Chapter 1
The car sped like a bat out of hell and Alice, curled tightly in the passenger seat, watched anxiously as the speedometer crept ever higher. There was no sound but the engine, snarling as Jasper's foot pushed the gas pedal to the floor, and she stared, unseeing, through the darkness of the empty, deserted road. The night was black as pitch. There were no stars to light the sky, no moon to cast its glow. The road beneath them was riddled with divots and potholes. Headlights, catching sporadically on dully painted lines, flashed like beacons and behind them, not three feet away, was the soft purr of Carlisle's Mercedes.
The speedometer crept up again, ticking past 150 as the world swept by in a blur. The road wound tightly around rock cuts and water, but the car, maneuvered almost mindlessly by expert hands, barely leaned, perfectly centered in the lane.
As easily as breathing, Carlisle kept up behind them.
Alice could hardly bear to keep her eyes fixed on the wet, glistening road as her mind reeled with terrible, awful shock. The vision played in her head like a film— one that she did not want to watch. The sickening reel of disbelief, shock, terror, and sorrow cycled with each passing frame, and Alice, pushing herself as close as she could get to the cliff in the cold, wet dream world, could only watch the terrible scene play out over and over again, as if on repeat.
She watched the agonized tremor of the girl's knees before she jumped. She felt the biting wind, so cold and unforgiving, and the icy sea spray that would no doubt sting the girl's warm, soft skin. She heard each tiny hiccup, the final hitch of breath, as she spoke her apologies. "I love you," she had said, but there was no one there to hear her. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…
"Alice."
She shivered, the picture dissolving as she shook her head, trying to clear the air. Jasper's face was hard. His eyes, as black as pitch, were fixed so steadily on the road it was a wonder it didn't burst into flames. His hands squeezed the wheel, leaving shallow, but discernible dents in the shape of fingers. In the artificial light from the dash, his pallor seemed eerily pronounced, and when he shifted, almost imperceptibly, the sudden flare of colour along the contours of a scar flashed like a warning, a threat.
When he sensed her sudden defensive aura he turned, sharp and unhappy. She felt his influence like a drug, crashing down on her from her head to her toes, and for the first time in weeks she did not rebuff him, letting it soak in to fight the nerves.
Only when she slunk, calmer and quieter, into the cold leather did his own stance relax, though his jaw still twitched when he spoke.
"We are doing all we can," he said in a voice as rough as gravel. "We will do all we can."
A vague, nauseous worry simmered in her belly. He fought that, too, replacing it with an unnatural, unerring calm, but she shook her head quickly, her forehead against her knees.
"There's nothing left to do, Jas," she whispered. "There is nothing left in the world that we can do for Bella Swan."
They arrived in Forks under the bleak overcast of dawn, just as the inky blackness was fading to darkest grey. The streets were empty— storefronts blank and dark, porch lights not yet lit. There were no cars on the road, no voices in the streets, and as they slithered carefully through the bleak, blustery morning, they saw no signs of movement, no hint of life.
They made it to the house in extraordinary time. The trip, a two-day trek by normal standards, had been accomplished in just over thirteen hours. Their driveway, overgrown with weeds, was cleared in minutes when Emmett and Carlisle slipped from the rear vehicle. She could smell the familiar scent of home— the old wood, the damp, mossy trees, the six great cedars, towering over the wild, reclaimed lawn… and when they opened the door to the darkness of the house, there were other smells that sent Alice reeling.
Honey. Lilacs. Lavender. Freesias… a small stain, browned with age, on the plush, white rug, glaring at her in the weak light of dawn. The smell was old, its tang and allure dulled by time, but it was there, and it was strong.
At once, Alice held her breath.
The rest of her family, moving like ghosts through the darkness, found the spot as well. Jasper, his eyes a flat, dull black, looked away almost at once. Carlisle frowned, his fingers at his lips, and Esme grew quiet and still. Emmett, stormy and tempestuous, grew agitated, flexing his hands to stretch each muscle, every sinew, of his fingers and palms. Alice observed the rhythmic motion with careful calculation, watching as each digit stretched and curled in meticulous order.
The spot— a hollow souvenir of their last night together— was unmoved, taunting and macabre.
It was Esme who finally broke the spell, her voice shattering the silence like a gong.
"What do we do?" she asked, her words small. Emmett snapped around at once— her distress, no matter how minor, set his teeth on edge. Jasper's breath hissed as he turned again to the spot, his eyes fairly glowing with a sudden, fiery guilt, and his words, so softly spoken, were almost inaudible.
"I'm sorry."
The sound brought bright, inescapable tears to her eyes— tears that could never fall, and that would never ease her sorrow.
"It wasn't your fault," said Carlisle, almost in the same breath. "It was an accident, Jasper… nothing more."
Jasper did not argue— indeed, he did not even meet Carlisle's gaze— but there was such a sudden, hard ferocity to their leader that even Alice, lost in her own sea of guilt, did not miss it.
