.
3. GONE
(THE END)
Bella left sometime during the night. When I opened my eyes the next morning, she was already gone.
I didn't know how to interpret her absence. Usually when she stayed over, she didn't leave until morning, when she'd slip out of my bedroom window with a kiss and a promise to see me soon at school. As I climbed out of bed, I reminded myself that she couldn't spend every moment with me—she must have had something she needed to do—but there was a shadow lurking at the back of my mind. I could try to tell myself that what had happened at the party would all blow over, but I knew it wouldn't just go away.
I was relieved to find her waiting for me in the school parking lot. For a few brief seconds I thought maybe I really was overthinking this. Maybe everything really would be okay . . . but then I realized she was alone. Alice wasn't with her.
As I walked across the lot toward Bella, my uneasiness grew. The stars that usually sparkled in her ocher eyes had gone dim, and her gaze was fixed on the pavement at her feet. When I tried to pull her into a one-armed embrace (my right arm was still too sore for anything more), she barely moved. I did, at least, get a muffled "good morning" from her when I dropped a kiss onto her forehead, and she did ask quietly about my arm, but she was otherwise silent as we walked toward our first class. I followed along beside her, trying not to worry about what all of this might mean.
The morning dragged by. Bella's expression never changed. Gone were the sideways glances that usually passed between us in class, the smiles we shared when someone said something amusing, either intentionally or otherwise. Bella simply sat, stiff and formal, her posture perfectly aligned as she fixed her unwavering attention on the front of every classroom.
I needed to talk to Alice. Alice would know what was going on, but where was she? Was she with Jasper? How long would she be gone? I made it through the morning's classes by telling myself that surely she would be here by lunchtime, but as we walked through the cafeteria doors, there was no sign of her. As we sat down in our usual seats, I told myself her class was just running late, but there, at the other end of the table, sat Ben and Conner, who were in her fourth hour French class. Alice wasn't here.
For the first time since that morning, I broke the silence between us.
"Alice is with Jasper, isn't she?" I asked in a low voice.
Bella looked up from the food she was barely pretending to eat.
"Yes." She didn't elaborate any further.
"Is he okay?" No answer.
"Are they still at home?" I tried again after a moment.
"I don't know," Bella said softly. "She was trying to convince him to go to Denali when I left this morning."
Denali, in Alaska, was where Bella's other "cousins" lived. It was where Bella and her father had been before moving to Forks to rejoin Carlisle and the rest of their family and where Bella had briefly escaped when she had first met me all those months ago. Tanya and her family, like Bella's, did not prey on humans. Carlisle had even convinced one of the members of James's coven to go there when he had chosen not to involve himself in what had happened the previous spring. I didn't know whether or not Laurent had decided to stay.
"I'm sorry, Bella," I said again.
"It wasn't your fault," she answered, frowning down at my arm.
I didn't say anything else. I didn't know what to say, and even if I had, a public cafeteria wasn't the best place for this type of conversation anyway. I didn't break the silence again until we were walking through the parking lot after school.
"Will you come over later, after I get home from work?" I didn't usually work on Wednesdays, but I had switched with Mrs. Newton for Bella's party.
"Do you really want me to?" she asked. I reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Of course I do."
"Then I will." Normally she would have smiled then, but she didn't now. The expression in her eyes was strange and unreadable.
"I'll see you then." I smiled at her as she climbed into her truck and closed the door, but she wasn't looking at me, so I didn't know if she saw. As I backed away and turned toward my Volvo, I could see her staring down at the steering wheel, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
I didn't know what to do. Something was very obviously wrong, but this couldn't be as serious as what had happened in Phoenix in March, could it? I'd almost been killed then, suffered numerous injuries and nearly died from blood loss. I'd almost been turned into a vampire, too, though Bella had managed to avert that future by sucking James's venom back out of my bloodstream. I had been in the hospital for weeks with surgeries and blood transfusions while the doctors had put me back together. I remembered what Bella had said the night before, about how she'd been thinking of Phoenix, of my time in the hospital, but even back then, after one brief moment when she'd considered leaving, Bella had decided to stay in my life. Why was she so distant now, when nothing nearly as serious as Phoenix had happened?
My mind was still on Bella's strange behavior when I walked into Newton's a few minutes later. I nodded absently to Mike as I reached for my vest.
