Beau slept so soundly through the night that it was unnerving. For what seemed a very long time now, from the first moment I'd caught his scent, I'd been powerless to keep my own state of mind from careening wildly from one extreme to the other every minute of the day. Tonight was worse than usual—the burden of the hazard immediately ahead had pushed me to a peak of mental stress beyond anything I'd known in a hundred years.

And Beau slept on, limbs relaxed, forehead smooth, lips turned up at the corners, his breath flowing softly in and out as evenly as a metronome. In all my nights with him, he'd never been so at peace. What did it mean?

I could only think that it meant he did not understand. Despite all the warnings I'd given him, he still didn't believe the truth. He trusted me too much. He was wrong to do so.

He didn't stir when his father peeked into his room. It was still early; the sun had not yet risen. I held my place, certain I was invisible in my shadowed corner. His father's shrouded thoughts were tinged with regret, with guilt. Nothing too serious, I thought, simply an acknowledgment that he was leaving him alone again. For a moment he wavered, but a sense of obligation—plans, companions, promised rides—pulled him away. That was my best guess.

Charlie made a great deal of noise gathering his fishing things from the coat closet under the stairs. Beau had no reaction to the commotion. His lids never so much as fluttered.

Once Charlie was gone, it was my turn to exit, though I was loath to leave the serenity of his room. Despite everything, his peaceful sleep had calmed my spirits. I took one final lungful of fire, and then held it inside my chest, cradling the pain close until it could be replenished.

The tumult resumed as soon as he was awake; whatever calm he had found in his dreams seemed to have vanished in the light. The sound of his movements was hurried, and a few times he tweaked the curtains, looking for me, I thought. It made me impatient to be with him again, but we had agreed on a time and I didn't want to prematurely interrupt his preparations. Mine were made, but felt incomplete. Could I ever be truly ready for a day such as this?

I wished I could feel the joy of it—an entire day by his side, answers to every question I could ask, his warmth surrounding me. At the same time, I wished I could turn my back on his house this moment and run in the opposite direction—that I could be strong enough to run to the far side of the world and stay there, never to endanger him again. But I remembered Archie's vision of Beau's bleak, shadowed face and knew that I could never be that strong.

I'd worked myself into a fine dark mood by the time I dropped from the shadows of the tree and crossed his front lawn. I tried to erase the evidence of my state of mind from my face, but I couldn't seem to remember how to shape my muscles the right way.

I knocked quietly, knowing he was listening, then heard his feet stumble down the last few stairs to the hall. He ran to the door and fought with the bolt for a long moment, finally yanking the door open so forcefully that it smacked into the wall with a bang.

He looked into my eyes and was abruptly still, the peace of the previous night evident in his smile.

My mood, too, lightened. I drew in a breath, replacing the stale burn with fresh pain, but the pain was so much less than the joy of being with him.

An errant curiosity drew my eyes to his clothes. Which outfit had he decided on? Light tan sweater, white shirt, medium blue denim... I didn't have to look at myself to know the shades and styles were nearly identical.

I chuckled once. Something in common again.

"Good morning."

"What's wrong?" he responded.

There were a thousand answers to that question and I was taken aback for an instant, but then I saw him glance down at himself and inferred it was to search for the reason behind my laugh.

"We match," I explained.

I laughed again as he took this in, examining my clothes and then his own, with a surprised look on his face. Suddenly, the surprise shifted to a frown. Why? I couldn't think of a reason to find the coincidence anything more or less than mildly amusing. Was there some deeper reason he'd chosen these clothes, some reason that made him angry when I laughed? How could I ask that without sounding strange? I could only be sure that his reason for choosing thusly had not been the same as mine.

I shuddered internally at the thought of the purpose behind my wardrobe and what it portended. But I shouldn't shy away from this. I shouldn't want to hide myself from him. He deserved to know everything.

His smile returned as he walked with me to his truck—suddenly smug. I wasn't going to back out of the promise I'd made, but I didn't particularly like it. I knew it wasn't rational. He drove himself around in this antique monstrosity daily and nothing bad ever happened to him. Of course, the bad things seemed to wait until I was there to be their horrified witness. My expression must have led him to believe I was upset about the arrangement.

"You agreed to this," he gloated, unlocking the passenger door.

