Thank you so much for your help, everyone who reviewed. I suppose I haven't waited long enough for more ideas, but I just couldn't wait any longer, and I just HAD to post the chapter! I've worked on this chapter a LOT- and I must say, I'm very pleased with the end result. Hopefully, I've kept Carlisle's inherent goodness in character while serving justice to Charles the wife-beater. Please, please DO review, I'm very curious as to your opinions!
Vengeance
"Yes." One word.
One word from her mouth was all it took to break down all my walls of sanity, of humanity, of morality. One word turned me from a gentle doctor to a wild beast. For a moment I couldn't speak, I couldn't move. In fact, I think it was much more than just a moment. But I continued to stare into her blood red eyes, seeing the latent pain and apology in them.
With a supreme effort at calmness, I turned to my son.
"Edward, outside."- I managed in a quick breath of air. Immediately, Edward steered me outside, still gripping my shoulder firmly. I knew he could see only too clearly the rage boiling in my mind.
We went far from the cabin, far enough that she couldn't hear us.
"His name," I said shortly as soon as we stopped, my hands clenching into fists.
"Carlisle," Edward said slowly.
"His name, Edward. Now!"-the authority in my voice was one I usually used to my nurses during an operation. The tone demanded absolute obedience.
"Charles Evenson."- Edward said reluctantly.
"Columbus?"
"Carlisle," Edward began again, but I cut through him with a sharp hiss.
There was a moment of silence, then Edward said softly, "Listen to yourself."
I froze. He was right. I had never even hissed at anyone. My hands unclenched themselves and hung limply.
"Oh God," I said softly, hanging my head.
"Don't."-Edward said forcefully. "I'm sorry. I provoked you."
I shook my head. We were not having this kind of conversation again, where each blamed himself. It was too depressing.
"Alright," Edward said, agreeing. "It's that bastard Evenson's fault." This time I didn't bother reproving his language. I knew what he said was justified.
I sighed. "I want to kill him."
There was a pause, then Edward let out a short bark of laughter. "Do you have any idea how ridiculously bizarre that sounded?"
I didn't laugh. I continued to stare at a tree, tracing the lines on its bark in my mind absently.
"Well, then. Kill him."-Edward said shortly.
"It's not that easy, Edward."
He clicked his tongue exasperatedly. "I'm not asking you to drink his blood, Carlisle."
"It doesn't make a difference."- I said simply.
"Yes it does! Consider it- capital punishment."
I gazed at him steadily. "You know I have always disapproved of that."
Edward sighed, rolling his eyes. "But some men do deserve it!" This was one point on which we always divided. Capital punishment. I had never liked it, beginning since my first hand experience in the French Revolution. But Edward always defended his opinion staunchly.
"They deserve it!"-he had often said. But who are we to decide?
"No."-I said suddenly. "I will not kill him."
"Carlisle-"
"I took an oath, Edward."
He stared at me incredulously. "What oath?"
"The Hippocratic Oath. I cannot kill him."
"Then let me do it."-Edward said suddenly.
"No."-I said immediately. Edward burst into explanation-"It's the best possible way. His blood won't be on your hands, and… well, Esme means a lot to me too. Especially because of how much she means to you. Let me do it, Carlisle."
"No."-I said again, more forcefully this time. "No matter which of us does it, his blood will be on my hands. There is no argument, Edward. I am decided."
Edward sighed, then shrugged. I continued swiftly, "But that doesn't mean I'll let him go scot-free."
Edward shot his head up. "What do you mean?"
I hesitated. "I'm not sure… it's just a vague plan…"
He grinned suddenly. "I like it."
I looked at him uncertainly.
"He's also a bootlegger, if that helps. Hides a stash in his bedroom closet."-he said quickly.
"Perfect," I smiled. Then I ran over the slowly forming plan in my head, hoping that it would work.
Edward nodded his approval, understanding my look. "It'll do. But I have to tell you- I still think you're being far too lenient."
I was already stepping back, turning away, ready to leave.
"I'll improvise," I shot over my shoulder, breaking into a run.
"Good luck," I heard him murmur, even as I put almost half a mile between us while he said it.
