A/N: Hey! Back again!
I said last time that I was thinking of moving more toward a four-week schedule to give myself more time on Breaking Dawn, but as I got into the editing on this particular chapter, I decided to delay that by at least the next couple chapters. (I'd completely forgotten that somewhere along the line I'd decided to split this chapter from the original Midnight Sun into two for length, and I'd just feel bad about myself if I started stretching things out now.) But anyway, more on that at the end.
Definitely been looking forward to getting to these chapters here—hope you enjoy, and see you on the other side!
Chapter 9: Port Angeles
When I reached Port Angeles, it was still too bright to drive into town. Though my windows were tinted dark, I didn't want to take any more unnecessary risks than I already had, and Archie's vision of Patricia and Charles's chosen direction did make me feel a little more relaxed.
I was certain I'd be able to find Jeremy's thoughts from a distance. Familiarity made particular minds easier to find, and I was unfortunately very familiar with Jeremy's thoughts. And once I found Jeremy's louder thoughts, it would be easy to find Allen nearby, whose mind I preferred to inhabit by miles.
It had been a little while since they arrived, so likely they would have already gotten their corsages and gone, but I decided to check the florist's first. There was really only one place in town I expected most of the the students would go, which made it easy.
To my faint surprise, they were all still there. Though Allen had long ago decided what he would get, Jeremy kept going back and forth, talking to the woman behind the counter.
Yeah, she's right, he was thinking. I definitely don't want to go yellow. But would red seem like I was coming on too strong? What about pink? What color is McKayla even wearing, were we supposed to coordinate? Dang it, I should have asked her.
He turned. "Hey, Beau, what do you think?"
Beau was standing nearby, pretending to look over some of the flower displays, though he was clearly beginning to look a little bored.
"Umm, I don't know if it matters that much. I'm sure McKayla will like whatever you get."
Jeremy shrugged. "Maybe you're right." However, as Beau turned away again, he eyed him with suspicion. Does he really think that? Or is he hoping it'll be a flop? Now that McKayla's paying attention to someone else, maybe you're not so indifferent now, huh? Too bad, you missed the boat, she's all about me now...
His mind filled with all the lewd daydreams about Mckayla that were never far, and I wrinkled my nose, already tired of listening to Jeremy. I shifted to Allen, but Jeremy was taking so long he was in search of a bathroom, and I left him alone to his business.
It seemed like Jeremy would have them there awhile—he hadn't even started looking at ribbon colors yet—and I decided there probably wasn't a whole lot of danger in a florist's shop. I could leave them to themselves for awhile, then catch up with them when they were done. It wouldn't be long until it was dark—the clouds were already starting their inevitable return, drifting in from the west. I caught glimpses of them through the trees.
The sight of the them excited me like nothing else. With the return of the shadows, I could go out, pretend to be human again. I could sit beside him in school, monopolize all his attention at lunch and ask him all the new questions I'd saved up. I wondered if he would be more cheerful when he saw my car in the parking lot...
I tried to fill up the time imagining tomorrow, what I would say, what he might say, but if anything that only made me more impatient.
The time crawled by at a snail's pace as I waited for the shadows to lengthen. I checked in periodically with Jeremy, but he was still filled with fantasies about McKayla and I didn't like to linger there too long.
My impatience was growing more pronounced. For a little while, I entertained myself with the idea of calling Archie, then coincidentally choosing the same movie, at the same time. For a moment I actually considered it, touching the phone in my pocket. However, I knew if I did that, Archie would expect to be allowed to talk to him, which I definitely wasn't ready for. Wasn't one vampire in his life bad enough? Not to mention Beau, observant as he was, might think the coincidence a little too incredible, and begin to suspect that I was stalking him. That was a conversation I most definitely preferred to avoid.
I checked in with Jeremy again. He was thinking about some video game he had gotten.
"Maybe I should take it back," he was saying to Allen. "I was supposed to just be using this money for the dance..." If my dad finds out, I am so screwed, he thought. Will he believe I really spent that much on just a corsage?
Allen shrugged. "We can go back, if you want. You think Beau might be looking for us though?"
I froze. He wasn't with them?
I gazed through Jeremy's eyes first, then Allen's. They were standing on the sidewalk in front of a row of shops. Alone. Beau was nowhere in sight.
