Chapter Twenty-Three

Edward

The exodus from big cities is evident now. Planes are taking off full and returning virtually empty. My flight from Anchorage to New York had twenty passengers on board which is crazy. I've flown into JFK many times before and I have never, ever, seen the arrivals hall so quiet.

My cab speeds toward East 46 Street at a pace unthinkable before the pandemic began. New York is still busy though. People are on the streets. The buses are still running. Boats are passing under Queensboro Bridge. Helicopters buzz overhead. When I look closer though, every third shop is closed. Windows are boarded up. The street sellers have gone. Pedestrians, the vast majority masked, look down at the sidewalk rather than straight ahead. New York has contracted during my time in Alaska.

The last time I took a cab from JFK, I'd rushed back from Chicago to save Bella from Al Abel. Only when I felt the first stab of an arrow could I relax. No such relief this time. I still don't know whether I'd rescued her in vain? Could she already be a victim of Tanya's deranged desire to hurt me? I haven't yet received good news or bad from Forks. Until I hear from Alice, I cannot rely on her assurances that she'd seen Bella and me together on a farm sometime in the Fall.

I called Bella from Anchorage airport. She didn't reply. I'm trying not to read too much into this. I'm sure Alice would've told me by now if the worst had happened. My guilty feelings about relying on the Quileute to protect Bella have grown exponentially since I took the decision not to travel to Forks. Until I find out for certain that Bella is safe, I won't be able to shake these feelings off.

Carlisle's response to my offer of help had been two words. 'Thank you.' I hadn't expected more. I'm not expecting to see a red carpet or a welcome party on the sidewalk either. Working in the clinic is not something I'm looking forward to because I don't need Alice's gift to forecast what I'll have to deal with during the next few months. Life for New Yorkers will get a lot worse before it gets better. All I can do is my best, and also to pray that very soon scientists much clever than me will find a cure or a vaccine, or at least an effective treatment regimen before too many lives are lost.

I'm expecting to see a line of patients outside the clinic when the cab pulls up. The sidewalk is virtually empty though which is a surprise. My watch says five-thirty. Of course, I'm still on Alaskan time. No wonder there's no one here. Esme told me the clinic closes to walk-ins at six-thirty now and they don't finish until after seven. The lights are still on so after I pay the driver, I have to decide whether to go up to my apartment or knock on the door. I choose the door.

"It's Edward," I shout after the first knock. I don't have to wait long before I hear someone approach. Esme opens the door and pulls me inside.

"Thank God you've come," she whispers in my ear. "Carlisle is as close to exhausted as our kind can ever be. I've never seen him like this before."

"I'm here now," I whisper back as Carlisle emerges from his examination room into the waiting area. I take one look at him and my mouth drops open. He looks shattered. My guilt for abandoning Bella is replaced by a tsunami of regret for my selfish behavior. What a bastard I've been to dawdle in Alaska when Carlisle and Esme have done so much for me. I should have come straight back here from JKF once Bella had taken off for Seattle. The qualms I've had about what I'll be facing over the next weeks and months dissolve in an instant. I'll need to disconnect myself from the human tragedies which I will inevitably see, and focus on supporting the man who has dedicated his life to helping others.

I slip my coat off, throw it on one of the waiting room chairs and roll up my sleeves.

"Okay, Carlisle, where do I start?"

Bella

When I wake from the deepest sleep I've had for weeks, I presume the continuous thumping in my head could be the beginnings of a migraine, until I realize the noise is coming from the door being pummelled by I have no idea who.

"Okay okay," I yell as I pat the bed to push the quilt away, only to discover that I've slept on top of the covers, fully clothed. The drapes have been open all night and my mouth tastes disgusting. I can't remember having a wash or brushing my teeth before bed. What the hell happened last night?

"Wake up, Bella! We need to talk."

I recognize Jake's voice instantly. About effing time. He's the one who needs to talk, not we. I've been worried sick for the past two days. I'll give Jacob Black something to talk about when I open the door.

