A/N: I fully admit that I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to posting chapters on any kind of schedule. I am OBSESSED with fleshing out this story, and I'm glad you're all along for the ride.
Chapter 4
When they arrived at the house just as the first breaks of sun began to crest over the high, fragrant cedars, they found it as empty and silent as a crypt.
The family had left, just as Alice had feared. The Mercedes was gone, and with it her brother, speeding off to the other end of town in a fruitless, hopeless search. Carlisle and Esme, too, had vanished, most likely to the hospital or the police station… all too far, and all out of reach.
Running ahead of Jasper, who still held the limp body in his arms, Alice pushed the door open and followed him inside.
Jasper sped up the stairs, arriving seconds later at the door of the large, spacious office that served as Carlisle's workspace. Here, they knew, their father would be best-prepared to help, for it was here that he kept all of his supplies, carefully selected and meticulously organized. Alice had always considered this collection an extravagance— what need had they for these human trifles, immortal and impervious as they were? What good would it do to stockpile medicines and gadgets that they could never use? There were all manner of tools and tinctures stored up behind that door— instruments to draw blood from the veins, medications to slow the heart and alleviate pain. A drawer full of blades made to pierce the skin and another full of needles and thread to stitch it back up. There were specimen containers with odd, unwholesome particles floating in amber liquid, and piles of handwritten notes on decades-worth of experiments. There were old-fashioned oddities that looked better suited to torture than to healing, curiously placed alongside strange, new machines that had cost their father a King's ransom. Some of these machines were small— compact versions of larger, industrial items— and others were only ever seen in wealthy institutions— never in the alcoves of a private home.
Carlisle had never been prone to excess, but his fiscal restraint was weakened when it came to new technologies and discoveries that would enhance his work and make his job a little easier.
They moved her here in silent agreement, Alice pushing ahead to unlock the tall, wooden door to the office. The room was quiet and dark— the shades, still drawn over high, bright windows, had not been disturbed since their departure last year, and on the desk, she could see some old papers and a fountain pen. As they walked, the carpet plumed with dust that had settled deep into the fibers, but Alice was absolutely unconcerned as she moved towards the rear of the room, behind the large, ornate desk, to reach for the hidden latch along the wall.
She found it easily and pulled, watching as the nearest bookshelf swung inwards.
Beyond the office, hidden far back in a quiet corner of the house, was the white, sterile laboratory.
In every house they built, in every state and country, there was always a room off of Carlisle's office that looked like this one, though of varied size and with differing finishings. In this version, the floors were tiled in bright, pristine white from wall to wall, so immaculate and clean that it was almost reflective. The overhead lights were harsh, but bright— Carlisle insisted on this, to keep his observations consistent and fair. There were no windows here— there never were— and this was to keep the various vials and tinctures from oxidizing on the shelves. The floor was wide and bare, with only a few larger instruments taking up any space at its centre, including a stretcher, which was among his newest acquisitions, and a large, bulky machine that Alice could not identify. There were sheets on the bed, brand new and pristine, and it was to this that they brought her, placing her with every care on the cold, clean linen.
Jasper, his nostrils flaring, backed away as soon as he'd released her, his hands pinned behind his back as he rested against the far wall. Alice, motionless by the side of the bed, felt her eyes narrow.
"Go, Jas," she urged when she noticed the pale, rumbling hunger that had risen in him. Every inch fought for control— his trembling hands, his waxen face, his blackened eyes, without even a hint of familiar honey-gold…
"You've done your bit," said Alice again, and this time, she placed herself between her husband and the girl. "Don't make it worse for yourself… go, if you have to."
Alice saw his flicker of shame, his eyes darting from the girl to the floor, but he did not argue back.
"Go," she insisted. "Feed. Come back when you're ready…"
Behind them, the rattling, ragged breathing grew louder.
"I'll bring Carlisle," said Jasper at once, the terrible noise moving him faster than Alice's words. "I'll find Carlisle and send him back…"
Alice could only nod.
"I'll be here," she said. "Right here, Jas… I love you. Now go."
He did not need to be told again.
Like a phantom, Alice watched as Jasper peeled himself away from the wall, his inscrutable gaze fixed solely on the girl in the bed. He would never hurt her— not after what had happened the last time he'd lost control— and Alice knew better than to doubt him, but that blackness in his eyes gave her a reason to pause. Jasper did not decry her mistrust, did not call her disloyal for her wariness, and she knew that he would be glad of her caution, if it kept the girl safe.
