Chapter 6: Guilt

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Edward

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I knew something was wrong the moment I turned onto the driveway. Quickly I scanned the area for any human minds before sprinting up to the house. I dropped the new sheet music on my piano and made a dash for the stairs. In a second I was at Esme's door. It was splintered around the doorframe and the wall had even cracked from the force with which it had been slammed. Inside I could hear her. With my ears only whimpering dry sobs reached me but with my mind I heard her mental anguish.

How could I! How could I without even knowing! Until it was over, without even knowing! No, no, NO! It can't be! But her memories were crystal clear. The man's lifeless body in her arms and his bones crushed by her powerful hands like strips of soft wood. Lifeless eyes looked out from the pale bloodless face at her with a pleading question: Why? Esme's mind cried out in terror at herself and what she had done.

I ground my teeth and stood frozen outside her doorway. What did I say?

I remembered my first slip in the darkened Chicago streets and Carlisle's words as he drove me out of the city: "It's only your nature. You will learn to control it. There's no need to hate yourself now. I know you feel guilty for what you've done but you can use that. Let it motivate you to be better. This will get easier. I promise. You'll be ok." In his mind he had been accepting, never judgmental of what I had done. And never once had he been angry. More than any of it was his own guilt. As terrible as I thought myself to be that night as I wiped the man's blood on my pants, trying to clean my hands of it, Carlisle felt worse about himself. I had acted thoughtlessly and ended a life out of instinctive need. He had acted with completely coherent intention to make me into the passion-governed monster that had committed that murder.

I understood my father's point of view in that moment, frozen in helplessness outside of Esme's door. I should have been with her, should have been able to stop her, spare her this pain. For a moment the guilt consumed me as much as it did her. Even if I couldn't have known tonight they would need me I felt petty for putting my own desires over her needs, over other's safety. My hand raised to knock on her door and apologize but I realized that would do no good the moment before my knuckles connected with the wood. I was frozen again.

"Oh, Esme," I whispered, knowing she would hear the pity in my voice.

Edward! She realized I was there. Oh Edward, I'm so sorry. I tried to be good, I did. I couldn't do it. I failed. I failed and someone died. How can I live with that? How can you live with me after what I've done? How can I be deserving of all this happiness you and… her mind faltered on the thought of Carlisle. How could I ever think I could be worthy of him? She asked herself, forgetting me. How could I think he might love me? In her mind the gap between the two of them was no longer narrow but so wide and deep it swallowed all her hopes and that future I had seen just a few days ago blossoming in her mind.

"Esme," I groaned. "No, no, that's… please don't think that!"

It's true! You know what I've done. I cannot come back from this! I—I killed someone, a human being. That cannot be forgiven. Ever. Never. Cannot. She sobbed on the other side of the doorway. Please just leave me alone. It's better that way. I was always better alone. I never should have come here, to Ashland. He would have been better off to let me die! I wanted to die! Why couldn't he let me?

"No, no," I moaned and put my forehead to the door. I wanted to remind her of that last moment she'd shown me in her mind, when gravity snatched her out of the open air and she wanted desperately to live. But my gift could only take, it couldn't give and I hated it passionately at that moment.

"Please go," She said aloud in a broken voice.

Defeated I ambled down the stairs and opened my piano. With a heavy heart I played her favorite tunes, the slow and sad ones that soothed her on the harder days. They were little comfort now.

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It was hours before Carlisle returned. Esme's sobs had stopped and her mind was almost catatonically quiet, regressing into thoughtlessness to escape the pain for a moment. I paused in my playing and turned to him. He shuffled to a chair and sat, putting his head in his hands with a heavy sigh.

"What happened?" I asked him.

She's listening isn't she? He asked me in his mind.

"Yes."

It was a simple mistake. We were hunting and crossed one of the service roads for the electric power lines. There was a car. I didn't see it but as soon as I was down wind I knew… She was ahead of me and I couldn't get to her in time. In his mind I watched Esme dropping down out of the trees in a predator's leap and drag the man out of the cab with one hand, throwing him to the ground. She was on him before Carlisle could get his arms around her and he could only stand beside her as she sank her teeth into his neck. I saw in his mind how he shied away from the sounds of rapt pleasure she made as she drained the man's lifeblood. There was nothing I could do, He thought with guilt like the weight of all Lake Superior on his shoulders.

"Who?" I asked softly as I could. I felt Esme listening closer when she heard my question though. "She wants to know," I added.

"An inspector with the electrical company from out of town." In his mind I saw the man's license and the address on it. I saw the wedding band on the man's finger and the picture in his wallet of a smiling woman and little dimple cheeked boy.