While I'm rolling off the bed I notice the armchair wedged against the door handle. 'Why the heck did I do that?' I don't have an opportunity to recall the reason. Jake is still thumping on the door.

After I push the chair away, I pull the door open already prepped to give him a mouthful of abuse for leaving me hanging after Emily's phone call. The expression on the face of my friend compels me to think again.

"Jesus, Jake. What the hell's happened? You look like shit."

"I feel like shit. I'm coming in though. Fuck the fucking virus."

I can't stop him. Jake is a mountain. I'm a molehill. He walks past me, grabs the edge of the door above my head, and slams it so hard it bounces open again. He doesn't make a second attempt. I let it stay open to aid ventilation. Before moving further into the cabin he looks into my eyes.

"You look like shit too. Sit down. Don't argue. I'll make the coffee."

I don't dare argue. Instead, I watch him stalk over to the sink to fill the kettle. I spot the two slices of toast sticking out of the toaster that I hadn't eaten last night. I'd left the spread uncovered as well. A filter sits on top of a mug which indicates I hadn't drunk the coffee. I ask myself again. 'What the hell happened last night?'

"When was the last time you ate?" Jake snaps.

"Errr … Emily's muffin for breakfast yesterday and a banana and a few mouthfuls of omelet. I was making toast when …"

Holy shit!

"When what?" Jake asks as he pours boiling water into two filters.

"I … err … guess I must have fallen asleep," I mumble as last night's events start to come back in flashes. "The virus has done weird things to my sleep pattern, Jake. I'm tired all the time," I add as an excuse.

"Are you hungry now?"

I nod.

Jake plucks the cold toast from the toaster and tosses both pieces through the open door, almost hitting a Jay who springs away from the missiles before attacking the unexpected gifts ferociously. Jake slams the door shut this time, puts two slices in the toaster, and holds up the jar of jelly.

"Please," I answer.

I watch Jake's movements as he makes breakfast. He's changed physically since I last saw him. I can't fathom exactly how in such a short space of time. His posture shouts tension. His head jerks as though he has a tic. His shoulders look broader if that could be possible. He reminds me of a boxer before a fight. Pent-up aggression ripples under his skin. I know without question that something monumental has happened to him over the last forty-eight hours to make him behave like this. I've known him too long to think otherwise.

What happened to me though?

I remember … making the toast.

I remember the howling, and Billy shouting at me to get indoors.

I remember moving the chair and watching the forest through the window.

I remember being frightened.

I remember …

"Coffee!" Jake snaps again as he places the mug on the table, returning with the toast which he practically throws at me. No blistering smile. Not even the opportunity to thank him to his face as he turns his back on me.

"Are you always like this before you have your morning coffee?" I ask in an attempt to defuse an obviously awkward situation. "If that's the case, I might have to reconsider marrying you when I'm thirty."

I force a laugh at my own joke. Jake doesn't appreciate my humor. He paces up and down the cabin while his own toast cooks.

I'm not having this.

"Fuck you," I yell at him and jump up from my chair. "I'm not putting up with another moody bastard. I have to live with a girl who's the fucking Antichrist before she has her first coffee. I'm not taking the same shit from you. What the hell have I done to make you act this way, Jake?"

Jake stops pacing and takes three long breaths. His hands bunch into fists. For a moment I'm scared. The fists end up behind his head. His body language is screaming that he's trying to control himself. Finally, he looks straight at me. Venom taints his words.

"You have no fucking idea, Bella. But before we talk about what happened here last night, I demand to know who you were with on the plane, or at the airport, or at any time during the weekend before you flew to Seattle."

"What!" I shriek and take a step backward to support myself on the table. My head swims. I feel sick. I stumble forward. Jake catches me. He helps me back to my chair and pushes the toast under my nose.

"Okay," he says in a more conciliatory tone. "No answers until we've both had coffee and eaten our toast. I'm not having you passing out on me."

I nod and wipe my hand across my eyes. Jake has never made me cry before. I suppose there's a first time for everything. I can't blame him though until I find out what he's been through. But why does he want to know about my journey to Seattle? What has that got to do with him? Should I tell him about Edward? I really don't know what to do.

