Served Cold - Chapter One

Disclaimer: So we meet again…

Dazzle.me.darling: lol. Yes, you've been unobservent. I said it a bagillion years ago scrub! Jk. I said it like a week ago, so you didn't miss much. And about cliffies... (smirks evilly) you have no idea.

Midnight989: Can't? Better than won't. I don't know how you'd solve that problem.

Shinyvolvoowner1918: You...reread it? WOW. I'm flattered. That's impressive too, considering it's halfahundred chappies long. My ego is now properly inflated. Ooo... O look, there it goes. It floated awayyyyyyyyy...

Twilighter09: Well, I changed my mind. Or my mind changed itself. Hold on a second. Isn't my mind essentially me? If with 'me' I am referring to solely my personality, and then the phrase 'i changed my mind' would actually be 'my mind changed itself'. ... Why yes I am seeking professional help.

Silly Ella: Yes, I know. It burned down quite a bit for me. I thought I'd never get it back actually, then one day, when I was alone, and helpless – whaBOOM it hit me like a freight train, eerily chanting 'I'm baaaccckkk'. Truthfully, I had myself convinced to give up fanfiction. I've spent the last two months of my insomniatic sleepless nights writing my own book to add to the pile of unfinished countless others. But, anyway, super glad I held your attention!

Thefuturemrsedwardcullen: I missed you too! Even though I don't know you. And this is the, as Al Gore would say, the internetss. And I probably will never meet you in real life... So I guess it's quite a compliment for both of us that we miss each other. But, I'm back! Hoo rah! Miss begone.

Dawnismyenemy: Aw, dawny, may I call you dawny? Haha, jk. I love you too. Sort of. Kind of. Or I'm sure I would if I knew you at all. You seem like a capital fellow! (British Invasion!) Chyeah bella's pov. It's easier to write from.

Appirates: Wow, your review in and of itself was great considering the preface was only 100 words long. Well, anyway, thanks, and enjoy the show!

Maddy: I'm pretty sure what I'm going to do hasn't really been delved into too deeply yet.

Sparkling Topaz Eyes: I gave into your plea, actually. You're all just so gosh darned convincing!

The Volvo: lol. Yummm. Rainbow trout. Chicken of the... stream. Or something. You know what else is yummy? The sugary gold I spin my stories from. Why else would I waste the nights I should be sleeping writing, setting myself up for an early death and diabetes. Dur. Haha. I did what you requested. Call me Genie. But now my fingers hurt. D: Your fault, girl. Haha. Stratosphere maybe? I don't know. I know you fly kites in the troposphere... Stupid oxygen. It's overrated.

Vi: Why thank you, madame.

La saboteuse: haha. I DO wish I'd have heard it, being an ardent fan of funny noises and all. Alas for the miles of computer cables seperating us. It's okay though. I'll just record myself when I found out that I met the Jonas Brothers and play it back. Ah, joe... Stupid Taylor Swift. Anyway! Where was I? Ah yes. THe trailer. Was. Magnifique! Like that new perfume, the one with Anne Hathaway in the commercial. Cheese and crackers! What is it with me and the celebrity references today? Anyway, thanks.

Tail writer: Muses are fickle things. I'm considering super glue. Oooo... I hate when I have writer's block. But chinchillas and radioactive peanut butter has a world of possibilities. I'm sure you'll think of something. Maybe your muse is just on a snack break or something.

A/N: If it looks like I'm taking my writing to a whole new ballpark and depth, good. That's the point. If it looks like this story is going to be mostly drama with the daily necessary dose of humor because I can't help myself, good. That's the point. If it looks like this story will pack a punch, good. That's the point. If it looks like I'm going to try and write a kickass sequel for your fanfiction pleasure, well then, good. That's the point. Now presenting, a full three months a head of schedule, Served Cold.

Crucifixion

God, it hurt.

Everything.

Everything was burning.

My hands clenched as I thought that spears were riddling my body, as I thought that my blood was boiling, as I thought that my flesh was being peeled away from ivory bone.

