LoopyLou, Lotty, Sally, thank you so much! Thanks to Stephenie Meyer too, of course. And to Catherine Hardwicke!
A/N Please have in mind Edward only thinks he knows how to check for a pulse.
Chapter 4
Jane's forehead was wrinkled in disbelief at the shocking sight before her.
Aristotle had tied the intruder's wrists to the massive hook where Jane's map used to hang and had obviously given him a few blows. The man's brow was bleeding, and he stood in a somewhat slumped position, probably hurting somewhere else too. Jane assumed her uncle had struck after tying the man up, simply because Aristotle was short and skinny, and got easily intimidated. The intruder, on the other hand, was huge.
The most unbelievable fact was that Jane knew him, and she thought she'd known him well. He'd been working here for years now, always smiling and polite although a little dumb.
Being on the security staff, he was supposed to be a guardian and not the person to steal folders from people's offices, for God's sake. She hadn't known him at all, it now showed. Emmett, the idiot. Here I thought he was plain irritating.
"And he was here in my office when you caught him?" she asked once again, still refusing to believe the story her uncle was telling her.
"Right in front of the drawers, dear. Flashlight in hand."
"Thank God you had the gun on you, uncle," Jane sighed. "He might have been dangerous."
"We are in danger, my child," Aristotle announced. "I don't think he planned this by himself. I'm guessing others will come."
"What now, uncle? What shall we do with him? We can't turn him into the police."
"No, we can't. We should ask him some questions ourselves. Do you know the best methods of retrieving answers, my child?" Aristotle asked, gently brushing Jane's golden locks with a finger, his head slightly tilted to the side.
His niece had this amazing, exalted glimmer of merciless cruelty in her eyes —a true Volturi. She knew the answer to his question, and she delivered it in one short word, "Pain."
Edward was very pleased by the fact he was invited to Bella's apartment on Sunday morning. Thrilled, actually. Breakfast with Bella sounded great; he could get used to it. She was making pancakes, she'd said. Come and let me feed you, she'd said, then we can go for a walk.
It was not as sunny as the day before, but the morning was beautiful, full of life with the exhilarating sound of bird songs in the trees and bells chiming in Edward's head. He was floating over the sidewalks, moving smoothly around every corner and alongside brick walls, which blurred in his peripheral vision; he felt like an animated superhero. He always caught a green light before crossing a street, which he took as a sign from the skies confirming he and Bella had a future together. Definitely a sign.
Isabella. That's a Spanish name, Edward's thoughts swayed. But Bella? That sounds more like Italian. Bella, as in beautiful. Or, how did Jasper call her? Bells? Nah, that's too … small for her. Bella suits her better. Now, Jasper? That's one hell of a name. Edward snorted. Not that there was anything funny about Jasper; he was just fine. His name, though. A gemstone. Tanzanite; that's what would suit him. His eyes are that blue.
Edward stopped in his tracks and swallowed. He realized there had been a smile plastered on his lips until then, but it had suddenly vanished. He was a little confused. Blue eyes, blond hair, cold features, just the opposite of Bella's chocolate brown and hazel warmness. I'm not sure which I prefer more. Ow, scratch that; Jasper is a dude. What am I even thinking?
A couple minutes later, he was approaching the building where Bella and Jasper lived. The proximity of Bella's apartment added vigor to his stride, and he caught himself running into the lobby and up the stairs. With the excitement about his date—it's a date, right?—making a harsh reappearance by imitating a punch in his stomach, Edward almost failed to see the curled, unmoving body on the second floor.
"No? Really, Emmett?" Aristotle's fist flew up and collided with his captive's jaw. "I don't take no for an answer, security boy." The impact of his knee against Emmett's groin sent the huge man, hanging by his rope-tied wrists, almost kneeling, his cheek pressed against the cold wall. His torso was shaking with a succession of grunts, and his shoulders and elbows cracked, bearing his whole weight.
