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Carlisle's POV
For three days we held him tightly in our arms trying to reassure him that we were real and not a figment of his imagination; that he was home and safe with his family. Usually it was Esme. She would sit with him either in our large great room or more often in her studio, holding his head in her arms gripping him firmly trying to quell the endless tremors that shuddered through his body. When other duties called, I would replace her with the help of my children, prying his hands from her arms, her clothing even her hair, rearranging him against me where he would grip me fervently, for what purpose I didn't know, but his silent need was communicated by body language alone and I would squeeze him securely, recognizing his need, his desire to be held tighter, always tighter. He didn't speak, didn't communicate his needs or convey his wishes verbally, relying on us to anticipate how we could best help him and appearing appeased by our endless attempts to comfort him.
If his obsessive need to be held firmly in the grip of a loved one was troubling, even terrifying, I still concluded it was better than the catatonic state that he'd existed in for several weeks following Bella's death. Now he was completely aware of those around him, his eyes, though never drifting up to meet the gaze of those that held him, took in his surroundings completely cognizant of the other activities in the room. He studied the faces of his brothers and sisters as they, oblivious to his intense scrutiny, went about their business, engaged in their hobbies and insignificant activities.
I could see that he was studying their thoughts closely and this intrigued me. Edward had always shied away from delving too deeply in the minds of his family. Given our living arrangement and enhanced abilities, we were all privy to more of each other's private moments than would normally be considered appropriate in proper company and that was compounded by Edward's extraordinary gift. He would know all our secrets if he so chose to, but always gentlemanly, always mindful of his abilities, he never abused his gift, yet now he seemed obsessed with the thoughts of his family.
I'd never been interested in psychiatry, the direct human contact on an ongoing one-on-one basis made it difficult to pursue it as a career and given that we might be forced to move at a moment's notice, it was not exactly conducive to a healthy doctor-patient relationship that relied almost completely on trust. But now I felt a personal responsibility to educate myself. Edward was not human. I couldn't treat him with the latest drugs or subject him to endless amounts of therapy with a trained professional. I needed to find my own way to help him and so I studied everything I could find that might explain Edward's condition, letting his symptoms guide me to an obvious conclusion.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
That was the simplest diagnosis and one that accurately described the symptoms Edward was suffering from. The torment and pain he experienced through the death of his mate was compounded by unspoken horrors and tribulations yet to be revealed. His eyes conveyed the evidence of the death of humans at his hands. And he would suffer for it, but it was not what triggered his tremors or defined his need to burrow away from the world and the repercussions of his actions. Edward had killed before, many times before, hundreds of times before, but even assuming the Volturi kept him well fed for the very short time that he reverted to a human diet, he could have hardly been responsible for more than a half dozen deaths. Not insignificant by any standard but certainly that alone is not what had sent him into such a state. There was more to it, much more and only with Edward's cooperation would I be able to get to the root of the problem.
There was no physical ailment that could produce muscle tremors in vampires so the only way to explain the twitching wrecking havoc on my son's body had to be attributed to a mental condition. Documented history related to vampire abnormalities was nonexistent and the only one among us that might have some insight was not someone I wanted to confront anytime in the next several decades, so it was up to me to determine the best way to help my son.
When he finally did speak it was in response to rudimentary questions, his answers perfunctory and polite but revealing nothing about the traumatic events of the previous few months. Esme did not pursue it, content to hold her son in her arms reveling in his return and accepting him in whatever form he was prepared to offer.
I, on the other hand, needed to understand his experience recognizing that in order to help him I would need him to relive the pain and terror alluded to in Alice's visions. But he wouldn't speak of it, his lips remaining tightly sealed whenever I suggested we talk about it and the tremors would become significantly worse if I pursued it.
And so I held him. My lips pressed against his brow when he whimpered in my grip, no doubt recalling a memory or painful experience that couldn't be eradicated from his mind even surrounded by the love of his family. At times he would grip me fiercely, clinging to me, begging me to help him without revealing what he needed from me, but more often he would lie silently in my embrace, caught up in the nightmare of his memories, staring blankly at nothing, his breath little more than pants, hyperventilating when he sunk into a particularly disturbing remembrance.
Eventually we saw the results of our passive ministering. When he pushed away from me for the first time, I tried to keep my mind blank of any emotion taking note that despite his attempts at separation, he still became agitated when I rose to leave him, Esme's presence not mollifying his anxiety. I concluded that it was not so much a physical need to have us close but a worry that we would disappear, not completely confident that we were real unless he was clinging to us thru physical contact.
But that fear too appeared to dissipate and with it the household returned to some semblance of normalcy. The first sign that he no longer required our constant presence was his exploration of our new home and the property surrounding it. Our human neighbors were much closer than they ever were in Forks. Before we even purchased the house, I'd inquired into purchasing the property adjacent to ours and was assured it was an option. Bella as a newborn would never have been able to resist the scent of humans so close, but after her death it wasn't something I pursued and I was relieved that Edward did not appear unduly bothered by it.
The tantalizing scent of an older couple that still clung to their residence in an old decrepit mansion, similar in style to that of our own would drift over the household at the convenience of the wind so Edward had been exposed to it from the moment of his return and his lack of response convinced me that my son, despite his recent dabbling in human blood, still had control of his bloodlust.
