Chapter 3: Promises
This chapter features some physical violence and blood.
** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer and I am just playing in her sandbox. No copyright infringement is intended.***
Previously: Looking at Rosalie's face pained me, so I concentrated on her other attributes. Her formerly mud incrusted hair was now practically glowing. The large laceration at her hairline had mended too, leaving no trace of scar. Her broken and torn fingernails now glistened whole and strong. I slipped my hand into hers and whispered, "Everything will be all right"
Instead of feeling silly for speaking to someone who couldn't possibly reply, I was shocked to hear her response loud and clear in my mind: No. It will never be all right again.
My mind was playing tricks on me. The stress of the last 12 hours had been intense. In the span of one day I'd run the gamut from perfectly content with my lot to accusing my father of murder and then nearly slaughtering Royce King and his worthless gang of thugs. Now I was imagining that the dying woman on the table was speaking to me.
"Rosalie?" I whispered tentatively. "Miss Hale?"
Please help. The burning... Her mental voice was small and sounded far away. Her body twisted and jerked with the cadence of her mental voice. Like it hurt her to even think the words.
I returned my hand to hers and squeezed gently to let her know I was there, but avoid causing her any new pain. "I know what you're going through. I've been there myself. I understand how all consuming the pain is, but it's almost over," I whispered directly into her ear to avoid Esme overhearing. The idea that someone in that much pain could be conscious and trapped inside her own head would disturb Esme.
"Someone will be here with you the entire time. You are not alone," I continued. I waited for her answer, but Rosalie's mind was still, unlike her body, which continued to twitch with each terrible beat of her racing heart.
I leaned back from her pyre when I heard Esme's soft footfalls overhead. She descended the stairs carrying a basin of water, some towels and clean clothes and smiled when she caught my gaze. "I thought it would be better if she were dressed in something clean and whole when it was over," she whispered as though her voice might wake the burning woman.
Pushing myself up from the stool, I rose to take the basin from her hands. Two sponges floated in the water to which Esme had added lavender. I squeezed the excess from one and bushed it carefully across Rosalie's forehead. The water beaded and evaporated quickly. The temperature in her body would have boiled her blood were the venom not working its way through her system, destroying and rebuilding her entire body simultaneously.
"I remember Carlisle doing this for you," I said without looking at Esme. She smiled her peaceable smile. I had been terrified to go near Esme when she was changing. I'd sit in the room with her while Carlisle went out for supplies, but I didn't touch her. The memory of my own change was too present with another body in the room. "As he did for you, I'm sure. Now it's our turn to pass on the kindness."
Esme walked to the foot of the table and removed the one shoe Rosalie still wore. She carefully placed it on the floor next to the blood soaked wool coat, as though Rosalie could rise and don her ruined clothing at any moment. Her small hands slipped carefully under the sheet to remove each of Rosalie's stockings and placed them with the coat and shoe. Returning to the head of the table she lifted Rosalie left hand and held it to her cheek for a moment. Laying Rosalie's hand back on the table she removed the brilliant yellow diamond ring. "Please keep this safe for her," she said handing me the jewel.
"I'm not sure that she'll want it, considering," Images of Royce and his friends flashed through my mind. I felt my hands gather into fists and quickly relaxed them to avoid turning the ring to sand and twisted metal.
Esme plucked the ring from my palm. "She'll have many choices to make in the coming days, Edward, what to do with the ring is only one of them. She slipped the ring into her dress pocket and proceeded to gently wash Rosalie's arms and legs.
When I closed my eyes I could hear Esme sobbing quietly in her mind. Her own violent past taught her at too young and age than men could be beyond cruel, but seeing the outcome in front of her was too much. This could have so easily been me all those years ago, she thought. In an attempt to push the burden from her mind she pictured Carlisle's face, the first image she had of him from the moment she opened her eyes on this life. He glowed in her mind like an angel coming to carry her to Heaven. In fact, she recalled I thought he was an angel at first. Esme smiled outwardly at her thoughts of my father and I kept my eyes trained on Rosalie to avoid revealing that I had been listening.
"She so beautiful, Edward. Look at her already." The outward aspects of Rosalie's transformation were nearly complete and her body had now grown as still as her mind. Her wounds mended, her skin became a smooth alabaster sheet, like a master had craved her from marble. When she awoke her eyes would break the spell of her beauty and herald her newborn nature.
