Author's Note: Thank you guys so much for waiting so long for this chapter! I'm so incredibly sorry that it took so long, but for those of you who saw my Author's Note (before it mysteriously disappeared off the face of the earth), you know why. For those of you who didn't see it (which is probably good, because I had to endure the humiliation of mistakenly calling Alfred Hitchcock Albert Hitchcock), the reason it has taken me so long is because my computer crashed. I was terribly fortunate to have printed off my story (including the long-awaited Chapter 16) a few days beforehand, due to a serendipitous if unprecedented moment of foresight on my part, so all was not lost. Anyway, I'm back up and running, so hopefully this won't happen again! You guys have all waited so long, so I won't dawdle. :-)
Thanks to MissMei92; Twilighter; Belle07; azvamplover; The RaVen; Twisted Willow; Mandi1; miss.dramatikkkk (twice); simplyme88; Forever Daydreaming (twice); starlightwilight (twice); annahelenamccrea; imagine purple; erised-i (twice); NellieGURL; NeverGoodbyeRoxas; arisaswordheart; bkwrmgrl87; SockShopping (twice); Angela; Annie; kelsie (twice); LovingMyDoctor; idyllic nocturne; addicted.2.twilight (twice); harem (twice); Alice Brooks; doing 25 life in azkaban; bubbles907; AneleTiger (three times!); Fallen Roses 07 (twice); KlutzLike Bella; SWEET-STUFF063; Mirane; Isabel Hale; Luvs-Mitchel-Musso; nekoearlover; Cecilia has a pen; bloody ampersand; ANGELA; lavanja; Lon-Dubh; Iris Oulle; yasioasasi; Holli7555; ObsessedwithTwilight; and orlibluver for reviewing! Whew! I think I responded to all of you, but if I forgot anybody, I sincerely apologize. There were a ton of you! Talk about moral support! My responses to anonymous reviewers are below.
The RaVen: Ciao, RaVen! No ti preoccupato su il tuo inglese - e' molto bene! (Sfortunamente, non posso dire lo stesso sul mi'italiano!) Sono molto felice che hai deciso leggere la mia storia per migliorare il tuo inglese - forse dovrei leggere un po' di fanfiction italiano! Anyway, enough of my terrible Italian! Haha, yeah, I'm bad and haven't gotten all of my chapters up over there yet. While it is true that Esme wouldn't have married Carlisle if it hadn't been for Charles... I don't really feel too hard pressed to thank him. I don't know, maybe I'm just bitter. :-D
Angela: Hi! I'm not sure if you're the same Angela who reviewed later on, so I'm going to reply separately, just in case. :-) Thank you for reviewing! I'm really pleased that you like it, and really pleased that you mentioned SM, because that makes me feel good. :-) I hope you like this chapter!
Annie: Thanks for the hug::hugs back:: So how are your computer problems going? I've been having my own over the past few months. ::giggles conspiratorially:: Don't tell anyone yet! It doesn't officially come out until this chapter (though I guess it was kind of obvious, wasn't it?) I would really like to do Carlisle's perspective of when he meets Esme for the second time. I would have to write it from Esme's point of view first, though, so I know what happens (it's easier to get the scene from her before Carlisle). I think I would be terrified to take on the great and terrible POV that is Edward, though. I really think that SM needs to write Carlisle's story, too. As well as Alice's. In fact, she should probably just do them all. Squee! That was a lovely thing you said, though. :-)
kelsie: Hey! Again, I don't know if you're the same kelsie who reviewed later, so I'm going to respond separately, just to guarantee there's no confusion. I have a tendency to check stories every half hour to an hour when I really want them to be updated! It's like I can will them into being. I think you're awesome, too. :-)
ANGELA: Here's the other Angela. I do wonder if you're the same person... Anyway, I actually updated for real this time, so it's more than just a boring Author's Note! Isn't it great?? (Great that it's not a boring AN, that is. I'm not saying that I think the chapter's great or anything.) ... Just wanted to clear that up. :-)
lavanja: Here it is! The wait wasn't too terribly long between the note and the chapter, was it? I'm glad you liked the note, though... even though I said Albert instead of Alfred, which is kind of embarrassing. Sort of like mistranslating the word "condoned" on your SATs and then using it wrong in your essay so that you contradict that point you're trying to make... not that that's ever happened to me or anything... Maybe I'd better stop talking now.
kelsie: Here's the other one! I'm really glad I can keep updating, too. It was looking for a while like I wouldn't be able to continue with this story until I got a computer in college - in September::wipes brow:: Dodged that bullet.
