Theresa stared at the ceiling. She could hear her mother moving downstairs. A quick glance at the clock told her she would be leaving for her shift in thirty minutes. The smell of pancakes had woken the girl at least one hour ago, but she still found it more comfortable to wait until Anne was gone before venturing herself in the kitchen.
Stifling a yawn, she picked her laptop from the middle of the covers. She already had one new email from her aunt asking if she was fine and telling her to call. Theresa could almost hear the sweet voice weighted with worry. Guilt twisted her guts and she sent a quick answer promising to call later. It would be better to wait for her mother to leave before calling anyone. And before getting ready. And before eating.
"You can't avoid her forever. Believe me, if you could I would be the first to beg you to," an old woman's rough voice echoed in the room "but sooner or later she will want to talk with you and it'll be less damaging if it's on your terms and initiative than her pursuit and pressure."
She whispered back "Not avoiding, I'm hiding."
"The old hag's right this time, Theresa. Better to start the discussion yourself than wait to be cornered around." She turned herself belly down on the mattress and stuffed her face on the pillow when Ethan's made his opinion known.
"Et tu, Brute?" Her muffled voice sounded pathetic even to herself. She sat down and rubbed her eyes. "I am too tired right now, jet leg and everything. And no, this is not an excuse." She stared at Sofia's skeptical face. Wide white hair, wrinkles and small mean eyes, she fitted the bill for the crazy hag with some amazing advices and malicious suggestions. She was with Theresa since always. When asked why or how or when, the old woman would joke about one day crossing paths with an air head of a child who stepped on her leg when running on the sidewalk and then waking up as the little girl personal ghost. Theresa hated to remember about that part of the story. Somehow, she knew about Sofia's bitter relationships, rough path and abandonment culminating on living the end of her life homeless. Sofia was hers though, so she couldn't feel pity when she was able to feel the cruel strike and anger marking the ghost. But she was no judge and she also wouldn't let go of the old woman.
Ethan's was different. He had been her best friend before being her ghost. Although his death was hers, her fault, her own mistake, she couldn't free him either.
The front door was slammed bringing Theresa out of her daze. Leaving her bared-walled room, she walked on the tip of her toes until going downstairs and stablishing she was alone. Letting out a breath of relief, she served herself of the food on the stove. Sitting on the counter she ate her food in silence. The kitchen was well organized with white cupboards, deep red stools and light wood on the floor. Everything was clean, from the lustrous ground to the fridge's inox. She washed her dish and went explore the rest of the house. Her house. She had been living with her aunt since she was five years old and despite never quite seeing her aunt as a mother, she also couldn't place that figure on Anne.
The living room was cozy with one large black couch and two gray chairs. Soft yellow and white cushions and a glass side table brough a more modern air to the place. The curtains matched. "You recovered from the jet leg pretty quickly." Ethan was beside her, watching the place while Sofia paced. She was uncomfortable on new places.
"Jet leg. Jet leg... We had a different name for cowardice before. I think it was, uh, yes, cowardice." She also tended to lash out even more when she was uncomfortable. Sofia was hard to make comfortable, though. Easier to just accept. Swallowing a sigh, she went to her room.
Theresa got herself in tight jeans and an old cartoon shirt. Making sure to at least put her strawberry blond hair in order before slipping in her old green converses. She liked to dress up from time to time, but anxiety made her stomach tight and she felt caged. That Westfield, Indiana was big comparing to Forks was a merit conquered only because Forks was ridiculous small. Westfield itself was small. But Forks? Absurd. She arrived on the city on the night before and she was already exhausted. Picking her freshest drawing notebook, she went to the driveway, where an old Ford waited for her. Mother's gift.
With classic American houses, trees and a cloudy sky, Forks was promising. Maybe not of good things, but that was for her actions to decide. Driving without directions, she felt the knot in her chest easing. Ethan and Sofia were silent inside her head and, for once, she didn't feel like calling them to the surface. Getting of road at a random stop, she chose to go on a short hike. It was not like she was afraid of getting lost, not with her companies watching her every turn.
