Stories
Finally! Time to type! Hope you enjoy…. This covers the end of Chapter 15: The Cullens, and extends into the beginning of Chapter 16: Carlisle.
Disclaimer: Still not mine, never will be. I'm running out of creative ways to say it. I'm just having a little fun with the characters created by the wonderful Stephenie Meyer.
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I led her up the stairs, pointing out rooms as we went. I would not presume to actually show her any of the rooms; not without the express permission of their occupants. If the others wanted her to see their rooms, it was their right to show her themselves. I would not further intrude on our sanctuary by bringing her into such private spaces. I'd done enough by bringing her into the house without first speaking to my family.
I would have continued like that, but she stopped suddenly at the end of the hall, staring incredulously at the ornament that hung on the wall. She looked so utterly bewildered that I couldn't hold back a soft chuckle.
"You can laugh," I told her. "It is sort of ironic." Very ironic, considering the house was filled with creatures that possess no soul and live off the lives of others.
Her hand slowly reached out, drifting toward the ancient cross as though she wished to run her fingers along its smooth surface. No laugh escaped her lips, and wonder shone from her eyes.
"It must be very old," she breathed.
I shrugged. "Early sixteen- thirties, more or less."
She turned to stare at me then, disbelief evident in every line of her countenance. "Why do you keep this here?" she demanded, her voice soft.
"Nostalgia. It belonged to Carlisle's father."
"He collected antiques?" Bella suggested, doubt overwhelming in her tone.
"No. He carved this himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit where he preached."
Her face paled, shock kissing her features, as she tried to wrap her mind around the concept of so many years. She looked away from me, back toward the cross. The silence stretched for a long minute, and I was terrified she was going to faint again. There is only so much shock a system can absorb before it shuts down completely, after all.
"Are you all right?" I queried anxiously. She ignored my question.
Instead, with her voice low, she asked, "How old is Carlisle?" She was still focused intently on the cross.
"He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty- second birthday," I admitted.
When she finally managed to look back at me, I was again frightened I was going to loose her—either to unconsciousness or to fear. Her brown eyes stood out against her ghostly pale face, a million questions within their depths. I watched her carefully, preparing to catch her when she fell. But I decided to continue anyway, hoping it would alleviate some of the strain she was under.
"Carlisle was born in London, in the sixteen- forties, he believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately then, for the common people anyway. It was just before Cromwell's rule, though."
Bella continued to stare at me. Her eyes had gone slightly unfocused, as though she had given up trying to believe, and for the thousandth time since meeting her I wished that her mind was not silent to me. I wanted, so badly, to know what she was thinking. I understood the disbelief. I would have been questioning my own sanity, had she been the one telling me this story. Disbelief was far simpler, since belief was so nearly impossible. This went against everything she had ever been taught to believe as the truth. The desire to have her run from me, for her own safety, was nearly overwhelming, and increasing with each moment that passed. Maybe if I continued? But what would I do if she ran? I had no idea. So I watched her carefully.
"He was the only son of an Anglican pastor. His mother died giving birth to him. His father was an intolerant man. As the Protestants came into power, he was enthusiastic in his persecution of Roman Catholics and other religions. He also believed very strongly in the reality of evil. He led hunts for witches, werewolves… and vampires." I watched her stiffen as I said the word, but I did not stop. I wanted her to run from me… and yet… and yet loosing her would kill me. "They burned a lot of innocent people—of course the real creatures that he sought were not so easy to catch.
"When the pastor grew old, he placed his obedient son in charge of the raids. At first Carlisle was a disappointment; he was not quick to accuse, to see demons where they did not exist. But he was persistent, and cleverer than his father. He actually discovered a coven of true vampires that lived hidden in the sewers of the city, only coming out at night to hunt. In those days, when monsters were more than just myths and legends, that was the way many lived.
"The people gathered their pitchforks ant torches, of course-"I couldn't hold back a dark laugh then—that Hollywood cliché was, ironically, true, at least in this particular case, "and gathered where Carlisle had seen the monsters exit into the street. Eventually, one emerged."
I let my voice drop, and knew I still had Bella's attention when she leaned closer, straining to hear.
"He must have been ancient, and weak with hunger. Carlisle heard him call out in Latin to the others when he caught the scent of the mob. He ran through the streets, and Carlisle—he was twenty- three and very fast—was in the lead of the pursuit. The creature could have easily outrun them, bur Carlisle thinks he was too hungry, so he turned and attacked. He fell on Carlisle first, but the others were close behind, and he turned to defend himself. He killed two men, and made off with a third, leaving Carlisle bleeding in the street."
