Chapter 6
They waited in the living room, each head bent and silent as they listened to the rhythmic, echoing beeping from the floor above. They had gathered here, filing in one after an other to feel the silence and the calm, though what little peace had lingered in the sterile sickroom had vanished with the sun. The room was tense— so tense that even Carlisle felt on edge— and the mood was tainted by worry and by fear. They did not need Jasper's gift to feel it— it rolled from all of them, from the very house itself, to settle in their cold, unyielding bones, and it chilled them from within.
Only Esme, glued inexorably to the girl in the bed, had declined to join them, and they could hear her humming an old lullaby from a time long ago. These were the only sounds in the house— the incessant, constant beep, the soft, sweet melody that filtered through the air like a siren's song, and the storm, howling like a beast in the world beyond.
Outside, in the pelting, hammering rain, the world was blurred by raindrops on the glass. It hit the windows with force, as if someone were throwing handfuls of sand, and the trees in the forest swayed and bent with each gust and gale. Wind howled in the distance, high and whipping, and the crack of thunder was loud enough to shake the house. Alice had seen the storm— she had warned them it was coming— and it was all Carlisle could do to give his many thanks that the girl upstairs had been found in the morning, and not in the afternoon.
Alice and Jasper had rejoined them at noon, just before the rain had started. There was no hint of hunger on either face— no hint of thirst, or of violence— and when Alice had darted up to the spare bedroom where they'd settled the stretcher, Jasper had stayed behind, his face downcast.
Carlisle had waited for him to speak— had waited for a question, or a thought— and when none came, he had reached out a hand.
Jasper, the quietest and most solitary of Carlisle's sons, was always tricky for him to read. He felt too much and shared too little, and though he studied the familiar face with careful scrutiny, Carlisle could make out nothing beyond what Jasper meant him to see. There was worry there— the same worry they all carried— and a quiet curiosity, but somehow, Carlisle knew that there was more, that there was something else that had yet to be given a voice.
"Are you alright?" His question made Jasper's head snap up, a flicker of wry amusement betraying his solemnity. He watched his father for a moment longer than was necessary, as if ascertaining whether the man was in earnest, and when he answered, he was incredulous.
"Am I alright?" he repeated. "I'm hardly the one you should ask, Carlisle. I'm fine. I'll always be fine."
Carlisle had only frowned. Together, they'd stood in the silence, each surveying the other, trying to break the walls. Only when his racing thoughts finally petered out, coming to a slow, stuttering halt, did Jasper speak again.
"Is she alright?" he asked, and this time, there was a note of uncertainty. "Will she be alright, Carlisle?"
He answered, as gently as he could.
"Things have been steady," he said. "I expect she will recover. She's passed all of her preliminary tests— her bloodwork shows no signs of organ failure, her oxygen levels are increasing by the hour, and she responds to pain and stimuli, which tells me that her brain most likely did not suffer any serious damage."
Jasper nodded once.
"You saved her life," said Carlisle, not one to withhold praise when it was due. "You bought her enough time to get her home, and she's back with us, Jasper."
He only frowned.
"I broke her bones," he said and Carlisle felt the depth of his regret. "I felt them, like the those of a little bird beneath my hands…"
"You did what you had to," Carlisle replied. "It's more common than you think, even when CPR is performed by someone without our strength. Better she survive with broken ribs than die without them."
Jasper gave a sigh.
"I didn't stay," he went on, and Carlisle did not understand. "When I got her here. I should have stayed."
"You did exactly as you had to," returned Carlisle. "You did just what was needed to keep her safe."
The word still tasted bitter and false.
"She wouldn't have needed saving had I not…" He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "Had I not been so… weak. So selfish."
And this, Carlisle knew, was the terrible, awful truth of it. Jasper was not wrong— it had been his loss of control that had served as the catalyst for the whole, ghastly predicament, but Carlisle knew, and the family knew, too, that it had not been Jasper's fault.
"You are who you are, because of where you've been," replied Carlisle, clapping his hand on the slumped shoulder. He took it as a good sign when Jasper did not shake him off. "You can not change your past… only move forward into a better future."
"I will slip again," he said, and it was not so much a warning as a statement of fact. "There will always be a next time, Carlisle, and I don't know if I could stand it again if it was her."
"You're stronger than that," Carlisle said, and to his credit he believed it. "She's not a nameless prey, Jasper. She means something. To you, and to all of us."
