18. SLEEP

I WALKED WITH KRISTALENE THROUGH THE PRIMORDIAL FOREST, PAST

the ancient oaks that had witnessed so many lives and deaths and tragedies. Did the passing of one so fine, one so good, mean anything to them? Did they even notice another life more or less? Or did they just watch, uncaring, as the world turned and man played out his petty scenes on the world's stage? It seemed incomprehensible that this angel could have died for nothing, that her existence would have made no lingering mark upon the world. It just couldn't be possible.

We neared Viselkeizedevia, but rather than heading through the streets of town I followed the outskirts of the forest, staying to the trees. I wasn't sure exactly where Kristalene's house lay, but I headed in the direction she had pointed that first night (was it possible that it was the only night? It seemed like years we had known her -- was it really so meager a span of time?), relying on my sense of smell to locate the exact abode.

In the end it wasn't difficult. The forest opened right up onto the back of the cottage, as Kristalene had described it, and her scent was strong here. She came and went this way often. There was a light on inside the house, a dim, flickering light, like that of a kerosene lamp. Without a physical pause, though I hesitated mentally for the briefest breadth of a second to collect myself, I strode to the thick wooden back door of the ancient cottage with Kristalene in my arms. I forced myself to take one fleeting look at her, to make sure she appeared as undamaged as possible. Something tugged at my chest, my stomach. The numbness was trying to melt away, but I couldn't let it. I grasped at it desperately, trying to keep it in place. Soon I could afford to allow it to dissipate, but not yet. Not yet.

The child's appearance was much less tortuous now. Her wounds were all but invisible, her body seemed still and restful, her face -- without those dark staring eyes -- seemed almost peaceful, almost like she could be sleeping here in my arms. Alice knocked softly on the door and we could hear a chair grating across the wooden floor, being pushed out from the table. Soft human steps neared the door, soft human breathing and the soft human heartbeat approached. I wondered if Anya's blood would tempt me or if it could be at all similar to Kristalene's scent and spare me any further guilt.

Alice and I stood frozen in apprehension as the heavy oaken door creaked open and a kind, lovely face appeared behind it. I stared at the woman, my chest tightening as though the icy steel vise from my venom nightmares were squeezing the breath from my body again. She looked so like Kristalene! When they were younger they must have looked like twins. Even at thirty-something Anya was comely, her round face and long, thick, dark hair almost identical to Kristalene's, her soft brown eyes fringed with the same thick lashes and lavender lids.

She looked at us, surprised at first, as the sight of two pale, beautiful strangers on her doorstep sunk in. Then she saw what I held in my arms, and her face drained of color, her hand flying to her throat and her knees trembling.

"Anya?" I asked softly, trying to be as unfrightening as possible. She didn't answer, didn't move her eyes from her sister. She reached her hand out, hesitantly, to touch Kristalene's cheek. What she hoped to learn by this I wasn't sure -- it wasn't as if her body would be any colder or harder than it had been when she was alive.

"Could we bring her inside?" Alice breathed, trying to be as consoling as possible. Anya raised her eyes to Alice's and nodded once, stepping aside to let us in. Part of my mind noted that Carlisle and Esme must have stayed in the woods, for which I was grateful. Two vampires carrying your dead sister's body was certainly enough for any human, even one as tolerant and brave as Anya.

With a quick glance around the room I spied a neatly made bed in a corner of the cottage. It looked as though it were seldom used, and Kristalene's scent was strong on it. I carried her over to it and laid her down gently. I knelt by her side and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. I could almost convince myself that she was just sleeping, just resting. Almost. I grabbed at the numbness again, though some of it slipped through my fingers, the vise tightening at its escape.

"My name's Alice and this is Jasper," Alice spoke to the devastated woman who stood staring, as I did, at the beautiful angel child on the bed, "Did Kristalene tell you about us?"

There was no response for a moment, and I wondered if Anya spoke English. Surely she would not have had much use for it here, and it would not be as easy for her to learn another language as it would have been for Kristalene's spacious vampire mind. Just as I was about to try to explain to her in Russian, though, she nodded her head, looking forlornly at Alice.

"Yes, she told me she met two of her kind," Anya replied, her words heavy with pain and a thick Russian accent. "She was -- she was very excited."

