Stephenie Meyer owns these characters, but Edward-in-My-Head is mine.
Welcome back to my lovely beta Lezlee, fresh and relaxed after her Cuban vacation. Thanks to Malianani for her pre-reading comments and to my Italian friends Raum and Camilla, who helped me get the idiom in the right context.
Playlist Picks:
Lonely Boy – The Black Keys
Possession - Sarah McLachlan
Bonus track: Shambala - The Beastie Boys. Yeah, I can imagine Edward shredding to this. Complete with 'Tibetan throat singing' (See chapter 18).
A Quick Recap: It's sunny in Forks and Edward can't go to school. The AU detour continues as we catch up with him in the wilds of British Columbia. First though, a trip down memory lane.
SEA TO SKY
When I was a small boy, I believed in monsters. I imagined them lurking beneath my bed, plotting, waiting for the night they'd come to get me. They'd take me away and I'd spend eternity in their world, never to see my parents again.
Would my mother and father grieve for their little boy lost, or after a while would seem to them as if I'd never existed? I didn't know what notion frightened me more. I began to fight bedtime. I would not lie down until my mother had checked under the bed and assured me there were no monsters there. I could not sleep unless a light was left burning in the hallway. I knew that monsters feared the light.
When I grew older, I realized that there were no such things as monsters. I came to understand that separating from my parents was part of growing up, and that it did not mean they loved me any less.
My parents were gone before I truly grew up. Taken by disease. I died too. Maybe I would have died anyway, limbless and forgotten in a muddy French grave. I died, but I was reborn to spend eternity in a different state of being.
I barely remember that other life anymore. It hurts when I try. Carlisle says it's normal for human memories to fade and that I'm doing remarkably well, all things considered. But I don't know what it means to function well in this new body. I'm not like him.
I want to remember my parents. I want to mourn them but I can't even cry.
Today, he brought me a few mementos that he thought might help— some of my mother's jewellery and my father's pocket watch. It was all I could do not to rip them from his hands to get to the human scents they still carried, but I stopped myself. I could tell he was proud of me.
He'd found some journals I'd once written in and gave them to me also, hoping that I might discover in those pages something of the person I used to be. I came across a recollection of the little boy who feared monsters, but I barely recognize the naïve youth who wrote those words.
I am different now.
I have new abilities and I've learned to use them. I can see into the hearts of men, and I know that monsters do exist. They live inside us all, in the dark, hidden corners of our souls.
Edward Masen ~ October, 1919.
miss u so much! Bella's message was sweet. Emphatic. hate txting, she added. buterfnigrs.
I didn't like texting either, but I was grateful her father had put her on his phone plan.
thanks for the drawing, I replied.
I'd been ungracious not to accept it the other day. She'd wanted to give me a gift from her heart and I could see that now. And I was glad to have it, tucked into my jacket pocket. I just wish I knew how she'd managed to sneak it in there—when had she gone through my wardrobe, anyway? She never failed to surprise me.
I miss you.
Over the past two days, I'd come to remember exactly what humans meant by the phrase, "It feels like it's been forever." My brothers would have teased me with great glee had they known. And it was entirely illogical because my perfect memory would never let me forget a single thing about her.
I could picture the look on her face as she realized she'd forgotten the punch line in the midst of telling a joke. And there was a certain time of night when I found myself listening for her dream-talk. One particular scent, wafting through an open shop window, made me think of her hair, warm and wet and freshly washed.
And the deadly sweet burn of her blood haunted me still. Just imagining it was enough to send a carnal shiver racing through my body, and I hated myself for that. She'd become so very dear to me—why was I still so weak?
She was dear to me but she was far away in Forks, waiting for her afternoon classes to begin. Meanwhile, I was hurtling down a mountain highway in my father's car, wracking my brains for something interesting to tell her. But absolutely nothing of note had happened to me in the past two days. She'd just be bored by talk of real estate . . .
how's school? I finally asked.
ur not missing anything. mikes my bio pratnr this week—this was not welcome news at all—swear he just plays stupid so i help him study.
Oh yes, I could just imagine it. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? I knew the reason of course . . . My right hand curled around the armrest with just a little too much pressure, making the leather upholstery squeak in protest. I smiled blandly at Carlisle, trying to smooth out the dents my fingers left behind.
hanging out w/angela a lot, Bella continued.
she's nice.
yeah she is—there was a pause—where are u now?
heading back to vancouver.
