A/N: Okay, so it took me a long time to figure out what I wanted to do. Obviously, Bella and Edward couldn't be together while he was a newborn, plus Carlisle had to take the newborn away from Chicago so he could become accustomed. But what then? I had to decide whether I would write alternating chapters of Bella being depressed and Edward being depressed and young, so I decided to skip ahead. Approximately 10 years. I know, quite a leap, right? But what's that to a vampire? Two minutes?
Anywho. This is what we've got. Break out the tissues, ladies. You're in for a rough ride.
BTW, this chapter is seen through Edward's eyes.
Disclaimer: I never have and never will own anything mentioned in SM's Twilight. I am but a poor student. She is a God. Enjoy.
. . . . . . . . .
Chapter Fourteen: Damned
. . . . . . . . .
I gasped as the last of the fire disappeared from my still heart and opened my eyes in awe. The sensation of air rushing into my lungs felt strange, wrong, but it took only a moment for my transformed mind to understand that I did not need the breath. I could hear talking. The familiar masculine voice caught and held my attention first.
'I hope I have made the right decision. Shall I wait for him to speak? Should I introduce myself first..? He must be quite disoriented-'
"Excuse me," I said, marveling at the new sound of my voice. "I hate to interrupt but who are you and where am I?" I said, turning my gaze on the man who I assumed had spoken though I had not seen him utter the words. Belatedly, I realized how incredibly... perfect the man appeared. What sort of being was he? Was I? I felt myself growing irritated. He stared at me as if in shock.
'Did Carlisle say something?' asked one of the feminine voices I recognized from my time in the flames.
'Amazing. Perhaps he is gifted.' Another feminine voice. My sharp new eyes zeroed in on three women
"Can someone please answer my question? Are you Carlisle?" I demanded of the blonde with gold eyes.
"Yes. I am Carlisle Cullen. I tended you and your mother at Mercy Hospital. Do you remember, Edward?"
"Vaguely. Where is my mother?" I asked, already knowing the answer. If she was not here then she could only be one place.
"I'm afraid I could do nothing for her… but she begged before she passed that I do all I could to help you."
Carlisle's expression changed.
'If I had any other way to save you I would have used it, Dear Edward. I am so sorry… I could not let you perspire when she pressed me so,' continued the voice, though the lips on the perfect face never moved. I saw flashes of my mother's face, her gaze determined despite the delirium of fever. She had known something, I realized, through these flashes.
It took me another moment to understand what I was hearing. My eyes had not moved from the doctor except to dart occasionally to the women, who stood defensively against a stairwell. And all throughout our brusque conversation I continued to hear their voices. Why were they not responding to each other? Why did their lips not move? Could these strange beings speak without speaking?
"Why do I hear you in my mind?" I asked, hearing the strain I felt in my voice.
'I can only conclude that you must be gifted, Edward,' the doctor's voice answered in my head. 'A manifestation perhaps, of a skill you had in your human life…'
"What am I? What are you?"
But before anyone could offer me a verbal answer, Carlisle launched into what I assumed to be his own memories. A simple chapel in a tiny, dirty town. Men with pitchforks. People persecuted as monsters of the night. And the real monsters. Carlisle. Burning. I saw his memories and experienced his emotions as if they were my own. The exchange lasted mere seconds yet I felt breathless when it was over. He waited quietly for my reaction, silently hoping that I reacted well.
"So you do not hunt human beings? …Tanya, Kate, and Irina – you adhere to this diet as well?" I asked, picking their names out of their thoughts.
"Yes. We are all committed to not existing at the expense of sentient beings. We were all humans after all… It's hard at first, but it's a choice we've adhered to for a while now."
The flavor of the strawberry blonde's mind – Tanya's – sent my thoughts back to my own woman. Bella.
"What of my wife?" I asked softly. She would not want a monster. A blood-sucking beast… Our son would be better away from him. From what I understood, I would want to kill them if I was left in their vicinity. The thought alone made me sick to my heart. I wished desperately for death. I knew, before Carlisle's mind gently told me so, that I would not be able to see them again. Ever. I felt incredibly lonely, angry, and pained.
"You should have let me die, Carlisle," I said into the near-silence, trapped in the thoughts of the three vampire women and the monster that had created me.