"I mean it," Carlisle hissed, and the sound travelled over her like ice. He grabbed Jasper's arm, his grip tight and immovable, while the latter looked up to stare. Jasper's face was inscrutable— even Alice could not read the fine, careful feelings laid out there— but Carlisle did not relent, and Jasper seemed to sag.
"I mean it," he said again. "I mean it, Jasper. This will do us no good."
Jasper didn't voice the thought that Alice knew he would be thinking. Of course it wouldn't do any good… but in circumstances such as these, what would?
"We will go," said Carlisle, and for the first time since their departure from the east, Alice could hear the disappointment, the sadness, in the fabric of his voice. "We will go, and we will search."
"Search?" Emmett's arms folded over his chest, his jaw tight and set.
"For… her," Carlisle replied. "Wherever she might be."
The very idea made Esme cringe, and at once, Jasper was on her.
"We must," said Carlisle, his liquid gaze fixed on his wife. "We must, Darling… It's the very least we will do."
"Where?"
Carlisle hesitated.
"Alice?"
Her tongue, thick and tight, formed words she did not care to speak.
"The cliffs," she said. "On the shore. I'm not sure which… perhaps La Push."
"We'll find it," said Jasper. "Her scent won't be far gone. We'll find it, Carlisle."
"And Emmett?"
"The house," he said at once, tucking a cell phone in the pocket of his pants. "I'll check her house."
Alice sighed.
"And you, Carlisle? Esme?"
"The hospital," said the former at once, his gaze flickering to his wife. "We can check there… I may yet have sway, and might perhaps learn more."
"She won't be there," Alice said, morose. "She won't be there, Carlisle… I would've seen."
Her father only frowned.
"Perhaps to Charlie, then…"
"And if we find her, Carlisle?" Emmett spoke loudly— too loudly for the hush and quiet of the house. "If we find her? What then?"
A spasm of pain crossed her father's features before he schooled them, and though his voice was here, with them, Alice knew his heart was a hundred miles away.
"Bring her home," he said, his arm snaking around Esme's waist. "If you find her, bring her home."
Her scent led them right to the edge of the cliff.
Sprinting through the trees like spectres, Jasper and Alice moved as soft and silent as a breeze. Jasper was ahead, his long legs outpacing hers by at least a mile, their trail marked by the winding, curving road that moved west of Forks along the bank of the Sol Duc River. The rush of water drowned out any sound their feet might make. The air, chilled and frigid, made no difference to either of them as they moved, both slick with ice-cold mist from the early morning fog and the soft, pattering drizzle.
The scent was faint, but not absent. It lingered on the trees and in the watery ditches by the roadside. Beyond it, leached onto the road, was the smell of oil and gasoline, of rubber tires and dirt. Jasper was more attuned to his baser senses than she was and he hardly wavered as he wove his way down the road, smooth and sure. They ran like the wind, feet dusting over brush and leaves, and when they crossed the fork where the Sol Duc transitioned into the Quillayute, they bounded across with ease, landing with silent feet on the other side of the bank.
Here, her husband paused, his face screwed up in concentration. Alice closed her eyes, breathing in deep.
Trees. Moss. Mould, and rot, and animal waste, all mingled together on dewdrops that fell from the sky. The nutty smell of rodents, lurking in their holes. The musky scent of deer, a few miles north.
And a whiff— just the slightest, gentlest trail— of that honey-sweet, blood-rich perfume.
They continued, noses trained on the lingering aroma. They ran for another two miles, straight east along the river's edge, until they broke into a sudden, narrow clearing where the trail came to an end, stopping abruptly at the loose, rocky edge of the Pacific Ocean.
At once, Alice felt her face fall.
Down below, far beyond her reach, she could see the devastatingly familiar shoreline, where she'd been a passive observer to the tragedy on the cliffs. She could see the swooping coast, the tide just beginning to shift, and the multitude of rocks and sea glass that had rolled beneath her feet. The waves were calmer now— not at all the roaring monster of the previous afternoon— and she could not help it when she glanced over, peering down to the jagged, shadowy waves.
Jasper stood at the edge of the cliff, just where Bella had been, and he stared too, head shaking, at the churning depths below.
"She was here," he said in a low, quiet murmur. "Am I right, Alice? Is this the place?"
She could only nod.
"And she…"
Alice peered once more over the edge of the rock. Her heart, unbeating and still, rose in her throat to choke her, and he wheeled, his face a mask of sorrow.
"I'm sorry, Ali," he whispered, and she did not resist when he pulled her into the circle of his arms. He dwarfed her, his strong embrace protecting her from the elements, but there was nothing in the world that could shield her from her sorrow, her guilt.
"I'm so sorry."
She kissed him, as best she could.
"We have to find her," she trembled. "We have to find her, Jasper…"
He peered, solemn, over the edge of the cliff again.