Silence reigns, apart from the sound of us munching our toast. Forty-eight hours. Where had I been or who else had I seen that could generate so much vitriol, apart from Edward? I have to think about what to say. Maybe this is the right time to tell him about my growing feelings for a Paleface? No, that would piss him off even more. I could mention a random guy I sat next to in the lounge. I don't have to tell Jake I know him though.

"So, you want to know about the two days before I flew here?" I snap back at Jake when I've drunk half my coffee.

Jake grunts a yes with his mouth full.

"On Saturday before I left, I spent most of the day at the book store with Joseph, the owner. His wife and kids were there. We had about ten walk-in customers. I went straight back to the apartment afterward. Angie and Elliot were home. I didn't go out in the evening. On Sunday morning, I walked to the book store. Zero customers. Left at two. Traveled to JFK on a packed E Train. Took the link to the terminal which was heaving with people. Waited in the lounges for hours. Bought some candy. Talked to different people to pass the time. Read a book. Sat next to an old couple on the packed plane. Got the bus to the ferry where I stayed on the deck for a while; indoors for the last fifteen minutes. Then I met you. Why?"

Jake looks into my eyes, searching for what. Lies? I stare back at him defiantly. A memory from last night flashes into view - too quick to register.

"What's going on, Jake?" I ask. "What's happened to you over the last forty-eight hours? Why didn't you answer my calls? I've been worried sick."

Jake puts his head in his hands. I reach over the table to touch his arm in a gesture of support. He flinches and draws away. His reaction shocks me more than his tone of voice. Do I repulse him now … my best friend?

"Jake?" I say purposely softening my tone.

He shakes his head and looks skyward.

"I can't tell you, Bella. I thought that maybe you already know … well ... know something."

Jake's voice has also softened compared to his snappy voice. I wait for him to continue but nothing comes.

"What do you think I know?"

Jake takes a deep breath and leans forward across the table so we're eye-to-eye. "What do you remember about last night?"

"Last night? You mean about the wolves in the forest?"

"Yes. Tell me what happened here. What did you see and hear?"

"I heard the wolves howling. I went outside onto the grass. Billy told me to get inside and close the door which I did. I pushed the chair up against the handle. I remember feeling frightened as I watched the forest from the window …"

"And?"

"And then I must have gone to sleep. I had a really weird dream though."

"What about? Tell me."

"It sort of carried on from the wolves. They were in the forest, chasing something. I saw a shape in the trees. It was blue ... bright blue. It looked human but it couldn't have been. The wolves caught it eventually and tore it to pieces. I can't remember much after that."

"You could actually see the wolves in the forest?"

"Yes, but I dreamed it. The wolves were huge. Much bigger than a regular wolf. Oh yes, another thing. I could hear words among the howls like they were talking to one another."

I'm watching Jake's face as I relate the dream. He doesn't visibly react to anything I've said. I don't usually remember dreams. This one has stuck though. I doubt if I'll ever forget it.

Jake gets up from his chair and walks towards the door. "I've got to go, Bella. I need to talk to Sam."

I jump up and stand in front of the door to block him. Stupid I know. He could push me away with his little finger.

"Not likely. Not until you've told me why you look different from the old Jake. You act differently too. And I want to know why you're mad at me. I've spent two days with my cell in my hand, waiting for you to call. You're not walking away from here without giving me an explanation."

Jake bends down and kisses my forehead. He puts his finger under my chin to tip my face up to his.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I can't tell you anything. All I can say is … my life will never be the same again. The old Jake is no more. Gone … like a puff of wind. But don't worry about me. I'll be okay. My overriding concern is you. Maybe you don't realize this, but your life changed last night too. We all changed. Every man, woman and child on this reservation changed. I only hope you'll spend the rest of your life not knowing how, or why. I have a strong belief though that there is already someone in your life who for some reason you're protecting, and who will sooner or later reveal to you that the world is not the safe and secure place you imagined it to be."

"What do you mean by that?" I choke.

"As I said, I'm sorry, I can't tell you. I'm going now. I'll be back tonight."