She fell to her knees beside her sister, beside me, in a sudden devastated movement, her head in her arms upon the bed, her body shaking with sobs. Her scent swirled around me, and my throat burned, but, though I was thirsty, I felt no desire at all to attack her. Not even my instincts told me to kill. Nothing in me desired her blood; I was just too numb.

"I'm so sorry," I said gruffly, wanting to put my arm around her but fearing that I might frighten her, might make this horrific night worse for her. Anya just sobbed on, her body heaving with the force of her pain, her tears staining the quilt and splashing onto her dress and the wooden floor. I rose and went to stand with Alice, five feet from the grieving woman. Her pain was so intense, it was nearly impossible to remain numb. It took everything I had not to throw myself on the floor beside her and wail and lament in torment as well. I wondered whether we should leave, leave Anya to mourn in private, but I was sure she'd want to know what had happened, and this would be her only chance. I knew I would never be able to return to this place.

"Oh, moi lebouth, moi Kristalene," Anya cried over and over again. "Moi ahnyuel." My dead heart was breaking. My love, my Kristalene, my angel. I couldn't take it anymore. Anya might deserve an explanation, but I couldn't bear to witness her pain any longer. I was tensing to run out of the house when Alice grabbed my arm.

"No," she whispered, so softly Anya could not hear her, "She'll want to know soon. Another two minutes or so. We owe Kristalene that. She'd want her to know."

I slumped. Of course I owed her that. At least that. I owed her so much more than I could ever give her now. Just as Renesmee had made us all realize that our lives had not quite been complete, had not quite been full, so Kristalene had shown me there was more that I could have, more that I could be. Alice was all I needed to survive, even to be happy, but Kristalene had made me think I could have more. I could have a family of my own. I could help someone good and kind and pure and love her with all my heart. I could be so much more than a lover or a son or a brother, more than an uncle or a lieutenant. I could be ... I could be a father.

I bowed my head in guilt and sorrow for an immeasurable amount of time -- it seemed far longer than two minutes. Finally I heard Anya's sobs lessen, heard her shift against the bed. Another few moments and I could feel her determination to collect herself, to try to address us. I forced myself to look up, to meet her gaze.

Her eyes were red and wet, her face and clothes tearstained as she looked at us, took a deep, steadying breath, and beseeched,

"What happened to her?"

I could feel the need to know burning inside her, the anger at whatever had taken her sister. I knew, in that moment, that even if God Himself had come down and plucked the child from Earth, Anya would have been furious with Him, would not have forgiven Him.

Alice knelt beside the devastated human woman and explained, in a soft, soothing voice, about Kristalene's hunt and the man in the inn who was really a werewolf. She hesitated for a moment, and I guessed she was deciding whether or not to tell Anya about the Volturi and the werewolves' vendetta. I bit my lip, hoping she would keep that to herself. For selfish reasons I didn't want anyone else knowing that the child's death had been my fault -- the werewolves hated vampires, hated more than anything the capable fighters, those that could hunt them down and extract the Volturi's revenge. The wolf knew Kristalene was no such fighter, was no threat to him whatsoever, but he had killed her anyway. Perhaps in part just for his own sick vengeance. But I knew he had also done it to lure me out of hiding, to provoke me to fight. I didn't think I could bear Anya's accusing glare, knowing her sister had died ... for me.

Aside from the emotional reasons to keep the Volturi's part in this a secret, there were also the practical ones. I knew I didn't deserve the concealment, but for Anya's sake I hoped Alice would omit the details. Although Kristalene was gone and the Volturi could impart no "justice" upon her for her "indiscretions," they may still decide to silence the villagers who knew their secret. The less Anya and Viselkeizedevia knew about our world, the safer they'd be.

"Why would he kill my sister?" Anya asked, as Alice hesitated. She seemed at a loss for words. I moved quickly to Anya's side, sinking down beside her again.

"Because he was evil," I stated simply. It was true. He may have had additional reasons for slaughtering an innocent child, but that was the underlying factor. Anya's fragile composure crumbled at that, and her eyes filled with fresh tears. She looked inconsolably at her sister again, lying still and empty on the bed.

