The Journals
By: Everleigh Allen
Chapter 3
January 1st, 1918
Carlisle was wrong.
Can a soul be redeemed?
It is a topic he and I vehemently debate as he thinks one's nature can be nurtured into something kind, loving and eventually deserving of redemption.
But he cannot perceive the vile thoughts of others so his argument is moot.
In the twilight hour, we dressed for the theater. There was a local thespian troop preforming and Carlisle was keen on seeing it now that he had a companion.
I was less than thrilled, but it was something to do and I could practice my self-control.
Carlisle's sentiment.
It was in vain.
Almost as soon as we were seated, there was a man who wasn't interested in the show. His curiosity was on the elegant lady just before me. I could see the line of her neck and how the dark tresses were securely pinned and decorated in delicate pearl head pins. She was well-heeled and lovely enough to gain his special attentions and when she excused herself to the water closet, I knew the man's vile intentions.
He moved from his seat as soon as she passed his and I rose thereafter.
Carlisle grasped my cuff and willed me to stay, but how could I?
How can a man keen on grace not give it to those who walk unknowingly into their demise? How different was she than I?
Carlisle wanted to save me.
I wanted to save her.
And perhaps have a small snack.
I didn't see the conundrum.
I found him in the shadows, watching for her from behind the thick curtains. His eyes were dark with a sense of menacing glee that I wouldn't have been able to fathom before my resurgence but I knew it well. His intentions were clear, his mind sound in his decision.
He plucked the woman right from the blood red carpet, covering her mouth with his hand as his other arm curled around her. Startled, she tripped over her skirts trying to break away, but his experience in the hunt and capture got the best of her.
With each step buffered by thick velvety rugs in the empty hall, neither of them saw me. I moved easily through the lobby and then the back labyrinth of the theater silently.
Am I not but a presence; a spectral shade in the night?
"The Opera ghost really existed," I whispered in his ear as I ran by him.
He couldn't see me but it was enough for his step to falter and take pause but not enough to let her go. She struggled within his grasp.
My voice echoed through the halls. "And, despite the care which she took to look behind her at every moment, she failed to see a shadow which followed her like her own shadow, which stopped when she stopped, which started again when she did and which made no more noise than a well-conducted shadow should."
The thought that I, Edward Cullen, was the Le Fantôme de l'Opéra in the flesh in flesh amused me greatly.
"Is that not your game?" I asked him, standing before him for but a moment before I was gone again.
The man gasped in fright, searching for a private exit to take her.
I stood, under the cloak of darkness the theater granted and waited for the precise moment to push him from her.
The lady barely saw me that much I am sure, before she fumbled in the darkness back toward the only light she could see. Once she was safely away, I grabbed the man by his throat and dragged him further into the darkened pits of his fate.
I cupped his face in my hand and gave him the same sinister look he gave to his prey. '''He is extraordinarily thin and his dress-coat hangs on a skeleton frame. His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils. You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull.' Is that not how you see me now or perhaps you see the red flames of Hell to finally greet you?"
I ended him.
The taste of his death on my hands and lips was disgusting.
Carlisle sighed as he moved through the darkness without issue. He pulled me from the man and when I chanced a look, there was only patient understanding.
"We must find a more fitting place for him than here." He whispered.
He gave me his hand to help me to my feet, although it wasn't needed. We took the man under each of his arms and carried him out into the alley.
With all the excitement for the New Year, no one paid one seemingly drunk man being helped along.
Nor did they notice a fresh grave in the cemetery where he still resides.
.
A chill moved over Bella as she sat in the leather chair.
Moments later, a blanket seemed to appear out of nowhere and graced her legs.
"Uh, thank you?" She whispered, feeling out of sorts but she didn't know what else to think. A gust of air brushed past her and she clutched at the book and blanket that moved with the momentum.
Was EAMC the ghost just as he described himself in the journal? Was it him that moved around her imperceptibly?
Bella waited for several more moments and even leaned to try to see the lower level but there wasn't anything seemingly amiss.
Perhaps it didn't matter.
If it was him, he obviously meant her no harm.
She pulled the blanket under her legs and vaguely noticed the enticing aroma of sustenance wafting towards her as she opened the journal again.
