CHAPTER THREE: GOODBYE LOVE
I FELT ABSOLUTELY HIDEOUS IN THE MORNING. Any hope at having a semblance of a decent night's rest was wasted; my arm burned and my head ached. It didn't help my outlook that Edward's face was just as smooth and remote as last night when he'd kissed my forehead quickly before soaring out my window. His mood had not improved, rather I could sense that it had grown darker, sadder, in the time that I had been a slave to unconsciousness.
He's decided, the voice shriek out. You've lost. Brace yourself, he's going to leave you. Today.
I felt a flash of rage swim over me; its direction at the voice, at Edward, and myself. Slowly, as I lay in bed, I knew the voice to be true. He was going to leave, not only Forks, but me. The grief that gripped me was unlike I had ever felt before. Tears fell freely down from my eyes before I had known that they had formed, my bottom lip trembled, and heart and stomach dropped so deeply that I felt nearly hollow. A lifetime, an eternity of hopes and dreams vanished from my mind as the dark fog of grief and unknowns blanketed them. The happily ever after I had once so clearly foresaw in my head, as though it were a memory, gone.
Time ticked by endlessly. I allowed myself to cry, praying that my mother had already left for work—I could barely explain how I knew of the pain to come to myself, much less her. Terror also wrapped gripped me, as I turned to pick up my phone. I was running horribly late. Classes would start in twenty minutes. I hurried out of bed, grabbing the first articles of clothing I could find, dressing hastily, then rushing to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I did not even bother doing anything with my hair.
A small glimmer of hope dared to peak through the dark fog as I descended down the stairs with my school bag. I flung the front door open to look out, praying again I would find him and his shiny, silver Volvo waiting for me. The street was empty. Another pathetic sob ruptured from my mouth, fresh anguish gripping my every emotion and nerve. I stumbled to the key holder perched on the wall next to the door, grabbing the Thing's keys. Every step, every breath was as painful as the last, my throat burned as though I were breathing in dense smoke and flame. My hands and fingers trembled as I attempted to unlock the driver's side door. My eyes were clouded with tears. I yanked the door open at last, and threw my belongings in the passenger's seat. Once I was seated, I took in several deep breaths, trying to calm myself before shakingly starting the ignition.
I felt time stand still as I drove to school, not caring if I would be late. It was over. I knew it, in my heart and soul. The demonic voice in my head had warned me relentlessly, and I had chosen to ignore it. Before I had even made it into the parking lot, I knew that I would not find Edward or Alice's cars sitting among the older models of the other students'. The knowledge of this crashed over me like a tidal wave. She would be gone too, as would the rest of them.
They had all left me.
I jolted as a crack of lighting burst from above, the following thunder echoing all over. The rain began before I had even parked. It fell from the heavens heavily, creating a thick blanket of water as far as my eyes could see. I could register, somewhere, distantly in my mind, that I found this odd. It wasn't suppose to rain today, much less storm. There was no way to avoid the rain, and as it fell sideways I knew that I would be drenched long before I got to my first class. I didn't care. I exited the truck, throwing the messenger bag over my shoulder and began walking to one of the far west buildings. Lightening and thunder continued to dance and rumble around me, the clouds and sky having somehow grown as dark as night.
A small part of my brain was thankful, the rain would conceal that I had been crying, as long as my eyes had not turned too red. Mrs. Landry gazed at me as I entered into my English History class. I was sure I looked as though I had been dunked into a river. The lightening cracked from outside, and the lights flickered on and off several times before settling back on.
"Beau, are you okay?" she asked as she approached with a raised hand.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Landry," I replied emotionlessly. "The rain started coming down before I got out of my truck."
"Sweetie, go to the front office to see if they have any dry clothes," she ordered sweetly as she walked to the classroom door. She grabbed something from behind the door and handed it to me. "Here take my umbrella." She held it out for several moments before my arm raised to take it.
"Thank you," I said, the same emotionless tone in my voice. I could see that she was looking up at me with concern.
"Beau, is everything alright?"
"Yes. Just the rain," I heard myself say. She didn't looked convinced. I began to feel the eyes of my classmates on me, staring from their seats at the perplexing conversation. "Thank you, I'll be back soon." I turned and left the room before she could say anything else.
I did not bother to open the umbrella as I walked back outside into the growing storm. The wind had started to pick up, blowing around like a tornado, the trees and their branches danced wildly in the resulting wind. I felt my body trembling as the harsh current of air attacked my soaking wet clothes. But still I walked slowly to the front office, my body or mind not even troubled by the close cracks of flashing blue lightening or the ear piercing thunder.
Mrs. Cope was startled when she saw me, rushing past her desk behind the counter. I only understood very few of the words that flowed too quickly from her mouth. I think she'd asked if I was okay, or if I had been hurt.
