21. Call On Me

Jake paced the kitchen as I made the call. It rung for a long time. Alice hadn't disconnected the number, at least. No one answered and the voicemail had an automated voice asking me to leave a message, no reference to whom the voicemail belonged. I called twice more before I left a message. Jake took that as permission to go on a rant about how stupid it was to separate us. He said Lauren was right three times. He said Sam was only in charge because he changed first; that didn't give him special qualifications for leadership. He ranted about his dad making a crazy choice. I couldn't disagree; Billy had warned me once against being involved with the Cullens.

Jake waited until Dad came home and said a grumpy, brief goodnight. Dad asked what Jake's problem was, but I steered Dad toward more useful conversation. I asked about the station.

Dad grumbled a while, avoided saying much. I asked about the other officers. Angie's older half-brother had been at the station that morning. I had sent her a text asking if he was okay. Other than being stunned that a deranged criminal could get into the station that easily, he was okay. Dad had limited access to his office at the FBI's request. Besides him and the coroner, no one had seen much. I asked about how soon the woman would be allowed to leave the coroner's custody so that her family could bury her. Dad softened at that. He said the woman's husband had already asked that her body would be brought back to Phoenix quickly. The cause of death wasn't mysterious, so there was no reason to keep her any longer.

"The coroner knows how she died?" I asked.

Dad and I sat at the kitchen table, but neither of us wanted to eat. Dad had loosened a few buttons and leaned back in the chair. He had dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't slept a wink last night.

"Whoever killed her was seriously sick," he said, her voice bitter. "They cut her. Death by a thousand paper cuts. I think that's from a movie." He shivered once, leaned forward, and put his head in his hands. "Shallow cuts, to bleed her out slowly. Then wild cats ate some of her—oh, Bella, I'm sorry. I should've have said that."

I took Dad's hand. We were both pale and stunned at the details. This was my fault. I couldn't tell him, but I couldn't reassure him without confessing. I had to say nothing.

"I keep thinking about that video tape," he said. He sniffled and inhaled shakily. "It was one of those practices where parents are invited, but I couldn't make the trip out. Your mom bought a video camera just so that I could see it. I didn't ask her to do it. She just did. She could get caught up in her own head sometimes, but then she'd do a thing like that…" He sobbed, sniffled again, and shakily exhaled. He held my fingers tightly. I think my hands were numb. "You weren't very good. You tried. You really did. But when the music started, you were a beat behind everyone else." He laughed weakly. "The teacher had to help you with the positions—fifth, I think it was. Fifth position your feet wouldn't stay in the angles…I can barely remember that part. But I see her face. You smiled so bright when you finally got it—and she seemed so happy that you were trying. You weren't the best in there, but she treated you like you were. I think she was a good woman."

I nodded. My shoulders were shaking from the sobs. This woman, who had smiled at me, taught me, who was a part of one of my dad's few precious memories of my childhood, was a stranger to me. I couldn't picture her face. I didn't remember one thing about her. She had died because of me and I didn't remember her.

Dad got up from his chair and wrapped his arms around me. He hugged me too tightly. I could barely breathe. It hurt, forcing myself to breathe between sobs. I didn't tell him to let go. It was easier to feel crushed, to focus on that safe, constricting discomfort. Dad and I cried together a few minutes more. Dad heated up canned chicken noodle soup. I don't know who started talking first, but somehow, we were talking about Mom. Dad said that my lack of dance ability came from her. He could follow a rhythm like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, but Mom had two left feet—not that anyone could convince her of that. She'd taken tango lessons, ballroom dancing, even hip-hop. She was better at piano; creating the music was easier than trying to keep up with it. Her African drumming class had been a disaster. She'd had me record her group's recital for that. She quit after watching the video. Watching a recording of herself at open mic poetry night had also ended that hobby abruptly.

Remembering Mom hurt less each time. Maybe not less…but different. The pain was different, bearable. The memories, I knew, would always ache, but now when I missed her I knew I had someone to remember her with. I might be alone in knowing how she died, but there was someone else close by who had cherished her life.

Dad made me go to bed early. The two FBI agents had agreed to meet with me at the station the next morning. I was a minor; my Dad legally had to be present. I wasn't sure yet what I was going to say. It would depend on the questions. The one thing I was counting on was that they would mostly ask me things I could answer honestly. The more honesty I could give them, the more likely my less easy answers would seem inconspicuous.

Despite having slept in until almost noon, I was exhausted and fell asleep easily. Sometime during my deep sleep, one of my strange dreams came. Being with Jake had chased them away…but the dread of what was coming invited the nightmares.

It started with the man with long black hair. I felt his hands, his lips, and saw his smile. His eyes were a hungry red. His name was out of reach again. He didn't stay long. Another man with black hair took his place. He grabbed my wrist, grinning greedily. A simple touch let him into my mind.

"I am no demon, dear sister," Aro said. "Do not be afraid. I have decided to gift you with immortality.

My head shook. I was in that other body again. "Brother, please. Do not damn me—do not make me like you!"