She stopped on a small, intricately detailed drawing that was almost unnoticeable hiding in between the pages.
It was a woman dressed appropriately for the time period. She wore a highly detailed gown with the exception that one side of the top curved down to show her exposed and cupping her breast.
Bella gasped and quickly thumbed through to find the post explaining the woman.
But there was none.
.
"Dinner!" Alice said as a greeting as she moved up the stairs towards Bella. "Are you finding the journals interesting.
"I am," Bella said quietly with a slight blush gracing her features. She rose from her chair and placed the journal on the seat before she fallowed Alice to the kitchen.
The kitchen was a mix of old and new. Bella could tell that someone had kept the upkeep on some of the more antiquated items like the wood burning oven and Frigidaire. It was painted in a bright teal color while the rest of the kitchen was in black and white with touches of teals in the pictures, utensils, and a Cuisinart Precision mixer.
The window to the room was a large stained glass image of two peacocks; one white, one in teals and blues, gold, and purples. Their dance was forever captured, as the rain fell quietly over them.
Bella took a deep breath in.
The smell of the rain, hearth, and pasta dinner made Bella think about home with Charlie. It was those such nights she missed the small comforts of home. Such seemingly unnoticeable moments that one takes for granted tear at the heart in a moment.
She wondered if Charlie felt such moments.
But she knew the answer. She saw her life moving forward without him in it and vice versa.
"You have so many different emotions running over your face that it's almost comical but none are of amusement. I'm curious, are you alright?"
"I'm fine. I was thinking of my father and perhaps feeling a little sentimental." Bella supplied as a courtesy. She didn't really want to expand on her thoughts but she also didn't want to be rude to her host.
"I get that. I sometimes miss my family and friends, but they are all settled now."
"Oh yes? Where are they?"
"Hmm? Oh, the Brandon Plantation down in Mississippi. I haven't been back in a while, but I hear the plot still grows with new arrivals from time to time. "
"The plot?"
"The cemetery plot. My sister, Cynthia Brandon is there and that's the last I visited. She was nine years younger than me and died just a few years back so the home is now in a trust I manage."
"That's nice. I was an only child. It would've been nice to have siblings to grow up with."
Alice nodded. "I wish I would've had more time with her. I called on her a few times as she matured, but I was seen as nothing more than 'a figment of her clever imagination' so said our father." Alice giggled. "What one doesn't acknowledge doesn't exist, am I right?"
"I suppose." Bella gave a small smile that didn't hide her confusion. She made a mental note to look up the Brandon Plantation and its graves when she got back to her apartment.
"Anyway, I was never a fan of places where people keep their dead. When I drive by, I feel for them. They are trapped within the fences. I don't know why one would want to be buried with strangers in a grave yard, let alone their family members. What if the soul is trapped there? Can you imagine being stuck with them for eternity? I'll pass."
"I never gave it much thought." Bella whispered.
"Well, it'll give you something to think about when you can't sleep tonight!" Alice chuckled darkly. She spooned the pasta and chicken onto the plate in front of Bella before placing it back on the stove.
"You've already been so kind. I can't possibly intrude by staying the night. You've been more than hospitable but I do need to get going after dinner."
"Pishposh! I've already made up your bed! Plus, you have yet to see the rest of the house and its secrecies. Eat up!"
Before Bella could even ask, Alice was gone and she was alone again.
"I didn't know I'd be eating alone," Bella sighed. "I wish I brought down the journal to have something to read."
A gust of air swung the door forward and back again and the journal was placed on the glossy table next to her.
"Thank you." Bella smiled knowingly.
.
A/N: Seems Bella is figuring a thing or two out. Thank you for reading and your kind reviews! I loved each one.
* "The Opera ghost really existed." "And, despite the care which she took to look behind her at every moment, she failed to see a shadow which followed her like her own shadow, which stopped when she stopped, which started again when she did and which made no more noise than a well-conducted shadow should." "He is extraordinarily thin and his dress-coat hangs on a skeleton frame. His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils. You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull." -Borrowed from the 1909 Gothic suspense serial story/ 1910 novel Le Fantôme de l'Opéraby French writer, Gaston Leroux