Okay, now for the award-giving: more oreos for MissMei92, even if she prefers McFlurries to blizzards; an Emmett for The RaVen (Rosalie never has to find out); a mountain lion for Twisted Willow, because Edward is feeling testy; a squeel-muffler for Mandi1, so her students don't think she's crazy (on my account, at least!); a shirtless Edward for SockShopping, along with a new wand, because she lost her old one; a Margaret for DarlingKittyStar just because it's Wednesday and because she deserves onea trampoline for harem, just in case; a Charles for Mirane for her to rip to shreds, as well as any previously delegated prizes, such as Carlisles, Edwads, and chocolate goodies, because she missed out on those previous offers; a cookie for Isabel Hale, because one good turn deserves another; a Slytherin scarf for Fallen Roses 07, because she prefers them to Gryffindor scarves; some paper towels for starlightwilight, with which to mop up the milk; a Margaret for Holli7555, because she deserves one, too; and finally, because everyone has been so wonderful and supportive (and I would love you guys even if you hadn't been more patient than Bella in the meadow of the next-to-the-last chapter of Eclipse), I have another collective prize! Because everyone seemed so enamored with him after last chapter, a tousel-haired Frank for everyone!! (Did I mention that he's gorgeous? Dark hair, blue eyes, unbelievable smile...
Disclaimer: Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, Esme Evenson, Charles Evenson, Carlisle Cullen, and Esme's unborn child all belong to Stephenie Meyer, who just celebrated her birthday!! Happy Birthday, Stephenie! Samuel and Miriam Platt, Frank and Margaret Bennington, and Franklin Platt all belong to me.
Chapter 16. Darkness
"It's his, isn't it?"
"What's his? Please, God, no!"
My eyes snapped open. Again, I was covered in cold sweat and I felt ill. It took a few moments before I could recall my surroundings. Sunlight was streaming into my eyes, and I shielded myself from the light while waiting for the nausea to pass.
With a jolt, I realized where I was. I sat straight up, the blood rushing to my head and causing my stomach to roll.
I was sitting in the armchair I had fallen into in weariness some uncertain amount of time ago. I twisted around in my seat to glance at the clock. I gasped. It was nearly five o'clock - Charles would be leaving the office in fifteen minutes. I hadn't finished with the laundry, let completely alone begin to cook supper. I jumped to my feet.
This, clearly, was a mistake. My stomach lurched, and I clamped a hand over my mouth, darting for the basin in the kitchen.
I clung to the side of the sink, my stomach heaving weakly. I felt the cold and clammy prickling on my forehead which had become so familiar over the past couple of weeks. When my stomach finally finished emptying itself, I rinsed out the sink and straightened up, wiping my mouth exhaustedly.
I leaned against the sink for a moment, collecting myself. I would just have to sacrifice the laundry for now and focus on supper. Charles was much less likely to notice unfinished clothing than an unfinished meal. With greater effort than it should have taken me, I shoved myself away from the sink and began shuffling around the room, collecting vegetables, cooking utensils, and spices from their various locations.
I made my was slowly back to the counter and dropped my burdens there, leaning myself against it for support.
For the past two weeks, I had been overcome by fatigue at random intervals, and I frequently found myself needing to rest. I assumed that it was from a lack of sleep. I had been having terrible nightmares that plagued me no matter where or when I slept. Not to mention the wretched stomach sickness that I had come down with. I was furious that I had allowed myself to become so lax in my duties as to fall asleep just from a moment's rest.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Immediately, I saw Charles' face flash across my eyelids, brandishing the pistol at me. I flinched away from the vision, reopening my eyes. Ever since the first night, I had been too afraid to see the dream through to the end, terrified that one night, the gunshot would become real, and I wouldn't wake. I always tried to say something different in my dream, although my words always came out in so much breath, and no voice at all. Every time, I tried to crawl faster. I reached out to Carlisle more desperately, praying that he would understand faster. I felt a desperate helplessness that I couldn't even escape Charles in my sleep anymore. He was an all-pervading presence in my life. He was my worst fear in waking, and my worst nightmare in sleep.
I pushed myself away from the countertop, turning slowly and beginning to chop up the vegetables. I dumped them unceremoniously into a pot of water and set them on the stove to boil. By this time, the clock had chimed five o'clock, and I hurriedly set about making biscuits.
I dropped them onto a sheet and thrust them into the oven. Then, I snatched up the laundry basket and dashed outside, hanging out clothes up as quickly as possible.
No matter how I raced, though, it couldn't possibly have been fast enough. I heard the front door open and close.
My heart automatically stopped.
