Several of you voted for the various Carlisle 1927 outtakes that I had suggested, and so I decided to combine them all into one larger outtake here. This is actually important down the line, in the 1950 story. In preparation for this outtake you may want to reread the final chapter of 1926, and definitely the "Departure" chapter of 1927, to which this outtake corresponds.
Carlisle POV
Esme and I had spent all night looking for Edward. His petulance during our telephone call yesterday had shocked Esme, but that was par for the course lately. It had been obvious that a human had been present in the room, what with his use of the words "Mom" and "Dad". And the fact that he rarely used such intimate terms had made it all the more hurtful.
But his deliberate disobedience was truly puzzling. I couldn't remember a single time, not even in his volatile newborn months, when he had actually defied me. At least he had given an excuse, though it had been disguised in human vocabulary- that he needed to hunt. But after the sun had set, we had truly grown worried and headed into the woods to search.
Maybe this was all a misunderstanding. Edward had been under a lot of stress lately, after all. And when he had continually refused to confide in me, I had swallowed my hurt and given him his space. I needed to remember that he was seventeen. His identity would always be a confusing mix of boy and man, and perhaps his recent mood swings were actually more normal than not.
There was the troubling component of his thirst, though. I hadn't seen his eyes a healthy gold in two months now, and I knew he was hunting more and more often. His emotions had been turbulent, and tending more towards anger, though he had usually remained polite, if not amiable. It must be the emotional turmoil that was causing his thirst to grow- intense emotions had a way of burning through a vampire's energy, making him need to hunt more often. The trouble was, I still had no idea what was causing this recent upheaval. There had been the visit from Demetri and Jane, a few months ago; though Edward hadn't started his downward spiral until he had returned to school in January. He had been strangely silent for a while after their departure, but not belligerent. Perhaps that was really when the problem had begun. Perhaps I had hurt him more than I thought, when I had spoken for him that day. Perhaps I was the problem.
Well, whatever it was, I had let this go on long enough. I just hoped that Edward would be home when we got back to the house, and that he would have a good explanation for his behavior. But regardless of his excuses, I was through walking on eggshells. He was going to tell me what was going on, whether he wanted to or not.
I was relieved, then, and nervous, when I caught his fresh scent near the house. Esme sighed in relief as well, squeezing my hand silently. I swallowed, unsure how to proceed. It was one thing to resolve to become a more involved father, but it was another to do it. What if he refused to talk, even when I demanded his cooperation? What was I supposed to do then, if my efforts were met with more of his stony silence?
We entered the backyard, to find Edward also coming out of the woods, around the eastern edge of the yard. He looked terrible, and my anger dissolved immediately when I saw him. His eyes were almost black, with dark circles underneath, and a drawn, starved look on his face. As he drew toward us, his expression hardened, not into the regret I had been hoping to see, nor the tortured confusion that he had been wearing for weeks now.
He looked resolved.
Esme broke away from me and ran into his arms. As he held her, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as though he had been starved for her scent. Or as though… I felt a sinking feeling. He looked as though he was memorizing her scent, breathing it for the last time.
"Well, son?" I murmured, afraid.
He straightened up, still holding Esme with one arm. He clenched his jaw, and I stopped breathing.
He spoke slowly at first. "Carlisle… Esme…" He licked his lips, and said the rest in a rush. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry for my behavior lately. Neither of you have deserved my rudeness, or the strain I have put on this… family."
I relaxed a bit. Maybe I had been reading him wrong. Maybe his "resolve" had simply been regarding giving his apology. After all, what seventeen-year-old likes to admit that he was wrong? I laid my hand hesitantly on his shoulder, taking the opportunity he was giving me.
"Whatever it is, Edward, we can deal with it together. We always have." Please, son, let me help you. Talk to me. We can go into the woods, alone if you like, and…
My hopeful thought faded away as he looked down at me, the resolve still strong in his eyes. "Not this time," he said.
Esme drew in a sharp breath, clinging more tightly to his shoulder. "You're… you're leaving us?"
Edward nodded, and the sounds of the forest vanished. All I could hear were Esme's words echoing, over and over: You're leaving us?