He would never hurt her again, least of all when she was so vulnerable, and so when he turned and bolted, Alice felt a thrill of pride.
Whether she knew it or not, Bella's presence in their lives had done good things for Jasper.
In the sudden quiet of the room, with no other sentient presence to soothe her nerves, Alice felt herself drawn back to the unconscious figure in the bed who had neither noticed nor cared that Jasper was gone. Bella knew nothing— not where she was, nor who had brought her here— and though Alice longed for her eyes to open, for her to really see, she was glad, in a way, for the silence. Silence, Alice knew, meant that there was no pain. Silence meant that she was not suffering.
Instead, Alice listened to the range sounds that shifted with each passing minute. Sounds that she had never heard before… sounds that she had never wanted to hear. She relished the heartbeat, frantic and stuttering though it was. She relished the whooshing rush of blood, each new heartbeat sending precious oxygen to organs and tissues. The breath sounds were less soothing— uneven, harsh, crackling, strained… in some moments too fast, as if Bella were sprinting, and in others so slow that Alice feared that they had stopped altogether.
It was one of these episodes that brought Alice's panic to a head. The noise in her lungs rattled and then halted, first for one second, then two, and then three. By the fifth, she had poised herself above the bed, her hands tilting Bella's chin towards the sky as she prepared to breathe for her like Jasper had done on the beach. She waited another three seconds… eight, nine, ten… and just as Alice bent her head, her lips not one inch away from Bella's face, she heard another choking inhale of breath and she fell, shaken, to the chair at the bedside.
The rattling cycle began again, and Alice held her head in her hands.
"Oh, Bella…"
Seeing her here, like this, was beyond anything Alice could have ever imagined. Alice had seen Bella hurt before— that, it seemed, was almost as constant as the sunrise. She was always knocking herself on things, always bruising her legs on the furniture or tripping over her own clumsy feet. Many times, when she'd tried to sneak through their quiet house, she'd fallen over absolutely nothing at all, much to Emmett's great amusement. Edward had given her up in despair— had stopped trying to prevent her tumbles and had simply taken to trailing after her like a little puppy, waiting to catch her whenever she fell again.
It had been Alice, eager to endear herself to her newest sister, who had volunteered to play the nursemaid when she'd broken her leg in Phoenix. Alice recalled her then, too, lying just as still on a similar bed to the one she was in now. Alice had watched the video that the tracker had made. She had heard his taunts and Bella's shriek when his hand had come down to snap her bone as if it were nothing more than a twig on the ground. Alice had been there for the x-ray, and then the cast, banking on Carlisle's rapport with the nursing staff to keep her place by the bedside. She had stayed with Bella whenever Edward had to leave, even just for human pretenses. She had read to the girl while she slept in her hazy, medicated fog. She had told her stories. She had laughed with her, and whispered secrets to her unhearing ears, and she'd watched, with an ease only her Sight could provide, as the girl's future played out in vivid colour.
Alice had seen her smiling. She had seen her laughing. She had been happy, and easy, and all-too comfortable in Edward's loving arms, right up until the moment he'd made the choice to leave.
Last time they had been like this, broken and beaten on an uncomfortable hospital bed, the girl had woken up. Last time, she'd been fixed. Last time, she'd been talking, and last time, she'd been whole.
And now, Alice could see nothing.
In the darkness of the room, which was so seldom used, Alice sat silent, as still as stone. The hammering of that heart was the only balm to her weary, ragged soul, and she clung to the sound like a lifeline. Seconds passed with every beat, each feeling like an eon in the hush, and Alice, growing more anxious by the minute, could do nothing but wait for her father.
Alice did not pretend to know much about the human body. She did not understand all of its inner workings or structures. Unlike Carlisle, she had never bothered to study the intricate balance of chemicals that kept everything in its proper place, or the delicate synchronicity of systems that kept homeostasis. She did not know anything about muscles or tissues or organs beyond what her repetitive high school education had given her, and she cursed that deficit now, watching uselessly as her sister suffered, her borrowed time running thin.
Listening to the erratic sounds of life coming from the sleeping girl, Alice could discern only one detail about this nightmare. She had spent enough time around Bella in health to know what her heartbeat should sound like, and as she listened now, she heard the differences quite clearly. This heartbeat was too fast, and too weak. The thrum, like little bird wings against the bars of a cage, was too unsteady and quick. Alice could hear the muscle working, fighting harder than it ever had before to preserve the life they'd forced back into it, and when she pressed her ear to the broken, tender ribs, she could hear it even more clearly, pounding like a hammer against cloth.
