A/N: I think we're finally getting into a more regular upload schedule! Three cheers for routine! xD Also, I'm trying my hand at Adobe Lightroom, hoping to make my own fan-art for the fic (I found the current one on tumblr, and am technically breaking the rules by using it… Oops.) If anyone has any pointers… Those would be greatly appreciated. I worked with Photo Shop, oh, seven or eight years ago now, in high school, so suffice to say, my skills could use a little refreshing :P
We'll chat again at the end!
Songs of inspiration: "Bloodflood" by Alt J ; "Believer" by Imagine Dragons.
…
"Can-can I ask just one more?"
I shook my head as we drove down the quiet street. "We had a deal."
"It's not really a question," he tried to compromise, "Just a clarification of something you said before."
I rolled my eyes. How could I deny him? "Make it quick."
"Well…" He hesitated. "You said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how… you… knew that."
I deliberated a moment, wondering if it would disturb him if I told him the truth.
"I thought we were past all these evasions," he mumbled disapprovingly.
How ironic. He was evasive all the time, without even trying.
Well, this conversation wasn't going to end up anywhere good, anyway, so I relented.
"Fine, then. I followed your scent."
He stared out the window for a long, silent moment. I heard his breathing accelerate, and then return to normal. Once I was convinced he wasn't deeply disturbed by my superior smelling abilities, I turned the attention back on him.
"Your turn, Beau."
"But you didn't answer my other question," he protested.
"Oh, come on."
"I'm serious," he insisted, "You didn't tell me how it works—the mind-reading thing. Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family do the same thing?"
Why not tell him, I decided. He'd already guessed most of this on his own, and this was a far easier subject to discuss than the one that was inevitably coming. In the low, gleaming light of the dashboard, we seemed isolated from the rest of the world, closed inside our own little bubble—a bubble filled with the fire of his succulent fragrance… But I digress. For just a few moments, it seemed there was nobody else in the world. I used this strange sense of non-reality to my advantage.
"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's… voice is, the farther away I can hear him. But still, no more than a few miles." How to explain this so he would understand? "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what he's thinking is clear.
Most of the time I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And then, it's easier to seem normal when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."
"Why do you think you can't hear me?" he asked curiously.
Despite myself, I tried once more to break through the barrier of his still mind, focusing all my effort into doing so. Eventually, I gave up, knowing I wouldn't succeed.
"I don't know. Maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency, and I'm only getting FM." I grinned, amused by the anticipation of his reaction.
And he did not disappoint.
"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" His voice even broke a little on the last word. I really didn't know what it was about his bewilderment that charmed me so.
"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that you're the freak." Ah, the irony. I had to laugh. "Don't worry, it's just a theory… Which brings us back to you."
He frowned, obviously troubled.
I quoted his words from before, not quite able to inject the appropriate level of teasing playfulness into my voice: "I thought we were past all these evasions."
His eyes wandered a moment, and I waited.
"Holy crow!" he suddenly shouted.
"What's wrong?" I searched for whatever had startled him, but couldn't find anything.
"You're doing one-ten!" He was still shouting. He cast his gaze out the window, eyes wide with panic.
This inconsequential thing, a tiny bit of speed, was what had him so scattered? And I had even been pacing myself for the purpose of spending more time with him.
"Relax, Beau." I rolled my eyes. Of all the things he could be scared of…
"Are you trying to kill us?!"
"We're not going to crash," I promised him.
He paused, and then, "Why are we in such a hurry, Edythe?"
"I always drive like this." I turned to smile at him.
"Keep your eyes on the road!" he demanded, panicked again.
"I've never been in an accident, Beau—I've never even gotten a ticket." I grinned and tapped my forehead. Being able to make a joke out of something so absurd made it even funnier. "Built-in radar detector."
"Hands on the wheel, Edythe!" he insisted.
I sighed, pouting just a bit. I didn't like driving slow. I eased off the gas pedal until the needle drifted toward eighty. "Happy?"
"Almost."
Almost?
"I hate driving slow," I complained.
"This is slow?" There was heavy skepticism in his voice.