We were supposed to be camping in Oregon. At least, that was the story the school administrators believed. None of them blinked an eye at our absences anymore. Esme and the girls had gone to Seattle to spend a few days at a very discreet spa but Emmett and Jasper were camping there. Carlisle and I might have joined them had we not been called away on business north of the border.
Our property near Lillooet was up for rent. It had been leased to the same couple for nearly a decade, but they'd decided to retire early and move somewhere warmer. We knew our realtor would have no problem lining up new tenants, but we hadn't checked on the place for over a year. Carlisle hadn't been skiing as often as he'd wanted to last winter either, and the snow season in British Columbia was far from over. For him, the timing of the fair weather in Forks couldn't have been better.
lots of snow up there?
plenty.
sweet! She was being kind; I knew how much she still disliked the cold.
Frankly, I'd have been happy to stay home alone. I could have slipped out after sundown and visited Bella in her room every night. Carlisle could have taken Esme with him, as the other partner of C.E.E. Inc., but he and I hadn't spent much time together lately. It wouldn't have been right to refuse him.
The journey north had taken the better part of the first day. The next, we'd spent with the estate agent, surveying the property and deciding what maintenance was immediate and what could wait. The unspoken agreement in the family was that we'd move to Lillooet next. Esme intended to renovate and expand the house much as she'd done with our place in Forks.
I hated the thought of moving, inevitable though it was. We'd been in Forks nearly two years now; we could reasonably expect to live there for two more if we were lucky. Any longer than that and people would start to notice we weren't aging. That was when we'd disappear, leaving the residents of yet another sleepy backwater to wonder what happened to us and why we never said goodbye. Eventually, they'd forget the very private family who lived in the big house on the outskirts of town. It was a pattern we'd followed for decades.
But Bella had changed all that. I could leave Forks if I had to, but I knew I could never leave her. Such was my addiction to her.
On the other hand, none of us were obligated to stay with Carlisle. Emmett and Rosalie would leave over the summer, ostensibly to 'go to college'. I hadn't mentioned this to anyone, but I'd started thinking that I might not follow the family on our next move.
For now at least, I could deal with this separation, knowing that it would be short and Bella would be safe and well when I returned. I wouldn't have gone unless Alice had been sure of it.
coming home soon?
saturday remember? We'd be back that afternoon, while she and her father were at La Push.
yeah i know—butshe seemed to need reassurance—come to my room?
promise.
banners here now. gotta go. b safe ok?
that's my line, I teased.
i mean it!
She signed off with a smile—she always did that. The wallpaper of my phone showed her smiling face too, crowned with flowers in our meadow. I switched it off, reminding myself that we'd be together again in only two more days.
Is everything all right? Carlisle hadn't missed my stifled sigh.
"Of course," I answered brightly. He'd been looking forward to this getaway and I didn't want to spoil it for him.
I thought you might have had word from your sister.
"No, that was Bella."
Ah. His smile was affectionate but as always, his thoughts were tempered with concern—for both of us. He understood the intensity of our bond but it worried him. He would never, ever pry.
We drove on in silence for some time, winding down steep switchbacks then climbing up the far side of the valley. At this altitude, the snowpack was still dense and deep; the world was white and black and granite-grey. Thick clouds of Pacific moisture clung to the mountains like veils.
That went well, I think, he mused, referring to the business in Lillooet.
"Everything certainly seemed to be in order. And the estate agent was"—I struggled for the best way to put it—"enthusiastic."
He frowned. We'd met her in person for the first time yesterday, and it was immediately obvious she'd been completely taken with him. She'd gone out of her way to attend to all the financial housekeeping, even insisting on personally—and needlessly—showing the handsome young doctor and his 'cousin' around the property. She boasted about the improvements the tenants had made as if they were her own.
Her thoughts about Carlisle grew increasingly explicit as the day wore on; it had been a very long day.
His frown became a scowl as he thought about it. I believe I made it clear that I'm very married.
"I think that only encouraged her, actually."
He just snorted, drumming his first two fingers forcefully against the steering wheel.
I am sorry to see the Rundles go, though; they took such good care of the place. Esme'll be pleased.
