A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. Everything else, including mistakes, belongs to me.
*I'm thinking two more updates after this, and then we'll be done.* :)
Chapter 45 – Rain
Edward
With her arm swung around my waist, my right hand gripping the gun, and my left hand snaked around my midsection, Bella and I stumble and falter through the abandoned warehouse's grimy maze of rooms. We lurch past murky corridors where dust particles suspended in midair glimmer darkly and lend a sardonic sort of credence to the nightmarish scenario. Littering mounds of years-old debris conspire to trip us. Concrete columns, standing sentry for decades, now morph into treacherous nooks and welcoming places for danger to conceal itself. Shadows leap from walls like the malevolent entities existing in a child's overactive imagination, except, in this case, the boogeymen are all too real.
When we finally reach the old, rusted stairwell with rooftop access, we pause to collect our bearings. Bella's breaths are long and harsh in the relative silence, heavy with the strain of having to bear my weight – to drag me, in all honesty. Neither am I incognizant of the shallow, raspy quality of my breaths. Our gazes meet, and she offers me a faint smile that breaks my heart, that speaks of defiance in the face of what she knows; she knows but won't accept. Then simultaneously, our eyes sweep upward.
The corroded structure spirals in a lengthy loop – a dark ribbon from the pits of hell. My head spins just taking it in. Cracked paint, once blue but now the shade of collected garbage, peels back and gives way to asbestos-lined-
Behind us, something moves.
I lift and point the gun, though I'm far past an ability to estimate proximity or distance. My eyes pinch shut for a brisk moment, attempting to dispel the beads of sweat dripping from my brow and hampering my vision – vision that's already woefully compromised. When I reopen them, we wait. Two seconds later, there it is again – voices and footsteps.
Bella shakes her head vigorously and whispers, "They're still a few levels below us."
"And coming fast."
She nods now, but my nostrils flare in frustration, both at the situation and at the defiant set of her mouth. She knows what I'm thinking, how all I'm doing now is slowing her down, but she refuses to-
"Come on," she hisses through clenched teeth, her words as much a command as they are a warning not to give voice to my thoughts. "Let's go."
We make our way up with as much stealth as two people can manage when one has to stand behind the other and literally shove him up most of the way. By the time we swing open the roof access door, the billowing evening breeze staggers me backward. My knees buckle. Bella catches me, steadying me as I draw in shallow, wheezing lung-fulls of air. With one hand pressed against my side and the other arm around Bella's shoulder, we flounder to the roof's ledge, where I slump against the half wall. Bella drops to her knees next to me.
In the distance, an airplane dives upward into the ink-stained sky. Its blinking strobes, along with the tower lights and navigational lights on the ground, all act as guides, as beacons leading trusting passengers into the great unknown. It's strange just how willingly they place their trust and lives in the hands of a few mortals no more powerful than they, no more divine or omniscient, regardless of how arrogant they are…I was.
I scan the perimeter. On every side, we're enclosed by a once-thriving industry that polluted those same skies then left it all in worse shape than it was found. I snort at the strange though fitting thoughts.
"What? What do you see?" Bella asks anxiously, mistaking my scattered reflections for an expression of deep thought of actual use. I force myself to refocus.
"Other than the airport, I see run-down warehouses and smoking factories. Fucking…Garrett," I pant, scowling into the darkness. "He chose the spot well. Few witnesses, and no cell towers."
But…
But there's another building. It's not near in the purest sense of the word. The leap that would be required to launch oneself onto its roof from this roof looks horrifyingly similar in distance to the leap Bella took – and almost missed – to get away from me on the night of the raid.
When my eyes pan back to her, I can tell by the lines of concentration forming on her bruised forehead, by the angled set of her head, that she's contemplating…deliberating…calculating the energy and strength it would take to make that jump and not fall to the pitch-black depths of the concrete below. The airport lights highlight her fiery determination, the inner as well as outward strength she possesses.