"Are there any spare clothes that I may borrow?" I asked, my voice lifeless. She nodded. She helped guide me through the office to a small backroom, where sparse articles of clothing had collected throughout the years. My eyes gazed simply through her as she tried to find something that would fit me. My mind acknowledging that the clothing she had gathered had been an old graphic tee from the early two-thousands and a pair pair of the school gym shorts.
"I'm sorry we don't have anything nicer," I think she'd said. "Especially with the storm…"
"It's fine," the same lifeless voice tried to assure. "Thank you." I cannot remember if she'd smiled or had still looked worried.
"You can change in that bathroom over there," she instructed, pointing past my shoulder. I nodded my head once, my body moving automatically.
I could sense my arms moving as I began to undress myself, down to my soaked underwear. Somewhere in my brain I had decided it best to leave them on. I slowly put on the clothes Mrs. Cope had gathered for me, and then collected my wet clothes from off the floor. Mrs. Cope was waiting by her desk, a plastic grocery bag already opened in her hands. I put my clothes into the bag, after which she tied it up before handing it to me.
"Are you okay, Beau?"
"I'm fine," I said automatically, my voice too soft to pass for authenticity.
"Should I call your mom?" She was worried, somehow I could feel her concern through the denseness of my despair.
"No," I said. She did not seem to believe me. "I'm just tired," I lied, trying to put some sort of emotion into my voice. "The rain should help wake me up." It had sounded—almost like an attempt at a joke. She smiled then.
"If the thunder doesn't do that already." Almost on cue there was another shattering thunderclap followed by more lightening.
"I should be getting back to class," I said, trying very hard to force a smile. "Thank you again."
I grabbed my bag and umbrella from off the floor where I had left them, reminding myself somehow to open the umbrella as I entered back out into the storm, the wind and rain more fierce than before.
My first three classes occurred without my mind being present. I had elected to sit in the very back of each room, somehow making myself almost invisible—no teacher nor student seemed to acknowledge my presence. My suffering continued to fester within, though I forced myself to keep any tears at bay. I would not cry here. I would not break apart, fully, here. Somehow I had made that conviction. Slowly each dream and plan died and fell away into nothingness, as though they were each a withered, dried petal from a blackened, burned rose. I would never be with him again. I would never again feel his lips upon mine, his body wrapped in my arms as I slept, I would never hear his sweet laughter or voice as he sang. Never again would his hypnotic gaze pierce into my eyes, captivating my every thought and emotion. I would never marry him. I would never again share my life with him.
He's left you, the voice rang out wickedly. Did you really think, were you truly stupid enough to believe that you, you of all people could have something so grand? Oh Beau, poor, pitiful Beau. You know better. Fairytales are not real. How foolish to believe that you should have, or deserve one. You weren't enough. You were never enough. You were only a temporary plaything to him, an experiment. A nascence.
I let the sinister voice berate me. I let each word carve into my heart, remembered and recited each sentence, holding it to memory. I allowed my heart to wither, to blacken, to die. And it was all true. I knew it was. I had always know that he, that our time together was too much a dream to be real, to have any sort of permanence. A dream, only a dream, that now turned into the realest, cruelest of nightmares. My mind replayed each memory I had of him, though now tainted with the bitterness of knowing it was all over. I remembered the first time that I had seen him in the school cafeteria, the first time he had spoken to me, his voice and face so captivating I was nearly, instantly, bewitched. I recalled all the small warnings he had given me, but how he had saved me from Tyler's van, how he again had saved me from being beaten, raped or murdered while in Port Angeles. Sharp, twisting branches of thrones slithered like vipers around what was left of my heart as I remembered our first date. The ride home, the first time I'd know that I was in love with him.
All the other memories, the once beautiful, enchanting memories resurfaced perfectly clear, but now blacked.
The dark storm lasted through the morning. My peers walked silently beside me, never seeming to actually look at me. Before I had known it, I was in the lunch line. My wallet was in my bag with my phone, but even though I had not eaten breakfast, I had no appetite. I walked to the table, the two empty seats screaming out at me.
"Beau," I heard a voice call tentatively. I looked up. It was Jessica, her eyes wide, her brows furrowed together, her lips drawn in a thin line. "Are you okay."
I shook my head once.
"Do you—"
"No," I whispered softly, knowing what she was going to ask.
"Do you want to go somewhere else for lunch?"
I nodded my head. Jessica took my hand in her's, and began guiding me through the sea of students. Angela following behind us. We made our way our of the cafeteria, and into an empty classroom. I walked toward the nearest seat, slumping down and laid my head on the desk. Angela turned the lights off, she and Jessica sitting on either side of me.