"He killed her for no reason? He took her life just because he could?" she choked. My resolve wavered. The guilt was overpowering me. I couldn't keep the truth from her -- it was too selfish.

"No, he--"

"He was a monster." Alice cut in, laying a restraining hand on my arm. She flashed me a warning look. She must have seen the pain in my eyes, the unfathomable guilt. She grasped my hand tightly and squeezed. "No," she whispered without moving her lips, too softly for Anya to hear.

I bowed my head. She was right. Of course she was. Which was more selfish? To alleviate the guilt I felt by relaying the truth to Anya, putting her and her entire village -- everyone that Kristalene loved -- in danger to ease my own conscience? Or to suffer that guilt and allow Anya to think I had no part in her sister's death, to keep a town-full of innocent humans safe? Of course I would endure the guilt. I must. What sort of monster would I be if I unburdened my mind at the cost of so many lives? I would suffer this. I deserved to suffer much worse.

"Do -- do you think they come here often?" Anya asked after another moment's soft sobbing.

"I don't know," Alice answered, puzzled. She frowned.

"I always wondered," Anya hesitated, finally pulling her eyes from the wooden floor to Alice and then to me, "about the wolf attacks. The rest of the town seemed very sure it was wolves, but I have never in all my years seen or heard of any wolves in these woods who were big enough or vicious enough or hungry enough to attack humans. And always at night ... and always at the full moon -- the wolves here prey mostly on the herds and the wisent -- when the herders appear they run away... " She trailed off, deep in thought.

"Always at the full moon?" I demanded, snapping to attention. I exchanged wary glances with Alice.

"Yes. There were some rumors -- there was an old woman in our village when I was a child. She would tell stories of men that changed into wolves at the full moon and would carry off a full grown man to change him or devour him. I was always afraid on the full moon. Kristalene," she choked a little, "Kristalene would always sing to me on those nights and let me sleep in her bed..."

I swallowed, clinging desperately to the last shred of numbness inside of me.

"It might have been," Alice whispered, apparently unable to find her own voice. A thought occurred to me and I gasped,

"Satehna."

"What?" Alice and Anya inquired together, confused but not really interested.

"Maybe that's why Satehna, the one that changed Kristalene, maybe that's why she did it. Why she didn't finish feeding. I don't know anything that would scare off a newborn vampire in the middle of a ..." I stopped, not knowing how to phrase it. I had been going to say "kill," but I didn't think I could bear anymore heartbreak in the room.

"A werewolf." Alice breathed.

"You think a werewolf scared her away?" Anya asked, and I felt a strange mingling of emotions from her. Could it be she was feeling a ... a gratefulness to the wolf for sparing her sister's life so many years ago, for at least allotting her these twenty-odd years?

"Scared her away, or ... or bit her," I managed.

Perhaps this town was not quite so secluded as I had thought. It had been home to a vampire, had been visited by other vampires, and was apparently a pit stop on the werewolf tour of Belarus. Who knew how long wolves had been coming through here, assessing the meal options, waiting for the full moon, then attacking at will. Dragging off humans and vampires alike, as their mood dictated. Ugh! This was like some little cursed village from the very gypsy novels I had envisioned when first laying eyes upon this town -- plagued by demons of the world of darkness an myth.

I wondered what -- if anything -- we should do. I knew Carlisle wouldn't want to leave the village without trying to help. And we owed it to Kristalene to make the people she loved and protected as safe as we could make them. But I didn't know quite how to do it. The thought of waiting around here or even returning at the next full moon sent my stomach lurching and the icy vise crushing around my ribs. I could not come back here. It was all I could do to remain here now, for Anya's sake. Then what?

"We'll talk to Carlisle," Alice breathed softly. I thought Anya could hear her voice, but I doubted she'd be able to make out the words. I nodded, not knowing what I could say. Would Carlisle return, maybe with Emmett and Rosalie? Could we ask them to put themselves in danger that way? Would we need to ask?

I felt the desperate urge to be out of this dwelling; a need to be gone, to be doing something. I wanted to talk to Carlisle, I wanted to follow the wolves' path, I wanted -- needed -- to do something. I could not sit here anymore, wallowing, useless, pitiful. I had to go. Now.

I rose abruptly -- a movement too fast to be human -- and headed for the door.

