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April 16th, 2023
Esme's POV
"Are we back?" Carlisle asked when everything suddenly stopped spinning. We were back where we had left. The sun coming up, the yard an unkept mess, the farmhouse and barn crumbling, our car next to us, and the tractor still moseying along the unturned field.
"We're back." I confirmed, and carefully unwrapped the chain from our twined hands, freeing them. But Carlisle didn't let go immediately. Instead he pulled me into a tight hug, embracing me with every inch of his arms and chest. I felt smaller than I normally did when he hugged me. I felt him nestle his face into my hair. I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his scent. The scent that only he had, the scent that brought me the most comfort, the scent that lingered on his handkerchief. We stood there, embraced for several minutes until I pulled away.
"Now what?" he asked, a hint of apprehension in his tone.
"Back into the city," I told him, slipping the time turner into my pocket, "But I'm driving," I added, holding my hand out, and he hesitantly placed the keys in my palm. My fingers curled around them and I smiled softly, touching my other hand to his cheek. He captured it with his own and placed a kiss against my palm.
"Are you sure you're ok?" he asked quietly. I nodded softly, lowering my hand and walking around the car to the driver's side, climbing in. Carlisle climbed into the passenger seat, and both of us buckled up.
I took one more look at the crumbling house, knowing that the next time I came around, it would probably be missing the roof, or the chimney.
As I pulled the car out of the yard and back onto the road headed back towards the city, I felt Carlisle's left hand come to rest on my thigh. I could tell he was nervous, worried. And despite my attempt to hide it, he could tell my nerves were just below the surface. I was very aware of what I was about to walk into and force my husband to follow me. The guilt was just below the surface as well, throbbing in my chest. But I tried to push it down. Carlisle voice broke me from my thoughts, almost making me jump.
"You lived in the city, or just outside?" he asked, trying to cut the tension that hung in the air.
"Um… well it would have been outside the city back then, in the more rural outskirts. But it's probably inside the city limits now," I said quietly.
"Esme?" he asked softly, and I looked over at him for a moment, "Are you sure about this?" he asked. I sighed softly, as the edge of the city came into view.
"It's part of the past. And there are some things I wished I knew about, that I have the chance to find out now," I told him. He turned slightly in his seat.
"What do you mean?" he asked. I sat silent for a moment before telling him.
"I'd love to just follow him out one night, when he leaves me alone… I always had my suspicion he slept around and thought I was clueless… And to see the look on his face when Edward walked in," I told my husband. That feeling of sinister satisfaction was lacing my tone as I gripped the wheel, just a little to tight.
"Is that it?" he asked, a nervousness in his voice. I sighed.
"I just want you to see," I admitted, lowering my head, and leaning back into the seat as I turned onto the perimeter heading east around the city. Carlisle took one of my hands off the wheel and laced our fingers together, before lifting it to his lips and peppering the backside of my hand with soft kisses.
OoO
The house wasn't there, and for that I was glad, or getting out of the car would have been much more difficult. I climbed out of the car, walking around to the passenger side as Carlisle was stepping out. He took my hand in his, and we walked a bit further down the sidewalk, closer to the house, trying not to look suspicious if anyone happened to see us. The curtains of the home were closed as it was early Sunday morning and many people were still asleep. I sighed, turning my back to the yard, and reached my free hand into the pocket, grasping the time turner and gently wrapping the gold chain around our fingers. I could feel Carlisle's gaze on me, before I felt his finger brush my hair away from my eyes, and then his lips pressed softly to my forehead.
"Are you ok?" he asked, and I looked up to meet his gaze. It was a look of concern, worry. I hesitated to answer; because I wasn't ok. If my heart was beating, I would be shaking right now.
"I will be," I tried to assure him. We stared at each other, silent for a moment, before I sharply broke out gaze and looked down, grasping the little knobs of the pendant, and took a deep breath, before I started turning.
Backwards time flew, as I tried to focus on the years going by.
…
Turn of the century
…
80's
…
50's
…
30's
…
1919. For a brief moment the world around us was decorated with patriotism. The end of the war.
1918
1917
1916.
And then I stopped.
I slowly looked up and took in the sight.
It was late 1916. Winter. Snow heavily decorated the land around us.
From inside the house, through a partially open curtain, a fire cast shadows across the living room.
