Chapter 6
When they met
The dungeon was in the basement of what must have been a mansion. Bella had never seen rooms of this size, rooms that seemed to stretch out forever and ever.
The decor was stunning in its complexity, if not necessarily its artistry. Gorgeous, sixteenth-century paintings hung over gaudy, lacquer-glass statues of naked, sexless elves. It appeared as if anything that had – ever – grabbed the owner's fancy had been purchased and pushed into a corner.
The mansion was over-decorated, over-filled, over-furnished. Yet within minutes, Bella was absolutely spellbound.
Her eyes wanted to move everywhere at once, taking it all in. Luxury like she had never seen.
The ability to buy and buy and buy until, finally, all sense of aesthetics was lost.
Here a massive oak table, glowing as if with its own inner light from countless centuries of oiling and finishing.
There, a black velvet painting of dogs playing poker, that looks as if it might have been bought from a vendor standing outside of a gas station. It was overwhelming.
Edward guided her through each room, pointing out certain objects, but it was clear from his face, his voice, his expressions, that these possessions were not his.
It was obvious that he thought little of them, and perhaps viewed most with some level of derision.
Bella knew very little about Edward, but she sensed that if he had not been around this clutter for quite some time, he would have actively disdained it.
Indeed, Edward was hurrying her through the rooms; quickly pointing out things he thought would be of interest to her, ignoring the rest.
He was not trying to tempt her with luxury, and said as much.
"Everything in the world is yours for the taking, but that's not important. You know it's not important, I think, the same as I do. What's important is the life that can be lived. Hundreds of years, Bella, and there's still so much to see! So much to do!" Edward didn't seem like the emotional type.
Bella wondered if this was a rare outburst that she should be appreciating. She tried her best, but all the while that same nagging thought pulled at the back of her mind like the ebb and flow of the tide. Not human. Not human. No longer connected to that beautiful web of grief and love and death and striving, striving to find some meaning in what must, by definition, be an empty universe.
But there was temptation here, as well. Wasn't there a spark of excitement in her, brought on by his words?
The scope of what she had seen in that moment in the Ferrari when she had nearly lost herself in despair was minimal next to what Edward was now proposing.
Bella had never felt so torn in her life. Humanity. Immortality. The spirit. The soul.
She shut her eyes, breathed deeply, and pushed it away. She'd told Edward she would let him show her. She meant to keep her words.
They came at last to a set of oak doors that seemed too massive even for Edward to open. Solid in a way that modern creations simply weren't, they stood before her at the end of a long hallway.
Edward paused, looked momentarily pained, and turned to Bella.
"Carlisle."
It was a threat, a warning, an invitation, an explanation. The quality of Edward's voice as he spoke the word was indefinable. Bella repeated it, forming the word as a question, looking for detail.
"My father. My … he runs this household. He does not interfere with my daily life, usually, but I owe my allegiance to him. Or I did. Now …" His words trailed off, and for a moment his eyes, normally so clear and focused, were distant. Cloudy.
"Edward?"
"It's hard, now. I'm too strong. It's too soon." She didn't understand a word of it. She began to say this, and he shook his head as if in answer. "It doesn't matter. Tonight, we are sticking to basics, and it is not fundamental that you understand this right now."
"Do you all talk in riddles all of the goddamn time?" Bella was somewhat exasperated despite her desire to understand. Or perhaps because of it. Edward surprised her with a bright grin.
"You will enjoy meeting Rose," he laughed.
"Will she tell me what's going on?"
"In more detail than you could possibly want."
"What about Carlisle?"
"If you experience anything less than abject terror, I'll be amazed." Bella raised her eyebrows.
"That bad?"
"And worse. Carlisle is … eternal. He is not like others of my kind, not even like myself or Rose. He never was. You'll, well … no, you won't understand, but you'll feel it. If it gets too bad, I'll know, and I'll do my best to keep you from harm." Bella looked at the door with renewed concern.
This didn't sound like anything she had any interest in experiencing. Rose sounded fun. Carlisle sounded dark at best, deadly at worst.
Edward looked at her, smiled again, touched her cheek.
"You'll be fine. He may even like you. I don't think you're like anyone else he's met."
"Couldn't that work out just the opposite?" Bella questioned. She felt like crying, and didn't know why.
It seemed as if she could find nothing but despair inside herself, as if the duality of her human persona, light and dark, had been half-erased.
"It might." Edward's voice was curiously gently.
"I wonder the same." Bella took a deep, shuddery breath, looked down the hall, steeled herself. "Okay. Well, let's go meet Carlisle." Her voice trembled only the slightest bit.
The room was pitch black. The doors, which Edward had opened with remarkable ease, did not make a sound as they swung backward into blackness that the light from the hallway could not begin to penetrate.
They stood on the threshold like archaeologists at some newly unearthed tomb, waiting to see what might spring forth from the darkness within.
When the voice came, it was all Bella could do not to turn and run, screaming, down the hallway.