"Jasper?" Alice asked, alarmed.

"I can't stay," I muttered, pushing the door, "Please explain."

I hoped Alice understood. I didn't want to be rude or heartless, not to the closest thing to Kristalene that was left in this world, but I needed to be on the move. I needed to be helping the child somehow, to be doing whatever was left that I could do. Anya did not need me. My presence did her no further good. I hoped Alice understood that I wanted her to stay behind, to comfort the woman. She was much more soothing than I was, anyhow.

I felt Alice's bewilderment and worry as I pushed the door closed behind me, perhaps with a little too much force, and marched briskly into the trees. I could smell Carlisle and Esme close by. I found them in an eighth of a second, surprise and apprehension plain on their loving faces.

"Are you all right, Jasper?" Esme asked, coming to my side at once, maternal anxiety filling my senses, "Is Anya --"

"She's there." I stated flatly. Again, I didn't want to be rude to the only mother I could really remember, the most caring creature I had ever known, but I just couldn't find the patience in me to slow down and adhere to conventions, to be polite. Esme didn't seem offended, just more worried. She knew this wasn't like me. I took a deep breath, trying to make myself wait, make myself be still. My muscles -- so numb with pain just minutes earlier -- seemed trying to wrench themselves from my skin, trying to fly from this spot, desperate to move. My words took much effort.

"Maybe," I forced myself to speak slowly. I felt Carlisle and Esme's tension increase, "Maybe you should go help Alice, Esme. You are very ... comforting."

"Do -- do you think it's a good idea?" she asked, looking from me to Carlisle and back again. I nodded once. Run! My body was screaming at me. Fly! "Of course, dear. Of course."

My mother patted my arm and dashed out of the treeline and across the empty yard toward the house. A part of my mind registered the sound of her soft knocking on the heavy wooden door. I turned to Carlisle. He was watching me patiently, expectantly, trying to mask his concern. I took another deep breath.

"Can we walk?" I asked. I felt like I had ingested fifteen cups of coffee. I couldn't stand here calmly -- well, even as "calm" as I was -- another moment. I had to move.

"Of course," Carlisle nodded. We began walking through the woods at a very brisk pace. Vampire speed-walking.

"I think," I began, still not knowing exactly what I planned to do. My thoughts were skipping around, from one plan to another, from one thought or idea or theory to the next in a fashion that would have made Edward sick. "I think that the werewolves," I couldn't help the venomous spitting of the word, "come here often. When we first arrived, Kristalene--" I swallowed, my breath catching. Numb! I thought to myself. A soldier. A robot. Be numb!

"Yes," Carlisle encouraged, trying, as always, to be compassionate without being patronizing. It was a difficult line to tread, but somehow Carlisle always managed it.

"She told us that there were many wolf attacks throughout the years, that sometimes the wolves would even attack people, full grown men." I felt him tense and his emotions became wary, understanding, "and just now, Anya said there have always been rumors about men that became wolves, and that all the attacks were at night, and always under the full moon."

"Incredible," Carlisle breathed, but his tone was one of disgust.

"Do you think -- do you think it's possible this town is some sort of hunting ground? That they come here every few months or every few years to feed?"

"I'm afraid it's very possible. In the old days many such villages were plagued by werewolves. The stories came from somewhere, after all. Before the Volturi decimated their population, many remote towns in Europe were visited every few years, sometimes every month, by one or even packs of werewolves. They travel alone, as a rule, as we do, but occasionally they would band together for convenience. It was easier to hunt together than to try to fight over territory. Three or four wolves hitting a village once a year was more ... profitable than one wolf hitting the same village every month. Less resistance, more time for the ... food supply to replenish. They would attack towns in cycles..." He trailed off, realizing his scientific and historical assessment of the situation was making me nauseous.

"So what can we do? Is there a way to track them in their human form?"

Carlisle seemed uneasy. He hesitated.

"If you're worried about your safety I'll go alone. Just tell me what you can--"

"It's not that," Carlisle bit his lip, apparently bracing himself for relaying some unpleasant information, "It's -- it's a difficult predicament. These people should certainly be protected, saved if possible, but..."