"Yes," I agreed absently. I knew she had big plans for the property. I felt his gaze flicker to me but I wouldn't meet it. I just continued to count the lodge pole pines streaking past the window
I expect we'll have new tenants very soon, he predicted. Esme's in no hurry to move . . . Actually, I think we're all very comfortable in Forks right now.
I gave him a grateful smile.
"Would you like to drive?" he finally asked aloud. "You really should feel the way the car runs since its last tune up."
I grinned. "Smooth, is it?"
"Like silk." Of course, I have only the best mechanics.
I was pleased, but I couldn't take any of the credit this time. "It should be. Rosalie put in a lot of work." She was far and away my superior when it came to automobile maintenance.
She certainly has a gift.
He pulled over at the next soft shoulder and let me take the wheel. He'd figured the distraction would do me good and he was right. The Mercedes was built for roads like these. He didn't even complain when I was harder on the gears than preferred me to be.
The last time I'd driven it, the roads had been much the same. Forests for thousands of miles. Above, only jagged ice and rock and snow. I'd been running then, from the monster newly awakened within me. I'd returned home to face it, but in no way had I beaten it. It lurked under the surface, my sinister twin. I'd never be rid of it. And I could never afford to be complacent.
I tried to put these thoughts out of my head and give my full attention to the road, difficult though it was. The Coast Mountains emerged from the ice mist at the far end of the valley, and with them soared Carlisle's anticipation. Nestled within this thin volcanic belt, lay the provincial park where we'd stop for some rest and recreation.
Not far now . . . almost there . . . I dug my fingers into the rock face so I could get a better grip. It felt solid, but would it hold my weight? I experimented, releasing first one foot and then the other. The ancient lava bed held fast beneath me and I exhaled the breath I'd been holding. When I replaced my feet, I began to crawl across it, inching sideways like a spider It was slow going, but I didn't need to remind myself that what waited on the other side would be very much worth the effort.
Finally I could see the summit again, peeking over one last outcrop. A few more meters and I'd be able to hoist myself over the ledge, just like it was Bella's windowsill. Slow and steady, climbing higher . . . getting closer . . . and then I heard a crack and my fingers were curled around rock no longer attached to the mountainside and I was falling, slipping, sliding, crashing right back to the ledge I'd set off from moments before.
I landed on my backside, the wallop knocking all the air out of my lungs. For a second I thought this ledge might give way too, sending me on bumpy ride to the bottom of the mountain, but the shaking subsided and it held firm. I soon realized that I'd been the one doing the shaking.
Fearing the worst, I unbuckled the harness of my snowboard and removed it. It was a little dented, but it was still in one piece. The bindings weren't damaged, at least.
I glanced up at the outcrop I'd fallen from. Most of it had given way, so I'd have to find another way around now. I was determined to scale this peak; I'd noticed the slope as I was boarding down an adjoining mountain and I'd rarely seen anything so perfect. Crisp and smooth and white as the t-shirt Bella wore to bed.
I got to my feet, brushed off the debris from the fall, and strapped my board back in its harness.
This mountain sat in a remote outcrop near the western boundary of the park. Only the most experienced winter tourists ventured here, and they were few and far between. Carlisle and I didn't feel like tourists anymore. We knew this place well.
We'd gone our separate ways today. He was skiing the glaciers and probably ice-climbing too. He had a passion for scrambling down the undersides of glaciers and taking photos of the shapes the sunlight made coming through the cracks. I don't relish the idea of crawling through cramped spaces, so I left him to it. I did see his ant-like figure on the snowfield once, from a great distance. I don't if he saw me wave.
The climb back up was very much worth my while. There weren't many peaks in the park as high as this one—except for Mt. Garibaldi, standing sentinel in the near distance—and one whose name I did not know. I stood at the summit for a while, watching the ebb and flow of the clouds spilling into the valley, almost like the ocean pouring into a bay. Through the breaks, I caught brief glimpses of the ski hills outside the park boundary, to the south and west. Had it been a bright day below, I could have seen all the way to Vancouver.
It was time. I strapped my feet onto the board and nudged it to the top of the chute—a sixty-degree slope of pristine powder. In the pause, I felt pure exhilaration. The blue sky shimmered in the thin atmosphere, and the only sounds were the wind above and the shush of snow beneath my board as it inched forward—slowly at first, but gaining speed with every second. And then I dove into the clouds.