But still, it was beating. Still going, Alice, she heard Jasper say, his voice like a mantra in her head. Too fast, and thready, but still beating…
Alice closed her eyes, her arms tight around the girl's thin waist.
She lay, her ear to Bella's chest, for what felt like ages. She listened to that heartbeat, listened to the rush of sweet, fragrant blood through every artery and vein, and she listened to her breathing, so ragged and stiff. She did not know how long she waited in the darkness, or just how many minutes it had been since Jasper had gone to call for Carlisle, but when she heard the urgent snarl of a car outside, followed by the slamming of a door and the frantic rush of feet on the stairs, it was all Alice could do to lift herself up before he was there, his liquid eyes fixed on the figure in the bed. He flicked the light switch in one quick motion and froze, his eyes taking in every detail that the darkness had hidden.
The spasm that crossed his face was almost imperceptible— only a small, quick tightening at the corners of his mouth that belied any upset. He moved with purpose and with speed, displacing Alice's vigil at the bedside to begin his work— meticulous, but with a quiet edge of worry.
In the brightness, Alice thought the girl looked worse. Her pallor, which could be hidden somewhat in the darkness, came back in sharp relief as Carlisle added another, brighter light to his inventory. The white linen sheets seemed almost warm beside the eerie greyness of her skin. Salt had dried like dust in her hair, crumbling to the floor when Carlisle touched it, and then he frowned, his ears trained on the many sounds of her body.
At once, he was at a shelf at the back of the room which was full of equipment and supplies. For the first time since Alice had known him, she was glad that he kept these stockpiles in every house they owned. Research tools, he'd called them, to help him with his learning. Tools to further his knowledge. Tools to test for ailments, not to treat them…
He growled only once— a frustrated, angry sound— as he rummaged through vials and boxes.
At once, she was on her feet.
"What do you need?"
Carlisle returned to the bedside, hands full of wires and tubes
"Get me saline," he said, pointing to the small refrigerator along the western wall. "And blankets, Alice. She's ice cold."
Alice searched for the requisite items as she listened to her father work. He was bent over her now, using his nose as well as his eyes to assess the damage, the harm that had been done. Alice knew that he was worried— that his mind was racing over her injuries and their cures— but none of that came through in the softness of his voice, his tender touch on her cheek.
"Can you hear me, honey?" he asked. There was no answer. "Can you open your eyes for me, love?"
He placed a mask over her mouth and nose and flicked his hand towards a tank that began to hiss. When she brought the saline to him, dropping the blankets on Bella's feet to leave his workspace clear, he clipped a small sensor on her finger which was promptly plugged into a black, dead monitor. At once, it came alive, and just like in the movies, Alice saw a novel of information appear in quick sequence— numbers that jumped from low to high and back again, and patterned lines that rose and fell in jagged peaks. She saw a pulse beeping at 152, a blood pressure that was too low, and another, unknown output reading 70, and all of these seemed to alarm her father, forcing his hands to work a little faster.
"Get me that bag, Alice," he ordered and at once, she leapt to obey. Before she could hand it to him, Carlisle had torn the wet shirt away from Bella's chest as if were made of nothing more than paper, and she saw, for the first time, the angry, mottled bruises Jasper's hands had made. Her body was swollen, some marks so deep they were almost black, and she wondered, for the first time, if what they had done was right.
Alice said nothing as Carlisle pressed his hands to that broken chest, one on either side, and began to palpate.
Alice did not know what he was looking for, or whether or not he found it, because as soon as she had returned with the items he wanted, he lifted his hands away. He snatched the bag from her, ordering her to bring yet another machine from the corner, and as she obeyed again, she saw him adjust Bella's neck, tearing the oxygen mask away. Alice had no name for the next instrument he retrieved— a long, curved, metal thing that he placed in her open mouth, his other hand reaching again for something else. There was a tube next, and a careful, gentle pressure, and before Alice had another chance to blink, he had pulled away, leaving the tube in her throat as he connected it to the machine she'd wheeled over. She watched him attach the tube to her cheeks, strapping it down with elastic and tape, and when he fiddled with the machine, bringing it to life, Alice knew at once what it would do.
