His thoughts were hazy.
Beau woke up, confused, still twisted in dreams and nightmares. He had no memory of coming to this room, of climbing face-down onto the cheap fabric of the hotel bedspread, of the depressing watercolor prints that always lined the walls in these in-between places.
He did remember the sleek black Mercedes racing across the highway. He remembered Alice sitting with him in the backseat, and somehow during the night, his head ending up in her lap. The closeness didn't seem to bother her at all, and the cool, hard skin was oddly comforting to him. Alice stroked his hair while he cried, smoothing the curls like Renée used to do.
Beau lay still as the promise of sleep faded away. His mind replayed all the unbearable things—Charlie's broken expression, Edward's brutal snarl, Rosalie's resentful glare, the keen-eyed scrutiny of the tracker, the dead look in Edward's eyes after they kissed for the last time . . . he couldn't stand to watch any of it.
He was barely awake when they crossed the border into Canada. The cold had cut through the interior of the car, chilling him, as he remembered James and his coven had passed through this way days earlier.
Beau remembered the beginning of the crossing the harbor . . . but not the end. That must have been when he fell asleep. There was a vague impression of his arm draped over Alice's shoulder, her arm pressed firm to his back, and the two stumbling through a parking garage.
Beau slid off the bed and went to the window. He was still wearing Edward's clothes, and they were crumpled after hours of tossing and turning. He didn't want to change out of them yet. Beau clung to the fading scent of Edward in near desperation. Anything to stave off the guilt of the gigantic crater he blew into their lives.
A light tap on the door made him jump.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure."
Alice studied him. "You look like you could sleep longer."
Beau shook his head. He watched her drift silently to the drapes and pull them closed. "We'll need to stay inside."
His voice was hoarse. "Okay."
"Thirsty?"
Beau shrugged. "I'm okay. How are you?"
"Nothing unmanageable." Alice smiled. "I ordered some food for you. Edward reminded me that you have to eat a lot more frequently than we do."
At once he was more alert. "He called?"
"No," she said, watching his face fall. "It was before we left."
Alice led him to the living room of the hotel suite. The TV was set to the news at a low volume. Jasper sat watching the screen with no glimmer of interest.
Beau grabbed the first thing he could reach from the tray of food. It had no taste at all. Only sustenance.
He watched Alice perch on the arm of the sofa and stare blankly at the television like Jasper. They were both too still.
Beau pushed the food away as his stomach churned. Alice turned in his direction.
"What's wrong, Alice?"
"Nothing's wrong." Her eyes were wide, honest . . . and he didn't trust them.
"What do we do now?"
"We wait for Carlisle to call."
"Shouldn't he have called by now?" Beau suspected he was near the mark as Alice's eyes flitted from him to the cell phone and back.
"What does that mean, that he hasn't called yet?"
"It just means that they don't have anything to tell us."
Her voice was too even. Beau inhaled sharply as possibilities swirled through his mind. Suddenly Jasper was there, closer to Beau than usual.
"Beau, you have nothing to worry about. You are completely safe here."
"I know that."
"Then why are you frightened?" Jasper might sense the tenor of emotions, but he couldn't read the reasoning behind them.
"You heard what Laurent said. James is lethal. What if something goes wrong and they get separated? If something happens to any of them, Carlisle, Emmett . . . Edward . . . "
Beau gulped, struggling to get the words out. "If that wild female hurts Esme . . . how could I live with myself when it's my fault? None of you should be risking yourselves for me—"
"Beau, Beau, stop," Jasper cut in, the words pouring out so quickly that they were hard to understand. "You're worrying about all the wrong things, Beau. Trust me on this—none of us are in jeopardy. You're under too much strain as it is; don't add to it with wholly unnecessary worries. Listen! Our family is strong. Our only fear is losing you."
"But why should you—"
Alice touched his cheek. "It's almost been a century that Edward's been alone. Now he's found you. You can't see the changes that we see, we who have been with him for so long. Do you think any of us want to look into his eyes for the next hundred years if he loses you?"
Beau felt the guilt subsiding as she spoke. But even as the artificial calm spread over him, he knew he couldn't trust his feelings with Jasper there.
It was a very long day.
