The story deals with adult subject matter and occasional description of explicit sexual abuse. Not meant for underage readers. Read at your own peril. And oh, Twilight belongs to SM. This is just a fanfiction.

Chapter 25

20th November, 2008

Volcanoes National Park, Rwanda

My dearest Bella,

I am really sorry I didn't get the chance to write sooner. It took much longer to get settled here than we initially thought it would.

Please see the photo I am attaching here. That's right! I took that picture! Me! I am excited like a twelve year old on Christmas day.

What you are seeing is a juvenile mountain gorilla, trying to inspect my gears and back pack. They tell me this particular guy hasn't been spotted in the area before. I named him George. You know, as in 'George of the Jungle'.

We are living in a camp near the forest, not terribly far from where Diane Fossey's cabin used to be. Gatsby made us all watch 'Gorillas in the Mist' as a crash course on all things gorilla. Have you seen the movie? (He also gave a thick folder to each of us, but I must confess that I haven't really read through the whole thing.)

Watch it if you ever get the chance. I never realized how little I knew about these magnificent creatures. I have been crawling around the wet forest floor for weeks now, only to catch a glimpse of one of these bad boys. It was all worth it.

The trick, I've been told, is to be able to stay very, very still and lay flat on the ground and look as non-threatening as possible. This is actually not as easy as it sounds; not when ants and bugs are crawling all over you. All the rain and mud doesn't help much either. I saw a whole brood last week, but I didn't have my camera with me. They weren't close enough for me to snap a proper shot of anyway.

I can't quite tell you how I felt when I first saw George. The first thing that came to my mind was that I wish you were with me to see it. There's something very special about these great apes. There's this look of quiet calmness in their eyes that suggests that they are very much aware that they are on borrowed time. All the pictures I have seen on TV, films and magazines could never convey the depth of the wisdom and patience that I can see on George's face. I don't know if I'll be able to do any better with my camera. Probably not. That is a tragedy.

There's no way to know for sure, but most conservationists estimate that there are probably only about six to eight hundred mountain gorillas left in the world, and I had the privilege to look one in the eye. Sorry I can't share my good fortune with you, but maybe the picture will make up for it a little bit.

Did you know that we share over 95% of our DNA with gorillas? Looking at George, I don't have an iota of doubt that we are related through a common bond of ancestry. I was half tempted to walk up to him and say, "Hey, Cuz! Long time no see." I think he just might surprise me with a sarcastic comeback like, "With you for family, who needs natural predators?" He'd be right. As a species, we don't make good neighbors, do we?

Gatsby got permission from two government departments (the ministries of Tourism and Information and Communication Technology, in case you were curious) before leaving the states, but turns out he can't start shooting until he gets the permit from the Ministry of Environment as well. He fears some money might need to change hands to make that happen, but his budget clock is running, so he just might have to pay out rather than wait months for the 'proper channels' to work. So while he is sitting back in camp, ripping his hair out (whatever's left of it), the rest of the group are just wandering around, getting familiar with the area.

Kagame, our local life-line, took me to see Diane Fossey's grave the other day. What an amazing woman she was! Quirky and stubborn, but boy, was she passionate about her work. There are so many humanitarians and heroes we admire who fought, and sometimes died, for a cause. Mother Theresa, Mandela, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr.; they devoted their lives to save others, to give a voice to those who didn't have one, and we love them for that. We remember their birthdays and name roads and cities after them, but it takes a very special person to sacrifice their life for a group of creatures who, in all likelihood, would never love her back. They would never even know what she had done for them.

Diane Fossey lived and died for her gorillas. She was murdered for wanting to save these incredible animals, and was buried next to one of her beloved friends, Digit. Looking at her grave made me wonder what it must have been like for her to be fighting a losing battle relentlessly; to have such a great sense of purpose that prodded her on, day and night, to face ridicule and danger without fear.

I can't even fathom a life like that. Oh, how I envy her. I wish I knew what it was like to have such a purpose. I wish I had something that could ground me to a place like Digit anchored Fossey.

I am so lost, Bella. I don't belong anywhere and no one wants me. My existence doesn't serve any purpose. Maybe that's what I am meant to be; lost and hollow. Sometimes I can't help but wonder why I'm still alive.

I think I should stop now. I am sounding petulant and melodramatic. Sorry about rambling only about me. I will catch up about you next time, I promise.

Hope you are well and happy.