I began to cry, unable to help myself. In the darkness I felt safer, all my attempts to fight away the tears vanished, though I bit down on my lips to the point where I tasted blood, determined to keep the screams within my throat. I felt Jessica wrap her arms around my shoulders, her head resting on the top of mine, Angela gripped my hands in her's, rubbing my knuckles reassuringly. They let me cry. They did not ask questions.
They knew.
After lunch, Jess and Angela walked me to my next class. Jess had dabbed my eyes dry of tears, though I knew they were stained scarlet red. I was too lost in the darkness to bother being embarrassed. My last three classes passed me by, and again I was invisible to everyone, alone in the back of the room, stewing in my misery. The storm had only intensified, thunder, lightening, and rain was all that could be heard or seen. I had purposely avoided Jessica and Angela as they'd tried to locate me after my last class. I walked slowly to my car, soaked down to the skin once again.
I drove home more slowly than usual, fighting the tears once more, the pouring rain already causing great difficulty in driving for me to risk adding tears or screaming sobs to the equation. I pulled into my street, my suffering fresher, more painful than it had been at school. I parked my truck in the driveway, my trembling hands still gripped to the steering wheel. I screamed. The sound was freighting, like a Banshee's wild wail. Tears grew and flowed freely down my face and onto my lap. Another scream, and then sobs. The patterned repeated until I could hear the ringing of my dead heart in my ears. I realized that it had become difficult to breathe. I sucked in air desperately through each sob.
An hour had passed since I had returned home, the screaming and crying never ending. I shook my head violently, forcing myself to focus on the next immediate action. Turn off the truck, grab my things, get out, walk to the front door, unlock it…
I could not think past that. I swallowed down my sobs, and ran an arm over my eyes and face, sick, sticky mucus collecting on my arm along with the tears. I turned the truck off, grabbed my bag, and opened the door, then froze. Even through the dense rain and heavy winds I could see him, standing along the right side of my house. A crack of blue lightening illuminated him for an instant, his face a mimicked version of mine. Neither of us moved, uncaring and unconcerned about the raging storm. I felt my breath leave my throat. I'd thought—I'd hoped that this very scenario would not play out. I'd wished he'd been compassionate enough to just simply leave—to spare me the anguish of having to actually say goodbye. I had been wrong all along, he was a monster. The worst I had ever met.
Slowly, he approached me. I threw my belongings back into my truck before closing the door; I turned back to face him wrapping my arms around me to shield myself.
"Come for a walk with me," I heard him suggest stupidly in an unemotional voice, taking my hand.
"You can just do it here," my broken voice replied.
For a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of pain flash across his face. I felt no pity for him. "I know," I said, trying to make my voice sound strong, "it's over."
He took a deep breath, nodding his head.
"Yes. We're leaving."
The words that solidified what I had already known sliced into me—the actually knowing more painful that I would have imagined.
"Dad received an incredible offer somewhere else, far away. It couldn't have come at a better time. He can barely pass for thirty, and he's claiming thirty-three now. We'd have to start over soon regardless." I understood why he was explaining this part. It was not for my benefit, rather theirs. This would be the public explanation for their sudden departure. I glared down at him, my lips trembling, my eyes begging to release the tears that were pooling inside them. His face, though cold and emotionless was still beautiful, too beautiful. As angry as I was, I knew that it changed nothing. I stilled loved him, I would always love him. How could I not? Monster that he is, he still…he'd saved me, so many times, in so many ways. Even now as he would destroyed me, far worse than Alex, Jericho and the rest had, I would love him still. Until my last breath.
He stared back coldly.
"I've never been able to keep things from you, Beau. I knew you'd know the moment you woke up this morning, after I'd left you so quickly, and hadn't come to pick you up. You're too intuitive, and I won't try to insult that or you. So you know you can't come with me, or visit. Where we're going... It's not the right place for you."
"Where you are is the right place for me," I cried out through the sounds of the storm. Although I knew, I had known all day, I was still desperate for any means to get him to stay.
"I'm no good for you, Beau."
"Don't be stupid." I snarled through my tears. "You're the very best part of my life."
"My world is not for you," he said grimly.
"What happened with Jasper—that was nothing, Edward! Nothing! You can change me. Now, here. Take me somewhere safe where you can change me. And then I won't be a problem for any of you anymore."
"And what will your mother think? Your father?"
"I don't care," I cried, my breathing coming out in harsh rasps. "I just want to stay with you, forever. Like you'd promised."
"I never meant that," he answered icily. I felt his words stab into my soul. "And you're right," he agreed. "What happened last night was exactly what was to be expected."
"You promised!" I yelled. "You promised you'd stay with me—that you'd change me, that you wanted to be with me, forever."
