This first deleted scene was originally the final chapter of 1933. I rewrote this in order to match up with the new canon detail from Midnight Sun that Edward was able to figure out Rosalie's plans to kill Royce and co. before she began to carry them out. He told Carlisle, who reluctantly agreed that Rosalie was entitled to her revenge. He even advised her on how to carry out her mission discretely. These new details seemed pretty odd to me at first, but now that I've fleshed it out I really like the new version (see 1933, chapter 12). But here is the original ending.


Carlisle left to search again as soon as I returned home. He was planning to visit every place we had ever taken Rosalie, either for hunting trips or more human pursuits.

I heard his thoughts returning in less than two hours. It was raining heavily again and there was no point in searching anymore. It was ironic; we usually loved the rain and clouds since they gave us so much freedom. Now we cursed them, giving up all hope of finding Rosalie's scent. There was no point, anyway. Carlisle and Esme had come to the same conclusion that I had—she either wasn't coming back, or she couldn't. But that didn't mean we had to stop trying.

Carlisle pulled into the garage, getting out of the car with the same hopeless look as before, but he wasn't empty-handed. He had spent most of the morning collecting various newspapers. We took them into the living room and began poring through the local news of all the nearby cities, looking for stories of animal attacks anywhere nearby. If there had been a pair of nomads passing through, this would be the only way to track them now. I'd never thought of tracking someone this way. As Carlisle scanned the paper in his hands, he was remembering his time with the Volturi. It seemed he had adapted this technique from something he'd learned there.

"Here's something," Esme called from the couch. "Here in Rochester. A double homicide... oh, never mind. I suppose it wouldn't have been nomads. It was in the city."

"Any mention of missing blood or animal attacks?" Carlisle asked hopefully. "Unusual wounds on their throats? Some nomads like to hunt in cities.

Esme took a moment to finish reading. "No, just a mugging went wrong. They both died from a blow to the head, no wounds mentioned at all." We all sighed in disappointment and kept reading. After we had finished we all sat silently, trying to think of what else to do. Doing nothing was unbearable.

"What about Ontario?" I asked Esme. "Carlisle mentioned that you had wanted to take her there. Do you think she might have gone there?"

"Oh, Edward, do you really think she would have just gone off like that?" Esme sighed. "Besides, we'd never taken her swimming before. I'm not sure it would even occur to her to cross the lake alone." If I had just kept my head, this wouldn't have happened. I never should have taken her out by myself. I should have waited until she was finished drinking to hunt.

"Esme," I said gently, "this isn't your fault."

She just shook her head.

"Still, it might be fruitful to check up there," Carlisle said. "There's not much use in searching for her scent at this point, but we could get some more newspapers to look through. If she was hurt or taken by nomads, they might have been heading up north anyway. There's much less of a police presence over the border."

I shrugged, not knowing what else to suggest. We left a note on the door for Rosalie and headed up into Canada.

.

.

.

Two days later, we still hadn't made any progress. Carlisle was out in the city again, getting one last newspaper.

I found Esme sitting in Rosalie's room, her few belongings still half-packed. She was holding the red tilt hat that Rosalie had worn to her first symphony, fingering the ivy. She didn't even look up at me when I entered.

What if we never find out? What if we never know what happened to her?

I sat down on the box next to hers. "Then we mourn her," I said. "I think it's time we accept that she's not coming back."

Esme just shook her head slowly. "No. She's not dead, I just know it. You said it yourself—we would have smelled the fire, no matter how much it rained."

"Maybe we're thinking about this the wrong way," I suggested. "Maybe she did run into some nomads, but she decided that she wanted to leave with them. She hasn't even been with us two months, really. It wouldn't be impossible for her to want to try something else. You know how flighty newborns can be."

She looked up at me hopefully. "I didn't think of that. But I can't imagine she would just leave without coming to tell us."

"Maybe she was… distracted. Maybe she fell in love."

Esme smiled sadly. "Maybe."

She didn't really believe me. I didn't believe it myself. But I had to try and give my mother some hope. It broke my heart to see her like this. And knowing that I had once done this to her... that made it even worse.

We headed downstairs to meet Carlisle, who was just arriving home.

"Still nothing," he sighed as he sat down and began to read the paper. He frowned after a moment. "That's odd… I've never seen so much crime here before."

"What is it?" Esme asked.

"Two more murders happened last night, both local boys. Well, young men, that is. Apparently, they were friends—though they were killed separately, in their own homes."

"That's quite a coincidence," I frowned. "Especially considering the murders the other day. Rochester is really going downhill, isn't it?"

Carlisle read for another moment. "You might have known these young men, Edward—they were both students at the university."

"What were their names?"

