Chapter 17

Through the open bedroom window Bella listened, wide-eyed, to the rhythmic, rushing of waves lapping at a distant shore as she lay on her feather tick. The candle by her bed burned low, its soft glow sending the merest hint of light across the clay walls and rough-hewn floor— just enough to cast eerie shadows that made her heart throb. The night was quiet— beyond the rushing water, Bella heard only chirping crickets and frogs, and the odd, lonely cry of a night-dwelling bird high in the canopy above the jungle floor. The crackling fire in the great kitchen hearth had died down, the quiet voices of her hosts had been silenced by sleep, and the gentle sounds of their evening toilet had faded with the sun.

Bella watched the dancing shadow of her dress on the far wall, and bit back the sudden lump that grew in her throat as the flame made it ebb and flow. When she watched it head-on, it looked exactly as it was— an unused garment hung on a smooth, wooden hook. But when she looked away, even slightly, it looked like a phantom— a strange, ethereal ghost come back from childhood nightmares to haunt her, seeping out of the blackness of the jungle like a spectre.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing this sudden, irrational fear away.

She should be tired. She should be exhausted, really, given the day she'd had. She'd risen at dawn to ride miles through the jungle on horseback. Her legs ached fiercely, even after she'd coaxed Kora into a small, secure pen. She'd helped Carlisle heave great bags of grain into troughs, which were usually reserved for the animals of guests and patients, and she had tidied the yard as the three hungry horses ate their fill. She'd drawn water from a well, her arms burning with the weight of it, and poured bucket after bucket for the horses and Carlisle's stubborn, marauding mules. Carlisle had last been to the homestead two days prior to feed and tend to the animals, and though he had been sure he'd locked the gate behind him, it had taken nearly two hours of frustrated searching to find the creatures, deep in the undergrowth of the jungle, munching happily on a copse of wild berries and not too eager to be disturbed.

She'd aired bedrooms with Esme. She'd learned the art of wrestling a feather tick. She'd helped with sweeping the dusty floors, kindling a fire in the great, blackened hearth, collecting ripe and bursting tomatoes from the wild and aromatic garden out back, and finally, cutting steadily through a pile of legumes and root vegetables with a knife so sharp that she had almost sliced her fingers twice.

Esme had sent her to bed when the sky was still scarlet and crimson, shooing her away with an ewer of water for washing, a waxy candle burned half-way down the wick, and a thin, light nightdress.

But Bella, exhausted and sore as she was, had washed and slipped into the aforementioned feather bed with much trepidation, as the sounds, smells, and sights of the unfamiliar bedroom sent her into fits of nerves.

She'd been here before, or so they'd told her. Bella had no recollection of this place, but she knew, from Carlisle himself, that this was the place she'd been brought after the King's commander and brother had found her, half dead, on the sandy southern shores. Bella had seen the place where she must have lain— a dip in the floor of the main room where a pile of cushions, blankets, and furs lay heaped in great piles, with a low-lying table near the fireplace lined with bottles of tinctures and salves. Bandages, wound and white, lay in baskets on the corner of the bed, and along the far wall, hanging on pegs, Bella saw an assortment of brutal-looking medical instruments.

She tried not to linger on those.

Bella turned over in bed, heaving a great sigh as she blinked up at the darkened roof. The ropes holding her mattress in the frame were tight, but they creaked when she shifted her weight. The candle flickered, flaring for the merest moment and she stared, frowning at the dark wood of the central rafter, holding up the thatch that made up the roof.

She could hear Esme's voice in her head.

"What is it that you're looking for, exactly?"

She had asked the question hesitatingly, watching Bella nervously while she had peeled potatoes for the evening meal. Bella had frowned at her, surprised by the directness of this query, and wondering, despite this, how it was that Esme had not asked it before.

"The sea," Bella had replied, her words slow and cautious. "The sea, and…"

Esme had frowned at her then, and Bella had felt her cheeks flush pink with sudden discomfort. Esme waited for her to speak, to confirm the lingering desire that had consumed Bella with the vigour and passion of a wildfire, but she had fallen silent, and continued on with the meal.

And a boat, she had wanted to say. Or a plane, or a dinghy, or a raft, just so long as it took her away from this place and towards the civilization she had left behind.