I was on top of obstacles almost before I saw them. Vampire reflexes helped me dodge a rocky outcrop in one second and avoid going off the cliff face in the next. I was snaking, cutting back and forth down the slope. I banked left, avoiding some scraggly bushes. Banking right would have sent me off another cliff—I couldn't see the drop, just sense the empty space beyond. Then the clouds broke, revealing the fall line of the slope. I was cutting across it, traversing back and forth like a falling leaf when I heard the almighty crack. Instinctively, I leaped.
And then I was flying.
The supporting layers of snow on the outcrop I'd leaped from had given way and the avalanche bore down, breaking on either side of me. I was flying blind in a wave of snow—an ocean of noise. But I was gaining; there was light up ahead. I was faster and I knew I'd out run it. Another ledge had me vaulting clear, into the sunlight, laughing hysterically. I spun and spun, bearing down the mountain to the plain below.
A lone figure stood unmoving on the glacial expanse. My heelside turn brought me to a stop right in front of him, and he didn't flinch at the spray of snow that hit him, straight on.
"Did you see me?" I was still giddy—unable to stop laughing.
"I saw you leap." Carlisle shook the snow from his hair with a grin. "What was that you did coming out of the wall—a three-sixty?"
"Seven-twenty, more like."
Show off. He smirked, brushed the snow from his jacket. "I'm surprised your board's still in one piece."
My polymer warhorse was battered and bruised. It had served me well, but this would be its last season. Luckily, I knew that Emmett had already planned to make me a new one by Christmas.
Carlisle jerked his chin at the mountainside where little falls of snow and ice were still coming down. "That was quite the show. You'll have the wardens out here in no time."
He was right about that. They'd be obligated to investigate the avalanche, and it was best that we made ourselves scarce. I stepped out of the bindings and tipped up the board to brush snow off the underside.
"How was your scramble?"
"Invigorating. I found the most amazing crevasse—an ice cave, really. The light was absolutely stunning. I don't think the photos will do it justice."
The scenes I saw in his memory were far more impressive than any photographs ever would be. "You should bring Esme up next time. She can paint what you see."
"Maybe." He clapped me on the shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I've worked up quite an appetite."
"Ready for some après-ski?"
You must've read my mind.
We try to follow local rules and customs whenever we travel. Using vehicles, making campfires, and hunting were all forbidden activities in Garibaldi. We avoided the camping facilities that were available, choosing instead to make our own, just outside the western boundary of the park. We sought our prey in the forest north of Squamish.
It had been too long since I'd hunted with my father. Generally speaking, my kind hunts alone, instinctively. But perhaps because my family chooses not to hunt our 'natural' prey, we retain enough reason to enable us to act cooperatively. One has only to watch a pride of lions hunting to get the sense of what it's like to hunt as we do. And as with any hunt, sometimes the odds are in one's favour and sometimes they just aren't. It's never easy to predict what animals you'll encounter, and where they will be.
We came across a herd of woodland caribou just after dusk, but they're rare and we couldn't justify taking from their numbers, no matter where we were. We moved on. As we did, I came to the conclusion that these woods would have been fine hunting grounds for Emmett, had he been with us. The black and grizzly bear populations were obviously healthy and growing. But the game Carlisle and I sought remained elusive. We trudged for a while, sinking into knee-deep snow. I wished we'd brought snowshoes, but they were difficult to run in. And we'd need to run, sooner or later.
Carlisle was about to suggest moving on to another valley further south when the wind picked up. His lips curled back, exposing his teeth in a grimace as he let the scent roll over his tongue. I too tasted the scent of deer. The herd was maybe a mile or two away.
It was only moments before we came upon them, nervously entering a clearing, picking their way with their peculiar halting gait slowly, through deep, heavy drifts. It was a small harem: the stag kept watch over a half-dozen does, and some yearlings, both male and female. This year's fawns were yet to be born.
Carlisle motioned for me to cut left, down the bottom of the hill while he sped right, whipping between the trees along the crest of the ridge. We moved too fast for them to see us, but like all prey animals they knew instinctively when they were under pursuit. The buck bounded forward and his does immediately followed. They didn't know what they were running from—only that we smelled like death to them. We let them gain ground and tire. We'd soon wear them down.