I could only wish my concerns were that trivial.

He got in on his side, and the decrepit engine coughed its way to life. The metal frame vibrated so violently I worried something would shake loose.

"Where to?" he half shouted over the cacophony. He wrenched the gearshift into reverse and looked back over his shoulder.

"Put your seat belt on," I insisted. "I'm nervous already."

He threw a dark look at me, but snapped his buckle into place, and then sighed.

"Where to?" he said again.

"Take the one-oh-one north."

He kept his eyes on the road as he drove slowly through town. I wondered if he would accelerate when we were on the main road, but he continued at three miles per hour below the posted speed limit. The sun was still low in the eastern horizon, shrouded in thin layers of cloud. But according to Archie, it would be sunny by midday. I wondered if—at this rate—we would be safely in the woods before the sunlight could touch me.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?" I asked, knowing he would object to the defamation of his truck. He reacted as expected.

"This truck is old enough to be the Volvo's grandfather," he snapped. "Have some respect." But he goaded the engine slightly faster. Two miles above the speed limit now.

I felt a little relieved when we were finally free of downtown Forks. Soon there was more forest than civilization outside the window. The engine droned on like a jackhammer biting into granite. His eyes never strayed from the road for a second. I wanted to say something, to ask him what he was thinking about, but I didn't want to distract him. There was something almost fierce about his concentration.

"Turn right on the one-ten," I told him.

He nodded to himself, then slowed down to a crawl to take the turn.

"Now we drive till the pavement ends."

"And what's there?" he asked. "At the pavement's end?"

An empty forest. A total lack of witnesses. A monster. "A trail."

His voice was higher, tighter, when he responded, still staring only at the road. "We're hiking?"

The concern in his tone worried me. I hadn't considered... The distance was very short, and the way was not difficult, not so different from the trail behind his house.

"Is that a problem?" Was there somewhere else to take him? I hadn't made any backup plans.

"No," he said quickly, but his voice was still a little strained.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "It's only five miles or so, and we're in no hurry." Truly—suddenly feeling a wave of panic as I realized how short the distance was indeed—I would love nothing more than a delay.

The furrow was back. After a few empty seconds, he started to chew on his lower lip.

"What are you thinking?"

Did he want to turn around? Had he changed his mind about all of it? Did he wish he'd never answered the door this morning?

"Just wondering where we're going," he replied. His tone aimed for casual, but missed it by a few inches.

"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice." I glanced through the window and he did, too. The clouds were no more than a thin veil now. They would burn off soon.

What did he think he would see when the sun touched my skin? What mental image had he conjured to explain today's field trip to himself?

"Charlie said it would be warm today."

I thought of his father, pictured him beside the river, enjoying the pleasant day. He didn't know he was at a crossroads, a possible life-destroying nightmare waiting, so close, to engulf his entire world.

"And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?" I asked the question without hope.

He smiled, eyes straight ahead. "Nope."

I wished he didn't sound so happy about it. Still, I knew there was one witness, one voice to speak for Beau if he didn't come home.

"But you probably said something to Jeremy about me driving you to Seattle."

"No," he said, complacent. "I didn't."

What? I hadn't expected this. Beau had covered my tracks for me as if he wanted me to get away with his murder.

"No one knows you're with me?"

He flinched slightly at my tone, but then his chin came up and he forced a smile. "That depends. I assume you told Archie?"

I had to take a deep breath to keep my voice even. "That's very helpful, Beau."

His smile disappeared, but he gave no other indication that he'd heard me.

"Is it the weather? Seasonal affective disorder? Has Forks made you so depressed that you're actually suicidal?"

"You said it might cause trouble for you," he said quietly, all humor gone. "Us being together publicly."

I remembered the exchange perfectly, and wondered how he had gotten it so backward. I hadn't told him that so he would try to make himself more vulnerable to me. I'd told him so he would run away from me.

"So you're worried about the trouble it might cause me," I asked through my teeth, trying to place the words in exactly the right order so that it would be impossible for him not to hear the inherent ridiculousness of his position. "If you don't come home?"

Eyes on the road, he nodded once.

"How can you not see how wrong I am?" I hissed, too angry to slow the words down into something comprehensible for him. Telling him never worked. I would have to show him.