"Jerry Smalls and Lionel Jackson. Both twenty-one… what a shame. Did you know them?"

An odd feeling twisted in my gut. Jerry and Lionel had been two of Royce's buddies. They were certainly the type to get themselves into trouble, but both murdered on the same night? In separate locations? "Esme, what were the names of the two men that died the other day? The double homicide?"

"Percy Smythe and John Willis. The article mentioned that one of them was a local and one was visiting from out of town. For heaven's sake, Edward, what's the matter?"

I was frozen to my chair, paralyzed. Was it even possible?

"Edward, what?" Carlisle asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"I know where she is."

"Rosalie?"

"Yes."

My parents jumped up and zipped over to where I sat. I finally breathed again and looked up at them, seeing my horrified expression through their eyes.

"She's in Rochester," I finally managed to say. "She knew that we would search for her, so she waited before coming back to do it."

"Do what? What on earth are you talking about?" Esme asked frantically.

"She's killing them. The men that hurt her. First Percy and John, and now Jerry and Lionel. She's killing them all." I shook my head in disbelief. All this time, we had been so worried about her, and this was what she had been up to! I didn't know whether to be disgusted or angry or impressed. How on earth had she managed to hide this from me?

Carlisle and Esme were absolutely still, unbelieving. "She said she wanted them to die," Esme said slowly. "She wanted Edward to go back and finish it. She was so angry, but I never imagined… " She trailed off, unable to comprehend the thought of her daughter killing in cold blood.

I barely heard her. The gears in my head were still turning, and the final shock finally hit me. "She's saved him for last... Royce," I said incredulously. "She's going to kill him next. She killed the others first so he would know she was coming for him."

"We've got to stop her," Carlisle said decidedly as he headed for the front door. "And I can't do it alone. We all need to go." He opened the door, turning around to wait for us. I moved to join him, but Esme stood still by the chair I had just left.

"Esme, come on," Carlisle said stiffly.

"No."

He sighed. "Very well. Edward and I will take care of it." I don't want her to see Rosalie like this, anyway. I wonder if we'll get there in time at all. We turned to leave.

"No, I don't think any of us should go," Esme said in a clear voice as she looked between the two of us.

Carlisle walked back to her side, confused. "Esme, surely you don't want her to kill again?"

"We don't have the right to interfere! Rosalie has decided to take her vengeance. It may not be the right thing to do, but she's clearly determined to do it. And what makes you think she'll agree to come with you and Edward peacefully?"

"She's right," I said reluctantly. "We don't want to make a scene. If she's really determined to do this, she's not going to just stop when we find her. If anything, it will make her more violent."

Carlisle looked back and forth between the two of us. "I don't believe this," he said in a low voice.

"This will be the last one," I promised him.

"And after that?" he said. "Five deaths at once, all in a peaceful city that had never seen that level of crime before? The Volturi may get wind of this."

I winced. I hadn't thought of them. But as much as I hated the thought of Rosalie killing anyone, Esme was right. It should be Rosalie's choice. "What's more likely to attract their attention, Carlisle? Five deaths? Or four deaths and a battle between three vampires in the middle of the city? You and I might be able to fight silently, but you know she won't."

He swallowed hard. "You both really think we should just let her do this?"

"Yes," I said honestly. I was surprised to find that I truly believed it. "Esme is right. Rosalie does have the right to avenge her human death. Especially because those men would never be brought to justice otherwise. Even if the act is wrong, she has the right to do it. She's clearly being careful, and that means that she's not acting impulsively. This is her choice."

Esme smiled sadly at me. Thank you, Edward.

Carlisle stood silently, reviewing our arguments in his mind for a moment. Then he slowly made his way up the stairs to his office, looking old and tired. No one spoke for the rest of the day. We merely waited in silence for Royce King to die.

.

.

.

Rosalie came back at three in the morning. She was dragging some kind of heavy white cloth behind her. Instead of coming to the house, she went straight to the fire pit in the side yard. She tossed the cloth into the pit, and, taking a book of matches out of the metal box we kept nearby, started a fire on the cloth. I know you can hear me, she thought pointedly. And I'm done. They're dead.

Carlisle and Esme were upstairs talking. They hadn't noticed her return yet. I slipped out quietly and went to stand beside her. I saw now that the white cloth was a wedding dress. As we watched it burn, Rosalie finally relaxed the control over her thoughts, giving me a playback of everything she had done in the last five days. I saw now that she had overheard my conversation with Esme back when I had told her about killing Charles Evenson. I had been so focused on Esme that I hadn't realized how close Rosalie was. She'd heard Esme's relief. She wanted it for herself... but since I was around, she had decided to think about it later. She ran back out, away from the house, pretending to be returning from the woods when I caught up to her. I had grossly underestimated Rosalie's ability to control her thoughts around me—she had been planning this for at least two weeks.