Esme's disheartened sigh had haunted Bella for the rest of the evening, though she said nothing of it to either of her hosts.

There will be no boat, Bella… she could almost hear Carlisle's words, as if he stood beside her now, whispering. There are no boats in the south…

Bella shook her head, dispelling these omens of gloom. There might be a boat. Tomorrow, when she went down to the beach, there was still a chance, however slight, that she would find what she was looking for.

The wind howled through the trees outside, drowning out the sound of the waves as the shadow of a great, swooping bird dove past the open window.

"You're up very early."

The voice, spoken in the thick, impermeable silence, made Bella jump as she pushed the kettle onto the glowing embers. Water sloshed over the sides and down into the young flames, crackling and sizzling madly.

"Good morning, Esme," Bella said. "You scared me."

"I am sorry," Esme chuckled, wrapping her apron tightly around her waist. She was already dressed. Bella, still in her nightclothes and wrapped in the sheet from her bed, curled her toes in the fireplace dust.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Mmm…" Bella's noncommittal reply made Esme frown.

"Was the bed comfortable?"

"Oh yes," said Bella, more honestly this time. "Everything was lovely, Esme. It was just… new." She finished her sentence awkwardly, and Esme laughed at her again.

"I understand," she soothed. "New places are always a bit uncomfortable, aren't they?"

Bella grimaced.

"Can I interest you in tea?" asked Bella, eying the simmering kettle. "It's almost at a boil."

"Here…" Esme reached over for two fired clay mugs, resting gently on the mantle. While Bella watched the kettle, she spooned two scoops of loose-leaf tea into each cup. Bella took the kettle carefully in wrapped hands and, conscious of the heat blazing through the cloth, poured two measures of boiling water into the waiting mugs.

She rubbed her palm, grimacing, when she put the kettle down.

"Did you get a burn?" asked Esme anxiously, reaching out to examine her palm. "Let me see…"

"No," said Bella quickly. She balled her hand into a fist. "It's fine. Just warm."

The tea, however, was far too hot, and she burned her tongue on the first sip.

Esme laughed at her again.

"Why don't you get dressed while it cools?" she suggested. "Carlisle should be up soon, and I expect he'll want an early start. There is much to do around the homestead, and the work has piled up since we've been away…"

Bella's cheeks pinkened.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I don't mean to cause trouble…"

Esme scoffed. "You're no trouble at all," she said generously. "You were a great help yesterday."

Bella stood, clutching her sheet around her shoulders.

"Thanks, Esme," she said. "For having me, I mean. It's very kind of you."

"Oh, shoo," smiled Esme, waving her off. "Go and get dressed. I'll rustle something up for breakfast."

Bella heard her rummaging through the breadbox as she retired to her bedroom, passing a tousled, but quite alert Carlisle on the way.

"Good morning, Bella," he said, glancing down her bare legs. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough," squeaked Bella. She slipped through the doorway of the spare bedroom. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time," he chuckled. "We're in no rush."

Bella closed the door with a snap.

Stumbling her way through dressing was more of an ordeal alone than it had been with little Alice to help her. Although the clothes she wore were simple— all plain fabrics and sturdy constructions— there were fastenings and ties in places Bella had never before seen. The buttons along the back of the dress forced her to reach at an odd angle, straining painfully against the persistent ache in her still-healing wrist, to reach the last of them. The belt at her waist required a complicated knot— one that Alice had taught her, but that she had yet to master in the deft, uncomplicated way Alice always tied it. Even her sandals were tied, lacing past her ankles and up her calves until she got fed up and wound the laces three times around her lower leg to tighten the slack.

She washed her face in the tepid water in the ewer from the night before, and wound her hair into a hasty, unskilled braid, before she emerged from the bedroom feeling slightly less useless. The smell of bread was thick as she re-entered the main room, where she was shuttled onto a low stool.

Esme pressed a platter of toast on her, and she slid the warm cup of tea towards her.

"Drink," she commanded. Bella brought her cup to her lips. "Eat."

Carlisle bit his toast pointedly at her, and Bella copied his example.

"Thank you," she said, her words muffled around the food. "It's lovely."

"It's only toast," said Esme. "Eat that up, and I'll whip up some eggs. Those catty old hens laid quite a few while we were away, and it's about time we were eating them."

