Thank you addicttwilight2. Standard disclaimers apply.
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For I am tired, my dear, and if I could lift my feet,
My tenacious feet from off the dome of the earth
To fall like a breath within the breathing wind
Where you are lost, what rest, my love, what rest!
~ "Elegy", D.H. Lawrence.
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Chapter Eight: Lost
He didn't know how he'd gotten here.
He was back in Forks, in their family home, back where it had all started. And he had no idea how he'd gotten here or what the fuck had happened or how much time had passed or why everybody was tiptoeing around him and speaking in hushed monotones.
He blinked once or twice, finally realising that the gritty film over his eye was dust. How had that happened?
"How is he doing?" Emmett asked Jasper quietly, and he felt a stab of irritation. He was standing right there, for Christ's sake. What, did they think that just because his wife had left him...
Bella had left him. Bella was gone.
The air left his lungs. He knew that this revelation was not exactly new to him, but still he felt winded, as though someone had sucker-punched him in the gut. How had he forgotten, for even a fraction of a second, how had he shut down that completely, that...
Tiny hands on his shoulders, squeezing hard. He looked down in a stupor. Alice.
"Come on, Edward," she insisted, her mouth hard, her eyes desperate. "Focus. Breathe, or something. It's been days."
He felt like a very young child. "Alice, what...?" His voice whispered out of his throat – try as he might, he could not make it louder.
Relief flew across his sister's face. "Thank god. That's the first time you've spoken since..."
And then she was thinking and he was focusing and he could see himself now, could remember, curled in a ball in Seattle and the water and the screaming and then...
Bella rending her hair, screaming for him as her body spasmed.
He felt his knees buckle, but Alice had been prepared for this. Somehow her tiny frame slipped under his arm. Jasper was at his other side in an instant and together, they held him upright.
"Bella's changing." His voice was flat. He could feel Alice's eyes on his face as she nodded.
"How did..." he began, about to quiz her about the hours he was missing – the time in which she somehow got him home from Seattle. He stopped himself in his tracks, shaking his head. Not important.
Jasper was talking to him but both the actual words and the thoughts behind them turned to white noise as they hit the inside of his skull. He felt heavy and stupid, as if the air of the room was pressing down on him like the hand of God. Maybe this was what shellshock had felt like, in the war he'd once wanted so badly to be a part of. If only he'd known, back then, what a real battle was.
He gathered his feet under him and held up both of his hands for silence. Six babbling voices abruptly stopped, though that barely made a dent in the mental commotion of the room.
Very slowly and calmly he put one foot in front of the other until he was standing squarely at a window, looking out into the damp, steaming forest. He smoothed his hands over the painted windowsill, following the grains of wood like he'd once followed the delicate stitching of Bella's fingerprints. Their ridges were imprinted in his memory and he was sure that if he'd really tried, he could have traced the individual whorls out on a piece of paper. Such soft hands she'd had, and warm...
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Somehow that warmth was gone forever, somehow a cackling harpy called Fate had stolen his soft and gentle wife from him, and now what was he supposed to do? What?
He didn't realise that he'd actually voiced the question aloud until Esme answered him, her voice breaking.
"I don't know if we can do anything, Edward. We don't even know where she is. Who she's with. If... if she's being held there or if she's there by choice..."
A chunk of the wood he'd been holding onto broke off and fell to the floor. He closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself.
"So then what happens? Do we sit here and wait to find out?"
He knew Alice was going over and over the brief flash of Bella she'd gotten, ignoring the macabre sight of her sister-in-law's bloody neck, her clawing hands, moving over and over the tiny sterile room to find any clue to her location, any at all.
"I'm such a fool," he whispered bitterly. "Such a fool. I could have changed her years ago..."
He felt Carlisle's hand on his shoulder. "Son, please don't torture yourself this way. You must keep a clear head..."
He spun around to face his surrogate father, pointing towards Esme, spitting fire.
"Wait till your wife leaves you and you have to watch her writhe in agony without being able to do a damn thing about it, Carlisle, before you dare to tell me to calm down."
His father winced, and his hand fell from Edward's shoulder. He turned back towards the window, stared aimlessly out again, knowing he should apologise or at the very least feel bad, but failing to care.
She was dying. Somewhere, Bella was dying on an anonymous bed in a sterile room. God only knew what had happened. Bella being Bella, she'd probably gotten across the state line before running into a horde of hungry vampires. The thought made his throat close up – that somewhere his wife had been in trouble and he hadn't been there, hadn't known, hadn't protected her.