He kisses my forehead again. I stand to one side to let him pass. He walks slowly towards his bike, head down, shoulders slumped. From the back, he looks like a man defeated. He doesn't turn to wave as he roars away. I feel … crushed.

I stand in the doorway reliving what just happened until he disappears from view. As I'm breathing in the fresh morning air, guitar music breaks the silence. I rush over to my cell.

Private number ... I hit reply.

"Bells?"

"Dad!" I shriek.

In an instant, my issue with Jake is forgotten. I drop onto my knees and cry.

Edward

Triaging patient after patient before sending them to Carlisle for final assessment fills every second of my first ten-hour shift in the clinic. Temperature first, check pulse and oxygen levels, listen to lungs, make my own recommendation to Carlisle whether they should be sent home to isolate or direct them to the hospital for major intervention, all this while taking into account the general health of the patient and their age. For some, I foresee the journey to the hospital will be a one-way ticket. For others, early treatment with a blast of oxygen and a cocktail of drugs could stop the virus from taking hold. The clinic has limited testing facilities. I only bother if I suspect the patient could be suffering from a condition not associated with Covid. Elimination rather than confirmation in other words. The look of fear in the eyes of the first patients gets to me. By the end of the day, I'm immune.

Visualizing Carlisle and Esme coping without help multiplies my feelings of guilt. I can't turn the clock back though. Word soon gets out that the clinic has an additional doctor and this has added to the lines. Patients are choosing to come here rather than Emergency Rooms, which I fully understand. Pictures of chaos in New York's hospitals appear on TV every day. Panic shows on the faces of local politicians who for once are obliged to think on their feet.

When Carlisle eventually turns the clinic's lights out we make our way upstairs using the fire escape at the back. Before I progress one further floor to my own apartment he stops me.

"Esme and I need to know more about Bella," he says. "Yesterday, I gave you a night's grace but we can't wait any longer. Alice has given us half the story. We want to hear the rest."

I follow Carlisle into the living room and flop down on the sofa which faces Bella's apartment. Both windows are black. Evidently, Angie and her boyfriend have not returned from Florida. Carlisle and Esme sit opposite me and wait for me to start talking.

"I don't know how much you know," I begin. Esme speaks first.

"Alice has told us that you believe Bella is gifted. She's foreseen that Bella is vital to our future. We can only take from that she may have some power over James. Is that what you believe?"

"I suppose I do. Eleazar has come to the same conclusion after what I've told him. Bella is different, Esme. She can sometimes hear what I'm thinking. She has reacted to my thoughts, twice. I'm also sure she can sense when I'm nearby. She feels my presence as I can feel hers, but not in the same way. I cause her to have headaches. She shoots burning arrows at me which are psychologically excruciating. She also generates heat. I've described to Liam and Eleazar that being close to her is like standing in front of a blast furnace. I can't think of any other metaphor. You've spoken to her, Carlisle. My guess is you felt nothing."

"That's correct. To me, she is an unremarkable human."

"So why do you think she affects you like this, Edward?" Esme asks.

"This is only a guess, Esme. I can read minds. You and Carlisle cannot. That must mean that whatever brain cells I have leftover from being human work in a different way to yours. I suspect Bella is the same. Her human brain is wired differently too. I believe there's a slim chance she may be able to connect with other vampires who have a similar ability to mine. When you consider James's gift, if you want to call mind control, coercion, a gift, Bella may be immune, as I am. My hope is that she could be powerful enough to block him, and even better to throw his skill back and control him. At the moment, she doesn't realize she has a gift and how strong she is. I'm sure if she knew and could be trained, she could burn a hole in my brain and James's without too much effort."

Carlisle's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Is she that powerful? She's human for God's sake."

I smile at his reaction. "Oh yeah. Imagine what level her power would be if I changed her. As for being human, I was born human yet I can read minds. Werewolves are born human. Their human forms go through an extraordinary transformation because of their genetic make-up. I've begun to ask myself whether Bella has inherited a similar gene that puts her apart from other humans. If this is possible for the Quileute, then we'd be fools not to accept this could also be possible in Bella's case."