"Enough commentary on my driving," I said, suddenly impatient. How many times had he evaded my question now? Thrice, at least. It was getting on my nerves. "I'm still waiting for you to answer my question."
He avoided my gaze, suddenly seeming nervous.
"I promise I won't laugh this time," I tried to encourage him.
"I'm not worried about that," he said.
"Then what?"
"That you'll be… upset. Unhappy."
My suspicions solidified just a bit more. I appraised his face. He looked so… Intimidated. I didn't want him to be afraid of me—even hypothetically. If there was some way I could assuage his worries…
Ah. I'd seen so many people reach out with gestures of physical affection in the effort to ease another's anxiety. Maybe I couldn't go quite to that level, but I could extend the invitation.
The heat was blasting through the car now, sure to combat the frigid nature of my skin, and so I lifted my right hand off the gearshift and offered it to him, not confident enough in myself to touch him, but willing enough for him to take my hand on his own accord.
His eyes lifted to mine, and I could see the hesitance there, warring with the desire.
"Don't worry about me. I can handle it."
He took my hand in his, and I curled my fingers around his very, very gently. And then I dropped my hand back to the gearshift. I was surprised when his hand settled over top of mine—surprised, but also pleased. His skin was warm and soft, and it stirred feelings inside me that were not familiar, but they were not unpleasant either. His thumb traced a line from the edge of my wrist, up to the tip of my smallest finger, trailing with it a path of smoldering fire.
He was stalling, and though the particular action he was stalling with didn't displease me, I was getting rather impatient.
"The suspense is killing me, Beau."
"I'm sorry," he apologized—again. "I don't know how to start."
I waited a long moment, listening to the sound of his nervous, uneven breaths. His thumb followed the path it had taken up my hand, all the way back down.
"Why don't you start at the beginning," I finally suggested, "Is this something you thought up on your own, or did something make you think of it—a comic book, maybe, or a movie?"
I regretted not perusing the selection of reading material in his room last night. I had no idea if Bram Stoker was there in his collection of worn paperbacks.
"Nothing like that," he said, "But I didn't think of it on my own."
He paused, and I waited.
"It was Saturday—down at the beach."
This confused me. The local gossip about us had never strayed from what I'd heard—nothing too bizarre, or precise. Was there something new that I'd missed? A new story?
"I ran into an old family friend—Jules, Julie Black," he went on, "Her mom, Bonnie, and Charlie have been close since before I was born."
Julie Black—the exact name wasn't familiar, but it did ring a bell… I stared out the windshield, leafing through memories, trying to put her name to the correct one.
"Bonnie's one of the Quileute leaders…"
I froze, understanding pinning me in place. Emily Black. A descendent of hers, no doubt.
This was bad, as bad as bad could get.
He knew the truth.
The corollaries were racing through my mind, each one a new stab of anguish. We flew around the dark curves in the road, and my body stayed as rigid as stone—except for the small, unthinking ministrations it took to steer the car.
He knew what I was, and yet… He'd spent the entire evening with me… Willingly. I couldn't comprehend it.
"There was this Quileute woman on the beach," he continued, "Sam something. Logan made a comment about you—trying to make fun of me." I wondered, for a fraction of a second, why talk about me would provoke Beau. "And this Sam said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like she meant something more than that. Jules seemed like she knew what the woman was talking about, so I got her alone and kept bugging her until she told me… told me the old Quileute legends."
"And what were those legends? What did Jules Black tell you I was?"
His lips parted, and then he closed his mouth.
"What?" I barely breathed.
"I don't want to say it," he admitted.
"It's not my favorite word, either." I was surprised to find it wasn't so hard to talk about it, now that the truth was out in the open. As long as we kept to the details of the revelation, and not the consequences. "Not saying it doesn't make it go away, though. Sometimes… I think not saying it makes it more powerful."
He hesitated for half a second, and then barely whispered, "Vampire?"
I flinched. Somehow, it was even worse than knowing that he knew, hearing him speak the word out loud.
We drove in silence for another moment as I attempted to arrange my thoughts.
"What did you do then?" I asked finally. He couldn't have decided the evidence was concrete based upon the story alone.
"Oh—um, I did some research on the Internet."
Of course he did. "And that convinced you?"