Garrett was right about one thing: Bella is the strongest and bravest person I've ever known. As the distant, guiding lights frame her windswept hair and the courage etched deep into her beloved profile, a small, instinctive smile lifts one corner of my mouth.
This is how she must've looked on that night, six years ago, up on that cliff and above that angry river. Underneath black skies and with the moonlight illuminating her dauntless profile, she must've been a vision indeed; a fiery, indomitable spirit...a…a…
What was it Billy said in that ritual room in Miami when Emmett and I went in search of Jacob?
'I am a Babalawo, a Santeria priest. This afternoon, you took part in a ceremony of divinity, first with a diviner promised to Chango, the fire god of war, and then with a diviner promised to Oshun, the river goddess of-'
"River goddess of femininity, fertility, beauty…and love."
"What, Edward?"
"The river goddess – she was you all along. It was your own voice you kept hearing," I smile. "But at the divinity ceremony in Miami, Billy said…he said…"
'Chango demands a sacrifice…'
"He said Chango, the god of war, required a sacrifice before he'd help Oshun, except I didn't allow him to complete the sacrificial ceremony because I thought he was insane. I thought…I thought…Bella, you have to get in touch with Jake."
"With Jake? Edward, what are you talking about?"
In the next moment, I groan and dig my fisted hands against my eyeballs. What the fuck am I saying? What the hell am I thinking?
Bella cradles my face in her warm hands, her taupe eyes piercing, her gaze tender yet urgent.
"Edward, baby, focus. Please. They'll be up here at any moment. What do we do, Edward? What do we do?"
"The jump to the next building, it's wide but-"
She's already nodding fervently, with a renewed vigor. "But we can do it. We've done it before, the night of the raid."
I grab one of the hands she's got wrapped around my face and guide it to my mouth, kissing it hard.
"Bella, you can take that jump. I can't." I hold her gaze steadily, meaningfully, forcing my eyes to remain sharp and my mind lucid.
In an instant, all her fire abandons her, the fervent flames in her gaze snuffed out as if doused by a cold bucket of water.
"No, Edward." Her voice is small and weak. "No, I…I can't take that jump."
"Yes, you can," I enunciate clearly.
"No, I can't. It's too wide."
"Bella-"
"It's too wide, Edward! I can't-"
"Listen to me!"
"It's too-"
"Bella, listen to me!" I grip her neck by the nape. "You are stronger than this fear!"
Her eyes round in terror. She tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip, forcing her to remain locked in my gaze.
"Oh, God, no. No. That's how you looked, that's what you said in my night-"
"You have to take that jump."
She shakes her head. "We'll go back down. We'll find another way-"
"We can't go back down. As we speak, they're on their way up. Bella, there is no other way!"
Her bottom lip trembles and I know that if she could cry…
"I won't go without you," she murmurs.
"Bella, I can't go with you, and you know it! But if-"
"No!"
"Listen to me!"
Her nostrils flare, but before she can keep arguing, I pull her in by the nape and crush my mouth to hers. Our kiss is rough and frenzied, overshadowed by fear and tasting of fury, yet life-giving, and God, I'm going to miss these lips. Reaching into my pocket, I pull away all too briefly for either of us.
When she feels the weight on her wrist and peers down, Bella gasps wildly.
"How…?"
"There was no fucking way I was going to let any of them have it. It's your bracelet. It'll always be your bracelet. Bella, if you want me to get out of here, you have to take that jump."
"What?"
"I left some breadcrumbs for the FBI. As we speak, they're probably scouring the area, but you have to get out of here and help them along so they can know where to send the ambulance."
Her eyes narrow. In their dark depths, I see swelling hope warring with dubious hesitancy. She's torn between her refusal to leave my side and a chance to actually get me help.
So, I push the advantage.
"Call Emmett and Jasper, and tell them exactly where to find you – and where to find me."
"What about you? They'll kill-"
"You see that other access door there?" I gesture behind us, and she looks over, then briskly back to me. "I'll take that one down then find somewhere to hide."