"I wasn't sure I was going to go through with it. Not until you and Carlisle went to the hospital," she said to me without emotion. "But with only Esme around, and the rain... it was so easy. I just couldn't leave him alive." She shrugged, looking up at me. Her eyes were dark, but no redder than before. I didn't know how that was possible, and I didn't care. Now that she was safely home, my shock and worry were quickly turning to anger.

"We thought you had been taken," I whispered, glancing back at the house. "We looked everywhere. We thought you had been hurt. We thought you were dead. Esme has been... Carlisle was... Do you have any idea what you've put this family through? We didn't figure out until this morning that you were perfectly safe, that you were out slaughtering the town!"

She shrugged again. "It was your idea."

Her words hit me like a slap in the face. Would she have even thought to do this, if I hadn't told her about my years away? If I hadn't gone out with every intention of killing Royce myself? If she hadn't overheard me telling Esme about Charles—how I'd specifically targeted him before any other human on the planet because of what he'd done to her?

"Look," I hissed. "I'm not saying that you weren't justified in what you did. But did you have to leave us like that? To think you were dead, or worse?"

She turned slowly to face me. "I am dead. And if I had told you? Would you have helped me do it? Would they have let me do it?"

"It doesn't matter now, does it?!"

She turned back to the fire, watching in fascination as it reached the tiny pearls that were woven into the bodice of the gown. The threads that held them burned quickly away, leaving the pearls to drip down into the flames like falling tears. I didn't think so. She took a deep, long breath. "Do you think they'll take me back?"

"Let me see the rest," I said sternly, ignoring her question. She played the rest of her memories for me. When she finished, I recoiled in disgust.

"You killed two innocent men?"

"I had no choice," she said flatly. "They were in the way."

I shook my head, trying to reconcile this new reality with the girl I thought I had known. She was radiantly beautiful, the firelight dancing off of her skin against the softer glow of moonlight. But now, as I saw her total lack of remorse, her beauty twisted into something ugly and inhuman, and her angelic features seemed to fall under the shadow of the monster she had chosen to become. The idea that my example had helped inspire this transformation made me all the more disgusted. Hadn't Esme and I specifically told her that murder couldn't bring about peace?

"Didn't have a choice?" I asked incredulously, my voice growing louder. "You had every chance to turn around! Don't tell me you didn't have a choice!"

"I hardly think you're one to judge."

I clenched my teeth. "I never killed innocents," I ground out. "Not once. And I certainly never tortured anyone!"

"Well, then, I suppose that makes you a better monster than me," she said, smiling sadly.

That stopped my anger in its tracks. She had a point. Who was I to judge her? I had killed nearly a thousand men in my own rebellion—and none of them had ever done anything to me.

Carlisle and Esme had heard my raised voice and joined us by the fire. Esme was unsure whether she should embrace Rosalie. She held back for a moment, glancing at Carlisle, and then ran forward, catching Rosalie in her arms. "I'm so glad you're all right," she whispered. "We were so worried."

"I'm sorry about that," Rosalie admitted. She gently pushed Esme away and turned to face Carlisle. He stared at her, his thoughts racing—he truly didn't know what he was going to say. He was surprised she had returned at all.

"Tell them," I urged her. "Tell them everything."

She did. When Carlisle heard about the two guards that she had killed, his eyes closed in grief and he sank down onto his knees in the grass. I knew I shouldn't have listened to them. It was one thing to let her take her revenge. But two innocent men, dead! And not even so she could feed! What have I created?

I frowned at him. "She had to kill them, Carlisle. They had seen too much."

Rosalie turned toward me, thanking me in her mind. We both knew that she didn't really have to kill them—she could have chosen to walk away as soon as she saw that Royce was being guarded. But she had been worried about us coming to stop her, and she was determined to kill Royce before that happened. The only thing she had left out of her account to Carlisle and Esme was the part about torturing him, and I wasn't going to be the one to tell Carlisle about that. I just hoped he wouldn't buy any more newspapers.

My own death had been caused by an illness—I didn't have anyone I could blame, or avenge myself on. But if I had, I couldn't be sure if I would have let Carlisle stop me. That would have been my choice. And as much as I was repulsed by what Rosalie had done, I had to forgive her—and defend her. What else could I do?

"What's done is done," I told Carlisle. "Let's all move on together."

Carlisle was having a more difficult time. He was still kneeling beside Esme, his mind racing. How can I forgive this? She did this in cold blood. It was murder.