"Yes."
"Does that count for nothing?"
"She meant something last time, too," he returned. "It didn't stop me then."
"No, but your brothers did," he said. "And so did I. If you think any one of us will let you hurt that girl, you've forgotten everything I've ever taught you."
Jasper glanced up, his eyes sharp and shrewd.
"And if you're not there?" he asked, hard and unhappy. "If I lapse again without you, what then?"
Carlisle shook his head.
"You underestimate yourself, and you underestimate us," he answered, and this time there was no rebuttal. "You saved her life, Jasper— were as physically close to her as any of us have ever been— and in so doing, you've proven yourself more than worthy."
"I…"
"I trust you," Carlisle said, and when he saw Jasper's surprise, his astonishment, he knew right away that he'd made another grave mistake.
That he'd ever given Jasper a reason to feel lesser— less trustworthy, less valued, less loved than the others— was yet another sign of his incompetence.
"I trust you with her, Jasper. You will not hurt her. Not now, and not ever. Give yourself some credit."
And then he turned, for he did not want his son to see the sorrow in his eyes— the sorrow of his own failure, both as a father and as a leader.
They had waited, the two of them together in silence, as the gathering in the bedroom upstairs slowly and quietly disintegrated. Emmett came first, his gaze flickering over his brother and his father with mild sympathy. He had heard the whole conversation— everyone had, though their voices had been hushed— and Emmett did them the courtesy of pretending that he hadn't. It was one of the kindnesses they frequently offered one another— a feigned ignorance, a falsified disinterest in the business of others, for there was no quiet, no privacy, in a house with ears as sensitive as their own.
He could not, however, disregard everything he had heard, and Carlisle saw Emmett's joy, his pride in his brother for doing what none of the rest of them had. Carlisle had spoken true— Jasper had been the one to save her, to give her enough borrowed time to reach more skilled intervention. Without his quickness of mind and body, their sister would be dead, and Emmett was not one to disregard the great service he'd performed. He didn't voice his thanks— he didn't have to, with Jasper's gift— but he clapped his brother on the shoulder and grinned before he was seated on the edge of the sofa, tapping his foot anxiously on the rug.
Alice ghosted down the stairs after him, her eyes bright and unhappy.
And now they all waited, listening to the rising storm in the sky outside, and the soft, sweet sounds of life from the room upstairs.
It was Emmett, speaking into the static, that broke their silence.
"We must decide," he said, and at once, all eyes were on him. "There are things we can't put off… not anymore."
"Which things?"
Emmett frowned at his brother, his jaw tight.
"Things we need to take care of," he said, as if the answer were obvious. "Things we're going to do."
All eyes fixed on him, watching, and waiting. Emmett stared back, his rising temper melting into disbelief when the burden of speech was not taken up by another, and when he continued, he was careful, calculated.
"Charlie," he began, and Carlisle let his gaze fall to the floor. This was not missed— all eyes flickered to him, and then back to Emmett— and Emmett hesitated for only a moment before he continued.
"I don't know how, or why," he went on, "but I'm almost positive that he's dead."
Alice snapped around to Carlisle, blank with shock.
"Is this true?"
Carlisle nodded.
"But… how?"
It was Carlisle's turn, now, to speak, and he told the whole, sordid tale over again. He told them what the nurses had said about the animal, and the body, and he didn't have to tell them what he suspected, because he knew, in an instant, that they suspected it too.
His wife's angry hiss, filtering down the staircase to break the spell, was enough, and at once, Jasper had risen.
"A nomad," he said. "A butcher."
"So it would seem."
"Arrived here, in town, because of us."
"More than likely, yes." It felt worse, somehow, to voice these thoughts out loud. "Edward's scent…"
"Never mind Edward's scent," growled Alice. "All of our scents. We've all been there, lurking outside the house. I've been inside, for Christ's sake. But why…"
She stared, unseeing, at the wall of windows at the front of the house, her face perplexed and her brow furrowed. Carlisle knew what she was doing— looking for something, anything, in the past or the future that might explain this newest shock, and when she found nothing, she came back to them with a sigh.
"They could have chosen any house in town," she said, and this time, she was angry. "They might have come across any human. Our scent must be all over town— not just at Bella's house. Charlie wasn't special, not to anyone but us, so why did they choose him?"
There was no answer. Her question hung in the air like dust, floating in the dull overcast— why him? Why Charlie? Carlisle's response was far more wretched, far more caustic, for him to stomach.