A few miles away, Alice Cullen felt herself being dragged to a vision. A confused one, with light red hair glimpsing away, Jaspers laughing with his head throw back and a small black bird being held by pale hands.
Blinking the haze away, she faced a choice as she always did. She could act, talk or even think deeply about it, and a delicate – uncertain, imprecise - prediction like that would fade away, turn to nothing. Or she could ignore, ignore and hope it would lead them to brighter days. She caught Jasper eyes and he opened his mouth to ask. She just raised her hand and he knew she wouldn't discuss it. His golden eyes darkened, frustration and confusion brimming, though she knew the later was probably as reflex of her own feelings.
She heard him saying something about going to hunt and the vision got solid, with a dead crow being touched by soft fingers and the fuzzy shadow of a female human, breathless. Jasper staring at Alice with anger. She was brought back by the sound of his back resting against the doorway. She knew what he wanted, she knew that her permission after a vision was important to all of them, but vital for him.
With indifferent eyes, she picked her magazine and ignored him. Jasper was still for a few seconds before turning away. She closed her eyes when his scent faded. She could only bet and hope for the best. But Alice was a great gambler and even if her visions, sheds of what the future could be, were fragile, she would fight for the future she desired. Most of them were glimpses of faces, emotions and places without any order or time mark and she would have to fish between them for the ones more definitive and sometimes even knowing about it could cause some possibility to collapse.
She avoided altering trivial events and danced around the important ones. How could Alice be sure about all the consequences of each vision? How could she hold the present and future of all her family between her hands and not go insane? She couldn't. So, Alice would bet her life and of the ones she loved while expecting it to end right. They were all lucky Alice Cullen was a master on the arts of parlay. She put her magazine down. Esme would be needing her soon.
Theresa walked until her feet hurt. The voices were silent inside of her mind, as they would usually do when she willed them to. She knew they weren't ghosts or lost souls in the sense of the word. She knew that their conscience and small spark of life was hers given to them. She wouldn't care, not having friends with real people, not letting nobody getting to close. But sometimes she felt lonely. However, when Theresa breathed life to the memory of death, their rose to her will, and so, she desired for them.
"You are not alone, dear, you never are." A cold hand on her shoulder and habit kept her from flinching away.
"Thanks for the creepy comment, old hag. What would we be without you?" Ethan's opinion made itself known and Theresa felt the corner of her lips curling up.
"Not less insane, for sure." Words direct inside her mind to theirs, she felt both of them amused at her answer. Smiling to herself, she stared straight ahead and focused on her surroundings.
Faded screams, whispers and the wind, surrounding her, dancing and dancing until all was life and its remnants. Her breath was stolen from her and she let her familiar ghosts to fade. Near her, she felt it. Like a string, her feet were guided to the sharp pain. Grief, so strong. She could feel it, the musk of death. Between the trees she could see silhouettes of houses at distance and she wasn't alone. One, two, three, four of them, answering to her call, feeling her string. She tasted the bitter on the first, the fear on the second before the innocence of the third punched her. She held on it and dismissed the others.
Memories, pain, love, echoes of life around those grieving and remembering, and all she need to do was to whisper life. Hers, but she had enough energy if she dissipated Ethan and Sofia more and more. Closing her eyes, she focused on that of confusion, of innocence. She let herself flow until something snapped and she knew someone else was there.
A girl, old enough to be on middle school but not past it. Maybe seven years old. She kept blinking with her yellow dress and messed hair. Lost.
"Where is mommy?" Her voice, the chirp of a bird.
Theresa couldn't speak, connect with the girl as she was. I don't know.
"I wanted to fly so I jumped, and I jumped" imaginary tears filled her brown eyes "and now I am here, I don't want to, where is mommy and daddy, they told me no one knew how to fly, but I knew, I know."