"For Charlie," Alice went on. "For her mother."
The sound of mother made Jasper flinch.
"They might've already found her."
"They haven't," she said at once. "I would have seen it, Jas…"
She searched, desperate and hopeless, for something, anything, that could overpower the constant, unyielding greyness that had once again enveloped any possible future entwined with Bella Swan. They stood there, as unmoving as stone, while the wind whipped the rain until they were drenched to the skin. The cold could not touch them— not they, whose flesh had turned to ice in a time long ago— and there was no one here to see them on that deserted stretch of pebble beach. Alice felt the grief well up in her heart again— the soul-crushing, terrible guilt as she stared down at the faceless, unforgiving expanse of water below, knowing that it was her own ineptitude, her own lack of foresight, that had led them to this. It was her fault her parents had lost a child. It was her fault that Emmett had lost a sister. It was her fault that the girl had gone to pieces, and it was her fault that they would lose Edward, too, once he found out what had happened here.
For Alice was sure, even without her preternatural sight, that Edward did not plan to outlive his mate by long. She had failed in her one and only duty— to protect her husband, to protect her family, from such preventable, foreseeable chaos.
And now, her sister was dead.
Time, for her kind, did not pass like it did for humans. For Bella, time had been finite. Time had been essential. Time had changed her, as it would never change them, and it had delighted Alice to watch those shifts, a series of small alterations over minutes and hours. Alice had known at once what her brother had seen in his new mate, had understood his fascination and his doubt. The girl was eighteen— no longer a juvenile, but still only a child in comparison to their decades of everlasting life. She was kind and gentle. She had loved him, Alice knew, just as he loved her, and all of that despite what he was, what they all were.
Change did not come easily to those who were frozen in time. They did not move forward— did not develop, did not evolve, without a catalyst— and still, so seldom that when they did, there was no going back. They mated for life. In bonded covens, they built on foundations of absolute trust. They loved openly and freely, without constraint, and those bonds, once formed, were irrevocable and unbreakable.
Alice did not know of any other family who had bonded themselves so closely with a mortal. She did not know of a group to whom one of those fickle, transient, and terribly fragile beings had meant so much, or had grown so dear.
She cursed herself again, and cursed her absent brother ten times over, before she opened her eyes one last time.
"We must, Jasper," she said softly and his face went slack. "We must find her…"
He looked down into the foaming, white-capped waves. In an instant, his chest was bare, his shoes abandoned in the squelching mud at the base of the trees.
"You stay," he said, and Alice had no time to argue.
There was a tremulous, rippling relief when he dove, graceful and quick, over the edge of the rock, leaving her to watch from the cliffs above. It would not be she who found that pale, lifeless corpse. She would not have to pull her dear one from the depths of the sea. Her relief, shaky and sour, made her glad that she would not have to replace that final, terrible vision of life with an all-too-permanent memory of death.
For Jasper— loyal, loving, tender Jasper— would do her this kindness, though it was sure to repulse him as much as it did her. He had loved her too— Alice had seen it plainly on his face— and it would hurt him to see her, to touch her, so cold and so empty. He had not been allowed to touch her in life— had not been permitted to marvel at the warmth of her skin or the pulse of her human heart. He had not felt her breath against him, so strange and serene, or watched her escape to another world in the realm of sleep.
But if she was here, beneath the waves, he would find her and he would bring her back home, where she should have been all along.
A/N: Thank you for the overwhelmingly positive response this story has garnered so far! As of right now, I have four chapters written. Since I am absolutely INCAPABLE of keeping any of my stuff offline for long, you might expect some new chapters later tonight or tomorrow. A few of you had some questions (some repeated more than once), so I'll do my best to answer them here:
1. Why this story, in particular?
A: In an attempt to regain my muse for The Island, I spent most of this past week rereading and rewatching the original books and movies. As deep as I am in this fandom, I've only read the source material a few times, and all of those readings took place a LONG time ago. I've always been bothered by the lack of consequences in the story, especially surrounding the mental health line in New Moon. This plot bunny has been floating around in my head without any real plot for a long time, and my rewatch/reread only helped to flesh it out. I want to play around with the concept of family, and what the ideas of loyalty and unity would really mean in the context of loss and grief. The Cullens always struck me as a family-first bunch, and this is curiously abandoned without much context or satisfying explanation in the second instalment. I want to fix that, if I can.
2. HEA?
A: The ending for this story has not yet solidified in my mind. My goal for this story is more of a character study than anything else, so while I can't say for sure if we'll end happily or not, I can say that there will be plenty of time to visit with all our main characters. My natural inclination is to lean towards HEA, but who knows what torturous inspiration might hit down the road?
3. Edward?
A: Probably, at some point. I want to play with the others first and see what they've got to offer.
4. Canon? Non-Canon?
A: CANON. All the way.
5. Is Bella actually dead?
A: Keep reading to find out ;)