With all my love,

Edward

PS: Bella, on my way back to the camp I had a sudden epiphany. I realized that I do have a purpose. My purpose is you. Whether you know it or not, whether you want me to or not, I would readily give my life to keep you happy. Maybe me being here, so far away from what I once considered home, is just a way of me fulfilling that duty. That is enough of a purpose for me - even if it breaks me in a million ways.

~CBE~

He re-read the letter a few times when he was finished. His brows furrowed and he seemed displeased with what he saw. He came off looking far too needy and desperate, he felt; the exact thing he had hoped to prevent from seeping through his words.

Logically, he knew that it didn't really matter what he wrote. Bella would never read them; she would never know. Still, he couldn't help but feel as though he was failing her somehow. He felt a certain responsibility toward the Bella he nurtured in his heart, however imaginary she might be. She would be distressed at the knowledge of how her decision had been hurting him, then beat herself up with guilt. She was exceedingly good at shouldering blame.

He wanted to keep his letters light and cheerful with a few anecdotal trivia thrown in. Something Bella might find enjoyable to read; something that would show how well he was getting on with his life. He wasn't too happy with the first letter he wrote to her either. It was too honest and revealed too much of the bleak landscape his world had become. He considered tearing it up on more than one occasion, then decided against it as he tucked it away between the pages of his diary.

What difference does it make? She won't know. And what she doesn't know can't hurt her.

He looked out of the netted, square window of his tiny living quarters and reveled in the darkness that lay beyond. He had learned to find comfort in the assorted chirping and rustling noises of the night. So very different from the silence of Forks and Cambridge, or the muted sounds of urban Boston.

Of course 'comfort' was a relative term. It did nothing to negate the sense of isolation he experienced day in and day out, nor did it ease the burden of guilt he carried on his shoulders. At least its hypnotic drone numbed his mind long enough to induce sleep.

He took one last look at the letter and then folded it carefully before placing it next to the first letter inside his diary. He would have to go to the nearest town to buy paper soon. And pens.

He made quick work of inspecting his equipment for bugs and moisture. The lenses tended to get fogged up overnight since the casing he had to stow away his Hasselblad wasn't sturdy enough for wildlife treks. He had to be careful about the said wildlife making its way inside the carrying case too.

The camera was the only material link he still carried with him that had it roots in his old life. The Hasselblad was a gift from his brother; a thoughtful replacement for the Canon that he had carelessly broken by dropping it on the floor too many times.

The fleeting thought of Carlisle wiped away the little serenity he had accrued that evening. His head lowered in shame, even though there wasn't anyone in the room to witness his gesture.

He had considered parting ways with the camera like everything else he had received from his brother, but chose to keep it with him instead. It served a purpose in more ways than one.

It was his tool of trade these days, though he couldn't care less about that aspect of his life. The deeper purpose the Hasselblad served was to remind him everyday of his transgressions.

Lest I forget.

Every frame, every click and every printed image was a stark reminder that he once was loved. That he once had everything, and that he had squandered it all away in his catastrophic delusion of impunity.

How could he be so willfully blind? Did he really think he was so indispensable to his brother that there would be no repercussions for his greed? That there would be no limit to Carlisle's amity?

The memory of Carlisle's stone cold face flashed through his mind.

You are not my brother. You are the snake in the grass who fed off of my blood and then poisoned me in return. You are dead to me.

He blinked away the tears that the cutting words still triggered and busied himself with his pre-bedtime rituals to prevent the unwelcome thoughts from venturing back.

He made sure the frames he had picked to show Gatsby the next day were in the correct order. Then he climbed into his bed, being mindful that the canopy of the mosquito net covered all corners. Finally, he reached underneath the pillow to touch his diary that held his letters before closing his eyes.

Goodnight, Bella.

AN1: My apologies for the delay. I had a family emergency.

AN2: Come find me on twitter: ToTheDreaming.

A huge round of thanks goes to lulabelle98, for making all this readable. She is all kind of awesome.

Thanks to Detochkina for pre-reading and pointing out holes the size of Chicago! Brilliant woman, that one.

Thanks to WutheringBites for validating my story at Twilighted. I am most grateful.

Thanks to Ninnie_89 and lulabelle98 for WCs. Thanks to Dinx219 for being the awesomest friend. You rock! Please check out their stories.

I am thankful to all those who've read, alerted and fav-d my story. But reviews are like perfectly wrapped Christmas presents waiting for me under the tree. So, kindly review. I swear I've been good!