The group never left the room. Alice called down to decline housekeeping services. The windows stayed shut, TV on, though no one bothered to watch. Food came at regular intervals but Beau couldn't touch it. The silver phone on Alice's bag seemed to grow bigger as the hours passed.
His babysitters handled the suspense better than he did. While he paced, they grew more still, only their eyes following his every movement.
Beau went back to bed for something to do, hoping that once away from Jasper's supervision, he could give into the terrible fears hovering on the edge of his consciousness. But Alice followed him as if she grew tired of the living room at the same time. That made Beau wonder what kind of instructions Edward had given her as they parted.
He ignored her presence at first. It was easy—he took up so much of the bed that she could only carve out a small space without touching him. But the panic returned soon enough and he needed something else to focus on.
"Alice?"
"Yes?"
He worked to keep his voice calm. "What do you think they're doing?"
"Carlisle wanted to lead James as far south as possible, wait for him to get close, then turn around for an ambush. Esme and Rosalie were supposed to lead the female east. If she turned back, they were to return to Forks and keep an eye on your dad. They won't call if there's any chance the female will overhear. So I imagine they're all just being very careful. I'm watching to see if Laurent turns tail to help, but it looks like he really is on his way to Alaska."
"Do you think they're all safe, really?"
"Beau, how many times do we have to tell you there's no danger to us?"
Beau scoffed. "Would you tell me the truth, though?"
"Yes. I will always tell you the truth." Her voice was earnest.
He deliberated for a long moment. She appeared to mean it.
"Tell me then . . . how do you become a vampire?"
The question caught her off guard. Alice was quiet. He rolled over to look at her face, studying the ambivalent expression he found there.
"Edward doesn't want me to tell you that."
"That's not fair. I think I have a right to know."
"I know . . . he'll be extremely angry."
Beau hesitated for a moment then reached over and took her hand. Somehow he thought it made her gift stronger—touch.
"It's none of his business. This is between you and me. Alice, as a friend, I'm begging you."
Alice looked at him with her splendid, wise eyes . . . choosing. They were friends now, somehow—she must have known they would be all along.
"I'll tell you the mechanics of it, but I don't remember it myself. I've never done it, or seen it done. So keep that in mind that I can only tell you the theory."
Beau waited. The promise of a new clue to the Cullen mysteries was enough to distract him from external threats.
"As predators, we have a glut of weapons in our physical arsenal—much, much more than really necessary. The strength, the speed, the acute senses . . . not to mention those of us like Edward, Jasper, and I, who have extra senses as well. And then, like a carnivorous flower, we are physically attractive to our prey."
It wasn't an accident, then, how much pleasure he took from Edward's physicality, his beauty. It was biological. It was the grand design—nature, God, or the Big Bang—whatever was responsible for vampires made them the apex predators. No natural enemies apart from their own kind. And Beau? Just one weak link on the cosmic food chain.
Stupid lamb, he thought.
Alice smiled a wide, ominous smile, and her teeth glistened. "We have another fairly superfluous weapon—we're also venomous. The venom doesn't kill . . . it's merely incapacitating. It works slowly, spreading through the bloodstream, so that once bitten, our prey is in too much physical pain to escape us. A mostly superfluous weapon, however. If we're that close, our prey doesn't escape. Of course, there are always exceptions. Carlisle, for example."
"So . . . if the venom is left to spread . . . "
"It takes a few days for the transformation to be complete, depending on how much venom is in the bloodstream, how close it enters the heart," Alice nodded. "As long as the heart keeps beating, the poison spreads, healing, changing the body as it moves through it. Eventually the heart stops and the conversion is finished. But all that time, every minute of it, the victim would be wishing for death."
Beau shivered. He knew the feeling well, remembering when he wished he could just . . . slip away. But it was a different kind of venom that brought upon his attack in Phoenix.
"It's not pleasant, you see."
"Edward said it was very hard to do . . . I don't quite understand," Beau said.
"We're like sharks in a way. Once we taste the blood, or even smell it, it becomes very hard to keep from feeding. Sometimes impossible. So you see, to actually bite someone, to taste the blood, it would begin a frenzy. It's difficult on both sides. Bloodlust on the one hand, the awful pain on the other."