But I couldn't be sure.

I called out a word. Any word. Any sound. Anything.

Trying to make this pain leave, trying to get it out of me, I screamed to no relief.

The fire was merciless.

Something cold was touching me. Oh, the iciness felt so good against my melting skin.

My name? I could answer the question now. Isabella Marie Cullen.

And Edward, my loving husband was the prize, my reward for three days of hell - the white light. I must remember that.

His face swam through my dizzying memory, clear, then blurry, like a camera that couldn't quite manage to focus on it subject.

Bronze hair framed a strong face, marble skin stretching across set cheekbones, dipping down to cover a small, finger-tipped size valley above his full upper lip, and then sloping upward to coat the peak of an aristocratic nose. And the eyes… so unique. Gemstones. They were to die for.

To die for.

Dear God, the pain of mortal death. I wouldn't beg or plead for it to end as long as Edward's frigid contact persisted. I would do him that small favor, but I couldn't capture the screams before they left my mouth, so I did scream, and loudly, whenever I forgot to remind myself to think. Temporary numbness was found in disappearing into my thoughts.

Rainy days. I remembered the way they had repulsed me, how I used to look out my window, up at the cloudy sky and sigh for grieving the desert sunshine.

Then I met him.

My universe lurched.

Boundaries were redrawn. Assumptions were reevaluated. Life was magnificent. Love wasn't only something to be read about in books.

And rainy days were longed for.

Clouds were blessed.

Gray was suddenly beautiful.

Sun was good only in the respect that it enhanced Edward's beauty. Soon, I knew, it would enhance me, too. If only there was an easier way to get there.

"It's okay, Bella. One day left. You're almost there." Then, "Sorry… so sorry."

That voice was my anchor, keeping me from begging and pleading.

"Keep talking," I tried to say, but the letters tumbled out as ragged, desperate cries. "Please."

Speak again bright angel.

My eyes fluttered open, only to see what I'd seen in my memories – a tilting world, where nothing was quite tangible or imaginary at the same time. It was like being in a dream.

I screamed as the pain wracked my body.

No, not a dream. A nightmare.

I tipped my head to the side, recognizing the frigid sensation on my shoulder. As expected, Edward's head lay there.

Looking at him, the inferno flickered down a bit, like turning a knob a kerosene lamp. It wasn't vanished though, not by a long shot, just at a less intense level. It wasn't absolutely consuming my senses.

So, I could see and process Edward's heaving shoulders as he sobbed into my hair. I could hear and process his mumbled apologies.

"Don't…" I tried, panting, reaching up a hand to tangle it through his hair. "Don't be sad."

He lifted his head finally, looking at me, but the expression was so alien. The sorrow in his black, hungry eyes was ancient in its sorrow, and the fear etched there was unfathomable. His lips were parted mid-'sorry'. "Forgive me."

"Forgive… yourself," I huffed breathlessly.

Cold fingers pulled a stray lock off of my sweating forehead. I reached up a shaking hand to hold his there, feeling the moisture on my face that used to be warm, but now turned ice cold.

"This helps," I managed.

It did, but only for a little bit. Soon the pain shifted somewhere new, where I wasn't used to its agony. It was my spine.

Like a fiery snake, I could feel it slither in, around, and gradually up my vertebrae, consuming them one by one. I held in the shouts for one moment.

Before I broke.

Of its own will, my back arched off the bed, bending, stretching, trying to shake off the enemy.

God. Dear God. Death would be better, far more merciful.

Edward.

Who was he?

I yelled again, that name this time.

"I'm here."

My back violently arched higher than it had before, curved to its limit. Something violently shoved it back down. When my spine straightened, it cracked.

It should have hurt, but was dwarfed by the transformation.

"Forgive me."

His voice again. Edward's, whoever he was.

The flames were done with my spine now, moving down and up diagonally in four directions to my limbs. Fists clenched. Feet curled. I pawed at the sheets –may as well have been needles – with my fingers and toes. Elbows and shoulders, knees and ankles – they twitched violently, dislocating and then relocating again. I heard the snaps.

