Disclaimer: I should probably be putting these every chapter, but you guys know the drill. I don't own Twilight, not in any way, not at all. End of story.
AN: First off, sorry this is a bit later than usual. I've been working at a day camp, basically 8-5 when you factor in travel, I have a bunch of reading I want to get done, etc. Basically just busy with life. :P Also, I've started Beta-Reading for the story Two Paths Intersected, so that takes up some of my time. Plus, I couldn't figure out how I was going to write this is EPOV. But now it's done, and I think I'm pretty happy with it. :) So, sorry it's late, but here it is! :)
And, of course, thank you to all of my fabulous readers and reviewers! And the people who've added me to alerts and faves. I really love them, so please keep them coming!
And now, read on. :)
It was the strangest feeling, as I raced through the familiar streets, taking Bella with me through time, back to a place I couldn't even go anymore. In those few moments, it was almost as if I had substance again. I wasn't alive, not quite. I couldn't exactly feel the wind of our passage in my hair, or the beat and pulse of blood in my veins, the pounding of my heartbeat, but I could remember them so much clearer, almost as if they were happening. In those few moments of going through time, it was as if I was halfway back to being alive. I could even almost feel her hand in mine. I couldn't be remembering this, so I didn't know what it was, but it felt like the hollow image that was the only shape I had now - no substance, just an illusion - was transforming halfway into a real form, with blood to flow and nerves to feel her hand in mine.
It was also just an extraordinary feeling, to be speeding backwards in space and time. I heard of it from others who had done it, and learned the theory - a clear image of the moment you needed to go back to, if strong enough, should be able to take you there - but I'd never done it myself. You couldn't, not unless you were transporting someone like I was now. I, in this form, couldn't stay back then, because this form of myself didn't exist then. My spirit self had been one with my physical self in July of 1918. Two representations of the person who was me, Edward Masen, could not exist together.
That was what I was worried about as time and place stopped shifting and settled into the bustling 1918 sidewalk that was my destination, and I felt myself pulled back, as if on a giant elastic - strong, irresistible - to the present day and my piano room. If I wasn't there, I couldn't know what was happening, know my thoughts as I saw her, couldn't know if she would even succeed in exchanging one word with my past self.
I was immobile in the centre of the room - not knowing if I'd be able to stand not being there, not seeing what was going on, and not even having a physical outlet for my impatience, like pacing, in this body - when it hit me.
It was a memory. Sharp, fresh, clear, and - impossibly - new. Well, it started off familiar, like a thousand other memories I had - so many, so much the same, that they had all blended together in my head - of the walk to the newsagent's every morning. This time, it was different. Sharp. Clear. I could feel and see everything perfectly again - Mrs. Milton and her little boy, smiling as I passed, the summer sun hot on my shoulders, starting to burn the back of my neck. The light, sweet scent of a late blooming rosebush in front of the general store. All this was familiar, like a thousand other memories, but I was experiencing it like it was all happening again, right now.
Then something happened that I knew I'd never had a memory of before this moment. On the sidewalk in front of me, a girl. She was wearing a long, blue skirt and a cream blouse, her brown hair piled elegantly on top of her head in delicate braids. She was standing in the middle of the walkway, blocking the flow of foot traffic and looking frantically around her. Bella.
Somehow, a new memory was being created in my mind. As my past was changing, so did my mind, my memories. I could hear my own newly remembered thoughts as clearly as I could hear my current thoughts, reactions to all that was passing. I noticed the girl, wondering what I could do to help her, wondering if she was lost.
"Excuse me, Miss, are you lost?" I heard myself say, feeling fervently grateful for the time and place where I had grown up, the lessons of chivalry and etiquette drilled into my head as a boy.
I watched, along with my past self, as Bella started to turn around, flustered and confused "Uh, no, just loo-", and then watched the satisfied smile spread over her face as she finished her sentence, "just new.".
"You're new in town?" I heard myself ask, smiling at this strange girl, who, I had noticed, seemed strangely out-of-place, even though, physically, she fit in perfectly.
