Author's Note: Okay, you know the drill. I'm reeeeeally sorry for not updating much sooner than last time. In addition to the whole writing essays/applying/interviewing for colleges process, would you believe me if I said that I got sick AGAIN? Well, I did. I'm better now, though! Or maybe I should say for now haha! Anyway, to make up for my lack of presence here, this chapter is longer than the ones I usually post! Yay!

Hugs and thank yous to Annie, MissMei92, Twilighter, arisaswordheart, Belle07, Katy (a.k.a. Twisted Willow), annahelenamccrae, The REAL Alice Cullen, The Universe Beyond, Forever Daydreaming (three times!), NeverGoodbyeRoxas, erised-i, Fallen Roses 07, miss.dramatikkkk, bubbles907, starlighttwilight, XboredX16, and Mandi1 for reviewing!

Annie: Yeah, you're right - it's gotten worse. I tried not to write too much of it though, because it's just not fun to write. Oh, yeah, baby. Carlisle-ahoy! Well, I don't want to say for sure, because that's when my computer will go up in flames, but I'd really love to continue this story up until Alice and Jasper join the family, a.k.a. when the Cullens are whole (except for Bella, of course). I actually did think once or twice about writing Carlisle's story, but I decided that it would be too much work, and too open for error. I would never be able to find out enough about the times in which he lived, or the way that people acted for it to be really accurate and good. Thank you so much for the compliments! They make me happy ::does happy dance:: I agree completely - two of my favorite scenes in Twilight are when Bella meets Carlisle in the hospital and when she meets Esme at the house. Even the voting scene in New Moon is great, because we get to see them. :-)

Katy: I was simply too lazy to send you a PM (actually, I thought I could get the chapter up more quickly if I did it this way), so I'm posting my reply here! Oh yeah. Enjoy the Carlisle. Love the Carlisle. ::laughs:: Quicker? Are you kidding? And ruin my reputation? I don't think so:-D P.S. No, he doesn't have OCD (although it would be hilarious to watch him fanatically clean dishes or something), he's just an all-around creep. Hmm... I'd much prefer if I had a Carlisle clone, but you can have one, if you wish. ::sigh:: Shirtless Edward. ::drools on keyboard:: Okay! And Esme is more than happy to give you a hug. :-)

annahelenamccrae: Thank you::sigh:: Did I ever mention that I wish my name were Anna? I LOVE that name. Anyway! Thank you for the kudos! I don't actually know what they are, but I've always loved the word. :-)

Disclaimer: Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, Esme Evenson, Charles Evenson, and Carlisle Cullen all belong to Stephenie Meyer ::lipsmack:: Frank, Margaret, and Isabella Bennington, and Samuel, Miriam, Franklin, and Susannah Platt all belong to me. Model T Fords... belong to lucky people. :-(

Chapter 15. Backfire

"No, no! No!

I awoke with a start. Charles was thrashing around, his arms lashing out in the darkness at an invisible assailant. The moonlight fell on the bed, and I could see that his eyes were shut tightly.

"Please, God! No! No! Stay away from me!"

He kicked a foot out and caught the side of my leg. I recoiled with a hiss, clutching at my ankle. I sat up, gathering the blankets around myself, and I gently shook his shoulder.

"Get off!" He threw my hand away, sitting up in bed.

I watched him warily to see if he was awake. He was panting, looking from side to side, struggling to make out shapes.

"Charles," I whispered, laying a hand on his back again.

Charles' head whipped back to me, his eyes wide with panic. He reached out a shaking hand and laid it on the side of my face. I was almost fooled into believing that he meant to be tender.

"Esme?" he whispered.

"It's all right," I replied, rubbing circles around his back. "It wasn't real."

His breathing slowly returned to normal, and he laid his head back on his pillow. I lay back down as well, tentatively leaning my head against his shoulder.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I whispered.

"No," he answered brusquely, staring at the ceiling.

"Are you sure?" I ventured. Perhaps if he would just talk about it….

"I said no."

This was the way it had been since Charles had returned. Nearly every night, Charles would awaken, screaming and flailing around from terrible nightmares. Or at least, what I could only assume were terrible nightmares, because he would never talk about them, no matter how many times I asked. When he awoke, he would be even more disconnected than usual, seldom even talking. I felt as though I were failing as a wife. Shouldn't I be his confidante? The one person he could talk to above all others? I had to break through to him somehow.