He stopped when he saw the hurt on my face. He had forgiven me. He was thinking now about the outcome of that decision—of the progress that I had made, of how happy I was now. He wondered, for the first time, how I would have turned out if he had refused to take me back. Would I have returned to hunting humans? Would he have ever seen his son again? Neither of us would ever know. And, as simply as that, his decision was made.

He stood up and walked up to his daughter, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "Rosalie, what you did was wrong. Do you understand that?"

"Yes." And I would do it again.

"Then we forgive you."

I would never have expected the change that came over Rosalie's face. Her defiance melted away and she laid her forehead on Carlisle's shoulder, letting him embrace her for the very first time. "I'm sorry," she mumbled into his shirt. I'm sorry that I hurt all of you. I'm sorry that I wanted to do it. I'm sorry that I would do it again. I'm sorry that I'm a monster. I'm sorry you didn't let me die. I'm sorry that this family is all I have left.

"But we are your family, Rosalie," I said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "And if you still want us, we still want you."

Rosalie pulled away from Carlisle, searching his face for any denial of my offer. But I had only said the words a second ahead of him, and he nodded to her. She looked over to Esme, who reached over and embraced her again.

"Of course we forgive you. Our family would never be the same without you! You're our daughter now, Rosalie, no matter what."

Rosalie looked between the three of us lifelessly. But it won't ever be enough. It won't ever be real. Don't they understand that?

"We do," I said softly.

Rosalie turned to search my eyes, hiding her frustration behind an empty smile. She had seemed so content in the past few weeks—so accepting of her new life. But she had been planning her revenge this whole time. Now that it was achieved, she seemed... tired. Empty. For the first time, I saw her laying out her future in her mind: an endless, sterile pretense at life, repeating itself over and over without hope. But at least in that future she imagined, she would never be alone.

"I'll stay," she said. It sounded like a surrender.

"I'm glad," Carlisle said. "I truly am. But you must understand, Rosalie. Avenging your death was one thing. And accidents happen. But what you did to those two other men was inexcusable. Nothing like this can ever happen again. Are we agreed on that?"

"Yes," she said easily. "I will never kill a human again. I swear it on my life, what little I have left of it."

Carlisle nodded in relief. "All right. We'll continue with our move—it's more important now than ever." Seven deaths now! We'll be lucky if the Volturi don't get involved. Maybe we should leave the country.

"I don't think that's necessary," I said. "I've seen each of the bodies in Rosalie's mind, and there's nothing that would suggest anything except a human killer."

"But still," he argued, "the sheer number of deaths, and coincidence of how they all knew each other—"

"That makes it even easier. All we have to do is plant the suggestion that someone wanted the whole group dead. They were all notorious gamblers. I could use that somehow. I'll take care of it, Carlisle."

"All right," he said tiredly. I just want to put this behind us.

"We'll continue on to Tennessee, then?" asked Esme.

"Yes, I don't see why not," Carlisle answered. "As much as I hate to admit it, Rosalie, I am astonished at your self-control. I really don't know how you managed not to feed on them."

"It was easy," she said firmly. "They were the last people on earth I would have wanted to feed from."

"Still, it was quite a feat for a newborn. Anyway, I'm sure now that you'll be fine going to school with Edward."

And just like that, our plans were back on schedule, like nothing had happened. I looked around at my family—pale, beautiful statues, glistening in the firelight. We were all monsters, in our own way. Rosalie had earned the title this week, and she wasn't sorry. And even Esme, sweet, gentle Esme, had killed... though not on purpose. No doubt some would say she had committed sins far worse than manslaughter—abandoning her husband, her own suicide...even bigamy, in a way. And I was more monstrous than any of them. I had been the vampire from the stories: stalking the city at night, lurking in the shadows as I waited for my human prey. And the potential to kill again was all too real—it had nearly consumed me just a few weeks ago.

And then there was Carlisle. I usually thought of him as the perfect one, our shining leader. But he had once been an enemy of our kind. He had stood by while his father had persecuted and murdered innocents. He had searched through the streets of London, determined to hunt down the monster he became in the end. And in a way, he was responsible for all the humans that his family had killed, since he had created all of us. But his worst sin—and this was a matter of my own opinion—had been creating the three of us. If my philosophy was correct, then Carlisle had committed the most deplorable act of all, albeit with good intentions: destroying our souls, committing us to a meaningless existence in the shadows. I could never blame him for this deplorable act of mercy, but he had committed it nonetheless.

No, none of us was perfect. But we loved each other, and we would continue to fight against the murderous instinct that we all carried. We would always strive to be as human as possible, and we would do it as a family. Our love for each other was inhuman in the best of ways. If that could bring us some peace, then it would be worth it in the end.

The End