"…It does not knock
or ring the bell
or telephone
When the Messenger-Spirit
comes to your door
though locked
It'll enter like an electric midwife
and deliver the message
There is no tell
throughout the ages
that a Messenger-Spirit
ever stumbled into darkness"
"Destiny"
Gregory Corso
Nick took another sip of his German beer and let out a sigh. The group performing up on the stage of Tanner's was good for what they were but he had never been much of a jazz-fusion guy. But perhaps it was just his mood. He was furious, confused and embarrassed.
While he knew the whole time that her story was fantasy he never expected it to take such a ridiculous turn. She had such a good grasp on the history of the Lower East Side in the 1950's and a flair for the dramatic turn of phrase. Her story would make amazing historical fiction. But to veer into horror and start talking about vampires? What a waste.
Nick shook his head with disgust. He had wasted a week on her insanity and didn't even get any action out of it. She had dropped that vampire thing on him, told him she would be out of town for a week or so and left him shaking his head in confusion and chagrin.
He took another big sip of his beer and looked around. The place was pretty empty as it was early in the evening. He had just felt like coming here to drown his sorrows, get some closure on this whole ridiculous episode. He reflected that maybe he could still get a piece published out of this, even if it was just a humorous telling of an encounter with a crazy woman in the East Village.
The place was empty enough he could see the line of framed photographs along the walls leading up to the bar. Mostly old black and whites of the more popular days of the bar, he had only paid scant attention to them before. It reminded him of what she had said about the women in the photographs.
He had the sudden impulse to go look at the photographs. Getting up he walked to a random spot in the center of one of the walls and began casually perusing them. They seemed to be placed by time frame, the section he was looking at seemed to be the early sixties, he saw a photo of Ray Davies with two anonymous women. He smiled as he realized that she was right. The women were interchangeable; the men were the famous ones. He moved to the right one step, trying to see how many people he recognized in the photos scattered on the wall. He leaned in to look closer at a photo of Charlie Parker in the dim light. He heard a soft voice behind him.
"I think you might have better luck at that end." Nick turned around to see a man standing behind him, gesturing to the left, towards the older photos. He was slightly shorter than Nick so he was looking down into his eyes, which were a light yellow-brown, like a cat's eyes. He had pale skin and blonde hair. He spoke again, deferentially. "I assume you want to move chronologically. The photos are in a loose chronological order, starting in 1948."
"I was looking kind of idly, actually. Not for anything specific." Nick gave the man a smile. He returned a small smile and looked at Nick for a moment, as if trying to make a decision. He gave a small shake of his head and laughed, self-consciously.
"Forgive me, I assumed you'd be looking for something specific. My apologies for bothering you." He gave a slight nod to Nick and walked away. Nick turned around, feeling somewhat awkward after this interaction and looking to put his focus on something else. When the photo caught his eye.
It was a photo of someone Nick didn't recognize toasting Miles Davis at a New Year's party. There was a banner that said "1964" behind them. And at the edge of the photo, looking off into the distance, smoking a cigarette, was Isabella. Looking no younger than when he's seen her the day before.
It fell into place then. She was telling the truth. So the man who spoke to him…
"Edward?" He turned around and called to the man walking away. The man paused and then turned around slowly. He walked back to Nick, his eyes fixed on him again in that preoccupied way. "No," he said softly, when he was close enough for Nick to reach out and clasp his outstretched hand and shake it. 'No, I'm Carlisle."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Nick shook his head in confusion as he and Carlisle walked to the parking garage down the street.
"It would be better for us to talk privately, would you feel comfortable if I drove you home?" Carlisle's diction was precise but not overly formal. The man exuded warmth, like Isabella had said. He was becoming convinced that the man he was walking with wasn't human but he was actually quite a bit less intimidating than she had been. She had that intimidating presence, inspiring just a touch of fear.
"Yes, that would be good. I have some…questions." Carlisle sighed and nodded.
"I suspected that you would. Perhaps I can suggest that you accompany me to my home in Connecticut? I would like you to meet my wife…"
"Esme?" Nick interjected. Carlisle nodded with a smile.
"Yes, and my children." Carlisle looked at him curiously.
"I met Emmett. That would leave Rosalie and Edward?" Nick smiled. Carlisle shook his head.
"She told you quite a bit." He looked serious and then suggested that Nick pack some things at his apartment and stay for a few days.
"I wouldn't want to impose." Nick found himself wondering if it was smart being a houseguest to what was apparently Dracula's well-mannered cousin.
"It would be a pleasure to have you stay with us. Additionally, I assure you that you will be far safer staying with us than you will be in New York City." Carlisle's expression hinted at something behind his cordial words but they both let the moment go.
It was early afternoon on a Sunday and the traffic was relatively light leaving town. As Nick reprocessed all that Isabella had told him in light of today's events things and words changed meaning and tenor.