The first time we took him out to hunt he was unsure and suspicious of my presence and those of his brothers who I encouraged to accompany us. I knew he felt our scrutiny and assumed he could read his brothers' thoughts. His shame almost incapacitated him and distracted him so much he had trouble focusing on the hunt. I had no real fear that Edward would be drawn to the scent of humans, so temptingly close in this tourist hubbub of the north shore, but I understood where before the scent of humans was exclusively off limits, now he no longer felt the sense of taboo when he encountered their smell and I had to make sure he wouldn't be drawn to them when his instincts overpowered him.
When he finally was able to focus on the odor of deer that was all around us, he did so dispassionately, taking down the first few deer he came across, draining them quickly then politely waiting for myself and his brothers to take our fill before returning home to the embrace of his undemanding mother.
As he slowly, very slowly, returned to us, I saw his insecurities and his paranoia grow, fearful that our escape from Italy would be punished, that somewhere out there lurking, was the elite Volturi guard, and despite my attempts to dissuade him from such thoughts, I would often find him staring out across the great expanses of the giant lake that bordered our home, waiting for the emergence of the guard from its depths, intent on retrieving and returning him to the brothers that coveted his gift.
"No…no…no…no…NO!"
I was up and from behind my desk the moment the first no burst from Edward's mouth. Before Esme even had a chance to react, I stood outside of the door of her studio waiting to see if she needed assistance.
"Sweetheart, don't you understand, I want to be here with you," Esme said calmly, conciliatory.
"NO! I don't want you here. I don't want you to change anything, not for me, not ever." He said pleadingly. There was no anger in his voice, he didn't get angry anymore.
"Alright, sweety. We won't talk about it anymore. I just want you to know I'm here for you, if you need me." Esme's tone remained even, but I knew her heart was breaking.
"I'm fi…fine." Edward's voice cracked. "I'll be fine." He rushed out of the room, not acknowledging me as he flew down the stairs and out the door.
Esme was right behind him but she stopped short when she saw me. Our eyes locked, but as had been the case since we returned from Italy more than three weeks before, we didn't communicate beyond that. Not even thinking about what troubled the both of us. With a quick nod, she returned to her studio and I to my office. Our minds blank of thoughts of Edward. We would not ponder this latest outburst until later when he was out of our range of thoughts.
I'd given a directive to the family that we had to be mindful of our thoughts, had to consider Edward's abilities even when it appeared he was too distracted to be listening to us. And so we'd taken to running into the surrounding wilderness when we wanted to have conversations about our troubled son and brother, usually on the pretense of hunting. On the surface it appeared we'd never been so well fed and if Edward noticed our frequent forays into the woods, he never commented on it.
Now I stood staring out the window, watching as he ran down the driveway and into the great expanse of the North woods seeking solitude that we couldn't offer him. I felt a lurching in my heart, a fear clog my throat as I watched his retreating figure until he was out of sight. I still held onto a real fear that it would be the last time I would see him, that he would disappear from our life, this time for good.
I made no demands on my son upon his return, put no pressure on him, and elicited no promises from him save one. In one of his more coherent moments, I made him promise me that he would never leave us, never disappear from our lives again. I even resorted to showing him images of Esme, contorted in grief and hysterics upon hearing Alice's vision and misinterpreting it as a prelude of his death. Besides sending Edward into a convulsive state of tremors so uncontrollable I had to restrain him in my arms until they subsided, Esme, aroused by the commotion had been so infuriated by my efforts to control our son that she refused to speak to me for the better part of a week. I no longer showed Edward memories of our grief during his absence.
Now, feeling her fingers curl around my shoulders and her lips against my neck, I sighed as she pulled my tension filled body back against her.
"What should I do Carlisle? I have absolutely no interest in renovating that mansion anymore." Her fingers slid through my hair. "I just want to stay home with him. He needs me and he wants me with him; I can feel it."
"I know my darling, I know." I turned to face her pulling her against my chest and burying my face in her sweet smelling hair. "But we can't appear to adjust our lives to accommodate him. He won't tolerate it. I'm surprised he hasn't discovered that Emmett and Rosalie canceled their trip to Africa this summer. They are guarding their thoughts exceedingly well."
There were many things that could evoke strong emotional reactions from Edward, most we only discovered by accident. In modern day psychiatry they were referred to as triggers. Edward had many triggers. When he caught my passing thought to delay accepting my position at St Mary's Hospital, he was so overcome with self-blame that it took me a better part of a day to reassure him that I fully intended to report to work the following week as had been my plan all along.
"What should I do? How can I convince him that I truly want to stay home with him?"
"I don't think you can convince him of that. He will always assume you are giving up something you love to accommodate his needs." My fingers slid down along my wife's back, stopping at the curve of her ample buttocks. With Edward and the others out of the house, I suddenly wanted to take advantage of our time alone together. It was so rare nowadays.
"Carlisle, please, you aren't helping," she answered breathlessly pressing herself against me.
"He won't be alone, Esme. I will be home with him during the day and the others won't start classes until the end of August."
"But Carlisle, I'm his mother…he needs…"
I drowned out her words with my mouth. We could talk later, for now I had my own needs.
Hours later as I prepared for my shift at the hospital, I saw Edward return, his posture unchanged from the weeks he'd been home, his head down, his shoulders slumped the weight of the world resting on them. Whatever trepidation I felt at his absence was not alleviated by his demeanor. For three weeks I'd tried to break through to him, and for three weeks I failed. He refused to divulge any information about his trip to Mexico and subsequent stay with the Volturi. I tried gently prodding him into it, reassurances that speaking about it would release him of the burden of carrying his angst with him, but this only depressed him further, suggesting that he deserved to carry the burden of his dastardly deeds for all time and should be allowed no relief from the weight of his transgressions.