I had never run so fast, so determinedly. Cold, furious energy drove my limbs for me, and I covered distances at a speed which would have made Edward proud.
The journey from Ashland to Columbus took several hours by respectable human speeds. At the rate I was going, I calculated to be in Columbus in a half hour.
All through the run, all I had in my mind was her face. The radiant young woman she had been on that summer night nearly a decade ago changing abruptly into the mangled and battered image of her dying body in the morgue. The rage I felt at the man who had caused that change stayed ablaze, and I didn't slow down at all for the entire run.
Thirty-three minutes later, I was running through an empty tree-lined lane in Columbus. I remembered my last visit to the town perfectly- a decade was fairly recent to my vampiric memory.
I slowed down to a brisk human pace three houses away from the one I sought, and by the time I had reached the door I wanted, I had slowed down to the speed of a leisurely, casual stroller. I rang the bell outside the door immediately, calming myself, letting the furious energy in my body settle down. There was a long pause. I could sense people inside the house before me, but no one seemed to want to open the door. Curiously, I raised my hand to ring the bell again when I heard the footsteps- light taps of some expensive shoe which sounded curiously slow- quick decisive footsteps would have matched the way the shoes struck the wooden floor.
Five seconds later, the door opened, and I found myself face to face with a dark-haired young woman. Her mouth fell open when she saw me.
"Dr. Cullen."-she breathed.
I bowed my head. "Miss Platt," I said courteously. "I'm glad you remember me."
She regained her composure quickly. "Of course. You're not easy to forget, Doctor. And you haven't changed at all!"
I smiled. "I count myself lucky in that aspect."
"You should. You don't look a day older since ten years ago. Come in, Doctor."
Elizabeth Platt had grown in the interval since I'd last seen her as an eight-year old child, and she looked stunningly beautiful. She looked gaunt and pale, which would probably make her seem more attractive to human sight. To me as a doctor, as a vampire, and as Esme's worshipper, she only looked absolutely weak and exhausted. I could guess the reason for her ill health. She was dressed completely in sombre, unfashionable black.
She motioned towards a sofa and bade me sit. I complied, and she sat on a high-backed chair in front of me, gazing at me solemnly, eyes burning with grief.
"How do you do, Doctor?"-she asked slowly.
"Very well, thank you. I was in town and decided to drop by and ask after the wonderful ladies Platt. But," I hesitated. The sombre atmosphere in the house could not be missed by the densest person in existence. "I seem to have come at a bad time."
There was a pause. "You couldn't come have come at a worse time," she said bluntly, her voice quavering terribly. "My mother and Esme are dead, Dr. Cullen."-she said.
Though I knew it to be false, her statement still made my dead heart turn cold. It reminded me how close it had been, that Esme really would have been dead had I been even a moment late.
"My God," I said with appropriate shock. I was shocked. I didn't know Mrs. Platt was dead.
Elizabeth only sniffed, bending her head.
"How did it happen?"-I asked. "Was it an illness of some sort?"
Elizabeth Platt's head shot up and she laughed humourlessly. "An illness! Yes, it was an illness. An illness which killed my brother."
I waited for a second to stress on the awkwardness which I didn't really feel. "I wasn't aware you had a brother."
Elizabeth burst into monotonous speech immediately. I sensed that she had been waiting to unburden herself for a long time. "He was born after you left. His name was Edward. He died a month before his fifth birthday. On Esme's wedding day." She paused. I felt her pain with her, and I tried to imagine the magnitude of Esme's pain at that moment. "It wasn't Esme's happiest day. Hers was not a happy marriage. She- she told me later that he… abused her. I didn't know anything about it at first. She never told me. Neither did my parents. When she got pregnant last year she left him and ran away." Elizabeth looked up at me defiantly at that point, as though challenging me to show the disgust or malicious pleasure at another person's misfortunes that petty humans normally felt. I felt no such things, and I stared back gravely at her. I had not heard the story before. The pain and pity that I showed were real.