Suddenly Edward's eyes snapped down to Esme's, and he caught her up in another hug. But she pushed him away, staring desperately into his eyes, no doubt begging him mentally to reconsider. His eyes darted, pained, back and forth between the two of us as we thought our protests. Edward, no! Let's just slow down. Let's talk about this! Let me help you, please!
When he spoke again, his voice was uneven, uncertain. "I'm sorry, it's just that… I need some time alone. I need to… I need to be on my own for a while."
"For how long?" asked Esme in a trembling voice.
He swallowed. "I... I don't know."
I just shook my head. This couldn't really be happening; it was all a misunderstanding. "Edward, please… your mother and I don't understand. Up until a few months ago, you were happy. What happened to make you-"
My voice cut off as my throat filled with venom, and with fear. I knew exactly what had happened, when all this had begun: the visit from the Volturi. It didn't explain his recent deterioration, but no other event had really happened in the past year. What if he had decided to accept their offer, after all? What if his brooding over these past months had actually been brooding over the decision to go- the decision I had thought over and done with? What if he was heading to Italy right now? Edward, no, don't go to them! Once you are in Aro's clutches, you'll never be free again! Is that what you want?
But he shook his head, answering the question in my panicked thoughts. He finally stepped toward me and embraced me, whispering in my ear, "I won't go to them, I promise."
I relaxed, but only a bit. If he wasn't going to the Volturi, then where was he going? He pulled out of my arms and began backing away, his jaw clenched in his final resolve.
"I love you both," he said in a shaking voice as he took another step backwards. "Please understand; I will always be grateful for the years we have spent together. I could not have chosen two better friends… or parents." His voice broke in the end, and for a split second I saw my son again, the seventeen-year-old boy who was confused and trying to make a decision that was bigger than he was.
And then he was gone.
He turned and ran- there was no point in trying to catch him. I just stood, unbreathing in my shock as I called to him frantically. Please, son! I don't understand. Please come back when you are able. We'll stay in this house as long as we can. We love you, Edward, we always will. Please come home! Edward!
Esme was weeping in earnest right now, and it was all I could do to hold her without weeping, myself. I knew he could hear her- didn't he see that he was breaking her heart? But I couldn't find it within myself to be angry.
He was breaking my heart, as well.
.
.
.
Esme and I stood in silence, waiting for the bad dream to end. Surely any minute he would return. He would apologize to Esme. He would finally break down and weep, and he would finally tell me what was going on. We would figure it out, and our family would remain whole.
Hours passed, and day faded into night. Still, we stood frozen, staring at the trees that had swallowed our son. Finally, well after sunset, the phone rang. I sprung to life, jumping in through an open window upstairs- Edward's window- and nearly broke the telephone receiver as I snatched it off the hook.
"Edward?" I gasped. Please, please…
But it was Harry's voice, from the hospital. "Carlisle? Is that you?"
I sighed my disappointment, shaking my head to Esme, who had just rushed into the hallway. She started to weep silently again, turning away and closing the bedroom door behind her. "It's me, Harry. What can I do for you?"
"How about showing up for work on time?" he said coldly. "If you're still sick, you could have called in, at least!"
I glanced lifelessly over to the clock in the hall: 8:30. "Oh," I said.
"So, are you coming, or not?" he demanded.
"I'm not," I said flatly, and hung up the phone. I need the line clear, in case Edward called. I just stood there, staring at the phone, until I felt Esme's arms around me. I blinked, and it was daylight again.
"What are we going to do?" Esme whispered.
Do? What was there to do? Edward didn't want to be a part of our family anymore. Or at least he thought he didn't. What could I do, other than stand here and wait for him to come back, or call?
I had to do something.
"I'm going to look for him," I announced.
Esme nodded silently. "I'll stay here, in case he calls or comes back another way."
I jumped back out his open window, running to follow his scent. I cursed myself as I ran; why didn't I think of this earlier? Had he wanted me to follow him? I didn't think so, considering the speed at which he had departed. But I had to try. If there was even a chance that he was sitting somewhere in this forest, curled up in some tree branch and analyzing himself to death- it wouldn't be the first time- then I had to try. I should have tried last night. I should have followed him…
But all I found was a tangled mess of his scent. He had criss-crossed our section of the forest several times, and I couldn't help but feel a little angry. He had obviously done this so that I wouldn't be able to follow him. He truly didn't want to be found this time.