"Stop!"

I yelled. I wasn't supposed to I thought, but I couldn't remember why anymore.

"Stop it!"

"Forgive me." A hitched voice, distant and faraway, barely discernible.

Lights. Flashes. A glass bulb above me.

Screams – the macabre background music.

My eyes closed into what used to be a mental escape hatch. Now, it was empty. I could only dredge up fading images, as though all my previous life experiences were negatives left out in the sunlight too long, turning pastel, then lighter and lighter until they were altogether blank.

I tried to catch some of these, but they peeled away in flecks like snowflakes.

A bit of carpet my mother had sampled when she remodeled the house in Phoenix, but I couldn't remember her face. Then I saw a license plate – State of Washington. Brief swirls of cacti, then autumn leaves, then pine cones. A face bordered in spiking streetlamp light, shadowed and dark because of its intensity.

I yelled again. My bones were being compressed by some force.

Surely they were splintering and puncturing my flesh.

My eyes shot wide open. "Please! Mercy!".

When they closed, again all I saw was churning chaos.

A meadow thick with wildflowers. One flame, flickering, flickering, darkness.

"Forgive me."

Who? Why?

"Oh, God… save her. Help her, please. I beseech you."

Beautiful music. Sorrowful music. A dirge.

Piano keys floated through the darkness of my mind, one at a time, slowly, then faster. I saw snapshots of a motorcycle and a blurred silver car. Sheet music. Sweet lullabies. And a box tied with a crimson ribbon.

The hottest part of the flame gave reprieve do my limbs and digits, moving to engulf what was left of my upper torso, and then, oh dear God.

All the broken remnants of memories in my head disappeared, swallowed up by a white so intense, I had to open my eyes to escape. Still, it lingered on the edges of my vision.

I felt my hands reach up to my head, pulling, tugging. It hurt!

No, hurt was an understatement. There was no word for this excruciation.

It was as if the little lobes and parts of my brain were exploding one by one.

"Bella, stop!" the voice commanded of me. "You're hurting yourself!"

Hurting myself? Nothing I could do could be as bad as this.

Cold wrapped around my wrists and pulled them away, but I snatched them back and squeezed my temples. It gave shallow relief.

"Dammit!" The voice was infuriated. Once again, vices grabbed my hands and tugged them away. This time, they were held securely against something. I sat up, following my captor, until I felt my head being pressed into a freezing wall. I stayed there.

So cold to my sizzling body.

My eyes closed. White was receding, melting back into familiar darkness.

And so the montage of fragmented puzzle pieces continued. Landscape rippled out in front of me, rolling out and shaking like a rug. For the second it stood still, and I could make out a winding ribbon of river meandering through a gray-green smudge. A house with a red roof was below me – a spot of desert in a giant oasis. Or maybe the desert oasis in the rest of the wet land.

Then, the rug was swept away, replaced by various objects. There was a jacket, a note, and a ring. There was a bed. There was wet grass beneath my feet.

"Nearly there."

My stomach was twisting and tying itself into knots. Breaths rose and hitched. I pressed myself into the softening iciness.

"I'm here."

I saw a door, ornate with carvings. I saw a battle, an army, a fallen soldier. Suddenly, a moving scene was painted, but it was as if the artist didn't care. Brush strokes were sloppy, but I could still make out the images. I was flying, dodging trees, and in front of me was a figure. He was laughing. I wanted to laugh, too.

But I opened my mouth, and all that was emitted were shouts and pleas.

"So sorry."

I could hear my frantic heart beat. Its pounding reverberated through my skull. Quicker now it raced. Too fast. Much too fast. Until it stopped. I lowered my lashes.

A paper face.

Nothing.

Darkness.

XXX

Lids timidly lifted over eyes new to this sort of sight. The first thing they focused on was another pair of eyes, ochre and wild with concern. Bronze hair was in disarray. Lips pursed. He was gorgeous.

"Who are you?"