It took only a moment for both of them to see the difference. The machine began to hiss and when it did, Alice saw Bella's chest rise and then fall with careful, even breaths. The respirations were deeper than they had been without the assistance, unobstructed by weakness or pain, and when the second breath came, and then the third, she saw one of the erratic lines on the monitor become constant and steady. There were still nasty crackles in her chest on each inhale— deep inside, where the water had not yet moved— but even so, it did not take long for the second number on the screen to shift 70 to 77, and then again to 83.
When it hit 85, her father began to move again.
Sure and unwavering, Carlisle worked with a purpose and a plan. Bella's bare chest, mottled and swollen from those rough compressions, was plastered with sensors and wires. He moved his hands over her ribs again, counting the fractures and the breaks as he went. He checked her head, and bandaged the angry, seeping wound. Her body began to shiver when the furnace kicked on and then there was a blanket, wrapped tightly around her legs, and warm, plentiful heating packs around her chest and arms. He checked her eyes with a penlight before he squeezed her fingers in a painful grip, and when she jerked, pulling her hand away without opening her eyes, there was grim satisfaction. In response to her discomfort, he pushed a syringe full of clear liquid into the IV in her hand, and when he pressed her fingers again, she did not pull away. More medications followed, though what they did, Alice did not know, and she watched, with mild relief, as Bella's heart rate began to slow.
Carlisle, however, did not seem to share Alice's relief and he stared at that monitor for almost a full minute, his fingers on her wrist and his stethoscope roaming over her chest.
It was evident to Alice that whatever he was observing did not please him. He listened carefully to one side, and then the other, before he moved back to the first again, this time with a deeper frown. When he brought out the next machine, Alice knew at once what it was for. She stiffened in surprise, her niggling worry erupting into terrible fear once again, but she said nothing as he pasted two large pads on her overcrowded chest— one over her right breast, the other on her ribs. He did not activate the defibrillator as he set it down, but its screen glowed blue, ready and waiting. Only after he'd examined it, rechecking the connections twice, did he answer Alice's unspoken question.
"It won't shock her unless it's needed," he explained. "It's a fine piece of technology, really… we should be thankful for it."
"Is she in danger still?" Alice asked.
Carlisle hesitated.
"There is always a risk," he said softly, and this time, he did not meet her gaze. "Injuries like these are tricky."
"What injuries?"
He stared at her, frowning.
"Aspiration," he answered. "Drowning. You managed to clear her chest enough to get her breathing, but there is still fluid in her lungs. Can you hear it?"
Alice nodded.
"It will continue to clear, hopefully," he went on. "And you must have noticed the heart?"
Again, she nodded.
"Too fast," he said. "Much too fast, and weak. She's hypothermic, dehydrated, experiencing shock and respiratory distress… until I know more, I'm not going to take any chances. I want that heart rate down. It's still too high."
Alice said nothing as he reached again for a syringe, injecting yet another strange chemical into the port on her hand. Together, they watched for another five minutes, her heart rate slowly decreasing from the 140s to a more tolerable 120, and only then did Carlisle move again, bringing over the large, bulky machine from the middle of the floor.
"X-ray," he explained, in answer to Alice's furrowed brow. "I want to check her ribs."
While the machine began to warm, Carlisle tinkering on a laptop computer he'd plugged in to the side, Alice could only stare down at the girl, plastered with wires and tubes. There was nowhere safe for her to touch— not one part of her that did not have some kind of sensor or bandage that ought not be disturbed— and so she settled for resting her fingers against a bare expanse of neck, slowly rewarming and thrumming with life. When Carlisle asked her to, she moved each of Bella's arms out to the sides, both shifted carefully to give him a clear, unobstructed view of the bones within.
When she saw the image on the screen, she felt sick.
She could see, in clear relief even to her own unlearned eyes, the numerous fissures and breaks they'd created on the beach. Almost every rib on her left side and at least four on the right were cracked, and in the center of her chest, right where Jasper's hands had been, there was a neat, clean break across the breastbone.
"No displacement," Carlisle said, and Alice heard the sound of relief in his voice. "And no pneumothorax."
Alice didn't ask what he meant.
Moving slowly, as if asking for permission, Alice brought herself closer to the bedside once more, opposite of where Carlisle stood. Her father did not comment, did not move her away again as he had before, and when she wrapped her hand around Bella's bandaged, chilly fingers, she squeezed, savouring the returning warmth of life.
For now, at least, the girl was saved.