"I'll take that way down with you."
"Bella, there is no time!" I grit through my teeth. "I need help now!"
All air leaves her lungs, and when she whimpers like a wounded, defeated animal, my lungs constrict with excruciating pressure. But on the outside, I remain stoic.
"Bella, I'll find some dark little corner and hide until Emmett and Jasper come back with help."
"You promise?"
Fighting against lethargy, I lift a hand and skim my fingertips across her soft, warm cheek, being cautious not to hurt the cut on her face and praying…praying there's some way to carry this with me. For a quick moment, my mind wanders to a conversation between us just a few days earlier:
'Chaos or not, she was blind if she didn't realize he was simply sacrificing himself for her.'
'If she stood a better chance on her own than with him along, then he simply did what he had to do.'
If it weren't for the chaos, she'd see right through me right now. Then, knowing full well I'll purposely break it, and that it'll join the pile of those promises I once made her, with no intention of breaking, I commit my final betrayal.
"I promise. What am I going to do?" I snort. "Take on Garrett like this?"
She scrutinizes me, her dark, intelligent eyes penetrating, attempting to bore through me. But this time, I can't allow her entry.
"Afterward," I smile, "we'll find that beach of your dreams and put all of this behind us forever."
Bella launches herself at me, and despite everything, despite the pain and the urgency, I crush her against me one final time.
"Forever," she murmurs shakily.
"Yes, baby. Forever," I whisper, brushing my lips against her silky hair, forbidding my voice to break, then pulling her away. "Now, go."
We get to our feet with a swift nod, and I offer her one final yet fundamental bit of encouragement.
"Bella, Charlie left you a message in your bracelet."
She reels back in shock.
"Cora will share it with you, but he wanted you to know that he loved you more than anything, that he'll always be proud of you, and that you should not hesitate when taking this final leap."
For a second that stretches into a lifetime, Bella stands there, frozen. But then a beatific smile lifts the corners of her mouth.
In the next moment, she's running, sprinting, soaring as her bracelet jingles, and my heart leaps along with her…
And she lands on the next building's roof.
She turns and takes me in longingly over her shoulder, and then…
Then…my Cat Girl is gone, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
"Billy Black," I growl, "if you really are a Babalawo, a Santeria priest, tell Chango, the god of war, that I'm ready to give him his sacrifice in exchange for his strength."
When I reopen my eyes, Garrett's henchmen slam through the first roof access door like a row of wooden soldiers. I discharge my weapon into one, two, three. Like dominoes, they go down. I wait for a few seconds, listening, determining if there are any more hidden in the stairwell. But all is quiet.
And…somehow…I'm still alive.
With only Garrett and I remaining in the building.
OOOOO
When I pull my hand away from my head, it's coated with blood – scarlet, slippery, and warm. I stare at it for a handful of seconds, then I wipe it all off on my pants and transfer my weapon to my other hand. My head pounds like I've got a dozen fucking jackhammers trying to drill into my brain. Nonetheless, I force myself to keep going. My vision blurs. I drip blood as I go, but I won't stop. I'll drag myself on my stomach, slide, and slither like a goddamned snake if I have to until I find him. He can't be allowed to leave this place alive, not if she's to survive.
And she will survive.
My bleeding head doesn't concern me much. We're taught at med school and Quantico that head wounds bleed heavily because of the blood that pools to the brain and due to the thinness of the dermis and hypodermis near the scalp. I peer down at the gunshot wound on the left side of my ribs, the one I'm trying to ignore and failing miserably at stemming with my left hand.
This concerns me a bit more.
I'm not concerned about myself. The adrenaline pumping through my system has done away with fear. Besides, I've already accepted that I probably won't make it out of here alive. I accepted it the moment he told me where to meet him, the second he told me where he was holding her, and I agreed to come alone, with no backup. I would've done anything he said at that point regardless of the glaringly obvious fact that it was all a setup. To the rest, she may just be the assignment, the thief, the witness we've sworn to protect.