"No. Nothing fit. Lots of it was really stupid. But I just…" He stopped suddenly. I thought he was just pausing in his speech, but when he didn't continue, I glanced over at him.
"You what?"
"Well, I mean, it doesn't matter, right? So I just let it go." The words tumbled from his lips in a rush, but I caught each one easily.
Surprise stilled my thoughts for half a second, and then it all made sense. Why he'd gone with me tonight, instead of escaping with his friends; why he had gotten in my car with me again after dinner, instead of running for the hills… His reactions were always wrong. He courted danger.
How could I protect someone who was so dead-set against being protected?!
"Um, Edythe—"
"It doesn't matter?" Fury heated my voice. "It doesn't matter?"
"No," he said, "Not to me, anyway."
"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not human?" Enraged tears would have filled my eyes if I'd had the ability to produce them.
"No."
I was coming to the conclusion that the boy wasn't entirely stable.
I began to think of the ways I could arrange care for him. Carine would have good connections, I knew. Something had to be done about this—about his absolute lack of coherency, the absence of his fear in the presence of a vampire. I would watch over him at the whichever facility he was housed in, of course… I would ensure he had the best psychiatrists, the best therapists, the best nurses to oversee his care…
"You're upset," he murmured, "See, I shouldn't have said anything."
I shook my head vehemently. "No," I disagreed, "I'd rather know what you're thinking, even if what you're thinking is insane."
"Sorry."
There it was again!
He stroked my hand slowly, once more, and, inexplicably, his touch calmed me. My skin was warming under his, and it felt surprisingly vitalizing.
"What are you thinking about now?" I wanted to know.
"Um… nothing, really."
I doubted that. "It drives me crazy," I confided, "Not knowing."
"I don't want to… I don't know, offend you."
Aha! He was hiding something. "Spit it out, Beau."
"I have lots of questions," he warned me, "But you don't have to answer them. I'm just curious."
"About what?"
"How old you are."
Ah. And despite all that he knew, and the lack of secrets between us, the answer spilled out of me on auto-pilot. "Seventeen."
Suddenly, I found humor in it. Yes, I was seventeen. I had been seventeen for ninety-three years.
"How long have you been seventeen?" he finally pushed, almost as if he were reading my thoughts. What a reversal that would be…
"Awhile."
His lips pulled up in an unexpected smile. "Okay."
Okay? Okay?!
When I glanced at him, his smile grew, and I again found myself questioning his sanity.
"Don't laugh," he said now, "But how do you come outside in the daytime?"
I laughed anyway. "Myth."
"Burned by the sun?"
"Myth."
"Sleeping in coffins?"
"Myth." I wondered if this would surprise him. Sleep had been absent from my life for such a long time—that is, until the last few nights, as I'd watched Beau dream… "I can't sleep."
He was quiet for a minute.
"At all?"
"Never."
I stared into his eyes, wide and clear under the lush fringe of his lashes, and longed for sleep. Not for oblivion, as I had before, not to escape boredom, but because I wanted to dream. Maybe, if I could be unconscious, if I could dream, I could live for a few hours in a world where he and I could be together. He dreamed of me. I wanted to dream of him.
He stared back at me, his expression full of wonder. I had to look away. I could not dream of him. He should not dream of me.
"You haven't asked me the most important question yet." Something in my chest hardened into a block of ice, determination—resolute and cold. He had to be forced to understand, to see, no matter how much pain it caused me.
"The most important question?" he repeated.
"Aren't you curious about my diet?" My tone turned scathing.
"Oh. That one."
"Yes. That one. Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"
He flinched, and it brought me a sick sense of relief. Finally, he was catching on. "Well, Jules said something about that."
"Did she now?" My tone was still mocking. I couldn't quite control it.
"She said you didn't… hunt people. Your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."
"She said we weren't dangerous?" I highly, highly doubted that. The elders would never tell their children that we posed no threat to them.
"Not exactly," Beau amended, "Jules said you weren't supposed to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."
I focused on the winding road ahead, my thoughts a hopeless, inescapable knot, fiery thirst scorching my throat.
"So, was she right? About not hunting people?"
"The Quileutes have a long memory," I breathed in answer.