"Esme."
Even from outside, I could hear the anger in Charles' voice drift through the open window.
The shirt I was pinning up slipped from between my fingers, and I began quivering all over. My breath came in small gasps.
"Come in here, please," Charles' voice continued.
My breaths soon turned into tiny sobs, and I wrapped my arms around one of the clothes poles, clinging to it with all of my might.
Charles has always frightened me, but I hadn't been this... petrified at the thought of him hitting me for as long as I could remember. I slid down the pole, my sobs gaining strength and intensity as I touched the grass.
"Oh, please, oh please," I gasped, pressing my face to the rough wood. "Please don't hurt me."
His eyes narrowed. "Come in here," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.
I forcefully slowed my breathing, wiping my eyes as I stood shakily. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment before walking slowly into the kitchen.
I pulled myself by one arm, the other attempting to stem the flow of blood seeping from my leg. Carlisle looked down at me, his eyebrows pulled together.
"Esme?" he asked uncertainly.
"Carlisle! I'm bleeding!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, but no sound came out.
"Look! Blood!" I withdrew my hand from the wound for the briefest of moments, showing him the blood.
Carlisle gasped and took one step forward. I reached for him with everything in me, but Frank was already whispering.
"You didn't make it in time."
My hand closed around nothing.
Instead I was looking straight at the revolver in Charles' hand.
"It's his, isn't it?!" he shouted at me.
"No, please!" I mouthed. "Please don't hurt me!"
Looking into Charles' eyes was like looking down two twin wells. He took aim.
Anger coursed through my veins like fire. I saw red. "NO!" I screamed, my voice bursting, raw and animalistic from my throat, and the sound of it startled both of us. "You can't!"
"I'd rather see you dead than see you give birth to another man's child," Charles cried.
Then he shot.
"What are you doing?"
I turned, surprised.
"Making supper," I answered meekly.
Charles stared at me like I had just uttered something absurd.
"And why, pray tell, are you doing that?" he asked,
"I..." I was deeply confused. Was this a trap Charles was trying to lead me into?
Charles quickly became frustrated with my silence. "Your parents, Esme! Your parents!"
I gasped. Of course! We were having supper with my parents this evening; how had I forgotten?
Perhaps I shouldn't ask myself that.
"I forgot," I murmured.
"Hmm," said Charles. He eyed me up and down "Well, you cannot go in that."
I looked down at my simple, yet wrinkled, housedress.
"I'll go change," I suggested, turning to go.
"Why don't you turn the stove off first? Unless you want to burn the house down while we're gone?" Charles suggested, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I reached behind me and shut the burner off, then I lowered my head and walked past Charles as swiftly as possible.
I threw open the doors of our new wardrobe and snatched the first suitable dress. I pulled my first dress over my head and slipped the other one on in its place. Then, I chose some makeup powder from a drawer and carefully applied it to my face until it concealed the bruise blossoming over my cheek. I closed the wardrobe door and, as the mirror on the door flashed past me, I caught something in its reflection. I jumped wildly and spun around to face my husband.
Charles strolled towards me, then he reached up and brushed my hair back behind my shoulders. One hand moved to where the bruise was, hidden from sight. He tilted his head slightly.
"You should come when I call you," he whispered sadly. I looked away from his eyes fearfully. I might be able to hide the marks he made upon my skin, but how long would I be able to hide what was growing inside of me?
"We- we'll be late," I whispered.
Charles exhaled, then he released me and walked toward the door. I followed in his shadow.
"Hello!"
My mother greeted us enthusiastically at the door, smiling widely as she kissed Charles and embraced me. I clung to the back of her dress like a child, never wanting to let go.
"How are you, darling?" She asked me, holding me at arms' length.
Unable to answer truthfully, I held her close again and breathed into her hair, "Mother."
Charles shook hands with my father, who was standing close by, and made small talk as I followed my mother into the kitchen to help her bring the dishes out.
As I carefully picked up the platter of chicken, my mother looked me up and down, sighing happily.
"My goodness, Esme! You're positively glowing! Have you been spending more time outdoors?"
I looked away guiltily. Fear was mounting inside my chest like an immense pressure. How long would it be until he found out?
"Yes, perhaps," I mumbled.
Mother was thoughtful. "Hmm," she said, leading the way into the dining room. "Well maybe you should consider planting a garden, dear. There is nothing so rewarding as planting seeds and watching them grow."
"Watching what grow?" asked Father, looking up from his conversation with Charles.
"Plants, dear," answered Mother, setting her dishes of potatoes and greens next to mine.
