A/N: Ohai! Thank you for all the sweet reviews, they mean so much to me! Those of you who share your own personal stories with me, I'm honored, truly honored. Every time I hear from someone with personal experience working with victims and survivors, or in the system, or has firsthand experience with abuse of any kind...I'm touched every time I hear from you.
Some people correctly identified the quote at the end of the last chapter: it was from the Book of Ruth. And some people, you silly readers, said something about Old English...which it definitely is not. Check out my blog at dconioned dot blogspot dot com for a rundown on what the term Old English actually means.
All standard disclaimers apply. See you on the flip side, duckies!
Wisp
Silence.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Edward stared down at the girl kneeling by his feet. Odd thoughts filtered through his head, utterly inappropriate for the situation. She really shouldn't be kneeling. Her voice, soft but lower than he expected, was harsh and raspy from all the crying she'd done that morning. Why hadn't he given her some warm tea?
Carlisle lowered himself, slowly kneeling before Wisp, keeping a cautious distance between their bodies. She wasn't sure about him, and the caring doctor in him couldn't bring himself to make her nervous by breaching that bubble. Edward watched as his uncle and ward knelt on the floor facing each other. Carlisle was still, hands on his thighs in front of him, not a blond hair moving. Wisp trembled, clutching the Bible in both hands, her pale skin stark and glimmering against the darkness of her long hair. She stared at the man kneeling before her, eyeing his ice-blue eyes and curious expression as he stared right back.
"Carlisle," Esme whispered, but he didn't answer. He turned his head slightly to the side, considering the small girl dressed in soft, loose fleece, her delicate fingers clutched around the black leather Bible.
"I am made all things to all men," he said, slow and deliberate, "that I might by all means save some."
She blinked, thick eyelashes fluttering, and took a breath. "And this I do for the gospel's sake, that I might be partaker thereof with you."
Silence again. Edward didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. They were obviously quoting from the Bible, but more than that he couldn't grasp. And Wisp, his quiet, nearly-mute girl, was not only speaking in full sentences, but in language that painted the quotes with age. Probably King James; that translation was still very popular despite its flaws. But...she didn't use complete sentences. She didn't use pronouns. Her language was constrained to very narrow measures, conveying her wants and expressing some limited opinions.
Wasn't it?
"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things."
A little grimace passed quickly over Wisp's face, and Edward saw a ripple of...something...shiver up her spine. "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."
Carlisle took a slow breath. "Do you understand what you're saying? Do you know what it means?"
Wisp cocked her head to the side and regarded him solemnly.
"Tell me you understand," he urged.
Silence. Wisp dropped her gaze to the leather-bound book in her hands. After a moment, she lifted the Bible, flat on her palms, and offered it to Carlisle.
"Do you like it?" He scrutinized her features, refusing to take the book. "Does it please you? Give you solace? If you like it, keep it. But if it brings with it bad memories, I will take it back."
Wisp did not respond, her arms shaking a little with the effort to keep the book extended toward Carlisle. After a moment, he accepted her offering.
"Thank you," he said, appropriately solemn, Edward felt, for the situation.
She sank back on her knees once the Bible left her hands, a strange, wistful little sigh leaving her mouth. "Bad," she said softly.
"Bad?" Carlisle echoed her movement, sinking back too, so he was not towering over her. He held the Bible in a tight grip. "Who is bad? What is bad?"
Wisp only sighed again, staring at the book in his hands.
"Who is bad?" Edward echoed, settling to the floor next to her. He didn't mind the change in position; truthfully his knees were a little shaky after hearing all that. "Come on, sweetheart. Tell me, please?"
She turned toward him, reaching out her arms in entreaty, and it was a request Edward could never refuse. He let her crawl into his lap, her legs tipping over one of his like a waterfall of flesh and fleece. The side of her head came to rest on his shoulder as she sucked her lower lip into her mouth, worrying it as she so often did. "Bad," she said again—mournful, resigned. Not despondent; her mood lacked the passion for that.
"Bad what?" Edward urged, pulling her hair off her shoulders, gathering it down her back.
"Bad..." Her eyes stared blankly ahead of her, and Edward couldn't tell if she was looking at the Bible still, or something else entirely. Her mouth worked at her lip and she rubbed the ends of her sleeves with her fingers.
Esme had dropped to the couch, her face almost as pale as Wisp's. She drew in a ragged breath, the fingers of one hand pressed to her mouth as if to keep something back.