And without the dialog that might spur a recovery or at the very least, the beginning of the healing process that might allow him to move forward with whatever happiness he could find without his mate, I was at a loss for how to help him. Esme was not driven like me. She was content to hold her son in her arms day after day never encouraging his independence or suggesting it might be unhealthy for him to rely on her so much.
He no longer needed to be held and comforted constantly, but he still preferred the company of one or more of us including his siblings. It was one of the few significant changes I'd noticed in him, a change that was noteworthy given that his gift made moments of solitude a welcomed respite. After Bella's death, that desire appeared to increase tenfold and he seldom left the confines of his room, resigned to the presence of visitors only because he had no way to keep us from invading his private space.
But now he sought us out, content to sit quietly in the background regardless of the activity we were engaged in. A less desirable manifestation of that behavior was he no longer pretended to be interested in those activities or sought to join them. If Esme was near he would invariably find her lap and nestle his head in it as she stroked his head trying to quell the insistent tremors that racked his rock hard muscles. In the unlikely event that Esme was not available to comfort him, he would either curl himself up in a ball, doing his best to contain the tremors himself or occasionally seeking comfort from Alice and even Rosalie, if they were not engaged in an activity with their mates.
It was only with me that he sought no further physical contact or reassurance from. In fact my very presence would send him slinking from the room if he wasn't already in the grasp of his mother or one of his sisters. I didn't need to be a mind reader to understand the reason. The shame on his face whenever he caught my gaze or felt my presence told me everything I needed to know and I understood it more than Edward could possibly realize.
My memories of my human father were faded, fragmented just bits and pieces of a life that was mine for twenty-three years but now could have been the recollection of someone else for all the sentimental feelings I had for him. But I could remember the emotional upheaval his presence induced in me. The sense of failure, of not living up to expectations and the shame, always the shame when I felt I hadn't done my best or betrayed his beliefs and values that he prized above all else, including me. Those feelings of inadequacy in my father's presence were as fresh as if they happened yesterday.
Reflecting on myself as a father, I was abruptly filled with self-doubt. Was I perhaps transmitting certain preferred behaviors that were more than my children could ever hope to live up to? Could it be that I was so self-absorbed that I failed to recognize my own children's individuality and needs? Because I refused to bend on the basic philosophy that we could not feed from humans, the natural food source of our species; was I being unrealistic and worse, a tyrant. After all, I was the one that turned them, brought them into this supernatural world with me. They were not given a choice.
Esme greeted my concerns with an eye role, but when she saw that I was seriously troubled, she smiled and shook her head.
"Carlisle, you are a wonderful father and the most forgiving man I know, so don't even consider blaming yourself."
"That isn't the point Esme. If I've set my children up for failure by inventing this charade of a human life, then refusing to consider that it may not be possible for any of them to refrain from our instinctual need to feed on humans in the long term, not to mention our other instinct to roam freely and not be tied into the routine mundane activities of a human life. I am the one dictating how we live and if one of my children fails at something that is completely natural to him, how is it so admirable for me to offer forgiveness. It sounds completely egotistical and self-serving to me."
"You are anything but egotistical Carlisle, now enough with this nonsense and I'll pretend I didn't hear you just call our life a charade."
The conviction in my wife's voice gave me some comfort.
"Edward has never taken the easy way; he has never truly accepted who he is and he continues to battle with inner demons that have nothing to do with you. Yes he wants to please you but that is because he loves you, he loves you most of all. And my dear husband, it isn't that hard; you are surprisingly easy to love and not all that difficult to please."
And so I tried…I tried talking to him, not talking to him, offering physical comfort which was rejected, silent camaraderie which he tolerated, distractions which he ignored and still I saw no progress and I found it incredibly frustrating.
Now as I went to bid my wife farewell, I found Edward curled in a leather recliner, a recent addition in Esme's studio. She was working on blueprints for the Glensheen mansion, resigned to her duty as the administrator of the renovation project. She had a meeting with the curator of the estate in the morning.
After exchanging a quick kiss with my wife, I moved by Edward's chair and in an impromptu change of strategy, I ran my fingers along the side of his face, and through his hair before he could pull away in protest.
Good night Edward. Take care of your mother for me.
I felt his eyes on me as I left the room satisfied that I had at least gotten his attention.
"Where are my things?" Edward was sitting with Alice, Esme and I in the gazebo overlooking Lake Superior on a beautiful sunny May afternoon five weeks after returning home. It was the first time he mentioned anything about his personal effects and I took it as a positive sign, after weeks of indefinable results. "Is everything still back in Forks?"
Esme had stopped her scribbling in a sketch pad and turned to look at her son, presumably to convey her astonishment over his assumption that she would disregard nine decade's worth of his personal items, but as was usually the case, Edward was not looking at her. I saw him visibly flinch, so I knew she conveyed as much in her thoughts.
"I've been waiting for you to ask about them," she said quietly. "Do you remember when I told you that I had a surprise for you?"
He nodded, his eyes sliding past us suddenly finding something very interesting in the swirling angry waves crashing against the formable rocky cliffs.
Esme's eyes found mine and I saw the pain in them even as she tried to hide any additional thoughts from Edward's view. I knew what she was thinking. She created a space for Edward to give him the privacy and the solitude he'd always craved so much. But now Edward no longer sought that solitude and so Esme's surprise was no longer a welcomed solution.
"Come, let me show you sweetheart. Unfortunately I don't think it really fits your needs any longer, but I want you to see it before we convert it to something else."