"But what?" What was he getting at? He didn't want to help me? That seemed very unlike Carlisle. He was always willing to sacrifice himself to protect others less capable. Why would he balk at the danger now?

"As reprehensible as the creature was who attacked you, they are not all that way. And they are very nearly extinct. The Volturi have almost wiped them out. Most of them have no choice about what they do, what they became. And the ones who do, well, can you blame them for hating us? The Volturi have systematically hunted down and brutally murdered hundreds of werewolves, hundreds of their friends and mates and brothers. Just as you hate them, can't you see why they would hate us?"

I actually stopped moving. I froze mid-step under the gnarled, dark branches, an ice sculpture nearly colorless with shock and incredulous fury. Carlisle felt remorse, but it was for hurting me, not for what he had said. He believed what he had said. He meant it.

"You --" I tried to unclench my teeth, "You. Don't. Want. To. Hunt. Them?"

"I'm not sure," he said softly, "As I said, it's a difficult situation. The people should not be harmed, but do we hunt other vampires? They prey on humans as well."

"But not on vampires! Not on innocents!" I knew, even as I roared the words, that I was being irrational. Of course vampires killed each other. It happened every day. Of course they hunted innocent humans -- most humans were innocent -- hunted children, even. Most vampires -- and I had certainly been among them -- were no more righteous than these beasts, no more noble or moral than those monsters I so loathed, so hated with every fiber of my being. We were not so different. Both mythical creatures of the night, both ruled by our hungers, both desolate, soulless chunks of dead rock orbiting a bright and vivacious world, lit only by reflections, casting no brightness of good of our own.

As I had just once before, I doubled over, feeling that I may be sick. I fell to my knees on the loam, clutching my stomach, my face near the dirt. I could smell the soil and leaves and decaying brush. I breathed in deep gasps of air, trying to distract myself with the scent, trying to pick out each smell.

Of course Carlisle was with me, kneeling beside me and stroking my back, murmuring words of comfort into my ear. It was difficult to concentrate on what he said, but I grasped at anything I could to keep my mind from the realization it had stumbled upon.

"I know your past is ... different than the rest of ours," Carlisle was saying, "but it wouldn't be justice, son, it would be vengeance. You are better than that. You have left that behind you. That world of hate and death and war, you've left that. That's not who you are."

I finally gave up and put my hands to my face, my knees and elbows in the dirt. I was glad no one else was here to see this. Even Alice would have been bewildered. I felt the tearless sobs rack my body. All the loss, all the pain, all the fury and frustration and hate and loss were washing through me, overwhelming me. It was as though my body was making up for the moments of numbness, throwing the emotions back at me ten fold. I had never felt this ... this helpless before, not in all my existence. I had never had this reaction to anything, and I was surprised that I was capable of it.

Carlisle just let me sit there, overcome, stroking my back and muttering soothing words into my ear. Part of me wished for Esme, like a sick child wishing for his mother. Part of me wished for Alice, who understood me so completely, she'd know what to say to me, know just how to console me. But in the end I was glad it was Carlisle. He would protect my secret as well as Alice, and I didn't want Alice to see me like this. She knew I wasn't the "rock" I pretended to be, but I still liked the thought that she knew she could count on me, knew I was a cool head in perilous situations. She'd still love me, of course, but I wanted that image she held of me to remain intact. As far as she would know, I had bolted from the house and set off to hunt the wolves with fearless determination.

And I was determined. And I was not afraid. But Carlisle was right. There was no clear-cut solution to this problem. The wolf who had actually killed the innocent was dead. The others, though I was sure they were far from blameless, had done nothing to me. As far as I knew, their only crime was that they were. They had not chosen to be werewolves, they did not choose to feed on humans. Just like the hundreds of vampires in this world, they did not know or care that there was another way. It was even possible that for them there was no other way. Who knew? They certainly had reason to hate our kind, and I found that, despite the wrenching in the pit of my stomach, my rational side was beginning to agree with Carlisle. At least to see his point of view.

I breathed slower now, deep, heavy breaths that filled my lungs and nostrils with the scent of the dirt and leaves and damp bark. I tried to compose myself. I dug my long fingers into the soil, grasping two fistfuls of loam with the effort to calm myself.