Bella, nibbling at the edge of her toast, watched as Esme cracked half a dozen eggs into a large, black, cast iron skillet.

"Where did that come from?" Bella asked. Esme looked askance at her, and she jerked her chin at the fire. "The pan," she clarified. "It looks like the ones we've got at home."

Carlisle grinned, a little guiltily.

"I suppose it might be," he conceded. Esme stirred the eggs. "Did I ever tell you about my father?"

"No," Bella finished her toast. "Was he a cook?"

"Heavens no," laughed Carlisle. "He was a collector."

"A collector?"

"Yes," said Carlisle. "You see, each family in Marolando has a trade," he began.

"The King mentioned that…"

"Did he?" Carlisle raised an eyebrow. "Well… my family's trade is medicine. We've been healers since the day Marolando rose from the sea."

Bella bit her cheek to keep her mouth shut.

"But my father, bless him, never caught on to the medicines like he should have."

Esme giggled.

"That's why I've been the healer for so long, you see… when my father's lack of prowess showed, my grandfather gave up in despair and turned to me, instead."

"And so your father became a collector?" asked Bella curiously. "Of what?"

"Living so close to the sea means that we've always spent plenty of time at the beach," said Carlisle, "and the beach can a strange place…"

Bella stared at him.

"What I mean is that no matter how the ocean currents run, most things that wash up here appear on the southern shores of the island," he explained. "That's how you ended up there, and not on the northern coast. It's where my father found all his trinkets."

"What trinkets?"

"That thing, for one." Carlisle nodded at the frying pan. "It was rusted to bits when he found it, but a good scouring and cleaning brought it back to life."

"What else did he find?"

"All sorts," Carlisle said. "Odd trinkets, and sea glass, seashells, and stones. Strange bits of wood, coins with unfamiliar faces, and even old books, with words we cannot read."

Bella's eyes widened.

"Books?" she asked. Esme shot Carlisle a warning glance. "What sorts of books?"

It was Carlisle's turn to go red.

"We can't be sure…"

"Because you can't read them?"

"Not exactly," he said, rising to his feet. "I'll show you, someday, but…"

"But?"

"But they are blasphemous books," explained Carlisle quickly. "The books were banned by Edward's grandfather— he was a most careful and pious man— and though I'm sure Edward would never have us arrested for such a minor crime, it is best not to flaunt them."

Esme placed a plate of eggs before her, thrusting a fork into her hands, but Bella did not eat.

"How do you know they're blasphemous if you can't read them?"

"Ah…" Carlisle smiled gently at her. "There were men who could read them… those that spoke the Old Language."

"Which language was that?"

"I do not know it's name… no one does, now that the Ancient Ones are gone."

"Gone?"

"Dead," he said softly, and Bella frowned worriedly. "No, no… nothing to fear. They were old men when I was just a child. It is nature's way."

Bella stirred the food on her plate.

"I…" she began slowly. "Where did the books come from?"

"The sea," said Carlisle, "as I've said. My father found them…"

"No, before that," Bella asked. "Where did they come from before they were lost at sea? Is there a name inside?"

"I… do not know," admitted Carlisle. "The Old Ones said they were from the Gods, though I don't know if I believe that…"

"Eat your breakfast, before it gets cold," Esme cut in, smiling tensely at Bella. "Enough of this talk. You've not even taken a bite!"

Carlisle, smiling deferentially at his wife, took a hearty mouthful and swallowed it down.

"Lovely, as always, dear," he complimented. One flashing look from him told Bella to do the same. "I thank the Gods everyday for your cooking."

Esme brushed him off, but even Bella could see the pleased smile on her lips.

"Be careful," implored Esme, reaching up to hand Carlisle a packet of hard bread for the road. "Don't let her get into trouble."

Bella pretended not to listen as she fussed with Kora's saddle, adjusting the stirrup so she could reach.

"There's no trouble to be had," said Carlisle soothingly. "The beach will be empty. What are you so afraid of?"

"You know the risks," said Esme dubiously. "What if there is danger on the beach?"

"The watchtower hasn't sounded the alarm," soothed Carlisle. "If they do, you know what to do?"

"Yes, yes…" Esme brushed him off. "But you need to keep safe. You need to keep her safe."

"We'll both be fine and well, darling, you'll see." Carlisle stooped to kiss her. "Now, be at ease, Esme. We'll be home in time for supper."