With that she was up, gripping his hand and pulling him to his feet. Alice jumped up clapping her hands particularly exuberant. Apparently her visions suggested a positive outcome.
The converted carriage house was a charming structure with an almost identical architectural design as the main residence. The lower level was converted to a state of the art garage by Rosalie but to date, it remained empty, the garage attached to the house held our primary vehicles; the others, including Edward's abandoned and returned Volvo remained back in Forks, yet to be retrieved.
When Edward entered the pristine garage, he whistled and deadpanned. "Stunning, Esme. Thank you so much."
Esme's reaction was so spontaneous, so utterly without thought, that it transcended all the horrors of the past year and brought us back to another time. She roundly cuffed him on the side of the head and then promptly pressed her hands to her mouth in horror realizing what she had done.
Before she could utter out an apology that would have ruined the levity of the moment, Alice jumped between them urging Edward up the stairs and I clamped my arm around Esme's waist, doing everything I could through sheer physical contact, to keep her from fussing over her son who we usually treated as a fragile priceless antique.
"Isn't it beautiful and it's all yours." Alice exclaimed, unapologetically revealing the surprise that had been careful harbored by Esme for months.
And it was beautiful, breathtakingly so. It was one large room, devoid of the human trappings of a kitchen, the allusion of humanity not needed in this one small part of the estate. The back wall overlooking the lake was all windows, mimicking the design of great room in the main house and similar to the architecture of our home in Forks. The floors were a rich brown mahogany wood, a fireplace, made up of the very stones of the lake surrounding us and the furnishings were all modern oversized leather, burgundy and blacks, all of it designed to be the private quarters of a young man. On one wall was all the high tech gadgets that Emmett and Jasper could pack in with shelves and shelves of his music and on the other, Edward's piano, Throughout the room, were Edward's personal effects and books, everything was here and arranged to be practical and aesthetically pleasing.
Hand in hand we watched Edward's face gauging his reaction. It remained largely emotionless, as he surveyed the room, accessing his property, taking note of items with a deeper personal significance. Finally his eyes, still a cloudy red, met Esme's and for a brief moment he held her gaze before looking down. He swallowed several times, and I could see he was trying to speak. Finally Alice gripped him firmly from behind around the midsection, distracting him from his discomfort and the apparent slip into a fit of spasms that could incapacitate him, making it difficult for him to speak.
"Do you like it, it's fabulous isn't it? Don't you dare say you don't like it. I helped decorate." Alice's chatter gave Edward a chance to recover and eventually he tried to return his gaze to Esme, falling short, his eyes resting somewhere below her waist.
"It's w…wonderful, stunning. But…but why me?" He managed to get out, raking his fingers through his messy hair several times.
My heart ached for him and though I longed to comfort him, I refrained, understanding that this was his time with Esme, I couldn't inject myself without making him more self-conscious and uncomfortable.
"Oh sweetheart, I don't know how I can say this without bringing you pain, but I want to be truthful." Esme released me and moved forward wrapping her arms around him and Alice. "It was for you and Bella. As newlyweds you would have needed your own space, your privacy and after…after Bella…I still thought you would appreciate it so I just changed a few things, but it was always your room, from the moment I saw this house, it was always yours.
"Thank you. It's…it's perfect." His arms tightened around her. "But..where is the…the where's the bed?"
Esme's eyes locked with mine and too late her thoughts were read by Edward.
He pulled back, looking at her, without really seeing her. "I just…I just…was curious. I don't n…need a bed…but if I did, where would…would you put it."
"Well, let's see," my wife turned and looked around the room carefully contemplating the layout before responding. I knew she was stalling for time; the question was unexpected and without knowing what initiated it, she couldn't know what the appropriate answer was. Fortunately she had a daughter that was intuitive enough to assist her.
"Esme, didn't we talk about putting it over there in the alcove." Alice pointed to a corner of the room that had been designated as a small library, with a desk, a high back chair and a generous ceiling high shelf full of books. "Windows on all three sides, it would be so wonderful to be able to lie in bed and wake up surrounded by trees, without all the dirt and leaves and wet." She wrinkled her nose.
"Edward , there is no rush to move out here," I said unable to remain quiet any longer. Edward's question about the bed had flustered Esme leaving her at a loss for words. "Or if you prefer, we can move everything into the main part of the house. It won't fit in the studio, but I'm sure Rosalie and Emmett wouldn't mind swapping rooms with you."
Edward, spun to look at me, obviously forgetting that I was there, troubling on an entirely different level. "No, it's my room." Then looking back at Esme. "It's my room?"
"Yes sweetie. It's your room. It will always be your room."
Edward didn't move out to his room that day or that week or the week after that, but he did often disappear into it during the day when Esme was gone and he couldn't find comfort with me or his siblings.
I didn't interfere with his solitude, understanding that it was his sanctuary away from the constant thoughts of the loved ones that surrounded him but I did make note every time he entered the room, how long he stayed and when he finally exited returning to the arms of his mother when she came home.
Finally, conceding defeat to no one in particular, I approached Jasper, eliciting his help in breaking down the formable wall that Edward had erected. I had to understand the traumatic experiences that my son had experienced to better access how I could help him and with his refusal to enlighten me, to speak of it at all, I had to go to the only one besides myself who might understand what nightmares Edward faced during his time away from us, again conceding to Jasper as the expert on Mexico.
"I'm not going to lie to you Carlisle. We didn't share all Alice's visions with you during Edward's absence."
I nodded expecting as much.