Charles shifted uncomfortably, pulling open the first few buttons on his pajama top. I rested my hand on the bare skin.

"You can tell me about it, Charles."

"Did you hear what I just said?"

I sighed. "It was just a dream, Charles. It wasn't real."

"I know it wasn't real!" Charles snarled at me, flinging my face and hand away from himself. He sat up, glowering. "Of course it was just a dream! Don't you think I know that?"

"I know it was a dream, Charles," I said, so quietly I was surprised he could hear me. I drew back from him, again hugging the sheets.

"Oh? So what is it that you think, then? You think that I don't know? Do you think that I am crazy, and I can't tell fantasy from reality?" Charles' eyes were wide, and he looked slightly crazed.

"N-no," I answered.

The damage was done, though. Charles lunged for me and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me.

"Is that what you think?" He demanded, nearly shouting now. The silence of the night was shattered, and I flinched away from the loud sound. "Is that what you all think? Do think that I don't realize that you've been talking about me! You all think I'm crazy, don't you? Well, I'm not, I'm not!" He shook me harder with every word.

"That's not true!" I insisted, trying to reason with him. "No one has been talking about you Charles, honestly!"

Charles scoffed, and pushed me away. He got out of bed and went to the window, throwing it wide.

I watched him as he stood there. The warm breeze that was ruffling his hair flitted across my skin me from where I lay in bed, but instead of feeling pleasant, it chilled me, and I huddled further under the blankets.

Charles and I stayed that way for the rest of the night - him, leaning against the sill and me, watching him warily – until the sky turned colors and the sun appeared over the horizon.


"No, honestly, Sam – it's the newest make on the market. Rides like a dream."

Frank ran his hand lovingly over his Model T Ford, stroking the black paint job. Margaret glanced at me, smiling amusedly. I was surprised how easily my smile came for her. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to genuinely smile.

"A dream, huh?" My father said, looking very intrigued by the car. "What do you think, Margaret?"

Margaret stepped away from the car and linked her arm with mine.

"Oh, it's lovely, Uncle Samuel – such a thrill to drive in. I've never seen anything go so fast except a train! Even Isabella likes it."

"Hmm," said my father. Anyone who knew him could tell that that was a sign that he was quite impressed.

Margaret and I, who both knew my father very well, traded sly looks out of the corners of our eyes. Margaret twitched my arm.

"Come on, Esme," she said, jerking her head in the direction of Uncle Franklin's house. "Let's leave the men to their machines and go and see how Isabella is doing."

I agreed easily and Margaret and I walked arm in arm up the porch steps and into the house.

Uncle Franklin's house looked so strangely bare. It was as if somehow Aunt Susannah's presence had been the real décor here, rather than any furnishings or decorations. Margaret and I walked into her bedroom, where Isabella was playing on the floor with her doll, looking utterly content. She looked up when we entered.

"Mama!" she cried, throwing her arms out in unadulterated joy.

Margaret's face split into a beaming smile. "Hello, darling!" she exulted, sweeping down upon Isabella and planting a kiss on her rosy cheek. Margaret sat down on the floor with Isabella, pulling her into her lap, and I made myself at home, sitting down and leaning against the old twin bed.

From the window, which was open so that we could have heard Isabella from outside, we could hear Frank, my father, and Uncle Franklin continue to talk nonstop about the virtues of Henry Ford, from his automobiles to his ingenious employ of the assembly line.

Margaret and I sat in an impossibly warm and comfortable silence, until Isabella fell asleep against her mother's breast, still clutching her doll.

"How are you, Esme?" Margaret asked, breaking the silence gently.

I knew what she was talking about immediately, but I still avoided the subject. "Right now, or since your last visit?"

Ever since the death of Margaret's mother, Frank and Margaret had made it a point to visit regularly. I could never quite tell if this was Frank's doing, and he wanted Margaret to maintain her ties to home, or if this was Margaret's subtle way of keeping an eye on me.

"Overall," she said.

"Well, I'm very well right now," I said, still skirting the issue. "It's always so wonderful to see you, darling."