"So how was the party?" he asked. I was pretty sure he wasn't really concerned about the party. Bella's family made most of my friends uneasy, but he was being nice enough to ask.
I pushed my worries aside. Maybe this was what I needed, I decided, a little friendly conversation, something to take my mind off of things. Worrying wasn't getting me anywhere.
"It was good," I said. "Emmett and Rosalie even . . . called from Dartmouth."
"Oh . . . um, that's cool," was all Mike said. I tried not to grin. Even when Bella's intimidating cousin was far, far away, he apparently still made people nervous.
My distraction, though welcome, was unfortunately short-lived. There was work to do, but I couldn't do a lot of lifting or stretching with the stitches still in my arm, so I ended up working alone near the front of the store, putting price stickers on bags of trail rations and refilling the map rack by the register while Mike worked on the climbing gear on the back wall. It was too monotonous, too quiet without Mike nearby to make mundane conversation, and my mind wandered toward a lot of places where I didn't want it to go.
I didn't see Bella's truck when I pulled into my driveway several hours later. I experienced a brief moment of panic before reminding myself that Bella didn't need her truck to come over to my house. She usually only used it when she needed a prop, when she needed to show my mother or nosy Mrs. Russo down the street when she was coming over and when she was leaving. The fact that the lights were off in my house didn't mean anything, either. Bella was a vampire, and while sneaking into people's houses was perfectly normal behavior for her kind, turning all of the lights on to announce their presence was not. Still, I was fighting back a sense of dread as I unlocked the front door and stepped into the darkened entryway.
I searched the house, turning on lights as I went. I found her in the living room, sitting on the bench of my old upright piano, her fingers tracing over the keys. One of my mother's books lay on the bench beside her. She barely glanced up when I turned on the lights.
"Hey. How long have you been waiting?" I asked. I checked the clock. I wasn't late.
"Not very long," she answered without looking up. She was still tracing her fingers along the keys, caressing them really, not using enough pressure to make a sound. The book on the bench beside her was my mother's battered copy of Jane Eyre.
"I'm going to get something to eat," I told her after a few awkward moments. She nodded, but her eyes never left the keys in front of her. Raiding the refrigerator, I microwaved a couple slices of leftover pizza and forced myself to eat, even though my appetite had deserted me. I was only moderately relieved when Bella appeared a few moments later and sat down across from me at the table.
At any other time, we might have been talking, joking about something Alice had said or something that had happened at school. Bella would have been leaning across the table, watching me intently as I ate, but tonight was different. It was like school all over again as she stared down at the tablecloth, her spine straight and her posture formal. I lay my left hand on the tabletop, sliding it toward her and praying she would take it the way she always did. It was a relief when she reached across with both hands, sandwiching my hand gently between her own. Maybe this would all blow over, I told myself. Maybe everything really would be okay, but still, Bella said nothing as she stared down at my hand, folding it and turning it in her own. It was like she was trying to memorize it, trying to commit every crease on my palm, every wrinkle on my knuckles, every callus on my fingertips to her perfect, eternal memory. I tried not to react. I pretended that everything was normal about her actions. What else could I do?
When I finished, I washed my plate in the sink, leaving it in the dish drainer to dry. Bella watched me silently, that unreadable expression never leaving her eyes. I sat back down at the table and reached across to take her hand in mine. I watched her face, but her eyes never left our joined hands, and her expression never changed.
After a few more moments of silence, my thoughts began to drift back to places where I didn't want them to go. I pushed back my chair and rose from the table.
"I should probably get some homework done," I told her as I leaned over to pick up my backpack from the spot just inside the door where I'd left it.
"You're right," she said, rising from her chair. "I should probably go."
I froze, my backpack dangling just a few inches off the floor.
"You aren't staying?" I asked.
"No," she answered, "not tonight." For one brief moment, her eyes met mine, and what I saw in them, or rather what I didn't see in them, sent a chill down my spine. All the warmth, the humor, every bit of sparkle I was used to seeing in those beautiful eyes was gone. They seemed hollow, broken, empty. And then she looked away again.
"Bella?" I asked, not sure what I was asking. She frowned faintly and stood up on her tiptoes to brush a feathery kiss against my cheek.