Guilt twisted Theresa heart so she called back some of the life she had given, the conscience slipping and the translucent form dissolving. The girl, Claire, Claire Newton, was too young. And she brought the child back to feel despair, as she kept her ghosts around for her pleasure, the egoistic creature she was. For a second self-loathing stole her breath. She would make it up for this one, she would.
Letting her body guide her again to where there was some whisper of death, but still tugging pieces of Claire with her, Theresa focused. Seeing only flashes of word while moving, she trusted herself to know where to stop. Harsh breathing, black spotting her vision, she blinked and realized she was on her knees cradling a dead crow. Body cold, but not stiff. She could make it work. She knew she could, she had already ventured with death animals.
The secret was to go slow. And then, maybe, just maybe, she would make up for causing pain in an already dead little girl. If she was lucky, she would be able to pacify her own conscience and leave the wood without a new ghost. She wasn't sure if her sanity could survive the ghost of a child chasing her whenever she relaxed her control over her gift.
She sat on the ground, with legs bent towards her chest. Soft feathers under her fingertips, Theresa stared at the animal. She felt its body, lifeless as any object, the small bones loose and the black eyes greyed by death. Holding it with her left hand while cradling its head with the other, she bent and hovered her lips over the top of its head. Then, with grey eyes closed, she called Claire back, bit by bit, until she was on the brink on having a conscience again. Holding the energy connecting all the remains and memories and echoes of the child still, she focused on the bird. Dead, the cells, the blood, the life not even a memory. So, with her body tingling from the effort, she guided herself and Claire into the animal.
Her legs were shaking, and she couldn't feel her arms, but she kept whispering life into the small body. She wasn't sure if her eyes were open and blind or simply closed. Theresa was losing herself, but the bird started to move, small ticks on her palms, until she realized the heartbeat would be building up. Biting her lips hard enough to fill her mouth with cooper, Theresa guided parts and parts of Claire until the crow was alive with a kicking heart.
Blinking to disperse the darkness around her, she looked at the too smart eyes of the crow. It wasn't Claire on the same way it wasn't human, but the mind it had was hers, different conscience and with no pain or confusion, she would just fly and fly until death touched her again.
Opening her hands, she saw the crow raising flight and coming back right beside her. Theresa felt the life and conscience, so she smiled. She had done it. She felt herself floating and wings flapping, and a glimpse of a small girl with bloodied mouth on the floor. She saw the crow and she saw herself in his eyes. Her throat felt tight with emotion and she felt the air around her, making her free, free. A wet laugh was all she was capable of before passing out on the leaves and dirt.
Jasper watched the stag strolling through the high grass. Ears moving and hesitant steps. It knew something was watching. Jasper jumped to another tree, the sound of his feet a quiet thump on the branch. The animal's head snapped at his direction, but it still wasn't sure if it was a predator. Jasper prepared himself to attack.
Steps, far away, yes. But steps, and the stag sprinted away. Controlling his annoyance, he followed the prey as a blur. He would rather play a bit with his food as bad habits die hard, but he felt the hesitation about whatever Alice had seen rush him. Three seconds and he was upon the stag, teeth fighting against fur and clenching on the flesh. Hot blood spilled in his mouth and his venom held the animal still. Not good, but enough. For the moment, at least.
He cleaned his mouth on the back of his hand and got ready to get home, but a smell different from anything he ever felt hit him fully before overcoming his senses. He reigned control of his body when he was already close enough to hear the quick heartbeat. Human. He could picture the hot blood filling him, completely this time, and though he hadn't slipped in some years, the Cullens would learn how to forgive him, Jasper was sure. He had already forgiven himself, actually. But he needed it, he needed it now. The crazed heartbeat called his name and thirst burned his throat even with his previous meal fresh inside him.
He ran through the trees, his thoughts simple and focused. He would feed. Delight himself on that blood, sweet and spicy and rich, oh so rich. Jasper could feel it on his tongue already. For the first time in decades he felt something closer to excitation flooding him. He was a hunter again.