Wisp mouthed her lip, sucking it in, then releasing it, her brows tilted in the faintest hint of a frown. Edward watched, unable to do anything else, as she suddenly aspirated the gesture, the soft, puffy sound of an F leaving her mouth when her teeth let go of her lip. Once, then again, and again.
"F," Edward said. "What about an F, honey?"
Twice more, her blank gaze never wavering, as if he had not spoken. Then, softly, a single word slipped past her lips, rough and stuttery, unlike the fluid way she had rattled off the verses. "Father." She flinched back into Edward's chest as if hiding from the word.
Father? Father! "She remembers her dad," Edward breathed. "She has a dad."
"Let's not jump to conclusions." Carlisle lifted the Bible in his hand minutely. "She may not be referring to a literal father, but a metaphoric one."
"Was he bad?" Edward asked. He wanted to take her chin, tip her head up to meet her eyes, but he didn't quite dare. That unfocused, blank stare unnerved him a little. "Your father, little Wisp? Is he the bad one?"
She sighed again, and a shudder Edward was helpless to understand rolled up her spine. When she blinked, a tear spilled over and dropped to her cheek. Fuck. He hadn't even known she was close to crying. If those tears were because of something her father had done... Edward tightened his arms around her, vowing to track down her father if it came to light that he'd been in any way involved in or responsible for her current state. it wasn't fair. Fathers weren't supposed to hurt their little girls.
But the words that left Wisp's mouth confused him even further. "Bad," she said softly. It was fast becoming one of her most frequently used words. "Bad Wisp."
"No, honey. No." This time Edward did tip her chin up with a knuckle. It took a moment, but her eyes pulled back from wherever she had gone and focused on him. "Good Wisp. Such a good girl."
"Bad," she said again, and the amount of self-loathing in the word twisted something deep inside him. She blinked and two more tears spilled over. "Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying."
"Oh, sweet girl." He wasn't familiar with the quote, but he understood it plain enough. Something sharp and prickly was stabbing at the inside of his ribcage. "Did your dad hurt you? That doesn't make you bad. How could anyone hurt a sweet girl like you?"
"Bad." She repeated the word, then scrunched up her miserable little face. "You are the devil's gateway; you are she who first violated the forbidden tree and broke the law of God. It was you who coaxed your way around him whom the devil had not the force to attack. With what ease you shattered the image of God: Man! Because of the death you merited, even the Son of God had to die...woman, you are the gate to hell."
"Uh..." Edward swallowed. "Tell me that's not actually in the Bible?" It wasn't a progressive document by any means, but he didn't think it was that bad.
"It's not." Carlisle glanced up with a soft smile before returning his gaze to Wisp. "It's from an early Church father...about two hundred years after Christ. Tertullian. I didn't think anyone took much of his writing seriously anymore."
"Well, clearly someone does." Edward stroked her shuddering back, urging her to tuck herself close to him. "Care to suggest how to explain 'bullshit' in a way she'll understand?"
Carlisle shrugged his shoulders. "I severely doubt she understands what she's saying. I guess it's possible, but to me it sounds more like a conditioned response."
"But that first thing she said," Esme broke in, soft and hesitant. "It sounded..."
"The Book of Ruth. Yes." Carlisle smiled. "One of the sweeter stories, if you ask me. When Ruth's husband dies, her mother-in-law, Naomi, tells her to return to her own people, but Ruth begs her not to make her go."
"Why wouldn't she want to go back to her family?" Edward asked, rubbing Wisp's cheek gently.
"Intreat me not to leave thee," Carlisle quoted. "Thy people shall be my people."
"It's so apt. Are you sure she didn't know?"
"I'm not sure of anything," Carlisle told his wife. "But that's my suspicion. She trusts Edward. If she understood true speech better, I think he'd know it."
"So you think it's just...sounds? Meaningless sounds she memorized at some point?" Edward asked, watching the girl in his arms. Tears dripped down her cheeks, though she was silent.
"They may have had meaning at some point, but I doubt they do now. She can mimic. She can recite. But she can't take the raw materials of speech and create her own. Not much—not well."
"But who would teach her to say such horrible things?" Esme wanted to know. She squeezed her hands tightly together in her lap, and Edward could tell that she wanted more than anything to hug Wisp tightly. She refrained because he was the one who soothed her, the one she always turned to when she was frightened or upset.
