes nearly undid me. "Baby, there's no meadow. Look around you. There's snow blanketing this entire area for miles."

"He was here."

"Edward's gone." Paul's tone was firm but kind, and he held me closer as he began walking through the woods.

The last vestiges of hope fell away, and reality crashed down on me. Of course it was a dream. It was impossible for a meadow full of wildflowers and a warmer temperature to exist in the middle of a snowfall—with my Edward in it. I couldn't allow the floodgates to open again, or I'd be back in the corner curled in a ball. I took several deep, cleansing breaths and rested my cheek against Paul's warm skin.

"Don't you own a shirt?" I teased, attempting to smile through my tears.

Paul laughed. "I've got a dresser full of new shirts, but you don't give me much opportunity to wear them, Iz."

When we reached the abbey, a lone figure was standing outside. Carlisle.

"Is everything all right?" It wasn't clear whom Carlisle was directing the question to.

"We're good," Paul answered. "Little sleepwalking incident is all."

"Sleepwalking? Has this ever happened before, Izzy?"

"No, it hasn't. Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay?" I squirmed in Paul's grasp, but he never loosened his hold.

"How about we get her back to her room?"Carlisle held his arms open.

"I got her."

Carlisle smirked. "Paul, I think the nuns might be scandalized by your appearance right now, not to mention all the questions that might arise."

"Oh, shit! Yeah." Paul leaned over and transferred me to Carlisle, whose arms felt too much like another set I longed for.

"Is this really necessary?" I huffed.

Too many feelings were eddying beneath the surface, and I was in danger of losing it again. In order to counteract the sensation of being in a cool, hard embrace, I kept my eyes wide open and fixed on the side of Carlisle's face.

"Afraid so. Paul, thank you for everything."

"Yeah. See you soon, baby." Paul winked at me then took off, phasing mid-run.

Carlisle carried me swiftly through the halls of the abbey to my room. There was a pile of towels and a clean nightshirt laid out on the bottom of the bed. Alice.

He left me there to dry off and change while he let the concerned, chattering nuns know I had returned safely from my "sleepwalking" excursion. The clock on my nightstand proclaimed the time to be nearly three thirty a.m.

When Carlisle was done reassuring the nuns, he knocked on my door before entering. He smiled easily, taking a seat in the rocker while I lounged on the bed with my legs tucked under me. A chill still hovered over my skin, but I eschewed the warm covers, choosing to remain vigilant and mindful of the growing suspicion inside me that things were not quite right.

Carlisle and I regarded one another from across my small room. It felt like sizing up an opponent for some reason.

"Alice saw?" I finally asked.

"Yes."

"How did Paul get involved then?"

"Paul spends a lot of time on the grounds around the abbey watching over you."

This was news to me. "He does?"

"You're very important to him."

"Okay." I wasn't discussing Paul's feelings for me with Carlisle.

"When I realized he'd gotten to you first, I decided to wait for you to return."

An awkward silence fell between us. Once again, that strange feeling nipped at my heels. What wasn't I seeing?

"Jack came to see me last night."

"I know."

"Of course. How else would he know where to find me?" I half-smiled.

"Jack has been frantic about you for weeks. He was causing quite a ruckus—even went so far as to show up at the house demanding information. I thought it was best to give him access."

"Which reminds me . . . what about my other friends? What have you told everyone?"

"That you were in an accident and have gone away to recover."

My jaw tightened. Who did Carlisle think he was making decisions for me? "I want to see Ricky." I held a hand up when he opened his mouth to speak because I could tell he was about to argue the point. "Don't. I'm not in jail, and I'm not your responsibility. You can't keep me hidden away and control my visitors!"

Carlisle smiled easily, but his eyes were wary. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Controlling you? Let me be clear about one thing, though—you are my responsibility. You're no longer simply human, and even if you were, for Edward's sake, I will always watch over you."

"You will always watch over me," I repeated, and one piece of the puzzle fit into place. "Why haven't the others come to see me? Esme, Jasper, Emmett, Rose? Just you and Alice."

"Low profile, remember? Once you're fully on your feet, you can decide where you'd like to live. We'll never be far. You'll always be family to us."

Bullshit.

"I'm pretty healthy right now."

"Do you want to leave here?"

"Not quite yet. I'll let you know."

"All right. I should go." Carlisle rose fluidly, his motions reminding me once again of whom I was missing, and a pang flared in my heart. "Get some sleep."

"Don't you want to know what happened out there tonight?"

He paused by the door and turned to face me. "I already know. I overheard your conversation with Paul."

"Any thoughts about it?"

"I'm not surprised by it, if that's what you mean. You've been through some very traumatic events, Izzy."

My bullshit meter went nuts, but I simply nodded and pointed a finger at Carlisle. "I want to see Ricky."

"Very well. I'll call him."

I sat curled on my bed long after Carlisle was gone. Every instinct inside me screamed that something wasn't right. Eventually, my mind turned to the night I came home from the hospital after the first time James had attacked me on the res. I hadn't fully understood what was happening at the time, but I gave myself to Edward that night—fully and completely. It was the defining moment when my body and heart accepted him as my mate, even though I didn't even know what a mate was back then.

Edward once told me that he sensed I was in trouble the day of the attack because of a gripping pain in his chest. The pain of a mate in peril. Why then didn't I sense the absence of Edward on this earth? And why did I have the distinct feeling Carlisle was hiding something?

~*IWIPB*~

A/N: The answers you seek will be in the next chapter, which will post in 2-3 weeks. Would love to hear your thoughts on the newly emerging Izzy, and what you think Carlisle is hiding.

I'm working hard on the next chapter of Red Kryptonite. I expect it to be out in a week or so.

BrokenWindows placed number four in TwiFicRecs Top Ten Completed Fics for April. Thank you so much to everyone who voted!

Follow me on Twitter: SaritaDreaming or SarahAisling

My website: www . SarahAisling . com

Facebook: SarahAislingAuthor

Fanfic Blog: SaritaDreaming . wordpress .com

An Archive of Our Own: archiveofourown .org users / SaritaDreaming