"I told you that so you'd believe it."
You don't want baggage without lifetime guarantees...you don't want to watch me die....the sinister voice sang.
I sucked in a sob, my misery coiled around me like an anaconda, squeezing away each breath and thought.
"No!" I screamed again, shaking my head. I forced myself to breathe in deeply several times. I searched for any inkling that he was lying. I forced myself to look down into his eyes, cold as ice. I had always been able to read him, always I had seen through his pretenses. I begin to cry harder as I found nor felt anything to indicate that the words he now said were false.
"This is about my soul, isn't it?" I shouted, furious, the words exploding out of me—yet somehow it still sounded like a plea. "Carlisle told me about that, and I don't care, Edward. I don't care! You can have my soul. I don't want it without you—it's yours already! I'm gay, I'm already damned."
He took a deep breath and stared, unseeingly, at the ground for a long moment. His mouth twisted the tiniest bit. When he finally looked up, his eyes were different, harder—like the liquid gold had frozen solid. But they had revealed the truth behind the mountain of the lie.
Edward was lying, to me, and to himself. He was forcing himself to believe his words, knowing that it was the only way I could not see beneath them.
"Beau," my name crawled out of his voice slowly, in the sound of a cry, "I don't want you to come with me." He spoke the words slowly and precisely, his cold eyes on my face, watching as I absorbed what he was really saying. They had been forced, and my eyes hardened, just as cold and lifeless as his. He closed his eyes, his face scrunching in on itself in misery. He was lying. He had sensed that I'd caught on.
"You're a liar, Edward Cullen," I called out sharply. "You're a liar and you're selfish, and worse, you're a coward. After everything we've been through, after everything I've been put through, you have the nerve to try and lie to me? Does that make this easier for you? Are you that pathetic and selfish, that you would dare lie to me, hoping that I'd actually believe you? "
A lightening strike surged from above us. It landed somewhere in the forest close by, I could feel the ground tremble, and saw the smoke rise above the tree line.
His breath came out in a gasp, his eyes still closed.
There was a pause as it seemed my words had destroyed a part of him as he had already destroyed me. And again I felt no pity. I was not a fool, and I was not someone who could be so easily manipulated, especially by him. I could not understand, even know. I knew he still loved me—but I could not understand why he was trying to leave? We'd been through worse with the tracker and his mate, why had this been the one thing he'd decided to let destroy us?
He looked away into the trees as he spoke again. "Of course, I'll always love you... in a way. But what happened the other night made me realize that it's time for a change. Because I'm... tired of pretending to be something I'm not, Beau. I am not human." He looked back, and the icy planes of his perfect face were not human. "I've let this go on much too long, and I'm sorry for that."
"You're still trying to follow your stupid, fucking script," I accused, my voice shrill and broken. He was lying, and it only made me angrier. My blood boiled as though it were acid through my veins. "Don't do this," I pleaded strongly. "We can get through this, Edward. Together. This doesn't have to be the end."
He just stared at me, and I could see from his eyes that my words were far too late. He was already gone.
He's already decided, foolish little boy, the voice whispered.
"You're not good for me, Beau." He turned his earlier words around, and so I had no argument. Because I had know, from the very beginning, that I had never been good enough for him, that I had never deserved him. I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again. He waited patiently, his face wiped clean of all emotion. I tried again.
"If... this is what you truly want," I whispered feeling myself surrender.
He nodded once.
My whole body went numb. I couldn't feel anything below the neck.
"I would like to ask one favor, though, if that's not too much," he said.
I wonder what he saw on my face, because something flickered across his own face in response. Remorse, dread, suffering, guilt…
But, before I had the chance to throw that in his face, he'd composed his features into the same serene mask. "Don't do anything reckless or stupid," he ordered, no longer detached. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes," I nodded helplessly.
His eyes cooled, the distance returned. "I'm thinking of Charley and Reed, of course. They need you. Take care of yourself—for them."
I nodded again. "I will," I whispered.
He seemed to relax just a little.
"And I'll make you a promise in return," he said. "I promise that this will be the last time you'll see me. I won't come back. I won't put you through anything like this again. You can go on with your life without any more interference from me. It will be as if I'd never existed."
My knees must have started to shake, because the trees were suddenly wobbling. I could hear the blood pounding faster than normal behind my ears. His voice sounded farther away.
He smiled gently. "Don't worry. You're human—your memory is no more than a sieve. Time heals all wounds for your kind."
"And what of your memories?" I accused. My voice was no longer strong or fierce, it sounded as though there was something stuck in my throat, like I was choking.
"Well"—he hesitated for a short second—"I won't forget. But my kind... we're very easily distracted." He smiled; the smile was tranquil and it did not touch his eyes.