Jeremy was annoyed. "He said he'd meet us at the theater, he probably won't be there until it's about time to start. We have plenty of time." Wonder where he went anyway, he thought. An errand? Oh well, who cares.
I gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly, searching Jeremy's thoughts, trying to find something to indicate where he might have gone. But, Jeremy clearly didn't know anything. I switched to Allen, but Beau hadn't been all that specific to him, either.
I mentally swore. Wandering off without telling at least one person where he was going? Wasn't he supposed to be more responsible than that?
He was probably just fine. I knew Eleanor would have said I was overreacting, but I couldn't help feeling a bit edgy. Without him in sight, I had no way of knowing for certain if he was all right.
I hesitated, glancing toward the west. The sun would be behind the clouds soon enough. And if I stayed on the west side of the road, where the buildings would shade the street from the fading light...
As I made my way into town, driving through the sparse traffic, I berated myself. This was something I should have anticipated. Or I should have been paying closer attention at the very least. Some bodyguard I was.
I knew Port Angeles well, and I went to the florist's shop first, though I knew he wouldn't have gone back there. Maybe if I could pick up his scent, I could follow where he had gone.
When I reached the florist's, I was relieved to find a patch of shade to park in. The sun was angled just right, so that the shadow made a pathway all the way to the shop's overhang.
For a minute I sat in the car, debating. This was dangerous—it was still daylight, and a passing car could throw the sun's reflection up into the shade at exactly the wrong moment.
I gripped the steering wheel. I had to risk it. Finding him was the most important thing right now.
Cautiously, I got out of the car, staying close to the deepest part of the shadows. I came to a stop in front of the florist's. I inhaled deeply, and I immediately picked up his scent—I would know it anywhere, the way it seared my throat and lungs.
I knew instantly he had gone in the opposite direction of the video game store. I followed his scent, one block, then another, until I came to a stop in front of what looked like a new age bookstore. I approached the door, and I could detect his scent on the handle, but as I pushed it open briefly, I could tell he hadn't gone inside. The middle-aged man behind the counter opened his mouth to welcome me, but by then I was already gone.
I continued on, until I reached a point where it seemed he had crossed to the other side of the street, and there the path of shadows ended. I couldn't go further without finding myself directly in the fading sunlight.
I retreated back to my car, turning it around and heading up the street past the bookstore.
Several times I found patches of shade and got out to find his scent again. However, I only grew more and more bewildered. He seemed to be going south, but there really wasn't much in that direction. What kind of errand was he trying to run? Or had he gotten lost?
At some point I lost the trail, and I wondered if perhaps he had turned around and gone back. It was still a bit early to meet at the theater, but maybe he would choose to be there ahead of time, to make sure the others wouldn't have to wait for him.
I headed back in that direction, but as soon as I got out of the car, I knew he hadn't been there. I drove back to the florist's, then back to the theater again, and this time when I got out I had to duck away quickly, as Allen and Jeremy were walking up now—it was close to starting time.
I was on the verge of panic now. If he was coming to the theater, he would certainly be there by now. Either he had gotten lost, or... something had happened.
"This—blasted—sunlight," I said through gritted teeth as I raced my car through the streets. It would be simple to track him if I was on foot. But it was impossible, hopping from one patch of shade to the next, hemmed in on all sides by prison bars of sun.
I began flitting through the minds of strangers, searching for his face. Surely someone had to have seen him somewhere. I couldn't believe I hadn't considered how difficult it would be to find him when, as now, he was away from his friends and off any of his normal paths. The peculiar silence of his mind was a protection from me, but severely complicated my protecting him.
My eyes flickered toward the west. The clouds were massing on the horizon now—very soon the cursed sunlight would be gone and I would be free to track him on foot. When the sunlight was gone, the advantage would be mine once again, and it would be the human world that was powerless.
Trivial human thoughts flickered through my mind in a blur.
...crying, could it be another ear infection?
...late again! She knows she's on her last...
...sure it was four-seven-one, or was it four-one-seven?
...cripes, it's a cop.
I paused on that last thought. Relief flooded through me as I saw his face—someone had seen him. Now I just had to follow the mind until I could get an exact location.
Doesn't have his partner with him this time, though, the thoughts continued. He's the newbie of the two, that much is for sure—we can take care of him.