"Good night, Edward," she said, and then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone, and I was left alone in the empty kitchen, my backpack still dangling from my fingertips.
I stared numbly at the wall for a second, knowing that everything was terribly wrong, but not knowing how to fix it. The answer came to me suddenly. Alice. I dropped my backpack into a kitchen chair and reached for the phone to dial her number.
She didn't answer. After several rings, it went to voicemail. But how, I wondered? Alice always knew when I was calling. She always answered before the first ring. Sometimes she even called me while I was still reaching for the phone to dial. Something was very wrong. I tried again, but this time it went straight to voicemail. I stared down at the phone in my hand, hanging it up in disgust when it started to beep.
It was the signal, I decided after a moment. Denali was remote, wasn't it? Perhaps Alice couldn't answer because she didn't have service?
I carried my backpack into the living room and turned the TV to a baseball game. I didn't care who was playing—I just needed a distraction, something to occupy the part of my mind that wasn't focused on homework. I tried to ignore the piano bench beside me, the image of Bella's hand as she traced her fingertips along the keys. I could feel the spine of Jane Eyre staring down at me from its spot on the little bookcase.
I stayed up late, telling myself that if I was tired, I would be able to sleep. I was wrong. It was one of the longest nights of my life.
I was up before the clock radio went off, which was probably a good thing because I was tired, and I wasn't moving very fast. By the time I made it downstairs for breakfast, I wasn't running early anymore, and I hurried to eat a bowl of cereal while my mother, who hadn't made it to bed yet, peppered me with questions about the day before. I gave her mostly one word answers, then apologized and told her I was just running late and needed to get to school. I knew she could see that something was wrong.
Bella was waiting in the parking lot again, but nothing had improved. If anything, she was more distant, more silent than the day before. The only time I heard her speak, except to ask once about my arm, was when Mr. Berty asked her a question about Lady Capulet in English. He seemed a bit surprised when she answered him correctly. Apparently he had noticed her distraction, as well.
The silence continued at lunch. Bella wasn't even pretending to eat today. She just picked at the macaroni and cheese on her tray and ignored everything else. I eventually leaned over to join the conversation at the other end of the table, hoping I might draw her in, but she remained silent. Every now and then she would smile very faintly or nod softly in agreement with something someone else had said, but she never spoke a word.
After school, I walked Bella through the parking lot, but neither of us said anything. She brushed a silent kiss against my cheek before closing the door of her truck and driving away.
I was grateful I had to work again. Spending time with me didn't seem to be helping Bella—it only made her feel more of whatever she was feeling. We weren't busy at Newton's, another blessing because it allowed me to help Mike stock shelves. The stitches prevented me from climbing or reaching too far, but I could still use my good arm to hand him backpacks as he reorganized the display from atop the ladder. He appreciated not having to climb up and down, and I was grateful for the distraction as he speculated about who Jessica might be dating next, now that the rumors about a college freshman had turned out to be false.
No one was home when I unlocked my front door. I checked the living room twice, just in case I had somehow missed her, but the piano bench was empty. I ate quickly, not even tasting the food on my plate, and then went upstairs to do some homework. I didn't make much headway. The photograph on my desk, taken in the moments between the two pictures my mother had given Bella, kept staring at me. I couldn't help but notice the difference—Bella smiling toward the camera, her eyes bright and happy as she tried to focus on my mother, even though I had been whispering in her ear, trying to make her turn those beautiful eyes to mine. It still took my breath away, seeing how lovely she had been that night, but it hurt, too, because the person Bella had been for the last two days was not the girl in the photograph. Her eyes were sad and empty now, like all the happiness had been ripped from them. Her lips didn't smile anymore, either. If anything, they just frowned. It was like some part of her had died. I stared at the picture for another moment, then set a stack of books in front of it. I couldn't stand to be reminded.
I tried to call Alice again, but there was still no answer. I tried to lose myself in my music, but my fingers stilled on the piano keys. I wasn't feeling particularly inspired. I stayed up until after midnight, eventually giving up on my homework to do some laundry, but Bella never came.
It was another long night. What little sleep I managed to get was troubled by strange dreams that barely faded every time I awoke. At one point, I opened my eyes to see a shadow in the corner of my room. I thought, for just a moment, that Bella was watching me sleep in the darkness, but when I turned on the bedside lamp, there was nothing there. It was just another dream that hadn't wanted to let go.