Margaret gave me a Look. "You know what I meant," she said.

I did indeed. I looked down at my hands, not speaking.

"Are things any better at all?" she asked, so hopefully that it broke my heart to smile sadly and shake my head.

"I was hoping that the time that you spent apart would… I don't know… knock some sense into him."

I chuckled humorlessly. "Sort of the opposite, really."

"What do you mean?"

Suddenly, I found myself recounting the past months since Charles' return. How disconnected he had been. How he hardly even batted an eye when I told him of the panic the entire town had been last year, during that terrible flu epidemic. How so many people had died. How we had all been afraid to leave the house, and how suddenly, people with whom we had spent our entire lives would flee if they saw us so much as cough in the street from the dust kicked up by a horse. How I had fallen ill, and been too weak to stand; how I had coughed up blood. I told her about his nightmares.

Margaret's brow was crinkled by the time I fell silent, fiddling with my fingers.

"I… I don't profess to know Charles particularly well," she said thoughtfully. "But the behavior you have been describing… it seems so unlike him. Am I correct?"

I nodded without looking up.

"What about…?" It was Margaret's turn to look away. She seemed to be struggling for words.

I wished I didn't have to answer. I knew what she was asking, and I would have given anything not to have to tell her that Charles had not changed in that regard. If anything, he had gotten worse. Or perhaps it just seemed worse to me, having to see my skin change colors again, after becoming so used to my regular complexion. Maybe this was Charles' form of revenge for what happened the last night that we were together before he left. Maybe he felt the need to show me that he still dominated me.

Whatever the reason, I couldn't stand to let Margaret's hopes down. I didn't want to have to see the look of horror and disgust on her face that she had had when she had first found out. So, I very obviously changed the subject.

"It's getting towards evening. I should probably help Mother with supper."

Margaret nodded and drew a corner of her mouth up. "Yes, let's both go see what we can do."

Margaret was a Godsend.

I stood, brushing my dress off. Margaret ever-so-gently lifted Isabella into her arms and laid her into bed.

She turned to me and we locked eyes. I don't know how long we stayed that way. Silently, we came to a compromise not to think about my problems tonight. Margaret flashed a brilliant grin at me and looped her arm into mine.

I found myself smiling whole-heartedly, and we skipped down the stairs and into the kitchen like we were teenagers.

"Mother?" I called to the empty kitchen. There was no answer.

I looked at Margaret and she shrugged.

"Maybe she's outside," she suggested.

We walked outside and around to where our fathers still stood with Frank.

"Father," I called before they came into view around the corner of the house. "Do you know where Moth-" My voice died with a choking sound.

Charles raised his gaze from the car hood to my eyes. I stood, frozen to the ground. Charles hated it when I raised my voice for anything. He told me that it made me sound like a barmaid.

I finally tore my eyes away from his and noticed that Frank was looking at me very strangely, his eyebrows pulled together.

"Yes, Esme, your mother went to the store – she ran out of something or other."

The sound of my father's voice startled me. I had forgotten what I had even asked. I could feel Charles' stern eyes burning into my face, though I refused to look at him.

"W-well," I said quietly, "Margaret and I will just wait inside for her then, I suppose." Anything to get away from Charles.

"Wait, not yet, Esme," interrupted my uncle. "You have got to hear this engine!" He looked so enthusiastic that I wouldn't have been able to leave had Charles been brandishing a carving knife at me, so I smiled and glanced at Margaret quickly.

Uncle Franklin strode to the driver's side of the truck and opened the door, leaning into the cab. I was admittedly quite curious about this truck. It was certainly an odd-looking thing, but it still appealed to my eye, although not quite in the way that buildings and houses did. I watched as Uncle Frank pulled something and twisted something else inside and then climbed back out.

Father and Charles stepped back and watched. Frank came over to the two of us and put his arm around Margaret. They traded a smile.

Uncle Franklin was leaning over, looking at the front of the car and holding onto a lever sticking out of the front.

"Now, which way do I turn this again, Frank?" he asked.

Before Frank could answer, however, Uncle Franklin gave the lever a strong push downwards.

"No! That's the wrong way!" Frank started to shout.

BANG!

A deafening crack split the autumn air. I let out a scream. Uncle Franklin's arm was thrown backwards, and he clutched at it, hissing between his teeth.