"I hope so." Esme glanced at Bella, and Bella looked swiftly away. She did not have the heart to tell Esme that she had no plans to return. She would find a boat or an ocean-faring raft, and she would be gone. She would catch a plane overhead. She would catch a ship on some trade route. She might even catch…

Esme's arms around her shoulders made Bella's heart leap, though she returned the embrace with hearty and fierce enthusiasm.

"Thank you for everything," said Bella. "Truly."

"I'll see you at supper," said Esme firmly. "We'll have chicken stew."

Bella smiled dully at her.

"Thanks, Esme," she said again. "You've been a great help to me."

"Be safe, Bella," she said. "Listen to Carlisle. If the watchtower sounds the alarm, you must come straight home. If you see anything suspicious, run away."

"I'll be perfectly safe," said Bella soothingly. "I promise. Have a wonderful day, Esme, and thank you again."

Esme kissed her cheek, but said nothing else.

"Are we ready, Bella?" asked Carlisle. He was already seated atop his horse. "We're about a twenty-minute ride to the water."

"Yes," said Bella quickly. "Yes. Thank you."

She took Kora's bridle in her fist, and, patting the horse carefully on the neck, Bella took hold of her reins and swung herself up into the saddle, her legs aching as they settled into her riding position.

"Walk on," she said softly, giving the reins a slight wiggle. Kora began to move, falling into step beside Carlisle's stallion, and Bella looked back one last time at Esme, who was waving her goodbye from the wooden gate.

"We'll be fine, but Esme does worry," said Carlisle softly, once they were out of earshot. Almost as soon as they entered the trees, Bella felt the sudden coolness of shade.

"She's very kind," Bella said, "to worry about me."

"She worries about everyone," chuckled Carlisle. "But you've taken up residence in that big heart of hers, so she'll worry about you until the end of time."

A twinge of conscience made Bella grimace, and Carlisle, observant as ever, did not miss it. He was silent for a long moment, the horses trotting lithely along the wide path, before he spoke.

"I know what you hope to find," he said finally, "and I understand the desire, but I warn you, Bella— you will not find what you're looking for down here."

Bella said nothing.

"There are no boats on the southern shore. There are precious few boats on the northern shore, though that's where the fishing wharfs are. Our people are not a seafaring people."

Bella sighed.

"I have to try," she said. "Why did you agree to take me if you know I'm wrong?"

"Because I think you'd have tried, regardless," he said easily. "I'm old enough to know stubbornness when I see it, and that single-minded determination has been rolling off of you ever since you were conscious enough to remember what had happened. Don't think I've forgotten how badly you've been yearning for home."

Bella sighed, but did not disagree.

"I ended up on this island somehow," said Bella quietly, "so there must be a way off of it."

Carlisle glanced carefully at her.

"Are you unhappy here?" he asked. "Are we so different from your own people?"

The question reminded her of Jasper. He had asked her much the same thing, though with more anger and disappointment concealed behind his handsome, boyish face. The way Carlisle said it was much different— he sounded sombre and soft, with a look of calm acceptance on his face, but when he turned to face the light, Bella caught a distinct sadness in his eyes.

"...no," she hesitated, though her red cheeks belied her falsehood. "You are not so different."

"But you are unhappy," he finished. He did not ask her this time. "I am sorry you're not happy."

Bella bit her lip to keep the sudden sting of tears at bay.

"It's not that," she said quickly. "You've been wonderful… all of you."

"Even my youngest nephew?" laughed Carlisle. "He did leave you out on your own, with no one but dogs for company."

Bella chuckled as well.

"Even him," she conceded. "It's just…"

"I understand," said Carlisle. He pulled his horse closer to hers. "Truly, I do. I can't imagine being torn from my family, my life here…"

"I have a family too," she said. "I have my uncle, who's probably absolutely frantic, and my best friend, Jake. And my dog…"

Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. God, how she missed her dog…

"I understand," said Carlisle, more softly than before. "I'm sorry, Bella…"

"You've been wonderful," she said again. "And even though I know you'll be right about the boats, I can't stop trying. I need to try. I owe them that much."

Carlisle gave her a soft smile.

"They probably think I'm dead," she whispered. She'd thought the words many times before, but saying them out loud brought a new, queer ache to her chest. "I don't even know if they're looking for me."