"What did you do with…?"

The body? Carlisle filled in the last word I didn't want to say aloud. I crashed the car into a tree, flattened one tire so it looked natural and ruptured the gas tank. It will burn hot enough to cover any trace and no one will be able to tell what really happened.

"So we aren't leaving?" I asked.

"It would be suspicious if we did. No, we'll stay. There will be talk but it will pass soon enough."

I nodded.

How is she? He asked, quiet again.

I just shook my head. I think all the water of the Great Lakes would seem an easy burden compared to his guilt.

This will destroy her, he thought. In his imagination he could see all too well what I could hear in Esme's mind.

"It'll be ok," I said and crossed the room to put a hand on his shoulder. "She'll make it through. She's stronger than you think." Neither of them believed me.

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Carlisle

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The next few days were silent and tense in the little country house. I called in to the hospital sick and spent most of my time in my study, alternating trying to read and trying not to worry. I failed at both. Edward was just as quiet. More often then I care to admit I would wander out of my room, pause at Esme's door, then ambled downstairs to check on Edward. He would look up at me, knowing my question before I could even think it, and just shake his head. Most of the time I would find him sitting at his piano, hands in his lap, or holding a book but not looking at it. He was the only one who left the house in those long days. He would wander around town sporadically and listen for any gossip that might implicate us. There was nothing. The cover up had worked. Still Edward went on his walks in the late evening as he was now. I think it was partly to get some relief from our thoughts, mine and Esme's.

Esme never left her room. She was silent apart from a few bouts of dry sobbing. I didn't even hear footsteps in her room. My imagination tortured me with the image of her lying on the floor, curled up over her knees, eyes open and staring blankly as dust accumulated on and around her. Unlike a human she would never cramp from inactivity, never tire, never stretch, and never need to use the bathroom. But as the days wore on I worried about her thirst. She was still so young. Edward could go days without feeding. I could go weeks if I needed to. Esme required blood almost daily. The longer she resisted the more volatile and dangerous she would become. Of all the years of my long memory the fuzziest were the months of hunger before I discovered an alternative to human blood. Those memories were dominated by emotion and instinct. I had lost all rational thought to the need I felt. How long would it take for Esme to descend into that? I cut off that thought. I wouldn't let that happen. Even trying to imagine the beautiful, kind woman I knew so wild with animalistic insanity sickened me.

Still I could picture it all too clear. I had seen it when she caught the scent of human blood. Her dark, umber eyes had widened and searched out the source of the tantalizing scent in her nose. Her beautiful lips meant for smiling had pulled back to bar her sharp predator's teeth. Nostrils flared and brow furrowed in concentration, she hardly resembled the woman that I loved, the woman I needed so much I was willing to turn her into a monster to keep her alive.

How she must hate me, I thought, putting aside the book I had been trying to read. She must hate me and I deserve it. I would rather damn her to hell than let her die and join her son. She must think me terribly selfish and entitled. I wished that I could regret what I had done, but I knew if faced with that situation again I would do exactly the same thing. There hadn't been any thought to it, just instinctive desperation.

Did I think it was owed to me? I wondered. In that moment did I think I was owed the chance to keep her after resisting her blood? Was that why I changed her? Did some small part of me feel that I was entitled? I couldn't be sure. I had been so focused on her survival I had barely considered what right I had to change her.

What if I had been even a minute later? I wondered. Would her heart have still been strong enough? What if she'd been brought to me in the ER in the middle of my shift? What would I have done? Could I have pronounced her dead? Would I have tried to save her human life? I tried to imagine but in every scenario I found a way to make her immortal even if I was optimistic about her chances of surviving her wounds. As a human she never would have walked again. She might never have recovered from the brain damage.

I sighed and picked up the book again. For a moment I was just staring at the words I had been absentmindedly reading before. Now I really processed them.

I stood up, the book open in my hand and walked to Esme's door with slow measured steps. I reached for the knob but as soon as my hand closed on it I heard her move. The door creaked and shuddered when she pressed against it suddenly. She didn't want me inside.

"Esme," I said softly.

"Please just leave me alone."

"Oh, Esme," I put my hand against the wood of the door as if I could touch her through it. I can't do that, I wanted to tell her. I've tried over and over but then there you are, right in front of me again. I'm always happy to see you, and I don't think I could leave you now if I tried.

"I'm sorry Carlisle. I know you—you thought better of me." She sobbed once and the door shook with the motion of her body.

"Esme, I never… I could never expect you to be anything but… but what you are… what I made you. I know this is hard, but I have faith in you."