"You're not going to change her though, are you?" Esme asks.

I shake my head. "No. I'm hoping it won't come to that. Even if wanted to, I'm not sure whether it would be possible if she's not a normal human. Werewolves, allegedly, cannot be changed into vampires. I would therefore have to assume that whatever Bella is, she may not be able to be changed either. And James hasn't been seen for thirteen years; a blink of an eye for a vampire. If he stays away, we may not need to use Bella's skills during her natural life. That is my best hope."

"You have feelings for this girl though. Alice told me," Carlisle states.

"Yes, I do. I believe she could be my mate. Each time I talk to her, I … "

"You're falling in love with her, aren't you?" Esme interrupts.

"Yup! Sucks, doesn't it?"

Bella

Dad and I only have a few minutes on the phone before Jenny, the receptionist, takes it away.

"That's enough for now, Isabella," she says cheerily. "You can call later after the surgeon has completed his rounds."

I mumble a thank you and cry, again.

I seem to be doing nothing but cry over the last few days. Dad sounded breathless and confused. He'd been worrying about me being on my own in the house. When I told him I'd moved onto the reservation to be close to Billy and Jake, he'd muttered 'Thank God.' Even though I wasn't sure of this, I told him I didn't need to be back at college until September, so he didn't have to worry about recuperating on his own. He protested, of course. I insisted that he'd already lost that battle.

I need a shower, and to change out of the clothes I'd slept in. I'm exhausted though through virus tiredness, not lack of sleep this time. I search for the oximeter finger thingy which I'd brought with me. Ninety-eight. Great. The police doctor said if my oxygen hadn't dropped below ninety-seven over the next three days I'd be considered asymptomatic. I wish she'd supplied a free, 'feeling like shit meter' as well. That would be off the scale right now.

After my shower, I walk around my cabin seven times one way and seven the other. On each circuit, I keep my eye on Billy's cabin. Unless he's gone out the back door to smoke, he hasn't been out on the porch since he shouted at me to get in. The temptation to mask up and bang on his door nags at me. Maybe he knows what has happened to Jake. I decide against it. That would be going behind Jake's back.

Instead, I pull the armchair out onto the grass, angling it so my knees are in the shade of the cabin. I make myself another coffee, carry my laptop outside which is just about usable in the bright light, and make a start on my article about Berty. The first working title I come up with is Sick Bastard Pervert Teachers. I'll have to think of a less provocative title when the time comes to send it to editors. Where has all this aggression come from though? Placid Bella is no more. Feisty Bella has replaced her big-time.

I write non-stop for the rest of the morning until my cell rings. Mike's name pops up on the screen. I haven't spoken to him since I'd called to warn him that Dad and I had the virus.

"Hey, Mike," I say cheerily. "Are you guys okay?"

"We're fine. No symptoms. All our tests are negative. Mom and Dad have opened up the store and Faith is a lot better in her head now. The school has already appointed a new Lit teacher who's been in contact with her. She's almost back to normal."

"That's fantastic. Did you hear about Charlie's heart attack?"

"Yes, how is he."

"Doing okay. He needs surgery though on a malfunctioning valve. The doctors are waiting until his breathing improves before they operate. He was quite breathless before his heart gave out. They want to get his oxygen levels back to normal first."

"Cool. That's good to hear. I'll tell Mom and Dad. They were anxious to know if he was okay. They guessed the strain of what happened to you with Berty might have caused his problem. Anyhow, Bella, the main reason I rang is I've been told someone has been asking for you in town. Joe Watts from school told me a woman came into Carters the night before last. She claimed she was one of your college professors and had some books for you."

"Really? All the way from New York. What did she look like."

"Joe's exact words were, 'Not like any professor I've ever seen. Blonde bombshell. Possibly Scandinavian, she had an accent. Rocking figure. Weird eyes.' Does that description ring any bells?"

As Mike is describing the alleged professor, the end part of the dream I'd dismissed as pure fantasy comes back in a rush. The stranger Joe described to Mike could be the woman I'd last seen hanging from a treetop. Blonde hair. Bright eyes. Murderous thoughts. That part couldn't be true, seriously?