The sun was setting again when I finally gave up and returned home. I jumped back in through Edward's window, quietly closing the window behind me this time. If this room was going to be the last place to bear his scent, I wanted to keep the air saturated with it as long as possible. I breathed in deeply, and an odd pain tore down the center of my chest as I smelled my son's sweet aroma. It was everywhere in this room; especially on the couch, his favorite books, the globe, his journals…
I swallowed, as I remembered the way he had locked himself in here so often lately, pouring his heart out into his journal, instead of to me. I wondered if he knew how many hours I had stood in the hallway, right outside his door, wishing he would ask me to come in and talk. How many hours I had stood there, listening to the frantic scratching of his pen as he confided whatever-it-was to a lifeless volume, when he knew his father was standing a mere ten feet away, patiently waiting for his trust.
I had been too patient, it seemed. I had a mind to…
I glanced out at the hallway, and saw Esme standing in a trance exactly where I had left her: staring at the telephone. She wasn't even breathing, and I was sure she hadn't heard me come in. I quietly closed the bedroom door, and, before I could think better of it, I crossed the room to Edward's bookshelf and pulled out the stack of unlabelled journals.
Was I really going to do this? I might as well, now. My scent was already on them. If he returned tomorrow, and got angry at me for touching them, at least I might as well learn what I could. I tossed the earlier ones onto the leather couch, and opened the one that had been on the far right of the stack.
5 January, 1926
School has resumed. I am continuing in my efforts to learn German solely from Mr. Heilsberg's thoughts. I have most of the vocabulary down, but still having difficulty distinguishing…
I tossed that one onto the couch, flipping through the first pages of each of the others to find the one from this year.
1 January, 1923
Heavy snow this morning, and Esme built a snowman out by the road while Carlisle and I…
.
5 January, 1920
Carlisle told me that I can't go to town during the day anymore. All the other young people are back in school, and I would have difficulty explaining my presence, as I am not supposed to exist. He says that when we move this summer, I will be ready to start school in our new home. I cannot wait to…
.
20 March, 1919
Carlisle says it will help if I write down my thoughts in here, when it gets bad. That if I can organize the (expletive) circus going on in my head, and separate it from my own thoughts, that I will be able to keep calm for longer periods of time. I don't see why we need to live so close to the humans now. It's not like I'm allowed to go outside the house when he isn't here. I wasn't…
.
2 January, 1921
Just returned from spending Christmas with our cousins up in Alaska. Had a pleasant time with Eleazar, who spent some time teaching me some new fighting techniques. And Carmen was warm and friendly, as always. Irina was tolerable, though her thoughts are always so sharp. But as for the other two… if I never see a female vampire again, it'll be too soon. Tanya actually…
.
1 January 1922
Another New Year. Actually looking forward to returning to school tomorrow. I love my parents, but if I have to listen to their amorous imaginings one more time…
.
10 February 1925
Have waited to begin this year's entries until I had something interesting to write, but I haven't, so I might as well begin anyway. Back at school, and to the same monotony as…
.
19 October 1918
As per my request, Carlisle got this journal for me when he went into town today. Just remembered last week that I used to do this back when I was human. Back when I was alive. I would have had my birthday by now, if it hadn't been for the (expletive) Spanish Flu. Of course, there's really no point in pretending that I have any sort of…
.
3 January 1924
School resumed today. Sometimes I wish I could sleep through my classes, the way some of my peers do. If I didn't have my…
.
I dropped the last one, looking around the room in frustration. Where was the 1927 one? I knew he had journaled profusely in recent weeks. I looked through the rest of the bookshelf, through the drawers in his desk, even under his mattress.
Gone.
He couldn't have taken it with him- he hadn't even been wearing a coat, and the journals were too large to hide in one's pocket. He had even left his wallet behind. It was more likely that he had destroyed it, so that I wouldn't be able to read it. My anger rose again, but it was tampered by guilt, that he had suspected the very breach of privacy that I was already committing.
Well, I would make do with what I had. I sat back down on the couch and arranged the journals by year, and began to read. I tried not to be offended by the vulgar language and crumpled pages in the two earliest. Edward's newborn period had been doubly difficult. His thirst had been challenging enough, being complicated by my own, and by the time we had gotten that mostly under control, then he had to go through a whole other "newborn period" as I brought him back closer to human society.
