Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything in the Twiverse. So there's that.
Just in case you skipped the author's note after Chapter 24, I do apologize for the confusion about Alastair/Edward. At the last minute, I decided to have Isabella call Edward by his former alias, and it proved to be the wrong move. My entire bad.
As for the other thing that confused (and angered) some of you, here's to hoping at least one of those issues gets solved momentarily.
The Last Word – 25
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. My throat is likely parched, as I have not had anyone to drink today, and despite my immortality, I have been known to find it difficult to speak when I am exceptionally thirsty.
But under present circumstances, I am all but sure my silence is rooted in a total loss for words.
And a total abandonment of my sanity.
"I should hope you won't give me the silent treatment," she says. "Seems ridiculous to summon me here only not to speak."
At her word choice, I develop a serious frown, blinking in continued silence.
"You seem confused." Her furrowed brows mimic mine. "Surely you do not believe I am here by any choice of my own."
"What..." I clear my throat and try again. "What do you mean 'summon'?"
Her gaze shifts sharply, sadly, behind me. "Are you going to make me say it?"
I turn around and am almost sure that I see the large bed with Isabella's body lying comfortably upon it...
Yet I heard her voice behind me so clearly a moment ago.
I shake my head—clearing it of nothing—and become certain that my senses have taken permanent leave.
"I'm sorry," she says from somewhere back there. "This was supposed to help you."
"I don't understand."
"I know you frequently suspected me of sorcery." Despite the despondency in her tone, a teasing lilt remains. "But even I cannot be in two places at once."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I am not here. And... and I imagine you are having trouble facing that."
What?
Oh.
Oh.
I approach the bed where she lies, closing my eyes as my hand closes around her very real ankle. I let the awareness permeate my mind—her cool, stiffness contrasted with the defining warmth she used to produce—and that crumbling wall of my sanity shores itself up.
"You are not here." It physically wounds me to say so. "That is, your body is here before me. But you... you are not really... not really here behind me."
"No," she whispers. "I am not."
"So you are only here... back there, I mean." I swallow hard. "Because I 'brought' you here... 'summoned' you, as you said."
"Yes."
"Then I suppose the lone remaining question is..." I turn to face her, dragging a hand down my face. "...why did I bring you here?"
She stares at me blankly, and it is then I confirm she is indeed an apparition. For the woman I know... knew... would have jumped at the chance to fill in those blanks or snark a response at the very least. But this cheap imitation...
She is useless.
"I'm sorry," she says, and somehow I believe her. "I thought my presence would be more help."
"So did I." I collapse on the bench at the foot of the bed, my back to the very real body resting behind me. "But nothing is going as planned."
"So there is a plan?" she asks.
"There is." My voice hardens. "One I am all too eager to execute."
"Then what's the problem?"
"You!" I gesture toward the body on the bed. "What am I to do with you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Does it matter?" I come to my feet, ignoring the lunacy of arguing with a figment of my imagination. "Of course it matters!"
"Why?"
"Because I..." The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I cannot speak them. Not until I complete my mission. "Because it matters."
"Okay." She clasps her hands in front of her. "Then do what makes the most sense."
I run my hands through my hair, stopping short of yanking it out by the root. None of this makes sense. Not a single thing that has happened since this morning... but certainly in the last hour... has made a lick of sense.
But I push those thoughts aside and drag my attention to the woman on my bed. Something must be done about her... with her... and soon.
"I must preserve her dignity," I say aloud, unsure of whom I'm talking to anymore. "That is what matters most. No one else can ever touch her. No one else can ever see her, and no one else can ever hurt her again."
The thought of burying her in earth turns me completely off, and I do not like the idea of her languishing at sea. Cremation is equally out of the question, and though I would be honored to house her in my quarters forever, she cannot stay here.
She would surely be discovered, and I cannot say for sure how Alice would react.
In a sudden flash, I envision the perfect place and know exactly what must be done.
"Then I have helped you after all," the apparition says, and I look up to find a small smile about her lips. "You're welcome."
I part my lips to speak her name, but nothing comes out.
"Yes?" she asks anyway.
"What did... what did you mean by your last words to me?"
This time, instead of the silence I expect, her brown eyes brighten, and her smile doubles in size. "I am pretty sure you know."
"What?"
"See you later."
And with an encore of those damn three words, she disappears before my eyes. I gasp at the loss and wave my hand through the abandoned air. With a heavy heart, I turn once more to face the bed. There is nothing left to do but what needs to be done.
And do it I must.