"Oh, Bella," Carlisle reached out and took her hand. "They're looking. If there's one true thing I know about family, it's that they will never stop looking for the ones they love, even when all hope is lost."

The beach was blazing white.

Stopped in the dusty reaches where the jungle met the sky, Bella knelt, scooping up a handful of the fine sugar sand at the far edge of the beach. The waves roared as they crashed against the coast, and though she could see the wet waterline only feet from where she sat, the ebbing tide was already pulling the salty sea back to its briny depths.

"It's huge," said Bella in disbelief. "I didn't think it would be so big."

"It's about three leagues from end to end," remarked Carlisle. "The largest beach on the island."

"There's more than one?" asked Bella. "How many more?"

"One sandy beach," answered Carlisle. "That's the one where you were found. And of course, there's the rocky shore just past the Rocklands in the north. There are some access points in the west as well, but for the most part, the island's coast is made up of cliffs. This is the lowest point on the island, and the highest cliffs are bordering the Bay of Tides."

"What do they call this one?" Bella rose to her feet and dusted her knees.

"Big Beach," laughed Carlisle. "Not very creative, I know… Three guesses as to what they call the other one."

Bella smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. True to Carlisle's word, Bella saw no other living soul on the shore, and there was certainly no hint of a boat.

Not even a dock to launch one, or a misplaced rope or oar.

"I…" Bella stared out at the lapping waves. "I didn't think…"

"Do you not have beaches where you're from?" asked Carlisle. Over the course of their ride to the coast, he'd asked Bella a great number of questions about where she was from. She'd told him all about her house, and the schools she'd attended, and the job she'd been prepared to take all the way across the water. She wasn't sure he believed her— not when she'd started talking about airplanes and air travel, but he'd listened anyways with a polite smile on his face and a curious twinkle in his eye. He'd even asked her about her language— the one which no one here seemed to speak— and when she'd introduced herself to him in English, a simple "My name is…" and "How do you do?", he'd been as pleased as punch.

"We have beaches," said Bella. "Plenty of them. Though none like this where I'm from. And never one this bare. The beaches by my house were cold, and always so wet."

"This beach is wet," supplied Carlisle unhelpfully. He gestured pointedly towards the receding water. "And see? Not so bare…"

He glanced pointedly at the hovering trees, which lined the edge of the sand so thickly that Bella wondered how a path had ever been carved through at all.

"I mean people," Bella amended. "If we had a beach like this— so warm, and white, and sunny— there would be an endless stream of people here to swim."

"I see," said Carlisle, though Bella was sure he did not. "I…"

He trailed off suddenly, and Bella blinked up at him through the glare of the sun.

"What?" she asked. He was staring out at the water, his eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. Bella saw caution rise in him as though a switch had been flicked, and all of his mirth and joy drained away at once.

"Do you see that?" he asked. Bella glanced out to where he was looking. "No, a little to the left… just there."

He pointed, and Bella had to squint to make out what he was seeing. She saw water— the glaring, sparkling blue that crested in white-capped waves along the distant horizon. She saw sand— an endless, sprawling desert that stretched as far as the eye could see. She saw rocks— big ones poking out of sandbars some thirty feet out to sea, and little ones— pebbles, really— that lined the shore where the waves had brought them up. She saw a bird— one of the massive, curious bluebirds that roosted on the city rooves in King Edward's capital, and a lonely crab, scuttling on his stunted legs towards the soothing shade of a coconut tree…

"Where?" she asked. "I don't see anything."

"Just there," he said, pointing again to something Bella could not see. He jogged out towards the water, leaving his horse tied to a nearby tree, and Bella followed after him, her feet sinking into the sand.

"What?" she asked again, reaching the edge of the water. Carlisle paused for a moment, glancing down at her, before he pointed again, and Bella stared out at the sea.

Had the tide not been ebbing, Bella was sure she would never have seen the object that had attracted Carlisle's attention. Some fifty feet out, bobbing slightly in the wading surf, was a bulky, black something that Bella could just make out.

"What is it?" she asked, watching as the thing crested and fell with each coming wave. The current seemed to be tugging it back out to sea, though its movements were slow, and Bella felt hypnotized by the rhythmic rise and fall.

