A/N: Hello, lovely readers! My thanks go to all who read, rec, and lurk this story.
The chance to nurse Edward back to health goes to my lovely prereaders, Keye, Sandy, and Aleea. Love you, gals!
I'm grateful to my awesome betas, Katmom and Sue (chayasara) for their talents with the sparkly reds.
Chapter 28
~ Scream ~
Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong.
No matter how fast light travels,
it finds the darkness has always got there first,
and is waiting for it.
~ Terry Pratchet
Whether you're human or immortal, the one question that goes through the mind at one time or another is, What happens when I die? Does everything just cease to be, or is there something more? The utter blackness that lasted six days when Isabella fed me her blood suggested there might not be a hereafter. Then again, I didn't die that time; I was only in stasis.
For an unknown number of hours, maybe days, my mind has been going around and around with thoughts of mortality. I've been bargaining with God, begging Him to spare me—even if it's only long enough to save Isabella and Hannah from that sick fuck Hunter.
An all-encompassing blackness surrounds me, a complete absence of light. In fact, I don't seem to have a body, just consciousness. All my memories are intact, and I clearly remember Hunter leering down at me as he shot me in the face with his atomizer, but there have been no physical sensations since that moment. I float in this inky blackness with no fingers to feel, no ears to hear, no mouth to speak.
I long to scream, to jolt my body into action, but there are no nerves to respond to firing synapses. Emotionally, I feel agony, but none of the resultant tension or coiling of muscles accompanies it.
And always, always, my thoughts return to Isabella and Hannah. I failed them. Aro and Hunter are using them as lab rats, using Carlisle to find the cure so they can steal it and use it for their own nefarious purposes. From the beginning, we've all been pawns in their sick game, manipulated so completely.
It feels strange having no teeth to gnash, no feet to run like the wind, no hands to wrap around James Hunter's traitorous neck . . . no eyes to admire my Isabella, no lips to kiss her with, no fingers to caress all her secret places.
My anger simply turns in on itself and grows. There's no outlet for my frustrations.
There comes a time when a soft grayness develops. I don't exactly see it; it's more of a feeling. In that space there will be no pain, but I sense it's a choice that only I can make. I allow my consciousness to drift closer, and numbness begins to overtake my thought process, slowly draining away my past. It consumes my memories and the essence of who I am. At some point, I realize it's erasing Edward Masen. The human turned vampire, the son, the playboy, the bounty hunter, Isabella's lover and protector, Hannah's father.
Most of my life, I can easily let go of, but not Isabella or Hannah. If I must remain in this purgatory forever, so be it, but I will never relinquish the way it felt to love and care for them. They are the only things I've ever truly done right.
And so I hold on without hands. My tether to this world is through memories of my girls. My girls.
A soft buzz interrupts my musing. It reminds me of sound coming through headphones attached to something left playing and abandoned—tinny sound rising and falling. For a time, this distracts me, but as it morphs into voices, words, sentences . . . I try so hard to focus on it, to tune in. And when I do, my father's voice is the first one I hear.
". . . not sure if anything can be done. That's why I didn't want to bring her here."
Carlisle!
"I disagree, and it's not fair to keep them apart. I've warned her." Esme's voice is strong and sure.
"But—"
"She's seen him this way before. It's her choice, Carlisle."
Carlisle sighs, a sign he's given in to my mother—a frequent occurrence in the Cullen family.
The door of the cottage opens—I know this because the front door tends to squeak when it's a quarter of the way open. Have they brought me home from Spain then? For a proper burial?
The first sensation since I awoke to the darkness rockets through me. I feel my Isabella moving swiftly toward me, an oasis of warmth and love, a tangle of complex feelings.
"Edward . . . my Edward." Her angelic voice is bereft. She gasps before reaching me, and I can feel a barrier between us.
"Isabella, no." Carlisle's voice is gentle. "If you touch him . . . I fear the damage it might cause."
Damage?
