Hey there. Poor Carlisle, it's been a while I didn't get back to him. This is high time that we discover the extend of their conversation, don't you think?

I think this is the second to last chapter of this short story. I hop eyou enjoy it and it coaxes you into reading more about Frances' story and travels. Cheers !

There it was, the red carpet unfolded for the much-dreaded discussion. Carlisle's unwavering gaze rested on her face, his unblinking red blood eyes as unsettling as his still countenance. Now that the door was open, Frances didn't know where to start. So she butted in.

— "First and foremost, can you tell me what the year is?"

The vampire sent her a startled look, wondering is she was, in fact, really crazy.

— "I was killed in the year 1663," came his beautiful voice. "I do not think I have been hiding for long. Time is excruciating long when you crave for blood."

His self-loathing was palpable, and Frances needed to steer him away from those depressing thoughts at once.

— "And you have resisted that call rather brilliantly. You have never killed, right?"

— "Not as a vampire … but as a human"

— "I am aware of your past, and your father's insistence of ridding the world of what he considered unholy."

The vampire's gaze bore holes into her, and Frances shuddered as the icy wave that washed over her.

— "Considers. He is alive still, and would kill me if he found me."

Kill you own son, your own flesh and blood.

— "Damn. You're right. This is why you hid in the pantry, I had forgotten."

Carlisle frowned, his expression suspicious. His father was rather known for his integrism around the outer edge of London, but Frances was an outlander. Of this, he was sure. For one, if she'd been a local, there was no way he wouldn't have remarked her. Her speech, her mannerism, her clothes. All of it screamed foreigner. So many things were left unsaid, and his sanity hung by a thread. Those mind games called for anger, for aggression, for blood. Blood, her red sweet-smelling blood. No! He couldn't give in. Carlisle took a step back, positioning himself in the entrance of his refuge. The air smelt different there, and he took a sniff of the familial scent of the damp cave.

— "How?"

Frances' eyes followed his movement, her hand still gripping the handle of her sword. Smart woman. It wouldn't save her, though. Even with a magical blade, her reflexes were no match for his.

— "Is it a long story? A story I am willing to recount now, if you are ready to hear it."

Carlisle nodded.

— "Most of what I know about you was recounted by your daughter."

A snort punctuated her revelation.

— "You are delusional. I have no daughter"

— "No, you don't, not now. But someday, three hundred years from now, you will adopt children. And Edward is a pain, by the way."

A ghost of a smile quirked her lips upwards, some kind of private joke, before she sobered and continued.

— "I am a time traveller. They call me the Keeper of Time. I am here to help history unfold the way it is supposed to. I met you in the future, you and your lovely vampire teenagers."

This time, Carlisle couldn't refrain from lashing out.

— "I was wrong about you. You are not daft, you are insane."

Frances didn't cry out, didn't insult him. She met his gaze squarely, her golden-brown boring holes into his own red. As if she understood his reaction, and decided to ignore the insult. They were, after all, way past formalities and the politenss required of a pastor's son.

— "A little, it would be hard not to be after all the mystical travels I've undertaken. Still, this is the plain truth. Are you willing to hear it ?"

She challenged him to deny her story, and he wanted nothing more. Carlisle had hunted witches and vampires his whole life, bathing in the teaching of his father and the holy church. Accepting the existence of those monsters and his part in their eradication had fuelled his faith. Becoming one of them, the greatest rip of his existence. And now … now came a woman who claimed to time travel. Time travel ‼! Could it be crazier than being a vampire? Carlisle watched her face, the sheer determination in her gaze, the glint of genuine care with which she considered him. Him, the most dangerous predator of humanity. Yes, he could feel her affection for him, as well as her wariness. How could that slip of a woman hold any tender feelings for a creature like him? That was intriguing, to say the least, along with her will to place herself in danger for his sake.