He seemed nervous, but in a new way, his eyes almost shifting to look at me, yet never quite breaking away from the road. Frightened by my anger, though not in the way he should be. Just worried that he'd made me unhappy. I didn't have to read his mind to anticipate the established pattern.

As usual, I wasn't truly angry with him—only myself. Yes, his responses toward me were always backward. But that was because, in another way, they were right. He was always too kind. He gave me credit I didn't deserve, worried over my feelings as if they mattered. His very goodness was what put him in this danger. His virtue, my vice, the two opposites binding us together.

We'd reached the end of the paved road. Beau pulled the truck onto the loamy shoulder and killed the engine. The sudden quiet was almost shocking after the long auditory assault. He disengaged his seat belt and slid quickly from the truck without looking at me. With his back to me, he pulled his sweater over his head. It took him a few seconds' struggle, and then he tossed it into the cab of the truck. I was surprised to see that his shirt mirrored my own in more than color; it too left his arms bare to the shoulder. This was more of him than I was used to seeing, but despite the fascination that immediately sparked, what I felt most was concern. Anything that interrupted my concentration was a danger.

I sighed. I didn't want to go through with this. There were many serious reasons, life and death reasons, but in this moment, my greatest dread was the expression on his face, the revulsion in his eyes, when he finally saw me.

I would face it head-on. Pretend to be brave, to be bigger than this selfish fear, even if it was no more than a charade.

I slipped my own sweater off, feeling glaringly conspicuous. I'd never uncovered so much of my skin around anyone but my family.

Jaw clenched, I slid out of the truck—leaving the sweater so I wouldn't be tempted—and shut the door. I stared into the forest. Maybe if I got off the road and into the trees, I wouldn't feel so exposed.

I felt his eyes on me, but I was too cowardly to turn. I looked over my shoulder instead.

"This way." The words came out clipped, too fast. I had to get my anxiety under control. I started to walk slowly forward.

"The trail?" His voice was an octave higher than usual. I glanced at him again—he looked nervous as he walked around the front end of the truck to meet me. There were so many things that might be frightening him, I couldn't be sure which it was.

I tried to sound like a normal person. Light, funny. Maybe I could ease his apprehension, if not my own. "I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it."

"No trail? Really?" He said the word trail as if he were referring to the last life vest on a sinking ship.

I squared my shoulders, formed my lips into a false smile, and turned to face him.

"I won't let you get lost," I promised.

It was worse than I'd been braced for. His mouth actually fell open, like a character in the kind of sitcom that had a laugh track. He did a quick double take, his eyes running up and down my bared skin.

And this was nothing. Just pale skin. Well, extremely pale skin, bent in a slightly inhuman way over the angularity of my inhuman musculature. If this was his response to no more than my skin in the shade...

His face fell. It was as if my former despondency had transferred to him, had landed with the weight of all my hundred years. Perhaps this was all that was needed. Maybe he'd seen enough.

"Do you want to go home?"

If he wanted to leave me, if he wanted to walk away now, I would let him go. I would watch him disappear, and endure it. I wasn't quite sure how, but I would find a way.

His eyes flashed with some unfathomable reaction, and he said, "No" so quickly, it was almost a retort. He hurried to my side, coming so close that I would only have had to lean a few inches to brush my arm against his.

What did it mean?

"What's wrong?" I asked. There was still pain in his eyes, pain that made no sense combined with his actions. Did he want to leave me or not?

His voice was low and nearly inflectionless as he answered. "I'm not a fast hiker. You'll have to be very patient."

I didn't believe him entirely, but it was a kind lie. Obviously he was concerned about the lack of a conventional trail to follow, but that was hardly enough to create the grief in his expression. I leaned closer and smiled as gently as I could, trying to coax a smile in return. I hated the shadow of misery lingering around the edges of his lips, his eyes.

"I can be patient," I assured him, lightening my tone. "If I make a great effort."

he half smiled at my words, but one side of his mouth refused to turn up.

"I'll take you home," I promised. Perhaps he felt he had no choice but to face this trial by fire, that he owed it to me in some way. He owed me nothing. He was free to walk away whenever he wished.

I was taken aback by his response. Rather than accept the out I was offering with relief, he quite distinctly scowled at me. When he spoke, his tone was caustic.