"GET DOWN!" Charles bellowed. He pulled my father to his knees, and then covered his own head with his arms.

Everyone fell silent. We all looked at Charles in alarm. No one seemed to know what to make of Charles' reaction. It wasn't until Charles looked up slightly and I could see the fear in his eyes that I broke out of the haze of surprise.

I hurried to his side, kneeling down in the grass next to him, and took his face in my hands.

"Charles, are you all right?" I breathed, brushing his hair away from his face.

"I-I," I had never heard Charles speak without knowing exactly what he was going to say.

Uncle Franklin finally broke the near-silence, letting out a light laugh.

"You didn't need to panic, Charles," he said, obviously trying to sound bracing. "I guess I just turned the crankshaft the wrong way, and well, that's what happens!"

At the sound of Uncle Franklin's laughter, Charles' expression abruptly changed. His eyes flashed from uncertainty and fear to unadulterated fury. And his eyes found their target in me.

"I'm fine." He said shortly. He stood, and I was surprised that he offered me his hand. I accepted it and stood.

Charles behaved as if nothing had just happened. "May I have a word with you inside the house, sweetheart?" He asked me, smiling placidly and stroking my hand.

"Of course," I murmured, completely baffled.

I followed Charles into the house without looking over my shoulder to see the look of confusion that I knew must be on Margaret's face as well.

Once inside, Charles quickly turned to me and slapped me across the face before I could shield myself.

"What did you think you were doing out there?" he demanded, taking a step towards me angrily. I stepped back. He snarled at me.

"Did you not see the look on your father's face? What do you suppose he thinks now? He thinks that I am a coward! That I need to be protected by a woman!" Charles swiped at me again, but this time I side-stepped him, bumping into a table with a lamp on it. The table swayed, and I had to turn quickly to prevent the lamp from crashing to the ground and breaking.

Suddenly, I felt my hair being pulled back until I was forced to tip my head back. I could feel Charles' teeth graze my ear as he spoke.

"I don't know exactly what notions you got into your head while I was away, but I assure you, love, that you can abandon them. You belong to me, not the other way around. Don't you dare ever behave like that again."

He pushed me away from him, and I fell to the floor.

A door latched.

Charles and I both looked up. My mother was standing in the doorway, clutching a loaf of bread to her chest. She was staring at the two of us, frozen.

Charles laughed.

"Poor darling," he murmured, bending down and sweeping me up into his arms in one fluid movement. He turned me to face him and brushed my hair gently back into place.

"What happened?" my Mother asked, standing rooted in place.

"She tripped over that table you've got there," said Charles sympathetically, gesturing vaguely to the table I had indeed, crashed into after he shoved me. "I'm afraid I couldn't catch her before she hit the ground." He leaned towards me and placed a delicate kiss on the end of my nose.

I glanced at my mother. She was smiling slightly, now much more relaxed. I looked down at the floor, unable to speak.

"Oh, yes, that table is new," mother said, her eyes sweeping at the table and the askew lampshade.

"Esme is such a creature of habit, it's no wonder she tripped," said Charles fondly, now petting the side of my face. I wanted to cry. "How she survived without me all of these months I just can't fathom."

"It wasn't easy for any of us, Charles," said mother.

Charles sighed heavily, and then turn to face her. "Yes, well, I'm back now," he said, smiling widely. He turned and tossed a glance at me over his shoulder.

"And I plan to stay."


"Happy Holidays, Esme."

I looked around, startled. Frank was standing a few feet away from me in the early morning sun, hands in his pockets. I had sneaked out of my house quietly, hoping to enjoy the fresh winter air before Charles awoke and the day had to start. I wandered aimlessly and found myself in my Uncle's yard, which wasn't very far at all.

Frank smiled at me.

"Early riser too, eh?" he asked kindly.

I nodded, unable to repress a smile.

"Always have been," I said.

It was so easy to talk to Frank. He never said condescending things that put me in my place, or made jokes at Margaret's or my expense. Whenever he spoke about anything serious, even if it was an uncomfortable topic, like Aunt Susannah's death, it was never awkward, because I could always sense his complete sincerity.