"Why do you think you can't remember?"
"I don't know," she murmured, looking almost wistful. "For everyone else, the pain of the transformation is the sharpest memory they have of their human life. I remember nothing of being human."
The minutes ticked by. The two lay silently, side by side, wrapped in their individual meditations.
Then, without warning, Alice leapt from the bed, landing lightly on her feet.
"Something's changed." Her voice was urgent; she wasn't talking to Beau anymore.
Alice reached the door the same time Jasper did. He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her to the edge of the bed. Beau sat up to watch. Alice's dark eyes were focused on something far away.
"What do you see?"
"I see a room. It's long, and there are doors everywhere. So many . . . the walls are two different colors. The floor is made of wood. He's in the room, he's waiting."
Beau had no doubt who he was and shivered again. James.
"Where is the room?"
"I don't know. Something is missing—another decision hasn't been made yet."
Jasper took her hand in both of his and held it to his chest. "How much time?"
"It's soon. It all depends. He's waiting for something. And he's in the dark now."
Jasper's voice was calm and methodical during his questioning. He caressed her small hand as if to woo her. "What is he doing?"
"He's watching TV . . . no, he's running a VCR, in the dark, in another place."
"Can you see where he is?"
"No," Alice was brimming with confidence that Jasper no doubt supplied. "It's too dark."
"And the first room, what else is there?"
"Just the doors and the walls. Blue . . . blue and gold. There's something painted on one of them. He's touching the VCR there, but he doesn't watch the way he does in the dark room. This is the room where he waits." Her eyes drifted, then focused on Jasper's face.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Beau imagined the weird sisters offstage, waiting in the wings, watching one of their own.
"There's nothing else?"
Alice shook her head. She and Jasper looked at each other, motionless. Beau cleared his throat.
"What does that mean?"
"It means the tracker's plans have changed. He's made a decision that will lead him to these rooms."
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
His head was spinning as he imagined her visions. Did they play through her mind like the silent films from a bygone era, like the train that scared an entire theater? Or were they fast with crazy colors, quick cuts, like MTV?
Beau struggled to understand the complexity of her second sight. Edward told him the future could always change. But by how much?
"And we don't know where those rooms are?"
"No."
Alice's voice was bleak. "But we do know that he'll elude the hunting party in Phoenix."
"Should we call?"
And then the phone rang. Alice was across the room before Beau could lift his head to follow her path. She held it to her ear, listening.
"Carlisle . . . yes . . . I just saw him," she paced as she described the vision. "Whatever made him get on that plane . . . it was leading him to those rooms. Yes. Beau?"
Alice held the phone out to him; he ran to it. "Hello?"
"Beau," Edward said.
"Edward! I was so worried."
"Beau," a frustrated sigh came over the line. "I told you not to worry about anything but yourself."
It was so good to hear that voice, even when he was being scolded. "Where are you?"
"We're outside of Mesa. Beau, I'm sorry—we lost him. He seems suspicious of us—he's careful to stay just far enough away that I can't hear what he's thinking."
"I know. Alice said he got away."
"You don't have to worry, though. He won't find anything that can lead him to you. You just have to stay there and wait till we find him again."
"I'll be fine," Beau insisted. "Is Esme with Charlie?"
"Yes—the female was in town. She went to the house, but Charlie was at work. She hasn't gone near him, so don't be afraid. He's safe with Esme and Rosalie watching."
The idea of the wild female prowling through the house—his house—made his stomach turn. The memory of the night he spent in Edward's arms was punctuated with thoughts of Victoria moving through the rooms, sleek as a snake, slithering toward them in the dark.
"What is she doing?"
"Probably trying to pick up the trail. She's been all through the town during the night. Rosalie traced her to the airport, all the roads around Forks, the school . . . she's digging, Beau, but there's nothing to find."
"And you're sure Charlie's safe?"
"Yes, Esme won't let him out of her sight. And we'll be there soon. If the tracker gets anywhere near Forks, we'll be right on his trail."
"I miss you," Beau whispered.
"I know, Beau. Believe me, I know. It's like you've taken half of my self away with you."
"Come and get it, then."