"I can't--" I began. I held my breath a second, trying to speak reasonably, "I can't allow Anya to be in danger that way. She's all that's left. I owe Kristalene that. I can't allow it..."

Carlisle seemed thoughtful. I couldn't look him in the eye yet. I kept my eyes shut tightly, concentrating on my breathing.

"Perhaps," he said slowly, not quite sure he wanted to give me this option, "we could tell the Volturi. They would certainly send out a hunting party, and they would be far more informed and skilled at the tracking than we would be. They would be much quicker and more effective."

I had frozen again at the name of the vampires who had created this war in the first place. If not for them, would Kristalene still be alive? Still be untouched? It seemed almost unfathomable that I had once admired the Volturi, the "keepers of the peace;" that I had once believed their existence essential to our way of life. Keepers of the peace. Ha. It seemed a cruel joke now.

"We'd have to get you and Alice out of here first, of course," Carlisle continued, either unaware of or politely ignoring my stoney posture.

"What about the villagers?" I whispered. As much as I hated the Volturi, Carlisle might be right. This was the Guard's job, after all. One of their many missions. They would certainly be better at it than I would be. But would they be any less dangerous than the wolves? Would we just be trading one scourge for another?

"I could ask Aro to be ... discreet. To refrain from hunting here," Carlisle answered. "I think he would agree. He still wishes to be in our good graces." A new thought seemed to occur to him, "Actually, this might get us into their good graces. A show of 'good faith,' as it were. It could only help with Renesmee."

I finally squared my shoulders, my torso straight, though I remained on my knees, and looked at him, trying to gauge how strongly he believed Aro would agree.

"What about Aro, though?" I asked. After all, wasn't the Volturi's presence the very thing Alice and I had been trying to avoid? The entire reason I was prepared to wait forty or fifty years for the child I so wanted? If he read the villager's thoughts -- or perhaps even the werewolves, if that were possible; I wasn't sure if true werewolves had linked pack minds as the Quilieute wolves did -- he would know what Kristalene had done. Would he decide that promise or no promise the town needed to be silenced?

"What about Aro?" Carlisle repeated, confused.

"Kristalene --" it was still so hard to say her name. An icy knife pierced my chest every time I thought it, "never told the people she was a vampire, but they knew she wasn't human. And she did tell her sister. If Aro finds out..."

I could feel the expression of pure pleading and pain on my face. I could not be the cause of something that would have hurt Kristalene. I could not be responsible for the death of those she loved. I couldn't.

Carlisle patted me reassuringly, understanding now. "Oh, I don't think Aro would come himself for something like this. If any of them came it would be Caius, but the three of them rarely leave Volterra. They certainly don't leave for small hunting excursions of three or four werewolves. And honestly," I could feel a slight amusement play within him, "I think after Caius' run-in, they're all scared stiff of werewolves. I doubt they'd risk endangering themselves by being anywhere near the creatures."

I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. I thought this was a plan I could live with. I did hate the creatures still, would probably always hate them, but the fury and retributive enmity was ebbing out of me. Carlisle was right. Justice had been served already. Anything more on my part would be vengeance. And I had left that world behind long ago. Why not let the Volturi clean up the mess they had made? They would be fast and efficient, Anya and Viselkeizedevia would be safe, and it might even help to ease the tensions between the Volturi and the Cullens. Somehow, even in the most difficult of situations, Carlisle always knew how to do the right thing. I wondered how anyone could be so good, so noble as Carlisle. Had there ever been anyone more admirable in the existence of this planet? Had those mammoth primordial oaks ever seen his equal? I doubted it. I doubted it were possible.

Slowly, with deep calming breaths, I pushed myself up and rose to my feet. I felt rather embarrassed, now that it was all over. I kept my eyes on my feet.

"So, what do you want to do now?" Carlisle questioned carefully. I could tell he wasn't entirely sure I was over my fit of emotion or rage. He seemed wary, ready to talk me out of another ill-conceived course of action.

"We should go back," I responded, my eyes still on my bare feet. They sparkled in the moonlight breaking through the canvas of leaves, sending dim rays of rainbow slivers dancing across the muted earth. The sight might have been beautiful, but to me it was another sign that I was something else, something not human.