Frank started to walk towards where I was standing slowly. "Isabella always tends to keep us up, and I wanted to let Margaret sleep while she could," he explained.

I nodded. I wished that I could tell him how much I wanted to thank him for the way he took care of his wife and daughter. Seeing Margaret's happiness allowed me a brief vacation into a contented life.

Frank stopped in front of me and looked around at the bare field dusted lightly with snow.

"Going my way?" he asked.

I laughed.

We began walking together, trudging slowly over the stumps of dead wheat, not particularly caring where we were going. I enjoyed the comfortable silence; it felt so safe. After a few moments, I looked up from the ground and let out a laugh. Frank looked up curiously.

We had ended up in front of the car in question, gleaming gloriously in the light. I looked at it and sighed, perhaps a little wistfully.

"Do you like it?" Frank asked.

"Very much," I nodded. "It must be so nice to be able to go anywhere you want when you want to." I looked over at Frank and saw him watching me intently.

"Would you like to go for a ride?" he asked.

My eyes widened. Uncle Franklin had purchased an automobile not long after the incident a few months ago, but I had never ridden in it. "Oh, no!" I said, shocked.

"Why not?"

I struggled for a moment. "B-because! I couldn't just drive off." I cast around for a reason why, and the only answer I could think of was, "Charles will be waking soon."

"We're not driving off to have a mad, passionate affair at the Popped Keg Tavern, Esme," said Frank dryly. "We'll just drive into town – I'll even let you drive."

My head snapped over to stare at him. Was he mad?

"I don't know how to drive!"

"I'll teach you. It's very simple."

I mouthed wordlessly, emitting a few squeaks. Frank leaned in confidentially. His eyes were sparkling with a gleam I could have sworn he had borrowed from Margaret.

"You know you want to," he said teasingly.

"Well… well what if I hurt my arm like Uncle Franklin? Then what?" There. Finally I had come up with a decent excuse.

"I'll start the engine. All you'll need to do is the actual driving part." He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me towards the car. I dragged my feet in the dirt. When we reached the driver's side door, he stopped.

"You'll love it," he promised.

I sighed.

"Fine," I agreed reluctantly.

"Excellent," Frank said, his grin back in place. "Climb in." He opened the door in a grand, sweeping gesture.

I climbed inside clumsily, scooping my skirts up around my legs.

"Here, sorry," Frank apologized, leaning over me, turned a key, and pulled a lever.

Frank walked around to the front of the car, flashed a smile at me through the glass, and leaned down. After a few moments, I heard the roar of the engine. I jumped wildly. Frank climbed in on the passenger side and closed the door.

"You ready?" He asked excitedly.

Twenty minutes and many screams from me later, we sat in front of the grocery store in town, laughing hysterically. I was most likely laughing hysterically because I was terrified out of my mind, and Frank was probably laughing hysterically because he seemed to think that my ineptness was a veritable riot. I eventually controlled myself enough to nudge Frank playfully on the shoulder.

"Stop that!" I demanded, which served only to redouble his mirth.

Frank eventually sobered up when I climbed out of the car in a huff, insisting that I would rather walk home than ever sit in the same truck as him again. He tried to placate me by telling me about the first time that Margaret had ever driven, and then had to resort to talking about his first time driving. He finally managed to convince me to return to the truck after promising to drive home.

"You know you really didn't do that badly, for your first time," he said conversationally when he was behind the steering wheel and I was safely on the other side of the car. Now that Frank was driving, I was surprised to find myself taking pleasure in the smooth ride. "You caught onto the hand controls very quickly. It was the gear shifts on the floor that you had more trouble with."

"Well, you could have told me that one of them makes the car go backwards," I said gloomily.

Frank looked away from the road for a moment to smile apologetically at me. I reluctantly giggled. Frank's smile turned into a beam. I could no longer be angry with him, and I smiled back.

We drove in silence for a while. I looked out of the window, feeling the exhilaration of the chilly wind in my hair.

"Esme," said Frank. I could sense a hesitation in his voice.

"Yes?" I asked, by forehead crinkling.

Frank sighed heavily. He no longer looked at all carefree. On the contrary, he looked deadly serious.

"How are you and Charles doing?" He asked, again looking at me significantly.