I watched Carlisle take down a yearling with ease and veer off into the underbrush to kill it. My split-second distraction allowed the herd to move ahead again, faster now, panicked. It didn't matter; I'd already singled out the one I wanted. A young doe turned left at the same hillock where the rest of the herd ran right, momentarily disorienting herself. I watched her struggle through the deepening drifts, desperately trying to get back to the trail the rest of the herd had taken. She found it, and she was heading right to me, but at the instant I would have pounced, she wheeled away and took off, back the way she'd come. She was alone. The herd could not protect her now. Did she know how this would end as I let her go?
Her scent was ripe on the breeze—potent. Fuelled by fear. It would not be long before I caught her. She was tiring—confused. Lost. I slowed to a walk, following her trail as it stuttered and slowed. And then it stopped. There she was, at rest in a copse of naked aspen, grazing. Did she feel protected or had she given up? The moon was aglow, striking her pelt at odd angles through the trees. It shone with sweat—a familiar deep brown that twisted my stomach. I licked my lips. So beautiful. Succulent. She was beautiful, and she was mine. I'd make her mine.
Sensing my approach, she turned her soft, wide eyes to me. Gentle. Curious. I knew that look. She wasn't afraid. She'd been waiting for me. For the end. Or was it the beginning? A quiver crossed her flanks, echoing in my own.
She watched me leap, not trying to escape, just tensing, readying herself for the cold embrace of death. She gave herself to me, writhing her warm body against mine as I pulled her close, arching her back, offering her milky white throat to my lips. She was resigned to it. This was how it was supposed to be. It was the way it would be when I finally made her mine. She'd live forever.
Teeth pierced soft flesh and the vein gave way. Her moan goaded me, making me bite down harder, moaning with her, sucking, gorging at the release of hot, sweet fluid. Feeling her give her life—her body—up to me.
It took a second before I registered her piteous whimper, and another before I realized that the hot breeze against my cheek was her ragged breath. Our chests rose and fell in unison, and she moaned again. I relaxed our embrace. My eyes opened and met hers, and in the familiar depths I could see her fear. Her pain.
Why? they begged.
This was not how it was supposed to be. Her throat had been torn open.
Not again. No, not again . . . There was a howling in my ears.
Edward?
Carlisle was on his way. He thought I'd been hurt somehow. Realizing that cry must have been mine, I wiped the blood off my chin.
"Go away!"
What is it? What's wrong?
"Don't come over here." But he was already at my side.
I stood in front of the wounded animal, trying to shield the sight of it from him, pointless though it was. He could hear her shallow breathing—the blood gurgling in her lungs—as well as I could. He felt her pain too.
Never taking his eyes off me, he knelt to examine the animal.
I won't take it from you, he assured. But I was hardly going to attack him now.
"One of her ribs has pierced a lung. She's suffocating." He said nothing about the ragged wound that was once her throat. "You can't let her suffer."
But he knew I couldn't do it. Impassively, he reached forward and snapped her spinal cord. With a last gurgling sigh, the doe's eyes rolled back in their sockets and her heart ceased its painful beating.
"Has this happened before?"
"Yes." I raked a shaking hand through my hair. "Just, sometimes when I hunt, it . . ." I just sagged. There was no excuse for what I'd done.
He waited patiently for me to say more. He'd wait all night if he had to.
"It happened when I weaned myself off human blood the first time," I finally admitted, "and it's been happening again over the last couple of months."
"And does it occur every time you hunt?"
I could feel his diagnostic mind whirring into gear and it irritated me. No medicine he could prescribe would fix this.
"No." Suddenly gripped with violent self-loathing, I doubled over, fighting the urge to vomit—"Agh! I'm a fiend."
And there was nothing but pity from him, pity I didn't want or deserve. I straightened upright at his approach but couldn't look him in the eye. He cupped a hand around my neck, forcing me to.
You're no fiend, son.
I pulled away. "I-I should be better than this. I should have more control."
"It's natural to lose control during the hunt." He stepped forward with open arms, mollifying, and it enraged me again. What would he know about the loss of control?
"Is it?"
"I know the pressure you've been under—how you've restrained yourself these past few months. If you don't find a way to release it-"
"This is natural, is it?" I gave a sharp laugh. "I'm not even thirsty—not really. Because nothing in the world will ever taste as good as her blood and I know this. And I hate it. I hate what I am."
And he didn't need to be a mind reader to know who I was referring to. Oh, Edward. I'm so very sorry.