"Soon, as soon as I possibly can. I will make you safe first." His voice was hard.
"I love you."
"Could you believe that, despite everything I've put you through, I love you, too?"
Beau exhaled. "Yes, I can actually."
"I'll come for you soon."
"I'll be waiting," he promised.
The line went dead. The brief flicker of happiness at hearing Edward's voice abruptly vanished.
Beau turned to give the phone back. He found Jasper and Alice leaning over the coffee table where she was sketching on a piece of hotel stationary.
She drew a room: long, rectangular, with rows and rows of doors. The thin wooden planks that made up the floor stretched lengthwise across the room. Posters and aspirational messages lined the walls.
Beau recognized the familiar shapes. "It's a locker room."
"Do you know it?" Jasper's voice was calm but held an undercurrent of something else. Alice bent her head to her work, the pencil flying across the page now, the low benches taking shape under her careful hand.
"You know it, too," Beau pointed beyond the edge of the paper. "The door to the showers is here. This one is the emergency exit, and that one goes out to the main gymnasium."
Alice and Jasper were staring at him. He started to feel impatient. "Come on. It's the Forks gym locker room. The Spartan mural goes . . . here."
The two looked thunderstruck. Beau supposed they wriggled out of gym class somehow; Carlisle's influence might have been enough pressure for Ms. Cope to excuse the entire family from physical education.
"What's the connection?"
Beau shrugged. "I'm there every day for Gym, but other than that, nothing."
He had enough locker room horrors in Phoenix to last a lifetime. No need to bring that to light again. If there was a line between normal and a breakdown, he was getting close to it every minute.
"Alice, is that phone safe?"
"Yes," she assured him. "The number would just trace back to Washington."
"Can I use it to call my dad?"
"Is that . . . " Alice paused. "Is that such a good idea?"
"I don't know," Beau confessed. "I said some things I really . . . regret. He'll probably be out, but I thought I could leave a message."
"Jasper?"
He thought about it. "I don't think there's any way it could hurt—just be sure you don't say where you are, of course."
Beau eagerly dialed the number. It rang four times until the voicemail picked up. He listened to the recording of Charlie's easy, friendly voice, and closed his eyes.
"Dad," he said after the beep. "It's me. I need to talk to you. As soon as you get this message, call me at this number."
Alice was already at his side, writing the number at the bottom of her sketch. He read it twice.
"Don't worry, I'm okay, but I have to talk to you right away, no matter how late you get this call, all right? I love you, Dad. Bye."
Beau settled into the sofa, anticipating a long evening. He thought about calling his mother, but he didn't have their number in Florida yet, and she wasn't the best at checking her messages.
Immortality must grant endless patience. Neither Jasper nor Alice seemed to feel the need to do anything at all. Alice sketched the dark room for a while, but when that was done, she sat staring at the blank walls. Jasper sat beside her as his timeless eyes flickered between the drawing and Beau.
He must have fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for the phone to ring. He woke to the touch of Alice's cold hands carrying him to bed, but he was unconscious again before his head hit the pillow.
Beau felt like his days were running together. Day was night and night was day. Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
He lay in bed and listened to the quiet voices of Alice and Jasper in the other room for a while. Then he rolled out of bed and staggered into the living room.
It was just after two in the morning. Alice and Jasper were sitting on the sofa. She was sketching again while he looked over her shoulder. Neither looked up when Beau approached; they were too engrossed in Alice's work.
"Did she see something more?"
"Yes. Something's brought him back to the room with the VCR, but it's light now."
He watched Alice draw what appeared to be a living room. There was an armchair, a long, dated couch, and a small fireplace. Above the fireplace was a row of pictures . . .
"The phone goes there," Beau whispered.
Two pairs of eternal eyes stared at him.
"That's my house."
Alice was already off the couch, phone in hand, dialing. He stared at the precise rendering of his father's living room. Uncharacteristically, Jasper slid closer, pressing a light hand to Beau's shoulder. He had been right yesterday—physical contact seemed to make vampiric abilities stronger. The panic became dull and unfocused.
"Jasper . . . "
He and Beau looked up at her tone. She was staring at the phone, terrified. "I can't get through to Esme or Rosalie."