"Are you still there, Bella?"

"Yes … err … yes, Mike. I haven't got a clue who Joe saw. Did he tell her my address?"

"No. He didn't believe her. He presumed she could be another nut who thinks you've brought the virus into Forks. Anyway, if she knew you from college, she wouldn't take the trouble to come all the way out here without knowing where you live. Everyone in the bar ignored her. She hissed as she left apparently. I don't know whether Joe is making that last bit up though."

"Thanks for the warning, Mike, and will you thank Joe for keeping quiet. This woman probably is another nut. I'll ask Waylon to keep a watch out for her. Has anyone else seen her in town since then?"

"No. I'll let you know if anyone does. You shouldn't be at home on your own, Bella. Are the police still patrolling outside?"

"I'm not at home, Mike. I'm on the rez with Jake and Billy. I've got a cabin to myself. Please don't tell anyone I'm here though. There may be even more nuts out there with a grudge."

"Sure thing, Bella. You look after yourself. When you've got the all-clear, my parents would like to take you out for dinner to thank you for what you did for Faith. Let me know when you're better."

"Will do. Already looking forward to it."

Mike hangs up. I carefully move my laptop and cell onto the ground before I drop them because I had begun to shake violently from either adrenaline or fear? A woman with blonde hair and laser-beam eyes with a face I will never forget. There's no way her presence in my head could be a coincidence.

The confrontation, every second, comes back to me. I could read her mind. We had fought for dominance. I won. She died. What the hell does that make me if it wasn't a dream?

And Jake … he asked me 'what happened here last night' rather than 'what did you see?' Why was that? Was he there? Does he know what she was thinking? Did he also see the blonde woman and her end?

A vivid memory of when Jake and I were kids comes back to me. A memorable childhood event that has stayed with me over the years is as clear as the time when it happened. I close my eyes and cast my mind back to a magical night on the reservation when the elders of Jake's tribe related stories about their ancestors.

I'm huddled close to Jake, our shoulders covered by the same ethnic blanket, our faces glowing from the heat of burning logs. Golden embers are dancing their way into the night sky. The smell of cooked meat fills the air. Crackles and spits from the fire and the nighttime voices of the forest's wildlife are the only sounds to be heard until the elders begin to chant the Quileute legends in turn.

First Billy tells the tale of the Thunderbird and the Whale, followed by Harry Clearwater and his brother who recite alternate lines of a story about a Raven in time to the beat of a drum. Sue, Harry's wife, accompanies herself on guitar as she sings the legend of a young girl lost in the forest. A bear carries her back to the tribe, only to be shot by a Paleface hunter when she returns to her den. The bear's spirit begs the tribe to raise her cubs, which they do until they're old enough to fend for themselves. This story made me cry.

The final legend is traditionally told by the most senior elder present. Jake's great uncle, Quil A'teara, tells the tale of his own great grandfather, Taha Aki, who could transform into a wolf when the Cold Ones trespassed on their land. When the story concludes, Quil A'teara earnestly warns the youngsters around the fire that 'when the Cold Ones return, which they inevitably will one day, the young men and women of the Quileute will themselves transform into wolves in order to protect the tribe.'

I remember asking Jake whether the story was true.

'Who knows?' he replied. 'Do you believe in Big Foot?'

I did then. I don't now.

Do I believe the Quileute transform into wolves?

I didn't then.

Now … I'm fifty-fifty.

As Eleazar said to Edward about Bella believing in the supernatural, the ship has already sailed. Bella is well on her way to accepting that the world is not the place she believed it was, even without the memory of what went on in the forest.

Next chapter we jump forward five months. Edward has remained in New York to work in the clinic. Bella has stayed in Forks to look after Charlie. It's time for her to think about going back to college. So yep, they'll soon be breathing the same air again - (okay, I know Edward doesn't breathe air, but you know what I mean). An important loose end to tie up in Forks first though.

Have a great weekend,

Joan x