"Sister, you were always a good ally in life," Aro whispered. He pulled my wrist to his mouth. "Together, let us become kings, queens…someday we might be remembered as gods."

His teeth pierced my skin. I recognized the cold fire. I screamed. I screamed for days. My blood writhed, devouring itself in fury. Until my heart stopped. One last human breath. My throat dried, thirst thrusting me up from my death. Thirst made me move. Thirst made me drink the woman chained to the wall in my room. I cried after I killed her. No tears came. There was nothing human left of me.

My mind fell, endlessly backward. The body I borrowed moved through time, passing thrones and standing by as an empire was built. The dream settled inside a city under siege.

The city was loud with panic and rage. Men with swords were after me. They were after others too, but those were others I had to protect. My love was somewhere else in the city, defending our home. We had been separated. They had sent in wolves, chained, starving things, to divide our strength. Some of my brother's gifted guard had been lost, and many of the humans in our domain were already dead, dying, or burning with cold fire. The ones the wolves bit I snapped their necks. The ones that my brethren had fed on I left alone. They would welcome a new kind of life or they would die. I would let that choice be theirs.

Fighting through the city, I ripped apart and burned many young fledglings that were turned only to become soldiers. Many humans were sacrificed because the enemy wanted our city. They wanted my brother's power. His ambition had caught their eyes, and now the city was bleeding for it. If I could cry, my tears would make a river across the streets.

My feet carried me to where the fighting was thickest. Older vampires fought here. Few of the new ones were left. Only the ones lucky or clever enough survived. I saw a glimpse of dark hair and my heart sang. I killed and killed until I reached him. My heart stopped a moment when I realized it wasn't him. No, not him, but still someone I loved. My brother, Aro, and I cleared the area, chased off the old. The Romanian vampires were losing the battle they had begun.

It was time to move to another part of the city, to find—

His hand closed around my throat and I noticed my arm lying on the ground a few feet from me. Aro's fingers stabbed through my skin, chipping through like a hammer against marble. His eyes were wide, his face twisted with pain and rage.

"I am sorry," Aro whispered. He whispered it again. Again. "This is the only way. I am sorry."

He grabbed a torch and fire tasted my skin. I screamed for him to stop, but he didn't.

"I love you. I promise that no span of time will take your memory from me."

His apologies echoed. Aro broke my bones to stop my wriggling. My head jerked back and the burning stopped.

"Goodbye."

I didn't know I was awake until Dad was rubbing my back, telling me everything was okay. I must have screamed; my throat was raw. Boulders were exploding inside my skull. My hands wouldn't be still. Dad held them and told me that he wouldn't let anything happen to me. So many promises to keep me safe. I wanted to believe those promises.

A wisp of my dream pressed deeply on my mind, an echo of a thousand apologies and something else. A warm smile spoke a promise and kissed it against my forehead. His face and his voice were gone now that I was awake, but my mind trapped that promise.

"Your happiness matters more to me than anything in this world or the next," he said. "Above all, even my life, or my loyalty to your brother, this vow stands. I promise, beloved, to protect your happiness for all eternity."

I was sure of those words. I was sure that what I had seen wasn't my fears manifesting in strange ways, but actual events. Aro was in my dream—one of the Volturri. Laurent had claimed he was sent by the Volturri before James and Victoria had fixated on me and the Cullens. That was not a coincidence. As Old Quil had said, it was a pattern—and I wouldn't ignore it. There was only one person I knew that was a professional when it came to seeing things happen in your head. More than ever, I needed—

The phone rang. No, not the phone, my cellphone. Dad started to curse for someone calling this early in the morning, but I didn't listen. I leaped across my bed to my bedside table and answered the call.

"I'm sorry I got mad at you and I'm sorry I acted like you were the worst thing to ever happen to me, because you're not," I said in one breath. "You're like a sister to me and I need you. Please, forgive me. I'm so, so sorry."

Alice exhaled sharply. "I already saw this in a vision you know."

"I know."

"It's still good to hear. I felt awful." Alice exhaled a staggered breath. "You aremy sister, Bella."

Dad mouthed a question. I explained that it was Alice calling again. Dad muttered something about calling at appropriate times. I told him she was overseas and mixed up the time difference. He shook his head but left the room.

"Alice, things have gotten worse."

"I'm already on it," she said cheerfully.

"I'm sorry. I don't deserve it, but I'm really grateful, Alice."

"That's enough sorry from you," she said quietly. "I made mistakes too, trying to protect you. I wanted you to have a chance to choose. I didn't see…I didn't wantto see that you didn't get a choice."

I crawled under the covers and closed my eyes. "Can you come back to Forks, Alice?"

"Not now," she said. "We have a situation here—not for you to worry about. You can save this number though. I won't change it. Not without telling you."

I looked at the number on my phone screen. I was right about the overseas thing. The area code was unfamiliar.

"Please tell me you're not sending Rosalie instead," I pleaded.

"I'm not that crazy, Bella," she teased. "But I won't say who. Trust me though. I have a plan."