Writing on the Wall

Chapter 4: Advice

Bella

I was dumbfounded and disappointed when Carlisle––Professor Cullen never arrived to the lecture hall the next week. In his place on the platform was a thin woman in her fifties who coughed every few minutes. She introduced herself as Professor Jansen.

"Professor Cullen has a family emergency," she explained after a rather long sequence of coughing. "He won't be returning for a few weeks."

Weeks. My heart sank. I didn't even notice the other girls in class sighing from the news.

My mind began to run a million miles a minute and I felt a familiar pain growing in my chest. It wasn't as bad as the first time I felt it––my first abandonment––but it was getting there. What if he never comes back? I began to feel so much dread, and replayed the last conversation we'd had in my head, trying to say if I'd said anything wrong that would've stopped him from leaving––

"Are you alright, Bella?"

Bruce had reached out to touch my forearm, which surprised me enough to make me jump a little. His chocolate eyes were full of concern. Fuck, why did my face always betray me so easily?

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking back at my desk and staring at the blank page of my notebook.

"You've been clenching that pen of yours so tight I'm scared you'll break it," he whispered.

I looked to my right hand, and he was right. I'd been gripping the gel pen so tight it was shaking in my hand. I had to consciously unclench my fist to let it go.

"I'm okay," I tried.

He was about to say something, probably to press for more details of my obvious anxiety, but Professor Jansen thankfully called him to answer a question. It was a follow-up on the Carmilla text we'd done.

I tried to stay focused on the lecture, but my heart wouldn't let me.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the class finally ended. While students began to leave the hall and before Bruce could press me again, Professor Jansen surprised me by calling out: "Is there an Isabella Swan here?"

I immediately felt the blood rise to my cheeks. "Here," I responded, awkwardly raising my hand.

"A word," she said.

Bruce looked at me curiously, before mumbling something about waiting for me outside. I ignored him and approached the professor at her desk.

"Ms. Swan," she greeted, and she reached into a drawer to pull out what seemed to be a very thick, old journal. While it looked very worn, its leather cover looked to be surprisingly well maintained.

"Professor Cullen told me you'd left this in his classroom last week and asked me to return it to you," she said, before going into another fit of coughs.

I merely stared at the journal, then her, then the journal again, my mind reeling.

"Is it not yours?" Professor Jansen asked slowly.

"Oh, it is," I lied quickly and lamely. "Sorry, my mind's running a bit slow today."

She nodded, handing over the notebook. I hoped she didn't notice my hands trembling as I took it.

"Ma'am, I…I was wondering if Professor Cullen specified anything in particular about his emergency," I started, thoughtlessly playing with the front button of the journal as I did.

She raised an eyebrow at me from her seat.

"He's helping me with this piece I'm writing," I lied as smoothly as I could. "I just want to know when he'll be back, since he never mentioned anything."

Professor Jansen hummed in acknowledgment. "No, I'm afraid I don't know any more details, dear. He requested his leave straight to the administration."

"I see," I said. "Thank you."

"Isabella?" she called out again as I was heading to the door.

"Yes?"

"He also told me you're a prolific writer and to look out for you," she said with a small smile. "He expects great things from you, Ms. Swan, and so will I."

I felt my heart flutter at the thought of Carlisle talking about me to others. "Y-yes, ma'am."

"What did she want?" Bruce asked with a frown as soon as I stepped out of the door.

"Oh, Carl––Professor Cullen left me something," I said as nonchalantly as possible as I walked with him. "Don't you have class?"

"Might skip it," he replied with a shrug. "What'd he leave you?"

"Another book to read," I mumbled. "I think he thinks I'm a genius now or something for passing that paper early."

Bruce stared at me, and I knew immediately that I wasn't as convincing as I thought I was. Despite only being friends for just a little over a couple of weeks, he had a knack for telling if I was hedging. "I don't think that's it, Bella."

"I don't know what you––"

"He looks at you funny," he cut off, no trace of joking in his voice. "Like you're something to eat."

Déjà vu.

"Or like you know each other," Bruce continued.

I sighed. There really was no stopping him from his quick-witted assumptions, so I decided to spill a bit just to keep him satisfied. "Okay, you got me. Carlisle's a…family friend. We've met before, back when I was in Washington."

"I knew there was something. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I didn't want anyone to know," I replied with a shrug. "For one, people might think I have some kind of advantage in class because I know him. Or spread rumors."

