A/N: Hey guys! So many different projects going on the last couple of weeks, I kept procrastinating on this, but still managed to make it somehow.
Thank you so much for for all your thoughts last chapter! (Don't worry, as you can see, the long-chapter trend is going to continue.)
Chapter 3: Last Memory
Though I wasn't really thirsty at all, I decided to go hunting again that night. Inadequate though it was, I wanted to do everything I could.
Carine decided to join me. We hadn't had any real time together since my return from Denali, and I knew she had been waiting for a chance to talk to me alone. As we both ran through the black forest, I could hear her thoughts—going over again our parting last week.
"Edythe?" Carine was startled when she caught a glimpse of my face as I came into her office—wild, full of terror and despair.
"I—I have to go," I said. "I have to go right now."
"What is it, Edythe? What's wrong? What's happened?"
"Nothing," I managed. "Nothing—yet. But—I need to go."
She had reached for me, to touch my arm, but she drew back when I flinched away.
"What is it, Edythe?" she had asked again, her voice at once urgent and kind. "Please, tell me."
I could see myself in her memory—my face twisted with pain. But as I answered her then, haltingly, a wild light seemed to come into my eyes that frightened Carine more than the agony.
"Have you ever... has there ever been a time..." Hesitation. "Tell me, Carine, has any one person ever had a scent better to you than all the rest?"
I'd only seen it for a second—the flash of alarm. Then she reached for me again, and though I flinched back from her touch as before, she pulled me into an embrace. Carine was not really a physical person, and did not express the deep affection I knew she held for all of us with such gestures often, as Earnest did—her arms only rested lightly around me, gently, and yet somehow it was still fierce, too. She couldn't see the shame in my face, but she could feel it.
"Go," she had said softly in my ear. "Do whatever you have to do to resist, my daughter."
Carine was rethinking her reaction now. Wondering if it had hurt me, agreeing so quickly I ought to go, not putting more faith in me.
"No," I said quietly aloud into the darkness, interrupting her thoughts. "No, I'm glad you did. I wasn't... It was the only right thing to do. I'm afraid I might have betrayed you."
Carine's face was kind and sad. "I'm so sorry to see you suffering, Edythe. I would do something, if I could." She paused, then added, "But... you should do whatever necessary to allow the Swan boy to live. We all missed you while you were away, but if you must leave again, do so."
I nodded slowly.
We had slowed now, loping silently like a pair of mountain lions through the darkness. Carine glanced at me.
"Why did you come back?" she asked softly. "You know we hate to see you gone for any length of time. But if this is too difficult..."
I stared straight ahead at the black trees. "I felt like a coward," I said finally. "Running away. I wanted to face this directly."
"Choosing to flee from temptation rather than risk succumbing to it is not cowardice," Carine said gently. "I know..." She hesitated, brow furrowing as she stared at me with deep, worried eyes.
I know how much you long to do the right thing, Edythe. If it would make it easier for you to leave... Well, very likely he will be gone in a year or two. That is not such a long time.
I opened my mouth to answer—she was right, of course—but the words got stuck in my throat. I looked away, but I could see in Carine's mind her eyes were still on my face, her concern growing. I saw my own expression—composed, but for a worry line slashed across my brow. But it was my eyes that gave away my intent—not defiance exactly, but resolution.
You aren't going to leave, she thought. It was a statement, not a question.
"No," I whispered. "I'm not. I can't."
Why not? she asked gently. I meant it when I said that running away does not make a coward. Sometimes running away is the stronger thing, the right thing.
I nodded. "I know," I whispered. "That's... not it."
You don't know where you would go?
I shook my head again.
Carine smiled a little. "We will all come with you, if that is what you need. You've moved on without complaint for the rest of them, at one time or another. They wouldn't begrudge you this."
I suddenly smiled grimly, and Carine read the course of my thoughts. She laughed softly.
"Yes, Royal might be a little... perturbed. But he owes you this, as much as the others. Besides, I have never known you to be too bothered by Royal's complaints on a matter before."
I couldn't help but grin slightly at that. No, the self-centered complaints of my narcissist of a brother would never have caused me to lose any sleep at night, could I sleep.
Carine's face was gentle again, earnest. "It would be much better for us to leave now, while there is no damage done, than to be forced to leave later... after something has been done that cannot be undone. After a life is taken, and all the broken pieces are left behind..."
Any trace of humor was gone from both our faces. I couldn't look her in the eye, and I turned instead to the dark trees.
But you are not leaving, are you? she thought. Even in her mind, the tone was still gentle, understanding—so much kinder than I deserved.
I shook my head, and despite the shame and misery and knowledge that she was right that all swam together in my mind, I knew I couldn't get myself to leave. The very thought made me recoil, and I could picture nothing but the torture of sitting, sitting and staring out at a field of snow, seeing nothing but what I was supposed to be running away from, wondering about the secrets and having nothing to distract me from the longing to see them unraveled... I didn't think I could handle that for another six days, let alone a year and a half.
Carine studied my face for a long minute, watching the conflicting emotions playing there. At last, she smiled. I don't understand what you're thinking, Edythe. But I will respect your privacy, if that is what you need. This is your choice.
I smiled back a little, grateful. Grateful that she didn't hold the fact I never allowed anyone else any privacy against me. There was only one person who had privacy from me—and it was about driving me up a wall.
"Well," she said softly. "We're here. Shall we?"
She had just caught the scent of a small herd of deer. I nodded solemnly in response, though I could have grimaced when the scent reached my nose, too. With the memory of his blood still fresh in my memory, the smell of the deer nearly turned my stomach.
We both shifted into a hunting crouch, and stalked silently forward toward the unappetizing scent.
The temperature had dropped by the time we returned. The temporarily melted snow had refrozen, and now the landscape looked as though it had been surfaced in a sheet of thinnest glass. Every pine needle, every fern and blade of grass, was covered in ice.
Carine left to dress for her early shift at the hospital, while I went to sit by the river, waiting for the sun to rise.
I sat motionless on the stone, not unlike a part of it myself—cold, hard. I stared down at the dark water running beside the icy bank, into its tumultuous black depths.
Carine was right. I should leave Forks now. There were countless stories to easily explain my absence—boarding school in Europe, visiting distant relatives—anything. It didn't matter, it wasn't like anyone would examine it too closely. Just a year or two, and he would be gone. He would get older, go on with his life, as long as I didn't cut it short.
He'd probably go to college somewhere—he was smart, maybe he'd go on to be a teacher, or a journalist, or even a medical professional like Carine. He would discover what he wanted to do if he didn't know already. He'd leave Forks and probably go live somewhere sunny. In California, or Florida, maybe, near the beach. Maybe he would eventually meet a girl, get married, have children...