"But we didn't leave out anything too significant. What Alice was able to transcribe to me, didn't make much sense and Alice certainly didn't know what the images meant, but a couple of things she saw…well…" He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I don't think it would be wise to speculate without talking to Edward first. I might be completely wrong and if I am, it would only traumatize him further."
I didn't realize that this was also his way of telling me that I wouldn't be made privy to his speculations either. And so I waited, hoping against hope that Edward might see a kinship with Jasper, recognizing that his brother had decade's worth of suffering within the ranks of the brutal southern covens and could truly understand what he'd gone through.
Another week ticked by achingly slow and my only clue that Jasper had pursued Edward about his experiences was Edward's complete avoidance of me, seeking protection from Esme whenever he thought I might approach him to talk. Pain and doubt clawed at my insides. I could not know for sure that I was pursuing the correct approach with my son, recognizing that there was a fine line between helping Edward overcome his demons and a burning curiosity to learn something new.
Upon returning from my shift early one morning well into the sixth week of Edward's return to us, I was greeted by Jasper, his face drawn in torment, immediately I felt alarm.
"What's wrong? Where's Edward?" I heard alarm creeping into my voice.
Jasper held up his hands, in an apparent attempt to calm me his gaze flickering towards Esme's studio. "Edward would like to talk to you."
I nodded, immediately reining in any stray thoughts of distress, understanding that we might have reached a breakthrough but refusing to allow myself to get my hopes up. Even if he talked of his experience in Mexico, there was no guarantee that it would help him.
"Esme and the rest of the family are going to be there as well."
I recognized in my son's voice the flickering of concern and realized that whatever Edward wanted to talk to me wouldn't be a walk in the park.
Surprisingly, Edward was not seated with his mother, instead resting his head against Alice's shoulder as she casually draped an arm over it. Whatever Edward had to share with us, Alice had already at least in part been privy to it, but that hadn't prepared her, she looked extremely upset.
Rosalie sat at Esme's side with Emmett behind her and I settled on the other side of my wife who glanced at me with a weak smile.
"I think we all know why we are here. Alice, as you could guess has seen many visions during Edward's absence, most of which she really didn't understand. However some things she said alluded to rumors from my time in the south and Edward's experience in Mexico has validated it. I convinced him that it's something you all need to hear." Jasper hesitated. "Edward, perhaps you should start at the beginning."
I got the distinct impression that Jasper was the force behind this family meeting. Edward appeared to be in agony. He was looking at his hands clenching them together in a futile attempt to stop the intense trembling. His ability to speak was seriously compromised during these episodes and I realized with growing dismay that he may not be able to communicate at all which would be completely humiliating to him.
My eyes locked with Jasper's urging him to assist his brother understanding that Edward may also be reading me but skeptical given Edwards growing agitation.
"Perhaps we should start with Nicholas," Jasper said slowly. "Eleazar was correct. He had a gift similar to his. He could see the special talents of other vampires and was talking to Edward from the moment he approached our house. He encouraged Edward to follow him, alluding to an oasis, a paradise of beautiful women and uninhibited sexual experiences."
"What…?" Emmet snorted.
"No…no that's wrong." Edward looked mortified and I saw a little tug of a smile on Jasper's lips.
"Hey if I have to tell the story, I might embellish it, just a little."
Edward grimaced, unable to relate to Jasper's attempts at lightheartedness.
"Nicholas said…he said it was a change of scenery. He showed me images of his mate and others in…in his coven, but I wasn't going to go…not right away. I w…was going to Denali." He spoke in a rush, pushing all the words out at once then looked expectantly at Jasper.
"It was as Alice suspected. Edward left with the intention of going to Mexico, he only thought of Denali in order to avoid her detection."
Edward looked dejectedly at the floor. "I'm so…sorry." He muttered.
"It's alright Edward, there is nothing to apologize for. Please don't give it another thought," I said, hoping to move the conversation along. We could not get bogged down in regrets right now. I needed to know how my son suffered.
"Nicholas gave Edward specific directions. He was able to find the coven fairly easily, but just as I suspected, it was all a lie."
"Th…they had some newborns and older ones…n…not newborns any…anymore. They were almost destroyed…they needed me to h…help them. I didn't…I…I didn't want to." Alice gripped him tighter as Esme and I clasped hands against the sofa.
"He…Cameron said they would…they would come and take Alice if I…if I didn't." He buried his face in his hands as Esme gasped.
"They first had him read the mind of one of the older newborns that they suspected was plotting against them…" Jasper said quickly, anxious to move the story past any allusions of danger, however remotely, to Alice. "It was the one that Alice saw burn, the one that you thought was a vision of…of Edward."
"I…I…didn't do it…I didn't read him…I…I lied. It wasn't my…my fault."
Esme was up and across the room before I could utter a protest. She disengaged Edward from Alice's arms and pulled him against her as she took his place on the sofa. "Of course it wasn't your fault, sweetheart, none of this is your fault."
He shook his head against her, protesting her assumption that he was an innocent participant, but there would be no convincing Esme of that.
"I can't say that I'm familiar with this particular coven and most of what Edward described is fairly typical behavior within other southern covens. A mind reader in a battling coven would be highly prized and valuable. It's fairly obvious that they were going to use him to rebuild their strength after suffering a major defeat." Again Jasper took control of the conversation as Esme tended Edward. "In return for delivering Edward to them, Nicholas and his mate were allowed to leave. Edward isn't exactly sure how they were held or enticed to stay in the first place but suffice to say they wanted no part of remaining with that coven a minute longer than they had to. Edward thinks that Gina, Nicholas' mate, was ill…"
"Ill?" I was mystified by that comment. Vampires didn't get ill.