"Mmm," responded Father. "For a moment I though you were talking about some grandchildren for you and me."
I froze, halfway sitting. Charles chuckled and smiled indulgently at me.
Mother's eyes lit up. "Yes," she breathed. "You know, that's quite rewarding, too."
"Yes, what say you, Charles? A pretty little girl running around the place?"
"The pitter-patter of little feet," my mother rejoined.
"That sounds lovely," said Charles, still smiling broadly. "Don't you think so, Esme, darling?"
I nodded, forcing a smile into place.
"Or a son," my mother breathed excitedly, looking at me. "Wouldn't that be wonderful, Esme? A darling boy following you around by your apron strings? Helping you around the house?"
"Well, if it were a boy," Charles said suddenly, "He would have to spend a great deal of his time with me."
"That's right," exclaimed my father, nodding approvingly at Charles. "Learn the way of the attorney, eh? 'Evenson and Son.' Just imagine that!"
"'Evenson and Sons,'" corrected Charles, stressing the plural.
I listened in silence to the horrifying conversation taking place around the table. This couldn't be happening. Charles was sitting next to me, his arm on the back of my chair, casually planning the life of children we hadn't even conceived yet! What would happen when he found out about our real child? The one I had only realized existed last night?
Charles glanced over at me, and misinterpreted my expression of woe.
"Of course, we'll have to have a daughter for Esme, here, won't we?" Charles asked fondly, stroking the same cheek that he had struck when we were alone the night before. I felt sick. I could hardly speak throughout the rest of supper, and I spread my food around my plate as well as I could, so that it would look as though I ate.
My parents followed us out onto the porch as we were saying our good-byes. I stared unseeingly out into the distance.
What am I going to do? What in heaven's name can I do? The words repeated in my head like a mantra, echoing, ricocheting off the corners of my mind.
Mother kissed Charles' cheek once more.
"You'll be an outstanding father, Charles," she said, "Just be as wonderful a father to your children as you are a husband to Esme, and everything will turn out beautifully."
I looked up, shocked. I watched as Charles chuckled and thanked my mother, before taking me by the arm and steering me down the steps. I stumbled as I walked, not paying any attention to where we were going. There was no way that I could allow Charles to treat our child the way he treated me. I knew that he would, there was no question about it. It would only be a matter of time. My eyes burned. I couldn't let that happen!
I wouldn't let that happen.
My jaw hardened as I realized what had to be done. Charles wouldn't ever come near our child - no, my child.
He would never even find out about it.
The clock in the parlor chimed ten o'clock. I lay in bed, next to Charles, my heart pounding. I squeezed my eyes shut, counting every second that passed. I would have to wait until Charles had been asleep for a while. I could not simply get up and leave as soon as he dropped off to sleep, or he would quickly re-awaken.
After what seemed like an eternity, Charles' breathing slowed and deepened. I stole a glance over at him. His eyes were closed, but they were still moving. I was afraid to move a single muscle; to breathe too deeply. I waited, motionless, listening to the clock chime every quarter hour. Finally, as the clock chimed ten forty-five, I moved my hand ever-so-slightly. I lifted a corner of the bedspread, but that was all I found myself able to do.
My heartbeat accelerated - the only part of myself that moved. I simply could not bring myself to budge, try as I might. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Charles would certainly awaken, and what would he do when he found me halfway out the door? And after that, he would never let me out of his sight, paranoid that I would flee from him the moment his back was turned.
It would be much more sensible to wait until he left for work in the morning, I reasoned with myself. That way, he would be out of the house, out of the entire vicinity, and I could make good my escape without needing to catch my breath at the creak of every floorboard.
It would prove much wiser to let my scheme rest until the next day, or maybe even the day after that. That way, I would have a chance to tell my parents goodbye, subtly, at least.
I sighed and closed my eyes.
Frank whispered in my ear, "Abused women can never leave."
I caught my breath.
No, that's not what he had said.
He had said that they almost never leave.
I looked over at Charles. Then, as the clock began to mournfully ring eleven times, I slipped out of bed without a sound.
I recalled from my childhood years of experience with sneaking out of the house in the dead of the night. I looked longingly at my wardrobe, wishing that I would at least collect a change of clothes, but I knew that my chanced of being caught would increase exponentially if I dawdled. Carefully, stepping along the seams of the floorboards, I tiptoed to the door. I twisted the handle and pulled the door towards me.
Squeeeak.
I stopped in my tracks. I shut my eyes tightly, struggling to remember what to do in the event of a creaky hinge.
"Just pull it toward you really fast," Margaret's voice sounded in my head.