"Why did the visitor kill Charlie, but leave his daughter untouched?"
"That doesn't matter now," said Emmett, but this time, there was a hint of doubt. "It doesn't matter why he's gone… it only matters that he is."
He glanced up at the ceiling, above which was the room where Bella lay. Esme did not make a sound— not a peep after her first interruption— and even the lullaby had stopped. Carlisle's next words made them all frown— Alice furious, Emmett confused, and Jasper simply saddened, though none of them had an explanation.
"No one's been able to reach Renee," he said, words spilling into the quiet like steam. It hit them all at once, blinding and hot, but it was Esme, fierce and righteous in her budding anger, who spoke from farther off.
"This is her child," she spat, and no one dared dispute her. "This is her daughter, Carlisle… what do you mean she can't be reached?"
She appeared at the top of the stairs with a face like thunder, her fingers clasped so tightly around the banister that it began to splinter. He had rarely seen his wife so riled— so filled with unadulterated fury— and it did not suit her.
"I mean exactly what I say," he replied, and then, she was beside him. She studied him, as if trying to find a lie, and when she found none she snarled again.
"The hospital staff tried to reach her after Charlie was brought in— she was still listed as his emergency contact, even all these years later. They told me that some of his friends on the reservation planned the service… I think you'll recall Billy Black, Esme. We had some trouble with his ancestors during our last stay here."
The Quileutes had a long memory, and their legends had spurred old superstitions when his family had first set up house here over a hundred years prior.
"Billy couldn't reach her, and by all accounts, neither could Bella."
Esme remained stiff, her face ablaze with rage.
"There've been no calls, no emails… nothing. It's as if she's dropped off the face of the earth."
The implication in his tone was telling and Esme froze. Understanding washed over her in a rush, running from her head to her feet as it sparked and lit, catching like fire.
"Oh, surely not…"
Carlisle said nothing. The silence lingered, growing tense.
"We cannot know for sure until we make contact… or find someone who can," he replied. "There is—"
"But why in the world would they attack her mother?" Everything about Esme was aghast. "Why, Carlisle? To what end?"
"I don't know."
"Wait." It was Emmett who spoke, ominous and low. "What are you talking about?"
Neither Carlisle nor Esme answered.
"You think that whoever got to Charlie got Renee too?"
"It would make sense…"
"No, it wouldn't," said Emmett in a temper. "It would make absolutely no sense. If it was a nomad, they would have no connection whatsoever to the town, much less Bella's mother. I know she's a magnet for danger, but even she can't be unlucky enough to spark two vendettas in less than a year. James was more than enough. Why in the hell would they go for her mother?"
And then Carlisle saw it— they all did— flashing with sudden electricity as if lightning had struck here, inside the house. Jasper's calm disappeared in an instant, his hands curling into fists as his honey eyes darkened. His jaw was set, eyes narrowed with fury, and though the realization came to none but him, his reaction was enough to diffuse even Emmett's sudden ire. Emmett spoke with a frown, surveying his brother with mild surprise, but even so, Jasper did not relax.
"What?"
"You're absolutely right," Jasper replied, and he began to walk, slowly, towards his brother. "It would not be in the nature of a nomad to do this— to target, to hunt without cause. Charlie might have been explained— an overeager young one, perhaps, or someone who doesn't feed as often as they should— but not this. Not Renee. Not Bella."
"They didn't get Bella…"
"No," he agreed, "and yet a nomad— especially one with so little control— almost certainly would have. They wouldn't have been able to resist her scent. It's all over that house."
Alice began to speak, perhaps to argue back, but she was cut off when Jasper's understanding struck her, too, her mouth falling open.
"Oh."
Emmett only grew more agitated.
"What?"
"It wasn't a nomad," said Jasper. "It couldn't possibly have been. And you're right, Emmett… it certainly isn't a second vendetta."
"James is dead," Emmett pointed out. "He's not avenging anyone."
"Yes, he is dead," agreed Jasper, "but his mate is not."
Carlisle felt the rumble before he heard it— a deep, unfamiliar sound that erupted from the very pit of his soul, matched by the black ire of his wife and daughter, nearly spitting with rage. Emmett only froze, running through this fact over and over again in his mind, and when he rose, his presence was imposing— a threat. His sons stood together, each staring at the other for only the briefest moment before they seemed to ripple with violence, and when Jasper spoke, there was an odd, eager excitement.