"Let me see him!" There are tears choking her. I can't smell them, but somehow I feel them, tracing down her face like small rivers of pain. "Please."
"Are you sure . . . you can handle this?"
"He's my soul—you have to let me be here for him. It doesn't matter to me what condition he's in."
"All right."
The silence is so complete that I fear I've gone away again, and then a long, low moan comes from my beloved. "Dear God. What did that monster do to him?" Her voice is close, so close I might feel her breath upon my face if I had one. "I want James dead. He can't be allowed to live." Venom drips from her usually kind and forgiving voice, shocking me.
"Surely you don't mean that," Carlisle admonishes in a gentle tone.
"I do. He's taken everything from me. Years of my life, two years of my daughter's life, and now . . . this. Is there nothing else you can do for him?"
"Isabella, I can't take any more blood from Hannah right now. There is one possibility, but I'm not certain it will work." Carlisle hesitates.
"What is it?"
"A synthetic version of Hannah's blood that I've been working on. The last batch came close but was a failure. A new idea struck me just before all this happened. I'm so close. If we can just keep him from degenerating any further, there's a chance, but I can't promise anything."
"Please . . . you have to try. I can't lose him." Isabella sniffles. "May I lie beside him?"
"I don't know . . ."
"I'll be gentle. I promise. I just have to be close to him."
"All right. I'll head back to the lab and get to work. Let me know if you need anything." Carlisle pauses, then his voice comes again, closer to me. "Son, I'll do everything I can to bring you back to us, to Isabella and Hannah."
Once Carlisle leaves, I hear the rustle of fabric as Esme takes Isabella in her motherly embrace. How I long to feel Esme's arms wrap around and comfort me, but even more, I long to hold my mate in my arms and tell her it will all be okay.
"Go to him, dear. He needs you as much as any cure."
"Y-You think so?"
"A mother knows these things. I'll leave you two alone. Just call if you need us."
"Thank you, Esme."
"Where's Hannah?"
The sound of my little girl's name tears at me. The thought of never seeing her adorable face, feeling her chubby little fingers entwined with mine, or the way she makes me feel like the most important man in the world, is unbearable.
"She's with Sue. I . . . I don't want her to see him like this." Isabella's voice breaks.
"I understand. Don't forget to take care of yourself, too."
"I will."
And now it's just Isabella and I in the room. Alone. I feel her as she moves closer, her breathing ragged.
As far as I know, I might simply be a ghost haunting my own carcass. Yet I feel the tentative way she approaches me and imagine her biting down on her pouty bottom lip as she considers how close to get.
I hear the slight creak as the mattress dips down when Isabella joins me on the bed. An accompanying heat radiates through my consciousness without any explanation of where exactly her warmth physically touches me.
"Oh, Edward. I'm so sorry. This is all because of me. You . . . you shouldn't be lying here like this, so broken."
Tears are coursing down her beautiful face again; I know this even though I have no senses other than hearing. In a way, I see her in my mind's eye, but she's pale and faded along with the rest of my surroundings. Perhaps I'm seeing things the way a human does, my heightened vampire senses having deserted me. After all, when my parents were here a few minutes ago, I didn't hear their thoughts, only what was said aloud.
"I miss you so much. I miss talking with you, looking into your eyes . . . I miss the way you touch me, as if I'm the most precious woman who ever existed."
You are.
"When you left, half of my soul went with you, and now that you're back here, like this, I'm hanging by a thread. The only other thing holding me to this world is Hannah."
Isabella curls into a ball at my side, much the way she did in the cabin in Pennsylvania when she watched over me for days, waiting to see if I would die. Her body quivers with sobs she tries desperately to hold in. I curse whatever renders me able to hear her cries yet doesn't allow me to offer her comfort.
"This is so much worse than at the cabin, and we had such a small amount of Hannah's blood to feed you. Carlisle just has to make that synthetic formula work! I can't lose you, Edward. Please hear me. Please come back to me."
