Breaking and Entering
When I get to the Cullen's mansion there is an unfamiliar white Miada parked out front, the engine still clicking as it cools. My heart skips a beat. He's here. Based on the appearance and age of the vehicle, it's not a family car. The Cullen's were not known for economizing. Imagine, perfect Edward Cullen, committing grand theft auto. I'm not surprised he knew how to do it, he was always good at everything, appealingly capable. It's probably Mrs. Cope's car, he used to have a secret grudge against her for her mind leachery. Yeah Bella, that's what he would remember. An overimaginative school administrator. Not being a vampire. Not living a hundred years. Not you.
The door of the house is ajar, and it's not hard to track Edward's path. He's yanked open every drawer, ripped the backs off picture frames, overturned several pieces of furniture. He's searching, in a rage. He's still angry. He wouldn't hurt me. Sure about that?
I follow the trail of destruction up to the second floor, and quietly make my way down the hallway, checking every room along the way. He isn't in the music room, where (probably priceless) instruments are smashed and sheet music is scattered. He isn't in Esme's craft room, and he's left its clutter of half-finished scarves and unpainted ornaments relatively untouched, like he knows what he's looking for isn't here. He isn't in the pristine guest bathroom (a very apt term in this case, since all Cullen bathrooms could really only be considered guest bathrooms). When I get to the library, he's sitting so still in the middle of the destruction that I almost miss him and move on to the next room. He's on his knees next to an overturned bookcase, a pile of old looking paper strewn around him. His beautiful features are as blank as stone. He looks . . . broken.
"Edward," I say quietly, holding up my hands in an unconscious gesture of nonaggression as I move slowly toward him. His eyes move to my face briefly, but he doesn't seem to see. Shaking, he sinks to a fully seated position. "I knew there was something behind the bookcase," he murmurs to himself as though I wasn't there. I move further into the room, my footsteps silenced by the plush carpets. I can see an open safe on the wall where the bookcase used to stand. "I knew the combination," he whispers so low I almost miss it.
I sink to my knees beside him and tentatively stroke his back, trying to calm him. I surreptitiously study the materials lying on the floor, hoping to figure out what he's seen and do some quick damage control. There are birth certificates. Deeds. Old photographs. Journals which seemed to be filled with medical notations. Carlisle had once told me that he'd recorded every detail of Edward and Esme's transformations, in the interest of science, and to distract himself from their suffering. Yearkbooks. How many years had Edward gotten through before shock pushed him into catatonia?
Suddenly Edward twists beneath my touch, grasping me by the shoulders with both hands. "Bella," he rasps, holding tightly to me as though to anchor himself to sanity. "What am I?"
I hang my head, ashamed to know these secrets that I can no longer protect him from. "Edward," I whisper lamely, "It's a long story."
"Please," he implores, gazing beseechingly at me with his dark green eyes, his arms flexing as his grip unconsciously tightens in his desperation. "Tell me what I am. Where did these records come from? Am I Edward Cullen? Am I Edward Masen? Why are there so many birth certificates? How can there be pictures of me from so long ago, at places that don't even exist anymore? How—Why—How-" I interrupt as his train of thought starts to border on his hysteria.
"You aren't twenty-four Edward. You aren't nineteen." I take a deep breath and look straight at him. "You were born in 1901."
His eyes fall closed against the truth. "Bella," he growls. "What. The. Hell. Am. I?"
Vampire. Say it. Just say it. Vampire. Vampire. Out loud. Vampire.
But I never get the chance to say the word. We're interrupted by three of them bursting into the room.