He took a step away from me. "That's everything, I suppose. We won't bother you again."
The plural caught my attention. Though it hadn't surprised me it awoken another surge or grief and rage; I would have thought I was beyond noticing anything—and that they would have at least let me say goodbye to them.
"Alice isn't coming back," I realized. I don't know how he heard me—the words made no sound—but he seemed to understand.
He shook his head slowly, always watching my face.
"No. They're all gone. I staved behind to tell you goodbye."
"Alice is gone?" My voice was blank with disbelief, "Esme?".
"They wanted to say goodbye, but I convinced them that a clean break would be better for you."
I was dizzy; it was hard to concentrate. The world around me crashed down like the pouring rain. His words swirled around in my head, and I heard the doctor at the hospital in Phoenix, last spring, as he showed me the X-rays. You can see it's a clean break, his finger traced along the picture of my severed bone. That's good. It will heal more easily, more quickly.
I tried to breathe normally. I needed to concentrate, to find a way out of this nightmare. "Goodbye, Beau," he said in the same quiet, peaceful voice.
"Please!" I choked out the word, reaching for him, willing my deadened legs to carry me forward.
I thought he was reaching for me, too—the rain, wind and tears all clouding my vision. But his cold hands only locked around my wrists and pinned them to my sides. He leaned up, and pressed his lips very lightly to my left cheek for the briefest instant. My eyes closed.
"Take care of yourself," he breathed, cool against my skin. "Goodbye, Love."
There was a light, unnatural breeze. My eyes flashed open. The leaves on a small vine maple shuddered with the gentle wind of his passage.
He was gone.
I felt my body crash to the ground, my knees sinking into the soaked earth beneath me. I cried out, in anguish, and in pain. My sobs heaved throughout my hollowed chest, tears poring down my face. Thunder crashed above me, another lightening bolt hurled from the heaves and cracked close by. Distantly, with a knowledge I would have thought beyond me, I realized how pitiful and insane I must appear. I knew I needed to collect myself before my mother got home. With shaky legs, ignoring the fact that my action was useless, I followed him into where he'd disappeared into the forest. The evidence of his path had vanished long before I had entered. There were no footprints to be found in the mud, the leaves moved only as rain continued to drench them, but I ran forward without thinking. I could not do anything else. I had to keep running. If I stopped looking for him, it was over.
Love, life, meaning... over.
I ran and ran, amazed that I somehow had the strength to do so, bewildered by the fact I had yet to slip or fall. Time made no sense as I pushed slowly through the thick undergrowth. It was hours passing, but also only seconds. To me it felt like time had frozen—no matter how far I ran the forest surrounding me never changed. I started to grow concerned that I was traveling in a circle, a very small circle at that, but I kept going.
I never stopped to rest, pushing through the dense, soaked undergrowth and trees, ignoring the onslaught of the continued rain, and the lightening and thunder. The world around me began to grow darker than it had been before, a representation of the remnants of my heart.
Finally, I tripped over something—it was black now, I had no idea what caught my foot—I stayed down. I rolled onto my side, so that I could breathe, and curled up on the wet bracken.
As I lay there, I had a feeling that more time was passing than I realized. I couldn't remember how long it had been since nightfall. Was it always so dark here at night? I was sure that the continued storm had something to do with how coldly black the world had become. The only source of light came from the blue bolts of lightening that danced in the sky through the canopy of trees.
I shivered. Freezing, and broken. It was black for a long time before I heard them calling.
Someone was shouting my name. It was muted, muffled by the wet growth that surrounded me, but it was definitely my name. I didn't recognize the voice, it was deep, husky. I thought about answering, but I was too entrapped by my suffering to open my mouth, and it took a long time to come to the conclusion that I should answer. By then, the calling had stopped. Uncaring, exhausted and filled with an endless dread, I closed my eyes and fell asleep
Sometime later, the pouring rain and thunder woke me up. I don't think I'd really fallen asleep; I was just lost in an unthinking stupor, holding with all my strength to the numbness that kept me from realizing what I didn't want to know.
The flooding rain hadn't bothered me, not even a little. It was cold. But it kept me grounded, reminding me that I was still earth bound—trapped in a sea of sorrow. I unwrapped my arms from across my chest, laying them down at my sides.
It was then that I heard the calling again. It was farther away this time, and sometimes it sounded like several voices were calling at once. I tried to breathe deeply. I remembered that I should answer, but I didn't think they would be able to hear me. Would I be able to shout loud enough? And did I even want to be found?
Suddenly, there was another sound, startlingly close. A kind of snuffling, an animal sound. It sounded big—a bear maybe? From the sounds it was making I knew it would had to be huge, a Grizzly maybe a Brown? I wondered if I should feel afraid. I didn't—just numb. It didn't matter. The snuffling went away.