*** the last word ***
I return to the house in a week's time. Jasper meets me at my private hangar, but there is no trace of his wife at the house. I think of inquiring after her whereabouts until I realize I am better off not knowing.
Entering my private room with purpose, I intend to keep my gaze from the bed. But its current emptiness reminds me of my errand, and my intentions dissolve into memory.
With no ideal options—a fault I wholly recognize as mine—I crossed the arctic plains of a virginal stretch of Antarctica with my precious cargo firmly affixed to my back. I cursed myself the entire way, not wanting to leave her anywhere for any reason, let alone in a frozen wasteland at the opposite end of the world. But I had a mission to complete, and that could not happen until I knew she was safe.
So I picked my way up a mountain in the northern-most region, traversing an inaccessible face of its most jagged side. She was a veritable ice queen by the time I carved out the hollow that would become her earthly home, and I tucked her in with fear and trembling. I neither spoke nor prayed as I watched her there, but when her last words rose once more in my mind, fear and trembling succumbed to rage and masochism.
And I turned away, never again to return.
Now at home, I shower quickly and change my clothes. A thin unmarked folder rests in the center of my otherwise bare desktop. Flipping through its contents, I finalize the details of my plan. Though anxious to start and finish, I wish not to be hasty or conspicuous. Stealth is a vampire's ultimate weapon, and in this war, I shall deploy it with decisiveness.
The stakes demand nothing less.
Grabbing my packed satchel, I turn out the light and lock the door, nodding to Jasper on my way out. As I toss my bag into the backseat of my nondescript sedan, Alice appears out of nowhere.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I bark at her.
She doesn't respond, but her penetrating gaze holds me in place. Her eyes seem to glow as they stare at me unblinking, and her total lack of fear truly alarms me.
The proverbial spell breaks when Alice sighs, and she shakes her head once.
"It won't work," she says.
"What won't work?"
She startles me by placing her hand against my cheek, its searing warmth seeping into my flesh. Her gaze softens, and the ache in her voice would break my heart if I had one. "I hope she was right."
She drops her hand and turns away, and I look up to find Jasper watching from the window. Our gazes lock for the briefest of moments, and I recall once more what he said about her gifts. I don't know what she "knows" or what thinks she just told me, but I am no less determined to end what has already begun.
Having memorized the coordinates of my destination, I let my mind wander as I make my way there. Although I have much to think about, most trains of thought lead to places I have no wherewithal to travel. So I choose instead to recite the latest translation of Beowulf, feasting on its images of revenge and carnality.
This is more like it.
Upon punctual arrival at my temporary home, I immediately place a call to the number in my folder. The element of surprise is no concern, but the fecklessness of humans remains a possible complication, and I smother relief when the proper person answers. According to Jasper's information, my main target retains most of the ill-gotten gains from his infamous lie, and his public persona maintains an air of authenticity. Yet loutish leopards never change their spots, and that callous cat still dabbles in degenerate behavior.
If the price is right.
So after a brief negotiation with the person on the phone—whose reaction to the agreed upon amount is almost comically enthusiastic—a meeting time and place are set. I have no intention of appearing, of course, but I am optimistic that my no-show will result in an argument that will lead them back to their lair.
It is the ideal spot for what will come next.
I hide in the adjacent building to overhear the conversation that will result from my absence, and neither party disappoints. They trade accusations and insults for the better part of an hour until one of them grows weary of the exercise. He decides to head home, and with no better options, she has little choice but to follow.
My focus is razor sharp as their steps draw nearer, and my body hums with anticipation. I recline in the overpriced chair in the corner, a casual ankle crossed atop my knee, and my keen gaze trained on the door.
The keys jingle before one of them turns in the lock, and I lick my lips as the light from the hallway places two figures in shadow.
"I said I was sorry." She rolls her eyes as he huffs behind her. "Why are you still pissed?"
"Because clients like that don't come every day, Vicki." He all but slams the door. "And I know it's your damn fault he didn't show."
"Well, what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to shut the hell up for once!" He goes to flick the light switch on the wall. "Can you do that?"
As the lights come on, Vicki's eyes widen on a scream, and she reaches behind her to grip his arm. "Jamie, someone's here!"
"What?" He turns and sees me, and despite his surprise, his beady eyes narrow. "And who the fuck are you?"
"Hello, Jamie." A slow smile spreads across my face. "I am the fuck who's going to kill you."
I hope the first part of the chapter cleared up some things and that y'all are still with me. I feel like I say that a lot, but I always mean it.
Love and light to you all. Next chapter by the end of the month! XO