I listened, as the tone of the thoughts turned from fear to relaxation, even anticipation. It was a woman. I looked through her eyes at the dark back alley in which she stood, now all moving swiftly. It was a rundown place, deserted—not a good part of town.
As I read her intentions, I felt my insides turn to ice, then fire—rage, unlike anything I had ever felt, pulsed through me. My foot slammed into the gas pedal, pushing it all the way to the floor and I was suddenly tearing through the streets. But I didn't know where I was going—I knew the general location, but the woman's current thoughts were not specific enough. The place was shadowy, ill-kept, and outside the normal shopping district—but there were no identifying signs close by.
As I raced, I listened to the woman's sickening mind, and the story began to slowly come together.
It was a dark part of town, away from the bustle of normal people and tourists. A good place to sell her goods—crack cocaine was her specialty, but she had worked in pot, meth, and even Ecstasy, on occasion.
The moment she had seen the young guy pass by on the other side of the street, she immediately recognized him—she'd seen him at the airport, with his partner in full dress uniform. Obviously he was the junior partner. He must have been following them.
She'd felt an initial quiver of fear, but it was soon replaced with glee. A lone cop, stumbled into her territory—this would be fun, and it would earn her some respect from the other dealers. No one would dare try to muscle in on her territory after this...
This wouldn't be her first murder. How many homeless bums who couldn't pay up for their hits had she and the boys taken out behind a warehouse and shot? But this would be her first cop. She was thrilled, excited—finally, one in the eye to the smug, pompous hypocrites of law enforcement.
She was cornering him now. I desperately looked through her eyes, searching for some identifying marker of the location. A chain link fence topped with barbed wire, piles of engine parts, the back of a warehouse—the industrial sector, toward the south. But the area was too large, the images too vague. I needed more.
"Hey, pig," the woman called.
He slowed, and half turned his head. His face was wary, rather than confused. Observant as he was, he must have guessed the illegal nature of what was taking place.
"What?" he asked. "I'm sorry, do you mean me?" Playing ignorant. Smart—except for the fact he was a terrible actor.
"Sorry?" sneered the woman, her thoughts briefly flicking back to their previous encounter. "Is that your favorite word or something?"
He was backing away as she approached, a hint of fear in his eyes now. His gaze shifted away from her to something beside her.
A harsh male voice added, "Aren't you gonna call for backup, Officer?"
The woman wasn't alone—I should have realized, in all her memories of killing, she always had at least one or two with her to do the dirty work.
As Beau tried to argue that he wasn't a cop, I expanded my scan, and found two others, both men, as experienced in underworld dealings as she was.
Beau made a sudden movement—half-tripping over some invisible object, as always—and one of the men pulled a gun.
My breathing stopped. However, as the one man drew the weapon, it made the other one nervous. He glanced to the side, looking for anyone who might be watching, and in that instant, his eyes fell on a cross street I recognized.
I took a hairpin turn at sixty miles an hour, and blew through a stop light, sliding between two cars with barely feet to spare. By the time their horns had time to blare, they were far behind me.
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, but I didn't answer. I had a feeling I knew who it was.
I could still hear the voices in my head, see his face—he was backed up to the chain link fence, his hands in the air. The two men were arguing. The shorter man—he just went by the name Ed—thought it unwise to murder a kid if they didn't have to. If he was just some cop's kid, and not a cop... The taller one—Arnie Stoker—was convinced Beau was lying through his teeth, trying to save his skin.
It was the woman who decided things. I saw her cold smile through the eyes of the other two, her eyes gleaming with a wild relish. "How's that pirate song go?" she asked softly. "Dead men tell no tales."
I saw him through her eyes—saw the color drain from his face as he understood what was about to happen. He tried to deny it—he wasn't going to say anything because there was nothing to tell.
But there was nothing he could say. She was already decided. It didn't matter whether he was a cop or just a cop's kid like he said. In her mind, it was nice to have a bit of entertainment once in a while, to relieve the tedium of everyday life on the streets. Something to change up the routine.
"My wallet's right here in my pocket," he tried, voice cracking, his eyes desperate. "There's not much in it, but you're welcome to it..." He tried to reach for his wallet, but the tall man tensed, lifting the gun barrel an inch.