The thoughts and dreams of our neighbors had bombarded him mercilessly- along with my own, of course. And as I had begun to work again, we encountered yet another challenge; Edward was severely affected when I thought about patients I had seen that day, as my memories often included up-close human scents, and imagery containing plenty of blood. I had switched from the Emergency Room to the Convalescent Floor, and I had slowly begun to learn controlling my work-related thoughts around my new son. These changes had helped. All in all though, Edward's first sixteen months had been a trying time for both of us.
As I read on through the years, I watched as Edward processed and commented on his "non-life", as he often called it in the journals. I wasn't surprised to see his cynicism come out so clearly, but I was saddened by it. And even more sad was the standard to which he held himself, even in his first year. Never once did he accuse me directly of anything- even of destroying his soul- but it was clear that he had continued to struggle with such issues, long after our debates had died down. Actually, it seemed as though he often wrote about me with a sort of reverence, even when his words about me were complaints.
It wasn't all doom and gloom, of course. Edward also recorded personal events, as well as local and national news, weather, his studies, his interests- and ours, and comments about his music. I was touched to see his fretting over Esme's newborn troubles, and his pride in her successes. And I was especially pleased to read his tender account of Esme's and my whirlwind romance, and how happy he was for us, despite the difficulties that it caused him, personally. I thought, for a moment, about calling Esme in to read that part, but decided against it.
By the time I reached early autumn of 1926, I had grown accustomed to the tedium, and often, disinterest, with which Edward recorded things. The only phrases that had any life to them were when he had learned something new, or anything about books and music, or when he was writing about our little family. So when I turned the page to the one containing the account of Demetri's and Jane's visit, I was surprised to find that this was the longest entry he had ever made. He had described, in incredible detail, every second of their visit, including everything that both of them, and Esme and I, had thought. I winced to read his description of the pain that Jane's gift had brought him, and it hurt even more to read the truth that I had suspected I might find- that he had resented my presumption that day, in speaking for him.
But the worst shock was still to come. There was an inkblot at the end of the narrative, as though he had held his pen in place for a while. And then a new paragraph:
I have never before considered what other paths are available, other than this one. Will I always live with those I call my parents, playing the eternal teenage son? I am grateful that I began this life with a teacher, and I love Carlisle and Esme as if they were truly my parents. But is it right that I should forever defer to a man who, by human standards, is only six years my elder? Most vampires live alone, after all. If I were to spend some time on my own, would I necessarily continue to follow the dietary choices of my creator? Perhaps the difference between a good life and a bad life is not as defined as Carlisle seems to think – in fact, I do not have life at all. I am dead in so many ways – perhaps my soul has already flown above, or perhaps it was destroyed when I was bitten, infused with the means to become more than human. I cannot imagine that God still sees me in the same way as He did before. Rather, He must see my kind as the predatory animals that we are. Why should I cling to a moral structure that assumes my humanity? If I were to try-
There was a squiggle of ink trailing off the word "try", and then the sentence continued.
-a natural lifestyle, would I be sinning? Would it even matter? Would it be so wrong to, someday, see what I have been missing? I know that Carlisle has tasted human blood, though he was careful not to dwell on it, when he changed me and Esme. Is it so wrong to be curious? I have always been so careful- militant, even- in my refusal to dwell on the tempting scents of my human peers and teachers, or others that I find myself near. And I acknowledge that it was necessary, back in the beginning.
But I am a mature vampire now- I no longer fear losing control of myself. Perhaps I have been a little too austere. There would be no harm in relaxing my sensory rigidity, and appreciating those scents that I find myself near. In fact, it might be a good idea. It would strengthen my control to a whole new level, and it would possibly satisfy that part of myself which is thirsting for more than it is being given. In this way, I can keep my resolve on the matter of diet itself, and Carlisle and Esme will still have their son. I am determined to make myself in every way content, and to remain in this lifestyle with those I love.
My hands were trembling by the time I finished that day's entry. It had been dated just three weeks after the Guard's departure, and it was followed by a list, dated the very next day.
A list of scents.