In the quiet minutes that passed as Carlisle worked and Alice waited, there was no sound but the beeping, the shuffle of instruments, and the rhythmic, rushing hiss of the ventilator at the head of the bed. Alice only watched as Carlisle began to prod again. He moved an ultrasound wand over her belly to check for bleeds. He poked a needle in crook of her elbow to draw blood. He took more blood still, this time from an artery on her thigh, and almost at once he took that sample away to a centrifuge, which began to whir. When he started taping, bracing her cracked ribs, Alice knew that his medication had worked, for Bella did not flinch or make any sound of protest, though Alice knew the pain must be excruciating. When he was satisfied, his hands falling away with a sigh, he turned his attention again to Alice, his brow furrowed and his eyes bright with worry.
"How long was she in the water?"
Alice froze.
"I… don't know," she admitted, her sudden anxiety almost painful. "The second time, about six minutes."
"The second time?"
His words were sharp, concerned.
"She had drifted," Alice explained, "to one of the outer islands in the bay, about five miles from the shore. She was on land when I spotted her, but it took us about six minutes to reach her once she slipped back into the water."
"Was she breathing when you found her?"
Alice shivered.
"No."
"And then? On the beach?"
"There was so much water, Carlisle." Her voice was so small it was almost inaudible. Beside her, as if to soothe, the rhythmic hiss and click of the ventilator continued. "I've never seen so much in one person before."
"It's not uncommon, under the circumstances."
"She had no heartbeat, either," said Alice, rather unnecessarily given that Carlisle had seen the damage they'd done in their bid to revive her. "Not a sound. She was dead, Carlisle… and we broke her, trying to bring her back."
"Not quite," he returned softly, and she started when she felt his hand on her shoulder. "You did right, Alice. Both of you. Had you not broken those ribs, she most certainly would have succumbed to her injuries right then and there. As it is, I'm still surprised that she didn't. Did she wake, at all, after you got her back?"
"She opened her eyes," said Alice. "I don't know that she was truly awake. Jasper only had time to speak a few words to her before she went out again. I thought that she'd…"
She did not need to finish that sentence. Carlisle, his attention fixed once again on the still, broken body in the bed, could infer enough on his own. They both watched her, their ruined, broken girl, and waited in vain for any signs of change.
"She's intubated," he said, after a long, pregnant pause, "to give her the oxygen she needs. Did you notice her fingers? Their colour is not from cold."
Beneath her own hand, Alice could see the fading, but still visible blueness around her nail beds.
"The oxygen is working, and it'll help even more once her lungs have cleared. I'm sure you hear the crackling," he went on. "We'll have to keep an eye out for infection."
At once, Alice's head snapped up.
"Infection?"
"It's very common, when water is inhaled…"
"How long?"
He blew out a breath.
"It could take hours, or even days or weeks for symptoms to show. We won't know for sure unless she's monitored. I'm keeping her sedated for now, to let her body rest."
To let her body rest.
"You mean…" Alice's confusion was plain, her words tight. "You won't… fix her?"
Carlisle's stare was sharp and full of an overwhelming pity.
"No," he said, his hands tightening on the rail of the bed. "No, Alice. We can't… not now. Not in good conscience."
But Alice, her glittering eyes as hard as ice, shook her head in protest.
"Do we even have a choice?"
And then, with a great sadness that Carlisle so rarely showed, Alice saw the truth, as hot as fire, in his soft, honey eyes. She saw the doubt eating away at him like a sickness, and the defeat, crushing and sore. She saw his worry and his love, all tied up together, before she saw one final flicker of terrible, gripping fear.
Carlisle— steady, earnest, careful Carlisle— was never afraid. He had no reason to be— not for his family, which was as close to indestructible as it was possible to be, and certainly not for himself. He, like the rest of them, did not agitate himself over the passage of time, or their fluid, transitory presence in a world that had not been made for them. He did the best that he could, whenever he could, and his best had always been good enough— had always satisfied the deep and gnawing conscience that drove him, at all times, to do what was right.
But this time, Alice understood his worry. She knew it, as obvious and solemn as it was, because deep down, it was her worry, too. Deep in her heart, it had always been there because time, so transient and relative for them, did not have quite the same effect on the girl in the bed. Time, almost meaningless in their grand march through eternity, was finite here, almost tangible, and Alice knew that there simply might not be enough of it to do what was required.
"There are things that even venom cannot overcome, Alice," Carlisle said, watching her anger siphon away as if a valve had been loosened. "There are injuries, too great and too awful, that not even we can fix."