"We need to keep this quiet," Ed snapped—he was the most pragmatic, least reckless of the group. He had spent eight years of his life in prison, and he wasn't eager to go back, especially not for murdering a cop's kid. "Put the gun away."
Arnie hesitated, and didn't drop the gun.
Ed started forward, an old rusted pipe in hand. Head first, he thought. Then he won't have time to scream.
Beau's expression had changed. The fear was gone, his face smooth, in a look of concentration. Or acceptance?
Ed raised the pipe.
I was a block away now, and I pushed the accelerator to the floor. The sun had dropped below the cloud cover now, and my mind was perfectly clear as I absorbed every horrific detail—the twisted old pipe in the fading light, the sickening collage of thoughts from the attackers, Beau's pale but determined face as it appeared from three different angles—and most of all, the terror sharpening to a point in my chest, as it filled my mind with a silent scream—
They heard the low growl of my accelerating engine and the screech of my tires against the pavement, and everyone froze in place a moment before I appeared, taking the turn at such a speed I felt the frame groan, and nearly lifted up onto two wheels. Next moment my headlights lit the scene I had only caught fragments of in the eyes of the assailants. I took in everything in an instant, the woman and her two accomplices, Arnie still holding the gun and standing a little ways away, Beau standing with his back pressed to the chain link fence, and Ed, who I saw had extensive tattoos on both sides of his neck, feet from Beau, old pipe in hand.
I took aim at the immediate threat first, going straight at him.
Ed had squinted at the sudden light, half raising a hand to block it, and now he stared in disbelief, for a moment unable to react. He didn't really think I would keep going; his instinct told him I would stop at the last minute, or swerve around him.
I stared at him, the pipe in his hand, and I remembered again the image of his plans as he had envisioned them in his mind. Then I envisioned what I was going to do. I pictured how it would feel, when the front bumper struck his soft body. The way the momentum would carry his body up, over the windshield, the way he would fly over the top of the car, the crunch of his bones as they snapped like twigs when his broken body struck the ground on the other side. I inched the accelerator down a hair.
His eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen and at the last possible second, he hurled himself out of my path, avoiding collision by inches. He slammed into the chain link fence, filling the air with a metallic rattling.
Beau had flattened himself against the fence, apparently afraid he was next, or perhaps even that he was the target. First thing was first—I had to make sure he was safe. Then I would deal with the others.
I twisted the wheel hard as I hit the brake, spinning the car so the passenger door was closest to Beau, and reaching over to shove it open.
"Get in," I hissed at him.
Almost as though he had been expecting me all along, without hesitation he threw himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him.
The moment he was inside, I felt the terrible, overwhelming panic vanish. I had him with me now. He was safe.
Now, there was business to attend to.
He was yelling at me. "Drive, Edythe, get out of here! He's got a gun!"
I barely heard him. I stared out the front windshield. For the moment, most of them were too stunned for much coherent thought. Was I a cop, called in as backup? However, Ed was already doubting it. Cops didn't try to run people down. A rival supplier?
I heard their thoughts without really caring. Instead, I made several quick calculations. It would take three seconds to kill them. I could snap each of their necks without spilling their blood—I didn't want to risk getting any part of them inside me. Arnie, who was still holding the gun would be first, and then the man with the pipe next. The woman—the others seemed to avoid thinking her name, or perhaps didn't even know it—was armed like the others, but had no weapons out at the moment, and would be last.
I hoped she had a quick enough mind that she would see what was coming for her. For the other two, killing the kid was just a necessary course of action, something one just did in this line of work to cover all the bases, keep from getting shipped off to prison. But the woman—she was positively exultant at the prospect. She took pleasure in the thought of killing a cop, or the son of a cop. I wanted her to suffer, even if it was only for a moment.
Once that was done, I would get Beau to a safe place, then I would come back and dispose of the bodies. They would simply disappear, never to be heard from again. Maybe some of the addicts who relied on her as their supplier would miss her, but it wouldn't be that suspicious. People in this line of work disappeared all the time. No one would have any reason to suspect anything... unnatural.
"Keep your head down," I ordered. There was no chance any bullets would reach him—at this close distance I could reach out and catch a bullet if I had to—but this wasn't something I wanted him to see.
I opened the car door.
I was already moving when I felt a hand close around my wrist. I felt the heat even though my jacket.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, and he sounded almost angry. "Drive!"