— "Tell me more"

— "I met you more than three hundred years from now. You are a kind, educated man, who adopted children whose life you saved. Your family is a lovely one, Carlisle, full of love and support. You lead them, care for them, and help them overcome their … difficulties,"

Frances didn't want to speak about bloodlust. In doubt, don't trigger it.

— "How can it be when I can hardly refrain from attacking you?"

— "In time, you have mastered it rather brilliantly. When I met you, I was attacked and you carried me, unconscious. You didn't attack me, neither did any of your children"

Carlisle suddenly sagged against the rock wall, resting his head backwards. He looked so vulnerable, so lost that Frances had to resist the urge to embrace him altogether. But he was not the man she'd met in Forks; this one was much more dangerous, and much less controlled. His anger, his moves told her that she needed to stay away. Frances stopped talking, giving him the time he needed to come to terms with the news she'd just thrown at him. It was a lot to take in. At last, he spoke, his voice flat.

— "What you speak of is redemption. A needless hope, that you wave before my eyes before you take it away."

Carlisle stood, his movement so fluid, so graceful that she adjusted her grip on the sword. But Frances was no stranger to fighting; she knew she didn't stand a chance should he attack her. She was, literally, a sitting duck waiting to be roasted. Fortunately, Carlisle knew his limits, and instead of taking a step forward, only shouted at her. A heartbroken cry that threatened to spill her tears.

— "I am soulless now, I am damned! Don't you see? A wretched creature of the devil"

Frances waited for his yells to abate, frozen to the spot. His pain touched her, his anger dangerous; her whole body was getting ready to flee, and she had to struggle against it to stay put. A mad dash could not help; he'd be on her in a heartbeat.

— "You are not soulless, Carlisle. You will get the love you deserve, and will love in return."

But the vampire couldn't hear her, his eyes set on his hands. They should have trembled from his distress. Had he been human, he would have felt his heart beat wildly, his breath shorten. But his hands were staring back at him, steady as rocks, skin milky white. It disgusted him!

— "I am cursed," he spat.

Frances exhaled slowly, trying to rein her heart to lessen the panic. Carlisle was a predator, he would smell the fear and adrenalin, and this, in turn, could trigger his hunting instincts.

— "A soulless creature cannot love," she eventually said.

— "Your words are empty, Frances."

The vampire whirled on himself, and suddenly knelt in the dirt, yelling at her. His musical voice held some inner strength, his cry so strong that birds flew away in distress.

— "Look at me! What do you see?"

She gave him the most sincere look she had ever addressed someone, hoping to convey her conviction. In any other circumstance, she would have laid a hand on his shoulder, but she feared to touch him.

— "I see a good person. A lost one, who's been through a difficult ordeal, and needs to find its inner light."

Carlisle shifted his weight backwards, putting a little distance between his prey and himself.

— "Nonsense," was his harsh reply. "I could kill you in a heartbeat. Your heartbeat"

— "I know. But you would forever regret it. Why did you resist hunger to let me live?"

The vampire paused, a flash of uncertainty marring his beautiful features.

— "I…"

There was the opening she had been waiting for, and Frances nailed it without mercy.

— "There is it, your soul. Tugging at your conscience. Your empathy, Carlisle, is what makes you the good person you are. It will guide you, sustain you, support you, and make you a great man."

— "I am a monster."

— "I've seen monsters. Fought them. You are nothing close to a monster, Carlisle. You are invincible, clever, and immortal now. You can do much good in the world, learn for countless years. From that day, you can choose whatever you want to be."

His reply was so low that Frances almost missed it.

— "God makes us what we are. Have I been so sinful that he turned me into this wretched creature?"

— "God gave you those skills so that you do something meaningful with it. Maybe it is so you accomplish things that you couldn't before?"

Carlisle sent her an exasperated look, and Frances realised it was time to change strategy. Shaking his religious beliefs was a lost cause, for now at least.

— "Do you think your father would have burnt me as a witch?"