I felt an odd pang, deep in my chest. A kind of longing I had never experienced before. I had seen it in Royal's mind so many times, the desire for these ordinary, human things, for a human life, but it wasn't something I had ever really thought about wanting for myself that I could remember, even when I was human. But I realized now that I envied this boy—I envied the future I knew I could never have.
Carine was right. It was wrong of me to risk the bright future ahead of him. I realized that all this time, I had only been thinking of the present—the dilemma of killing him or not was an almost abstract, philosophical consideration to me. But now I was faced with the reality—what it would mean if I slipped up and became a murderer. I wouldn't just destroy one boy here and now, cause his father and the mother he spoke so fondly of pain unimaginable, I would destroy the entire future he deserved. Carine was right—the only right thing to do was to do everything I could to avoid that, no matter what.
I watched as the sun rose behind the clouds, and the faint light glistened off all the frozen glass.
One more day, I decided. One last day—I could trust myself that far. Then I would disappear. Maybe I would even mention something, set up the reasons why I would never return...
It wouldn't be easy. It would take all my willpower. In the back of my mind, I was already trying to find excuses to drag it out longer, to two days, three, four... Part of it was still the unsatisfied curiosity, but I couldn't be sure how much of my reluctance was my still yet unsatisfied appetite, the thought of forever forgoing the taste of the scent that made me feel so alive...
Carine was right. I had to go. Perhaps in this moment I was idealistic and humane enough to think of the boy's future, for that to be enough to restrain my hunger. But could I trust myself hour after hour, day after day, week after week, and never have a moment of weakness?
No, I didn't trust myself that far. There was only one answer, and that was to remove myself from the temptation.
My mind set, I got up and went inside to change into fresh clothes for school.
Of course, Archie was waiting for me, sitting on the top step at the edge of the third floor, head resting on his hands.
You're leaving again, he said.
I nodded slowly.
Where are you going?
I shook my head. "I don't know yet."
You really can't stay?
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
He tried to smile. Maybe Jess and I could come with you. Keep you company. You'll go crazy by yourself.
I smiled a little at the thought. That would almost make it bearable—almost. But I shook my head. "With me gone, they'll need you all the more to be their eyes. Promise me you'll watch out for them and keep them safe."
I had passed him on the landing now, headed to my room.
Archie shook his head. He called after me, in his mind. Stay, Edy. You're splitting us up. It'll totally suck without you around.
I sighed. "You know I want to. But I can't. I have to do the right thing."
And how can you know for sure what the right thing is? he wondered. You say that like there's only one right way and one wrong way—but it's not that simple.
For one moment his mind flickered, all concentration going to his strange visions of the future. They were no more than shadows, indistinct blurs not yet realized. I saw myself amidst the visions, but I couldn't see what I was doing. Then, abruptly, one of the images sharpened slightly, and I saw myself, my skin glittering in the sunlight of a small open meadow. I recognized the place—I'd been there before. I saw in the vision a hazy figure standing beside me, but the form was too indistinct to make out. Then the images shivered and disappeared as a million tiny choices rearranged the future again.
I frowned. "I... didn't really catch much of that."
Me either, he admitted. Your future's shifting around—changing so fast I can't make out anything solid.
He flipped through a vast collection of other recent visions for me—but they were all the same, blurry, impossible to make out clearly.
I feel like something is changing, he thought. It's like... your life is at a crossroads.
I sighed. "You always have to make things so dramatic." I paused, half turning to look at him. "What about today? Do you see anything?"
He shrugged. "I don't see you killing anyone, if that's what you mean."
I nodded slowly. I clung to that.
Just one more day, I promised myself. This was the last day I would be putting an innocent boy in danger.
"I won't say anything," he said quietly. "I'll leave it up to you to tell the others when you're ready."
He got to his feet, then loped about halfway down the first staircase before he stopped, turning to look back up at me.
It'll be rough without you, Edy. I'll miss you.
I watched him for a moment as he continued on down the stairs, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.
I smiled a bit with melancholy. Funny how when I'd first met Archie, he had annoyed me to no end. But I would miss him as much as he would miss me. We were partners, he and I—freaks in a world of freaks, working together and hiding one another's secrets. If anything, I would miss him more—he would still have Jessamine, and I knew he would be fine as long as they were together. I—I would soon be alone. It would only be for a couple of years or so, but for someone who doesn't sleep, two years can seem like an eternity.
It was a quiet ride to school. Jessamine was aware of the mood, mine and Archie's—I was doing my best not to think about it, to just be glad of this one last day, but Archie was depressed. But as worried as Jessamine was, she knew that Archie would talk about it only when he was ready, and she said nothing. Royal and Eleanor were absorbed in each other, and didn't notice anything unusual.
My mood was quickly darkening, and I was glad when we arrived and I could get away from their thoughts.
As I stepped out of the car, I found myself automatically sweeping all the thoughts in the parking lot, looking for him.
I didn't move, leaning against the door of the car. Royal, Eleanor and Jessamine all went on ahead—I could feel Royal's disgust but I ignored him. This was going to be my last day anyway—so what if I wanted to see him? Ask him a few more questions? After eighty years of the same monotony every single day, every night, there was surely nothing unusual about finding myself drawn in by the novelty of something new... right?
Archie stayed with me. I wasn't sure I wanted him there—Beau seemed shy enough without adding more people to the equation. But Archie looked so glum at the prospect of my leaving that I didn't have the heart to send him away.
He had apparently yet to arrive, but I heard the thunder of his ancient truck's engine coming up the road some distance away. It was a minute or two before the truck finally came chugging into view. I noticed immediately his eyes were fixed on the road, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. Apparently, the slick ice covering the lot had him worried. He moved the truck cautiously, carefully—there was another trait. He paid attention, he was responsible.
He parked the truck a few slots down from mine, but didn't seem to have noticed me yet, standing here, staring at him. But he probably would see me when he got out and headed toward school. Most likely, he'd turn red and pick up his pace to get away. But maybe he'd stare back, wondering what was with me. Maybe he would come over here to ask.
I drew a deep breath through my mouth, filling my lungs just in case.
He got out of the truck tentatively, eyes on the ground. He didn't look my way, but instead gripped the side of the truck as though for dear life, and made his way around to the truck's rear, though that was the opposite direction of the school, his feet sliding around almost comically.
No one else in the parking lot seemed to be having the same trouble, I wondered if perhaps somehow he had parked in the worst patch of ice. That seemed about in line with his usual luck. I smiled a little to myself.
At the back of the truck, he paused, looking down at the tires, which had been crisscrossed in snow chains. His blue eyes were wide—surprise? Then his face turned to a deep frown, though not as though he were unhappy. More like... he was trying to suppress some emotion.
The curiosity was intense—a burn that was almost impossible to resist. Now, what was that look for?
I hesitated, torn. Maybe I would go talk to him. One last time. There couldn't be any harm in that, could there?