Over the months, my thoughts on Carlisle changed. Constantly exposed to his mind, it was impossible to doubt the goodness in his heart and the pure intentions he held for me. Yet I could not bring myself to be grateful to him when I remembered my son and wife. I hoped desperately that both were well, while simultaneously trying to limit my thoughts on them. I knew that Charlie would take care of them and I knew Bella would never leave our son alone in the world.
And so, I gave into the nature Carlisle taught me I could not avoid. By day, I studied, and played piano, and talked with Tanya, Kate, and Irina, if only briefly. By night, I feasted upon the blood of animals. I learned that I enjoyed predators best (specifically bear and wild cat). Carlisle told me stories of his amazing history in both silence and in speech. Tanya and her coven told me their histories as well. Yet, the loneliness was ever present in my suddenly expanded mind. The way Tanya's obvious, somewhat slatternly advances contrasted with the shy blush of my lovely Bella. The wild memories the sisters held of their human-hunting days reminded me (in their less violent stages) of lovemaking with my wife. The horrifying tale of Tanya's mother's transgression against vampire law – I was surprised to learn that there was such a thing – reminded me of my love of my son, though I had seen him only a few times.
The months passed into years. The years passed into a decade. After my first two years, Carlisle and I relocated from Juneau to Wisconsin. Ashland was a nice enough place. Overcast, mostly, which allowed Carlisle and I to be out and about in the sunlight. I pretended to be Carlisle's younger brother in public. I still struggled occasionally with our diet but for the most part it was easy to ignore the scent of human blood when I could hear their minds. They were innocents, happily oblivious to my dark existence. Carlisle worked at the tiny hospital in town while I played piano, honing my previous skills into a veritable art. It reminded me strongly of my wife and mother, but I could manage the pain through playing. I wrote several songs for the son I would never raise, and more for the woman I had loved too little. For my mother, I composed peaceful melodies to sooth her in heaven.
On one such afternoon, sitting in the open parlor, playing piano, I heard Carlisle approaching the house at a run, the smell of freshly spilled blood on him. My throat burned painfully at the scent and a snarl built in my throat as Carlisle ran through the door. His thoughts assaulted me with both apologies and begging remarks.
'This is Esme, Edward. The one I think about so often. I've bitten her. I need you to look after her if you can, please.'
I nodded gruffly, understanding now, my eyes summing up what I smelled already. The blood I smelled clung to her clothes. That which remained in her veins was so diluted with Carlisle's venom that it hardly registered. I had already tuned out Carlisle's mind, for the most part. He was obsessively worrying about the changing woman currently laid out on the sofa.
"Perhaps she'll be more comfortable when she wakes if I find her some other clothing," I remarked quietly, giving myself an excuse to leave. The love he felt toward the girl made me bitter. He would have his wife, soon, it seemed. Her mind was nothing but grateful that Carlisle had found her. She was happy. Then the memories that shot through her pained me.
After the change, Carlisle and Esme married. I saw how his eyes lit up when she looked at him, when they touched, and my heart ached. But it was not until July 1927 that I rebelled. I knew it would hurt Esme. I knew that Carlisle was hurt by my decision as well. But I was finished. I could no longer take the loving exchanges between them, the ardor that passed between them so unconcealed it was like lighting between the clouds. If I could not have the pleasure of being in love, then how could I deny myself the pleasure of feeding as I was meant to? Feeding in the natural way, the nature that Carlisle denied?
I could hear them – the filth that roamed the streets, the sorts of things that had reduced Esme to suicide and so many others to the same fate. I could hear those who would hurt one as lovely as my Bella, or our now nine-year-old son. I decided, if I could no longer provide for my loved ones and I could not experience the joys of being a father, I would protect others weaker than myself, those who shared the same type of life as my lovely wife and son. I would kill the slime, drink their blood, and be pacified that I had found at least some purpose. I had sometimes referred to my Bella as my Angel. And now, I would be her guardian – guardian angel for women like her.
I could not help but laugh at the irony.
I migrated back to Illinois, back to Chicago, half hoping I would hear my love and be able to serve as a protector for her home, at least. But her beautiful voice eluded me. Night after night, I roamed through the streets, hoping to hear her, or a voice like hers and mine – but nothing reached me. So I swept through the alleys, listening primarily to the male voices.
'Oh she's a pretty one. Check that chick out. Flappers like her want what we're offering, anyway…'
Before the thought could become action, I was upon him, biting down on his jugular with my hand clamped hard over his mouth and nose. I deposited the body in a dumpster and disguised the bite with the gun the man had hidden in his coat pocket. It was a simple matter of shooting from one side, letting the crescent bites explode outward with the exiting bullet.