Jasper looked at me pointedly. "Mentally ill."
"Oh," I didn't want to pursue it but I couldn't help myself. "Edward, why do you think that?"
Edward looked up, glancing at my face searching for some sign…of what I wasn't sure. ""Her thoughts…she saw things…visions…delusions," he whispered.
"They left shortly after Edward arrived," Jasper continued. "After the incident with the betrayal of one of their own, the leaders weren't pleased that Edward lied so I assume in an effort to control him they revealed a secret, confirmed all the rumors. I think Edward should tell you about it."
He turned to look at his brother who was still huddled in Esme's arms, Alice leaning in enveloping him between them. I felt myself leaning forward. Rosalie and Emmett were surprisingly quiet; we all felt the pending revelation would be the answer to what ailed Edward.
"Do you feel up to it, son? We could do it at another time," Esme, always the mother, even as I silently, fervently wanted him to continue.
When he finally spoke, he looked up directly at me, his eyes meeting mine. He heard my thoughts and wished to abide my wishes. I felt the guilt creep through me. Was my need for information greater than the consideration for my son's well being?
"They t…took me to a ch…church, not far fr…from the coven." Edward started slowly; he was staring past me now, remembering. "I was told to…to…go inside…see for myself."
He swallowed, pushed himself up and away from his mother, determined to tell his story without assistance.
"I didn't see anything…not at first. The ch…church was damaged, destroyed. All the h…humans were long dead. I…I saw someth…thing on the altar. It was hard to…to see so I had to get closer."
His voice got stronger and despite the stuttering, he appeared unaware of it, less self-conscious about it, his need to tell his story outweighing embarrassment over his halting speech.
"I saw Nicholas first; he was on th…the altar, but others were there too. I didn't know w…who they were or how long they'd been there." He looked around at us gauging our reaction, cocking his head not understanding the lack of one. "Prisoners…"
"What do you mean there were others there too? Vampires?" I asked confused, glancing at Jasper who was waiting, allowing Edward the opportunity to tell his story.
"Yes, vampires," but he was shaking his head no. "In the church, they were in th…the church."
"I'm sorry son, I don't understand. Who exactly was in the church?" I noted his frustration and heard him sigh.
"V…vampires." He looked at Jasper for help.
"There were vampires in the church, Carlisle. Enemies of the coven…," he looked at Edward, who was gripping his hair…waiting. "…but only their heads. Only their heads were in the church."
Esme whimpered softly between clenched teeth. She was trying to maintain her composure for Edward's sake, but Jasper's pronouncement was so outrageous, abominable, I could see her struggle to remain in control. My sweet, gentle wife was not prepared for the utter gruesomeness perpetuated by some of our kind.
"Are you saying once they removed the heads they kept them?" I had never heard of such a thing myself. Both Jasper and Edward were nodding. "But wait. You said Nicholas? They killed him?"
Jasper was nodding his head yes, Edward was shaking his no.
"Th…they lied. They said he could go, but they lied. Th..they took his head."
"What happened to his mate? The one you said was ill. Did they kill her too?" Emmett's deep baritone, startled me. Emmett could be relied upon for comic levity during serious conversations, but even he couldn't inject something light hearted into this conversation.
Edward shrugged. "I didn't see her again….bu…but she could have been hiding. She might h…have come back for it…his…his head."
Edward was in another place now. His mind had drifted away. He would answer the questions of his family, but he was no longer with us. Esme noticed it at once and pressed her chin against his shoulder, humming softly, trying to bring him back.
"During my time with Maria, we heard about them, how they would save the heads of their enemy and display them as trophies." Jasper explained. He caught my disbelieving expression. "It's not unheard of, Carlisle. Humans have been doing it for thousands of years, but there is one significant difference that Edward hasn't mentioned yet."
I looked at Jasper suspiciously than at Edward who didn't appear to be listening. "What are you talking about, Jasper?"
I saw my son's eyebrow go up. "Honestly Carlisle, I'm surprised you haven't thought of it. What happens when we decapitate a vampire? " When I didn't answer he continued. "They are burned, burned so they cannot reanimate. But think about it, what would happen if you saved the head, didn't burn it with the rest of the body."
"What are you implying Jasper, just say it."
"We don't die, Carlisle, not completely. Not like humans. We don't die."
I was looking at my son stunned beyond words. I suspected I knew what he was referring to but I was still churning the idea over in my mind. Was it possible; could it be possible? "Are you saying these heads were alive?" Jasper didn't answer, but Edward was nodding his head within Esme's grip.
"They were alive? Okay that's just sick." Emmett was completely fascinated.
The doctor in me was spellbound but something was wrong, I was missing something, something awful. I looked at Edward who was throwing furtive glances at me. "Edward, how do you know they were alive?" I held up my hand as Jasper attempted to speak. I felt it was important that Edward address my question himself.
"I saw them move.," he said dispassionately.
"You saw them move, their faces?"
"Ye…yes and eyes. They moved their eyes."
I considered this. It was horrible, simply horrible. Were they capable of feeling pain? Did they know what had happened to them, their fate, did they understand, were they even aware of…
Edward was nodding at me.
I gasped, drawing the stares of my entire family. When I looked at Edward he was still nodding at me, a little smile on his lips. He was sharing a secret with me. A horrid secret, but only now did I understand.
"You could hear them Edward, you could hear their thoughts?"