I froze. How did he know? Had Margaret told him? No. She had sworn to me countless times that she wouldn't tell anyone. I stared at him incredulously, unable to speak. He took in my expression in less than one second.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"We're doing fine," I said quickly, but a little too late.

Frank looked at me witheringly. "Don't give me that, Esme," he said scornfully. "Did you honestly believe that I didn't know? I, a medical doctor?"

"When did she tell you? Why did Margaret tell you?!" I cried, my voice rising shrilly. I could feel my throat closing off as the feeling of betrayal coursed through me.

Frank suddenly pulled the car alongside the road and looked over at me, eyes pained. "Margaret knows?" he asked quietly.

I was stopped in my tracks. There was heartbreak in his voice that I had not expected. We looked into each other's eyes, and in that moment, it was as though we could see through each other's minds. Neither of us had to say anything, but I knew that Frank would give anything not to have Margaret feel my pain vicariously, as we both knew she did. And Frank somehow knew everything that went on behind closed doors between Charles and me.

Frank sighed again. "You don't have to tell me anything, Esme," he said, catching me off guard. "Just know this: you are not the first woman that I have seen in this position."

My mouth fell open slightly. That was so surreal to fathom; never did I feel more alone in the universe than when Charles treated me the way he did. Frank misinterpreted my surprise.

"No, no. I don't know any of them personally. But I am a doctor… and sometimes you see things you don't want to see." There was a haunted look in his eyes, and I compulsively reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. Frank looked at me and smiled, chuckling quietly.

"My point is, Esme, I have seen women like you, seen them repeatedly, because unlike you they seek treatment for their injuries. And not one of them has left their husband. Not one. I don't understand what it is, why they allow this inhumanity to continue, but there you are. Abused women can almost never leave." He looked at me intensely, with a fire in his eyes. "Then, one by one, they stop coming. Some of them are prevented from returning once their husbands find out. Some of them are too ashamed to show up twice. And some of them… some of them don't make it back to the hospital in time for us to save them."

Frank fell silent. I felt a twisting in my stomach. There had been times when the pain had been so bad that I believed that I would die before the night was through. I hoped that it did not show on my face.

"I don't know how to make myself any clearer on this, Esme," Frank finished, staring out the windshield. "Just remember what I said."

We drove home in silence, my thoughts in a maze.


I was bleeding uncontrollably out of my leg. Charles had thrown me through a window, and I was helpless to stop the blood. I had run away until my leg gave out, and now I could see Columbus Hospital just a few hundred feet in front of me. I dragged myself along the ground, leaving a trail of blood behind me. I was almost to the doorstep, and I held back a scream of agony. Carlisle was standing right outside the door, watching my progress.

"Esme?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes!" I mouthed, but no sound came out. A wave of fear rushed over me. I tried to speak again.

"Please help me! I'm dying!"

Nothing.

I screamed silently at Carlisle, trying to get him to understand. The pain mounted and I had to stop and clutch my wound.

Carlisle looked intently at my hands. "Is that blood?" he asked.

I nodded vigorously. Carlisle stepped forward. I reached for his outstretched hand, but just when we were about to touch, I heard Frank's voice echoing in my head.

"You didn't make it in time."

Then, the hospital, Carlisle, the stoop, everything vanished.

I was back in Charles' house, and he was standing over me with a revolver in his hand.

"It's his, isn't it?!" he shouted at me.

"What's his?" I mouthed desperately. "I don't know what you're talking about! Please, no!"

"Liar," breathed Charles, leveling the revolver at me.

He pulled the trigger.

"NO!" I screamed.

I sat straight up in bed, my hair plastered to my face.

Charles grunted and turned over next to me. It was early morning. I was covered in sweat, and I was panting as though I had just run a mile. It took me a moment to realize that I was shaking uncontrollably. I gathered the blankets around myself, only to throw them off and jump out of bed.

I ran down the hall as fast as I could and tore into the bathroom.

As it was, I only just made it to the sink before my stomach contracted and I retched.


Author's Note: So? You like, you like? You hate, you hate? Oh, and I forgot to mention at the beginning on the chapter: just so we stay on top of things, a shirtless Edward and a hug from Esme to Twisted Willow, a wet, shirtless Carlisle for Fallen Roses 07, and erised-i's Mom's leftovers for me!!