"I broke that!"

"No, Esme, no. This—as terrible as it is—this is not unforgivable."

"I killed someone!"

"Yes, out of instinct not anger. You made a mistake, everyone does. Edward has. Even I do."

"Stop! Please just stop. I don't want to feel right about this!"

"No, Esme. This should never feel right. But you need to know… to feel that you can move on."

She was silent and the door shuddered with her soft, nearly silent sobs. I sighed and sat down against the wall beside her door. I settled the book in my lap and waited for her to calm down again. I read softly when I heard her breathing slow to a steady pace.

"'Light Shining out of Darkness by William Cowper'" (1731-1800)

"'God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.'"

I sat silently for a moment and listened for Esme's breathing. It had stopped.

"I don't know if everything that happens is meant to be, Esme," I said softly. "But I do believe there is a plan, one greater and more intricate than we can conceive of. Our parts our small but everyone is important. That's not to say that what happened is meant to be or that we have no choice to change our future but… maybe there is a reason you're here. Maybe there's a reason that I found you in the morgue before your heart stopped beating or a reason that you crossed that man's path four nights ago. I can't know by any empirical fact this is true but I believe it. So I keep moving, despite my mistakes, and I come to terms with them."

I closed the book softly and stood to leave. I wished desperately I had Edward's gift and I could know if I had helped her at all. The silence was somehow worse than before while I waited for Edward to return, watching nightfall. Eventually I heard his slow steps on the driveway and I went downstairs to meet him.

He was wearing the most curious expression of confusion when he opened the door though.

What? I asked him.

"We're going hunting tonight," He replied.

Footsteps answered him on the stairs and we both turned to see Esme descending them slowly. I felt a lump in my throat. I wished I could think of something to say to express the relief I felt. I wanted with a physical ache to reach out to her and wrap my arms around, hold her. I didn't think I could ever be close enough to make that longing go away.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs and slowly raised her eyes to look at each of us in turn. Her hair was wild and uncombed, her skin looked paler than usual and her irises were black as her pupils with hunger. When they met mine, they were searching, looking for some emotion on my face. I tried to judge her expression but I didn't know if I was only seeing what I wanted to be there: hope, acceptance, forgiveness, caring. She forced a small smile, just a twitch of her lips and softening around her eyes but it took my breath away. I missed her smile more than air, or light, or warmth.

"Shall we?" Edward asked, knowing I couldn't speak. I just nodded and somehow tore my eyes away from Esme.

"Lets," I said, trying to keep the blazing hope I felt out of my voice. This was just one step toward healing Esme's wounds. Still I felt lighter and warmer every time I laid eyes on her.

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Edward

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Christmas had always been a strange time for Carlisle and I. Carlisle had very few human memories of the holiday as it was banned in England for the majority of his lifetime. I had few memories of it because my father disapproved of the modern superficiality. In truth he would have shunned the entire holiday, and religion itself, if my mother had let him but on this alone he gave in to her wishes. Still it was a somber holiday in my memory and not one I relished any more in immortality. Still it was hard to ignore, particularly in Ashland.

Ashland hospital had a very competent Jewish Doctor and his wife, an equally competent nurse, who were happy to cover many of the shifts leading up to and on the Christian holiday. So Carlisle, who usually volunteered for those days, was sent home with an assurance that should the need arise he would be called.

I found him upstairs Christmas morning, in his study. Esme was out hunting, as she did on her own now and then. I took the opportunity to talk out of her hearing range.

My father, the man I considered more my father than any other, was examining his Christmas gift with a puzzled look. His thoughts were pleasantly floating around Esme and her improving mood over the past few weeks. She'd come out of her depression after her first "slip" suddenly, though I thought Carlisle must have something to do with that, and been working steadily back into her old habits ever since. Less and less, I caught her thinking about the man she killed or descending into grief and guilt. Partly she avoided the downward spiraling thoughts like that by working furiously around the house. She had finished my room in record time. I had to admit was taken with the warm gold and mahogany theme. She was sped through her work on the kitchen, which would now be the envy of any housewife. I did point out the irony to her that we were the least suited people to appreciate it. Now she was engaged in a few dozen sewing projects simultaneously. To all outward appearances she was recovered.

I knew differently. She still saw the gulf between herself and my father. The hopeful future she'd entertained before was all but gone. It was a guilty painful fantasy now that she couldn't quite let go of.

Oblivious of this Carlisle was pleased with her progress and his heart leapt with every smile she gave him. Now he was running his hand over the shirt on top of the small stack of clothes on his desk.