It was like rotting graves; gravel grinding at the bottom of some blackened abyss; the howl of wind through a cemetery in October.
Age beyond age, depth beyond depth, darkness beyond darkness.
"You visit me, my son. You bring something? A treat? A taste for Carlisle? So long since you last brought me some lovely treat."
"Hello, father." Edward's voice was low, subdued, respectful. Bella could not detect fear, there, at least nothing akin to the terror currently sitting unsteady in her belly.
The thing in the room chuckled; a low grating sound that sent squirms of revulsion up Bella's spine. She fought them off, gripped Edward's hand instinctively.
"But so bravely she stands!" the creature said. "It should please you, my dear. Others have been unable to stand even long enough to hear my voice. Such bravery, yet such fear. Do the legs tremble, my dear? Does the heart beat and beat? Does the blood run thin?" This struck the creature as uproariously funny, and he howled out at them from the darkness.
Bella felt what little grip she retained on her composure slipping rapidly away. Edward sensed this, spoke up, cut off the laughter.
"This is the one of which I spoke, Carlisle. This is Bella." A momentary pause. Bella felt herself being considered by the thing, the sensation like worms crawling sluggishly across her skin.
"She is still young," Carlisle said at last.
"Yes."
"You are still young!" he roared suddenly at Edward, and Bella was unable to keep from cringing, making some small cry.
Her face paled, then reddened with embarrassment. Edward appeared not to notice. He stared into the darkness. Nodded.
"You knew, when you made me, what I was to be," he said after a moment. A sigh, like the shuffle of old papers.
"Light a candle, my son," Carlisle said. "I would see you as a mortal does."
"No mortal sees like we do, father," Edward replied, but he produced a match from a pocket, struck it against the granite table directly to the right of the door, lit the wick of the massive candle that stood atop it.
The room seemed to swallow this light and then, perhaps finding it unpleasant to the taste, grudgingly released it. A gleam at the far corner. Eyes.
"Handsome, handsome boy," said Carlisle, and Bella could barely perceive a slight shaking of the head. "Why do you insist on looking such? Why cut your beautiful hair? Why dress in these ridiculous clothes?"
"Those who do not change wither. Those who do not change die," Edward recited.
"Speak not such things to me!" Carlisle leapt forward suddenly, slightly further into the light, leaning over his massive wooden desk, white-knuckled grip on the far edge, powerful shoulders supporting his torso as he stared in fury at Edward.
Bella shrank back, managing to hold in her cry this time. The light helped. Edward's apparent fearlessness in the face of a being multitudes more powerful than himself helped more.
"Speak not in such a manner, from the scrolls of Eresh, to him who has given you everything!"
"Everything and nothing, father. Ashes and dust. Life in death."
"Impertinence in youth," Carlisle grumbled. He sat back down, and Bella found that she could barely recall his image, as if her mind had blotted it out. She remembered a heavy head of hair, complemented by large eyebrows and a beard. Had he been young? Old? She couldn't tell. Only that he was huge. Taller and broader than Edward, thick through the shoulders, muscular.
A dangerous man even as a human let alone what he had become.
"I speak only what you have taught, father," Edward said. He took a step forward into the room, gently pulling Bella with him. Carlisle chuckled. The sound was bitter, cynical. There was no humour in it.
"Ahh. 'My first thought was, he lied in every word.' It does not suit you, Edward."
"I am no liar, father. No cripple."
"Oh, yes? Well. No cripple, anyway, as well you prove out there, traipsing about in the mortal world, driving your fast cars, lying with your women in patches of grass." He looked at Bella with a raised eyebrow. Bella made an effort to return the gaze, succeeded. The vampire laughed again. "So brave," his voice was quiet, contemplative. "Why is she not finished?" Edward paused a moment and Bella sensed that the next few moments were critical.
"Her previous … employer. He forced things upon her against her will. Many things, one of which was a drug."
"She is impure?"
"The change will cleanse her."
"And what drug is this?"
"Heroin, father. Do you know it?"
"Opium, yes?"
"Processed chemically, but yes."
"She is unclean."
"She is pure in heart, father. She is pure in soul. The blood will strip her of mortal needs, mortal addictions, mortal weaknesses."
"So sure?" There was dark humour in the old vampire's voice. Edward said nothing. "No, you are not sure. Not sure at all, my impetuous fledgling. Yet you do not answer my question. Why is she not finished?"
"I did not know we were susceptible to such things. The drug is still too recent in her veins. It … It made me quite ill." The elder vampire screamed laughter at this, rocking back in his chair.
Bella wanted to cover her ears with her hands. The sound went on and on, madness and hate and anger disguised as humour, as anything so remotely human. And then, abruptly, stopped.
"Oh, my. 'Quite ill' indeed, I've no doubt. That drug, Edward, more than any other, is poison to our kind. It would likely have killed a lesser creation. You are Eresh-Chen, though. You seem to have recovered." Edward nodded.