He found his prey, a pretty girl alone in the middle of the woods. So easy it hurt. He slowed down, waking casually although still quiet, toward her. He would be careful, gentle and so slow he would be able to live it again and again before her body dried. He was close enough to see her better now. Head cast down; she was holding a dead crow. No heartbeat at all. He could feel her feverish focus, how her world was singled out on that bird and wasn't it ironic he felt the same. At the moment, everything in Japer was centred on her. On hunting her.
He took one more step and her heart simply picked up, greys eyes staring blindly ahead as her breath grew irregular.
He saw the way she bit her lips, breaking the skin, and his eyes were attracted to her exposed neck. He could see the pulse. One more step. Then he felt it. When before he could feel how hot her blood was, now it was almost boiling. Her arms were shaking, but her hands were firm. The smell was intoxicating, and he knew he wouldn't be able to wait more, he needed to taste her.
She was at arms lengths when the scent changed. Where it used to be heady and almost hypnotic at its high, it was weakening. Her eyes were rolling, and blood dripped from her nose.
During one second he thought he was going to attack, rip her throat, make her focus change to him, to his teeth, for the death he would be giving her. But he didn't. Her scent had transformed so completely he could barely recognize her, and he felt some of the reason coming back to him. He was hunting a human. Jasper stared down at the sitting girl in front of him. She hadn't seeing him, for whatever reason it was, he should count his blesses and leave while he still could.
Weakened or not, blood was blood, and he stepped away from her, half running and half waiting to a farther tree, just in time to see the girl's focus turn to exaltation and the dead crow heartbeat spike. Like submerging inside an ocean, his self-control was taken away again and felt himself float with her, waves of pleasure tingling trough his body while satisfaction crawled over his mind. He tried to silence or calm her, but instead he felt himself drown deeper and deeper.
He could only see her, sweaty face tinged red with a pale mouth slightly open. He knew she could only see the crow – the one previously dead, but Jasper wasn't in control of his wits to discuss it then – but his eyes were her, on her pulse, on her grey eyes with pupils blow so wide they seemed darker, as his would surely be at the moment. She laughed, raw and sweet spilling from her red mouth over the silence of the woods. He wasn't able to catch his breath to follow her lead.
Somewhere in time, he felt her control over him slipping, his emotions coming down gently while her face paled. His legs would be shaken if he was human. But he still felt himself tremble, pleasure making its way in his veins in small spasms. Drugged, he had never and could never be under influence of drugs, but he was sure the feeling was similar.
He stopped her body from falling, bent in a low crouch with her head tipped towards him. Her long and pale neck stretched and reddish blond hair fanning her face.
Holding her in his arms, he couldn't be sure how long her little stunt had taken, as his perception of the world and time had been deeply perturbed, but he knew her body was exhausted.
Looking at her face, so peaceful, he tried to understand what happened. And what he needed to do. Good news: he hadn't devoured the human. Yet. But he wasn't sure what to do with her. He couldn't leave her on the dirt. Blood still fresh touched her lips.
Stretching his legs and sitting on the ground, he kept her body over his. Her faint scent made his throat scratch, but he found it bearable, to his own surprise.
Her moods had been so intense Jasper found himself sated. Sated and tired in a way he hadn't felt since he was turned. Closing his eyes, he was reminded the time he spent in Maria's arms. High on her feelings, high on her desires, high on her. It had been so intense it became his reason to live. Her wishes were his and her moral was his law. He had been needed and peaceful, for a time. Then his newborn years were gone, and he found himself alone and addicted to a cruel woman, capable of doing the most awful feats for her approval and for his own primal instincts.