"Why does it still happen? What's wrong with me?" He looked around helplessly, taking a pace backward as I advanced on him. "You know, don't you? You've known from the beginning."
He gave a sigh. Your struggle with the blood-
"It's sick," I spat.
He ignored my interruption. Your struggle to resist her blood is extreme, but it's not unprecedented . . . There's nothing wrong with you.
He could tell I didn't believe him. He let me pull away, watching me pace the length of the small clearing, hugging my arms to my chest like I was cold.
È la sua cantante.
I'd heard that phrase in his mind many times over the past few months, but he'd always turned his thoughts from it when he realized I was listening. I understood Italian well enough, but the meaning of the idiom was lost on me.
"What is it she's singing?" I shouted. "Tell me!"
He nodded to himself, making up his mind. It's time . . . Gesturing at the deer, he asked, Will you finish feeding?
I swallowed, looking away in distaste. "I can't."
Fair enough. He uprooted a tree and shoved the carcass into the hollow beneath. Let's return to camp, then. Will you help me collect some firewood on the way?
I shrugged and he made to leave. Realizing I wasn't right behind him, he turned back and came to place a pleading hand on my shoulder.
I promise, I'll tell you everything I know.
Carlisle added another log to the fire then sat back against an upturned log, warming his hands briefly, needlessly before pressing them together. I watched expectantly and waited as he gathered his thoughts.
Where to begin? he wondered.
"How about at the start?"
My quip made him chuckle. That's probably the best place, he agreed, but when he looked up again, he was earnest.
I am sorry you have to go through this. I'd hoped you'd be spared. After all these years . . . and your impeccable control . . . He shrugged slowly, sighing out his confusion. Maybe that's why it's so much more intense.
When I look at you, I don't see a fiend. I see my son and my best friend, as I always have. And I see your torment. I can't begin to imagine what you must go through.
Of course he couldn't. He'd never had to fight anything like this. Despite what he'd just said, he was the epitome of control, not me. I didn't deserve to stand in his shadow. But that's not what he was thinking.
But you should count every day that young woman remains alive as a victory and a blessing. I know how happy she makes you. Believe me when I say that I've never been more proud of you than during these past few months.
How could I believe him when all I saw was the monster in my eyes? A pile of corpses lay between us for a moment, looming for him as a faceless mass. But I remembered every single face, frozen in the horror of its last living moment. We never spoke of my rebellious years. Of course, nothing I'd experienced then came close to what had happened to me the moment I'd first detected Bella's scent. He still blamed himself that I left back then. Just as he blamed himself now.
I've let you down so badly. I should have been honest with you, right from the beginning. He smiled fondly. You are your own man. But, as your sire, I can't help being protective.
When you came to me at the hospital the day you met Bella, I did know what had happened. In fact, my friends in Italy have a name for it—for what happens when a vampire meets a human whose blood is more appealing than any other's. When the blood is so potent, it calls out like a siren's song.
Yes . . . that was how it felt to me. Exactly.
It's a part of their lore and it's greatly romanticized. There are even poems written about it—truly, he affirmed. To encounter one's singer was supposedly the greatest joy of a vampire's existence, and at same time his greatest sorrow.
"Why?"
Because the singer's life would be over in a flash and the vampire in question would spend the rest of eternity trying to recreate the experience. Searching, but never finding that perfect taste. He smiled without humour. Frankly, I believed they used it as an excuse to justify barbarism. I saw many vampires aroused by scent in the thrall of the hunt—that goes without saying—but nothing that provided concrete proof to me the phenomenon existed.
I spent much of this life alone of course, so it wasn't until I had a family that I witnessed it firsthand.
There was a noise far off in the forest—a flurry of animals in flight, sending us both momentarily on the alert. As the sound died away, Carlisle glanced at me questioningly. I shrugged.
"Emmett," I said, returning his attention to the story.
And Esme, as well.
For Emmett, there had been two: the woman he'd stalked across the prairie, and an Inuit hunter in Alaska. The blood of an unsuspecting salesman had sung to Esme when he'd come to the door that summer day in Wisconsin—in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I remembered these mishaps. As Emmett had so bluntly put it, I'd even been there to help clean up the mess from time to time.
"Was Esme your singer?"
He smiled. Esme's blood didn't sing to me, but everything else about her did. I've never met my singer. I've become so inured to the scent of human blood now that I doubt I ever will.