"But what happens when she wakes up? What then?" I asked. Infinite possibilities raced through my mind. Would she want to stay with us or go out on her own? Would we need to restrain her and spirit her away from the city? Rochester is densely populated; a newborn vampire could kill hundreds in a day.
"What always happens, Edward. Explanations and questions. As Carlisle helped you, and you both helped me, we will help her understand this new life she's been borne into," she said in her calmest voice. "Go upstairs and take a break. I'll stay with her until your father returns from the hospital. I'd like to change her dress anyway." Esme cupped Rosalie's cheek in her palms as she spoke. Her maternal instincts were already protective. When this woman needed help, Esme would be there for anything.
"Go upstairs and take a break," the soft voice sang in my ear. It reached me like a cool breeze in the scorching heat of hell. Seconds, minutes, hours later I heard him ascend the stairs and close the cellar door carefully.
The pain was ever present, but dulled to the point where I could think around it. Did the man who just went upstairs really hear me earlier? Or was he simply saying what anyone would when confronted with a dying woman. Before I could even finish the thought another jumped into my mind: Were these people real or was I simply my mind conjuring up ghosts so that I wouldn't die alone. The end would come soon. I was exhausted from the pain and…
I awoke again, years, centuries later. The pain volume was no lower, but there was more space in my mind to think around it. I could hear someone moving about upstairs, people out on the street and even the birds in the trees, but the cellar was silent save for my booming heartbeat. The organ pumped so vigorously I imagined it would be visible to anyone looking at me. As my pain level lowered the beat grew faster and faster. It drowned out my own breathing and the breathing of the woman with the kind voice. I couldn't move, open my eyes or hear her, but I knew she was still there. "I will always take care of you. I promise." Her words echoed in my mind.
The quiet woman's loving touch and soft voice comforted me, but didn't alleviate my confusion. The pain had blocked out any possibility of coherent thought, but as it dulled my memories trickled back in. Before the pain there was darkness, and before the darkness there was more pain. Different pain.
Flashes and flickered images punctuated my memories. Vera laughing as her tiny son climbed under my skirts. "A cave mama," he squealed with delight. She reached for him and pulled him close to kiss his head. Jealousy flared inside, but I would have all of this and more soon. I would marry Royce and give him golden sons. He in turn would give me the life I deserved. Everyone in Rochester would know the name Rosalie King. My life was perfect.
I put my jealousy aside when it came time to leave. Vera and I lived very different lives now. As a child playing with the housekeeper's daughter seemed normal. We were the same age and enjoyed the same things. As we grew older, we attended different school, made new friends and moved in different circles. The dingy apartment buildings separating our homes grew taller with the years, a dividing wall between us…
The memory faded to be replaced by a group of men blocking my path. They were scattered about the alley passing a bottle. One man stepped toward the tallest of the group, reaching out to light his cigarette. At the tip caught the flame it illuminated I face I knew. "Royce! Thank god. I was nervous in the dark. What are you doing here?"
His smile showed too many teeth and didn't touch his eyes. "Waiting for you of course, darling. I wanted to introduce you to some people who just came to town for the wedding."
The man with the lighter stepped toward me quickly. "You're right Royce. She is a dish. What a face," he said running a finger down my cheek. I shuddered at the smell of the whisky lacing his words. "Such a big coat though."
"Agreed," said Royce as he sidled up next to his unnamed friend. "Let's just take it off. Shall we, Rose?" He grabbed for the lapels of my coat violently. Strings snapped and buttons scattered in every direction and the men who'd been in the background advanced on me.
"Nice gams," said one. "Too bad the dress is so long."
My future husband winked and gestured for the man with the lighter to proceed. I jumped back as he reached for me. His fingers only brushed the hem of my dress the first time, but the second time her found purchase on the silk. The side seam tore up to my waist as he used it to drag me forward. I pulled a hand back to hit him, but he caught my wrist swiftly. My gold bracelet snapped under his think fingers. "Not so fast, beautiful. The night is still young."
The other men hooted and hollered. Royce took a swig from the bottle and smiled his terrible smile once more. I locked my eyes on his, waiting for him to put a stop to this foolishness and take me home. "Please don't," I said, trying to make my voice sound weak in hopes that they would take pity on me and end this game of cats and mouse. Royce approached me slowly, taking a drag from his cigarette, like he had all of the time in the world.