"No!" Archie gasped suddenly, making me freeze in place. All my focus was immediately on his thoughts—what had he seen? Me, making some critical error?
I saw the flash of images in his mind, none of them having to do with me. Everything to do with him.
Half a second after the vision I saw the van turn into the parking lot, going far too fast given the weather conditions. Taylor Crowley was behind the wheel. Her face was a mask of terror and horror, and she pumped desperately on the brakes, but the lumbering van continued to slide on the ice—straight toward the back of the old Chevy, exactly where he was standing.
He looked up, alerted by the deafening screech of tires. For the briefest second, his eyes met mine. Then he turned his head to face the van.
My prey, my enemy.
In that moment, he didn't seem like either.
Words were screaming in my mind as I saw in Archie's vision the death—the way the van would crush the lower half of his body, and the way the grill would crack his skull and snap his neck—and the scream resolved itself into a plea.
Not him. Please, not him—
Archie's vision suddenly shifted, but I didn't look to see what it was. Because I was no longer standing beside him, but moving in a blur of motion, too fast for any human eye to follow.
He didn't see me, eyes still fastened to the approaching van. I struck him hard in the side, tackling him out of the way. The fraction of a second between when I felt my hands shoving him back to the time we hit the pavement felt like an agonizing eternity. I could feel his warm, breakable body from my grip around his waist, and I knew I hadn't been going slow enough.
As I heard the crack of his head hit the icy blacktop, I froze.
I was on top of him, pinning him to the ground, but I had no chance to ascertain the damage, as it was apparent this was not over yet.
The van had struck the rear of the truck, bending around the sturdy iron body, and as it did the van was arcing, spinning back toward us—as though being pulled by a magnet.
I was getting exasperated now.
"Come on," I hissed.
What little I'd done was already too much—the greatest, most deliberate risk I had ever taken, not simply risking my own exposure, but my entire family's. One blurred movement, moving too fast to be human, was bad enough, but this—
However, I knew what my decision was even before the thoughts shot like lightning through my mind. Whatever I had to do.
I threw out both hands in front of me. The side of the van crumpled in slightly where it met my palms. It shoved me back against the car parked beside the truck, and I felt the frame crumple behind my shoulders. The van had stopped barely a foot from his face, but I still didn't have a moment check how he was.
The van shuddered and shivered against the unyielding obstacle of my arms, then swayed, balancing unstably on the two far tires—it had, incredibly, swung around just enough on the ice that, if I were to let the van go now, the rear tire would come down right on his legs.
You can't be serious, I thought incredulously. What was I supposed to do—sit here, calmly holding up the van and its terrified, mentally incoherent driver away from him until help arrived?
Mentally cursing, I pushed the van back slightly, then caught it under the frame with one hand. With my other, I gripped him securely around the side and dragged his form back, pulling his legs out of the path of the van's tire. His body was completely limp in my arm, filling me simultaneously with relief and terror. I must have knocked him out when his head hit the ground, or left him loopy, which was better in terms of keeping our secret—but what permanent damage might his fragile human body have sustained at my hardly gentle attempt at a rescue?
I let the van drop. The wheel crashed against the pavement, and the windows shattered, showering the parking lot around us.
There was silence for one long moment. Then the screaming started.
I knew very well I may have done something that could not be taken back. How much had he seen? Had anyone watched me materialize right beside him, stop the van with my bare hands, then hold it up as I dragged him out from under it?
My concentration should have been on scanning the thoughts of the crowd, looking for signs of suspicion, or the kind of shock that came from witnessing something impossible—but instead, my growing panic seemed entirely focused on the wrong thing.
I leaned over him, intensely aware of the fact I still had him pressed against my side, and the heat I could feel radiating from his thin frame even through our jackets. And what I would smell if I allowed myself to inhale.
"Beau?" I said quietly, urgently. "Are you all right?"
His eyes were open, wide with shock. "I'm fine," he answered, automatically.
He sounded dazed, a little out of it, but otherwise all right. Relief flooded through me, so powerful it made me ache. I breathed deeply through my mouth, almost glad of the burn that came with it.
He tried to sit up then, pull away from me, but I didn't let go.
"Be careful," I said softly. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."
I was sure he wasn't bleeding—even just breathing through my mouth, I was sure I would have tasted that—but that didn't mean there weren't internal injuries. Better to get him to Carine as soon as possible, to have a more complete, professional look...
He blinked at this. "Ow," he muttered, suddenly wincing, as he apparently finally registered the pain.
"That's what I thought." My tone sounded more amused than I meant it to be. I felt the shock of relief still oozing through me, making me feel almost giddy.
His slightly unfocused eyes suddenly sharpened, and he looked up at me. "How in the..." he began. "How did you get over here so fast?"
That sobered me immediately. Now that I knew he was safe, my priorities immediately rearranged themselves back to what I knew they should have been from the beginning—keep the secret. Keep my family safe.
"I was standing right next to you, Beau," I said. He must feel disoriented, especially after hitting his head. He had seen me for that one brief moment when he'd first looked up... but surely it wouldn't be difficult to misdirect him. I'd found in the past that, as long as you spoke with enough confidence, often human memories were more adjustable than they realized.
Again he tried to sit up, and this time I let go of him, helping him up, and then shifting away from him, trying to get as much distance between us in the enclosed space between the wrecked vehicles as possible, to give myself some room to think, and breathe.
However, as he gazed at me questioningly, I held the gaze, refusing to break eye contact first—I couldn't show the slightest sign of discomfort. Instead I simply did my best to look down with the gentle concern of a good Samaritan. After a moment of studying my face, his expression seemed to cloud with confusion, which I took as a good sign.
The accident scene was surrounded now. Students were shouting, looking terrified and trying to see through the cracks enough to determine if anyone was dead—I scanned the thoughts quickly, looking for signs of any suspicion, as I ought to have done before, but all thoughts seemed to be focused on him, the clearly more hurt of the two of us.
He seemed distracted by the chaos, and he looked away from me, glancing around at the sudden rush of activity around us. He shifted his legs, as though to stand up, but I reached forward and put my hand on his shoulder to stop him.
"Just stay put for now," I said gently, still worried about potential internal injuries.
"But it's cold," he objected.
I chuckled under my breath before I could stop myself. Of course. Nearly crushed to death by a van, and still the cold was all he was worried about.
He blinked, and his eyes suddenly focused on my face. "You were over there," he insisted, eyes flickering toward the south, though our view was now blocked by the side of the van. "You were by your car."
Again, that sucked any vestige of amusement from my thoughts. I looked at him evenly, straight in the eye. "No, I wasn't."
"I saw you," he argued, and I saw him set his shoulders, the same way he had in the Biology room the day before, in the discussion of why he had come to Forks.