My expression seemed to reassure her and she continued her story with more frankness. "She stayed with her cousin in Milwaukee for six months. Then we found her out. I went on ahead to warn her, and she left Milwaukee and went away to Ashland. We heard the news later. Her son died two days after he was born- lung trouble- and Esme… jumped off a cliff. That was a week ago." The tears were pouring from her eyes now.
I closed my eyes, my heart aching for the beautiful woman in the cabin miles away from me. So much sadness, so much pain… how had she lived through all of this? Then I suddenly realised that she hadn't. She couldn't live through all of it and so she had thrown herself off a cliff. The desperation of that act frightened me.
Elizabeth was still speaking through her tears in a thick voice. "And worse happened after her death. We can't find her body! And not even her clothes or belongings. It was worse because- oh, you wouldn't understand. The people from where she had stayed said a young man had come for her belongings, calling himself her brother. Each and every woman there said he- he looked like an angel. An angel. And Mother- she couldn't take it- she died!"
She broke into hitched sobbing at that. "I don't understand," I said truthfully.
She looked up at me. "Dr. Cullen, my dead little brother was beautiful. There is no other word for him. Everyone said he looked like a perfect little angel." I began to understand. "And this man- he said his name was Edward! You see?" She suddenly began to laugh hysterically. "Edward came back for her! He did! Edward took Esme with him. They belonged! And now we are going to hell! We are!" She was laughing with complete abandon now.
The doctor in me stepped into action immediately. I quickly rose and steered her onto a sofa and made her stretch out. I slapped her cheeks gently for good measure until she quietened down. Then I smelled alcohol from a cabinet in a far corner, and I quickly poured some brandy into a glass and carefully made her drink it.
"Now, Miss Platt, you must gain control of yourself. You must be strong- for your father and your sister's sakes." She nodded slowly as she gulped some more brandy. "I'm sorry," she said weakly after she had finished. "I- I don't know what came over me."
"Better people have done worse. You've been very brave, Miss Platt."- I told her soothingly.
She started to cry again silently. "No. All my fault."-she mumbled indistinctly.
"I'm sure that's not true. Courage, Miss Platt. This shall pass."
She looked up at me then, her hazel green eyes open wide.
"Really?"-she asked. So young. Such a child. I suddenly realised that she probably would have been perfect for Edward. I quickly banished the thought. Where on earth did the matchmaking come from?
"Yes," I said firmly, squeezing her hand gently. Then I heard her heartbeat speed up.
Brilliant.
With the usual mental sigh in my head, I stood up, letting go of her hand. Elizabeth sat up, too.
"I must leave," I said gently.
"Will you be coming back?"-she asked hopefully. On her face, she had the same look I had seen teenaged Esme give me several times.
"No, Miss Platt."-I said firmly. "Never."-I added, emphasising on it so that she wouldn't keep any hopeless fantasies in her head.
"Oh."-she bent her head. Then she looked up at me suddenly, and said with her usual shrewd maturity, "I don't know if you ever knew, Dr. Cullen, but… Esme really liked you. A lot. I think she was in love with you."
"I didn't know."-I said honestly, excitement flickering in me.
Elizabeth continued, "I think she would have wanted you to know." She paused. "Are you married yet, Dr. Cullen?"-she asked.
"No," I said shortly, the determination which had fuelled my run seeping into my voice. "But I intend to be. Soon."
The streets were empty. It was too cold and it was dinnertime- any sane fortunate human would be happily tucking into a hot delicious meal at this time. I walked briskly down the street unobserved, formulating my strategy in my head.
I soon reached the prim little house, the address of which Elizabeth Platt had given me. I gazed at it for a moment. Esme's house. The one she hadn't really lived in. Then I quickly climbed up the few steps and knocked loudly on the door. A dog barked from somewhere- chained in the backyard, I guessed. I could hear voices in the house, and I knew they'd hear the knocks. The voices were cut off immediately. I gritted my teeth as I heard the low muffled conversation from inside.
"Who is it at this time, Charlie?"
"Goddamn it, I don't know."
There was a woman in the house. My plan quickly restructured itself in my head.