To me, she is life itself.
A sharp spasm hits me between the eyes and forces me to reel back. My vision splits and blurs…splits and blurs. I throw back my head and clench my eyes shut for a few seconds, pressing the gun against them to quell the painful throb. When I reopen them, I stare at the ceiling; the steel pipes hanging from above multiply – three become six, and six become twelve. Holy fuck, it's spider vision.
How the hell do those creatures deal with this shit? How do you catch your prey when you can't tell which one is real and which one is just a result of distorted perception?
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I note that it's actually a fitting question right now. I then further realize that not only is my mind wandering, but my thoughts are fucking nonsensical right before I jerk sharply forward and wretch all over my feet.
Head wound. Blurry vision. Confusion. Vomiting.
Concussion.
I add it to the tally of injuries and then allow myself another five seconds to refocus; I can't afford to waste more time. Pressing my palm harder against the wound at my side, I drag my feet along and try to listen through the loud ringing in my ears, try to see beyond the fog clouding my eyes. He's still here somewhere, hiding behind the billows of smoke and hot steam, crouching between the labyrinth-like maze of thick steel pipes, waiting for me to die so he can go after her.
I won't allow that. He will die first, and then and only then will I follow him to hell.
A low, indistinct clatter from below catches my attention, making me pause in my undeniably unstable steps to listen.
Nothing.
Still, my instincts tell me it was something, and I pray that as close to death as I am, those instincts aren't failing me now. After all, it's these instincts that have brought me this far – instincts to protect, to defend. They're why I became a surgeon in the first place, and when that wasn't enough, why I found myself at Quantico's FBI Academy. My instincts have always been unparalleled; they've always been the ones that the rest have relied on.
It was my instincts that brought me to her.
I take the steps down to the sub-basement one at a time instead of in two leaps as I'd prefer. My gun is up and ready - though I wouldn't bet a dime that I'd hit my target at this point. I walk around the dark hallways, shakily pointing the gun into each room. Thick steam pours out of pipes and swirls upward; its quiet swoosh works to lull me into a false sense of calm. But the hammering in my head and the adrenaline coursing through my blood negate the steady warmth of the white mist. They keep me centered and remind me that I have to make sure she'll be okay before giving in to the darkness.
Then…I hear it.
Or I feel it.
At this point, I'm not sure which, but instinct tells me that he's in the next room, hiding like the fucking worm that he is. I'm suddenly overwhelmed by a sharp sense of fury that mixes with the adrenaline. It helps me straighten my shoulders and navigate with more stealth than I've possessed all night. The hand against my side curls into a fist. My fingers tighten around the weapon in my other hand. I swiftly round the doorway with renewed vigor and step into the room, gun leading the way.
Silence.
It's some sort of makeshift compound mixing area if the vast amounts of glass vials and sinks are any clue. The potent scent of chemicals permeates the air. My blurred vision waters, and the drumming in my head shifts into double-time. Steam whistles from somewhere behind me while my eyes adjust, then search through the darkness for anything out of the ordinary. But there's not a chair overturned nor a vial out of place. I start to doubt my instincts, which pisses me off because my instincts have always been stellar. Growling under my breath, I pivot, blaming the asshole who shot me for my failing sixth sense and thinking of all the ways I'm going to torture the motherfucker when I get my hands on him.
When his fist connects with my chest, I stagger backward before righting myself as briskly as possible and aiming, but my speed and my dexterity are both shot to hell, and he has just enough time to kick my arm away. The bullet explodes somewhere beyond, rattling my brain all the more.
He grabs my arm and hammers his elbow against my wrist once, twice, three times before my fingers reflexively spasm open and release, and the gun falls to the floor with a loud thud. I dig my elbow into his side, managing to double him over. Then I rain blows first across his face and follow them up against his chest. When he falls to one knee, I lunge for the gun, one hand still against my side to stem the blood from the prior bullet he shot into me. But he grabs my leg and pulls me down, dragging me away from the gun.