I walked toward the house, up the path, towards the front porch, with Carlisle trailing beside me. The top step creaked the way I remembered, and I peered into the widow that was the living room. The house was quiet inside, only the fire was crackling softly.
It was strange looking into what was once my home. The tortuous hell that was my life for four years.
Curled up in the corner, asleep in a chair, with a blanket over most of her body, was a young woman, who even in her sleep, looked exhausted.
Me.
Although I couldn't recall one of these nights, it was still like déjà vu somehow.
"He must be out," I said, my voice low, as I turned and looked at Carlisle. I pointed to the only set of footprints that were walking away from the house.
We didn't seem to leave any evidence of our presence.
I stepped away from the window, and swung open the screen door, and then pushed open the other door, entering the house, with Carlisle directly on my tail.
The heat and light were radiating from the living room, where my attention was drawn. I stood in the entrance way, taking in the sight that had had since been a foggy one in my distant memory. The stairs in front of me that led to the second floor, the kitchen entrance to the left, the living room entrance to the right. At the end of the hall was the bathroom.
I looked over to Carlisle, who was admiring a hat that was on the coat tree. He turned and gave me a soft, comforting smile. The silence was better than the plethora of questions I'm sure he was trying to keep to himself. He followed me into the living room where the fire light was flickering. I sat down on the couch, Carlisle settling next to me, a bit uneasy. That made two of us then. I noticed him looking around.
"I know you want to say something," I said, almost making him jump. He turned and gave me another weak smile, but remained silent, "Say something, love," I whispered.
"Did you decorate?" he asked, almost questioning himself, and I had to resist the urge to laugh slightly. I knew that wasn't what was bothering him, but I answered him anyway.
"Some what," I said with a sigh, "The furniture was here when I moved in. I added the little touches here and there," I explained, pointing to the pictures on the walls, and the things on the mantle.
"Upstairs?" he asked, looking up at the ceiling. My gaze followed his.
"Three bedrooms. A master, a guest, and one is more of a storage room," I said, my eyes falling to the calendar on the wall.
December 10th, 1916
I had only been married for three months at this point and hadn't really finished putting all my things away in my new home.
Only three months meant that things hadn't really gotten that bad yet. I think we had only had a handful of small disagreements in those three months.
"You know, it started off ok," I said quietly, "It wasn't hell from day one, but it was never the life I wanted for myself," I added, leaning forward and resting my arms on my knees.
That's when I heard it…
The front step creaked under a heavy boot.
I felt my entire body tense up. Every nerve in my body was telling me to get out. Despite not needing to breathe, I felt like I couldn't take in enough of that unnecessary oxygen.
When the door swung open softly, and closed even quieter, I relaxed slightly.
I heard it; the sound of a coat being taken off and hung by that pretty hat, and then the footfalls. I could only watch out of the corner of my eye, not wanting to make eye contact with this ghost of my past.
The footfalls took two steps up the stairs, before pausing for a moment, and then turning and coming back down. I closed my eyes as they approached, and the stopped again. I feared opening my eyes.
"Esme?"
I opened my eyes.
The voice was soft and quiet.
The girl curled up in the chair stirred from her sleep, lifting her hands to rub her eyes like a small child, and stretching.
"Charles?" she grumbled questioningly, before opening her eyes, squinting as they adjusted in the dimly lit room, "What time is it?" she asked, nestling back into the chair.
"It's long after midnight, love," he said and from beside me was a soft, low growl. I squeezed my husbands' hand softly, calming him. They were only ghosts.
"I must have….fallen asleep after dinner," Esme said in between a yawn, letting her eyes slip closed again. Charles half smiled, before reaching for the poker by the fireplace and pushing the logs around; the flames dying down as he put it back.
"Come on, the beds probably comfier than this old thing," he said, scooping Esme up in his arms, blanket and all. Herhead slumped against his shoulder as he turned to take her upstairs.
"After midnight?" she mumbled softly, "Don't you have to work early?"
Their voices faded as they disappeared up the stairs, and I frowned, looking at the clock. It was indeed long after midnight. Two in the morning, actually. I sighed, running my fingers through my hair with my free hand, still staring at the dark stairs.
From beside me, Carlisle let out a heavy exhale.