The question caught him off guard, and Carlisle took a while to study the young woman before him, trying to see her through the eyes of her father. She was a redhead, wielded a magical sword, and talked about God in such a way that might seem very unholy. Yes. His father would be a danger to her. Yes, without a doubt.

— "Yes"

— "What about you?"

Carlisle paused. Under pressure of the mob, pressure of his father, he might very well have. Or maybe not.

— "I'm unsure"

— "Yet. As a vampire, you refuse to hurt me. See? "

The vampire nodded, and, as suddenly as lightning struck the earth, disappeared into the recesses of his refuge. Left behind, Frances retreated in the forest to blend her scent into the damp soil. Carlisle didn't appear this evening, and she built a small fire to keep herself warm. Her bag only contained a few energy bars, and she dined upon it before settling for the night. Her elvish cloaked securely folded around her slender frame, Frances slumbered uneasily. Needless to say, that bloodshot eyes plagued her dreams, and that she awoke every now and then drenched in a cold sweat. Damn this place, damn this situation! Frances wanted nothing more than to be at home, soaking in a warm bath forgetting about blood suckers and such. But she owed it to Carlisle. Because he was the one who had made her the Keeper of Time, and trusted in her. He was a good man … er vampire. He just needed to see it, and right now, she was the only one who could support him. Alice wouldn't be in the picture for three hundred more years.

At once, a wave of nostalgia hit her. Poor Carlisle, three hundred years roaming the world alone. He didn't deserve it. She'd been alone for many years as well, as the Keeper of Time, and it was sometimes a heavy burden to not be able to share her load with anyone. But she couldn't, in her good conscience, drag anyone into the mess of her life. So she carried on, dragged here and there by the magical necklace by the will of the Valar, making friends, and leaving them behind as she came back to her meaningless life.

Night embraced the forest like a lover, its low sounds and smells permeating through the breeze. There would be no sleep for Carlisle; being a vampire, sleep had eluded him the day of his changing. His mind was running a hundred miles a minute, pondering, hoping, rejecting. Outside, he heard the girl munch on something which smell was absolutely unappealing. Sugar, it seemed. Her heard every single sigh that escaped her lips, every shuffle of her form settling on the ground, every single cracking of the wood at it lay, helpless, in the brazen inferno of the fire.

Smoke and dirt, dampness and mould, fresh air and animal scent. But over it all, the most torturing smell was her blood, her deep red blood, running through her veins as her heart beat rhythmically. An entrancing dance, happening a few feet away from him, calling at the hollow of his throat, begging him to drain her dry and relieve the pain.

The young woman eventually fell asleep, leaving him alone in the night, pondering on the revelations of the day. What was the life of a time traveller? Where did she come from? When? How lonely could she be, dragged here and there without companions? Did she have a family waiting for her? Did she ever come back to them? To her birth place?

Those reflections brought him to another line of thinking. What about him? Could he trust her story? Would he be, three hundred years from now, the head of a loving family? A vampire with not killings under his belt, guiding others to protect mankind? Was it even possible, after being cursed and rejected by is God, to achieve such a goal? Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, a little light kindled. Hope. The crazy hope to become someone worth knowing.

A different scent suddenly filled his nostrils, an animal. Wolf. A lone wolf, probably starving without his pack, breathing heavily through the forest. It was still far enough not to be a danger to the young woman. Carlisle strained his senses, waiting, like a predator about to jump his prey. Patiently. Hours passed, the moon travelled in the sky, casting a moving light across the entrance of his little refuge. The wolf had yet to go. The creature seemed to circle the area, probably put off by the smell of fire. Until the last dying embers hissed under the light drizzle, its glow disappearing in the moonlight, the smoke clearing in the breeze until its smell disappeared entirely. The wolf caught the young woman's scent, its steps approaching slowly, silently. But Carlisle's senses were more attuned than any other creature in the world.

There was no mighty snarl, no galloping of canine's paws on the ground to warn him of the attack. But Carlisle knew. With a leap, the vampire shot out of his cave and sprang forward into the night.