I hear you, my Isabella. I'm trying to hold on. You're presence is like an anchor for me. Just don't let go.
Isabella's sobs gradually slow as she drifts toward sleep. "I love you," she mumbles as she goes under.
And I love you.
While Isabella sleeps, I drift in darkness. The difference this time is the comforting halo of her warmth encircling me like an incubator.
The door to the cottage opens and the brawny steps of Emmett head my way. Air whistles between his teeth as he hesitates by the doorway, but he eventually sits in a chair beside the bed.
"Damn it, Eddie! I hope you can hear me. Fuck . . . I'm so sorry about this. I had a bad feeling about you going in there alone. Demetri tried to hold me back, the coward. Precious seconds were wasted fighting with him, and Hunter got away." Emmett growls and pounds a meaty fist into his palm. "Not that I was going after him once I saw . . . shit. Your chest was caved in, bro. Still is."
The memory of Hunter crushing my sternum comes back in vivid detail. His tainted blood had already weakened my body and halted its natural healing ability, so when he slammed his knee into my chest, it shattered like plaster.
"It was so hard to get you back here in one piece—your skin was so brittle! I did the best I could, I did. Demetri helped me get you down the mountain and onto the jet. Believe me, it was no easy feat hiding you from the crew. Rose smacked me on the back of the head for allowing you out of my sight. She's kicked me out of our bed, too." He sighs raggedly. "It doesn't matter, really, because all I think about is you and how fucking stupid I was. I hope you can forgive me someday. Shit, I hope you wake up and tell me yourself what an ass I am."
There's nothing to forgive. I don't blame you at all, my brother.
"Alice is a fucking wreck . . ." Emmett hesitates, almost as though he said something he shouldn't have. "Get better, man. We need you."
At my side, Isabella stirs.
"Emmett?" Her voice is sleep laden. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. I just needed to talk. How are you holding up?"
"It's tough, I won't lie. I believe in his strength—in our strength."
"Atta girl."
"How's Alice?"
"The same."
There was the mention of Alice again. They both knew something I didn't.
"Rosalie?" Isabella asks gently.
"Still cold as ice. I deserve it."
"No. No, you don't. Edward is . . . Edward. He's fierce and stubborn and used to going it alone." Her tears start again, a soft rainfall, and she shifts around on the bed. "There's nobody else like him," she whispers.
The two of them sit in companionable silence together, supporting each other. After a while, Isabella's soft snores alert me that she's fallen back to sleep, and Emmett eventually leaves, promising to be back soon.
Time goes by. Days go by. I'm not sure about any of it because my vampire senses are off-line. I hear them moving around me, talking around me, but I can't respond, can't move.
Isabella is always by my side, except when someone, usually Rose or Esme, forces her to eat, bathe, brush her hair, take her injections. Every so often she leaves to be with Hannah for a few hours, and those times are the worst for me. The darkness swallows me whole, and each time, I wonder if I will ever break the surface again. She always returns to my side, her warmth a balm, her love an anchor.
Carlisle keeps testing the synthetic formula he's been talking about, but the frustration in his voice alludes to the fact he's beginning to wonder if he'll come up with the right formulation in time.
Rosalie comes to visit often but only for short bursts. She moves through the cottage like a panther, her claws always at the ready, always on edge. Esme is here daily but tries not to encroach on Isabella's privacy.
Alice only comes once.
When Alice arrives, the energy in the room changes; it's always that way with my vibrant sister. She hovers over me and whimpers softly.
"Edward?" she calls out like a frightened child lost in the dark. "Are you in there?"
Yes, I'm here.
She gasps a moment later. "I'm sorry. I can't do this."
And then she's gone.
Jasper never comes, and nobody speaks of him. We made some semblance of peace before I left for Spain. Whatever our differences, he would come to visit me—if he were able to, that is. I've come to the conclusion that Jasper's not here.
My ruminations are interrupted by Rose striding in. I've always known the sound of everyone's footfalls, but having only one sense really does sharpen it. I understand now how some blind people might be mistaken for psychic.