"But surely…"
"Her body, perhaps, might survive the change," Carlisle agreed, nodding in acquiescence. "In fact, I'm almost positive that it would, given the resources we have at our disposal. I'm sure I could keep her heart beating until the end, though she would need a few days to grow a little stronger before I would be comfortable even attempting it."
Alice said nothing.
"But we have no framework to understand what venom can do to the mind," he continued. In the bed, where his youngest child lay, there was no reaction. "I tried it once before, Alice, with someone not nearly as heartsore, not nearly as broken. You see, every day, what my heedlessness has done to your sister. You see how she still grieves, even so many years later…"
Alice thought of Rosalie, then— beautiful, cold, selfish Rosalie— and scowled. It was true, what Carlisle said— her sister was grieving, and had been for almost a century, but that grief had made her angry. That anger, in turn, had morphed into something akin to hostility, and while Alice loved her sister, she sometimes found it difficult to stomach her sullen, fiery temper. The thought had never struck her before— the supposition that it had been Carlisle who had done this to her, who had healed her body, but not her mind. The idea that the venom, while transforming human hurts into immortal strength and beauty, could do nothing to heal fissures in the soul, which, if left untreated, became permanent scars on the face of eternity.
At once, Rosalie's face morphed into something less sinister, and far more hopeful.
"But Esme…"
Even in the face of such sorrow, the sound of his wife's name made Carlisle smile.
"Esme was different. Esme had love," he replied. "A love of a mate, Alice. You know the strength of that bond, how powerful it is for healing. She grieved, and grieves still, for the child that she lost, but she has found her peace in her family and her home. It might be the same for Bella— she, too, might find her solace in eternity— but we simply cannot know."
Alice looked down at Bella again, her face screwed up as she tried to think it through.
"And so…"
Carlisle spoke slowly, his words carefully chosen.
"I will not damn her to an eternity of pain, Alice. It would be reckless, and even worse, it would be cruel." As he spoke, his hand moved to stroke Bella's cheek, still too pale and icy cold. His touch lingered, almost as if he would will her back to health, but the chemical sleep he'd gifted her was too strong, and she did not wake.
"Her body will heal, if she can overcome the shock and the edema… you and Jasper made sure of that. Already her vitals are improving. But beyond that…"
He shook his head, his jaw suddenly tight. Beyond that, Alice knew, there was nothing in the world that he could guarantee.
When he spoke again, Alice felt a pang of sorrow.
"Even if we could fix her, as you suggest…" His voice was hardly a whisper, hardly a breath. Alice was not sure she was meant to hear it at all, but she could not miss it, even if she tried.
"Who are we, to make that choice for her?"
In her heart of hearts, Alice knew that Carlisle was right. He usually was, and she did not doubt him now. They did not know what Bella wanted— not after they had left her— and as she lay there, so damaged and so still, it only served as a reminder of the choice she had made. She had not chosen life, either mortal or eternal. She had not chosen them. What she had chosen, with plain, unerring decision, was that elusive release that they would never find, an escape to a world that they could never know.
Death was her birthright— her foreseeable, inevitable end— and they were not within their rights to take that from her.
"If you don't mind, Alice…" He did not meet her gaze, fixed as he was on the pale, sleeping girl, "I would like a moment alone with her."
At once, Alice rose from her seat. She did not begrudge him this— not even when it meant she would have to leave— but before she did, she pressed a kiss, feather-light, on his hard, cold cheek.
"Thank you," she said, and she spoke with love in every syllable. "Thank you for everything you do, and for everything you will do, to keep this family whole. I'll let the others know what has happened here before I go… I expect they'll be home soon."
His answering smile did not reach his eyes, and he spared her only a glance as she backed slowly from the room.
When her feet hit the floor of the hall, Alice felt an urgency in her legs that drove her into a sprint. She spared only a brief thought for the cell phone in her pocket, nearly burning with sudden urgency, before she fled, running as fast as her little legs would carry her into the depths of the forest, tracing her way along the trail that Jasper had so kindly left for her to follow.
A/N: Once again, I thank you for your overwhelming kindness. There has been such a positive response to this story that I honestly wasn't expecting, given the recent decline in readers (or perhaps new stories) in the fandom. This is one of the very few stories I've written that actually fits in any semi-canon Twilight universe, and I'm glad you're all having as much fun exploring it as I am.
Thank you again.