Bella was waiting in the school parking lot the next morning, but I didn't even try to touch her anymore. Gone were the days when she had settled into my embrace, when she had reached out to wrap her arms around me and welcomed my morning kiss. She didn't even ask about my arm.
At lunch I watched her absently play with the lid of her water bottle. She hadn't even bothered with a tray of food. As she spun the plastic lid on the table, I decided that if I couldn't talk to Alice, maybe I should try to call Carlisle instead. Surely he would talk to me, wouldn't he?
I walked Bella to her truck after school. There were students everywhere, huddled in groups of four or five as they made their plans for the weekend. I wasn't really expecting Bella to say anything, but she surprised me when she spoke.
"Your mother is off work today, isn't she?"
"Yes," I answered. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, her eyes finally meeting mine for the first time that day. I couldn't name the darkness that rested in their depths, but it hurt to see it.
"Would you mind if I came over this afternoon?" she asked. I took a deep breath, afraid to wonder whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Were we finally going to talk about this?
"Sure. When?" I asked. Her question, after so many days of silence, had caught me off-guard, and she had opened the door of her truck before I could do it for her.
"In just a few minutes," she answered. "I'll see you then." She closed the door between us, backing out of her space and heading toward the exit. She was already out of sight by the time I reached my car.
Bella's truck was parked along the street when I pulled into my little driveway, but she wasn't waiting in the cab. She must have gone inside. Was that why she had asked about my mother? Had she wanted to speak with her? Why? I fought the chill that crawled down my spine and tried to tell myself that I was worrying about nothing. Maybe Bella just wanted to thank my mother for the birthday present. That was a good sign, wasn't it? I lifted my backpack from the passenger's seat and made my way up the front walk.
I found them sitting in the kitchen. I couldn't tell what conversation they'd been having, but my mother's face was sad, sympathetic as she looked across the table at Bella and then up at me. My stomach plummeted, settling somewhere around my knees. I dropped my backpack into a kitchen chair and turned toward Bella, but she had already spoken before I could say anything.
"Can we talk?" she asked. I glanced back at my mother. Judging by the expression on her face, she already knew what Bella was going to say, and I didn't think I would like it. I swallowed and took a deep breath.
"Okay."
"Let's go outside," Bella said softly, and I followed her toward the door. I could feel the weight of my mother's eyes as she watched us go.
Bella led me along the side of the house and down a path into the trees. It was the nature trail that our neighbor, Bud Krawalski, had built all those years ago when I was just a kid. We walked side-by-side for several moments, until we were out of sight of the house. Then Bella stopped, backtracking a few paces to increase the distance between us.
The forest had grown silent, the creatures instinctively uncomfortable in her presence. Her eyes watched me sadly across the four foot distance between us. I did not like the way this looked.
"Bella . . ." I began, but I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to convince her not to say something when I didn't know exactly what was coming. Or maybe I did know, and I just couldn't bear to think of it.
She took a deep breath and crossed her arms—no, she wrapped her arms around herself, as if holding herself, bracing herself for something. My stomach, already settled around my knees, dropped through the forest floor.
"I love you, Edward," she began, and then she closed her eyes, taking another deep breath.
"I love you, too, Bella." But somehow I knew that wouldn't be enough to stop whatever was about to happen.
"Please," she whispered, "please just let me . . ."
She must have been able to hear my heart hammering. I searched her face, full of emotion now for the first time in days, but this wasn't the emotion I wanted to see there. Something cold wrapped its fingers around my heart.
"We're leaving," she said after a moment. Her arms tightened. I stared across the distance at her.
"What do you mean?" I asked. I knew her words had meaning, but my brain didn't want to process them.
"I mean that we have to go. The others have already left. Jasper and Alice, Emmett and Rosalie, Carlisle and Esme. Even Charlie. I stayed behind just to say goodbye."
I struggled to pull air into my lungs. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. No matter how many horrible possibilities had crossed my mind in the last few days, I'd never let myself think about this one.
"This is because of what happened at the party," I managed after a moment. Bella nodded sadly, her eyes settling on mine for a heartbeat before falling to the forest floor.