With a small gust of wind, the door opened silently.
I carefully avoided the throw rug at the base of the door, not being able to see where the floorboards came together beneath it.
I swiftly rushed down the hallway, my nightgown billowing behind me. My heart was pounding faster than ever as I reached the kitchen, seizing a garden coat that I had left hanging on the hat rack. I painstakingly pulled the kitchen door towards its hinges, so that it wouldn't scrape against the latch, and pulled it open.
I stepped out into the chilly night air and closed the door behind me.
Then, I looked around to make sure that nothing was astir. I leapt from the small porch and took off into the night, running aimlessly into the darkness.
I ran until my breath came in short, painful bursts, until my eyes were stinging and watering from the chilly breeze. Presently, my foot caught a root, and I went sprawling along the ground.
I pulled myself onto my knees, the wind completely knocked out of me. I gasped for breath, resting for a moment on the ground. I rose and looked around for the direction in which I had been headed.
I turned on the spot, my head swiveling around for some landmark, something to guide my way.
A twig snapped in the distance.
I cried out softly, then clamped my hands over my mouth.
The breeze blew, and the blowing of the blossoms on the tress sounded like fabric brushing against itself.
My eyes were now watering for another reason as I forced myself to softly say, "Who's there?"
Nothing answered me.
Quiet gasps shook my body as I desperately turned in circles, looking for the way I had come.
I walked uncertainly forward. The night was overcast; the moon was new, and I was nearly blind. I cursed myself for not bringing a candle, but how could I have?
Sobbing openly but silently now, I made myself walk in a single direction. For all I knew I could have been going in circles.
The wind blew again, and the night was alive with the motion of creatures unknown all around me.
"Oh, please help me," I whispered pathetically, dragging my feet uncertainly along the ground. "Oh, please!"
I held my arms out in front of me, waving them wildly in all directions.
Something caught hold of my dress.
My entire body convulsed in fear and I turned, gathering up my skirt and pulling at them with all of my might, crying out in fear.
"No, no!"
I could make out a dim outline of something next to me. I kicked out my leg at my assailant.
My foot hit something hard. Something solid. Something definitely not human.
I stopped where I was. Cautiously, I reached out a hand, searching.
"Oh!"
It was a gate! I stepped forward eagerly, feeling along the wooden surface My gown was caught on the latch of the gate. Gently this time, I freed my skirt and ran my fingers along the thick piece of wood holding the gate in place.
I gasped. My fingers hesitantly traced over the indentations in the wood. I knew somehow what they spelled.
M-A-R-G-A-R-E-T.
This was Uncle Franklin's gate! How had I come this far? I didn't know, but I didn't care. I lifted the latch and pulled the gate aside. This gate would lead right up to his barn, from where I could easily collect a lantern.
I sprinted along the fence, sliding my hand along the wood, feeling like I was holding hands with it.
Soon, the grass turned to mud, and I knew that I was nearing the building. I slowed, holding my free hand out in front of me.
When I touched the wood of the barn, I let out a breath I didn't know that I had been holding.
I let go of the fence and rested my face against the sturdy structure, embracing it tenderly.
I slid along the wood until I came to the door. I pulled it open with some difficulty and slipped inside.
The inside of Uncle Franklin's barn was somehow darker than the night outside, as though the darkness were compressed in here, but I knew my way around the barn like it was my room at home... my parents' home.
I turned to my right and walked confidently forward a few paces; then I stretched a hand out in front of me. As expected, I touched a wooden shelf. I rummaged around and soon felt the outline of a lantern. I pulled it off the shelf and hugged it to me like it was a beloved doll.
Where were the matches?
"Separate the lock from the key."
"That's right," I breathed. Uncle Franklin used to say that, worrying that one of Margaret's "brilliant" schemes would absolutely necessitate the use of an oil lamp. He would wink at me and then place the matches... where?
Surprisingly calm, I headed for his work bench.
"Ouch!" With a loud sound, I walked straight into something very solid. I had no idea what it could be, but I felt my way around it until I reached my destination. I pulled open one drawer after another until I found a box of matches.
I struck a match and squinted at the sudden burst of light. It took a few matches before my eyes were adjusted enough to see my way to lighting the lantern.
Once the lantern was lit, I breathed a sigh of relief. I held up the light and turned to survey the room.
Uncle Franklin's truck reflected the light back at me. So that was what I had run into.
My breathing picked up. Slowly, not completely sure what was going on in my own mind, I opened the passenger door to the truck.
A soft click froze me where I was. I turned my head almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to see the barrel of a rifle pointing at me.
"Nice try."