Jane approached from behind her polished mahogany desk. What she was armed with was her red stiletto, its sharp heel pointed at Emmett's left eye. A sweet little smile formed on her lips, her eyes calmly focused on the sweating man's face.
"Do you think I should twirl this, Emmett?" Her voice was even calmer than her facial expression. "Who needs two eyes, anyway?"
Emmett spat a mixture of saliva and blood. Some of it remained on his chin and glistened under the fluorescence of the artificial light.
Edward kneeled, forgetting how much he wanted to look neat and nice for Bella. His light blue jeans were going to become gray with dirt, but he didn't even think about it. He thought he had the general knowledge of what to do when checking for a pulse, so he grabbed Carlisle's wrist and pressed a thumb against it. He felt nothing. What those people in the movies did, feeling dying characters' throats, was beyond him. He never knew what they searched for, but he pressed two fingers against Carlisle's neck just in case. He felt nothing again.
Panic stricken, he sat on his heels and sobbed. The good old man was dead. The fucking old man had expired, right there before entering his home, or on his way out, or who the hell knows, maybe he was eavesdropping on neighbors, or having fun hanging on the stairwell … Oh shit, Edward's thoughts were a frantic mess. They scrambled and screamed helplessly in his head. He was at an absolute loss.
Bella and Jasper. They should know.
He gently tucked a strand of the old man's gray, disheveled hair behind his ear and rose to his feet.
"Sorry, I have to leave you for a while, sir," he mumbled then mentally slapped himself for speaking aloud to someone who would never, ever hear again.
Or see. Or breathe. Or exist.
Edward was crying in earnest as he ran farther up the stairs, desperate to call for help. He banged on Bella's door loudly several times in a row, even kicked it, and then he thought it might be unlocked so he pushed the handle. It was unlocked. Edward plunged into the apartment and started yelling his friends' names through hiccups and sobs.
Both Bella and Jasper appeared in the hallway, and Bella met him with a hug. Jasper's hand rested on his back and massaged gently.
"Ca-carlisle; he's d-dead," Edward barely managed. "Downstairs, at his door."
They rushed out, Bella in flip-flops and Jasper barefoot, to find the door to Carlisle's apartment ajar.
There was no dead body in sight.
Bella and Jasper looked at each other in dismay, but Edward tore ahead and pushed the door wide open. Then they all saw Carlisle. He was crawling on the floor. His left leg and arm seemed utterly useless, dragging lifelessly, and he only used the right side of his body to push forward. When he heard them calling his name, he turned his head. His face was horrid, the left corner of his lips molded into the frightening half-grin of a satire mask.
His eyes, though, were the most frightening thing about him. Dried tears had given way to horror and despair. They stared into nothingness, unblinking and unfocused, mad.
One thing was obvious, the Carlisle they'd met the previous day was gone.
Emmett knew morning had come. He heard voices in the great hall; visitors moved along the exhibits, chatted, laughed, and clicked their cameras. He was alone; he must have been unconscious when his tormentors had left him, a piece of cloth stuffed in his mouth and hands still tied to the hook. He tried to listen more intently and distinguish the voices that penetrated the half-glass door. Maybe Aristotle and Jane were right outside, conversing. He didn't hear them, but that meant nothing. They could be out there, silent. Standing near, or mingling with the visitors, but keeping watch on Jane's office's door. Minutes passed. Emmett needed to pee. He was hungry, too, and, also, in awful pain. More minutes passed, he was losing patience; his mind began plotting reckless escape plans.
Emmett was strong. He had muscle, and stamina, and the advantage of youth. He pulled at the rope once, to check how well the knot was done. The rope was thick, a really durable one, and the knot was a masterpiece. The hook, though, was rusty. He pulled once more. His wrists burned. The third pull resulted in the hook breaking, and he was free from his bindings.
Now, he had to leave the building. And he did the thing that maybe only he was capable of, not giving it a second thought. He simply burst through the door and ran for dear life.
A/N #2: My dear friends, I need you to tell me what you think so far. Please review.