Something like desperation surged through my veins. I could feel it. I realized suddenly what Carlisle had been trying to warn me about when he'd told me the story of the fire and Bella's little brother. She was a caregiver, yes, but she was also self-sacrificing. She would give up anything to keep someone she loved safe. Even if it meant giving up them.
"But nothing happened, Bella. I'm fine. You're fine. We're all okay."
But she shook her head.
"You needed stitches, Edward, and it could have been so much worse." Her beautiful voice cracked, breaking on the last word.
"But it wasn't."
"Because we got lucky. Three times now being near me has nearly gotten you killed. When we first met, then in Phoenix, and now this. Three strikes and you're out. Third time's a charm. We've already been more fortunate than we should have been. The next time, we won't be so lucky."
The cold fingers that had wrapped themselves around my heart were claws now, and they were squeezing.
"How do you know? What makes you think there will even be a next time to worry about?"
"There won't be," she said softly, "because I can't let there be. I can't risk you again."
I stared at her. It hurt to breathe.
"So that's it. You just . . . leave?"
Bella nodded sadly. I shook my head. I couldn't let her do this to herself. To us.
"No, you promised me, Bella. You promised me that you wouldn't do anything rash."
"I promise you that there's nothing rash about this," she said, "nothing hasty. I've given this a great deal of thought, and I have to go. It's the only way for me to keep you safe."
I could still remember Romeo and Juliet. Bella's contemplation of suicide if anything had happened to me. She was desperate to keep me safe. She was stubborn, and she had made up her mind. There would be no changing it now.
Six little words were pounding against the inside of my skull, fighting to get out. I didn't want to say them. I didn't want to ask them because I couldn't stand to hear the words . . . or their answer.
"Will I ever see you again?" I finally managed to ask. Bella's face crumpled a bit before she regained control of herself. Her arms, already wrapped so tightly around her middle, tightened again. She shook her head.
"So this is it?" I whispered. "You just leave, and that's the end of it?" The cold claws were at my throat now, choking me.
Bella nodded.
"And I do what? Just forget you? Pretend we never met, that this never happened?" The pain was still rising, trying to turn into something darker.
Bella sucked in a sudden breath and squared her shoulders.
"If that's what it takes," she said in a quiet voice.
"No! If you think I can just forget this, that I can just . . . pretend that you never existed, then you are insane." The hurt was already more than I could bear. The only thing I could use to fight against it was anger.
Bella took another sharp breath, and I realized she was crying. She just didn't have tears. My anger evaporated, leaving only the hurt behind.
"Then don't pretend I never existed," she whispered. "Pretend that I lived, and that you loved me and I loved you, and then I died."
Another punch to the stomach. My knees nearly buckled.
"Died?" I whispered.
"I'm already dead, aren't I?" she answered, her voice only just loud enough for me to hear. "I died seventy-seven years ago. I've only been pretending."
"Bella . . . "
"I died, Edward. Mourn me. Mourn us, and then, one day, some day, you'll learn how to live again. You'll meet someone, and you'll fall in love again, and you'll have the life that we could never have had." Another sharp breath. "I want you to have that."
My head was spinning. My chest was caving in.
"And what about you?" I whispered.
"I'll survive," she whispered back. She raised her chin a notch, but her arms were still wrapped around her torso, as if she were trying to hold herself together. "I'll ask Alice to keep an eye on you, just a little peek into your future here and there so that I'll know you'll be okay and that you're happy." She paused for a moment. "It will make me happy to know you're happy."
I didn't know what else to do. There was nothing I could say. I was broken. It was all I could do to hold myself upright, to keep the pieces from falling to the forest floor and taking me with them.
"Promise me," she whispered after a moment, "promise me that you'll try to be happy."
But I couldn't. How could I?
"No, not unless you promise the same."
Her face broke again, but she didn't say anything. She made me no promises. She just stood there in silence, her eyes roaming over me, trying to take in every detail one last time.
"I have to go."
"No!" I managed the strength for that, at least.
"I have to. Please, Edward . . ."
I shook my head. It was all I could manage to do and stay on my feet at the same time.
"Close your eyes," she whispered.
