A/N: This was my Christmas present to Alverdine but she wanted me to share it with everyone :) Merry Christmas!
Thanks to my lovely beta LJ Summers for being all kinds of awesome :)
Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to S. Meyer. I'm just fooling around.
Tiny Christmas Lights
Somewhere in the Olympic forests, Washington, 1997.
He ran again.
He didn't run because he wanted to get somewhere or to hide away from something; he just ran because it was the only thing he enjoyed doing. And also because the speed helped him to escape from voices he couldn't tune out if his head. The voices of random people on the street. The voices of the members of his family. The voices of the scum he used to kill—those were the worst because they kept ringing in his head long after they were dead.
He used to tell himself that he'd been doing the right thing, that the lives of people he saved justified his actions, that he was an angel of vengeance, God's tool. But deep inside, he knew God had nothing to do with those killings—quite the contrary; they were his, Edward's, rebellious actions against God who'd allowed the existence of the damned creatures like him in the first place.
He was aware of committing a mortal sin, but he wasn't afraid of the eternal punishment. His so-called life was a torture already—his thirst, his "talent" of hearing thoughts, but the most of all, his solitude. Almost a century of loneliness had been wearing him out. Sometimes, it was so unbearable that he found himself in the most secluded places of the forest, digging his nails into the soil and letting out a howl of despair. He couldn't understand what he'd done wrong in his short human life to deserve that. He couldn't accept things the way they were, and yet he couldn't think of anything to do to change his situation.
He knew from the thoughts of females, both his kind and human, that he was attractive, so he could easily have any woman he wanted. He found some of them attractive, too, but none had ever made him feel like his silent heart was beating again. And even though he hadn't experienced that feeling, he knew what it would be like from the minds he had read, especially from the ones of his family. Unlike those of most humans, vampires' feelings were exquisite; what they felt for their mates was love in its absoluteness. And to witness such love every day, knowing he would possibly never have such luxury in his own life—that hurt so much he couldn't stand it anymore.
And so he ran.
He didn't pay attention to time. He had forever ahead of him, so the passage of time wasn't relevant much. Weather didn't bother him either, so only the changing of the foliage color reminded him of the passing seasons. He didn't know how long exactly it had been since he left his family; only when the snow made it harder to run, did he realize that yet another year had come to an end. It was right before Christmas when he ran away, so it had been four full years. Did they still think of him? He knew his father—his creator—did. Edward was sure that Carlisle not only thought of him every day, but prayed for him. As if God had wanted something to do with their kind. Edward laughed bitterly at the thought.
He ran aimlessly, his strong legs moving on their own volition, until he felt sudden alarm and stopped abruptly in his tracks. He couldn't quite place it why his sixth sense told him to stop until he looked around and recognized the surroundings.
Shit.
He hadn't been there since 1930's, and yet he could distinguish this place as if it was just yesterday. It was its smell, he understood.
He was on Quileute land.
He remembered the treaty they'd made back then. If a vampire bit a human on Quileute land or nearby, he were to be destroyed. In another moment, he was considering the consequences of violating the treaty. If anyone of the Quileute tribe still had the ability to transform into a werewolf, that had possibilities. He almost laughed out loud when he realized that something he always thought was impossible, appeared to be quite simple. He could die, after all. It would be excruciatingly painful, he was sure, but it didn't matter. He would take pain with good grace because it would put an end to his infinite suffering. He smiled at the thought. For the first time ever his life finally had a purpose. And it was deeply ironic that the purpose of his life was death.
Now he only had to find a human.
He changed his direction, letting his sense of smell guide him to the town of Forks. He could soon pick up the bitter smoke coming from fireplaces, the disgusting odor of cooking meat, the warm and sweet aroma of baking pastry. He caught himself smiling as those scents brought back the remnants of the memories he'd had of his human life: his mother smiling as he unwrapped the presents, his father teaching him to play Angels From the Realms of Glory... And then, suddenly, those memories existed no longer.
The scent was barely distinctive but so potent that he stopped dead. He could see the outline of the houses in front of him, but it wasn't where the scent was coming from. He looked around, trusting his sharpened senses that never let him down before. He felt almost light-headed as his throat constricted and burned and the venom pooled in his mouth. He moved slowly, the predator following his prey, until he reached the edge of a small, snow-covered meadow, and paused before making the last lethal leap.