It was similar to what he felt in those long seconds with the small human. Out of control, acting on a will stronger than his. Too consumed by her feelings to be overwhelmed by hunger and then too mesmerized with her to sink his teeth on that pretty neck of hers. Anger bloomed when he looked at her bloodied face and didn't go feral. Sneering, he approached her peaceful face. Desiring to destroy, devour, tear her apart and to see her grey eyes darken in fear dominated him. A predator, and there she was sleeping in his arms. She moved a bit then, adjusting herself against him in an almost mocking fashion. He felt betrayed by the silence of the stirring beast inside him.
Blood painted her pale lips red and he felt himself touching her mouth with a cold finger, spreading the color over her hot skin before slipping the offending digit inside his own mouth. The rich flavour exploded on his tongue and bloodlust exploded in him. Tilting her head up, Jasper brushed his nose against the pulse under her jaw. With venom pooling around his teeth, he brushed his thumb against the plump lips one last time, tilting his head to reach her neck.
He froze when she moved under his touch and a flickering tongue touched him. Fire spreading under his marble like skin and he kept his thumb still against her mouth. The tingling lust made him snap back to the moment. She was an unconscious human and he hadn't hurt her. Not yet, at least, and he was strong enough to keep it that way. Withdrawing from the pulse he was hovering, Jasper felt despair for the first time in many years. He needed to get away, to hunt, to see Alice. He needed to be in control.
Laying the frail body down with all the care he had manage to exercise, the vampire watched the shiny hair tangling with leaves and grass. With an elegant movement, he gave his back to her and walked toward the trees. Perhaps in an impulsive act, he synced himself with her peaceful slumber and sent her shocks of awareness.
Hiding in the forest he was motionless marble. Jaw locked and body tensed, he felt when she woke. Staring the browns and greens ahead, he could almost see her grey eyes blinking confusion away before getting up and leaving. Jasper followed close behind.
Sitting on her bed and dressed in her best friend's old shirt and a pajamas shorts, she held her notebook close to her chest before opening it on her last drawing and staring at one of the many faces eternised by her. One of the many ghosts she had brought life only to return to oblivion when it grew to much. Dirty blond hair, brownish eyes and face scrunched in confusion; Claire Newton looked back at Theresa. Picking her pencil again, she wrote the small girl's name with careful letters, adding the number right under it. The current year, the birthday and death. 200619911998. She didn't know the girl's favorite toy had been a battered stuffed giraffe named Lily, she knew the favorite colour was yellow and how much she had loved strawberry ice cream. She knew the girl hadn't suffer and wasn't she lucky for that? Both Claire and Theresa, as she had information, memories and knowledge of the ghosts she breathed in.
Putting a loose lock of her wet hair behind her ear, she yawned. The whole experience had been exhausting to her, maybe because she wasn't familiar with Claire or any of her family. Theresa had once whispered life and Ethan's conscience into a small bird as a request from the boy in a boring afternoon. It had been easier and far more natural when it was him, and although it had left her drained, she hadn't passed out. She would discuss it with the boy next day, when she was well rested and sure enough calling him wouldn't sent her spiraling to the floor. Again.
She scratched her forehead before putting her art supplies away. Theresa was, curse or bless aside, different. There was no manual to deal with it, however. She was careful when testing, but she couldn't be sure what she was and wasn't able to do until she tried. A voice, distant and cold, sounding too much like Sofia for comfort, warned her to remember the costs. She was no goddess. The life she gave the crow was hers, the vital energy that united the echoes of conscience in a ghost was hers, and as her body was very much human, the price was simple. For their company, their touch, their memories, she gave slices of her own life away. A chill made its way under her skin. For a moment, she wasn't able to deal with the burden. Theresa needed comfort, needed them.
Unable to resist, she closed her eyes and felt her body grow weak under the covers. It was the afternoon and she wouldn't be able to get up, but she felt the annoyed buzz of Sofia's conscience bouncing around and the whisper of Ethan's voice again. She felt tired, dazed and sick, but she wasn't alone. She would never be. Her world went black before she closed her eyes and Theresa dreamed of the dark forest under the wings of a crow.