And even now, when she was ripping my heart out of my chest, I couldn't refuse her anything. I took one last look at her, standing there in the shadows of the forest, her arms wrapped around herself, and her eyes filled with pain and all the love she hadn't let me see for days. I didn't want to remember her this way. I wanted to remember her the way she had been before everything had gone so terribly wrong, the way she'd been in the picture that was framed back in my bedroom, smiling at the camera, her eyes filled with joy.
I closed my eyes.
There was a slight breeze, the tiniest shifting of air, and then Bella's hands were on my face, and she was kissing me with a desperation I'd only ever felt once before—in that last kiss before I'd run away to Phoenix. I could feel the gentle pressure of her fingertips, her hair brushing against my cheeks as her lips moved against mine. I reached up to pull her against me, to fist my fingers in her hair so that she couldn't leave, but suddenly she was gone. There was a tiny ripple of wind, her scent lingering faintly in the breeze, and I was alone.
I stood there, my eyes still closed and my hands clutching the empty air for longer than I knew. If I didn't open my eyes, if I didn't see that she was gone, maybe she was still there, standing just beyond the reach of my fingertips. Maybe, if my eyes were still closed, then none of this was real. Maybe it was all just some horrible nightmare.
My arms eventually started to go numb, and I let them drop, but I still couldn't move. It started to rain, a steady drizzle that trickled through the leaves above and streaked down my face.
At least I thought it was rain. I couldn't be entirely sure.
Eventually, I did have to open my eyes, and when I saw in the growing darkness that Bella wasn't there, my legs finally gave out. I landed on the damp trail on my hands and knees.
I stared down at the dead leaves beneath my hands. I couldn't look up, I couldn't look back down the trail to where she had stood. She was gone, I knew that, but in my mind, all I could see was her standing there, her eyes filled with pain. No, I couldn't look back that way. I couldn't go back past the spot where she'd been standing when she had said goodbye.
Numbly, I rose to my feet to follow the trail farther into the forest, leaving the path when I saw an ancient, upended tree. The roots splayed out from the bottom of the massive trunk, offering some shelter from the rain. I sat down beneath their shade and tried not to think about what had just happened. Remembering how she had stood there sent icy claws scraping through my chest. I couldn't breathe. I had to think about something else.
I stared at the ferns in front of me, watching as they swayed beneath the weight of the droplets that escaped through the canopy above. I tried to follow the path of a beetle as it made its way along the forest floor. I fought to focus on the shadows that faded as the light slipped away, but all I could see was the image of a beautiful girl, her arms clutched desperately around herself. Remembering hurt. Every breath that entered my lungs felt like acid, burning its way into me and wrapping itself around my heart.
I clenched my eyes shut and tried to remember my music, to replay a song—any song—in my head, but all I could remember was the lullaby I'd written for Bella. It had seemed so beautiful at the time. Now it was only pain.
I dropped my head into my hands and tried to think about school, about homework, but that just led me back to Romeo and Juliet and our conversation those few short days ago, before everything had gone sideways. Could I have ever dreamed then that everything could go so terribly wrong in so little time?
It didn't matter what I thought about—everything brought me back to her. I covered my ears with the sleeves of my jacket and tried to think of nothing at all.
Sometimes I heard things—the gentle plop of water droplets falling to the forest floor around me. The song of a bird. I thought I heard someone calling for me once, but I didn't want to answer. It was best to stay here where I didn't think, where I could try not to feel anything.
I thought I heard something again, some time later, a strange sniffing noise, an animal perhaps, but I was too far gone to feel fear, and when it went away, I barely noticed.
The first light I saw confused me. I didn't know what it was, and I was too tired to think about it very hard. It came closer, glowing brighter and brighter until I realized it was a propane lantern. It looked familiar. I had seen them in the camping section of Newton's. I worked there, I remembered vaguely.
"Edward?"
I looked up, squinting against the bright lantern now hovering above me. There was someone holding it, someone that I maybe should have recognized, but I couldn't.
"Have you been hurt?" the voice asked.
"Hurt?" I echoed numbly. Yes. I'd been hurt. I would never be the same again.
"Edward, it's Sam, Sam Uley. Do you remember me?"
I thought for a second. Something was vaguely familiar about the name, so I nodded.
"Your mother has been looking for you."
It felt like I should respond. Like I should say something.
"Oh."
He studied me for a moment, then set the lantern on the ground, under the overhang of the tree roots. Maneuvering his way behind me, he placed one hand under each arm and pulled me to my feet with surprising ease. I wobbled a bit, but I stayed upright.