There was no need to respond. He knew that, so instead he nuzzled himself against his mother who appeared to be in shock. Her arms hanging limply from his shoulders, the frozen expression of horror on her face a reflection of mine. There would be no hiding our thoughts now. If Edward was capable, he was reading us, there was nothing we could do about that. It was too terrible, too unimaginable and yet I did imagine it; envisioning Edward, for all intents and purposes held against his will, being forced to hear the thoughts of bodiless vampires. Did they threaten him with the same fate if he failed to do their bidding?
He was nodding again, his body shuddering, bringing Esme back and she was gripped him tightly, readjusting him against her, so that her face was against his hair, her lips pressing against his cheek. Her words of comfort could be meant for any of us. The room was dead still.
"Do you know how long they were there?" Rosalie finally broke the silence understanding the battle Esme and I struggled with as we tried to empty our minds.
Edward didn't respond at first and for a moment I felt the painful clenching in my chest. We pushed him too far. But then finally, a response.
"I… I think for a very long time. They were thirsty."
"Edward's right. The rumors persisted even during my time. Obviously I can't say for sure but it's entirely possible that some of those…those heads may have been in that state for decades." Jasper said, his eyes too holding a distant look. He was remembering his own past.
"And they are still there, suffering, how awful." Esme whispered.
"No…no." Edward was shaking his head against her. "No the Volturi burned them. I had the Volturi burn them. I showed the…them where they were."
I didn't like this stagnant unemotional Edward and neither did Esme. She hugged him to her even as he resisted her embrace finding strength in his indifference to the abhorrent memories of his time in Mexico.
"You did the right thing, son. It was the only solution. They could not live as they were. There was no other alternative." My voice sounded hollow and forced.
"That's why Jane didn't kill me."
"What son? What do you mean?"
"The heads; Jane wanted Aro to see the thoughts of the heads, that's why she didn't have me killed."
I wasn't sure why the very idea of Edward's death at the hands of that demon child enraged me so. I understood from the moment Edward vanished from our lives that I might lose him, but to hear him voice it so casually, as fact, as something that so easily could have happened, infuriated me. When I finally managed to refocus I looked at my son and from Esme's arms I could see him staring at my curiously. I couldn't pretend to understand how he interpreted my thoughts as I contemplated how I would have slaughtered Aro's most prized and gifted vampire had she been responsible for Edward's death.
"Let me see your hand son." I ambushed Edward in Esme's studio before he could avoid me.
"Why?" Edward put both hands behind his back.
"I think I know what is causing your tremors, I might be able to stop them."
Edward looked up at me suspiciously, but I saw his body shift as he apparently heard Esme's encouraging silent voice. A few seconds more and he acquiesced, holding them out to me. As I suspected, the minor tremors I observed upon entering the room, became violent shaking, even as Edward closed his hands into fists, attempting to control them.
Taking his hands in mine I waited, holding them loosely staring at them and feeling Edward's gaze as his eyes moved from our hands to my face, studying me openly, taking advantage of my distraction.
My latest theory about Edward's tremors occurred quite by accident. Endlessly, recycling human symptoms and conditions that could create such tremors had produced no results. So rather than assume Edward's tremors were a bi-product of his former humanness, I considered what vampire traits might trigger the uncontrollable trembling of our marble muscles. From there I was able to deduce a possible cause and it was something I'd experienced myself only a few weeks before. Recalling specifically the moment Edward turned on me outside of Volterra, I had an almost uncontrollable need to sink into a crouch preparing to defend myself against his attack. It was only with supreme effort that I refrained, fighting against the instinctual response that dictated my behavior during a pending attack and upon doing so my muscled contorted violently in protest.
Now, holding Edward's hands, I felt his impatience growing.
Please son, just give me a moment. Relax if you can. I want to see what happens.
He sighed, but his agitation subsided. Eventually the tremors did as well, first to a level akin to when I walked in the room, noticeable but not frighteningly so as he understood that I would not ask anything else of him and his participation in my little experiment only required him to stand still in front of me. But gradually they abated until I could hardly feel them beneath my hands at all.
Thirty minutes later, I released him and after momentarily looking at them, he stuffed his hands back in his pocket and settled into the leather chair at Esme's side. When I didn't speak immediately, he looked at me curiously and when I didn't respond to his inquisitive stare, he spoke.
"So, did you learn anything?"
"Perhaps," and I turned and left the room.
Back in my office, it only took minutes of shuffling papers and opening desk drawers, before I heard Edward's soft footsteps approach.
"Aren't you going to tell me?" There wasn't belligerence in his voice, but the exasperation at my deliberate effort to block him, almost brought a smile to my lips.
It's only a theory, Edward.
"What? Tell me?" He sat in the chair across from me. How long had it been since he'd done that, seeking my advice or council; over a year? "Please."
Inviting Edward's curiosity had paid off, but I wasn't going to refuse his plea.
"Tell me how do you feel when the tremors start getting severe?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, but I think you do. I think you know exactly what I mean. Why are you lying to me son." And just as if I turned on a switch, I saw his reaction to my words. The quivering, the jerking of muscles and his immediate attempt to quell them by wrapping his arms tightly around himself. He was shaking his head, staring wide eyed directly at me.
It's alright son. I'm sorry. I did that on purpose. It's part of my theory. I wanted to show it to you before I explained it. I held up my hand. "Please, it's alright Edward, you don't have to answer the question, I already know the answer."
"What answer? Wh…what do you mean?"