"I don't know," said Carlisle. Bella watched as he shed his sandals. "Watch yourself…"

He waded out into the surf, moving smoothly through the water until he was waist-deep, reaching out with one, long arm to take hold of it.

Bella knew what it was just as soon as he turned around.

Though Carlisle looked confused and baffled by this strange find, Bella felt a sinking sort of nausea in her stomach at the sight of the thing. She knew what it was, though it did not belong to her, and as he carried the sodden, heavy thing closer to shore, Bella wondered what else from her ill-fated flight might wash up on the beach.

He laid the suitcase down with care, glancing nervously at Bella as she felt along the sides for the hidden zipper.

"Do you know what it is?" asked Carlisle anxiously. He slipped his feet back into his sandals. "I've never seen the like of it."

"Yes," said Bella. She tugged at the zipper. "It's called a suitcase."

The English word made him grimace as Bella prized it open.

The case had evidently belonged to a man. Bella sifted through pairs of sodden jeans, hastily bundled, stinking polo shirts, a broken stick of deodorant, and a plastic file folder full of what might have been paper. Bella dumped the grey slop onto the sand, looking for a name or some other identifying material, but the wasted paper was nothing but sludge, and she soon had the case emptied.

Carlisle picked up the empty, plastic Old Spice stick, and gave it an experimental sniff.

"Is…" Carlisle spoke slowly as Bella began sifting through the pile again. "Is this yours?"

"No," she said softly. "I don't know who it belongs to."

Carlisle blew out a breath.

"Well…" He peered back at the horses. "Do you want to take it?"

"I…" Bella sat back in the sand. "What if there are others?"

"Others?"

"Other bags?" Bella asked. "Other… things."

She felt a queasiness rising in her stomach— a sort of queasiness that she hadn't felt before, and one that threatened to linger.

"Things?" Carlisle was confused. "What kinds of things?"

She bit her lip.

Bella did not remember much from her journey on the airplane. She remembered saying goodbye to her Uncle Charlie at the security checkpoint, remembered how he'd waved her off with misty eyes and a toothy smile as she'd winked at him through the glass divider that separated him from her. She remembered the friendly flight attendant on the first plane— the one she'd taken from Seattle to Los Angeles— and she remembered the sheer size of the second plane, which had been destined for Beijing. She remembered how nervous she had been, watching through the window as the plane taxied across the tarmac, all the while listening raptly to the safety demonstration.

She didn't remember taking off. She didn't remember whether or not she'd had a drink from the cart, or if she'd gotten in trouble for having her headphones in to keep her calm. She remembered the smiling attendant with her jaunty kerchief, the red shirt of the little boy beside her, and the words that smiling attendant had spoken as she dismantled one of the blue airplane seats.

"...your seat bottom cushion can be used as a flotation device. Pull the cushion up from the seat, slip your arms into the straps, and hug the cushion to your chest…"

Her heart in her throat, Bella scanned the water's surface with a reluctant dread settling deep in the pit of her stomach.

"What is it?" asked Carlisle, glancing nervously out to sea. "Do you see something else?"

"No," murmured Bella, letting out a long, hissing breath. "No, I don't see anything."

"Well…" Carlisle cleared his throat. "Shall we move on? The beach is quite long, and you do want to see where they found you?"

"Yes," said Bella. "Yes, let's move on."

She left the ransacked suitcase behind on the beach.

Bella stared, dismayed, at the collection of detritus on the shore of Little Beach.

"We must send for some assistance, Bella," said Carlisle gently. She barely felt his hands on her back. "We must send for aid."

She felt absolutely, positively sick. Unable to stop the bile rising in her throat, she doubled over and wretched, her eyes streaming and her heart pounding.

"It's alright, Bella," Carlisle turned her away from the water. "Don't look…" He held her braided hair out of the line of fire when she wretched again, the putrid wind blowing off of the water setting her off.

They were littered all across the edge of the ocean. Some clung to floating aircraft seats, some were tossed haphazardly ashore by the flowing tides, and others bobbed limply in the surf as Bella bit back a third bout of nausea. The beach was a wreck— suitcases, broken and torn, had spilled their contents onto the sand. Bits of plastic— large chunks the size of car doors and some pieces as small as slivers— littered the ground and sea. Charred metal, bent and warped as if by the hands of a deranged craftsman, lay all across the beach like some twisted display of modern art. A passport lay half-buried in the sand near her feet.