He watched me for another moment, clearly concerned that I might topple over, before deciding that I would manage. He started to lead me away, and I followed along behind him silently, not sure where I was going or why. I had made it only a few steps before I stopped, the breath frozen in my throat. There—it was there, in that spot, that she had left me. I clenched my eyes shut again. A hand reached over to grab my arm, just above the elbow. It pulled me forward, out of the underbrush and back down the path. I stumbled along, following blindly. It only took a couple of minutes for us to emerge in my backyard. Realizing that I was out of the forest, I opened my eyes. I followed him to the door. Sam knocked twice.
"I found him, Lizzie!" he called.
There was a shuffling sound inside, and my mother threw open the door. Her arms were around me in a second, but I didn't move. Numbly I realized that she felt dry. Did that mean I was wet? I glanced down to see water dripping off the sleeves of my jacket. I watched as it pooled on the mat in front of the door.
"Edward, where have you been? I've been so worried! I kept calling for you, but you didn't answer. Are you okay?" When I didn't respond, she turned to Sam. "Is he okay?"
"I think so. He's cold and wet, but nothing permanent seems to have happened."
Nothing permanent? His choice of words seemed strange. I realized suddenly that I was shivering, but I couldn't tell if it was because of the cold. I let my mother lead me into the house. She stripped off my jacket and grabbed an old afghan off the back of the sofa to wrap around me. This afghan. A movie. A girl that was the center of my universe. I clutched the afghan to me. It was all I had left of her. I lifted it to my face, but nothing of her scent remained. I sank down onto the couch, defeated.
The next thing I knew, there was a gray-haired man leaning over me. I knew him from somewhere. I tried to remember.
"Dr. Gerandy?" I asked.
"Very good," he smiled warmly. "Are you hurt, Edward?"
I thought for a moment, trying to put meaning to his words. I recalled the question Sam had asked in the forest. Have you been hurt?
"No," I answered after a moment, at least not in the way he meant.
His hand brushed over my forehead before his fingers settled on my wrist. Checking my pulse, I realized as his eyes fell to his watch.
"What happened to you?" he asked. He made it sound so casual, like he was commenting on the weather.
I struggled silently, trying not to remember.
"Did you get lost?" I shook my head, noticing for the first time that there were other people in the room. Sam Uley stood in the corner with two others—Quileutes from the reservation, I assumed, though I didn't recognize either of them. In the kitchen, I could hear my mother opening and closing cabinet doors. The clank of dishes and the beep of the microwave. Was she making me something warm? Hot tea? Cocoa? Chicken noodle soup? I didn't know.
Dr. Gerandy was still watching me, waiting for my answer. It felt like the three men in the corner were waiting, too.
"No," I finally managed, "no, I wasn't lost. I just . . . I took a walk to clear my head, and I . . . I forgot to come back before it got dark."
I was getting warmer now. Despite the fact that my clothes were still wet, the afghan was doing its job. I hadn't realized that I was cold, but getting warmer now was making me start to feel sleepy. I stifled a yawn as Dr. Gerandy's fingers checked the glands under my neck.
"You seem tired."
I nodded. It was so much easier to just agree with whatever he said.
"Have you been sleeping?" he asked. I thought for a moment, trying to think around something I didn't want to remember so that I could answer his question.
"No," I said after a moment. I heard the shuffle of feet on the floor—my mother coming in from the kitchen.
"I think he's okay," I heard Dr. Gerandy say. "It's just exhaustion. He says he hasn't been sleeping well, but he doesn't seem like he'll have too much trouble tonight. If he does, I'll be back in the morning to check on him. Let me know then."
My mother nodded as she placed a mug on the coffee table in front of me, then stepped away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her motion the doctor toward the kitchen. There was something she wanted to say, something she didn't want me to hear. Their voices were low, but not low enough.
"What are they saying at the hospital?" she asked in a whisper. "Dr. Cullen's niece said that her grandmother was ill?"
No, that wasn't right. I fought to think around the pain again. Bella's grandmother wasn't sick. Bella's grandmother had been dead for almost a hundred years.
"Yes, Dr. Cullen's mother has stage four cancer. It's not looking good, and the family has moved to Florida to be with her."