My voice was calm and soothing as I answered, "Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."
I leaned forward slightly, staring deeply into his wide, yet vaguely defiant eyes. Trying to somehow make him accept my version of events through sheer force of will. And he had to—what other explanation was there? He was a sound, rational person who didn't believe in the impossible.
Under the intensity of my stare, his defiance seemed to lessen. He stared back at me a moment, bewildered. I thought for a moment he was going to nod and sheepishly admit perhaps maybe he was going crazy. Then he said quietly, "But that's not what happened."
As always, I had misinterpreted the look in his eyes. His confusion wasn't in questioning what he had seen—he knew exactly what he had seen. Only he couldn't understand why I was trying to cover it up.
Another mistake. I'd thought he seemed soft, malleable—but that was wrong. There was a confidence there I'd never guessed. A confidence in what he observed.
The only thing was to keep him quiet for a few minutes, at least until I could circulate knowledge of his head injury, thereby discrediting anything he might say.
But though it was obviously necessary, the thought seemed distasteful the moment it crossed my mind. I was filled with a sudden emotion I couldn't quite put a name to.
"Please, Beau," I said softly.
"Why?" he wanted to know, frowning slightly.
At last, the vague desire finally formed itself into words. "Trust me?" I whispered.
He gazed back at me for a moment. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?" he asked.
I stared back, wondering why, of all the things he could say at a time like this, he had to make that particular request. I had just asked for trust, and so it was unbelievably frustrating to be forced to lie. But as adults came onto the scene and I heard sirens wailing in the distance, I knew I had to put an end to this conversation as quickly as possible.
"Fine," I said abruptly.
"Okay," he agreed, though his voice was a little more subdued at the harshness in my tone.
Finally I turned my attention away from him to focus entirely on the minds of the spectators already on the scene and those just arriving, searching out anything potentially dangerous. However, I found nothing. As surprised as many were to find me over here beside him in the middle of the wreckage, most dismissed it, assuming they must have simply failed to notice me, if they even bothered to consider the oddity at all.
I sucked in a deep, calming breath through my mouth, feeling the burn of the scent at the back of my throat. It was okay. This was containable. Maybe he wouldn't go along with the story, but... he was in shock. Traumatized. Had sustained a blow to the head. No one would believe him over me, especially if I put to use every art of deception I'd honed over the course of eight decades. My lies would sound a thousand times more real than his truth, especially since my story fit so much better with their perception of reality.
My somewhat diabolical thoughts were cut short as I suddenly caught the thoughts of Royal, Jessamine, and Eleanor, coming back. They weren't happy—Royal was mentally shouting, quite a few words that would have drawn more than a few shocked looks from the teachers and certainly landed him in his first-ever detention. Things would not be pretty when I got home tonight.
I was intensely aware of the indentation in the side of the tan car next to the truck, which was the precise size and shape of my shoulders. I wished I might smooth it out, but I didn't dare do anything with him still sitting nearby, his eyes watching my every move. It would be the only potential evidence of his wild story.
I didn't move as the humans struggled with the van, trying to heave it far enough away for the EMTs to fit in with their stretchers. It seemed to take an infernally long time, and I could have done the work in about two seconds if there weren't so many eyes on us. A particularly keen, problematic set of eyes among them.
Finally they had the van away, and the EMTs were in. A woman with short hair appeared in the space first, quickly scanning the scene. A stroke of luck—It was Brita Warner, a registered nurse as well as an EMT, who I knew well from the hospital. That would give me an edge. Her first impression as she took in my face was that I looked alert and calm.
"Hi, Edythe," she said with a smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, Brita," I said, smiling reassuringly back, though with just the right mix of concern the situation warranted. "I was fortunate enough I got away unscathed."
I sensed the boy open his mouth beside me, and I went on quickly, "But you really should look at Beau, he hit his head pretty hard when I pulled him out of the way. He might have a concussion. There could be some internal hemorrhaging. You'll probably want to have them do a few X-rays."
Brita nodded gravely, then moved her attention on to the clearly more pressing patient.
He shot me a look of pure poison, before he took to studiously ignoring me. I'd forgotten just how much he didn't like attention.
While Brita gave him a cursory examination, another EMT tried to insist I at least let myself be looked at, but she was easily dissuaded by my calm, assured demeanor. They could easily see by looking at me where I stood that I was completely fine, not so much as a scrape from the icy road, and she was easy enough to satisfy.
They gave him a fairly routine check-over, and Brita decided it was best to put on a neck brace as a precaution before they loaded him onto a stretcher. Almost all eyes in the parking lot, which formed a fairly significant percentage of the entire school, were on him, faces somber. His face had turned a deep brick red, and he looked as though if he could go back and have the choice between being hit by the van and this, he would take the van. I wondered idly if he would ever forgive me.
Probably not.
If he had been unaware we were enemies before, he certainly wasn't now.
I used the distraction the solemn march to the ambulance afforded me to quietly alter the shape of the dent in the tan car with the back of my foot. No one but my siblings seemed to notice what I was doing.
I'll check it later and fix anything you missed, Eleanor promised.
Eleanor's tone was warmer and less explosive than I expected, and I was glad she at least seemed to be already over my moment of insanity. Having at least one sibling who wasn't ready to string me up cheered me at least a little as I headed toward the front seat of the ambulance, where Brita had invited me to ride, while the EMTs worked to load the stretcher in the back. I could almost feel his resentful eyes follow me all the way to the cab, even without seeing his face from the minds of spectators from about a dozen different angles.
No, he was definitely not going to forgive me. Especially when I strategically spread around the knowledge of his head injury. And everyone thought his incredible story no more than a delusion...
I felt something sharp prick the back of my mind. Guilt? Guilt, because he was only saying what he knew he had seen, and was the truth, and I was going to make him think he was crazy, and if that didn't work, undermine his credibility? Was I depressed, because he was probably going to completely despise me now?
My thoughts were cut short when a disruption at the edge of the lot turned the attention of many thoughts at once.
"Beau!" shouted a voice above the others.
Everyone immediately recognized his father, Chief Swan, wading through the crowd.
When he came within range, and my attention flitted automatically to him, I was startled by the intensity of emotion that fell over me. He was beyond words—anxiety quickly escalated into panic and horrified guilt, and they seemed to crash over me like a tidal wave.
Archie had mentioned his father—that the boy was his only family, and what killing him would mean to the man. But until this moment I hadn't fully appreciated what he meant.
At this, almost like some kind of odd reverse of Archie's power, I felt the past open up behind me. The endless possibilities—what would have happened if I had murdered the boy on the first day.
Funerals in this small a town were typically attended by nearly everyone, or at least everyone at his school would be expected to go, so it would look strange if any of us were absent. Consequently I, the murderer, would have been forced to go to his funeral. Through the guilty tint of the contacts in my eyes, I would have watched Charlie Swan grieve his son, felt the onslaught of his emotions many times stronger than what they were now.