I paused. This was dangerous territory—I didn't want Bella learning how the change was made, but I wanted to finish the story. She deserved at least that much. So I edited, and prayed that her quick mind was too distracted by what she had learned to figure it out.
"Carlisle knew what his father would do. The bodies would be burned—anything contaminated by the monster must be destroyed. Carlisle acted instinctively to save his own life. He crawled away from the alley while the mob followed the fiend and his victim. He hid in a cellar, buried himself in rotten potatoes for three days. It's a miracle he was able to keep silent, to stay undiscovered.
"It was over then, and he realized what he had become."
I looked to Bella again, noticing anew how pale she was. How shocked she looked.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," she assured me, no falsehood evident in her tone. She bit her lip in a very distracting manner, and I could see the intense curiosity burning in her eyes.
I smiled. She wasn't running, and my traitor heart rejoiced. "I expect you have a few more questions for me," I said carefully.
"A few," she admitted, failing in her attempt at nonchalance.
I felt my grin widen, and started back down the hall we had just traversed. I pulled her along with me, sensing that she was still too stunned to move easily on her own at that moment. She needed a little push to get her moving. My father had heard every word of our conversation, I knew, and he'd have no difficulty answering her questions. "Come on then," encouraged. "I'll show you."
I led her back to Carlisle's office, pausing outside the door until I heard my father acknowledge us in his thoughts. His voice followed shortly thereafter, calling, "Come in."
Carlisle closed the book he had been reading, rose from his seat, and asked, "What can I do for you?" I assume, Edward, that this has something to do with the conversation I've been overhearing?
"I wanted to show Bella some of our history," I explained, confirming his suspicions. "Well, your history, actually."
"We don't mean to disturb you," Bella apologized.
"Not at all. Where are you going to start?"
"The Waggoner," I replied, turning Bella to face the pictures as I spoke. She blushed when her heartbeat quickened at my touch, surmising, I'm sure, that Carlisle could hear it. She was right, but his chuckle was purely mental.
I led her over to the far left side, standing her in front of the painting in question.
"London in the sixteen- fifties," I explained.
"The London of my youth," Carlisle added.
Bella flinched; it was obvious that she had not heard him approach us.
I squeezed her hand, mentally counting down as I waited for her to rip her hand from my grasp and tear down the stairs. The dual desires I felt were more than unsettling.
"Will you tell the story?" I asked. I hoped he would, because I had never liked to tell other people's stories. As they told them to me, I could hear every thought that they tried to keep to themselves, everything they would rather not say, the things that they didn't want others to know. It felt like I was betraying confidences every time I told a story that was not my own.
Carlisle smiled at Bella, who had twisted around to see his reaction. "I would," he replied, "But I'm actually running a bit late. The hospital called this morning—Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. Besides, you know the stories as well as I do." He let the grin encompass me now, as well. You also know that there is nothing in my story that I would not share, son. I am ashamed of nothing I have done.
With that, and a final smile, Carlisle was gone.
"What happened then?" Bella finally asked, glancing up at me. "When he realized what had happened to him?"
I looked back to the paintings, focusing this time on a different scene. This one was done in the dull colors of fall, and showed an empty meadow with a craggy peak in the distance. A fitting tribute, indeed, for the desperation Carlisle felt in those early days. The utter self- loathing he felt before the founding of his philosophy. Before the reaffirmation of his faith. The only days that our father ever gave in to the despair of knowing what he had become.
And so I told her. I told her all the ways Carlisle had tried to destroy himself. I told her about the founding of his new philosophy. I explained how he had discovered medicine, and the struggle he undertook to be able to practice it.
And through it all, I waited. I waited for her sense of self- preservation to take over, and for her to finally run from me. I thought I had pushed too far when I told her my kind didn't need to breathe, but once again she confounded my expectations, staying where she was and demanding that I continue the tale. I told her of his years in Italy, and the Volturi, only leaving out their purpose in our world.
And I wound up the story by telling her a little more of my own history.
"When the influenza epidemic hit Carlisle was working nights in a hospital in Chicago. He'd been turning over an idea in his mind for several years, and he had almost decided to act—since he couldn't find a companion, he would create one. He wasn't absolutely sure how his own transformation had occurred, so he was hesitant. And he was loath to steal anyone's life the way his had been stolen. It was in that frame of mind that he found me. There was no hope for me; I was left in a ward with the dying. He had nursed my parents, he knew I was alone. He decided to try…"
My voice trailed off again as other memories filled my head. These, however, were not borrowed from the thoughts of others. These were my own. The most vivid came first—the agony of the transformation. The endless pain, an eternity of begging for death, and wondering what I had ever done to deserve the fires of Hell. Next came the dimmer memories of the days before the change. There was no chronology to them—my mother's voice as she worried about the War. My father coming home to wrap her in a joyful embrace. My father, swinging me into his arms and around the room in a wild dance. And my mother, sitting beside me on a piano bench, showing my small fingers how to move over the keys as she told me the names of each note. Other fragments swirled through my mind, a smile here, a laugh there.
