Chapter 13. Dreamer

"What are you thinking about?"

Isabella has plopped down onto the sand beside me. She rests her head against my shoulder and wraps a hand around my arm. Then she inhales the salt air and lets it out as though she's attempting to dismiss all of her troubles.

If only it was that easy I would breathe more often.

Regardless of how the confrontation between her roommate and my bouncer may have affected her earlier, she seems more at ease now. And for me, it's comfortable, being here with her, like this. A passerby might assume we've been this way forever.

And her touch - it still gives me a chill. Although I can honestly say that now I welcome it.

Being next to her is soothing to the extent that I am noticeably more relaxed than I have been in ages. This is despite the fact that I know, eventually, once again, I will want to sink my teeth into her flesh and take her life away.

The conflicting emotions of wanting her physically but also desiring her on a much deeper, blood lust level is all a bit much at the moment. Frankly, I wonder how I am any better than Poseidon or the vampire, considering I'm clearly not who she thinks I am.

She's right to question me on everything that transpired this past week, regardless of who placed the idea there in the first place. But perhaps she need not worry. Perhaps I am different in that I intend to ensure nothing bad ever happens to Isabella.

Her instincts are rather telling, I must admit. The questions she throws at me are a blatant reminder that she has some knowledge, on some level, that perhaps I am treacherous, a threat to her very existence. In fact, I cannot help but wonder if she is the offspring of some sort of divine being. I believe I would know about her already if that were true though.

One thing I am keenly aware of right now is the tone of her voice. It's normally quite cheerful. Currently, it's more of a soft, melodic tune that tears at my chest like the tortuous sting of my blade in the underworld.

She asks me what I'm thinking. The sincerity of her words is refreshing. The problem being she has no idea what she's asking. Or perhaps she does.

As I sit with her in the sand just beyond the crashing waves reach, soaking in the warmth of the rising sun, I stare out at the vastness of this ocean before me. Its beauty fills me with a wonder I can't possibly begin to fathom or explain. How is it so much like a mirror to its sister, the Styx, yet it doesn't give me the same dark, harrowing feeling that the Styx does? It is not menacing or depressing. It does not promise emptiness and regret for an eternity to come. Is it the morning glow of a soft sun that sparkles off the ripples of the water that makes the difference? The clean, crisp air that floats across my skin? The white clouds in their ever-changing shapes that hover above? Or is it simply the company I keep?

Perhaps it's all of it.

"I'm thinking about how I'd like to sail across this body of water and never return," I admit. "Maybe due West a bit." I look upward, toward the sky. "The stars are difficult to read this time of day, but perhaps to some of the lesser known Channel Islands. Or San Clemente."

My voice breaks unexpectedly, mid sentence, revealing emotions I'm not fully prepared to deal with. Nor do I understand why I've chosen these exact words for my reply, considering I don't sail, have never been this side of Hell before, and certainly have never visited these Islands that I speak of.

"All alone?" Isabella asks as her grasp tightens a bit around my arm. She scoots closer to block the wind. I peek down at her. She's gazing out beyond us as well with a wishful look in her eyes. I'm curious if there's a chance she would go with me were it possible.

"Preferably not," I finally say.

"Sometimes I think I'd like to do that." She's not exactly saying it to me. I get the feeling it's more of a passing thought she's let escape her lips by accident as she admires the beauty out before us.

"It seems to transcend space and time, does it not?" I wonder aloud and, at that, Isabella begins to hum.

"Mmmmm.. One day all seven will die."

I'm taken aback. Is she speaking of the gods? I was under the impression we were but myths to the humans. "I'm sorry?"

Isabella lets out a small huff of laughter. "You know, Prince. I mean, I thought you were making a reference." She shakes her head a bit. "I guess not."

Not the gods then. Only princes.

"I'm not following again, I suppose."

"Never mind," she says quietly, going back to her thoughtfulness.

And then, after a quiet moment, I suggest, "You could you know."

"Hmmm?"

"Sail away," I tell her in a low voice, unsure if it's what she wants to hear or not. But even as I make such a hollow promise, she realizes it is too. And that is the end of our daydreaming for now.

She sits upright and the loss of her touch gives me a distinct sense of emptiness. I want to reach out and pull her back into me but some sort of ridiculous logic stops me. I know she doesn't belong to me. She never will.

I suddenly realize the want she creates inside of me has not turned into the urge to kill her as it normally does. Is this another extension of the vampire's will? Has he softened to Isabella as I have? Or is he simply biding his time?

"It's not exactly realistic though, is it?" she asks, pulling me from my thoughts. She drags a finger through the sand, making abstract designs.

Even though I agree. I'm curious as to her reasons for the statement. I'm interested in everything Isabella says. "Why is that?"

"Well I don't mean to beat a dead horse here, Edward, but-" she brushes the sand off of her hands. "Work, for one."

I shrug her reasoning away with an eye roll. "That's an absurd reason, Isabella."

She laughs. "For you maybe. But most of us don't have a bottomless pit of wealth at our disposal. We need money to live. And purpose. And therefore… work."

"To what end?" This has puzzled me for a millennia. Humans toil away, working themselves into the ground for decades, thinking that is their reason for existing. And that somehow, at the end of their backbreaking labor of some sort, they'll what? Be rewarded for all of this?

It's only in the end, at death, that they realize they get nothing. No amount of earthly wealth will keep that statute from changing. Besides, even if they could, it wouldn't turn their enemies into friends. It certainly wouldn't buy them any favors from the likes of Hades, ruler of the underworld.