The scene continued to play against my will. Though I knew if it had happened that way I would have disposed of the body, all the same an image formed in my mind—an open casket beside a tomb, in which lay a pale, still form. The image seemed to burn itself into my thoughts, starkly crystalline white on night black.
"Edythe? Are you all right?"
I glanced up to see Brita was studying my face with concern.
Outside, the sound of Chief Swan's voice demanding to know if his son was all right, and the boy's ineffectual muttered assurances he was fine were still continuing.
I was surprised I'd lost control of my expression. For a second I'd almost forgotten my surroundings.
I forced a smile. "I'm fine," I said. "I was just worried about how Earnest might react if word of all this reaches him before I get a chance to talk to him..."
Brita smiled back. "Sometimes fathers are the worst worriers. Just have Carine call him when we get to the hospital. But it might be a good idea to have her take a look at you later."
"I'll do that," I said. "She'd probably say we can never be too careful."
"You have such good parents," Brita said, still smiling.
"I know," I said, with feeling. She had no idea.
Strangely, I found I was feeling much more calm than I had a second ago, and not because I needed to put up a front for Brita. Perhaps it was the sudden, horrifying vision from a moment ago. As bad as it was, it made me realize—whether my entire family was furious with me, whether he never spoke to me again—the way things were now was better than the alternative.
My attention went back to Chief Swan. He was speaking to another EMT now about his son's condition, and the tone of his thoughts was a little calmer now.
"...Yes, Chief Swan, the neck brace is only a precaution, but we want to get him to the hospital as soon as possible."
"All right, go then—I'll be over there."
This had my attention, as for the first time I noticed something—now that Chief Swan was speaking, I expected to hear the words forming in his mind, too, or to hear secondary thoughts that were coherent again. But again I only got the vague sense of emotions radiating from his mind. It wasn't that his panic was wordless, rather, it seemed I just wasn't hearing the words.
It was an interesting discovery. I'd always assumed Chief Swan to be a man of somewhat slow thought, but it seemed I just hadn't been paying enough attention. Apparently, whatever the son had that protected him from my probes was genetic. This would bear some investigation later...
But not now. Now I had to focus. Listen to every thought, search out any sign of suspicion. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headrest.
When my eyes opened again, we were at the hospital. I heard nothing alarming in any of the paramedics' thoughts in the back. He seemed to be sticking to my fairly unremarkable version of events—so far, at least. I quickly tried to mentally arrange how to tell Carine as quickly as possible what had happened.
Brita wasn't surprised as she saw me get out of the ambulance first thing and rush inside like the devil was on my heels. In a town this small, the chance Earnest would have heard something was more than likely, and she figured I had good reason to be in a hurry to get to Carine.
Keeping a mental eye on Beau through the paramedics, I searched out Carine's familiar mind, and found it easily. I breathed a slight sigh of relief. She was alone in her office, another stroke of good fortune. I was there in minutes.
"Carine?"
Carine looked up from her desk to see me standing in the open doorway. I couldn't hide the guilt and anguish from my expression—I may not have exactly been sorry for what I had done, but it was her family I had just put into jeopardy.
Carine read the look, and she rose from her desk in alarm, her pale features turning as white as bone as her thoughts immediately jumped to a different conclusion. Images of horror and the faces of the boy and Chief Swan flickered through her mind.
I shut the door behind me. "It's not that," I said quickly. I breathed, trying to regain my poise. "But I did do something... the others consider unwise."
Carine got up and came slowly around the desk. What happened, Edythe?
I couldn't bring myself to look at her, so I stared at the back wall. There she had displayed only one simple oil painting, an undiscovered Hassam, rather than the vast array of awards she had collected over the many years.
"It does involve him," I said slowly. "He was... There was a van that skidded across the ice, and he was in the way. Archie saw it coming. I..."
I paused. Something had just occurred to me. Two things.
I shook my head and forced myself to finish. "...And I intervened."
Carine considered that. "Intervened?" she repeated at last.
"I wasn't close by," I said, the words coming more quickly now in my agitation, still not looking at her. "I was halfway across the lot. So I—I just—I ran. I pushed him out of the way at first, but the van was coming at such a bad angle, I had to actually stop it—"
I broke off, then went on, determined to redeem myself, "No one saw it—no one except for him, and I don't think anyone will believe whatever he might say. I'm sorry to have put us all in danger, Carine, it just—I felt like there wasn't a choice."
Carine was silent for a moment, and I still couldn't look at her.
At last, she said softly, "You felt like there wasn't a choice. I suppose... you were afraid that if his blood was spilled on the parking lot, you might be overcome."
Before I could stop it, my eyes rose to meet hers. Her words seemed to echo my own thoughts just a moment before. The temptation of his blood was constant, overpowering—if I had actually seen his blood, I probably would have found myself hurtling across the parking lot for a very different reason. The others couldn't argue with that logic, even Royal. One smaller risk to stop a much bigger one. The lesser of two evils.
It was the easy explanation—easier than the truth. Easier than admitting the other thing I had realized. As I'd flown across the parking lot, such a calculation had been the last thing on my mind. I had chosen a nearly perfect stranger, a human, over my own family.
I stared back at Carine, and she could read the confusion, the terror in my eyes. "No," I whispered. "No, I just... I couldn't let... I just couldn't let it happen."
Carine gazed back at me for a moment longer. Then she smiled, an almost radiant expression. She reached up and touched my face. I'm proud of you, Edythe. You did the right thing. She shook her head. I'm sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion at first.
I shook my head at her apology. She didn't need to apologize to me—how could she trust me when I couldn't trust myself? However, at her thoughts, I felt suddenly lighter, and I returned the smile reluctantly. I felt like if Carine was behind my decision, I could take whatever I got from the others.
However, it wasn't a moment before my expression was serious again, back to business mode. "But he knows something now," I admitted again. "He knows that I'm not normal. I couldn't get him to dismiss it as shock or trauma."
"That doesn't matter," Carine said softly. "We can leave if we have to. What has he said?"
I sighed. "I'm watching him now, but he hasn't said anything to anyone, at least not yet. He's been repeating my version of the events. But that's only because I said I would give him an explanation later."
"Hmm," Carine murmured.
"He hit his head, though," I said. "It will be easy to discredit anything he might say."
Yes, Carine agreed, a little reluctantly. We'll see if it comes to that. For now let's wait and see... I'll go take a look at him.
I touched her arm as she passed. "Please..." I hesitated. "Really look at his head. I'm afraid I might have hurt him."
Carine paused, taking in my expression. I could see my own face in her mind, intense with worry. I could hear her silent question, wondering what it meant, but she didn't direct it at me, and I pretended not to hear. But it made her glad.