But between the mess of metal, cloth, and plastic, lay the bodies— dozens of lifeless, bloated corpses, all rotting in the noontime sun.

Bella could not speak.

"Sit down, sweetheart." Carlisle urged her to her knees, lowering her carefully onto the sand as he procured her water bag from the saddle of her horse. He urged her to drink. "You're very pale, Bella, and it will not do for you to faint now. Are you alright?"

"They're all dead," she heard herself say. "All dead…"

"Yes." Carlisle pursed his lips. "I'm very sorry."

Bella spat water onto the sand, washing the taste of sick from her mouth.

"What do we do?" she asked, her voice high and panicked. She could not tear her eyes away from the sight. "We can't just leave them here…"

Though the thought of pulling them out made her stomach roil again.

"No…" Carlisle shook his head. "We must send for help."

"From who?" she asked, barking a short, almost hysterical laugh. "From who, Carlisle?"

He simply shook his head.

"Rest a moment," he urged. Bella brushed his hand away when he brought it to her forehead. "Just rest here, and drink some water. Do you feel like you'll be sick again?"

"I…" Bella could not answer. "Carlisle, what are we going to do?"

He stared at her again.

"They're all dead," she repeated. "All of them…"

That could have been her, had she been caught in the current…

"Yes," he repeated again. "I'm very sorry… did you know them?"

"No." Bella clamped her eyes shut to keep her water down. "No…"

"Alright… do not fret, Bella… we will call for help."

She laughed through her tears, swallowing hard to keep herself under control. Carlisle, glancing nervously at the scene of carnage, shook his head and drew himself up to his full height.

"Sit and rest," he ordered, and Bella felt no urge to disobey. "I'll be right back."

Her head snapped up.

"Don't leave me here," she begged. "Please, don't leave me here with them…"

"Hush, child, I'm not leaving you anywhere," he soothed. "I'm collecting leaves. That's all."

Bella blinked.

"Leaves?"

"Yes." He reached up to a low-hanging branch of a coconut tree and tugged a handful of leaves from their stalky stems. "Leaves are wet, and if I can gather enough damp kindling to start a fire, the smoke will signal to the Southern Watchtower."

Bella's mouth was dry.

"Smoke?"

"Rest, Bella," said Carlisle anxiously. She did not fight him when he felt her forehead again. "Lay back. You are very pale."

"I…"

He dropped the leaves and pushed her gently to the ground. The sand beneath her cheek was itchy, though when her head hit the ground, some of the dizziness crept away.

"Good girl," praised Carlisle. He tossed his leaves towards the open space between the jungle and the ocean. "Just rest for a moment, and try to keep calm."

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

Minutes felt like hours as Bella lay, her eyes fixed on the scene of death and destruction that lined the shore. They peppered the beach like pebbles— one here, a few there, until the whole visible shore was covered with them. Bella had ridden up on them first— testing Kora's speed had been a wild mistake, and it was only after Carlisle had heard her shrill, startled cry that he'd come running too.

He found her on the sand, kneeling beside the stranger's mottled, swollen face, and though Bella could see that the woman was clearly dead, it had not stopped her from taking the face in her hands.

Cold, wet, slimy… and putrid. The smell had made her absolutely sick, and she had run, tears streaming, back to the jungle while Carlisle took in the scene.

Bella watched as he used the flint from his saddlebag to coax the damp, reluctant leaves to kindling. The fire was slow to catch— Bella saw Carlisle lay on his front, blowing gently at the pile until the entire thing went up in orange flames. A tunnel of black smoke, blowing gently westward on the wind, went with it, and Bella prayed to every god she knew that someone might see it.

Bella stood, disobeying Carlisle's orders, and tried to collect some more leaves to add to the blaze. Carlisle watched her carefully, eying her every move as she robotically dropped leaf after leaf on the growing inferno, until they heard the distinct sounds of hooves on the sand, and he thrust her behind him.

"Stay close," said Carlisle, and Bella noticed, for the first time, that he held the handle of a long, sharp dagger at his waist. "Don't move until I tell you."

Bella held her breath in her chest, which helped ward off the smell, until she felt Carlisle's body relax as a group of men rode into view.

"Healer," said one man, surprised. "What…?"

