Chapter 21 - That Superhero
Spring comes. Lilacs bloom. He knows it's spring when they bloom. Years mean nothing to him. The state of nature is his calendar.
He's alive and can witness a new season once again. He doesn't know how he survived. He finds strength and learns from his mistakes. More search. More food. Dig further and bury the necessities for those cold weeks that turn into months.
Summer burns hot up until the very end. Fall cools and quiets down the campsite. Edward witnessed the typical summer activities, some people lingering, some long gone. He ventured out further to scavenge, and found new cabins he's never tried. He stakes out a lot. He watches the patterns, documents them mentally. He makes trips back and forth, taking his time to find the perfect timing and the right amount of bravery. Supplies are bountiful. It sets a fire in his gut, the relief of more, the excitement of getting his way as he runs away after break-ins.
He carries tanks on his back far distances, sometimes two. His muscles alive, protesting. But he accepts the strain, the sweat trickling down his back. It's better than icicles.
He's alive. He's lord of these woods, a ghost in his wake, leaving no trace. No one could stop him.
Moments like these he feels like it's all for something; to be alone, all for that purpose. And it's right. It all aligns. His muscles grow, and so does his hope of never being caught.
Who's that superhero from the comics he's read? The one that climbs and sticks to buildings as he glides through the air? That's him. He's lithe, and he's stealth. He takes, and he runs. He feels animated. He does anything he wants.
Until Edward looks up.
The rain falls. The rope he attached to a flashlight dangles around his neck. He's making his rounds. It's a perfect time to. Rain makes everything quiet. People don't travel. No one likes to hike when rain makes leaves slick on the ground and the temperature cold.
His jacket is worn but dark. He hides under the hood. Droplets drift down the weather-safe fabric like they do over her skin.
She's alone.
He's frozen where he stands, trying to piece together what he sees far away.
The lake's surface bubbles with the rain falling hard beneath her. The canoe wobbles left to right. She stands, a foot behind her, the other one in front. Her arms are spread wide. The bow is out of sight, beyond her reach, but she's not looking for it. She's ready to let go.
Then, she does.
Edward runs.
Rain suffocates him. He pants and pants to get to her. All the strength he's built he now gathers. The flashlight finds the ground. His backpack is forgotten and left behind. He kicks off his heavy boots and pulls off things that would hinder the speed he counts on.
One splash into that living water from the dock, and he's one stroke closer to her limp body.
"Bella!"
Edward doesn't look back at the shout. His focus is ahead. This girl is in his hands, and it's his responsibility now, no one else's.
He grunts. He hooks an arm, faces her to the sky, and pulls her from her chest. One, two, three strokes through the water and he's not even close to shore. He fights, rips through the bubbling surface that blinds him.
One loud grunt, one heaving lift, and the shore is beneath them both. He begins to find her breath.
"Come on," he says to her. Her ribs cave with his weight, her cheeks bulge with his air. Blue lips are frozen shut, and so are her amber eyes.
"Bella," says the boy. He runs up and lands on his knees.
Edward is in a trance. Every maneuver is precise. He jerks a hand to stop the boy's advance. Wait it seems to say. He dives in for another round; ribs, lips, and a "Come on, girl. Come on."
And he wonders why in the world a child who has everything she needs would need to do this to herself. He kneels above her and waits. "Breathe," he murmurs.
At his command, she does.
Bella opens her eyes and sputters. The first person she sees is precisely the one she's been looking for.
Jameson melts over her in an embrace as the stranger pulls away. He tugs Bella over his lap as they both watch Edward rush away, head down, sopping wet, fists tight, and desperate to make it out of sight.
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