"Don't worry," she said, smiling. "I will take good care of him."
As she headed down the hall, I could hear her wonder and delighted amusement, pondering the irony—today I had gone from being the greatest danger to him to saving his life.
I chuckled a little myself, but it was humorless. Because there was no doubt the first part, van notwithstanding, was still entirely true.
I waited alone in Carine's office, listening to the babble of thoughts through the entire hospital. The minutes seemed to creep by with interminable slowness.
Taylor Crowley, the van's driver, seemed to be the much worse off of the two of them, and attention shifted to her while Beau was waiting his turn to be X-rayed. Carine didn't examine him herself yet, choosing instead to trust the PA's diagnosis that his injuries were very minor. She thought it better to minimize contact for now, especially so soon after the event—there was no doubt when he laid eyes on her he would immediately pick up on the family resemblance, compounding suspicion on top of suspicion. As much as I was anxious for Carine to have a look at him, I knew it was better to go slow—wait until things had calmed down and there wasn't so much scrutiny and activity around him.
I was tense, however, as Taylor Crowley's stretcher was brought into the ER, to the bed right beside Beau's. Despite the lacerations on her own face, all her attention was on Beau, and she was uttering a nonstop string of profuse apologies. Beau, who did not like attention, especially not this kind of attention, kept trying to politely curtail her, but she seemed determined to keep on going.
I stiffened slightly when she asked unexpectedly, "How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone..."
I listened intently for his response.
"Umm..." he began.
He paused for so long Taylor wondered if he hadn't understood the question, and I wondered if he somehow knew I was listening, and he thought leaving me in tortured suspense was a good first step to payback. Finally, he said, "Edythe shoved me out of the way."
I let out a sigh, relieved, for the moment. However, I was distracted. A thrill like an electric charge went through me—and I realized I'd never heard him say my name before. Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself going to the door of the office. I hesitated there. I had the strangest desire to to go down to the ER, though that didn't seem entirely wise for obvious reasons.
Taylor didn't know what he meant, and he said it again, this time with emphasis. "Edythe Cullen—she was standing next to me."
Taylor's thoughts were a bit disorganized, perhaps more affected by the shock of the crash than she seemed. "Edythe?" Weird. "I didn't see her..." I could have sworn Beau was on his own there, but... "Wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?"
I saw his face through Taylor's mind, and though Taylor didn't notice, I saw a sharpening in his eyes—another confirmation of what he already knew.
"I think so," he said, answering her question. "She's here somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher." The resentment was palpable, but Taylor seemingly wasn't one for picking up on subtleties. She was also a bit distracted, her attention suddenly on his face.
I never noticed before, but he's kind of cute, she thought. Quiet guys aren't usually my type, but—well, I did just about kill him. I wonder if he'd let me do something to try to make up...
I found myself slipping out the office door and I was about halfway to the emergency room before my senses returned to me and I wondered exactly what I was doing. I watched the nurse at the far end of the hall enter the room, to retrieve Beau to do X-rays. I drew back around the corner, retreating into the shadows of a nook while I tried to piece together what on earth was the matter with me.
I didn't like Taylor's thoughts. They made me feel... what was it? Irritable? Frustrated? They made me want to go and put an immediate stop to the conversation. Was it the vaguely scheming tone of her thoughts, or the fact she seemed to regard him as simply one among many? That shouldn't affect me. How many thoughts had I listened to involving obscenely tangled and complicated dating relationships and love lives, all deception and conniving and impure motives? And I'd never once felt the slightest impulse to meddle.
I stayed where I was, my arms folded, trying to concentrate and figure out what it was getting under my skin. I kept still for what felt like far too long, until I was buzzing with restlessness. I forced myself to turn away from the direction of the ER, and instead I slipped off to the radiology room.
I took a cursory look at his X-rays when the nurse turned his back. They were clear of damage—I breathed deeply, and even the sterile hospital room already burned with the hint of the flavor of his scent, from when he had been here not long ago. I was more relieved than I expected. The sound of his skull hitting the asphalt as I shoved him out of the way... it would probably never be out of my mind. But at least I knew now I hadn't actually hurt him.
Carine was coming down the hall, and she caught me there. Her eyes took in the change in my face and a hint of a smile touched her lips.
You look better, she noted. A moment later saw what had me in a better mood, and her smile widened. She stuck the X-rays to the lightboard, though I didn't really need to see them again.
Well done, Edythe.
Again, I didn't react to the praise, but this time it was because my reaction was mixed. I felt warm, happy—there was no one whose approval I wanted more than Carine's. But it made me feel guilty, too. Because as I looked at the X-rays, I knew I was going to do something reckless, and I had a feeling she wouldn't approve of it—at least if she knew what my real motivations were.
Wasn't I supposed to be running away?
"I think I'm just going to go down and talk to him—before he sees you," I murmured under my breath. "Act natural, smooth things over..."
Carine nodded absently, her eyes still on the X-rays. "I think that's an excellent idea." She paused, something on the X-rays catching her interest.
I glanced over to see what she was looking at.
My, look at all these healed contusions. Either he had a very careless mother, or his luck is so poor it borders on extraordinary.
"I'd go for the luck option," I muttered back, too low for anyone to hear. "He has a gift for being at the wrong place at the wrong time."
She glanced briefly at me, then looked away again. That's certainly true. I knew what she meant, which she didn't add in mental words. Any place was wrong for him, so long as I was there.
I looked away quickly.
"I'll see you later, Carine," I murmured, turning.
Carine nodded, still looking at the X-rays. I'll be there soon.
I strode quickly away, and my pricked conscience faded to the background for the moment as my thoughts turned instead to the ER.
There, Taylor was still apologizing, though more quietly now. After trying unsuccessfully to convince her he was fine, he'd finally resorted to pretending to sleep to escape. His eyes were closed, but his breathing wasn't even, and there was an obvious tension in his torso as he concentrated on staying still.
For a moment, my eyes were riveted to his face. I was leaving after today. I realized this was the last time I would see him, and the finality of the thought, the abruptness, made me feel weak. I shook my head. I needed to get a grip. I had a job to do.
At last, I took a breath through my mouth and stepped into view.
Taylor saw me and she opened her mouth to speak, but I put a finger to my lips.
"Is he sleeping?" I asked softly.
His eyes opened immediately, to find me standing at the end of his bed. They widened briefly with surprise, then narrowed, his mouth set in a firm line. Irritated—perhaps because he was still in a hospital bed, suffering through neverending apologies, and I was up walking around, or because he was suddenly remembering what he had seen and impatient for that explanation I'd promised.
My smile widened, and the brief spell of melancholia from a second before faded to the back of my mind. I realized I rather enjoyed the subtle look of irritation he was directing at me now—too subtle for Taylor to pick up—and I wondered why that was. Maybe this was a new side of myself I'd never seen. Did I just enjoy needling people?
