A/N: *heart emoji*
Chapter 59 - The Worm Hunter
He walks around it. It's his second time. Dread in the pit of his stomach. Emptiness in the pit of his water bottle. A window to a cabin is splayed open.
Just one short visit to the kitchen sink, and he'll be out in no time. There is no car in the pathway. No hose attached to a faucet outside of the cabin. It's quiet. No movement on an early morning.
He conjures up the bit of courage he files away just for this. He drops the backpack by a tree and pushes the tin bottle into the waistband of his pants against his back. It only takes little effort. Practically none at all.
Inside, he pulls a leg in and then the other. A bench under the window has a cushion to break the landing. Perfect. He looks around. Pale green walls and a bed. Pillows piled up, a trunk at the end. But the wall adjacent to it is impressive. Books and trinkets fill every nook and crevice of shelves.
His hands do that thing where he automatically wants to touch, but he thinks again. He pushes them into his pockets.
Right. Water.
In and out and on his way. He's climbed in at the back of the house, so he nervously leaves the room and down a dark hallway. The kitchen is large and bright, double doors slightly open to the near woods, just at the edge of the yard. As he fills the bottle, he looks around him. Partly to keep watch as he does, but mostly to absorb the details.
Open doors like that can't be a good sign. He's getting sloppy. His stakeout isn't as thorough as it used to be.
Tired. Older. Out of practice. Walking for days has kept him from patience. Get in, get out, it can't be that hard. This time, he's really done it. How could he not notice the open doors earlier?
The bottle fills to the top and runs over his fingers. He wrings his hands, even grabs a dishrag to clean up all the droplets and the mess he keeps making of this.
Done.
Swift, silent strides, he's back in the room. Not out the window like he should, but frozen, staring up at the spines of books. Edward is practically salivating at the options.
It's been a long time since he's flipped pages. He took a couple of books from the farm, but you can only read them a number of times before they get tedious.
Again, hands shaking, chest aching. This time, he reaches. Just one. One, and not a single one more. He's softening up, slowly letting his guard down and accepting exceptions.
Euphoria when he lifts a thick book off the shelf. And right then, the feeling deflates and turns to horror. Not the genre, but the shock that makes your blood drain from your face.
The smallest gasp known to man, weakens this one's. Edward looks to the door, caught, book grasped in his hand.
That boy, the worm hunter. The chaser of dangerous deer through the woods. That boy stands there, startled.
He smiles and giggles. And then he runs out. "Mommy!"
Everything in Edward dies instantly. He drops the book, and he's after him.
Why is he after him?
Why isn't he climbing out the window where he came from? He doesn't know. But this insidious boy...
"Mommy, the man. The man!" he shouts down the hallway. He sprints through there and runs right into a robe around a slim figure. Edward peeks out the bedroom door and stiffens.
A crash of hearts keeps both humans still, the pair, who once met in the oddest of circumstances meet again. Years ago, a curious girl in search of a quiet hermit through dark woods. This time, it's no different. Like mother, like son; curious souls about everything peculiar. Edward is the peculiar subject, as they both watch him standing at the bedroom doorway, a stranger who's found his way back to someplace very, very familiar.
Bella's eyes grow wide, taking him in. The buttoned-up shirt tucked in neatly, groomed jaw, combed back hair, just like he always keeps up even if he hikes trails and sleeps out in the woods every night.
She'd hoped, she'd dreamed, she even cried many times over a day like this.
"Wook. The man in the trees!" the boy adds, looking up. His arms curled around her leg.
"I see, Elliot," Bella murmurs over him. And to think, she didn't believe him days ago when he came home musing over it. She shakingly rubs the hair on Elliot's head and says to him, "Go, get your truck by the couch." He does. She knows this will keep him occupied for enough time.
Edward and Bella are left alone. Her heart apatter in there, his is not any better, worse even. Considering how bad he is at looking into someone's eyes, he has perfected the intimacy in an instant. He takes in her face, her lips. Just as they used to be.
"So, I guess you've already met your son," she fires, loaded and ready.
She counted the many ways she would break it to him. But Bella swore to herself, lying in bed at night, tears pouring down her temples when no one was there to see them, that when the moment came when she'd see him again, she wouldn't hesitate. She never had the chance, she'll take any. She would tell him who Elliot is and who she really is, along with it.
She's the one who's been secretly waiting for him but hasn't admitted that to anyone. Who built a life and house in the woods on this campsite just to secure a moment like this.
She wouldn't miss it.
Maybe it would happen. Maybe it wouldn't have. But she knew she had to take the chance. Fifty, fifty.
Her lips sadly grin at his expression, the color seeping out of his cheeks before her eyes. He takes his gaze away to catch the sight of the ever-moving boy in the room.
That boy.
That boy is his.
His brows curl, his stomach does, too. He falters a bit, taking steps back. In all the plots of every book he's read, he's never come across a tale like this.
Bella hopes he doesn't run.
She squares her shoulders, tames her raging heart, and keeps from folding into herself.
He's here. He's back. He climbed right into my life.
Her arms locked tightly behind her or, she swears, she'll run to him.
One step at a time.
She nods towards the hallway past him. "The room you climbed into, it's yours. You can use the back or the front door any time." She shakes her head, lifting a hand. "If that's what you'd like. You're welcome here ... is what I want to say," she mutters.
She takes a breath, swallows a lump that makes her eyes prickle and blur. And he says nothing.
She expected that. She expected the worst.
So, with all her might, she uses the tactic she knows worked for her years ago as she sat on a crate trying to make him talk to her. She walks away as nonchalantly as she can muster. She opens the fridge and pulls out a few items. They all go onto the counter.
Edward looks at her.
"Elliot, do you want pancakes?"
Elliot squeals from the living room. That's a yes. She knows. It's a given.
Edward looks back at him.
His lips parted, watching this surreal scenario in front of him.
"I hoped I'd see you someday," Bella begins to say as she moves about. He follows her with clear, blue eyes she finds in her son every day. "I hoped to tell you things I've been meaning to say." She pauses for a breath, as the pan on the stove sizzles.
"You can stay for breakfast if you like," she offers. "It's up to you, but I'd really like it if you did." All she does is glance back at him once in all this because when she turns, she has to bite down on her trembling lip.
Her breath escapes her.
He's just as he was. Standing exactly where she ached for him to be. His presence is palpable.
She can hardly wait to show him everything.
If he just lets her.
….