"The female must be toying with the both of them. Call Carlisle," Jasper commanded, pressing on Beau's shoulder so hard it was starting to hurt. But the fear started to battle his calming touch; Beau moaned.
"Alice—"
Alice spoke quickly into the phone, nodded a few times, then hung up.
"Beau, Edward is coming to get you. He and Emmett and Carlisle are going to take you somewhere, to hide you for a while."
"Edward is coming?" The words were like a life vest, holding his head above the flood.
"Yes, he's catching the first flight out of Sky Harbor. Once we check out, we'll meet him at the airport. Then you'll leave with him."
"I can't win, Alice. You can't guard everyone I know forever. Don't you see what he's doing? He's not tracking me at all. He'll find someone, he'll hurt someone I love . . . Alice, I can't—"
"We'll catch him, Beau."
"And what if you get hurt, Alice?" he yelled. "Do you think that's okay with me? Do you think it's only my human family he can hurt me with?"
Alice looked meaningfully at Jasper. A deep, heavy fog of lethargy washed over Beau, and his eyes closed without his permission. His mind struggled against the fog when he realized what was happening. He forced his eyes open and stood up, stepping away from Jasper's hand.
"I don't want to go back to sleep," he snapped.
Beau walked to the bedroom and slammed the door. This time Alice didn't follow him. For three and a half hours he stared at the wall, his mind going in circles, trying to come up with a way out of this nightmare. There was no escape. He could only see one possible end looming. The only question was how many other people would be hurt before he reached it.
The one solace, his only hope remaining to him, was the fact he would see Edward soon. Maybe, if he could just see his face again, Beau would also be able to find the solution that eluded him.
Beau returned to the living room when the phone rang. He was ashamed of his behavior and disheveled appearance; both made him feel undeserving of protection. He hoped he hadn't offended either Alice or Jasper, and that they knew how grateful he was for the sacrifices being made for him.
It was five-thirty in the morning. Alice was talking rapidly into the phone, but for the first time, Jasper was not in the room.
Alice hung up and smiled reassuringly at Beau. "They're boarding their plane. It lands just before ten."
Only a few more hours to keep breathing until Edward arrived.
"Where's Jasper?"
"He went to check out."
His stomach twisted uneasily at her words. But the phone rang again, distracting him.
"Hello?" Alice asked. She listened, then relaxed. "No, he's right here."
Your father, she mouthed. Beau nodded.
"Hello?"
"Beau? Beau?"
Beau sighed with relief. He expected his father to read him the riot act now that he had some time to think. He would take anything Charlie threw at him. If he was making a phone call, that meant Victoria wasn't around or at the very least, far enough away to be safe. Then his stomach flipped when he remembered the radio silence from Esme and Rosalie. He had to pull it together.
"Calm down, Dad," he said soothingly as he walked away from Alice. "Everything is fine, okay? Just give me a minute . . . Dad?"
"Be careful not to say anything until I tell you to."
The voice he heard now was unfamiliar and unexpected. It was pleasant, generic—the kind of voice one heard in the background of luxury car commercials. The voice spoke very quietly.
"Now, I don't need to hurt your father, so please do exactly as I say, and he'll be fine." He paused for a minute while Beau listened in mute horror. "That's very good. Now repeat after me, and do try to sound natural. Please say, 'No Dad, stay where you are.'"
"No, Dad, stay where you are." His voice was just above a whisper.
"I can see this is going to be difficult." The voice was amused. "Why don't you walk into another room now so your face doesn't ruin everything? There's no reason for your father to suffer. As you're walking, please say, 'Dad, please listen to me.' Say it now."
"Dad, please listen to me," he pleaded. He walked to the bedroom, feeling Alice's worried eyes on his back. He shut the door and tried to think through the terror that gripped him.
"There now, are you alone? Just answer yes or no."
"Yes."
"But they can still hear you, I'm sure."
"Yes," Beau murmured, staring at the closed door. He longed for Alice to burst in with a plan to thwart this tracker, but knew without a doubt that it was a pipe dream. James had leverage now.
"All right, then, say 'Dad, trust me.'"
"Dad, trust me."