My eyes flickered for a moment, down to his hand, then returned to the dark figures I saw beyond the windshield. They were still blinded by my headlights, and couldn't see clearly enough to get a shot in, but that wouldn't last long. Better if I got this done as soon as possible—it would be slightly conspicuous to drive back to Forks in a car with the windows blown out and bullet holes in the seats.
The woman's eyes were beginning to adjust, and she could just make out the dark outline of my small figure in the driver's seat. She looked uncertain for a moment. Beneath calculations of whether I was a cop to the rescue or another drug boss taking advantage of the situation, she had an instinctual, gut feeling she couldn't explain—a nameless fear she couldn't rationally understand. She still couldn't make out my face in the glare of the headlights, but perhaps so much time living on gratification of her basest instincts had sharpened her most bestial senses. Deep down, perhaps her subconscious mind knew what her conscious mind had not yet grasped.
She was about to die.
However, Beau had still not let go of my arm.
I could have pulled away—his fingers were weak and human, and couldn't hold me. And yet, I didn't move. I couldn't.
"Give me a minute here, Beau," I muttered in a low, fast voice. A strange mix between another order and a plea. I could pull away, and without hurting him. Why didn't I?
"If you go out there, I'm going with you," he said, so softly it was almost a whisper. However, his voice was earnest. "I'm not letting you get shot."
I was incredulous. He'd seen me stop a van with my bare hands. Surely he didn't think bullets would have any effect on me.
Or was his reflex action something different? An automatic instinct to prevent the murders of three people, an instinct opposed to payback.
I suddenly understood why I couldn't bring myself to pull away. Maybe I was physically stronger than he was, but his simple act was his way of expressing what he wanted, whether he wanted us to leave because he was really afraid for my safety, or for some other reason. He was showing me what he wanted, and I couldn't disregard it.
Outside the car, the three were beginning to rally.
...Shoot out the tires, Arnie was thinking. Then we'll get both of them.
...Gotta get the hell out of here, Ed was thinking. Who knows how many more are on the way?
The woman was looking straight at me, though she still couldn't see any more than a dark outline. And, almost as though she were taunting me, she thought, Next time. Next time we see the baby pig, he's dead.
I nearly ripped myself from the car—a red tint had fallen over my sight. I wanted to break her fingers and snap her neck. I wanted to peel off her skin and gouge out her eyes.
The only thing that kept me in place was the warm hand, still clutched around my arm.
I took one short, steadying breath. He was right, I had to get my priorities in order. Get him to safety first. This wasn't something he should be close by to chance witnessing—he was a kind person, who would find no gratification in a violent vengeance. I would get him safely away, and then... then I would come back.
I yanked the door shut, and slammed the gearshift into reverse. "Fine," I muttered. They could only watch as I pulled us back around the corner, and then took off down the street at a blistering speed.
I saw out of the corner of my eye as his body was flattened back against the seat at the force of my acceleration. I remembered that my driving may not be entirely safe for humans—especially not right now, not with the mood I was in.
"Put on your seat belt," I commanded him.
He complied, finally letting go of my arm to do so. I was free again.
I tore through the neighborhood like a hurricane, not stopping for anything. Her face and thoughts were still in my mind—the images as they readied to do what they were about to do playing like a horror reel. A raging fury had seized hold of me, so fierce I thought surely it must unfreeze my cold, still heart—unfreeze it, and burn it to ashes, leaving nothing but a gaping black hole.
I was glad now I hadn't killed them all as I originally intended in those first few seconds. Even though it burned at me, a physical agony, I would have more time when I went back. I would give the two men a relatively quick death, but the woman—she would die slowly. I quickly sifted through the broad range of tortures, both physical and psychological, that I had born witness to in my days of hunting criminals. Several I had even made use of in my darkest days, my own way of giving some small measure of justice to the victims, or so I had thought at the time. Now, I would bring all those skills to bear once again—I would inflict on her such agonies that she would beg for death long before I granted it to her...
"Are you okay?"
I was startled by the sound of his voice in the dark car.
"No," I snapped, before I could stop myself. The fury and black hatred were pouring out of me, impossible to conceal.
He didn't say any more, and I stared straight ahead. I brought the car to an abrupt stop. We were outside town now, on the edge of the forest. I heard no human minds close by.