The four men, all dressed in the red and gold brocade of the King's Army, blinked stupidly at the sight of the dead, all laying just as they'd been found.

"What happened?" asked one man, descending from his horse. "Are you alright, Healer? My Lady?"

"We need men," said Carlisle hoarsely. "The Lady and I cannot move them on our own, and they deserve a proper burial."

Bella's lip trembled, and she bit it, hard, to keep it still.

"Are you alright?" asked the man again. He advanced on Bella with concern. "What has happened here?"

Carlisle, faltering for the first time that day, glanced at Bella with abject concern etched on every line of his face. Bella cleared her throat, speaking carefully.

"They were… with me," she said awkwardly. "When I fell… they were there too."

The man glanced out to sea, to the place where Bella knew the plane had fallen, and his eyes went wide.

"They were… falling?" he asked. "They've fallen?"

"They've fallen, and they've died," said Bella awkwardly. "And I might have too, if…"

The dam broke then, and the man asked no further questions when Carlisle pulled her to him. Bella clung to him— felt the sturdy weight of him beneath her cheek, and the strength of his arms as he wrapped them around her shoulders in a fierce and sorrowful embrace. She could not stop her tears— they came hot and heavy, no matter how hard she fought them back— and they soaked through the collar of his shirt before he could utter so much as a "there there".

"You're safe, Bella," he said. "I'm so sorry… you're safe. I'll take you back to Esme. You don't need to see this…"

But Bella, shaking her head profusely, clung even tighter.

"I can't!" she said, though she wished it could be otherwise. "I can't just… leave them!"

"There is nothing we can do for them now, Bella," mourned Carlisle. "They've been gone for some time. The most we can do is give them a proper service…"

Bella felt a wild, almost untamable fear growing in her chest. It gripped her like a claw until it took hold of her heart, and squeezed, and pulled it hard.

How was she not dead?

"Hush, darling…" Carlisle tightened his hold when her quiet cries turned to noisy sobs, and her knees began to shake. "It's alright, Bella. You're quite safe…"

Through the tears, Bella saw the four strange soldiers wade into the surf, and two-by-two, they began hauling bodies out of the water. Bella fought for control of herself, grateful for Carlisle's steady support, as they laid out corpses side-by-side, until they were all laid out in rows, shoulder-to-shoulder at the edge of the water.

Carlisle pulled back then, glancing back over the row with sorrow, and Bella looked too, counting.

Twenty six long, bodies, all lumpy and misshapen…

And one small one, on the very far end, with a copse of dark, salty hair, and a bright red shirt.

"Wow mom! We're shaking!"

"Yes, Jeffrey…"

"He's only a boy…"

At her words, Carlisle glanced to where she stared, and his face fell even further.

"I'm very sorry, Bella…" He hugged her to him again. "I'm so very sorry…"

"His name is Jeffrey."

Carlisle squeezed her.

"He was so excited to fly…"

She broke down all over again.

"Come, Bella…" Carlisle pressed a kiss to her brow. "Come away, now. It's time to go… the soldiers will do their job, and all will be well. You'll see…"

He led her to Kora, and Bella mounted her horse with shaking legs. Her horse was steady, even though Bella's tense body squeezed the saddle too hard, and she stayed perfectly calm as Bella fumbled with the reins.

"Come, now… I'm taking you home to Esme. You need some food, a bath, and a good, long cry before you settle down to sleep. Esme will take good care of you, darling…"

He took Kora's reins from her limp and shaking fingers, and led her at a swift canter towards the trail that would lead them home.

But Bella, every fibre in her body shaking, could not rid herself of that sight, no matter how many tears she cried, or how badly her stomach roiled.

Even with her eyes closed, she saw the scene like an etching in stone. A happy, laughing child, beguiled by the mysteries of sky and clouds, turned topsy-turvy in an instant when the world fell apart, and he was stuck, screaming, as his hands were stained with Mother's blood.

A/N: Thank you for the wait! As many of you know, this story has been nominated for a Twific Fandom Award in the Undiscovered Gems category. We've made it past Round 1 of voting, and Round 2 opens today (February 25). If you're interested in voting, please head over to the Twific Fandom Awards blogspot page to cast your vote! Thank you so much to everyone who nominated and voted for this story.

As always, let me know what you think of the chapter! Poor Bella can't catch a break.