He nodded to himself.
"Don't let that make you complacent, though," I warned him, discouraged by his easy platitude, "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous." And I was especially dangerous to him.
"I don't understand," he confessed.
"We… try. We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make… mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."
His scent was still an inexorable cloud in my car, and though the bloodlust was tightly reigned, my body still yearned for his essence. My muscles were still tense, and my mouth swam with venom.
"This is a mistake?" I could hear the hurt in his voice, and as much as it pained me, as much as it gave me hope, it was the truth.
"A very dangerous one."
He was quiet for a very long moment. I listened to the way his breath hitched and nulled in a way that didn't quite sound like fear.
"Tell me more," he begged, and there was a strange anguished heartbreak in his voice. I wanted to soothe it, but I could offer him no words of encouragement.
"What more do you want to know?"
"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," he requested, his voice still thick with unnamed emotion, and when I looked closer, I saw the thin sheen of moisture in his eyes.
This strange turn in his mood startled me.
"I don't want to be a monster," I told him, and the very truth of the words lanced through me. I desired too much to be good enough for this human boy. I wanted so much to be normal, to be human. It was a dream that would never come to fruition.
"But animals aren't enough?" he pushed.
I searched for another analogy he would understand. "I can't be sure, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time… Sometimes it's more difficult than others."
"Is it very difficult for you now?" he asked.
Agh. The very question I did not want to answer. I exhaled in defeat. "Yes." I felt very weak, admitting this.
"But you're not hungry now." His words sounded more like a statement than a question.
"Why do you think that?"
"Your eyes. I have a theory about that." Of course he did. "Seems like the color is linked to your mood—and people are generally crabbier when they're hungry, right?"
I laughed, startled once more by his supreme awareness. "You're more observant than I gave you credit for."
"So everything I thought I saw—that day with the van. That all happened for real. You caught the van."
What was the point in denying it anymore? "Yes."
"How strong are you?"
I glanced at him sideways. "Strong enough." Too strong for you.
"Like, could you lift five thousand pounds?" He sounded strangely enthusiastic now.
"If I needed to. But I'm not much into feats of strength. They just make Eleanor competitive, and I'll never be that strong."
"How strong?" he wanted to know, the zeal still present. I couldn't make sense of it. Shouldn't this frighten him? Instead, he seemed thrilled by it…?
"Honestly, if she wanted to, I think she could lift a mountain over her head. But I would never say that around her, because then she would have to try." I laughed fondly, picturing it in my mind. Eleanor had never backed down from a challenge before, and I didn't think that would change anytime soon.
"Were you hunting this weekend, with, uh, Eleanor?"
"Yes." I hesitated, conflicted over whether to tell him more. But I wanted him to know me. It was a desire difficult to resist, and so I told him the rest. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."
"Why didn't you want to leave?"
Was it not becoming obvious? "It makes me… anxious… to be away from you. I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." I shook my head. No, not completely intact. I remembered his hands. "Well, not totally unscathed."
"What?"
"Your hands."
He looked down at his palms, the nearly healed scrapes across their heels. "I fell," he explained.
"That's what I thought," I murmured, unable to hide my smile. I'd guessed correctly. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that was the possibility that tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Eleanor's nerves."
"Three days?" This seemed to surprise him. "Didn't you just get back today?"
"No, we got back Sunday."
"Then why weren't you in school?" For whatever reason, he sounded… Frustrated.
"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."
"Why?"
"I'll show you sometime." It was easier to demonstrate, rather than to explain. And I found that I didn't really want to explain at the moment. I was anxious about the way he would react.
"You could have told me."
This confused me. "But I knew you were fine."
"Yeah, but I didn't know where you were. I…"
"What?"
"It's going to sound stupid… but, well, it kind of freaked me out. I thought you might not come back. That somehow you knew that I knew and… I was afraid you would disappear. I didn't know what I was going to do. I had to see you again." Heat rose behind his skin.
It became clear, then, that all my wildest imaginings, hopes, had not been quite so off the mark as I'd thought. I was filled with a swirl of emotions—horror, shock, anger… Euphoria, grandiosity, tenderness… This was why it didn't matter to him that I was a monster. This was why he was going against his every instinct—if they were, indeed, intact. In this moment, I realized we were much the same in this. That our quest for right and wrong, for morality, had been thrown to the side for one thing more important—one another.