The rain continued, and I could feel the water pooling up around my head. I was trying to gather the strength to turn my head when I saw the light.
At first it was just a dim glow reflecting off the bushes in the distance. It grew brighter and brighter, illuminating a large space unlike the focused beam of a flashlight. The light broke through the closest brush, and I could see that it was a propane lantern, but that was all I could see—the brightness blinded me for a moment.
"Beau."
It was the voice the deep and unfamiliar voice from before, but full of recognition. He wasn't calling my name to search, he was acknowledging that I was found.
I stared up—craning my neck to what I thought was an impossible height—the dark face that I could now see above me. I was vaguely aware that the stranger probably only looked so tall because my head was still on the ground.
"Have you been hurt?"
I knew the words meant something, but I could only stare, bewildered. How could the meaning matter at this point?
"Beau, my name is Sam Uley."
There was nothing familiar about his name.
"We've met once before, a while ago, down at La Push. Your mother sent me to look for you."
Mom? That struck a chord, and I tried to pay more attention to what this strange Sam was saying. My mother mattered, if nothing else did.
The tall man held out a hand. I gazed at it, not sure what I was supposed to do.
His black eyes appraised me for a second, and then he shrugged. In a quick and supple notion, he pulled me up from the ground and into his arms. We were the same height. I pushed myself away slowly, steadying my feet as best as I could.
I followed him, my arms hanging limply at my sides, as he guided us swiftly through the drenched forest. Some part of me knew this should upset me—being discovered, nearly unresponsive, being guided through the darkness by a strange man as though I were only a toddler. Knowing I had worried my mother, knowing that she had called for a search party. But there was nothing left of me—nothing that could feel anything but darkness, emptiness.
It didn't seem like too much time passed before there were lights and the deep babble of many male and female voices. Sam Uley slowed as he approached the commotion.
"I've got him!" he called in a booming voice.
The babble ceased, and then picked up again with more intensity. A confusing swirl of faces moved over me. Sam's voice was the only one that made sense in the chaos, perhaps because my head was so close to his.
"Where was he? Is he hurt?" Sean?
"Is he okay?" a familiar voice that I could not place called out.
"No, I don't think he's hurt," he told someone. "He just keeps saying 'He's gone.' "
Had I been saying that out loud? I hadn't realized. I bit down on my lip.
"Beau, baby, are you all right?"
That was one voice I would know anywhere—even distorted, drowning in the shadows and darkness, as I was now, with worry.
"Mama?" My voice sounded strange and small, like a small child.
"I'm right here, baby."
I felt my arms being grabbed as I was shifted from where I had planted myself. I felt my body being brought down, followed by the leathery smell of my mom's sheriff jacket. My mom clung to me, pressing me deeper and deeper into her. I fell into her, my legs no longer able to hold my weight, Sean repeated the actions on my other side. Lightening and thunder rolled around us, the rain never relenting.
"Maybe I should hold on to him?" Sam Uley suggested.
"We've got him," my mom said, a little breathless.
They moved me, shifting my arm around her shoulders, letting my body lean against her's, and walked slowly, struggling. I wished I could tell her to put me down, to let me sit and sleep, but I couldn't find my voice.
There were lights everywhere, held by the crowd walking with her. It felt like a parade. No, it felt like a funeral procession. I closed my eyes.
"We're almost home now, Sweetie," my mom mumbled now and then.
I opened my eyes again when I heard the door unlock. We were on the porch of our house, and the tall dark man named Sam was holding the door for my mom and Sean, one arm extended toward us, as if he was preparing to catch me when my their arms' failed.
But my mom and Sean managed to get me through the door and to the couch in the living room. "Mom, I'm all wet and muddy," I objected feebly.
"That doesn't matter." Her voice was soft. And then she was talking to someone else. "Blankets are in the cupboard at the top of the stairs."
"Beau?" a new voice asked. I looked at the gray-haired man leaning over me, and recognition came after a few slow seconds.
"Dr. Gerandy?" I mumbled.
"That's right, Bud," he said. "Are you hurt at all?"
It took me a minute to think that through. I was confused by the memory of Sam Uley's similar question in the woods. Only Sam had asked something else: Have you been hurt? he'd said. The difference seemed significant somehow.
Dr. Gerandy was waiting. One grizzled eyebrow rose, and the wrinkles on his forehead deepened.
"No. I'm not hurt," I lied. The words, were true enough for what he'd asked, I had not been physically harmed.
His warm hand touched my forehead, and his fingers pressed against the inside of my wrist. I watched his lips as he counted to himself, his eyes on his watch.