"Fuck!"
Growling in indignant outrage, I turn and kick the dirty bastard square in the jaw. The satisfying sound of cracking bones fills my ears, and he reels back while blood spurts from his mouth and nose, staining his immaculately white shirt and running like blotches of red paint on clear canvas.
Jumping back to my feet, I stalk over to him, fueled by too much rage to even reach for the gun. What's more, fury and loathing do away with any pain from the gunshot wound. Both my fists surge up in front of me, ready to pummel him. The hell with fair trials; he doesn't deserve to fucking breathe, much less a fair trial. If I make it out of here, the Bureau can lock me up and throw away the key. I'm going to beat the motherfucker to death with my bare hands. For Charlie. For Renee.
For her.
I'm going to look into his evil eyes as his life force seeps out of his body, then I'll grin and hiss,
"She's safe! You didn't get her. You will never get her!"
Adrenaline rushes through my veins. Anticipation brings a grin to my face and makes me feel whole, like an uninjured man.
But I'm not uninjured. I may have temporarily forgotten that, but he hasn't.
When he punches me square in my gunshot wound, birds, stars, planets, fucking galaxies spin before my eyes. Someone howls, and it takes me a moment to realize it's me. My legs give, and I fall to my knees as he lunges for the gun, but I drop my palms to the floor and swing a leg, sweeping his feet out from under him. Just as the gun is looking like a good idea to me again, he launches himself on top of me.
At first, we swing wildly, fists connecting anywhere they find purchase. But I'm not uninjured, and it only takes him a few seconds to recall that once more. His knuckles dig into my wound, and when they resurface, they're seeped in my blood.
I roar in unimaginable agony and fall prone to the floor. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and the entire universe spins. Wave after wave of torture consumes me. The pointed end of his shoe kicks my gaping wound, and this time, I can't even manage to make a sound, much less move.
All the while, he hovers above me, laughing.
"Well, well, Doctor Masen, or should I say, Special Agent Cullen. That wasn't a half-bad fight, considering you've lost a shitload of blood and have one foot in the grave."
"Give me a minute to catch my breath, and I'll fucking show you who's got the foot in the grave."
I'm not sure if I've spoken the words aloud or in my head. At this point, I'm not entirely sure of anything anymore. The adrenaline isn't staving off the pain any longer, and I'm being swept away by rolling tides of torment. My pulse races frenziedly. I can feel my heart beating way too fast, even faster than it ever did when I was with her.
He chuckles.
"Boy, you don't know when to give up, do you, Tony? Or Edward or whatever the fuck your real name is. It's over. All the evidence is destroyed, you're practically dead," he says, ticking off each item in a matter-of-fact tone, "and she…" – he snorts – "…well, she's gone."
Despite the excruciating pain, I shut my eyes and grin.
"She's gone."
I haven't killed him yet, but she's gone. And she's fast. She's got those strong, athletic legs, legs that I've seen scale a myriad of heights and obstacles, legs that have jumped unbelievably far distances…legs that have wrapped themselves so tightly around me, both in fury and in passion, that I've lost my breath.
Yeah, I'm dying, but my grin broadens. She'll be okay. I have to believe that now. She's a fighter, and she's smart and fast and strong.
He snorts. "Go ahead, Tony, grin away. I won't deny you one last grin. It's the least I can do, considering."
"It is the least you can do, motherfucker."
He snickers. I hear him more than see him moving closer, and then I feel his hot, putrid breath over me. He cocks my gun.
"A cocky smartass to the very end, aren't you? Was it worth it, though, Tony?" He asks the question mildly. "From what I'm told, you had a promising career with the Agency. You were the FBI's golden boy, their shining star," he muses. "All you and your team had to do was take the group down, and any future assignment would've been yours for the asking."
My grin remains in place.
"But then you had to go fuck her. You should've just stuck to the case, Tony, treated her like the fucking thief she was, and then perhaps you would've won here."