"If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way."

I stared at him, dumbfounded, waiting for more—for something that would make it clear how I'd offended him—but he just lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes as if in challenge.

Not knowing what else to do, I held my arm out to usher him forward, lifting a protruding branch higher with my other hand. He stomped underneath it, then swatted a smaller limb out of his way.

It was easier in the forest. Or maybe I had just needed a moment to process his first reaction. I led the way, holding the foliage to clear his path. Mostly he kept his eyes down, not as if he were avoiding looking at me, but as if he didn't trust the ground. I saw him glare at a few roots as he stepped over them and made the connection then—surely a clumsy person would be nervous about the uneven terrain. However, that still didn't explain his earlier gloom or his following anger.

Many things were easier in the forest than I expected them to be. Here we were, totally alone, no witnesses, and yet it didn't feel dangerous. Even the few times that we reached an obstacle—a fallen log across the way, an outcropping of rock too high to step over—and I instinctively reached out to help him, it was no more difficult to touch him than it had been at school. Not difficult was hardly the correct description. It was thrilling, pleasurable, just as it had been before. When I lifted him gently, I heard his heart drum in double time. I imagined my heart would sound just the same if it could also beat.

It probably felt safe, or safe enough, because I knew this wasn't the place. Archie had never seen me killing Beau in the middle of the forest. If only I didn't have to hold Archie's vision inside my head... Of course, not knowing that possible future, not preparing for it, might have been the very ignorance that would lead to Beau's death. It was all so circular and impossible.

Not for the first time in my life, I wished that I could make my brain slow down. Force it to move at human speed, if only just for a day, an hour, so that I wouldn't have time to obsess over and over again about the same solutionless problems.

"Which was your favorite birthday?" I asked him. I badly needed some distraction.

His mouth screwed up into something that was halfway between a wry smile and a scowl.

"What?" I asked. "Is it not my day to ask questions?"

He laughed and his hand fluttered as though he was waving away that concern. "It's fine. I just don't know the answer. I'm not a big fan of birthdays."

"That's... unusual." I couldn't think of another teenager I'd met who thought the same way.

"It's a lot of pressure," he said, shrugging. "Presents and stuff. What if you don't like them? You've got to get your game face on right away so you don't hurt anyone's feelings. And people look at you a lot."

"Your mother isn't an intuitive gift giver?" I guessed.

His answering smile was cryptic. I could tell he would say nothing negative about his mother, though he'd obviously been scarred.

We walked for a half mile in silence. I was hoping he would volunteer more, or ask a question that would tell me where his thoughts were, but he kept his eyes on the forest floor, concentrating. I tried again.

"Who was your favorite teacher in elementary school?"

"Mr. Hepmanik," he responded without a pause. "Second grade. He let me read in class pretty much whenever I wanted."

I grinned at him. "A paragon."

"Who was your favorite grade school teacher?"

"I don't remember," I reminded him.

He frowned. "Right. Sorry, I didn't think—"

"No need to apologize."

It took me another quarter mile to think of a question he couldn't turn around on me too easily.

"Dogs or cats?"

His head tilted to one side. "I'm not really sure... I think maybe cats? Cuddly, but independent, right?"

"Have you never had a dog?"

"I've never had either. Mom says she's allergic."

His response was oddly skeptical.

"You don't believe her?"

He paused again, not wanting to be disloyal. "Well," he said slowly, "I caught her petting a lot of other people's dogs."

"I wonder why...?" I mused.

Beau laughed. It was a carefree sound, totally lacking any kind of bitterness.

"It took me forever to talk her into letting me have a fish. I finally figured out that she was worried about being stuck at home. I've told you how she loved to take off every weekend we could—go visit some little town or minor historical monument she'd never seen before. I showed her those time-release food tablets that can feed the fish for over a week, and she relented. Renée just can't stand an anchor. I mean, she already had me, right? One huge life-altering anchor was enough. She wasn't going to volunteer for more."

I kept my face very smooth. This insight of his—which I didn't doubt, he'd always seen through me so easily—put a darker spin on my interpretation of his past. Was Beau's need to be a caretaker based not on his mother's helplessness, but on a feeling of needing to earn his place? It made me angry to think that Beau might ever have felt unwanted, or that he needed to prove his worth. I had the oddest desire to wait on him hand and foot in some socially acceptable way, to show Beau that his merely existing was more than enough.