"What happened to you?" he asked casually.
I froze under his hand, tasting panic in the back of my throat. Lightening cracked just outside the bay window of our house. My mother's body jolted, Sean caught her.
"Did you get lost in the woods?" he prodded. I was aware of several other people listening. Three tall men with dark faces—from La Push, the Quileute Native reservation down on the coastline, I guessed—Sam Uley among them, were standing very close together and staring at me. I saw Jacob and Seth's faces in the crowd. Mr. Newton was there with MaKayla and Mr. Weber, Angela's father with Jessica and Angela; they all were watching me more surreptitiously than the strangers. Other deep voices rumbled from the kitchen and outside the front door. Half the town must have been looking for me.
Mom and Sean were the closest. They leaned in to hear my answer.
"Yes," I whispered. "I got lost."
The doctor nodded, thoughtful, his fingers probing gently against the glands under my jaw. My mom's face hardened.
"Do you feel tired?" Dr. Gerandy asked.
I nodded and closed my eyes obediently.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with him," I heard the doctor mutter to Mom and Sean after a moment. "Just exhaustion. Let him sleep it off, and I'll come check on him tomorrow," he paused. He must have looked at his watch, because he added, "Well, later today actually."
There was a creaking sound as they both pushed off from the couch to get to their feet.
"Is it true?" my mother whispered. The voices were farther away now. I strained to hear. "Did they leave?"
"Dr. Cullen asked us not to say anything," Dr. Gerandy answered. "The offer was very sudden; they had to choose immediately. Carlisle didn't want to make a big production out of leaving."
"Yes, well, a little warning might have been nice," my mother grumbled. "Not even Esme…"
Dr. Gerandy sounded uncomfortable when he replied. "Yes, well, in this situation, some warning might have been called for."
I didn't want to listen anymore. I felt around for the edge of the quilt someone had laid on top of me, and pulled it over my ear.
I drifted in and out of alertness. I heard my mom and Sean whisper "thank yous" to the volunteers as, one by one, they left. Jacob, Jess and Angela each hugged me, their whispered words went in one ear and out the other. I felt my mom's fingers on my forehead, and then the weight of another blanket. Her phone, resting on the kitchen table, rang a few times, and she hurried to catch it before it could wake me. She muttered reassurances in a low voice to the callers.
"Yes, we found him. He's okay. He got lost. He's fine now," she said again and again. I heard the pillows and cushions fall where she and Sean settled themselves in for the night.
A few minutes later, her phone rang again.
They each moaned as he struggled to his feet, and then my mother rushed, stumbling, to reach for her phone; I pulled my head deeper under the blankets, not wanting to listen to the same conversation again.
"Hey," she said, and yawned.
Her voice changed, it was much more alert when he spoke again.
"Where?'" I heard Sean raise himself from off the chair, rushing towards my mother. There was a pause. "You're sure it's outside the reservation?" Another short pause.
"Honey, what is it?" Sean asked.
"But what could be burning out there?" Mom sounded both worried and mystified. "Look, I'll call down there and check it out."
I listened with more interest as she tapped on her phone's screen.
"Hey, Billy—sorry I'm calling so early... no, he's fine. Did Jake get home alright? Good—no he's sleeping... Thanks, but that's not why I called. I just got a call from Mrs. Stanley, and she says that from her second-story window she can see fires out on the sea cliffs, but I didn't really... Oh!"
Suddenly there was an edge in her voice—irritation... or anger. "And why are they doing that? Uh huh. Really?" She said it sarcastically. "Seriously, Billy—what the hell is wrong with them?" Another pause. "Well, don't apologize to me. Yeah, yeah. Just make sure the flames don't spread... I know, I know, I'm surprised they got them lit at all in this storm—what are they even doing out there?"
Mom hesitated, her and Sean moving their weight on the hardwood floor, and then she added grudgingly. "Thank you, for sending Sam and the other boys up. You were right—they do know the forest better than we do. It was Sam who found him, I really owe you and him one... Yeah, I'll talk to you later," she agreed, still sour, before hanging up.
Mom muttered something incoherent to Sean as they shuffled back to the living room.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
They each hurried to my side.
"I'm sorry I woke you, Baby."
"Is there something burning?"
"It's nothing," Sean assured me, having listened in on the call. "Just some bonfires out on the cliffs."
"Bonfires?" I asked. My voice didn't sound curious. It sounded dead.
My mother frowned. "Some of the kids from the reservation being rowdy," she explained.
"Why?" I wondered dully.
I could tell she didn't want to answer. Mom and Sean each looked at the floor under their knees. "They're celebrating the news." Sean's tone was bitter.