"I did win here," I smirk through shallow breaths.
A lifetime transpires while I wait for one of my own bullets to rip through my brain.
"You didn't win," he hisses. "She used you, Tony, just like she's used every one of us. You were a means to an end for her, and you fell for her act – hook, line, and sinker. But unlike you, I see her for what she really is: just a simple, stupid girl."
I snort. "She's anything but, asshole."
He snarls derisively. "Actually, maybe she's not that stupid. Look at you, here about to die, while she's long gone, and you're still defending her. So again, I ask, what was it all for, Tony?"
"It was all for the only thing of any worth," I reply, instilling the words with as much fervor as I can manage, "but I don't expect a piece of shit like you ever to understand, so don't strain yourself."
"For the only thing of any worth, huh?" he snickers. "Boy, Tony, I definitely take it back now. She's not the stupid, simple one; you are. In a few weeks, she'll have found another dumb fuck to sucker with those innocent, doe eyes of hers. And when she screams his name in the middle of the night, she won't even remember yours."
Now I chuckle, though the action causes me to cough up something distinctly metallic tasting.
"You know, your sad attempts to rattle me are just…sad - as sad as all your efforts have always been."
Not very eloquent, no; I suppose I've lost that ability too. Either way, it gets the point across. He never knew her, not the way I did.
He nods thoughtfully as if he agrees with me.
"Yeah, you know what, Tony? We've both been sad, sorry characters here, haven't we?" He snaps his fingers. "I've got an idea on how to solve that, and in the process, I'll do you one last solid since I do owe you for killing you." Moving in closer, he whispers in my ear. "When I find her, I'll make her scream both our names before I put a bullet through her head. How's that sound?"
"You motherfuck-" I spit, "you'll never find her!"
I make a desperate yet fruitless endeavor to reach up and wrap my hands around his throat, but my limbs are no longer obeying. What's more, my eyes are begging me to allow them to shutter. Nonetheless, I struggle to remain conscious for as long as possible. As long as I'm alive, I'll find a way to keep him away from her – even if that means buying her time with what limited time remains for me.
"Oh, did I rattle you now?" He pulls back, chuckling. "Is it because you know I will find her, Tony? Because you know that her never-ending thirst for vengeance will lead her right to me? And then…"
His voice sounds distant as if I hear it from across a wide chasm, and I know I've got mere minutes left. With my failing eyes, I scan the room and force my vision to sharpen, to keep the blurry veil of death lifted for just a few more minutes. I will myself to find something, anything that'll-
That's when I see it.
He's going on and on with his back to me, divulging all his secrets the way perps tend to do when they're sure they're succeeding with their master plan. As he does, I cull and harvest a heretofore buried reserve of strength, just enough to lift my back off the floor and to drag my twitching hand down my leg. Slowly and silently, while his gaze is on the window looking out on the darkness, and he confesses to every crime he's committed since age eight, I reach under the left leg of my pants. Ignoring the sharp spasm emanating from my midsection, the puddle of blood pooling against my side, and the trickles of sweat beading down my forehead, I soundlessly draw out the government-issued M-5 holstered to my calf. I don't aim it at him. As much as I ache to put a bullet through his brain, I can't trust my aim, and I can't afford to miss.
Instead, as he continues with his back to me, convinced that he has my only gun and that I'll probably bleed out before he's done with his rant, I aim the M-5 at the glass wall. The sign on it reads,
'DANGER: NYTROGLYCERIDE: HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE.'
If one can't read, it also illustrates an explosion, complete with stick figures of people being blown to high heaven. I don't need perfect aim. The room is small. The air is thick with chemicals. High heaven or bitter hell - either is acceptable right now.
They say if you're lucky, the best moments of your life flash before your eyes in your final seconds.
The corners of my mouth lift as I remember her face and the feel of her honey-toned cheeks under the tips of my fingers.