My hands clenched around the steering wheel, and I had to focus to keep myself from wrenching it off.
"Are you hurt at all, Beau?" I asked finally. I glared out at the dark forest, and the words again came out angry, a harsh demand rather than a soothing inquiry.
"No," he answered, sounding a little hoarse. He swallowed, then asked, voice cracking a little, "Are you?"
I turned to look at him for the first time, and again I was incredulous. Was it possible he really hadn't wanted me to go out there because he thought I might be shot? He may not have all the details yet, but surely he had enough to realize the monster I was, the freakish strength, the inhuman durability. The way his mind worked, so insightful and perceptive at times, so apparently dim and backwards at others, was unfathomable as always.
"Of course I'm not hurt," I answered shortly.
"Good," he said. He paused. "Um. Can I ask you why you're so mad? Did I do something?"
Under other circumstances I might have laughed. Unfathomable, definitely. Clearly lines of thought too ridiculous to have a hope of following with any clear logic.
Instead, I let out an irritated breath. "Don't be stupid, Beau."
"Sorry."
I stared back at his honestly confused and apologetic face, remembering how before when I had called him an idiot, he'd gotten angry. He was so inconsistent. Would I ever understand the way he thought? Did I even have a hope?
Looking at his gentle, earnest features brought the woman and her intentions back to my mind.
The flames rose in my chest again. The thought of any of them being allowed to live after this was torture—scalding water in my mouth, sand in my eyes. I didn't want to leave him alone for too long, so I would have to be quick. I wouldn't torture the woman—much—after all. More important that I remove her and the others from the world as soon as possible so they would never think of threatening him again.
I shook my head, turning my eyes back to the forest. Making an effort to keep my voice sounding calm, I asked, "Do you think you would be all right if I left you here in the car for just a few—"
He didn't even let me finish the words before he reached over and grabbed hold of me again. My hand, this time. I had it resting on top of the gearshift, and he curled his fingers around mine.
For the first time, I was briefly distracted from my vicious plans. His skin was warm against mine, and though I knew I must feel cold as ice and hard as granite, he didn't pull away.
"You're not going anywhere without me," he said, quietly, but firmly.
This brought me back, and as thoughts of my targets flashed through my mind, I was nearly sick with the longing to go after them, to deal with them right now. I burned for it. Yet he insisted on standing in my way.
I stared back at him a minute, willing him to let go. To, perhaps not give permission for what I was about to do—I would never ask that of him—but to not stand against me. Because as long as he wanted to stop me, how could I ignore him?
Especially when, beneath the storm of blazing fury and ferocious bloodlust, a part of me knew he was right—right to stop me from giving free reign to my rage.
A second passed, then two. Finally, I let my eyes slide closed. "Fine," I muttered. "Give me a minute."
The car was quiet, all but for the sound of his breathing. I concentrated, trying to be aware of nothing but the warmth of his hand on mine. I felt the rigid tension leave my body, and it wasn't until I was relaxed once again that I opened my eyes. My gaze slowly dropped to his hand, still over mine. Not clenched, hard or forceful, but gentle. Soft.
"Do you... want me to let go?" he asked, uncertain.
I hesitated. A moment ago I had wanted him to let go. Because letting go would mean I was free to go hunt down those savages. Make them disappear. But he'd made it clear he didn't want me to leave, and I had to abide by that. Now I was just calm enough to enjoy the feeling—the warmth of his skin that seemed to spread into mine and up my entire arm. But it was also soft, breakable—and I knew for every bit of warmth flowing into me, it was being leeched out of him.
"I think that might be for the best," I said at last.
He kept his hand in place a second longer. "You're not going anywhere?" he asked.
"I suppose not," I said reluctantly, "if you're that opposed."
He nodded, trusting me, and he slowly withdrew his hand.
"Better?" he asked.
I breathed deeply, and the fire of his scent seared my throat, though now even that seemed nothing to the black inferno still raging in the pit of my empty chest. "Not really."
He looked at me for a moment, his eyes bewildered, confused. "What is it, Edythe?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
He didn't understand. He was so observant, yet he didn't seem to comprehend what I had been about to do... what I still burned to do, more than anything in the world. Apparently, he'd just been worried about my safety after all.