Then again, he reflected bitterly, maybe he was taking entirely the wrong slant on this. Maybe this had somehow been a matter of choice for her. Maybe she'd driven all the way to Denali, bribed Tanya or Kate. Maybe she'd finally lost all her trust in him, after three years of stupid mistakes on his part, and chosen another avenue to lead her towards what she'd wanted from the beginning. Maybe, maybe, maybe...
This was all his fault. He'd wanted this to happen. Ever since their honeymoon, when he'd realised just how much he needed her in his life. When she'd stumbled and fallen in front of rows of crazed Parisian drivers, his breath had been stolen from him in a rictus of fear in that nanosecond before he'd yanked her to safety. And finally he'd admitted what he'd secretly known all along – that he wanted her eternal, that he wanted them to be equals, that he'd always wanted it.
He'd told her then, told her he was ready. She'd laughed and kissed him, her voice bubbling against his lips as she'd agreed merrily. But not yet, she'd said, her shy smile lighting him up inside. Not right now, this is still too new for me to give it up right away.
And he'd given in to her desires, kept her close and prayed that would be enough.
And then... after all that... it hadn't been.
He clenched his fist and took a few deep breaths, then rested his forehead lightly on the cool glass of the window. His eyes stared out, registering the rain, the green, the trees. Somehow the images didn't really connect with his version of reality. No matter which way he turned, all he could see was Bella.
He'd never understood her. That was obvious to him from the start. But he'd thought, once, that he knew her, that he could anticipate what she wanted and needed, how she'd react in any given situation.
He realised now that he'd never really known her at all. He could never have anticipated her leaving. He'd thought that the sun could fall out of the sky before she'd abandon him. The Bella he knew could never hurt him like this. The bittersweet knowledge made his throat close up in grief.
Who was she now? What did she look like? Was the wife he adored replaced by a stone stranger?
Was she out there somewhere – alone, hurting, confused? Did she think of him at all? She screamed his name in the midst of her agony – was that a plea for his presence, or a curse at his existence?
Had her changing truly been an accident, or had she planned it out? If she had, in fact, planned the whole thing, could there be any rationale behind her actions – any shred of logic that could lead to him being able to forgive her for this?
Absently he realised that he'd been playing with his wedding ring, sliding it off and on his finger, twiddling it, turning it. Without glancing down, his thumb glided over the smooth inscription. Always. But she'd changed all that, hadn't she? She'd moved the goalposts, declared their marriage to be "unfixable", thrown what they had away like so much garbage.
His grasp tightened around the ring. For a few moments he entertained a wild fantasy of crushing it into dust, throwing the powder to the wind. Obliterating her memory with a simple physical act. There was peace in emptiness. Even boredom would be so much better than this constant, unremitting...
Bella's voice as she spun joyfully in his arms, her wedding dress swirling around her slender legs. "Good thing I married a man who can dance..."
You may now kiss the bride... I, Isabella Swan, take thee, Edward Cullen... Take care of her, Edward, or so help me... May I present, for the first time... With my body I thee worship... In sickness and in health...
He swallowed, sighed, and slid the cool clasp of gold back into place.
Slowly, outside stimuli made their way back into his brain. He became aware that Alice was the only member of the family left with him. Her arms were around him, squeezing hard, rubbing soothing circles on his back. He didn't know how long she'd been hugging him before he felt it.
"What do I do, Alice?" he murmured bleakly. "I don't know what to do."
She shook her head. The difference between their heights was so huge that her head barely came up to his bicep.
"I don't know either, Edward," she said sadly. "I'm so sorry. I feel like such a failure."
He leaned down and brushed a small kiss against the top of her head. He could find nothing else within himself to comfort her with.
In another room, the phone rang. Carlisle moved to pick it up, the tone of his voice more stressed than Edward could ever remember hearing it. He could have heard what was said through the speaker if he'd tried, but he just didn't care enough. Alice clearly did, though – her arms released him suddenly, and as she stood back, he could see a frown creasing the skin of her forehead.
She looked at him and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get any words out, Carlisle called his name, sounding nonplussed. As one in a dream, he moved to the other room.
"What is it?" he asked absently.
Carlisle's eyes were full of dread. "Edward... Demetri is on the phone. He wishes to speak to you." His father's voice was confused, his thoughts even more so.
An ember of dread flickered to life in the pit of his stomach. Cautiously he reached for the receiver.
"This is Edward Cullen," he said quietly, his heart clenching.