Bruce suddenly narrowed his eyes. "By family friend, do you mean like…I don't know, is that supposed to be a euphemism for something?"

It took me a while to get what he was saying, and I was sure I blushed a tomato red when I finally did. "No. God, Bruce," I managed to say in between nervous laughter. "Just a friend, really."

He nodded, his expression going back to his normal easy-going demeanor. "Okay…Because I know I've got nothing on that guy. Had to scout the competition."

"What competition?" I said as I began to walk faster than him, deciding to play along. I looked back and saw that it earned me a shocked smile from Bruce followed by a few priceless seconds of him stuttering.

I laughed, momentarily satisfied.

I was able to put off my curiosity about the journal until the very end of the day. I'd spent a few hours doing homework with Bruce at the library and had gone to a small concert with Penelope and a couple of her music major friends that night. While it was a very enjoyable event––apparently contemporary jazz was a huge thing––I'd left earlier than them, using the old reliable "it's a school night" as my excuse.

Truth is, I just couldn't curb my curiosity any longer.

I sat at my desk, running my fingers over the leather bind. I took a deep breath and finally opened the front button.

The first thing I noticed was a small piece of scented parchment tucked at the very front page. The perfect, graceful handwriting was familiar, as I'd seen it on the blackboard just a week before.

I will return.

Just three words. Not even a Dear Bella or any form of explanation for him leaving. Just those three words, and yet I felt like a heavy weight was lifted from my chest.

Carlisle didn't lie. I knew that from the moment I met him all those years ago. If he said he'll return, I knew I could count on it.

I set the parchment aside––mildly thought of tucking it in my wallet for safekeeping––and noticed that the handwriting of the rest of the journal was identical to his. I couldn't help but gasp. Carlisle had given me his own journal.

There were no dates in any of the pages, but I knew from the aging of the paper that it must've been very old. Possibly even centuries old. As I skimmed through his words––blushing when I heard his voice in my head as I did––I realized it wasn't so much a journal or diary than it was an informative notebook of what seemed to be descriptions of different vampires. Covens, as he'd called them before.

The first several entries were about a coven called the Volturi. I vaguely remembered Edward mentioning the name once years ago, a few days before he…I remembered him telling me that Carlisle had stayed with them for a few decades, back in Italy. In his entry, he'd written down the members' names, sketches, and thorough descriptions of them.

Aro, I read as I skimmed through the pages. One of the three leaders of the coven. Tactile telepathic ability. Dangerously ambitious. Seeks to uphold the law no matter the cost.

Caius. Ambitions almost rival Aro's. So much hatred in his heart.

Marcus. Identifies relationships and bonds. Eternally heartbroken at the loss of his wife. Regarded as St. Marcus in Volterra.

Jane. Alec. Felix. Afton. Chelsea. Demetri. Corin. I found myself deeply intrigued by the existence of so many vampires––and this was only the first coven entry in Carlisle's journal. Their world suddenly felt so large, so much larger than I had ever thought. Was it wrong that that fascinated me more than it scared me?

I flipped through the pages, using a finger to help me run through the words quickly until I found who I was looking for. Irish Coven. Maggie.

I stared at Carlisle's sketch of the famous Carmilla and couldn't help but gasp at how young she looked. She couldn't have been more than fifteen when she was turned.

That was when I saw another small piece of parchment tucked at the bottom part of the page. Three words again.

You'd like her.

Carlisle

It wasn't very difficult to find her. I wasn't the best tracker, but the fact that I'd spent several decades in her warm presence made the task at hand easier.

I'd guessed she remained in England. I was correct. I soon learned that she served as a major sponsor and volunteer at an orphanage in the outskirts of the city. She'd apparently chosen the rich widow story; I heard from the locals that she'd said her husband died from a heart attack unexpectedly.

They'd looked at me strangely when I looked like I was stifling laughter when they mentioned it.

I waited patiently inside the Mazda I'd rented, parked outside the stone walls of St. Francis Cabrini's Home for the Lost. Half past eight in the evening, I spotted her on the sidewalk dressed in a beige coat, her eyes covered with a pair of sunglasses despite the darkness. She stopped walking right before reaching the gate, her head turning in my direction, most likely picking up my scent.

I stepped outside my vehicle to reveal myself. She smiled immediately.