No, that was wrong, too. Dr. Cullen's mother had died when he'd been born—three and a half centuries ago. And Florida? They couldn't go to Florida. The sun . . .
"Did he say how long they would be gone? How long did he request for leave?"
"No, Lizzie, he didn't request leave. He tendered his resignation, effective immediately. He said he didn't know how long it would be, and he didn't want the hospital to be short-handed if they waited for him to return." He dropped his voice slightly. "To be honest, I don't know if they're ever coming back."
It was good that I was lying down. If I'd been standing up, I would have fallen. I buried my nose in the afghan and tried to pretend her scent still lingered there. If I could still smell her, then she wasn't really gone. I lost myself in that thought.
Some time later, I heard the phone ring. I glanced at the clock. It was far too early in the morning for phone calls. My mother answered. I struggled to hear what she was saying.
"Yes, he's okay, just sleeping. Thank you, Billy. I . . . I didn't know who to call. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, and with the police department suddenly short-handed . . ." I missed a few words as I fought to breathe around the claws in my chest. I had to hear this. I needed to know.
"Yes, Sam and his friends were wonderful. They disappeared before I could properly thank them, though. Please pass that on to them. And thank you, too, for sending them. You were right. They do know the forest very well." She paused for a moment, listening.
"Is that Harry?" she asked. "Isn't it kind of early for him to come over?" She waited for Billy to answer. "What do you mean everyone is celebrating? What is that . . . are those fireworks in the background?" Another pause. "Even the ones that are just noise are dangerous." There was an exasperated sigh. "Just tell them to be careful, okay?" And then another pause. "Okay, but Billy? Thank you again. Goodnight."
My mother tiptoed back into the living room and sat down in the recliner with a blanket. I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep, and tried to make sense of the half of the conversation I'd been able to hear.
Apparently there were celebrations in La Push. The Cullens weren't exactly popular on the reservation, and that was because some of the Quileutes knew the truth. They had their own legends, their own stories about the 'cold ones,' but most people just thought they were silly superstitions, nothing more than folklore. Billy knew the truth, though—he had tried to warn me away from them. Perhaps Harry did, too? I didn't know how many other people knew, but they were celebrating on the reservation. Then again, sometimes people would celebrate just for the sake of celebrating. If there were parties in La Push, most of the people partying probably didn't even understand why they were celebrating.
I lay there, pretending to sleep—and possibly actually dozing off—until I noticed that the darkness outside the windows was beginning to grow lighter. I sat up, startling my mother, who'd been asleep. She pushed away her blanket and moved to stand.
"No, no," I waived her off, still clutching the afghan around me like armor. "I'm just going to go take a shower and go to bed." I looked down at her, at the dark circles under her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to scare you." She reached out to place a hand on my arm.
"I know, Edward. And I'm sorry. I know it's hard, but I'm sure she'll be in touch. I'm sure she'll—" I pulled away, fighting against the weight that suddenly forced the air from my lungs.
"I'm going to go take a shower," I said again as I hurried toward the stairs. I didn't really want to take a shower. I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out, to never have to feel anything again.
I staggered into my bedroom and shoved the stack of books off the top of my desk. Behind them sat the photograph from prom, Bella's beautiful smile shining out at me.
Pretend that I lived, she had said, and that you loved me and I loved you, and then I died.
With more energy than I thought I could muster, I rushed to my bed, grabbed the pillow, and buried my face where she usually rested her head, but it was no use. I had changed the sheets since last she had been here, and nothing of her scent remained.
My knees let go. They couldn't hold me up any longer. The afghan helped to cushion my fall, but I barely noticed. There was only the feeling of the wooden floor beneath me as everything I had been trying to hold back crashed down around me.
A few agonizing moments later, I forced myself up on hands and knees and then onto my feet. I had told my mother I was taking a shower. I had to take a shower, or she would come to check on me. I made myself walk toward the bathroom, one stumbling step at a time. Every second was agony. My hands shook as I pushed back the shower curtain and reached up to turn on the water. I had to brace myself against the wall as I climbed inside.
By the time I realized I was still fully clothed, the water had long since gone cold.
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DENIAL
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DEPRESSION
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ANGER
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DENIAL
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DEPRESSION
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REPEAT
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