He had returned to school the next morning, and begun analyzing the human scents around him. At first, he busied himself by separating out the different types of scents- blood was just called "blood", in a list of others: breath, food recently eaten, alcohol, traces of medication types, soaps, fabrics, etc. But by the second week of his new "analysis", he was already teasing out each person's individual blood scent, and describing it in detail.
In great detail.
Interspersed between the lists were one-sided arguments about the relative morality of vampires feeding on humans. And while he never mentioned doing so himself, it was obvious that he was trying to talk himself into getting used to the idea.
By the time the entries reached December, I noticed he was dwelling especially on a girl named Margaret Weiss. He wrote about her scent often, and while he never mentioned the word "taste", it was obvious that he was spending as much time near her as possible, and others who smelled especially tempting. He had finally used the word "tempting" in mid-December, along with other notable shifts in his word choices. His handwriting was slightly altered by the end, as well- more rushed, less precise. His eloquence never suffered, though; in fact, he had become downright poetic in some of his descriptions. His attentions to human blood had progressed very quickly from analysis, to fixation, to obsession. His two entries over Christmas vacation reminded me of the language sometimes used by alcoholics, when they were going through withdrawal. He never came out and said it, but it was clear that for the first time ever, he had been counting the minutes until he returned to school, and it wasn't because of the academics.
It ended there. Without seeing the 1927 journal, I could only guess at what had happened between December 31 and now, that had made him decide to leave. But one thing was clear: my son had been drowning in substance abuse, and I hadn't even known it. Human science had already proven that the sense of smell was actually processing small amounts of matter; it wasn't much of a leap to apply that truth to Edward's situation. If anything, the phenomenon would be more pronounced in a vampire. I doubted that blood cells could travel through the air, but a human's scent was closely linked to the qualities of their blood. He had, essentially, been drawing in miniscule amounts of human blood via scent- increasing amounts- and his body had reacted accordingly. He had slowly been turning into a traditional vampire, though he himself hadn't know it. All those benefits which our lifestyle brought us had been falling away, over the course of a few months.
Everything made sense now. The mood swings, the extra time journaling, the thirst and hunting issues, the trouble at school…
All under my very nose. And I just stood there, passively wishing that my son would talk to me. What kind of a father was I? He hadn't known to ask for help. I remembered the confusion on his face, those times when he had needed to hunt more often than usual. And I called myself a physician! My son, my own son had needed help and I hadn't known it.
I touched the journals gently, as a biological parent might tenderly touch the tiny, framed pictures of their child, taken at different ages. As much as I wanted to give in to despair, I couldn't. I had done the best that I could as a father, though it hadn't turned out to be enough. I had, ultimately, failed, but there was no point in drowning myself in guilt, other than to feel more pain. And my patients needed me. Esme needed me.
Edward needed me. Where was he? And more importantly, what was he doing?
I hated to suspect the worst. I hated to think that the 1927 entries would have shown me a young man who had decided, after months of fighting temptation, that he didn't want this lifestyle anymore. That he had decided to start hunting humans, after getting so many small doses of their blood without even knowing it. That this very moment, his eyes were… red. But try as I might, I couldn't deny the direction that his journal entries, and his recent behavior, pointed towards.
I desperately tried to come up with scenarios in which Edward hadn't become a murderer. But the strongest hope I could muster was that he had just buckled under the stress of his addiction, and sought solitude in the wilderness, as he had done before. That his parting words had been an adolescent overreaction to his mental state, and that he was already regretting them. That he was continuing to resist the darker side of his nature, and that he would soon return home- perhaps even more broken than we had seen him before, but ready for the loving comfort of his parents. His eyes haunted, but still golden.
It wasn't that murder was so outrageous. Of course it was awful- and my heart ached for the families which might already be suffering because of my creation- but that wasn't my main worry. Accidents happened, and young men made foolish mistakes, though they didn't generally involve murder. After decades of deliberation, I had accepted that risk, when I changed Edward. No, my fear was for Edward himself. I feared that when he came to his senses, either after the first kill, or centuries later, that he would be torn apart by the guilt and grief that were sure to descend upon him. He had always been a dutiful son, but that was not because he was meek. It was because he was obsessed with duty, itself. He had always been hard on himself, and I shuddered to think how long it would take him to get to the point where the horror of his deeds would strike him down.