The door opened with a sudden flourish and a man stood there. He was tall, but didn't quite reach my height. He had dishevelled blond hair, attractive in some aspects but generally lending an air of filthiness. He had tiny dark blue eyes, which were presently bloodshot from drink. He had a severe straight nose, and a cruel, thin-lipped mouth. His chin receded into a surprisingly beefy neck for one of his stature. He was staring at me insolently, his mouth twisted with impatience and anger. I felt like placing each of my hands on each of his ears and bashing his head in to a pulp.
"Yes?"-he asked with an obvious effort at self-control.
"Charles Evenson?"
"That'd be me."
"Get in."-I said smoothly.
"What?"
"Get in."-I repeated slowly, enunciating each syllable for his benefit.
"What the hell."
I stepped inside the house, glaring down at him. He took an involuntary step back.
"Get in," I said again. "There's a cold wind outside."
"Who the hell are you?"-he demanded.
"My name is Carlisle Cullen."-I said slowly.
He stared at me with the same blank rage for a second, then his eyes widened in comprehension. "You're the guy!"-he said, raising a finger to point at me even though I stood just a step away. "You're that fellow she wrote to but never did." I didn't try to comprehend what he meant.
"Yes, I am he."-I played along, taking another step inside and shutting the door behind me. He took another step backward.
"What do you think you're doing, you-"
"The lady inside- send her away." I cut in, my voice still soft, smooth. The voice I used when patients consulted me.
"Say, who do you think you are?"-he demanded, his voice rising. I ignored him completely and walked past him, through the narrow corridor and into the living room. A woman was standing in front of the fireplace, staring at me with fear and confusion, which immediately changed into speculative awe once she saw me. I looked at her from head to toe; she was pretty in a tiny, fair, anaemic sort of way, she was dressed in the latest fashion, her face was heavily made up and her large baby blue eyes stared at me with vapid stupidity gleaming in them. I felt a wave of cold anger wash over me again. He had chosen this lifeless mannequin over my beautiful dryad. I slowly turned around to face him as he rushed angrily into the room, stumbling a little in his drunkenness.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"-he screamed, his face turning a furious red.
I ignored him and turned to the woman. "Miss," I said solemnly, "I think you should leave."
"Stay where you are, Bess!"-he roared.
"Don't make this harder. You shouldn't be here. Leave," I said with a little more authority and firmness.
The woman stared between me and the drunken lout, as though wondering what to do. Meanwhile, the drunken lout in question stepped up in front of me and thrust his face in front of mine. I could see with perfect clarity each line in his harsh, sweaty face, and I could smell the pungent alcoholic odour of his breath. Had I been human, I'd have felt nauseated. I felt momentary idle curiosity. What in the world did the women see in him?
"What'n the blazes d'you think you're doing? Get out!"- he screamed.
I simply stared right into his dark eyes. Impassive.
"Get out!"-he yelled again, this time trying to push me away. Of course, I didn't budge a millimetre.
Then his nostrils flared, his eyebrows rose, and anger radiated from his eyes. I felt the still air in the room shift as the woman moved away slowly.
With a colossally loud shriek, the man raised his fist and punched the side of my face.
Even the woman heard the loud crack when the bones in his hands broke. I could tell by the cry of horror she let out. The coward collapsed onto the floor in front of me, clutching his damaged hand and wailing with pain.
That was enough for the woman. With no further ado she ran from the house. I could hear her bawling "Oh my gawd!" from several blocks away.
Charles Evenson stared at me from the floor; still whimpering with pain, his eyes flashing with fear and resentment.
"Who are you?"-he asked, his voice at a much lower pitch.
"I told you," I said calmly. "I am Carlisle Cullen."
"What do you want?"
"You were married to Esme Platt?"-I continued in the same gentle vein, ignoring his frantic demand.
Evenson scrambled to his feet with an effort; he still clutched his broken hand, and staggered unsteadily.
"Yeah. What's it to you?"
"A lot, as a matter of fact. I want you to divorce her."-I told him, keeping my tone even with some difficulty: my anger was increasing at his belligerent tone.
He let out a sudden mad howl of laughter. "Are you crazy? She's gone. Dead." His expression remained unchanged as he pronounced the statement; instead of sounding sorry, or even sad, Charles Evenson seemed angrier.
"You're wrong."-I said gently.