I could have laughed, but I was still in too black a mood, too full of hate and murderous thoughts.
He didn't understand—didn't understand what I was capable of. Not just in terms of my superhuman powers, but the things I could do, if my fury or passion drove me to it.
And maybe he didn't have to know that about me. If he didn't see it, I didn't have to tell him, though I had just now given him more than a few clues.
However, I remembered what I had come to realize as I sat at the piano just the other day, and contemplated whether he was physically attracted to me. Maybe I was the one he liked at the moment, for that reason. He wouldn't be the first, to be attracted to the unnatural beauty this immortal life gave us, to find our secretive, mysterious ways compelling, fascinating. But as much as the notion thrilled me, excited me, I knew it didn't count. Choosing me wouldn't really count until he chose me knowing the truth, knowing what I was, the dark and the ugly behind the face.
In a strange way, tonight it felt like all the barriers had been broken down. Without excuses, without any attempt at concealment or to explain it away by claiming I had just been in the right place at the right time, I had just unashamedly rushed in to save his life. Shown no fear of guns or anything else—anything else but his death. Now was the time for truth. If it frightened him away, then that was the way it was meant to be from the beginning.
"This may come as a surprise to you, Beau," I said, "but I have a little bit of a temper. Sometimes it's hard for me to forgive easily when someone... offends me."
The words sounded arrogant to my own ears. Like I still had some kind of God complex, as I'd had in my rebel days decades ago, like I thought it my place to judge who was fit to live and who to die. It was ugly—but that was the real me. Or a part of the real me.
He flinched slightly. He took a breath, then, incredibly, he began, "Did I—"
Incredulous, I cut him off before he could get the ridiculous question out. "Stop, Beau. I'm not talking about you." Apparently, there were some things I would have to completely spell out, or he would intentionally take them the wrong way.
I turned to look at him. "Do you realize that they were serious?" I demanded suddenly. "That they were actually going to kill you?"
He was nonchalant. "Yeah, I kinda figured they were going to try."
Somehow, his calm made me more angry. "It's completely ridiculous!" I exploded suddenly. "Who gets murdered in Port Angeles? What is with you, Beau? Why does everything deadly come looking for you?"
He didn't seem to know how to reply to my sudden rant. Of course, he wasn't aware of all his near-death experiences. He didn't know what just meeting me had nearly cost him.
"I..." he began at last. "I have no answer to that."
I turned to gaze at him again. His wide, clear blue eyes were bewildered, worried—and suddenly, I knew I could never do what I still ached to do.
Even after he was gone, and I was alone again, I couldn't hunt them down and murder them. If in the end he did choose me—even understanding what I was—I didn't want to be a murderer, for his sake. He deserved better than that.
"So," I asked, just to make sure even though I was already resigned, "I'm not allowed to go teach those thugs a lesson in manners?"
"Um, no," he said. Then added, "Please?"
Sighing, I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. "How disagreeable," I muttered.
It was quiet for a long minute. When I opened my eyes again, I found he was looking at me with an expression I didn't know how to interpret. Curiosity? Or was it wariness?
I would have wanted to keep him here with me forever—after tonight, I wasn't sure how I would ever let him out of my sight again—but as my eyes fell on the clock on the dash I sighed again.
"Your friends must be worried about you," I noted reluctantly.
He looked at the clock too, and seemed startled at the time. It was long past when he was supposed to meet the others at the theater.
I drove back to town, slowing down a little more than I should have, just to lengthen the first time we had together in five days. But all too soon I heard Allen's and Jeremy's familiar thoughts, and I pulled up to the curb nearby.
Beau leaned over and saw them almost immediately. They had their backs to us, headed away. "How did you know where...?" he began, but then seemed to shrug it off. Compared to my finding him, it must not seem that incredible I knew the theater they were going to.
Jeremy, who had been all for getting the tickets and going on in to the movie when Beau hadn't shown up on time, was finally starting to get worried, though he was refusing to show it.
"I'm sure he just got lost somewhere," he was saying as they turned back in the direction of the florist's. "Or maybe he just didn't know where the theater was. Man, the movie's already started, I'm never going to let him live this down." Crap, where could he have gone? It's not that big a town. He should have told us where he was going, the turd. Or was he just planning to ditch us all along?