Stop, I commanded myself. You don't know that he's done any of that, at least not yet. I could still hope- albeit weakly- for the other scenario. But even if that were the case, I still had no way of finding him. All I could do was hope and pray that he found his way back to us before long… no matter what color his eyes were tonight.
I set the journals back in their place on the bookshelf, and made one last search of Edward's room for the missing journal. When I had done this, I finally opened the bedroom door.
"Esme."
She gasped and spun around, looking past me eagerly. Her shoulders drooped when she didn't find who she was looking for. "No sign of him?"
"No."
She took a deep breath. "Now what?"
I closed my eyes, deliberating. Should I tell her what I had just read? I knew that keeping something this big from my wife was wrong, but it would be cruel to let her see what I had just seen. He might come home soon, after all; perhaps tonight, or tomorrow. There was no point in subjecting her to the worry that I was carrying, especially if it would end up being unnecessary by this time tomorrow.
But then I looked at her again. Her own eyes were black now, but not from thirst. Her only child had been swept away from her- again- and this time, she didn't know what to think. I had to give her something. I would share my worry with her. I wouldn't tell her about the journals, though. It was unnecessary, and I couldn't bear for her to see the lifelessness with which Edward had described his "non-life", not to mention the sudden "awakening" in his writing at the end. If I had only his written words to go by, I would have thought that he was happier since his addiction had begun. But I only had to remember his deepening anger and confusion, lately, to know what a lie that was. I would keep these darker burdens to myself, even as I laid the worst one on her heart. As his mother, she deserved no less than what I feared was the truth.
"Esme." I laid my hands on her shoulders, and gently drew her to me. "Surely you've noticed how… differently Edward has been acting lately. Especially in regards to his thirst."
She shrugged. "Of course."
"Darling… I think we need to consider the possibility that Edward has truly decided to… move on." How did I want to say this? "He's been getting thirstier lately, and his behavior has been a little less… civilized of late."
"Of course it was," she said sadly. "He was hurting. But instead of letting us help him, he just-" Her face scrunched up toward weeping again, and I pulled her face into my chest.
"I know, dear. I wish he hadn't done that. But I've been doing some thinking, and I think he left because… well, maybe he didn't want to hurt us."
"What do you mean?"
I held her tighter, so tight that she couldn't breathe. "I think that Edward may have decided to begin hunting humans."
She yanked away from me, her face stricken. "Why?" she demanded. "Why do you think that? He's never said anything about being unhappy… that way."
I tried to reach for her, but she backed away, shaking her head angrily. "How could you, Carlisle? How could you say that about our son? He's never even made a mistake before!"
"I know, I know. But you have to admit, it explains everything."
"No, it doesn't! His eyes-"
"He hadn't done it yet, when he left. But I think that is why he left, Esme. I can't be sure, but… I think we need to accept the possibility."
She began to cry again, and she finally let me hold her as she shook her head over and over against my shoulder. "You're wrong," she said, when she could speak again. "I know you're wrong."
"I hope I am," I said gently. "But for now, there's nothing we can do except wait for him to return."
She nodded, pulling away and wiping her eyes, as if real tears were flooding them. "You should go to work," she said flatly. "I'll wait for him here."
"Work?" I echoed. I looked at the clock; if I left now, I might actually be on time. "Yes, I think that's best," I murmured, and I went mechanically to get my coat.
Esme followed me to the front door, and I turned to kiss her goodbye, hoping I had done the right thing by telling her. "Esme, listen. If he does come back while I'm at work, and his eyes are… I mean, if I was right, it doesn't matter. Accident or not. We'll forgive him and help him clean up, and then we'll move."
She just nodded, looking down at nothing. As the door shut in my face, I keenly felt the absence of Edward's gift. What was my wife thinking right now? Was she angry, or did she just need to be alone? Did she really think I was wrong? Mothers had a way of knowing things. Maybe she was hurt because she knew I was right.
.
.
.
I was shoving my coat into my locker when Harry found me. He wasn't happy.
"Well, Carlisle Cullen finally decided to join us!"
I turned around, too exhausted to defend myself. "Harry, I'm sorry about yesterday…"
"Hmph! Well, every man needs a day off now and then, but I can't say I've ever been hung up on by one of my docs before. What do you have to say for yourself, Cullen?"