"Eh?"-he demanded.
"She's alive. And I want to marry her."
"That's not true!"-he screamed, a vein throbbing in his forehead. "They found her body- she's dead!"
I strode leisurely to a low cushioned chair and settled into it as though the place belonged to me. "Oh?"- I asked him softly, crossing my legs and pressing my fingertips together as I gazed at him. "Then where's the body now?"
Evenson seemed stumped for a moment. I smiled triumphantly at him, feeding the embers of his drunken rage. "You see? She's with me."
"That double-crossing wench!"-he roared. He began to pace up and down in front of me, shaking his uninjured hand at me. I tried my best to keep my temper under control, since I had been expecting the curses. I wanted him to curse even more. But that didn't mean the words didn't stoke the cold fire in me. "How dare she run away- from me! Me! And where's the kid- where's my son?"-he bellowed, stopping a foot away from me. I simply gazed at him unperturbed, an amused smile on my face. "Who- Edward? Oh, he stays with us. I'm his father from now on," I said smoothly, letting a hint of smugness escape my lips. That wasn't a lie, in any case.
Evenson lunged at me and grabbed my collar. I remained unmoving and calm, even as he shouted into my face-"Edward? Edward? God damn her, that's my son! My flesh! My blood!"
I caught hold of his wrists and pushed his hands away. He winced as I clutched his injured hand tightly.
"Oh, no, you're wrong."-I said mildly, ignoring his furious expression which was so similar to a mad, raging bull fuming within inches of my face. "Edward doesn't have your blood coursing through his veins. I think Esme would be devastated if it were so." This, again, was true, but Charles Evenson took this statement in an entirely different context- as I had intended.
Evenson's face was livid. "You son of a-" he breathed, then lifted a plain wooden chair and flung it at me with a mighty roar. I moved out of the way easily, and flashed to stand behind him instead. I watched him search among the debris for a second, before saying, "I'm over here, Mr. Evenson."-I said slowly, condescendingly, even. The man whipped around and stared at me, even as his jaw dropped. I could tell that he was confused- very, very confused, wondering if he had too much to drink. "How-?"-he wheezed.
"Now, why don't you sit down for a moment?"-I said to him kindly. "Some people just cannot aim as well as they'd like to." With a ferocious snarl, Evenson snatched a plate off the mantelpiece and tossed it at me. I caught the plate expertly. "You see?"-I smiled genially at him, brandishing the unharmed plate in front of him.
He had plenty of spirit, I had to give him that. His fury remained full heat as he grabbed a little tea-table off the floor and whirled it at me. I flitted out of the way again- I stood now at the foot of the narrow stairs, a full ninety degrees to the left to where I had been half a second ago.
"Now, Mr. Evenson, please," I said in a gently distressed voice. "You're only hurting yourself-" He didn't wait for me to finish, just came charging towards me, head bent, with a blood-curdling roar. Though I sometimes prided myself on having very few violent tendencies, my vampiric instincts only made this deadly charge look incredibly funny: for who wouldn't laugh if a harmless turtle or a snail tried to charge them down?
I chuckled and moved out of the way deftly, and Charles Evenson fell headfirst onto the stairs with a colossal crash. I couldn't help it, it was simply too ridiculous: I laughed.
Evenson picked himself up slowly, still shivering with rage and, though he obviously didn't want to admit it, fear.
"Mr. Evenson," I chortled, "what on earth are you trying to do?" He winced at the sound of my voice, and I felt a light, glorious feeling swelling inside my chest: I realised after a moment that the feeling was triumph. Everything was happening exactly as I intended.
"What are you?"-he wheezed, still facing away from me.
"What else do you think I am?"-I said slowly. "I'm a man. That's more than you are, at any rate."
He began to tremble more- with rage. "You're not human!"-he barked and whipped around to face me.
I flashed him a brilliant smile. "Now Mr. Evenson, what on earth makes you say that?"
He continued to glare at me, wincing as he breathed raggedly- he seemed to have broken some ribs. "No you're not," he continued resolutely. "You're not human. You're a freak. She doesn't deserve you." My smile froze on my face, and I stopped breathing. How- how? How did this tiny, inconsequential excuse for a human being know my doubts, my one weakness?