"Yes. We just arrived, and I'm trying to get acquainted, but it's awfully confusing. . ." I watched Bella answer. She was playing it perfectly.
"I could help, if you like." I heard my past self offer. "My name is Edward Masen, if you are in need of a tour guide?" Perfect.
"Yes, thank you! That would be lovely, if you have the time." She smiled, and I could tell she was as pleased as I was with how easily this was falling into place. "I'm Isabella Swan"
She offered her hand, and I took it lightly in mine, kissing her fingertips, and noting the blush on her cheeks, as if this took her by surprise, and wasn't the common practice I had thought it to be. "It's lovely to meet you, Miss Swan."
"A-and you," Bella stammered, and I smiled, amused by her awkwardness.
My past self, I realized through my remembered thoughts, was as interested in Bella as I had been when she first moved in, and was therefore more friendly that he might have been otherwise. "I was on my way to get the paper. But I'll just be a moment, and then I could show you around, if you would like? Whereabouts are you living, what would you like to see?" it couldn't have been going better if I'd written a script for their conversation myself.
For a moment, I was afraid Bella would fumble and tell me her address, but she didn't, quickly making up a new story. "I'm not actually living here, we're just visiting an aunt for a few weeks. I'm actually not sure of her address, but I remember the way back. I don't really need to know where things are, I'd just love to see the city. It's very beautiful, and I'm used to a much smaller town"
I left her then, and the memory changed to the familiar one of buying my daily paper, but it, again, was so much clearer. I could smell the precise scent of the interior of the shop, feel the texture of the newsprint under my fingers.
I hurried out of the shop, not stopping to make small talk with the owner as I often did, eager to get back to Bella. I took her walking around the city, in the streets near my - our - house. I was slightly curious as to why she was so vague about where she lived. I'd have to tell Bella to get a better, more solid cover story.
I talked to her about the city, the places we passed, the people who lived there. I tried to impress her with my minimal knowledge of architecture, making a lot of things up. I was hoping she would start a conversation about something else, really talk, but she mostly just listened, and that made me sad. This worried me slightly. I hoped I was just interested in meeting someone new, eager to please. That had to be all. Anything else could destroy the plan that hadn't even been made yet.
I also hoped that Bella would talk, but for a different reason. She needed to find out about me. She was supposed to be doing detective work.
As I watched all this, I marvelled at the strangeness of it. It was like the most vivid of memories - and, I suppose, that was what it was - but it played out like a movie, almost, but a sensory movie. I could smell the gardens, I could feel the ground beneath my feet and the breeze on my face.
After a few minutes, though, Bella started talking. Finally. "So, you walk into town to get the paper every day?" she asked, casually. What? She already knew I did this, and knew why! Why was she asking?
After a few more questions like this, and answers, which I happily gave, happy that she seemed to want to converse, I figured it out. She was getting me comfortable, and establishing her information. She knew these things she was asking me, but of course I couldn't know she knew. Smart girl. More and more, I was getting the feeling that I'd picked my helper well.
They, we - I really wasn't sure which pronoun to use - talked for a while. She was gaining his/my trust. Again, she was clever, talking just enough, about just the right things.
After about twenty minutes though, I started to wonder if she shouldn't be somewhere - she'd said she was visiting an aunt - so I decided it was time for her to go.
I thought hard of the memories I'd just experienced, and I managed to get there, just able to resist the elastic pull back to my proper time long enough to bring her back, alerting her to my presence, and waiting while she said goodbye, and they made informal plans to meet again. Perfect. Then, once she was free again, she gave me her hand, and we were gone.
There you go! I hope that was good, and not overly confusing. My two versions of Edward confuse me endlessly, especially from EPOV. So, I'm leaving on a two-week vacation on Thursday, and I'd like to get another chapter up before then, but I'm working a bit, seeing HPB, packing, etc., so I don't know if I'll be able to. I'm going to try, though. And if I don't, sorry in advance, but I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review!! :D
-SkySong