I just stared back at him, with every ounce of "trust me" that I could pour into it. "I'm sorry, Harry. It won't happen again."
His gaze softened; but it seemed that I had achieved pity, rather than trust. "All right. We'll let it go." He leaned in closer. "I know that look, Carlisle. Your wife left you, didn't she?"
I laughed once, an empty, false sound. "No, my wife didn't leave me. My son…" I looked at my boss. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. And he had a son Edward's age. Well, Edward's physical age. "My son left home suddenly."
Harry leaned back on his heels, nodding his head sympathetically. "Been there," he grunted.
"What?"
"Jonny just took off once- last year, actually. Barely said goodbye, just said he needed to be on his own for a while."
I slammed my locker, staring at him. I couldn't really confide in Harry, but the situations were uncannily similar. And I knew that Jonny was still at home now- he had just come in the other day to have his father sign a school paper. "And what happened?"
He barked out a laugh- much jollier than my own had been. "He called me a week later, asking me to come and get him. He had been ten miles away, the whole time. He had gone straight to my sister's house, and she didn't even tell me. Can you believe it?"
"No."
"Well, believe it. Turns out he had been running with the wrong crowd, and panicked when the police started sniffing around. Not that my Jonny had done anything wrong himself," he added hastily.
"Of course not," I said absently. "Harry?"
"Shoot."
"I hate to do this, but…"
He waved his hand. "Go on, go home. You look like hell, anyway."
I nodded my thanks and ran to the telephone.
"Esme, anything?"
"No."
"I'll be home in fifteen minutes. I want you to write Edward a note- tell him we'll be back tomorrow, and to wait for us, no matter what."
"Where are we going?"
I took a deep, hopeful breath. "Alaska."
.
.
.
"Why don't they have a telephone?" Esme asked as we flew up the highway toward Denali.
"They always live in the same place, and so they like to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Besides, they don't see the need for one."
"Except in situations like this," she said bitterly. "He could be getting home right now, and here we are driving farther away."
"I know. But we have to try this. It's the only place he might have gone to."
"Unless he's out murdering humans," she said coldly, her words full of accusation. At me.
I sighed, looking over at her tiredly. "Esme…"
She just shook her head, and looked out the window. We drove the rest of the way in silence. But as the Denali's house came into view, she leaned forward with expectation. She had never met our cousins before, and I couldn't believe so much time had passed since we had come here. I had been about to have us all make the trip after Demetri and Jane had come. But Edward hadn't been himself at the time, and I had decided that subjecting him to the busyness of our extended family could wait for another time- especially if Tanya was up to her old tricks. I supposed that I had also been a little nervous about the "succubus sisters" meeting my new wife. I loved my cousins, and they had long since given up on trying to seduce me, but I had still been a bit anxious about how they would behave around Esme.
I regretted it now, though. Eleazar was the closest thing Edward had to an uncle or an older brother, and it might have been good for him to have someone else to talk to. Maybe it would have prevented some of this wretchedness. I would never know now; I just hoped that Edward had possibly had the idea on his own, and he was here now. This was my last effort, and then I was going to accept the hard truth.
But as Esme and I ran up to the front door, I felt a surge of hope. Even if Edward hadn't come to stay here, maybe he had stopped in. I knew that he could run like the wind, and it was entirely possible that he had already been here for at least a day. I sniffed the air eagerly, trying not to be disappointed when I found no trace of Edward. The air was thinner up here...
"Carlisle!" Tanya said happily as she opened the door. "What a surprise!" Her eyes drifted to Esme, and there was only a brief flicker of something ugly before she smiled warmly. "And this must be your Esme. Welcome to the family, dear! But where's Edward?"
Her question hit me harder than I had thought it would. "He's not here?" I asked weakly.
She shrugged. "No. Should he be? He's your son, Carlisle. Don't tell me you've lost him!"
I just stared at her, and her face changed as she watched the despair set in. I knew that, logically, Edward not being here didn't really mean anything. He could be on his way, or he could still be near home, like Harry had said about his own son. But for some reason, this was the moment when I knew, I knew that my theory was correct. I knew it, in my petrified bones.