"There are people in the world who would turn even the beauty of faith into something to be feared." Carlisle rose slowly, his knee popping. "Unfortunately, I'm not sure it's much of a clue."
He was right. Edward adjusted Wisp against his chest and brushed at her tears. At first, he'd thought the discovery of the Bible made her happy, but now he wasn't so sure. There had been recognition, yes, but recognition wasn't the same as happiness.
Wisp sighed softly, exhaling against his shoulder. Her cheek was damp, but what unnerved Edward was the way she slumped against him. Her body wasn't sweetly pliant, melting softly into his; she huddled, rather, in a dejected little lump, obedient to his guiding hand but otherwise unmoving.
"Hey. What's the matter, little Wisp?" He brushed at her hair, urging her to meet his eyes. "This doesn't have to change anything. You know you're safe here."
But she wouldn't look at him and her eyes, when he caught a glance, were dull. They lacked the soft shine he was used to seeing from her, the glint of curiosity or sparkle of pleasure she so often wore.
"We're going to pick a different book," Edward said firmly. "Let's see if we can shake this mood." Distraction—for the both of them.
"I'll do some research," Carlisle promised. "The Bible isn't much help, but Tertullian...he isn't studied much anymore. He was never canonized by the Church. It's possible there may be a lead."
Edward didn't hold out much hope, but he kept his mouth shut. They didn't have anything else, after all, to go on.
Once Carlisle and Esme departed, leaving the box of books, minus the Bible, Edward ran a bath for Wisp and settled her in it. She'd begun helping wash herself weeks ago, but today she just sat in the water, staring down at her fingers in her lap. Edward slipped a soapy washcloth over her wet shoulders, wishing for the thousandth time that he could somehow figure out what was going on inside her head. He tickled her ear softly, hoping to coax a smile from her, but there was no response.
"Hey," he said, quiet, gentle, "it's okay. Whatever's wrong, we can fix it. You trust me, don't you?" That was the one thing between them that had never been in question. She trusted him. Whether he deserved it or not, whether it made sense or it didn't, she had trusted him almost from the beginning.
Silence met his words. She inhaled slowly and blew out a puff of air. Wet hair hung in long, dark strings, obscuring her face as she tipped her head forward.
"Please don't hide." Edward tucked her hair behind her ear. Wisp didn't respond, and her expression was oddly blank.
Not knowing what else to do, Edward dressed her in her favorite fleece pajamas and the fuzzy purple socks she loved, then carried her back to the living room. She stayed where she was put, head down, and when Edward placed a book in her lap she did not move to open it. He stroked her damp hair, not knowing what he could possibly do or say to break her out of this strange, despondent mood. He couldn't turn back time and prevent her from ever finding the Bible, though he wished he could.
Pet padded silently across the carpet, flopping her little black body down, her head crooked at an awkward angle on Wisp's thigh, blinking blissfully at her person. The girl reached out with one finger, tracing the midline of her cat's skull, triggering the rumbling buzz of a happy purr. Pet's forelegs stretched out and her paws curled, one after the other, kneading the air. Wisp stroked her slowly, moving her fingers back and forth between the cat's ears and along her jaw, but for the first time, the sight of her happy kitten did not bring a smile to her face.
Edward felt as lost as he ever had with this girl. He rubbed the back of his neck, watching the slow, distracted movements of her fingers. The things that usually made her happy—things that had brought a smile to her face just this afternoon—did nothing for her now. The softest clothes she had, a warm bath, her kitten...nothing seemed to make a difference. She stared blankly at her legs stretched out in front of her, shoulders slumped, nothing moving except for the slow brush of her fingers against Pet's fur.
He brought her bites of chicken swirled in a bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy—a favorite of hers—but when he set the steaming bowl on the coffee table, she merely glanced at it with dull brown eyes before looking away again.
"Come on, little Wisp. Don't do this." Edward pulled her into his lap on the couch, dislodging Pet in the process. The kitten squeaked her displeasure, then clawed her way closer to the bowl Edward picked up in his hand. "This isn't for you," he said, holding it away from the curious little black nose. He brushed her aside gently, then spooned up a bite of food and held it to Wisp's mouth. She turned her head to the side and sighed.
Two more attempts garnered the same reaction, and finally Edward gave up. He put the bowl of untouched food on the coffee table again and settled her more firmly in his arms. "Look, I know you can't tell me with words what's troubling you. It has something to do with the Bible, I know that much, but..." He sighed and tugged at his hair with one hand before returning his grip to her waist. "You're safe here. Whatever it is you're afraid of, it won't happen. How can I make you understand that?"