Carlisle didn't answer but I heard the slight rustle of fabric as his skin brushed against the collar of his shirt in a nod. I began trudging slowly back to the cottage that entombed my sleeping angel child. It was as though a magnetic force had been pulling me away from the house, forcing my muscles to move toward it with the undeniable power of physics. As I headed back toward the building I felt that same force pulling me back, back into the trees. No, not pulling, I decided, pushing. Like two magnets with reversed polarities. It was repelling me from the structure that was now, I realized, so abhorrent to me. It was the place where my dream child lay, empty and lifeless, where nothing but sorrow and pain awaited me, where no one but her grief-stricken mourners sat in torment. It was Hell.

With great physical effort I forced myself to push against the resistance that kept me from the house, that pushed me back into the woods, promising freedom from the pain. Empty promises, I told myself. There was no escape from this. Our kind was so immutable, so fixed, dead in so many ways from the time of our rebirth, that change was almost impossible. But when change did come, when something -- or someone -- broke through that granite exterior and penetrated our stone hearts, the change was permanent. It could not be undone. Just as Alice had changed my life forever, changed my very being, so had Kristalene. Every member of my family had chipped and chiseled away a part of me, altering me and exposing new facets, making me different, making me better. Kristalene was no exception. It had taken only moments, only hours, but the alteration would last an eternity, would last forever. The effects of knowing her, of loving her, could never be reversed.

I smelled the child's scent on the path as we neared the house, on the trees and leaves, faint but lingering, refusing to free me. Carlisle followed behind me, never saying a word, simply sending emotions of support and understanding and love. I was grateful for the silence. What was there to say?

We reached the house and I could hear Esme inside, muttering soothing words to Anya as she cried. I couldn't hear Alice and I felt a sudden pang of deep guilt for leaving her there alone with the child. Wasn't she just as devastated as I was? Why did I have the right to escape and she did not? I moved a little quicker and climbed the rough wooden steps onto the porch.

I paused for a moment at the door, wondering whether I should knock. Esme and Alice knew I was here, but I didn't want to be ... impolite. I decided that the interruption to Anya's grieving would be more intrusive than the discourteous action, so I turned the iron handle and pressed open the door.

I had tried to prepare myself for seeing the child again, but the breath was ripped from chest still, squeezed out by the icy vise. Though I had just seen her not twenty minutes ago, the sight of her lying there upon the unused bed, restful, peaceful, like a fairytale princess waiting for her prince, crushed me and I had to grip the door frame for support. She would never have the chance to find her prince. He would never come. No love could wake her from this eternal sleep.

Esme was curved over Anya's huddled form as she wept quietly but forcefully at the head of Kristalene's bed. Esme was patting her and murmuring words of comfort in her ear, a mother to the core. I looked around the room for Alice and found her standing in a shadowy corner, away from the suffering woman. She was as still as the marble she appeared to be carved from, staring in the general direction of the two women, but seeming to see something much farther away. Usually such looks meant she was watching the future, but there was something different about her face now. It was too pained to be seeing tomorrow. Such bleakness could only belong to today.

I crossed the tiny room in three quick strides and wrapped my arms around my world, my universe. She seemed to thaw and melt in my arms, sagging with the weight of her sorrow. She leaned her head into my chest and cried, silent tearless sobs. They racked her body and I had to hold her tightly to keep her from sinking to the ground, but even Esme didn't hear a sound. Alice was stronger than I was. I had been far from silent in the woods with Carlisle. Alice was the rock.

I stroked her inky hair slowly, again and again, supporting her almost nonexistent weight with my body. I didn't dare betray her soundless mourning with soothing words, so I just ran my hand down her hair, again and again, holding her tightly to my chest and kissing her head. I wondered when the pain would lessen, for either of us. It would never be gone, I knew that, but when would it be bearable? The void left by the child's absence would never be filled, but when would it be diminished? When would we be able to function normally again, not whole, but able? I didn't know, and I tried to fight the magnetic repulsion as I was bombarded with Anya's despair, Alice's devastation, and my own desolation, tinged with sympathetic grief and loss from Carlisle and Esme. It washed over me with the force of a tidal wave, drowning me in pain. It was all I could do not to gasp for air as I stroked Alice's hair and held her close, listening to the sounds of Esme's consolation.