Edward had truly left us. He had left us, and he was out there somewhere, killing people and drinking their blood. As his creator, I might as well be killing them myself. I felt like I was shrinking down into my shoes, like the insides of me were being torn out. I felt my failure as a father settle over me, and one question echoed desperately in my mind:
Would I ever see my son again?
The silence was interrupted by Eleazar, who pulled the door open fully. "Come in, Carlisle, Esme," he murmured. "Tell us everything."
The story didn't take long. I wasn't about to share what I had learned from Edward's journals, and I really didn't know what else to say, other than what Esme and I had observed over the past few months. I wasn't even going to tell them my suspicion about his diet, but then Kate asked where I thought he had gone. Esme broke down crying then, and the ladies whisked her away upstairs.
Eleazar and I were left standing awkwardly alone in the living room. I quietly told him my suspicion, and he reluctantly agreed that it explained everything that had changed about Edward's behavior.
"If you ask me," he said quietly, "he's gone to take Demetri up on his offer."
"No, he hasn't."
"Why not?"
"I just don't think that's where he is," I replied tiredly. I couldn't bring myself to betray my son's private thoughts , not even to Eleazar. If he wanted to think that Edward went to Italy, let him.
"I mean, I wouldn't blame him if he did," Eleazar continued with a faraway look in his eyes.
I just clenched my teeth against the angry words that wanted to pour out. Eleazar was in one of his "missing Italy" moods, it seemed. No doubt the aftereffects of Aro's visit last year. But yelling at my cousin wasn't going to solve anything.
"If you do see or hear from him…" I began.
"We'll write, of course. Or bring him ourselves, if… you know."
If he wanted to be brought.
I murmured my thanks, and called Esme downstairs. I hated to leave again right away, but some dying part of me hoped that Edward might be at home, waiting for us.
"I'd like to get back," I told her when she appeared. Everyone nodded their understanding.
"Yes, of course. It was good meeting you all," she called over her shoulder as she flew out the door.
We drove in silence, the entire trip back to Montana. Somewhere around the state line, Esme slipped her hand in mine, and I rubbed the back of it with my thumb absently as I continued to think.
I supposed there was a chance that Eleazar was right, after all. Edward may have changed his mind after leaving, and headed to Italy- though I couldn't imagine him making such a journey on his own, even if he wanted to. But then, a week ago I wouldn't have imagine him killing people, either. Was it wrong of me to hope that he was just killing people? That he was at least free, and not kneeling under the weight of a cloak as his new master looked on approvingly?
I didn't really believe that. Edward had specifically said that he wanted to be on his own, and he had given me his word that he wouldn't go to Aro. I just hoped that Edward's word still meant something.
.
.
.
Esme's weeping began again when we pulled up to the empty house; we didn't need to smell the air to know that he wasn't here. The note was still fluttering on the door.
She didn't weep long this time. She took the note off the door, and placed it reverently on one of the endtables by the couch, ready to be used the next time we went out together. "He'll come back," she said firmly.
"He'll come back," I echoed. What else could I say? To give up completely was not an option.
It became our motto, in the weeks that followed. He'll come back. I didn't bring up my suspicion again, and neither did Esme. We both spent a lot of time in the yard, at the windows, in Edward's room… waiting. Watching the woods and waiting. Even when we stopped saying our motto, even after we stopped hanging the note on the door, we still waited.
We would wait forever, if we had to.
So sad :(
A couple of notes here: I realize the terms "substance abuse" and "relative morality" may be a little anachronistic, but they were so accurate in this case that I couldn't think of good substitutes. Also, I want to point out that though he is quick to find fault with himself, I am trying to distinguish a major difference between Carlisle and Edward here: Carlisle doesn't brood, at least never for long. He will mourn Edward's departure deeply (after the shock has worn off), and I do think that until Edward's return he will feel, in a way, like he has failed as a father. But he will never lose hope, and he's not depressed. He has Esme, his patients, and his faith, both in God and in the innate goodness of Edward's soul. So while he is incomplete until Edward's return in '31, he's not broken.
I hope you enjoyed (in a sad, sweet way) this peek into Carlisle's side of things. Please review if you have time, and remember this is the place to request Tale of Years Outtakes! I have heard some great ideas already, and hope to get to them all eventually.