"This has to stop. It's the middle of the afternoon and she's still in bed with him?" Rose mutters as she enters the bedroom.
Anger lashes through me because I recognize that tone—she's about to lay into Isabella, and there's nothing I can do about it.
Rose gasps instead. "Jesus! Isabella? Isabella!"
There's the faintest of mumbles next to me.
Rose fumbles with something. "Carlisle, get down here! Isabella's burning with fever." The sheets beside me rustle as she scoops Isabella into her arms. "Hold on. I'm going to get you into the tub."
Rose's footsteps retreat into the bathroom and she starts the water running full force into the tub. Isabella moans incoherently, and Rose encourages her to keep herself upright.
I'm completely helpless. I can't do anything to help my mate. I don't even know what's happening right beside me. More anger avalanches through me, and I want to fight my way home but I don't know how. How do you fight an unseen enemy with no hands? This must be what coma patients feel like.
I recall a time many years ago when I was visiting Carlisle at the hospital. On my way in, I heard braying cries that were going ignored. The pleas were so plaintive and heartfelt that my feet took me to that floor without thought. When I looked down the corridor, nobody was paying attention. They didn't seem to notice at all.
I poked my head into the room that was the source of the anguished screams and found a young woman lying still. There were monitors but no respirator, and an older woman sat beside the bed reading a book.
I waited until the older woman left and then slipped inside the room. The girl's screams had subsided to muffled cries, cries that were only in her mind because she had no mouth to speak with, no hands to touch with.
I took her hand in mine, but she didn't acknowledge the touch in her mind.
"Can you hear me?" I whispered.
The crying immediately faltered, a curious silence filling the space in between.
Who's that?
"My name is Edward. I heard you crying."
What's happening to me? I hear everything around me, and I scream and scream, but nobody ever heard me until you.
"I know it sounds crazy, but I read minds."
You think that sounds crazy when I'm in here screaming all day and night hoping someone will answer? Are you an angel?
"Hardly." I laughed shortly. "But I can hear you. You're in a coma in Forks General."
I started visiting Molly whenever she was alone. We talked, mostly about her life or books and movies. Obviously, I avoided anything personal about me other than my name. She didn't seem to mind. I think she was afraid if she pushed too hard, I wouldn't come back. A few weeks later, she woke up. I wanted to stop in to visit her, show her she wasn't crazy, but it was too dangerous. I did send her a bouquet of roses just to let her know our moments together were real.
Carlisle and Esme rush into the cottage.
"Esme, bring this in to Rose. We need to up her dose of the Neupogen substitute. This can't go on much longer. The serum's been ready for over a week now."
"I know, dear, but she wants to wait for Edward."
"That won't do her any good if she's dead. I'm working as fast as I can on the synthetic blood to counteract the damage done to Edward, but I don't know if she's going to last that long."
"We have to believe, and we have to abide by her wishes. She doesn't want to be immortal without Edward."
Esme leaves the room to bring the syringe to Rose, and Carlisle huffs out a defeated sigh.
A sense of horror roars through me. Carlisle has the cure for Isabella, but she's refusing it because of me? She's waiting to see if I survive before saving herself?
No matter what I felt before, this is so much worse—to know my beloved's fate hinges on my recovery. More than ever, I want to find James Hunter and rip his black heart out while it still beats.
I think of Molly as my screams start. I know there's nobody to hear me, but like the inevitability of birth and death, of sunrise and sunset, there's no stopping them.
~*RK*~
A/N: Oh, boy. As always, I love and crave your thoughts, theories, and comments. No doubt about it, things are going to get dicey over the next few chapters. I've been trying to update some of my other stories in addition to this one, so I apologize for any delays. The next chapter should post in approximately two weeks.
I recently read Ghostwriter by the talented Lissa Bryan. Stay tuned for news of my review of the book and the blog tour and e-book giveaway, coming to my blog in October.
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