"This worked out better than I expected. I was prepared to play a little longer, but it's easier this way, isn't it? Less suspense, less anxiety for you."
Beau waited.
"Now I want you to listen very carefully. I'm going to need you to get away from your friends; do you think you can do that? Answer yes or no."
"No."
"I'm sorry to hear that." He sounded like a teacher disappointed by his favorite student. "I was hoping you would be a little more creative than that. Do you think you could get away from them if your father's life depended on it? Answer yes or no."
"Yes."
"That's better. I'm sure it won't be easy, but if I get the slightest hint that you have any company, well, that would be very bad for your father," the friendly voice promised. "You must know enough about us by now to realize how quickly I would know if you tried to bring anyone along with you. And how little time I would need to deal with your father if that was the case. Do you understand? Answer yes or no."
His voice broke. "Yes."
"Very good, Beau. You know where you need to go, don't you?"
Of course. Beau already knew how his story would end.
"Can you do that? Answer yes or no."
"Yes."
"It's important, now, that you don't make your friends suspicious when you go back to them. Tell them that your father called, and that you talked him out of coming after you. Now repeat after me, 'Thank you, Dad.' Say it now."
"Thank you, Dad."
"Say 'I love you, Dad. I'll see you soon.' Say it now."
"I love you, Dad. I'll see you soon," Beau promised.
"Goodbye, Beau. I look forward to seeing you again." He hung up.
The phone was still at his ear. He couldn't unlock his fingers from that position. Beau knew he had to think, to do something, but the sound of Charlie and his panic was the most unbearable pain he had ever experienced.
He had no guarantees, nothing to keep his father alive. He could only hope that James would be satisfied with winning the game. That beating Edward, his marked rival, would be enough.
Beau was struck with despair. There was nothing he could bargain with. Nothing he could offer or withhold to influence him. He had no choice; he had to try.
Beau drew himself to his full height. Pushed the terror deep into the recesses of his mind and locked it away. Choked back the mounting dread at the next—the last—hours of his life. He survived a brutal beating and lived to reinvent himself. He started rebuilding the relationship with his father. He fell in love. All decisions he made and stuck with.
This decision was made. It did no good to waste time agonizing over the outcome.
He had to think clearly now. Alice and Jasper were capable hunters themselves. Evading them was essential, and absolutely impossible. He had to produce some type of diversion, flee their watchful eyes, and get back to Forks as soon as possible.
Beau was grateful that Jasper was gone during the call. He might have felt his anguish and grown suspicious. No doubt he set off alarm bells yesterday by identifying the room so quickly.
He concentrated on his escape. There was one tiny advantage Beau could work with. Checkout at hotels took a notoriously long time; it was as regular as the seasons. No amount of anger or bribing moved the line faster. Somehow, in that small sliver of time, he'd have to slip away from them . . .
But he had to accept one more thing in private, before Jasper was back. He had to accept that he wouldn't see Edward again, not even one last glimpse of his face to carry him to the end. No chance to say goodbye. Beau let these torturous thoughts have their way for time, locked them away again, then went to face Alice.
"My dad got my message; he was worried. But it's okay, I convinced him everything is fine." His voice was dull . . . and dead.
"Don't worry, Beau. Esme will call us soon. If Charlie's calling you, he has to be okay. That's a good thing."
Beau looked away, knowing Jasper wasn't the only one could read him. His eyes landed on the hotel stationary. A new decision emerged—a new plan.
"Alice . . . if I write a letter for my dad, would you post it for me? In case I don't talk to him for awhile?"
"Sure, Beau." Her voice was careful. She could see him coming apart at the seams. Fortunately, he had plenty of reasons to do so, and that wasn't suspicious.
Beau went back to the bedroom with the stationary. His hands shook as he wrote.
Edward,
I love you. I am so sorry. He has my dad, and I have to try. I know it may not work. I am so very, very sorry.
Don't be angry with Alice and Jasper. If I get away from them it will be a miracle. Tell them thank you for me. Alice especially, please.
I love you. Forgive me.
Beau
Beau folded up the letter and sealed it in an envelope. Eventually Edward would find it. Beau only hoped he would understand, and listen just this once.
And then he carefully sealed away his heart.