No response.
Not knowing what else to do, Edward hugged her tighter. "It's been a long day. Let's just try to relax, okay?" The optimist in him wanted to believe that she would be better by morning, after a good night's sleep.
The realist in him knew better.
It didn't stop him, though, from reaching for the topmost book in the box and flipping it open. This was one he remembered—an old favorite Carlisle used to read to him before he was old enough to read it for himself. "Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn't. Anyhow, here he is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh."
When he was little, Edward had been pleased that Winnie-the-Pooh's original name was the same as his. He realized that Wisp had no such tie to the story, but he hoped she would like it anyway. It was simple and sweet—nothing scary or stressful—and he hoped that was a good thing even if she didn't understand. She sat in his lap, soft and silent, staying where she was put but not nestling close. Her body was neither stiff nor pliant; it simply was. She resisted nothing. She gave nothing.
Edward read five of the very short chapters, but nothing changed. She didn't relax into him, didn't fall asleep in his lap, and her blank expression did not change. For the first time in over a month, he had to brush her teeth for her. When he left her alone for a moment of privacy, she did not use the toilet.
"Please," he murmured, gathering her back into his arms, bearing her slowly up the stairs, "I need a clue, sweetheart. I need to know what you want—what you need from me. Whatever it is, I'm happy to do it. But you need to tell me."
She said nothing, did nothing.
And for the first time ever, she was still awake on his chest when Edward fell asleep.
Blinking awake the next morning, Edward found himself on his stomach, one leg thrown out from under the blankets. He frowned as he dug his fingers into his eyes. Wisp never left him in the morning unless Rose took her, and this wasn't a Rosalie day...was it? No, no it wasn't. They'd gone to see Rose yesterday. Eaten pizza. Introduced Wisp to the hot tub. It had been, all around, a very satisfactory afternoon despite his frustration with the process of finding Wisp's "bad doctor."
But the evening...
Memories of yesterday evening flowed back into his mind as Edward rolled slowly out of bed, stretching the kinks from his body. Esme's box of books. The Bible.
And, holy shit, Wisp spoke. She spoke full sentences, reciting verses from the Bible like a record, a recording. Carlisle quoted to her, and she was able to quote back at him. It was huge—monumental.
But Wisp hadn't looked happy in the least. And then that last quote she'd spoken, something about women and a gate to hell. He shuddered at the memory. It was unnerving. Uncomfortable. And she hadn't said a word since. The blank look in her soft brown eyes worried him more than the Biblical quotes, honestly. Words in themselves were not dangerous, but her reaction to them proved that in the wrong hands, they definitely could be. Someone, at some point, had hurt her deeply with them. And while Edward hated knowing that, it gave him hope, too. A silver lining in the midst of all his confusion. At some point, she had understood. She'd been able to read or listen to someone speak, and comprehend what was being said to her. If she had once had that ability, Edward hoped that meant they'd be able to coax it forth again, given enough time and the right technique. Having lost language was far preferable to never having it in the first place.
Making his mind up that he was going to try to find the positive in the situation, Edward rubbed his messy hair and started his search for his little Wisp. Maybe she was in the kitchen again, finding her own breakfast? She'd never done so without Rosalie. It would be a big step forward, tangible proof of her growing autonomy. Maybe he'd make her some hot chocolate. Mornings in Forks were always damp and chilly, and he knew she loved to be warm. He'd read to her all morning if she wanted, or set her up with some of her art supplies. Starting to go through the nearby therapists was on his list, too. He should write up a set of questions to ask them, and then see how many made the first cut. Not just anyone would do—not with Wisp. She needed someone special, someone who was willing to work with her at her level. Someone basically the opposite of Dr. Lawton.
But when he reached the bottom of the stairs, Edward realized that Wisp was not in the kitchen, scattering the contents of the cabinets as she searched for her breakfast. Neither was she in the bathroom, though there was a wet spot in the litterbox that was far too big for Pet to have made.
She was in the living room, curled on the floor next to Pet's bed, her naked body a pale skim-milk color in the thin morning light.
A/N: Pleaaaaaase don't kill me! It's necessary, I promise!
Also, just a reminder that donations to Fandom For Suicide Awareness are due Nov 1! fandom4suicideawareness dot blogspot dot com. There will be a Wisp futuretake in the compilation!