There was only one piece of news I could think of, try as I might not to. And then the pieces snapped together. "Because…because the Cullens left," I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes. They didn't like the Cullens down in La Push—I'd forgotten about that in my despair. "Fuck them."
The Quileutes had their superstitions about the "cold ones," the blood-drinkers that were enemies to their tribe, just like they had their legends of the great flood and wolf-men ancestors. Just stories, folklore, to most of them. Then there were the few that believed. My mother's best friend, honorary cousin, Billy Black, believed, and her boyfriend, Sean Clearwater knew, though even Billy's son Jacob, and Sean's own son and daughter, Seth and Leah, thought these stores were merely stupid superstitions. Billy had warned me to stay away from the Cullens...
The name stirred something inside me, something that began to claw its way toward the surface, something I knew I didn't want to face.
"It's ridiculous," my mother spluttered.
We all sat in silence for a moment. The sky was still black outside the window, the wind and rain howled, the thunder and lightening continued to echo and glow around.
"Beau?" my mother asked.
I looked at him uneasily.
"Did he leave you alone in the woods?" she guessed.
I deflected the question.
"How did you know where to find me?" My mind shied away from the inevitable awareness that was coming, coming quickly now.
"Your note," my mother answered. surprised. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a much-abused piece of paper. It was dirty and damp, with multiple creases from being opened and refolded too many times. She unfolded it again, and held it up as evidence. The neat, cursive handwriting was remarkably close to my own.
Going for a walk with Edward, up the path, it said. Back soon, Beau.
"When you didn't come back, I called the Esme, and then the Cullen's landline, but no one answered," she said in a low voice. "Then I called the hospital, and Dr. Gerandy told me that Carlisle was gone."
"He got another job offer, a really good one?" I mumbled, for some reason still trying to protect him, all of them. "They had to leave immediately. Edward," his name brought fresh flames to my throat, my eyes grew wet, "didn't have a choice."
Sean and Mom stared at me. "Didn't they warn him and Alice ahead of time?"
I shook my head, recoiling. The sound of each of their names unleashed the thing that was clawing inside of me—an anguish that blundered me breathless, astonished me with its force.
Mom nodded, her eyes cast down as she further explained. "Dr. Gerandy told me that Carlisle took a job with a big hospital in Los Angeles. I guess…I guess they threw a lot of money at him."
Sunny L.A. The last place they would really go. I remembered my nightmare with the mirror... the bright sunlight shimmering off of his skin—
Agony ripped through me with the memory of his face.
"I want to know if Edward left you alone out there in the middle of the woods," my mother insisted.
His name sent another wave of torture through me, as though I had been thrown into the sharp, straight clawed teeth of the Iron Maiden. I shook my head, for reasons that were beyond me, I grew frantic, desperate to escape the pain, desperate to honor and save his memory as best as I could.
"It was my fault. He left me right here on the trail, in sight of the house... after he left…I didn't want you to see me. But I got lost…" I was crying again. Mom started to say something; childishly, I covered my ears.
"I can't talk about this anymore, Mom. I need to shower. I want to go to my room."
Before she or Sean could answer, I scrambled up from the couch and lurched my way up the stairs.
I rushed into the bathroom. The shower's water could have been ice cold for all that I was aware of. After I had robotically washed my body and hair cleaned, I wrapped a towel around my waist, and then rushed to my bedroom door.
As I entered the threshold of my room, a thought occurred to me. Someone had been in the house to leave a note for my mom, a note that would lead her to find me. From the minute that I'd realized this, a horrible suspicion began to grow in my head. I closed the door behind me, locking it before I ran to my desk.
Everything looked, almost, exactly the same as I'd left it. But slowly the changes in the room began to ram into me. He had placed the rose and bell jar on my desk, the space where it had sat was empty. On the bed, there should have been the tickets, for the plane and to Wicked. I had left them in the box, and now they were gone.
Other things had been taken as well. My printed, framed photo of him and I sitting on my dad's sofa, him holding Hector in his lap with my arm around him. The painting I'd done of him, that I had hated, but the one he had begged me to hang up for him, gone.
Each and any reminder of him, taken, vanished, lost forever.
Fresh, painful tears rolled down my face, my hands flung into my hair.
I stopped where I stood. I was sure that he would have been very thorough. It will be as if I'd never existed, he'd promised me.
I felt the smooth wooden floor beneath my knees, and then the palms of my hands, and then it was pressed against the skin of my cheek. I hoped that I was fainting, but, to my disappointment, I didn't lose consciousness.
Goodbye love, goodbye love, came to say, goodbye love, goodbye. Just came to say goodbye love, goodbye love, goodbye love—hello disease, the wicked voice sang sinisterly in my mind.
The waves of pain that had gripped me tightly yesterday reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under.
I did not resurface.
