Chapter Seven:

Los Angeles, 1949

In a big city like this, I could find plenty of my special type of sustenance. Gangs and bullies, angry Hollywood starlets rich because of their pretty faces; the place was replete with moral free swine.

Yet, my search for that perfect sip to tantalize my taste buds had dimmed. I was no longer the eager hunter – in fact, I had become reluctant to sup at all. Reluctant to remember the taste of the perfect meal, lest I murder once more.

Realization sneaked up behind me and hit me with a paralyzing blow to the head – much like the way I hunted my own pray. It didn't matter anymore that I was thirsty, or that I was angry. Rage had dimmed; now a flickering candle in a storm, it wouldn't last long.

The red haired woman had given me a second chance. Sister Mary had given me a chance to make something of myself. Even the freak that had bitten me in the first place had given me a second chance at life, in a twisted way.

My victims? None of them had received a second chance from me.

I remembered my first kill with such clarity, frequently recollecting it as the most joyous moment of my unhappy life, learning of my capacity for revenge. That familiar face lying dead in the street beside me; had I ever wondered for a second how that man had turned out, after he left the orphanage behind?

I remembered the families I had seen through the windows. Jealous, yes, but also confused, I watched love and happiness and kindness and support unfold in every scene.



It seemed more and more now, to me, that these humans weren't so terrible. Now, looking at the grotesque drawings spread across the bed I didn't use, the lights of the Los Angeles streets I wouldn't hunt shining through the window, it seemed more and more now that I was the terrible one.

I had fed, but only out of thirst, on the first homeless man I had encountered. It was a dull Sunday in February, where the rain started and stopped almost as much as the traffic and I could walk through the open-air market unhindered by my shiny skin.

I wasn't much interested in the wares being sold, all my concentration going towards ignoring the smell of the people milling about. When I felt strong enough, I listened to haggling and gossiping and general chatter.

It was a big city, and I shouldn't have been surprised to see another one like myself here, but I jumped when my nose finally caught up to my predicament, having been too occupied with the tasty smell surrounding me.

He knew I was here, I could see it in his tense posture, though he worked hard to appear casual, browsing the stalls. Even in his state of distraction, I knew that he had the eye of a seasoned buyer, and I wondered if he had a sweetheart he was buying for. I thought about moving away - I did not want a confrontation in this street, and I'm sure he didn't either – but in my fear my feet had frozen themselves next to a stall filled with handmade crafts.

I wanted to let him know that I meant no harm, that I would leave right away, but I was terrified. I chided myself; after all this, you're scared of vampires.



If he was angry, and wanted to hurt me, it would be better to do it away from here. I knew of a deserted spot by the railroad tracks only a mile or so from here, but that would involve approaching him, and convincing him to move away from the crowd. I was mindful of the red-haired woman's advice; if there was a vampire police of some kind, I didn't want to be their next arrest.

The man – tall, with tousled reddish-brown hair – was looking straight at me now, his strong jaw locked, but his eyes curious. I briefly wondered that he would make an interesting study for a portrait, before turning my gaze to look him in the eyes. Maybe I could project an air of confidence, and he would take my words seriously.

He tilted his head in the direction of the railroad tracks I'd been thinking about earlier, as if to say, come on. When he started walking, I didn't think of doing anything other than following. Once again, I was the one infringing on someone else's feeding grounds, and I refused to be a coward about it. Cowardly Curly was the old me. The unhappy, bruised, orphan me. Faked confidence was the new me. I snorted, aloud. The man didn't react.

His gait was quick, and I scampered to keep up with him, constantly pulling back to keep the humans around us from wondering at my speed. A part of me was afraid to get to close to this man. The other was curious. My hands were already itching to draw.

Soon enough, we were away from the crowds, and I caught up to him, staying only a cautious step behind him. I could smell him more clearly now, away from the humans, and I wondered again how many times I would make this mistake before I just hid out in the woods away from the possibility of meeting any and all other vampires.

He chuckled under his breath, and I wondered what spurred it. This curious creature I would definitely remember the next time I pulled out my pencils.

There was a single palm tree sitting at this lonely edge of the track, and the man moved to stand under it. There was no place to sit, and the shade – should the sun emerge – was minimal, but I was in a good position to run if I needed to. I stood before him, and spoke all in one breath.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know there was anyone else around here and I'll get away as quickly as I can – and I only had one, a homeless man, so don't worry, there's plenty left and – I'll go now."

I had begun to turn when he chuckled again, the side of his mouth twitching into a smile. "That's okay. You are welcome to stay. This isn't my territory."

"Oh." I wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

"We haven't had a proper introduction yet." The man put out his hand.

I reached out cautiously, and he gripped my hand in his and shook it. A polite gesture, I remembered. He introduced himself, "Edward." I remained silent.