"That was….sweet, almost," he said softly, a hint of sadness in his tone.
I leaned into his shoulder, resting my head against it, and closing my eyes, listening the dying fire; the room becoming dark behind my eyelids.
"Are you sure you want to go forward?" he asked, placing his lips against my hair. I took a deep breath and sat up straight again.
"Yeah," I said, standing up, pulling him with me. I lifted the little pendant that was turning slowly and carefully presented it to my husband. He gave me a look of concern. "It's ok. Go ahead," I assured him.
He took it gently, holding the knobs, studying it as it turned at its casual pace.
"Just turn it away from you to go forward in time, and towards you to go back," I explained, and he hesitated for a moment before he started turning it. I studied his face as he moved time. He was watching whatever was happening around us in fast forward. I spaced out, on focusing on him.
Suddenly he stopped, holding the dial in place, a look of horror on his face.
I was afraid of turning around and looking at what he had stopped at.
"Esme," he said, in barely a whisper, the devastation and pain in his voice forced me to turn my head. As I turned, my eyes graced the calendar.
June 18th, 1917
And the horror behind me was one sharp from my memory.
The disheveled, battered woman was pressed up against the wall near the kitchen entrance, frozen in place. Seething above her, the angry man, with his back to us, but a hand raised, ready to strike. I didn't need to see his face to know he was drunk. His hair was disheveled, his suit jacket was undone.
Carlisle stood just as frozen as the other two figures in the room. Very suddenly, but not to my surprise, a deep snarl torn from his chest, and I had to wrap my arms around him the best I could.
"They're just ghosts," I whispered to him.
Just ghosts.
"Why?" Carlisle asked, his voice breaking.
"He went out to drink after work and came home late. He was drunk, and angry that I had eaten without him, and his food was cold," I sighed, looking back at the frozen sight again, "Nothing I did was right, except to submit,"
"This isn't the worst?" he asked, and I shook my head.
"No, the worst was after the war. That's why he went out drinking… his number came up for the draft," I said, turning back to face Carlisle. He was still holding the knobs of the time turner firmly. I touched his arm softly with my free hand, and then gently pulled the pendant free from his grasp, allowing it to turn on its own, pressing play on the inevitable.
"You stupid-"
SMACK!
The blow to the side of the face was hard enough that it stunned her, and she stumbled, falling to the floor, smacking her head on the corner of the table by the door when she tried to stop her fall.
Recovering from the fall several seconds later, she raised her hand to her head, smearing the blood that was just beginning to run from her hairline. Her face displayed pure agony. The cheek that had been hit was a sharp red, but the wound on her head was in more pain.
Charles' tense position softened partially, but he offered no hand to the bleeding woman slumped against the wall and table.
She let out a shaky breath and strained hard to put herself up. She stared, wide eyed, but furious at her husband.
"What the hell," she said, looking at him. There was no sympathy behind his eyes. She pushed past him, only making it only a few steps when he grasped her wrist.
"Esme-"
"Don't!" she snapped, pulling her wrist free, and headed toward the bathroom. She only made it a few more steps before she lost her balance and the blood covered hand grasped the railing, smearing it with crimson.
"That was first time he made me bleed," I said, my voice barely there.
"When did he leave?" Carlisle asked, his voice equally as gone.
"A month later. He was gone until the war ended," I said. I had told him that part before. That year was the best of my entire marriage.
"Can we please leave?" he asked, as Esme closed the bathroom door a bit harshly, and Charles stormed upstairs.
"Go forward a year," I said, handing the pendant to him again. He sighed, pain behind his eyes, but did it.
June 1918
When time slowed again to a normal pace, a much happier, healthier looking Esme sat stretched out on the couch, partially laying back, her skirt halfway up to her thighs. But she didn't care. She was nose deep in a novel she had bought herself; a Jane Austen.
"See," I tried to calm my husband down, "Happy,"
Suddenly his lips were pressed to mine, kissing me softly, before they moved, where he kissed my neck and buried his face against my skin. I wrapped my arms around him, cradling his head.
"It's ok," I whispered, close to his ear. I received another kiss on the neck.
"Please, love, can we skip to 1920. I can't watch it get worse….it hurts," he pleaded softly. I nodded, lifting the little hourglass, and keeping my eyes only on the calendar.