Bella stood quietly as I was lost to the memories. Eventually, I was able to turn to her with a smile on my lips and speak again. "And now we've come full circle," I concluded.
"Have you always stayed with Carlisle, then?" she asked gently.
"Almost always," I admitted, laying my hand lightly o her waist to lead her from the office. I didn't say any more, hoping she would not press the subject. But, like so many times before, that proved to be a vain hope. Her curiosity proved insatiable.
"Almost?"
I sighed, reluctant to answer, but I decided that there would only be one secret between us. That secret was not this one. And if this truth was the one that caused her to run from me, so much the better, because then she would be safe. "Well, I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence—about ten years after I was… born… created whatever you want to call it. I wasn't sold on his life of abstinence, and resented him for curbing my appetite. So I went off on my own for a time." Which was the worst mistake of my non- life. I lost, in those years, the reason for life. I lost all that I had gained in this life. It took me away from my family.
"Really?" she asked, intrigue clear in her tone. Amazing…
I led her carefully up the next flight of stairs. I knew that she wasn't paying attention to where she put her feet, and the last thing I wanted was for her to stumble. I knew I could catch her before she fell, of course, but knowing Bella she would still manage to get hurt.
"That doesn't repulse you?" The silence of her mind was maddening once again.
"No."
"Why not?" It should repulse her. It had been my decision, and I was revolted by it. Why was she taking it so well?
"I guess… it sounds reasonable."
I couldn't stop the laughter that burst loudly from my throat then. Reasonable? Was she truly insane?
"From the time of my new birth," I murmured, "I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking, human and non- human alike. That's why it took me ten years to defy Carlisle—I could read his perfect sincerity, understand why he lived the way he did.
"It took me only a few years to return to Carlisle and recommit to his vision." A vision I had not even considered abandoning in the eighty- odd years since I returned to my family. Not until the day Isabella Swan stumbled into my life and brought the monster roaring to the surface of my consciousness. "I thought I would be exempt from the … depression… that accompanies a conscience." I had thought I would be free of the self- loathing. How wrong I'd been. "Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl—if I saved her, surely I wasn't so terrible."
Bella shivered, and I paused for a moment, letting her mind absorb all that I had told her. When she looked at me again, I continued.
"But as time went on, I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn't escape the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified."
I will never forget the night that I realized exactly what kind of monster I had become. I was hunting that night, looking for a person who was scarcely more human than I. I didn't hear him until it was too late for the poor girl he'd chosen as a victim. He had trapped her in an alley near the shop where she worked, and forced himself upon her. I pulled him off, ordered the girl to run, and fell to feeding. I never realized that the girl hadn't run. When I was finished with him, my thirst was not yet satiated. I could smell fresh blood somewhere nearby, and the monster went looking for it before I had a chance to regain my mind. Just as I lowered my lips to the pulsing vein in the neck, I realized that I was about to kill the girl I had meant to save. She looked into my eyes, utter terror in her own. It was enough to startle me free of the instincts that possessed me, and I flung myself away from her, trembling in every limb. I ran, trying to get the image of myself that I had seen in her mind out of my own head. Features twisted in utter malice, scarlet eyes glowing with feral ferocity…. It was an image I have never been able to forget. The image I see each time I look in a mirror. I had never before come so close to destroying an innocent, and I couldn't take the risk that the next time I wouldn't be strong enough to resist. The guilt was difficult enough when I only destroyed other monsters, and I didn't want to know how it felt to kill someone who did not deserve death. I was revolted by myself, and vowed never to drink from a human again. It is a vow I have only come close to breaking once.
"And I went back to Carlisle and Esme. They welcomed me back like the prodigal. It was more than I deserved." So much more. I would never be worthy of the love they gave so freely. I would never be worthy of the angel that stood beside me in this very moment.
By now, we'd come to a stop in front of the last door in the hall.
"My room," I informed her, pulling her through the doorway.
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Please don't kill me for what I made Edward almost do! It may be OOC, but that's how I always pictured him 'coming to himself'. I didn't know what else to do… Anyway, hope you liked it, and please tell me if I'm doing anything wrong. I can't fix it if I don't know about it!
And I left out a lot of Carlisle's story because we all know it, and there wasn't much I could add to it from Edward's POV.
Thanks for reading!