"What causes it, do you think?"
What makes one person attractive to you and not to another? he asked. I believe it comes down to blood chemistry. Perhaps, not every vampire has a singer. But I do think your situation is unique. I've never heard of a case where the singer lived long enough for the vampire to fall in love with them.
"So, there really is no hope, then? Alice is right that I'll be the death of Bella one day?"
You know that's not how she sees it, he demurred. Besides, I've found that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own points of view. He referred to my conviction that I was a monster. He still believed it of himself to a degree.
Every day that Bella lives proves that's not true. You can't change the past. And you can't control the future. Not even Alice can truly predict it. You can only live in the present. And I'll tell you again that in this present moment, I have never been more proud of you.
I didn't protest his opinion this time. I let myself see him the way he did for a while, trying to believe it as well. I wished I could.
"Why did you keep this from me?" I asked eventually.
Would you have returned from Alaska if you'd known? We both knew the answer to that question. How different would my life be now if I'd stayed? But once again, his train of thought traveled a different track from mine.
At heart, I am a selfish man, he began.
"No, Carlisle. You're not-" But he raised a hand to quiet me.
I was afraid. I'd already lost you once; I couldn't bear the thought of it again. Clear of the gauze of the bloodlust and panic I'd felt then, I experienced his anguished memories for the first time. Let us help you, he'd begged. We'll come with you if that's what you want . . . He would've done anything.
Only now, after spending the best part of a century with him, did I understand. Only here, in these lonely woods did it become clear to me that I was the one person he could not bear to lose. Above all the others—even Esme. Because I'd been the one to end his loneliness.
I loaned you my car because it was faster, he continued. And because he knew I'd feel obligated to return it. It had been weeks before I'd figured that out.
He wasn't the selfish one. I was. I'd put my family through hell these past few months, running from them and shutting them out.
"I should never have gone to Alaska. I should've let you help."
He shrugged, smiling through his pain. The fresh air must've helped clear your head. You came back, after all . . .
I rolled my eyes. "I unburdened myself to Tanya, of all people."
She's been a good friend to you over the years.
"Maybe I haven't been such a good friend to her. I've hurt her feelings."
Oh? He had difficulty imagining a sensitive succubus.
"She's been calling, you know. She's inquired about our plans for the summer."
He raised an eyebrow. He knew as well as I did our cousins' tendencies to drop by, unannounced.
"I told her that I wouldn't be going up north again this year—and that it probably wasn't a good idea for any of them to come down here, either."
Why not?
"I don't want other vampires catching Bella's scent. Even vegetarians."
He thought I was being overprotective. Did he guess the other reason I had for putting them off? Alice had predicted either death or life as a vampire for Bella when I'd first met her. She'd already expressed the desire to be with me forever. What if she asked one of my cousins to help her achieve it?
If he did guess, he kept it to himself. How did that go over?
"Not well," I admitted. "It only made her more curious."
But I didn't want to talk about Tanya's coven now. I still had so many questions for him.
"Tell me about-" I began, but abruptly cut myself off. I felt a prickling at the edge of my awareness. A presence.
Animals usually fled the moment they sensed us . . .
What is it? Carlisle asked immediately.
There it was again, just coming into range. I could perceive thought now. Rational thought.
"Someone's coming," I said.
A/N:
1. Medical opinion on the blood singer phenomenon are those expressed by Carlisle Cullen, M.D. askcarlislecullen . tumbler. com
2. Highway 99, also known as the Sea to Sky Highway, is the major north-south artery running through the Greater Vancouver area of British Columbia from the U.S. border, up Howe Sound through the Sea to Sky Country to Lillooet. In this writer's opinion, it's one of the most scenic drives in North America – or anywhere, for that matter: infovancouver . com/ excursions / sea-to-sky-highway
3. Edward and Carlisle were getting some R & R at Garibaldi Provincial Park, British Columbia. See: env . gov . bc. ca / bcparks / explore / parkpgs / garibaldi / The photos on this website are especially good.
Thank you for reading. Your thoughts comments, as always, mean a great deal to me. They're why I continue to write, in spite of real life, writer's block, and yes, my own wretched procrastination.
I am leaving in a few days on a three-week vacation. It'll be busy, but I do plan to make time for writing while I'm away. With any luck, I may be able to post soon after I return.
Take care, everyone. XOXOXOX