He grinned savagely at my frozen expression. "Caught you, didn't I? You love her, don't you? You think she'll love a freak like you back? Ha!" He spat on the floor. "Esme chose me. She married me. She deserves me. She belongs to me!"
The last phrase kindled my fury and I unfroze. "Belongs to you?"-I repeated in a cold voice, trying my best not to shout, as he had. I needn't sink to his low levels of stupidity and morality. "Esme isn't some kind of commodity that you buy and barter and own."
"Like hell she ain't!"-he started to yell again. "Who ran around her like a dog for months, satisfying her every stupid wish, wooing her, courting her? Who did she say 'I do' to? She's my wife- I own her- body and soul! She is mine to do as I please!"
I glared at him, contempt oozing from my words. "No, she is not."
He sprang towards me at that moment, his face purple with fury. I took a step back as he poured torrents of curses at me, telling me exactly what kind of creatures my parents had to be to spawn a thing like me. I remained impassive, gazing down at him with disgust etched on my face.
"-and that goddamned wretch!"-he continued to scream, dancing up and down, flailing his fists at me. If his attack wasn't so personal, the situation actually would have been funny. "Runs away from me-me! After a give her a bloody goddamned home, and feed her and clothe her back- and she runs away! Bloody ungrateful bitch-"
Before he even stopped yelling, Charles Evenson flew backwards soundlessly and slammed into the wall behind him, my hand at his throat.
"Mind your language, Evenson," I growled over his shocked whimpers.
"Lemme' go!"-he cried, struggling against my iron grip.
I squeezed his throat a little harder, and watched his face go purple even as he let out a strangled cry. For a long second I remained in that position, then let him go with a disgusted snarl.
He collapsed onto the floor, shaking. "You'd better be grateful I've taken my oath as a doctor," I said coldly, looking down at him. "If you aren't careful, I might just decide I'm not a veterinarian, and thus put you in the 'exceptions' category."
He didn't answer, just continued to whimper pathetically. I watched as he picked himself up again, slowly, carefully. I took a step behind as he stood up and the wave of unpleasant stink washed over me again. Ugh.
Evenson turned to me in slow, jerky movements. He was definitely nervous now; his brow bathed in sweat, his tongue running nervously over his thin lips.
"What do you want?"-he asked me, his voice reaching curiously high notes.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I told you," I said calmly. "I want you to divorce her."
He appeared to consider for a moment. "She has to be here," he said slowly, failing miserably to hide the gleeful smile on his face. "We need to go to court together."
"Oh, I'm sure we don't need all that formality," I told him politely. "Just a piece of signed paper saying you divorce her, and that you have renounced all rights forthwith as her husband- that should do."
There was a pause, as he seemed to think over it.
"Like hell I will," he growled.
Then, suddenly, he took to his feet and ran away from me as fast as he could. I was astonished only for a tenth of a second; the man seemed to want the element of surprise to last for much more than that. Yelling unintelligibly, he ran into the kitchen, and, from what I heard, into the backyard.
I sighed. He still doesn't get it, I thought exasperatedly.
Then I heard the rattle of a chain, a cavalcade of canine barks, and his ragged, excited whisper as though he were right next to me.
"Come on, boy! We'll teach him a lesson, won't we, Tiger!"
I uncrossed my arms with another sigh. A dog. As if a dog could drive me away. I deplored at the pure density of his mind, and waited.
Evenson re-entered the room ten seconds later, holding the leash of a terribly huge, dark furious dog. The relish showed on his face as he said loudly-"Not a veterinarian, eh? Well, then buzz off! Or I'll set this hellhound on you! Go on! Scram!"
I saw the triumphant look on his face, at the furious, foaming muzzle of the obviously starved dog- and laughed.
Laughed because he had just made the execution of my plan a whole lot easier. True, there would be a casualty, but in the name of success- well, what did it matter? My newfound anger was making it more and more difficult for me to resist slaughtering that pig of a man, and a small drink would only help me achieve the goal I had set.