"Did you catch a trail, when you were at her house?" he asked and Emmett shook his head. "Not even slight?"
"I didn't get further than the blood," said Emmett with a sudden, sulky temper. "I never thought…"
"No." Jasper paced again. "No, you had no reason to…"
Even so, Emmett looked furious with himself.
"We'll go now," he decided, and at once, he moved for the door. "We'll find it, Jas, and maybe find her."
"You won't," said Alice, though neither of them took any notice. "I haven't seen anything, Jasper… not yet…"
But the thought of the violence, of the threat, had set them on their mission with a meticulous and single-minded determination. Emmett and Jasper were the family's best fighters, though they rarely had cause to exercise those skills. Carlisle knew how ruthless they could be— how utterly and completely consumed they became when their family faced danger. It happened so seldom, so rarely, that it could almost be forgotten, but at times like this, Carlisle was sharply reminded of exactly what they were, and what they could do.
"If she wants Bella," Jasper said, and Alice gave a hiss, "she'll be angry once she realizes we've come back for her."
"She won't touch her." Emmett spat back. "She won't get near enough to look at her."
This threat— another added to the many that already faced the sleeping girl upstairs— seemed to harden Emmett's icy resolve. Emmett was clannish— he always had been— and he would tolerate no threat, no danger to the ones he loved.
And there was no doubt in Carlisle's mind, as he watched them both prepare— Emmett's love for that girl upstairs was as solid as steel and he would tolerate nothing that might threaten her.
Without another word, the pair of them made for the door. Carlisle watched them go, disappearing without so much as a farewell, before he turned back to his wife and daughter. Alice was unhappy— he could see the pinch between her brows, her mouth pulled into a tight, unhappy line. She watched Jasper go with only minor misgivings— she knew he would not be harmed, but still, she did not like it. The boys disappeared into the trees in a flash, rain whipping around them as the thunder rolled on, and only once they had gone completely, disappearing from the property altogether, did Alice turn back around, her black eyes blazing. She eyed Esme first, and then Carlisle, settling on the latter as she phrased her next words quite clearly.
"Someone," she said, "should call my brother. Call him back here to face the damage he's done. Let him see for himself what his foolishness has cost us."
At once, Esme shook her head.
"It would do us no good now, Alice."
"It would do me all kinds of good. He should know what he's done… to us, and to her."
"It would only hurt him."
"I want it to hurt him!"
"It should be Bella's choice."
"I don't care." Alice's chin was jutted, her arms crossed in stubborn opposition. "He deserves to know. She's his mate, for God's sake, and she's only barely living. I would want to know, if it were me."
"He'd be of no help."
"He'd be positively useless," agreed Alice with relish, "but I want him to know. I want him to feel what we've all felt while we've sat here, unable to do a thing."
Not strictly true, Carlisle knew, but the sentiment was clear.
"That is precisely why we should wait, Alice," returned Esme. His wife could be as stubborn as the rest of them, once she got her mind on something, and Carlisle was in no great hurry to intervene. That moment came too soon, however, when Alice scowled and turned, fixing her stare instead on him.
"Carlisle?"
He shook his head, resolute.
"I will not be the tiebreaker again, Alice," he said. "Never again. Sort it out between you. Right now, there are more important things for me to look after. If this new danger comes to a fight, I will need to make sure we are prepared for every outcome."
Alice glowed with a fierce delight.
"If it comes to a fight," she said, "we'll need him. We'll need all of us."
Carlisle turned away.
"It will hurt him, Alice… more than anything else in the world," pleaded Esme, though Carlisle could hear her rising defeat. "None of us have ever experienced this— have never been so close to losing someone we love— and I beg you to think before you act. You know how angry he'll be, how frightened. This will do nothing but hurt him, even if it helps us."
Alice's savage, wild pleasure was bright and hot as she snapped back, her tone rife with terrible satisfaction.
"Good."
A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you're still enjoying it. I've always felt that Jasper was a little on the fringes, even in his own family- like he didn't quite belong. For someone who worked so hard to change who he is, he never really got much credit for that. I always wondered what it must be like for him, trying and failing to be as "good" as everyone else, and never more so than after the birthday incident.
Also, for those of you who don't follow me on Twitter, I've created a very sparse outline for where this story might go, and right now, it's sitting at 20 chapters. This isn't set in stone, but I don't think this story will be as short as I had originally planned.