Taylor tried to insert herself into the moment. "Hey, um, Edythe, I'm really sorry—"
Without moving my eyes, I raised a hand to stop her before she could build up any momentum.
"No blood, no foul," I said, smiling a little too widely at the inside joke. Funny, how Taylor's fresh, exposed blood wasn't even the remotest temptation at the moment. I'd always wondered how Carine was able to ignore the blood of her patients in order to treat them, how she kept it from being a distraction, but now I thought I understood. It wasn't so tempting when you were focusing hard enough on something else. And besides, her blood wasn't nearly so appealing as I once might have found it, not by comparison.
I decided it was better to keep my distance, and I circled around to sit near the end of Taylor's mattress, my back to her, facing him. I liked that—physically shutting her out of the conversation, especially since her plans to make up were rapidly becoming more defined.
"So, what's the verdict?" I asked, as if I didn't already know.
His arms were folded. "There's nothing wrong with me, but they won't let me go," he muttered. He spoke low and soft enough that it took some of the edge off the annoyance. He added, voice light but the note of frustration still there, "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"
I could hear Carine in the hall now. I knew I had a part to play, keep things light, natural. I probably should have said something safe and polite, but the look on his face only made me want to tease him a little more.
"It's all about who you know," I said, smiling, knowing this would only irritate him further—me, using my connections to gain unfair advantages. I added to pacify him, "But don't worry, I came to spring you."
He didn't have time to respond as at that moment Carine entered the room and he did an almost comical doubletake.
I watched his reaction carefully, and it was clear from the way he first stared in dumb surprise, quickly followed by that familiar keen sharpening in his eyes, that he had indeed taken distinct note of the family resemblance.
"So, Mr. Swan, how are you feeling?" Carine asked. Her soft, soothing demeanor generally always put patients at ease—Carine's skill as a doctor was far more than her lifetimes of experience and centuries of medical study and knowledge.
"I'm fine," he answered.
Carine had brought his X-rays along and now she clipped them to the lightboard beside the bed. They glowed in smokey black and white.
"Your X-rays look good," she said. "Does your head hurt? Edythe said you hit it pretty hard."
"It's fine," he said again, sighing, clearly getting tired of repeating this, especially after talking to Taylor. He glanced in my direction with an expression that was hard to interpret, but I didn't meet his gaze.
Carine stepped forward. With the tips of her fingers, she examined his scalp, searching for injuries at the point of impact. Standard procedure.
I'd seen Carine do her work with humans a thousand times at least—I'd even assisted her informally at times, at least in cases where there was no blood involved. So I was unprepared for the sudden emotion that swept through me as I watched the tips of her fingers move lightly over his skull.
Carine's control was unrivaled—she could touch any of her human patients without the slightest fear she would ever hurt them by accident.
My fingers flexed unconsciously, and it took all my concentration to keep my posture relaxed, to keep my sudden restlessness from showing. I was suddenly picturing myself, standing in Carine's place, gently running the tips of my fingers over his head, to make sure he wasn't hurt... How easy would it be to crush his skull by accident?
The thought had me sitting absolutely still, to stop the shudder from rippling down my spine.
He suddenly winced, despite her delicate touch, which brought me back to the present.
"Tender?" she asked softly.
He shrugged, nonchalant. "Not really."
I couldn't stop the low laugh that escaped me. I really thought I was starting to get to know how he thought, at least bits and pieces. He didn't like attention, he didn't like to make a big deal out of things. If he was hurt, he didn't like to have an audience. Though he wasn't at all concerned with proving how intelligent or tough he was, he didn't like to show weakness, either.
He glanced back at me, his expression still showing traces of annoyance, though it was more wary now, uncertain.
"Well," Carine said. "Your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."
"Can't I go back to school?" he asked. He sounded almost desperate.
Carine and I were both thinking the same thing—better to keep him from having contact with the other students for now, give things a chance to cool down and for me to circulate my version as much as possible first. But I wondered, what reason could he have for wanting to go back? Surely most would welcome any opportunity for a free afternoon, and for him, surely he would want to put off the inevitable attention as long as possible. Was he worried about his grades? He had to know after something like this the teachers would all cut him a fair amount of slack.
I turned my eyes back on him again, studying his face. Had I completely misjudged him? Was he eager to get to school so he could talk about the extraordinary things he had seen?
"Maybe you should take it easy today," Carine suggested, gently, but with a doctor's authority.
He glanced at me, almost accusing. "Does she get to go to school?"
I smiled brightly. "Someone has to spread the good news we survived."
Carine didn't react, but I could sense her surprise at my tone. She searched for the right word—Joking? Informal? We all normally kept a cool barrier of staunch politeness between us and the other students, above reproach, but not approachable. We didn't joke around or engage in verbal repartee, at least with our fellow students. Nothing that might make others feel more comfortable around us. My almost teasing tone seemed out of the ordinary.
She was right of course—at the moment, I was playing the part of a normal high school student, but it was a different part than I normally played. I was acting more like... more like what?
Myself? Like I acted around my family? That didn't seem quite right either.
Carine said, smiling a little, "Actually, most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."
I was confident I knew his likely response to this information, and he didn't disappoint.
"Ugh," he groaned.
"Do you want to stay?" Carine asked.
"No, no!" he answered quickly, emphatically, and he turned on the bed, getting to his feet a little faster than seemed safe, given how long he had been laying there. Predictably, he staggered.
I tensed, but I didn't need to worry as Carine was there, and she caught him.
Again, I felt that strange emotion, as her arms went out with no effort—so easy, so natural, without a hint of fear.
"I'm fine," he insisted before she could say anything, his face going slightly red—I looked away.
"Take some Tylenol for the pain," she said as he straightened, more careful this time.
He shrugged again. "It doesn't hurt that bad."
"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," she said, smiling as she signed his chart.
"Lucky Edythe just happened to be standing next to me," he said. He had turned his gaze back to me, to stare at me with penetrating eyes.
"Oh, well, yes," said Carine, and she understood his tone every bit as well as I did.
Good luck, Edythe, she thought. She turned her attention to Taylor, saying, "I'm afraid you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer..."
So, it was up to me now. Wonderful.
Almost as though he had read my mind, the moment Carine turned away, he came straight up to me.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked in a low voice. His face was set, determined.
He had never shown this much initiative before, and it made me uneasy, but more than that, when he leaned close I felt his warm breath wash across my face. I would have thought I would have to get used to it eventually—the agony of the burning appeal of his blood unlike any other—but every time the air touched the back of my throat it seemed to hit me like the first time. Overwhelming, enough to drive me insane. Venom rose in my mouth and the familiar images filled my mind, having the taste of the hot blood on my tongue—
I forced myself to take a step back, my jaw clenched.