"You think- you really think your street cur is going to work against me, Evenson? My, my, you do have a lot to learn…"-I grinned at him, preparing myself. It was time to finally go to the last phase of my plan, to use the bloodthirsty habits I had forever denied myself.
Still grinning, I slowly bent my spine so that I was crouching with my eyes still on Evenson. Slowly, savouring every moment, I grinned wider and wider, crouched lower, stiffened my spine, widened my legs… until I was positioned like the feral and dangerous animal that I was, my mouth shaped into a deadly grimace.
Charles Evenson's jaw dropped. The fear that he had been trying to hide for so long showed plain and pure in his eyes. With a whimper that was also a half-sob, his hand fell limp and he let go of his pet's chain.
Normally dogs gave my kind a wide berth, but I think that Evenson's poor brute had been so over-starved that his hunger clouded his unerring canine senses, and he was ready to attack any mortal thing he set his eyes upon. And so, instead of scampering away with his tail between his legs like the rest of his kin normally did, the big black dog charged at me.
And then I proceeded to kill in the most sloppiest, the most messiest manner I had ever hunted in all of my existence.
I moved much, much slower than usual, so Evenson's fallible human eyesight could take in every sordid and gory detail of my kill. I snarled and growled and made every possible beastly noise I could create in my throat. I wrestled with the dog for several seconds, instead of killing it immediately as I very well could, and proceeded of maim, break, rip, and tear the creature in any possible way. The bloodlust which my actions plainly showed was in fact non-existent in my brain- I mainly felt guilt at having to lay to waste the poor innocent dog's life. I almost stopped my horror act as the guilt increased in waves within me, but I consoled myself that I was actually giving the poor brute a merciful release- what with the deliberate starving, and the obvious onset of rabies.
At that point, I decided it was enough, that I couldn't mutilate the poor beast's body any more; so I sank my teeth under the creature's twisted and mangled jaw and drank thankfully, guzzling and swallowing loudly for the effect. I hadn't realised how close I had been to snapping and killing Evenson himself, but the dog's blood gave me strength, gave me the power to deny to myself the human's tainted blood.
Ten seconds. The act had lasted ten whole seconds, at the end of which I stood up, blood dripping from my fingers and slithering down my chin. Evenson was standing in the exact same position as he had been ten seconds previously- open mouth and all. I grinned savagely at him, exposing my bloodstained teeth.
"What say you now, Charles Evenson?"-I asked him silkily.
Charles Evenson began to scream. He screamed like I had never heard him scream before- a shrill, high-pitched, almost feminine wail. I winced so slightly that no human could notice- I had heard some screams like that more than a century ago, in Italy. The memory assailed my mind for a split moment, then faded away.
I realised that I had to wrap up quickly- I was reaching the limit I had set upon myself, the maximum point up to which I could stretch my conscience. Beyond that, three centuries of existence would lose its value and its meaning, and I would never, ever be able to face Esme.
But I had reckoned without Charles Evenson. After responding obstinately inversely to my plan all along, he finally fell into the pattern I had set beautifully, with ease.
He ran into the kitchen, and I followed him at a measured human pace, though I took care to tread as inhumanly as possible, keeping the image of a bloodthirsty beast fresh in Evenson's vision.
"Go away!"-he shrieked. "Leave me alone!"
"Not until you give me what I want," I responded smoothly, my voice much too human for my appearance.
Screaming again, Evenson proceeded to snatch every object within his reach and flung them at me. This time, I didn't bother catching a single piece of cutlery. I simply stood there, smiling smugly, showing off my imperviousness as plates, knives, glasses, tureens, and ladles crashed against my steel-hard skin and fell defeated on the floor around me. Then he cowered against the sink and screamed even more.
Still maintaining the amused smile, I stepped towards him, lifting the heavy dining table between us and flinging it aside single-handedly.
Still screaming, Evenson ran away from under my grasp, making for the living room and the main door. I flitted ahead of him and flashed into existence in front of the door just as he reached it. "Ah ah ah," I said solemnly, shaking my head.
He turned away and ran again, stumbling, screaming. I couldn't help but enjoy myself. This was fun- in a savage, cruel sort of way, but Charles Evenson deserved every bit of it.