Others, I stalked more slowly. Some were indecisive of what they would do. Those, I would wait until they were about to strike before saving the victim… My eyes glowed scarlet with their blood. My lips and hands were smeared with it. My soul was weighed down with it. But I took comfort in the fact that I could be doing the world a little good. I could be protecting my sweet girl.
I soon grew weary of Chicago. By September1928, I had moved to New York. It was easy to blend in among the smog. Many days were overcast and it was not unusual to be seen roaming about after dark. I found a little comfort in the music. Jazz was a wonderful thing. I had heard the early stages of it in the Dixieland Jass Band, but now… It was its own animal. To the beat of the "devil's music" I continued my cursed existence.
After a week of living in New York City, I became aware that I was not alone in my hunts. Another like myself roamed the streets. Curious, perhaps morbidly so, I followed him at a distance one night, listening to his thoughts. He was different in a few ways. He enjoyed children. I felt sick to my stomach at the images and imaginings in his head.
A young boy with head twisted opposite of what was natural, eyes sightless, throat bleeding. A little girl, shredded beyond recognition, all to disguise the simple bite at her tiny throat. Two other boys, tempted to the monster's side by cigarettes and vodka. Occasionally, a young woman, perhaps Bella's age the last time I saw her, dressed so scantily it was obvious what profession she held, offered twenty dollars to sit in the beast's lap.
I was faced with a dilemma. This was something far removed from what I had experienced so far. Carlisle and Esme abstained from harming any human life. Others hunted simply to eat, but this one took pleasure from slaughtering the innocent. Yet he never killed more than one or two a night… My conscious would not allow me to let it go; however. The children made my mind up. I could hear their fear, their terror, as they died. I could feel their pain as they experienced it.
In my ponderings I had missed a new thought that crossed his mind. Before, I had heard only memories as he prepared for the hunt. Now, I saw what he saw in the present minute.
The child was unquestionably beautiful. He was perhaps eight years old, ten at most. His hands and face were clean, ivory and roses. He had a smattering of freckles over his straight nose, and a mess of bronze curls surrounding his face. The shape of his eyes halted me in my blind shadowing of the hunter.
They were rounded almonds with long, dark lashes – I would recognize those eyes anywhere, though the color beneath the lashes was a sparkling emerald.
"Where are you going, little boy? Isn't it past supper time?"
"I am on my way home, Mr. My momma's waiting on me… Excuse me, please."
He was so incredibly polite. His soft little voice was a strange mix of mine and Bella's light and sweet but also velvety.
"Don't go yet, little one. I have a present for you if you tell me something."
I could see the monster offering him a Hershey's chocolate bar.
"My momma told me I shouldn't take things from strangers. Thanks Mister, but no thanks… I really should be going, now."
I could tell by the angelic boy's thoughts that he was afraid. I saw the monster's face reflected in his mind and read the inexplicable fear coloring the thought. Run, I hoped desperately, though I knew his weak legs would only take him so far. Keep talking. Then I saw another face in the boy's mind – the most beautiful face in the world. Bella.
Her eyes were a little lined with worry, her lips set into a pout, her teeth worrying her lower lip. Her hair pulled into an elegant chignon at the base of her neck, a lace apron hugging her curves. In the boy's mind, she appeared worried, motherly, loving, open and inviting. He adored her.
"You mustn't go, yet, little boy," the sickeningly sweet voice crooned. I could hear the thoughts behind it as well. 'Just a step further into the alley. Come, quickly, I am parched. I saw as the skeletally white hand curled into a claw around the boy's soft arm, and heard his pain and horror in my mind.
I pushed myself faster, harder, needing to save the boy, cursing myself for allowing their thoughts to distract me from my goal – annihilating the beast. Two more blocks.
The hand tugged him away from the pool of light on the sidewalk, into the darkness. His scream went up before being cut off by a weak gurgle.
No!
I burst through the alley just as the beast lifted his face away from the child's throat with a snarl. Pain tore through my chest. I could be completely wrong. She could be a look-alike, as well as the boy. I cared not. It was as if my son had been ripped from my arms. I threw myself at the Other without a second thought, tearing him to pieces easily. Though I was no longer newborn, He was no match for me in my rage. I struck a match over the venom-infused body parts, the chunks flaring into a blaze immediately. I turned from the wreckage and back to the limp body; waves anguish the likes of which I had never before felt shook me.