"Excuse me?" Isabella doesn't seem to get my meaning. Or read minds.

"Humans," I correct myself. "People seem to be born with an instinct that they must work in order to have this purpose you speak of. Those who are not born with it are taught. Some find that purpose easily, some never find it despite searching their entire lives."

Isabella blinks and a small v forms between her eyes in confusion.

"Everyone ends up cold and alone in the afterlife, Isabella. What does it matter what you do with the time you've got while you're alive if that's what there is to look forward to?"

A short, almost offended sounding "Ha!" is thrown out to me.

"What matters," she starts, "is how you affect… you know… the people around you."

I get the impression I was supposed to already understand this concept. The truth is, I understand more than she ever possibly could.

"People." I scoff. Humans. "People are not worth the time, Isabella. Believe me."

She tilts her head. The v between her eyes becomes less about not understanding me and more about becoming a tad irate. "Really."

"Yes, really," I tell her. And then I understand why she's irate.

I wave a hand. "Not you, of course."

That appears to be neither here nor there. "Exactly why is it that other people aren't worth the time, Edward?"

That's easy. "They lie, for one."

Her face falls infinitesimally. "Everyone lies." And her voice is smaller now. I don't believe I was supposed to notice. But I notice everything.

A note for later.

Regardless, there are plenty of other reasons. "They cheat," I add.

"That's-"

"They steal." I tell her before she can object. I am much more perturbed than I probably should be, but the subject matter is quite close to home for me. "They kill. And the work they put in? To make all this money they need? They use it to further their lying, cheating, stealing, and killing."

"W-" She begins to protest but stops mid-thought, leaving her cheeks looking as though the air is trapped inside her mouth.

Her expression tells me she's struggling with how to argue her point further, and I realize I've lost my temper with her. I take a breath and let calmness spread.

My voice softens as I continue on. "At the end of every road, Isabella, is death and destruction. Of one sort or another."

It's rather sad, actually. To watch souls become filled with so much regret in the afterlife, never able to redeem themselves.

"W-wow." Isabella breathes out in defeat. "I'm…"

Suddenly, with her loss of words, I'm feeling remorseful myself, for how I've put humanity's journey into perspective. Sadder still is the thought of Isabella ending up in my domain. Ever. I don't feel the need to make a point about the afterlife anymore.

"Of course, what do I know?"

Everything.

I know everything.

Unfortunately.

But Isabella doesn't need to know that.

Her eyes are downcast, and even as she attempts to force out a small laugh, I know she's not happy. How could she be? She's keeping company with the king of Hell. I'm the damned epitome of depression.

"You sure are one seriously pessimistic soul, Edward."

She has no idea. I haven't even gotten to the whoremongers and human traffickers. The sadness lingering around the edges of her words is enough to pierce me with anguish. For the first time in the history of Hades, I wish I would think before I speak. And the word she's chosen to describe me… it's ironic.

"I'm not sure I have a soul anymore, to be honest," I tell her with a sigh and no thought as to what I'm confessing. I contemplate the water before us again. It's been bothering me for quite some time now. How could I, Hades, ruler of the dead, torturer of souls, feel this increasingly strong bond with such a seemingly insignificant creature?

Except that she's not insignificant.

"Everyone's got a soul, Edward," she informs me with a gentle nudge to my arm. Her expression a bit lighter again, finally. "Even you," she adds with the smallest of grins. Her eyes sparkle now, the previous agitation forgotten. And she gives me this look like she truly believes it.

I want to believe her, too.

Startlingly enough, for my sake and the vampire's.

"Do you really think so?" I ask. "Or are you just trying to make me feel better?"

She smiles thoughtfully. "I could ask the same of you."

"Meaning?"

"Do you really think that with all the liars, and cheats, and-" she skips a beat-"Murderers in the world, that I'm the exception?" She looks melancholy. "Or were you just trying to make me feel better?"

One would assume I'd need to avert the question. But I don't. And I'm not lying when I say, "If ever there was an exception, Isabella. There isn't a doubt in my mind that it would be you."

I hold her stare and try to understand what must be going through that head of hers that makes her think she could be the equivalent of anyone stranded in Hell. I could peer into those knowing eyes for an eternity and then some, but it's Isabella who breaks the moment, leaning in to whisper in my ear.

"I really do think you have a soul, Edward," she tells me. I'm only beginning to appreciate the heat of her breath against my skin when she pushes herself up off of the sand and practically, forcibly, changes her mood. "Now, what you do with that soul, that's a whole other conversation."

She's back to sarcasm, I believe.

It takes me a moment to realize she's headed back toward the car.

I twist and turn and ask in protest, "Where are you going?" I'm not ready for this discussion to end, but evidently, she's not coming back.

Instead, she spins and begins walking backwards. "Don't you think we need to find a place to stay, Mister Smarty Pants who just drove most of the night with no plan?" she asks me with a wry grin. "I mean, unless you own the entire beach town."

She's obviously teasing me. I think.

But now I'm curious. Do I own the entire beach town? A query for later, I suppose. Right now, I must find a place with a view that will inspire Isabella to sail away with me.

PSA: Thanks so much for reading this crazy. Thanks to Sue for fixing my words. To Chrisann for telling me to breathe. And BelladonnaCullen for making this a whole lot more fun to write. One of the (many) perks to writing with her? Excellent musical inspiration: try Sleepwalking by Modest Mouse for this chapter. And now you should definitely go find out what's up inside Bella's head over at Friend of the Devil's new update this week... and then read prettykittyartists "Slapshot" for some more fun because this Bella makes me smile so big.