And so it went on for quite some time. Charles Evenson tried to escape or hide from me in every possible way- but I outpaced him every time. I would either follow him with the same savage, loping animalistic gait, or I would run ahead of him and confront him, reducing him to more tears and hysterics. At the same time I ripped and smashed and crushed as much of the furniture as I could, frightening him even more with my immortal strength. This was a game in which Charles Evenson just could not win.
"Please- PLEASE!"-he shrieked finally, cowering on a bed while I loomed ominously above him at the bedside. "I'll do it- I'll do it! Please, leave me alone!" Tears poured down his white, clammy face, his clothes were scruffy and torn, his lip was bleeding from having bit it too hard, and he was shivering and twitching uncontrollably.
I grinned at him, and he whimpered at the sight of the browning blood on my teeth. "Wonderful!"-I said and hauled him up and off the bed with one arm. He shrieked again.
"Patience, Mr. Evenson," I told him gently and steered him to a chair in front of a writing desk, whipped out a clean sheet of paper from a drawer and handed him a pen.
I dictated and he wrote- the end result being barely legible owing to his crippling fear and his injured hand. But the document read as follows:
I, Charles Henry Evenson, lawfully married to Esme Anne Platt on the 19th of February, 1917, do hereby annul the marriage on grounds of ill-treatment, persecution and adultery on my part towards my wife. In doing so, I fully comprehend that I will be relinquishing every right and claim as husband over Esme Platt Evenson, and that she may choose to marry again without having to face any legal repercussions.
Though far from correctly legal, the document nevertheless served to ensure some amount of peace and satisfaction in my mind, and in Esme's mind, if the doubt ever arose.
I signed as witness and tucked the precious paper in my pocket, feeling happiness and triumph wash over me. Charles Evenson had not stopped whimpering, and he squeaked, terrified, as I bent down and spoke in his ear- "Very good, Mr. Evenson. It's goodbye for now, unless you announce to the world what happened tonight. If you do so, then I'm afraid next time Esme will come to visit you." I smiled maliciously and faced him, feeding the horror reflected in his eyes. "And I think you will have guessed by now, that Esme and I are much more alike than we ever were." I straightened up, and finished, still smiling politely, "And I also think that dear Esme might not be as forgiving as I am. She has a more personal grudge against you, as you very well know." I bowed graciously.
Charles Evenson gave a frightened whimper and collapsed onto the floor.
I chuckled. About time.
I spent twenty more minutes in the house, altering the wreckage to seem humanly affected. I placed a broken chair leg in Evenson's hand to enforce the idea of a club, tore the dead dog's remains with a knife, replaced heavy objects which Evenson could not have lifted single-handedly back to their rightful places. In short, I was making everything look like Evenson's work and obliterated any remaining trace of mine in the fire.
Once I was outside in the clean, pure air, I took a deep breath, savouring the victory. I had done it. I had revenged Esme and myself without killing Charles Evenson- externally atleast. I ran through town to the nearest public telephone box I could find. From there I placed an anonymous call to the police saying I had heard a loud commotion from the Evenson place, and something was definitely wrong. I knew that Evenson would probably be institutionalised, as I had intended- I had done my job well. A fitting punishment.
Finally- finally, my work was done. I turned my face northwards, where I would find Esme- my love, my life.
And suddenly incredibly impatient, I ran as fast as I could, trying to bring myself close to Esme as fast as possible, so that I could tell her everything I had hidden from her for the past three days.
I'm coming, Esme.
Well, there it was. Perhaps it was a little more violent than expected, but if you paid close enough attention, you'll see that Carlisle doesn't touch Charles Evenson- except for pinning him against the wall- and even that is mostly for effect. The rest of the time it's all drama for the wife-beater's benefit, and the dog- well, I suppose Carlisle is a little too bloodthirsty at that point, but I like to think that Esme aroused his much denied instincts within him!
I'm very obviously clarifying myself here because, according to me, this is a very important chapter- it is probably the last chapter that we'll find directly connected to Esme's human life- and it has to have distinctive closure.
Well, 'nuff said, I shall leave it to you readers to do the reviewing and let me know how the chapter was!