"I think your tremors are an instinctual response that your body under goes when you are in danger or feel that you are being attacked. When you feel threatened….when we feel threatened, our instincts kick in. We are driven by them, they control us." I paused giving him time to absorb what I said. "That's why newborns are so dangerous. They are completely controlled by their instincts, motivated by them with no rational thought dictating against the will of the instinctual response. We, on the other hand, can control our instincts, perhaps not immediately, but we can get ourselves under control fairly quickly. I think that is what you are doing, controlling your instinctual response when you feel threatened and due to the exertion of always fighting against your instincts, you are suffering from tremors."
He was looking at me skeptically and I can't say I blamed him, but I had run this theory by Eleazar and he thought it sounded reasonable, even likely, so I knew there was some plausibility to it.
"You've heard of the fight or flight instinct, very primal; it can even be attributed to humans? I think you are suffering tremors because you are fighting those instincts, both the urge to fight and the need to run. I think you've been bombarded with the threats of those around you for so long, that now it's second nature for those instincts to manifest themselves whenever you feel…well…upset."
It occurred to me during my conversation with Eleazar that this ultra sensitive defense reaction might be a change in Edward that could not be easily unchanged, a shift in personality hardwired for all time, but I didn't think it wise to enlighten Edward with that piece of information, verbally or otherwise.
"It also would explain why the tremors subside when your mother holds you. The need to defend yourself isn't there, you're relying on her…" the look on his face gave me pause. "…your instincts are relying on her to keep you safe. That is nothing to be ashamed of Edward. That's what we're here for."
"How can I make it stop?" He ignored my reassurances, but wanted so much to believe that it was something that could be fixed. "Can you help me make it stop?"
"If I'm right, then I think I'll you need is time, Edward." I prayed that's all he would need. "Just give it time."
My treatment plan hadn't impressed him. He stood to leave, but I was around my desk and in front of him before he had a chance to escape me.
"Edward, look at me."
He did try, his eyes rose staring somewhere below my mouth. He was startled when I reached up and gripped his arms tightly.
You're home with us, your safe, no one is going to hurt you, son. I promise you. We won't let anything happen to you. Ever. I shook him a little as he started to shake his head no. "Son, we love you and we will always protect you. Always. When you finally accept this, the tremors will go away on they're own.
He tried to nod his head, but I could see my words had not had any impact on him; he remained unconvinced. I let him go before he started to struggle, sighing deeply as he ran from the room.
Hunting with my wife had always been an erotic experience. From the first days after her change when I realized the extent of my feelings for her; feelings I couldn't act upon, couldn't reveal even if my appalled son, knew only too well what I was thinking, aghast that such improper thoughts could reside in the mind he thought he knew so well. Then later, as we grew closer, Esme slowly revealed her own yearnings for me, shyly at first, our courtship as pristine and proper as any for the period. By the time we officially married and consummated our relationship, hunting became an extension of our sexual experience, the relinquishment of any form of human civility gone as we gave ourselves over to our desires, feasting off the blood of animals then turning to each other overcome with the primal passion, driven by our animalistic needs and wants.
Life as a doctor almost exclusively regulated to the nightshift, left little time to pursue these naughty forbidden couplings, so any time I was given a night off, I relished the private hunts with my wife, alone away from my family with only my mate at my side. But on this night, we had other things on our mind and after quickly feeding from a small herd of deer we raced back to the house, arriving promptly at 11:57 p.m., shocking our children who'd come to expect our absence for several hours beyond the general time it took us to feed.
If Edward gave any sign to our abrupt return, he made no mention of it, content to watch his brothers play Guitar Hero that offered a challenge only if an all out wrestling match ensued during the course of the song. We were quickly approaching two months with Edward back in our lives and though some progress had been observed, I still was hesitant to declare any sort of small victory over the demons that possessed our son.
His eyes had returned to the deep rich ochre color of an animal fed vampire and with that change we were able to coerce him into meeting our gaze when we spoke to him.
He continued to avoid being alone with me like the plague, fearful that I might initiate him into a conversation about his time with the Volturi, something he still refused to discuss. I couldn't say I blamed him. Whenever I managed to get him alone I did try to instigate a conversation about his experiences, either in Mexico or with the Volturi, neither greeted with much success. I knew there was still more to tell, a lot more, but I couldn't seem to heed my wife's advice to just let it be for now and that nothing Edward had to say would affect how we felt about him. This was true of course, but rather than tell him that I would have preferred to show him; if only he would speak to me, trust me as he had in the past.
The consecutive hours I was able to spend with my wife were not wasted with our early return from the hunt. A houseful of vampires with enhanced hearing aside, we still had an enthusiastic romp in the bedroom. Edward departed to his private space as the rest of the mated couples in the house pursued extracurricular activities that didn't involve video games.
I carried hope with me as dawn broke, the deep purple sky gradually lightening to a lovely blue. All signs pointed to a quiet day, a day spent lounging with the family, my wife at my side, taking the day off from her duties renovating the mansion. We all remained hopeful, engaging in mundane uninspiring activities to distract our thoughts and as each minute ticked by our mood lightened just a little bit more.
But at 11:44:13 a.m., we heard it, heard him. The whimpers rising in volume as each second ticked onward. Esme was up and out the door heading for the carriage house when they still were barely audible. By the time she reached him he was sobbing in dry hiccupping sobs, by the time I reached them both he was screaming. It was June 15th. Exactly one year to the presumed minute of Bella's death and Edward hadn't forgotten.
Author Notes:
This is the last chapter from Carlisle's POV.