Something was wrong. He felt it.
A fraction of a second. It only took him a fraction of a second to make out the lonely figure standing in the middle of the meadow, oblivious to his presence, and his hand landed on a tree trunk, as if needing support. The tree creaked loudly and fell down, unable to resist the pressure.
His prey turned to the sound.
She was just a girl, ten or maybe twelve, big brown eyes, dark hair. He froze to his spot, waiting for her to start screaming. But she didn't. Her face didn't carry a hint of fear, just pure, unadulterated curiosity.
"Hi." The girl smiled. He heard her pulse quickening but she didn't make an attempt to run away. Brave.
"Hi," he breathed out, trying to use as little of the air remaining in his lungs as he could. A monster inside of him screamed in agony.
"Are you lost?" Her voice sounded like a chime of little bells, a soft ringing.
"I..." A sharp intake of air brought him back to his senses. Her scent was overwhelming; nothing had ever called to him so powerfully. He could almost taste her blood on his tongue, sweet and salty and hot. He felt the tremor of his body, a frenzy that was just about to begin. Do it, the monster commanded. Do it. Now.
But he couldn't. As much as he wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh, he just couldn't do it. A part of him that remembered the smell of Christmas pastry and the words of hymns, that part wanted to protect the girl from the monster. Right now, this part was domineering, and he just couldn't let it lose the battle.
"Yes," he finally said. "I got lost."
The girl sighed. "Me, too."
"Haven't your parents taught you not to talk to strangers?" he scolded, not moving from his spot. "It can be dangerous, you know."
"But you won't hurt me." Her voice was barely audible but firm. "You're not bad."
You're wrong.
He chuckled. "Come on. We need to find the way out of here before it gets dark."
She nodded and took a step toward him, making him want to step back. He swallowed back the venom as she approached him and reached for his hand. She clearly had no sense of preservation at all. Reluctantly, he unclenched his fist and felt the burning heat of her hand against his own, the throbbing of her pulse, only glad that the coldness of his own hand wasn't suspicious in winter.
"This way, I think." He motioned to the path that still carried his footprints. "Are you going to tell me what were you doing alone in the forest?"
"I saw a squirrel in our backyard. I wanted to feed her, so I followed her..."
"Lucky for you, you didn't fall into a rabbit hole." He was genuinely amused.
"It was silly, I know. But I'm only visiting with my dad here, and I didn't expect getting lost would be so easy. There are no forests where I live—only deserts."
"And where is that?" He didn't know why he was suddenly so curious.
"Phoenix."
"Oh." He felt relief. There was no way he would meet her again, then. His kind didn't show up in Arizona or any other sunny place. Vampire skin sparkled in the sun, and they didn't risk being revealed. He only had to survive a few more minutes, deliver her home unscathed, and run away.
"How about you? How did you get lost?"
I followed your scent and wanted to kill you.
"I was running," he said honestly.
"Running?" She looked up at him, cocking her eyebrow. "Why were you running on Christmas Eve?"
He snickered. "I guess I've lost track of time."
The lights of the town had become visible already and she gasped. "We made it! Oh my gosh, Dad is going to kill me."
"I think he will be happy that you're safe."
"Because of you."
He slightly shook his head. She had no idea...
They quickened their pace, and soon the forest thinned out, opening to the line of houses in front of them, tiny Christmas lights flashing in the windows. "You can find your way from here," he said, pulling his hand away.
She smiled. "Thank you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."
He chuckled, turning to walk away.
"Oh, wait," the girl called. "I didn't even ask your name."
He stopped and looked back. "My name is Edward."
"It was nice meeting you, Edward. I'm Bella... I just thought, if you don't have a place to go to for Christmas, you can stay with us. It's only me and Dad, so—"
"Thank you." He smiled. "But I have a place to go. Merry Christmas, Bella."
"Merry Christmas." She smiled back. And when she started walking away, it finally dawned on him, what felt wrong from the moment he saw her. Her mind was mute. He couldn't hear a single thought.
He hid behind the big tree and watched the girl making her way to the one of the houses. The front door swept open and a large man pulled her into an embrace. She was home.
And then he ran. The darkness was descending quickly, and he was hoping with all his being that he would make it in time.
For the first time in his existence, Edward wasn't running away from something.
He ran toward it.