"M-mommy,"
The choked sound froze me to the spot in my approach. Holding my breath against the spilled blood, I gently, carefully slid my arms around his cool shoulders, rocking him gently.
"It hurts… Mommy!" he cried. I examined the wound at his throat and listened intently as his heart stuttered erratically. The vampire had sucked all the venom he had injected out already. All that was left was pain and death.
I could do nothing to stem the flow. Red blossomed over his white shirt like a grotesque flower. Beneath us, it began a steady drip-drip onto the wet pavement as I held him. He would maintain consciousness only a little longer.
The things I saw in his mind were incoherent, disjointed – memories of a grassy, sunny place, and animals; beautiful brunette tresses cascading over a picnic blanket; good marks on a test; a lovely Irish ditty I recognized from my own childhood, sung in my lover's voice; Jazz; baseball cards purchased with a dime; Coca Cola in a glass with ice; Bella with her arms wrapped around him; Bella telling him that his father had not left them on purpose; Bella refusing a man's advances; Bella sewing into the night; Bella cleaning; Bella making breakfast, lunch, and dinner; Bella with her hands rough and dirty from work; Bella with her sweet smile.
My dead heart broke in time with every new, brief image, things I missed, things I half-hoped I would never see for the pain I now experienced, and too quickly, the images faded into nothing but bright flashes of light, and then, darkness.
"Junior?" I whispered, shaking the little boy. I was vaguely aware of the strange pricking sensation in my eyes. Was this what it felt like to weep?
"Eddie," I said again. Only a weak glug-glug answered me. The blood against my arms was growing cold, as well as the body between them.
"Eddie!"
This voice did not belong to me. I inhaled, searching for the source of the voice. Fire poured down my nose and throat, blinding me with its intensity, dulling my other senses. I wanted to rip, tear, kill, drink. The scent that assaulted me was so incredibly alluring that I could feel it pulling me up, the child still in my arms. I barely quieted the snarl in my throat as I desperately searched for a distraction from the delicious smell: more sin, more anger, more lust, something else to feed me besides the delicious pull from just beyond the alley.
"Edward Anthony Masen! If you don't get your behind in his door in two minutes, supper's the last thing you'll need to worry about!"
The smell of cold blood finally woke me from my brief enchantment. Her son, my son, still lay dead and I wanted his mother. I was abruptly disgusted and infuriated with myself. What would I do? Wait for her to come looking for the boy? I could not take him from here. She would assume that it was I who killed our joy. Pain ripped through my center again.
I may as well have. I could not stop the one who did…
She could kill me. I would take the boy to her and step willingly into her fire. I would not live with this guilt, could not! My only son, our only legacy was gone.
My feet began carrying me towards her voice before I had consciously decided to move. I cradled Junior to my chest, knowing that we were gruesome to behold, and walked carefully through the shadows on the walk. She leaned from the front door. It wouldn't do to cause a scene on the street. I leapt lightly over the back fence and slipped inside easily, picking the lock with ease.
My human pace brought me to a stop in her immaculate kitchen. An apron lay folded over the back of a chair. Our shared kitchen table held two plates of spaghetti, some juice and water, and freshly baked rolls. Bella turned from the stoop and swung the door closed, clearly worried. It took her a moment to see me. Perhaps she believed she was dreaming. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in a silent cry, and tears spilled over her cheeks. She took a step forward, her hand extended to touch the blood-soaked front of my shirt. Why couldn't I hear her?
Agonized, I watched the emotions play across her face as she took in the two of us. My eyes, his cold body, his blood, my cold skin. Her lips parted again, but before she could speak, her eyelids fluttered and she fell forward. I caught her in my arm, transferring Eddie to my left as I held her in my right.
"I am so sorry, my love," I whispered. Beside her, Eddie's heart stuttered its last beat.
. . . . . . .
A/N: Wahhhh! I'm crying, too. But E.J. Can't be immortal. He's a kid. Besides, Edward would never want that for his son.
At this point we have until 1931 for Edward to return to Carlisle and Esme. If you would like Bella/Edward romance asap, then review. I will insert fluffy citrus at 50 reviews and at last count there were 42. You CAN review if you do not have a account. Happy reading.
-Forensica X