Allen was silent, staring straight ahead as he tried to come up with a plan. If we still haven't met up in another half an hour, what should we do? Call his dad maybe? I mean Beau would probably hate it if we make a big deal, but if something happened... he could have been hit by a car, or mugged. He would be here if he could be, he doesn't just forget things, and I'm sure he wouldn't just go off on purpose without saying anything...
"Stop them," I said. "Before I have to track them down, too." I added, "I won't be able to restrain myself if I run into your other friends again."
Beau stared back at me a moment, then wordlessly got out of the car. Instead of running after them, he kept a grip on the frame of the car, as if afraid I would take off again the moment he let go, and called to them.
"Jer! Allen!"
They both turned, relief coloring their thoughts as they saw Beau waving at them. They came back over, then noticed the car he was standing next to. Allen caught sight of me first, and his eyes widened, mouth falling open slightly.
Jeremy's attention was on Beau, relief quickly turning to annoyance. "What happened to you? We thought you took off."
"No," Beau said. "I just got lost. And then I ran into Edythe." He sounded calm, normal. He wasn't usually so good at hiding things—it was oddly unsettling.
Jeremy noticed me for the first time, and he did an almost comical double take, eyes widening in shock.
Allen managed to stammer out, "Oh, hi... Edythe."
I waved with two fingers at him, and he blinked, still too stunned for much rational thought.
Jeremy's mind, on the other hand, was now going a mile a minute. "Uh, hey," he said vaguely in my direction. What's going on here? Did they plan this? Why didn't he tell me? Edythe freaking Cullen?!
He turned back to Beau. "So... the movie's already started, I think," he said uncertainly.
Beau was apologetic. "Sorry about that."
Jeremy glanced at his watch. "It's probably still just running previews." He hesitated, eying Beau with mounting suspicion. "Did you... still want to come?"
Instead of answering, Beau glanced my way, apparently waiting for my signal.
Course he doesn't want to come, thought Jeremy. I bet this was planned. Why? Because he doesn't want his dad to find out? I guess his dad is a police chief, maybe he's super strict about dating and stuff. Or maybe it's her family. And what's she doing with him anyway? I thought she wasn't interested in guys in Forks. What did he do to score this? Man, he's seriously been holding out, I'm going to get all his secrets out of him tomorrow if it's the last thing I do.
Allen was thinking again now, trying to figure out what to say to give Beau a hand. What a strange coincidence. Or did he know where she was going to be and go looking for her? Maybe I can help him a little...
"Would you like to come... Edythe?" he asked. Quiet and shy as Allen normally was, he had never dreamed of addressing one of the Cullens before, let alone invite one of them to anything—he could barely make himself say my name—but he was willing to stick his neck out for a friend.
I stepped out of the car so I could speak to them directly, and leaned casually against the frame. I smiled widely at Allen—and once again I was glad Beau had at least one friend like him.
"I've already seen this one, but thank you, Allen," I lied.
I glanced toward Beau. I said in an undertone, too low for the others to make out, "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to see the movie now?"
"Er, not that much," he answered, mouth barely moving.
Assured now of having the rest of the evening together, and that I wouldn't have to let him out of my sight—not that I ever really had any intention to—my resultant smile was brilliant.
I turned my eyes back to Jeremy. "Will it ruin your night if I make Beau take me to dinner?" I asked.
Slack-jawed, Jeremy wordlessly shook his head.
"Thanks," I said, still smiling. "I'll give Beau a ride home."
I got back in the car, shutting the door behind me. Beau was still standing where he was, hand on the car frame. I waited for a second, and finally turned.
"Get in the car, Beau," I muttered.
He seemed to come back to the present and did as I said.
Jeremy's suspicions were swirling a mile a minute as he muttered, "The hell?"
Then we were pulling away, and in a moment we were gone.
A/N: So. Yes, I decided to split this chapter up, mainly because it just felt way too long all together. (Mostly due to the conversations in the second half of the chapter—the next chapter is actually longer than this one.)
However, because they are technically supposed to be one chapter, and were originally written that way, I'm planning to get the next chapter up next week sometime. (I think it will be more fair that way, and keep these Port Angeles chapters, which I've been looking forward to getting to, from being drawn out unnecessarily.)
Thanks so much for reading, and for all your comments! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought this time around, and hope to see you next time!
Posted 10/29/18