"She likes the sewing machine," I said, announcing my presence unnecessarily.

"Yes," Carlisle said aloud. I hope she doesn't feel she needs to be useful though. I would rather she make things for herself.

"She is," I answered his thoughts. "There's a blue dress she's particularly excited about. She thinks her mother wouldn't approve of it."

I don't suppose she had much of a chance for teenage rebellion?

"No, not that I have ever heard about. Still, it is 1921 not 1660."

Not everyone was modest in the 1600s. Carlisle thought, conjuring up images to reiterate his point. Still I could tell his curiosity was piqued. He was looking forward to seeing what Esme's mother would consider risqué. He thought fleetingly what her mother would have said if she'd seen Esme after her first hunt. The image of Esme, beautiful and immortal, in a tattered bloodstained cream and peach dress torn to show skin in a number of quite inappropriate places though she remained reasonably covered, flashed before Carlisle's eyes. I felt a protective edge to his thoughts before he quickly redirected them to Esme's gift.

"Are you going to tell her?" I asked.

"Tell her what?" He turned away from me and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Please," I rolled my eyes. "It's one thing to pretend you aren't physically attracted to her, and another to pretend you don't care about her."

"I do, just as I care about you," He said, sliding on the new garments Esme had made. Much of his clothing was considerably worn and dated. It helped him appear older than the physical 24 years of age he was frozen at.

"Yes but I didn't have an abusive spouse for you to dismember," I goaded him. Carlisle just frowned and I watched him steer his thoughts carefully away from Charles Evenson.

Yes, I wanted to kill him to save her pain. I wanted to save you and your parents as well. If I could have done so with force I very well might have.

"And what's holding you back now?"

Esme is new to this life. I don't want to confuse her or force her into anything.

"What if she wants it?"

Edward, she's very young. She can't be expected to know what she wants for a few more years. This life is hard to come to terms without romantic or sexual problems as well.

"Could be good for her."

Or it could be much worse. She's delicate right now emotionally even if she could overpower either of us physically. In a few years she'll understand more about what she's feeling, and then we might discuss it. I could see that a few years in Carlisle's mind was a few decades. He had no intention of saying anything to Esme. His own feeling for her with tempered with a guilt I didn't quite understand.

"What are you worried about?"

"I turned her into a monster," Carlisle said, face twisted in guilt. But something else lurked under that old burden.

"You saved her life."

"After she tried to end it." Her mangled and bloody body on the morgue gurney flashed before his minds eye.

"Have you asked her about that?"

What good could it possibly do? It would only bring up painful memories and remind her that I took that choice away from her, he thought immediately.

"She didn't want to die though," I said angrily. Esme's most painful memory of instant regret was impossible not to relive. As much as I wanted my father to understand it I knew if he could feel it the way I did, it would hurt him even more than his own guilt. "She regretted it the moment her feet left the earth," I said, remorse in my own voice.

Edward!

"She would want you to know this," I cut off his scolding thoughts. "She realized as soon as she'd jumped, as soon as she'd given up life, that for the first time her life was truly hers. She's never been angry or resentful because you saved her."

Carlisle puzzled this new information over in his mind. He never doubted my truthfulness but it meant reevaluating a lot of what he had assumed about Esme's feelings. I resisted the urge to groan. How were the things that were so obvious to me so obtuse to him? In his vague musings thought I caught the reason for the guilt he was hiding from me. Part of his mind still pictured her the way she was when they first met, a sixteen year old, practically a child, innocent and chaste. I laughed out loud.

"You're worried about being… ?"

Depraved, unprincipled, immoral. He supplied words for me.

"Old?" I asked, grinning uncontrollably. "Sorry to point this out but she's got two years on you."

I'm two hundred and seventy four, Carlisle thought dryly.

"And if you both live as long as Aro, two hundred years will seem like nothing!" I said chuckling and shaking my head. "You already think we're damned. What will loving her change?"

Edward, I shouldn't love her! I shouldn't have loved her as a human and I shouldn't now.

"But you do!" I wanted to growl in frustration. I wasn't having any effect on his resolve.

Please, promise me you won't mention this to her?

"Relax," I half sighed, half groaned, "She's already forbidden me from telling her what you think. I'll stay out of this. But you can't keep living in denial." And neither can she, I added in my own head.

"Thank you."

"The shirt looks good on you, by the way," I noted. It did make him look younger.

"Esme has a good eye," He nodded and pointed to my new tan jacket. "I don't think either of us knew how much we needed someone like her around."

"No. But it's hard to imagine life without her now, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is."