"What is your name?" He asked as if to remind me of my long-forgotten manners.

"My name?" How was such a simple question so hard to answer? "Everyone called me – "

"No," he was abrupt, but he was also kind, instead of stern. "What is your real name?"

"I don't have one." It was the truth. If I ever did have a real name, I had forgotten it now.

"You need a name." His voice was filled with genuine surprise, and none of that censure I had expected.

"I've done pretty well without one so far."

"But now," there was a laugh to his tone, "you need one."

It wasn't hard. For all of my human recollections, this one surprised me the most, slipping off my tongue like the sweetest, purest of blood after a month of fasting. It wasn't my real name, but it meant something to me – it carried a special sort of holiness within its tender syllables.

"Molly." I didn't want to be Curly anymore. Molly was pure, innocent; had not committed the crimes I had.

Edward smiled, "It's nice to meet you, Molly."

"I'm pleased to meet you as well, Mr. – Edward." I wondered if I looked as foolish as I felt.

"Cullen." He provided, before adding, "I won't hurt you." His eyes were doing all the convincing.

"Oh, but I might – hurt me, I mean."

"You shouldn't do that."

"Okay." I was still afraid, and I worried that it was written all over my face. Maybe, if I were to distract myself, he would be distracted also.

"Why did you choose this spot?"

"It's quiet," He spoke in a low voice, as if to emphasize the fact. "And it's isolated, should there be a confrontation."

I wondered briefly if he was some sort of mind reader, and was mocking me.

"You look hungry," he observed, his voice tight as if restraining a laugh.

"Do I?"

"I admit, I was surprised to see you amongst the humans, with your eyes so dark. You should be careful, and not do something stupid."

"I'm sorry, sir." Perhaps he was one of those vampire-policemen. "I was restless."

My fingers were itching harder now, and I began to memorize the lines of his face, the color of his hair, his excellent posture – though he looked so relaxed throughout our conversation. I was eager to draw him.

Except for one, slightly confusing, point. I had only met three others of our kind before, and they all stuck out in my memory with their loathsome red eyes. I had those same red eyes. He did not. His eyes were the purest of gold. Manners tossed to the wind, I had to ask.

"Is there a reason for the strange color of your eyes?"

He answered promptly, without a hint of offense. "I do not consume human blood."

I took a moment to consider that. "Well, then, what do you eat?"

"Animals; whatever local wildlife has to offer. My entire family does."

I gulped. Entire family? Though this man had been fair, I shuddered to think of other vampires that were not so generous towards me.

I was silent for a moment more, as his first words began to sink in. He drank from animals. Perhaps there was a way to get rid of my guilt.

"Do they taste good?"

"It takes some getting used to," he conceded after a brief moment's deliberation. "Why do you ask?"

The words were tumbling out of me; I held no control.

"I don't like myself any more. All I see is blood, everywhere I go. I don't want to be angry any more, and even if I am angry, I really ought to be angry at myself, instead of all of those silly innocent humans. What did they ever do to me?"

He chuckled, but it was a kind noise. "What did they ever do to you? You feel guilty."

"Yes," I nodded, looking away and studying the palm tree, "yes I do."

"That, Miss Molly, is called a conscience."

"Are we supposed to have those?" It seemed ironic, a vampire with a conscience.

"Some of us do."

"But, I'm not some sort of freak, then?" Hiding out in the woods sounded better each minute.

"No, hardly."

I turned to look at this man once again, and was struck with the odd truth.

I had studied the way he walked and talked and dressed – and his eyes! – he looked older. But as I looked at his face, remembered the smirk on his lips, I realized that this was no man. He was a boy, barely older than I was. This would be a brilliant painting.

"I must go; I have some business to attend to." he spoke clearly, though now his voice was devoid of emotion. "It was a pleasure to meet you. I wish you well – maybe we will meet again."

"Likewise. Thank you, sir," I dipped into a curtsy, and felt silly once more. He began to walk away, and I suddenly I was filled with questions that needed answers. If only I hadn't been so afraid; perhaps I would have found out more about his strange lifestyle.

I had just decided to return to my room, when Edward turned to look at me again, the crooked smirk adorning his smooth features.

"I would rather you not show that painting to anyone. Though perhaps, if we meet again, you could show it to my mother. She would be very pleased."

And then he was gone. Frozen to the spot, I turned to survey the bareness of my surroundings and the railroad tracks. I couldn't help it; I laughed. It came tumbling out of me, and if I could have cried, tears would be streaming down my face.

A mind reading vampire; who would have guessed.

It was evening before I could stop laughing, and returned quietly to my room, to begin sketching. Should I ever meet the unusual Edward Cullen again, I would be prepared.

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