"So if she was, say, nineteen in 1954, she's seventy-five?" Carlisle nodded. "How old are you?"
Carlisle smiled at him. "About three hundred and seventy years old. Give or take a few years." Nick looked at him blankly. Carlisle frowned slightly and then said, "I'm sorry, I could have prepared you better for that."
"No, it's ok. Is your whole family that old?" Carlisle shook his head.
"No, Edward is the next oldest and he's only one hundred and ten." Nick laughed.
"Oh, only 110. Great." Carlisle laughed with him. 'Are you really a doctor?"
"Yes. I am. I am currently working at a rural hospital in Cornwall but we are getting ready to relocate." He looks at me to see if Nick understood. "We cannot live in any one place for too long."
It took several hours to drive to the tiny Connecticut town of Cornwall. Nick admired farms and covered bridges and listened to Carlisle's tales of practicing medicine in different historical periods.
They arrived at a large, immaculate house down a long gravel path which had been recently cleared of snow. Nick could see a large Christmas tree in the living room and in the rear of the house. He could see what must have been a lush garden in the warmer months.
He raised an eyebrow at Carlisle. "This is…unexpected." Carlisle laughed. "I suppose you expected a castle or a graveyard. Many others of our kind embrace that part of our…reputation, but we prefer to be comfortable. Come." Carlisle grabbed his bag from the back of the car.
Nick entered the house behind his host. They were met in the hallway by a stunning, brown-haired woman with a gentle, maternal look and Carlisle's pale skin and amber eyes. She clasped his hand in between both of hers.
"You must be Nick. I'm Esme, Carlisle's wife. Welcome to our home." She smiled at him warmly and ushered him into a spacious, immaculate living room. It was elegant but also comfortable, with overstuffed couches and art and photographs of such varying styles that he was convinced that they were chosen for personal rather than aesthetic reasons.
Emmett was in the living room holding hands with the most beautiful woman Nick had ever seen. She was exquisite, blond and fair and she looked at him with utter disdain. The man got up and extended a huge, pale hand.
"Nick, I wish I could say it was nice to see you again. This is my wife, Rosalie." Emmett smiled as warmly as Esme had and Rose gave him a dismissive nod. Nick was beginning to anticipate the coldness of their hands and their preternatural beauty but he noticed the difference between the eyes of this family and Isabella. He looked at each of the vampires to verify what he had noticed.
"We have yellow eyes because we don't feed on people." A sharp, resonant voice came from the doorway. "I suppose hers were red." Nick turned to see the fifth member of the family, a tall, slender man with red-gold hair and a hostile, tense posture.
"Nick, this is Edward, my eldest." Nick extended his hand and Edward stepped closer but kept his arms at his sides. Within a few feet of Nick he paused and seemed to breathe deeply, closing his eyes. When he opened them they were black and he was wincing.
"You smell like her," he hissed, his nostrils flaring. Nick remembered Isabella's words for him, "furious and beautiful." The striking man flinched visibly and moved away from Nick to a standing position looking out the window at the snow. Nick found the composure to answer him.
"Black. Her eyes were black." Edward looked at him and then, with his eyes fixed on him, he tilted his head slightly as if listening for something.
"I'm surprised she let you live." Emmett spoke up, examining Nick. "If she was hungry." Carlisle looked at Edward and then seated himself on the couch facing Nick.
"I think we all have a lot of questions. Nick, can we get you anything before we talk?" Nick hesitated.
"I should wash up and I..do you have any coffee?" Esme smiled and nodded.
"Of course, let me show you around and I'll put a pot of coffee on." Esme ushered him out of the room as Carlisle and Edward exchanged pointed looks.
Nick used the spotless bathroom and went into the kitchen where Esme was putting fruit and cheese on a plate.
"Take it easy," he joked. "It's just me eating that, right?" Esme laughed.
"I don't get many opportunities to play hostess," she responded, handing him a cup of coffee and pointing out the cream and sugar. Nick leaned against the counter for a moment, watching her. It was remarkable to him to contemplate what she was, watching her in her farmhouse, preparing a snack for him that she wouldn't eat.
"Isabella spoke highly of you." he said after a moment. Esme looked at him with surprise and then her face took on a sad look. She seemed to consider her words before speaking.
"I care about her a great deal. It's not a popular point of view in this house, especially after what she did to you."
He frowned. "What did she do to me?" Esme shook her head.
"It's better to talk about this with the rest of the family. We're all involved now." Esme picked up the plate she had been preparing and walked past him, stroking his sleeve affectionately. He followed her into the living room to try to solve the mystery.
a/n: Thanks to my ridiculously cool beta, EverlastingMuse, and my brilliant pre-reader, Liz3615! This will start making more sense soon, I promise. At least you got to meet Edward! Thanks! JuJu