"Good evening, handsome," Esme greeted, raising her sunglasses and approaching me with open arms.

I kissed her forehead while in her embrace. "I hope you've been doing well."

"Very much," she assured me, her heart shaped face looking up at me. "And you?"

"Also well."

She sighed, pulling away from me. "Carlisle, you wouldn't be here without notice if you're doing well."

"Am I not permitted to visit my ex-wife?"

"Don't say that too loud, I've told everyone you're dead," she deadpanned.

I couldn't help but laugh at that.

She led me inside the gate, introducing me as her distant cousin––I'd glared at her pointedly at this––to the guards and other volunteers. Soon, we found some privacy at the ground's gardens, which looked very well manicured and maintained for a small town orphanage.

"All me, of course," Esme pointed out when I mentioned it. "I wanted a beautiful, natural space for the kids to play."

I nodded, sitting by the small fountain. "It is beautiful."

Esme walked towards the bushes, casually pulling out thorns and leaves that stuck out a bit too much. "What's bothering you, Carlisle?" she asked without turning to look at me.

"Nothing," I sighed. "And everything. Nothing is in place, and yet I could already see a terrible endgame."

"I've always adored it when you talked in riddles," she drawled sarcastically.

"It might upset you," I warned.

Esme stopped her work with the bushes and turned to face me, her face already filled with concern and horror. "Has something happened to one of the kids––"

"No, nothing like that," I said. "Well, I'm not sure. But it's me. I believe I'm in trouble."

"Tell me," she demanded, sitting next to me on the fountain.

I paused before finally starting with: "I've encountered Bella Swan over at Kingston."

To my surprise, her expression morphed into a smug knowingness. "Ah."

"I don't think you understand––"

"I'd like to believe I've been blessed with extremely acute maternal instincts ever since you turned me," she cut off, placing a hand on the side of my face momentarily. "May not be as grand as Alice's, Edward's, or Jasper's abilities, but not too shabby either. And that includes instinct towards your feelings, dear ex-husband."

I frowned. "I don't understand."

"Are you harboring feelings for her?"

I was absolutely bewildered. "How…Well, not yet, I don't believe so…"

"I've felt it, Carlisle," she said softly. "How you used to act around her, how you looked at her at times. Something was there. Perhaps you never acknowledged it because you never noticed it yourself, or because…well, obviously." She laughed melodically. "I've also never pointed it out for the same reason. You know how much I care about Edward."

"And you're not upset by this? At all?"

"Roles to play, remember?" She gently tapped my nose with a finger.

I was silent, still processing her words.

"In the end, Edward made his choice to leave," Esme continued. "He may say it's for her sake, but I believe it's also for his own. He truly loved her, I'm sure of it, but his fear overcame all else. That is why I agreed with and would always stand by his choice.

"But you never did, did you?" Esme finished with a small smile.

"Perhaps," I said slowly. "I didn't want to leave her unprotected, not when she's family."

"Protection," Esme chuckled. "You've always been stubborn when it comes to your own perception. Carlisle, the moment you become true to yourself is the same time the sky clears for you. The reason everything looks dark and uncertain is because you've chosen to keep your eyes shut."

"And I'm the one with riddles?"

She smiled, reaching out to take my hand. "I love you, I really do. And that is why I'm telling you to stop lying to yourself. Have you ever thought that maybe the world is giving you the clear, second chance? What are the possibilities of Bella even going to Kingston?"

I buried my face in my hands. "And Edward?"

"Now that I'm not sure I can help you with," Esme admitted. "He is his own person, after all. For all we know, he still believes he loves her. If he finds out…I'm on your side, of course, but he's a sensitive soul."

"I understand," I said simply, looking back up at her. "You know, I've spent the past several weeks trying to sort everything out. I've travelled all over Europe, gone on silent retreats, meditated…Anything and everything to keep her scent off my mind, to clear my head to make the right decision."

"Can I guess what was on your mind the whole time?" she asked, tilting her head.

I laughed bitterly. "It's as I told you. Deep trouble."

"Stories that begin that way are always the best kind."

I sighed, standing up from my seat while I held her hand. "Come home, Esme. As you can see, we're all lost without you."

Esme chuckled once more, pulling me in a slow embrace. "Keep flattering me that way and I might just consider it."

A/N: I updated with two chapters this time, since they're both quite short. I hope you enjoyed this!