I remember the first time I saw her across that crowded ballroom. A cliché first encounter, yeah, but her taupe eyes – a unique mixture of brown and gray – captured me from the first moment.
I remember when I caught her red-handed in the middle of a heist. I feel the voltaic charge her touch sent through my every extremity.
I remember the first time she fought me in that narrow, rainy alleyway. I feel her long, wet hair slap against my arms and face as she swung wild punches and landed powerful kicks.
I remember the first time we made love…her mouth…her cries…the words we never spoke, but which were in every look, in every touch...
They also say all your regrets rush to the forefront. My biggest one is never having spoken those words.
"For you, Bella," I murmur as I hold the gun with both hands and aim. "For you."
Those are my final thoughts, my final words before I cock the trigger…
…and the gun gets kicked out of my hands.
The world spins; every object, every color, shape, and sound morph into a blur where nothing translates, nothing makes sense, nothing transcends the vacuum of impending oblivion.
Until I sense her.
And I hear her…vaguely, like the sound of an angel, of a deity speaking from across a far void, from a land where only goddesses dare tread.
"Drop the gun," the goddess commands.
"You came back? What, for him?" another voice scoffs. "What to watch him die, then join him?"
"Garrett, I said drop the gun."
"Or what? What are you going to do, Isabella? Shoot me? Look at how your hands shake around that thing. You're terrified of even holding it, and you can't even aim. And if you miss, we'll all end up in pieces. So, how about you drop your gun."
"Garrett…"
"Isabella, I'm going to give you until the count of three."
"Asshole, my father-"
"One."
"-the man you killed-"
"Two."
"-taught me my aim."
A thunderous blast fills my ears.
It rings, its recoil echoing, vibrating throughout my otherwise numb body. For a long moment, the booming buzz is all there is.
"Edward."
The goddess speaks, and warm hands cage my face.
"Edward..." her voice brims with anguish. "Please open your eyes. Please look at me."
Of course, I obey the goddess of the river. Struggling against the weight of my lids, my eyes open onto a face obscured by a veil of haze, yet even the shadows, she's beautiful. She's everything.
"Bella…"
"Edward."
My head rests on something soft, and when I vaguely realize it's her lap, a sigh escapes me. For a while, her words become an indiscernible hum again. But that's fine; it's enough to know she's okay. It's enough to hear her tender murmurs, to feel her soft touch. Other voices arrive, buzzing around with urgency, none as gentle or as precious as hers.
"…the medevac is almost here, and Jasper and his team have arrived with the paramedics! Hang on, Edward! Hang on! Goddamn it, Emmett, where are you guys?"
I blink slowly
"Did you hear your sister, Edward? The ambulance is almost here. Just hang on, baby, okay? You're going to be fine, just fine. Just hang on, okay?"
Her lap sways gently back and forth, my head cradled and swaying softly, like that nursery rhyme.
"Bella…"
"I'm here, baby," my goddess chokes.
"Billy…he…he was right…Chango…he wouldn't help otherwise, and you're…you're the god…the goddess…and I'm…I'm the…"
"Edward, I'm here. I'll always be here with you, okay? Don't ever ask me to leave you again. Just hold on a little longer, okay?"
I feel a smile lift the corners of my mouth as I revel in the melody, memorize every tone, every inflection, and lock it all in my heart. My eyelids flutter.
"Edward!" she cries. "Edward, don't shut your eyes! Keep them open, baby! Think of our beach, Edward. We'll be there soon." Her voice breaks. "We'll be there soon. Where the fuck are the paramedics?"
"Bella…I love you…"
The gentle rocking stops. The legs cradling my head stiffen. And the hands…the hands wrapped around my face, grow rigid and cold.
"No, Edward," she hisses. "Not yet."
"I love you…always loved you…will always…"
"No!" she shouts. "Listen to me, Edward! Not yet!"
"Bella…"
"You promised me forever, Edward! You promised! You promised me that beach, and I'm holding you to that- I won't say it back, Edward! Not yet!"