"Your father is waiting for you," I said through my teeth.
He glanced toward Carine and Taylor—neither seemed to be paying us any mind, but I knew Carine was monitoring my every twitch.
Be careful, Edythe, Carine cautioned. Gently.
Carine was right, of course—I was being too abrupt, and that made it seem all the more like I had something to hide. But I didn't see how I was going to conceal that now.
It took me a minute to get enough of a handle on my thirst to think clearly. I wanted to avoid this conversation, but it was clear I wasn't at liberty to do so. It had to happen eventually—it might as well be sooner rather than later.
Finally I turned away from him and strode swiftly down the length of the long room to the exit. The short hallway outside was empty—a good a place as any.
He fought to keep up with me, his footfalls stumbling and uncertain behind me. I didn't look at him, working myself up to what I knew I had to do.
It was obvious I wasn't going to talk my way out of this using logic, make him think he'd been seeing things. But he was quiet, mild-mannered—if I was just hostile enough, mean enough, I might be able to push him into backing down. He naturally shied away from conflict. So I was going to play the bad guy.
And this was going to be his last memory of me.
I turned sharply to face him. "What do you want?" I demanded, aggressive.
Just as I'd predicted, at my sudden antagonism he seemed to lose some of his nerve. However, he swallowed and said in a slightly wavering voice, "You owe me an explanation."
"I saved your life," I snapped. "I don't owe you anything."
He shrank back a little at the accusation in my voice, the resentment. He said quietly, "Why are you acting like this?"
"Beau," I said, injecting as much condescending derision into the use of the first name as I could, "You hit your head. You don't know what you're talking about." I wasn't trying to convince him he was delusional—I knew full well there was little hope of that. This was all about intimidation. To come across so angry he was afraid to press the subject any further—he didn't like confrontation, and I would use that.
"There's nothing wrong with my head," he said, weakly, but his eyes were carefully studying my expression. He knew my strange behavior was only more confirmation of the strange things he had seen today, not that he needed any.
I pushed harder—more anger, more hostility. As though the only thing I wanted in the world was to make him afraid to even talk to me.
"What do you want from me, Beau?" I said viciously, again using his first name like a weapon.
I expected him to wilt under my intensity—after all, how could he answer that? But for some reason, the open-ended question seemed to steady him.
"I want to know the truth," he said evenly. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."
It was a good answer, and a legitimate point, but I didn't let any sign of surprise or acknowledgment show on my face. I was committed to my bad-guy persona, and the only thing I could do was keep pushing, try to beat and bully him into backing down.
"What do you think happened?" I said, with biting derision.
He hesitated. His eyes dropped for a moment. He had to know what he had to say sounded insane. Maybe he was finally done fighting—maybe I'd finally gotten through, and broken his determination.
However, when he looked up again, his gaze was steady, and when he spoke, the words came out fast and strong.
"I know you weren't standing next to me—Taylor didn't see you either, so it's not concussion damage. That van was going to crush us both—but it didn't. It looked like your hands left dents in the side of it—and your shoulders left a dent in the other car, but you're not hurt at all. The van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up..." He trailed off. He knew he'd said enough. He didn't speak angrily or defiantly, or wildly. His voice was calm, rational—just statements of fact.
My face was incredulous, but internally I was stunned. In those few moments of madness, he had seen absolutely everything, down to the last detail. It was no wonder I couldn't talk him into writing it off as head-trauma-induced hallucinations.
He was waiting for me to respond.
"You think I lifted a van off you?" I demanded, with convincing disbelief.
He didn't answer, only nodded.
I couldn't keep denying it anymore. It was pointless. But I still knew how to win this conversation.
I suddenly smiled, my lip curling into a sneer. "Nobody will believe that, you know." Just listening to his account of events, it was true, and we both knew it.
He looked down, shrugging. "I'm not going to tell anybody."
I blinked, and for a moment my mask slipped. I studied his face, and I knew at once that he meant it.
"Then why does it matter?" I asked in a low voice.
He straightened his shoulders. "It matters to me," he said, voice stronger, though still quiet. "I don't like to lie—so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."
This seemed reasonable—more reasonable than I would have expected. Blindly lying for someone you barely knew when they refused to even give you a reason... When he put it like that, I could almost understand why he was so adamant. However, telling the truth was not an option.
"Can't you just thank me and get over it?" I asked harshly.
"Thank you," he said. He folded his arms, and seemed set to weather any more verbal attacks I directed his way. He was like a ship, tossed this way and that in turbulent waters, but he'd suddenly dropped anchor and now he was set to wait out the storm.
"You're not going to let it go, are you?" I said, my incredulity not entirely an act this time.
"Nope."
I let out a frustrated breath. I glared at him. Stubborn or not, it wasn't going to get him anywhere. Because even if I didn't owe it to my family to keep our secret, I wouldn't have told him anything. He could make up any old story about us for all I cared—because there was nothing worse, nothing more horrifying, than the truth. I was a monster from a nightmare.
"In that case... I hope you enjoy disappointment."
I glared at him, my face hard, furious. And I realized for the first time I really was furious—furious at the thought of him ever finding out the creature, the beast I really was, furious at the danger I had now exposed my family to, and furious for other reasons I couldn't begin to guess.
He gazed back into my face, studying my expression. At last he said quietly, "If you were going to be like this about it, why did you even bother?"
The question caught me off guard. I felt my mask, the role I was playing, slip, and the real anger faded. I stared at him, not sure how to answer. Maybe because it was the question I had been asking myself. Because it was the right thing to do? Because Carine said that every life was precious, worth protecting, and I wanted to do what she would have had me do if she had been there?
If I was being honest, I knew that wasn't true. If it had been Jeremy standing behind that truck, or McKayla, or even Allen Weber, nice a boy as he was—would I have done the same? Would I have raced across the parking lot, risked exposing my family and bringing the wrath of the Volturi down upon us to save them?
No. I wouldn't. Because as much as I might have regretted seeing a lost life when I might have done something to prevent it, I accepted that humans died all the time, and we couldn't interfere except in the ways Carine interfered, in human ways. We couldn't risk the safety of our entire coven every time a human was in danger, I owed my family better than that.
But in that moment, when I crossed the parking lot, I knew I had chosen him over my family.
Why? He was just a human, and a stranger. Why had I done it?
"I don't know," I said at last, my voice no more than a whisper, and for once it was a completely honest answer.
I stared for a moment longer into his face, studying the way his brow furrowed with confusion, his mouth slightly turned down in a frown of thought. Then I turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the hall.
A/N: And, that's it for now. Next chapter is a fun one, definitely looking forward to working on it.
Thanks for reading, and for all your thoughts last chapter. If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and see you next time!
Posted 6/19/18