He put a hand under my chin to cup my face. This was the gentle Royce I knew. He'd come to his senses. Just as I was beginning to relax his hand grew stiff, squeezing my face hard. Involuntary tears flowed from my eyes.
"Go with it Rose. These people are my friends. Don't you want to be polite to our guests?"
A new man approached me, pushed forward by the gang. "Go for it Harold. Show her how they do it down south," one yelled. Their laughs and smiles were laced with alcohol and bent up frustration. This was cats and mouse, but surely no game.
The man moved slowly. He was clearly the runt of the litter. Not as well heeled or put together. His pudgy face revealed is insecurity as he faced me down. "Sorry," he mouthed as he closed the last of the gap between us.
"Me too," I returned. Frozen, uncertain what to do now that he had me, my apology gave him enough pause to get my foot up and grind my high heel into his thigh. His scream shattered the air as he fell to the ground. I ran as fast as I could wearing only one shoe.
"Not nice Rosie," Royce sang as he pursued. "We'll have to teach you a real lesson now." I turned another corner, but tripped and tumbled into a row of garbage cans. Broken glass ground into my palms as I tried to crawl away from him. Moving was difficult, It felt like I had a knife in my chest. Royce grabbed my elbow and hauled me to my feet. He pulled me close and wrapped an arm around my neck to drag me back. "You're going to have to learn to be more obedient, Rosie. To be a good wife."
He pushed me into the circle of men. Hands reached out for me, disgusting comments spewed from their mouths. The harder I fought the more determined I grew to escape and the harder they pulled at my limbs and my clothes. "Come'ere girl," one of the men said pulling me toward him violently. I lost my footing and slammed head first into the brick wall with a sickening crunch. Time slowed down as my head felt like it was exploding. Blood steamed from my nose and the gash in my forehead. I tried to grab for the wall but couldn't make my body respond to my commands as I slid into a heap on the ground.
"Christ. You're a doctor, Tom. Do something," fat, nervous Harold whined.
The man who started it all leaned toward me. I could feel his fingers brush the slash across my forehead and probe at my neck. I wished he'd get his hands off of my skin. And even more I wished I could move. Laying on the ground my head lolled to one side, blocking everyone from my view but the cowering Harold.
He exhaled slowly and turned to Royce. "Shit, Royce, she's in really trouble here."
Harold's hand came up quickly to cover his mouth and stifle the moan he couldn't quiet. "Oh god, oh god, oh g-" Royce's swift fist to his gut silenced him quickly.
"Better to know now. Right Tom? The girl's just no fun," he took another swig, shockingly unconcerned. "Let's go."
"What about her? Rosalie?" said Harold with a note of hysteria in his voice. Thought pathetic, he was beginning to look like my only hope of surviving this ordeal.
"What about her?" Royce replied in a high-pitched voice mimicking Harold's panic. "You heard Tom."
Harold looked to Tom with wild eyes. "Girl's done for," said Tom. "We could take her to the hospital, but it won't matter. She's done and if the police get ahold of her so are we."
"Let's go, men," said Royce as he started to walk backwards out of the alley "The bachelor party isn't over just yet." He didn't even spare me a last glance. The rest, in various states of shock and drunkenness, followed him.
Tom leaned down once more, wrapping a meaty hand around my face and turning my head toward him. His blue eyes were apologetic, but nothing compared to Harold's terror. "A lesson for you doll. You shoulda just gone with it. Now look what you did." My head rolled back toward the pavement as he released me and rose to walk away. My chances of walking away were disappearing by the second.
Breathing became so difficult I began to lose consciousness. I was going to die and Royce would live.
He would look somber and say all the right things. He would hold my mother's hand and speak tenderly. He would wish aloud that I'd called him to walk me home that night. He would tell my father how much he'd relish five minutes alone with the bastard who did this to the woman would now never get to mother his children. He would put up a big reward and tell the papers how beautiful I was. How he'd never love anyone else. Every ear in Rochester would turn in his direction and my name would be on everyone's lips. Just not the way I wanted it to sound.
I'd never been religious or believed in much, but as the darkness moved in I made a promise to myself, god and Royce:
If I live, I'll kill them all.
I'd never been much of a Rosalie fan before this story, but I think I completely just switched teams. Please leave me a review and recommend this story to your friends.