He didn't notice me trying to control my reaction. With another laugh, he continued. "It was probably for the best that we never tried anything bigger than a goldfish. I wasn't very good at pet ownership. I thought maybe I'd been overfeeding the first one, so I really cut back on the second, but that was a mistake. And the third one"—he looked up at me, baffled—"I honestly don't know what its problem was. It kept jumping out of the bowl. Eventually, I didn't find it soon enough." He frowned. "Three in a row—I guess that makes me a serial killer."

It was impossible not to laugh, but he didn't seem offended. He laughed with me.

As our amusement subsided, the light changed. Archie's promised sunshine had arrived above the thick canopy, and immediately I felt jittery and anxious again.

I knew that this emotion—stage fright was the closest term I could come up with—was truly ridiculous. So what if Beau found me repulsive? If he rejected me in disgust? That was fine, better than fine. That was literally the smallest, tiniest sort of misery that could hurt me today. Was vanity, the fragility of ego, truly that strong a force? I'd never believed it had that kind of power over me, and I didn't think so now. Obsessing over this reveal kept me from obsessing over other things. Like the rejection that would follow the disgust. Beau walking away from me, and knowing that I had to let him go. Would he be so frightened by me that he'd refuse to let me lead him back to the truck? Surely I would have to at least get him safely to the road. Then he could drive away alone.

Though my whole frame felt like it might crumple with the pain of that image, there was something much worse—the looming test Archie had seen. Failing that test... I couldn't imagine. How would I live through that? How would I find a way to stop living?

We were so close.

Beau noticed the change in light as we passed through a thinner patch of forest. He frowned teasingly. "Are we there yet?"

I pretended to be equally lighthearted. "Nearly. Do you see the clearer light ahead?"

He narrowed his eyes at the forest before us, the concentration line forming between his brows. "Um, should I?"

"Maybe it's a bit too soon for your eyes," I allowed.

A shrug. "Time to visit the optometrist."

The silence seemed heavier as we progressed. I could tell when Beau spotted the brightness of the meadow. He smiled almost unconsciously and his stride lengthened. He wasn't watching the ground anymore; his eyes were locked on the filtered glow of sunshine. His eagerness only made my reluctance heavier. More time. Just another hour or two... Could we stop here? Would he forgive me if I balked?

But I knew there was no point in delay. Archie had seen that it would come to this, sooner or later. Avoidance would never make it easier.

Beau led the way now, no hesitation as he pushed through the hedge of ferns and into the meadow.

I wished I could see his face. I could imagine how lovely the place would be on a day like this. I could smell the wildflowers, sweeter in the warmth, and hear the low burble of the stream on the far side. The insects hummed, and far away, birds trilled and crooned. There were no birds nearby now—my presence was enough to frighten all the larger life from this place.

He walked almost reverently into the golden light. It gilded his hair and made his fair skin glow. His fingers trailed over the taller flowers.

I could have watched him for a very long time, perhaps forever, but it was too much to hope that the beauty of the place could make him forget the monster in the shadows for long. He turned, eyes wide with amazement, a wondering smile on his lips, and looked back at me. Expectant. When I didn't move, he began walking slowly in my direction. He lifted one arm, offering his hand in encouragement.

I wanted to be human so badly in that moment that it nearly crippled me.

But I was not human, and the time had come for perfect discipline. I held my palm up, a warning. He understood, but was not afraid. His arm dropped and he stayed where he was. Waiting. Curious.

I took a deep breath of the forest air, consciously registering his scorching scent for the first time in hours.

Even trusting Archie's visions as much as I did, I wasn't sure how there could be any more to this story. It would have to end now, wouldn't it? Beau would see me, and be all the things he should have been from the beginning: terrified, disgusted, appalled, repelled... and done with me.

It felt as though I would never do anything more difficult than this, but I forced my foot to lift and shifted my weight forward.

I would face this head-on.

With all that... I couldn't bear the first reaction on his face. He would be kind, but it would be impossible for him to disguise that initial instant of shock and revulsion. So I would give him a moment to compose himself.

I closed my eyes as I stepped into the sunlight.