"I'm sorry…I had to…I had to…"
The battle with my eyelids grows too fatiguing. There's a moment of silence. Then a broken, angry sob fills the air.
"NO! Edward! Edward, open your eyes! Edward! Open your eyes! I won't say it yet! Edward! Edward, please! Please don't leave me! Come back! Come back! I love you!"
As the last of my senses fade, the last thing I hear is despondent sobs; the last thing I feel are…
...raindrops. Warm raindrops.
OOOOO
I'm sitting at the end of a small, wooden pier, a dock set in the middle of a sparkling lake surrounded by lush greenery, with the scent of damp woods, fresh air, and the clean lake like a soothing candle.
Charlie Swan sits to my left, a fishing rod in hand, its line disappearing into the crystalline waters, calm and smooth like glass, reflecting the verdant trees in the background.
Renee Swan sits to my right, reading a book and humming, her voice echoing softly in the mossy wilderness.
For a while, the three of us sit there, quietly enjoying one another's company while Charlie waits for his line to snap and the pages of Renee's book swish gently with each turn.
When Charlie finally looks up, his eyes meet mine, and I note how exactly they are to his daughter's eyes, down to the green specks in the middle. The hair on his head and face have grown back, and as he studies me, his mustache twitches.
"I'm proud of you."
A flash of warmth engulfs me at those words, and I swallow thickly.
"That means a lot to me, Charlie. But is she…?"
"She's safe now, yes," he confirms.
A series of uneven sighs escape me. "She saved herself with the tools you both gave her – with her strength, and wisdom…and love. Just like a goddess."
"Well, you helped," he grins.
And while I chuckle, Renee adds, "You complemented one another, the way Charlie and I always have."
Abruptly, the lake's placid, mirror-like calm is broken. First one, then two, then a dozen and more raindrops fall from the sunny skies, the pelting dots splashing with a melodic chime.
Renee sets down her book and lifts her beautiful face – a face so much like her daughter's beautiful visage – up to the sky, her palms outstretched.
"Oh, my God, it's raining! It's raining!"
She laughs with overwhelming joy as if she's been wandering down an arid desert, deprived of the falling rain for…far too long. Even as she shuts her eyes and allows the raindrops to bathe her face, she chuckles.
"It's raining," she grins.
Charlie snorts. "Well, what do you know? It is raining."
Puzzled by their mutual fascination, I take my cue from them nonetheless and tilt my face upward. That's when I feel it. This is no ordinary precipitation. This is the warmest, gentlest, most life-affirming rain I've ever experienced. It's like…it's like a pair of tender hands feathered against my skin, brushed tenderly over my eyes, nose, and mouth. This rain is her life, her faith in life restored.
Shutting my eyes, I swallow thickly. "Her tears."
"Yes," Renee breathes.
"They're soul-cleansing."
"Yes," Charlie agrees. He exhales long and hard. "Son, you can't stay."
My breath hitches and my eyes pop open, taking in Charlie through bewildered eyes.
"But…but I thought Chango required a sacrifice."
A strong yet compassionate hand rests lightly on my forearm. Renee offers me an affectionate smile.
"Edward, sometimes, the willingness to sacrifice is sacrifice enough. She's lost enough."
The earth suddenly shakes, the pier swaying slightly, the lake rumbling and rippling.
Renee chuckles. "She's growing impatient."
Charlie grins. "I told you, you can't stay."
The earth shakes again, sending strange, powerful vibrations, like electric volts surging throughout my body.
"Tell her we love her," Renee says.
"And tell her that now that she's safe, we're at peace…and happy."
The earth rumbles once more.
"I will. Charlie, Renee…it was an honor to meet you both."
"Likewise, son," Charlie says. "Likewise."
"Be good to one another," Renee smiles.
"We will be." Nodding, I shut my eyes, basking in the warmth of the revitalizing, life-giving rain. "Always."
A/N: Thoughts?
One more chapter and an epilogue, and we'll be done. :)
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"See" you soon.