Carlisle turned his attention to Bella, caught her in his eyes.
"Come to me, my dear." Bella felt her feet moving, almost against her own will. She heard Edward draw in a breath, but he said nothing.
Bella understood now that Edward felt no fear for himself, held no question of his own safety, but that he feared for hers very greatly.
The final moment of the interview had come, judgment was to be handed down, and what Carlisle might deem proper was as unfathomable as his deep, black eyes.
Bella stood next to him at the chair, terrified, gasping for breath but unable to move away. Unable to look away.
Carlisle reached out, touched his finger to her forehead. The contact brought with it a jolt like electricity.
Bella gasped nipples instantly hard, warmth between her legs once more awake and throbbing.
"You enjoy?" The vampire laughed at her. Bella felt dizzy. She was hyperventilating. "A taste, Edward, of this tainted blood?" he questioned, and his voice mocked Edward, mocked them both.
She was his for the taking, all three knew it, but he found the formality deliciously, darkly entertaining.
"If you must, father." Edward's voice was strained. Carlisle seemed to smile at this, as if he approved of both the acceptance and the clear hatred in the voice of his creation.
"You will understand in time, my son, when this day comes for you, when she takes another and breaks your heart."
"Get it over with," Edward said, and Carlisle grinned broadly.
He touched his finger lightly to Bella's shoulder, and her knees buckled. She fell to the floor, looking up, enraptured, terrified.
His fingers now under her chin, like those of a lover, rising, exposing the pale neck below.
Bella gasped, panted, black spots appearing before her eyes. She was dimly aware that she was weeping, and the warmth below her waist had become a roaring blaze.
Closing her eyes, she pictured Edward and thought, Let it be him, and not this monster.
The vampire leaned his head down, settled the points of his teeth against her neck, waited. Just as before, the moment stretched out into eternity.
The world became surreal, painted in shades of grey and yet more vibrant than anything Bella had ever witnessed.
She felt a tear grow on a single eyelash, fatten, drop. It hit her face, warmth of her body fading quickly as it cooled, leaving a track down her cheek. Her heart throbbed.
The vampire tore through the flesh of her neck in an instant, seeking the blood forced through her veins by that thudding organ.
Pain again, like glass, exquisite, blinding, maddening, and a spike of sheer ecstasy running through her like before, like with Edward, this caused only be Carlisle's touch, Carlisle's teeth.
Such power. Bella leaned her head back, wailing in terror, in pleasure, in fear.
It was death, it was birth, it was the coalescence of the entire universe in a single moment. And then it was gone.
The vampire pulled back, Bella fell to the floor, gasping, weeping. Her eyes fluttered open and shut, trying to make sense of the myriad images before her.
Edward, looking away, unable to watch what was transpiring before him. Carlisle, eyes closed, head tilted back, enjoying her blood like a man tasting fine wine.
The flickering candle on the table cast light on the door, and now it seemed the flame itself was a door as well, light from inside spilling out, like a hole in the fabric of reality. Bella wept at its beauty.
"It makes me lightheaded," Carlisle said. "The blood is tainted indeed, and yet so strong. So delightful, ah, she will be a good daughter for you. Daughter, sister, lover … whatever you choose to make of her. It will be many years before she finds the strength to leave you."
"It … may be many years before she … finds the strength to stand up." Bella heard herself as if from down a long hall, and was aghast at her own blasphemy.
To speak, and so impertinently, in front of this creature who had given her such pain, such pleasure. Surely now he would strike her down.
But Carlisle only roared his horrible, mocking laughter, clapping his hands together.
Edward snarled something, moved towards her, and Bella understood in that instant the hatred burning between master and pupil, father and son. Was it like this for all of them? Would it be like this for her? No, Bella realized. Not for her and Edward. There was no hatred there.
"Or perhaps I am wrong!" Carlisle cackled. "Perhaps I am very wrong indeed!"
And then Edward had her in his arms, and she was resting her head against his chest, neck throbbing, wanting only to sleep.
She tried to speak, tried to tell him that she did not feel defiled, that even as pleasure and pain had torn through her body, she had thought of Edward, and it had been clean.
She could not say so much, her eyelids so heavy; sleep forcing itself upon her with clumsy, brutal hands. She forced herself awake, took her hand, held it to her neck.
Fingers bloody, Edward striding rapidly down the hall, not running, only leaving, his fear lost in his anger.
The oak doors shut behind them and Bella wondered if Carlisle had moved from his desk or closed them with only a thought.
She pressed her bloody fingers to Edward's lips, and he stopped, looked down at her in surprise.
"Not like that." Bella's voice was a whisper, and she was crying again. "Not like he says."
An expression of powerful emotion passed over Edward's usually unreadable face. He made a sound, smiled at her, kissed her fingers. Bloody white lips, bloody white teeth.
Bella slept.
Hi guys,,,
This was Justin's chapter…
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Chantinique ;)