"Edward." A generic voice, cool, calm, distant.
A pause.
He couldn't help himself. "You have my wife, don't you?" he whispered.
He heard the tracker draw a slow breath, and then he calmly voiced Edward's greatest fear.
"Isabella Swan entered Volterra four days ago and requested my master's assistance in changing her."
His breath escaped in a hiss. Demetri continued, seemingly unaware of any problem.
"Aro acquiesced to her request. She has now completed the change. As she has refused to accept our offer to become a member of the Guard, and as neither she nor my masters have displayed any interest in prolonging her visit, she will be returned to you before the week is out."
Without saying another word, or waiting to hear more, he gently placed the phone back on the receiver and turned to face his family, gathered around him, who were now staring at him in open-mouthed shock.
"She's coming back," he said simply. And once more returned to the window, to stare aimlessly into the night, seeing nothing but his wife's shape before him, moving closer and closer with every breath.
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Time ceased to have any meaning. He stood there, still as a statue. Breathed in and out every so often, tasting the flavour of the air, waiting for a hint of strawberries, of peace.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he could run to the airport, meet them at the departure gate, sweep Bella into his arms and abscond with his wife. Somewhere else he cringed away from thoughts of such a reckless attitude. He was no longer capable of independent action – all he could do was wait here silently for her appearance, ready to take his cues, say whatever lines she needed him to say, and drink every second of her presence in like he was a man dying of thirst – which, in reality, he was.
Alice was frustrated and worried that she still could not see anything of the Volturi or of Bella. Her mind remained blank. Back and forth she paced, trying desperately to wring any drop of sense out of her misbehaving gift. Jasper sat cross-legged on the floor next to her, but his attempts to calm her went completely unnoticed. She was desperate, as she had been for so many months, and abstractly Edward mourned the loss of his carefree, cheeky sister.
He waited. And waited. And waited some more.
When the soft chirping of crickets outside heralded another dawn, Alice's blindness suddenly lifted. She saw Aro in a car, leaning forward to speak to the driver. Bella's small frame was beside him, clad in a dark cloak, her head downcast, her eyes hidden. The vision both brought him a strong sense of relief and pulled the knot of anticipation in his stomach even tighter.
Shadows had lengthened and lightened from the room innumerable times before he finally heard the purring of a low engine on the main road, the piercing invasion of Aro's thoughts, broadcasting warnings.
He was on the porch then, his shoulders tense, his lips trembling. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Briefly he noted that his father and brothers were standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him, that their minds were reaching out towards him in hope and in fear.
A long black vehicle peeled into the driveway. It stopped, and a vampire got out, his countenance subdued, his mind unremarkable. Hurriedly he opened the door and Aro's wizened frame appeared as if by magic.
Edward was dimly aware of the older vampire's hands spreading out as if to welcome the family at large, of his booming, genial laugh and his broad smile. The greater part of him was straining for the first glimpse of his wife.
And then it happened. Aro stepped aside, and there she was.
She looked almost exactly the same as she had the last time he'd seen her. Her petite frame, shrunken even smaller, was folded in a black cloak, her shoulders hunched inwards, her head bowed. Her hair was scraped back from her head, pulled tightly into a knot. The bones of her face stood out sharply – fragile, feminine, still his wife. Still his.
Her eyes were downcast. He longed to lift her chin and peer into their depths, terrified yet fascinated as to what he might find there.
Belatedly he realised that his feet were moving, carrying him down the wooden steps of the porch, bringing him closer and closer to her.
A hand clamped around his wrist, and without his knowledge or volition, a low hiss escaped his chest.
Aro regarded him warily, all pretence of friendship erased. "Be warned, my young friend. She is not the same woman you married."
He couldn't think, couldn't filter, couldn't process the information Aro was giving him while his wife was so close, her warm scent wrapping around him like the arms of a mother, so missed, so longed for...
He shrugged free of Aro's grasp and finally he stood before her.
He cleared his throat. "Bella," he whispered hoarsely.
Finally, she looked up. He saw but did not fully comprehend the crimson shade to her irises. It did not connect with him because in that moment he was much more concerned with the fact that his wife was staring at him like she'd never seen him before in her life.
"Hello," she murmured quietly. Her soft voice was like the chiming of bells.
He swallowed rapidly, his mouth dry. She regarded him blandly, without a trace of fear, or longing, or love, or hatred, or... anything.
Her chest expanded with an inward breath. She reached out a slender hand as if to shake his.
"You must be Edward. I've heard a lot about you."
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