Beau cared for me, as well.
I realized that it could not compare to way that I loved him—for a human heart could not handle the amount of adoration I held for this human boy—but it was enough that he went against his impulses by sitting here with me. It was enough that he would be hurt if I were to leave him, and never come back. It was too much.
"Edythe, are you okay?" His voice was low, intense with concern, for me.
"Ah," I moaned quietly, "This is wrong."
"What did I say?" He was perplexed.
"Don't you see, Beau?" I begged him to see. "It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." I turned my eyes on him, hoping he would see the desperation in my expression. "I don't want to hear that you feel that way. It's wrong. It's not safe. I'll hurt you, Beau. You'll be lucky to get out alive." Anguish tore through me. Nothing would stop me—I was on a runaway train, helpless to the outcome.
"I don't care," he said.
"That's a really stupid thing to say."
"Maybe," he agreed, "But it's true. I told you, it doesn't matter to me what you are. It's too late."
"Never say that," I snapped, maybe so irritated by the words because, in a way, I believed them to be true on some deep, cellular level. But there was a stronger, more fervent part of me that I knew was strong enough—strong enough to find a way to spare him. "It's not too late. I can put things back the way they were. I will."
He was quiet for another minute, and I could feel the blood rush under his skin in the air between us.
"I don't want things back the way they were."
If I had a heart, it would have torn in two. I had done irreparable damage to this poor boy already. The anguish of this consequence was too much to bear.
"I'm sorry I've done this to you."
I slowed the car as we drifted into the town's boundaries.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked, becoming aware of our whereabouts, recognizing we were almost to his home.
"Do you want to?"
"More than anything else I've ever wanted."
I closed my eyes as equal amounts of ecstasy and affliction tore through me at his words. I figured I might as well enjoy the joy with the pain.
"Then I'll be there," I promised him. And then his heart skipped a beat. Unexpected warmth flooded the empty, hollow cavity where my heart used to lay. "I do have a paper to turn in."
I pulled up in front of the Swan residence, but he didn't move to leave me.
"Save me a seat at lunch?" he asked finally.
I grinned. This was a promise I could keep. "That's easy enough."
"You promise?" His voice was intense again.
"I promise."
We stared at each other for a long, drawn out moment. I was captivated, absolutely enthralled by the wide depth in his eyes—I wanted to stare into those eyes forever, drown myself in them and never resurface. All of the consequences—the two sides of Archie's vision trying to beat their way into my skull—none of that mattered in this singular moment. I watched as Beau's eyes unfocused, drinking in every inch of my inhuman, angular face, as I greedily drank in every inch of his perfection. What did he see there, in my expression? Did he see how different I was, how alien and unusual? Or did he only see the attraction of the predator?
The motion had been gradual, but suddenly, he was very there, very close, his eyes focused on my mouth, and his scent consumed me. For a fraction of a second, I leaned forward, too, led by the unnamed urgency in my body.
All at once, the young ghost of a flutter in my heart—a young girl swooning—turned to impassioned temptation, and I cowered away from it, cutting off my breathing, forcing my body to lock down against the inescapable urge to sate my hunger—whether it was the familiar bloodlust, or the new, strange yearning I had never felt before.
I slid as far away from him in the small space as I could, pressing my back to the driver's side door, and I held my hand up in front of his face in warning.
He jerked back. "Sorry!"
I took a moment to compose myself, and once my body had relaxed, I chided him softly: "You have to be more careful than that, Beau."
His left hand was still on mine, and I reached over with my free hand, closing my fingers around the delicate composition of flesh and muscle and bone, I lifted his wrist and slid my hand out from underneath his.
It was still warm as I drew it to my chest.
Beau folded his arms over his own chest.
I was suddenly eager to leave. My head was swirling with the occurrences just past, and I needed to get my bearings. I warred with the internal oppositions—wanting to stay with him, to be near to him, and wanting him to be safe.
"Maybe—"
"I can do better than that," he interjected. "Just tell me the rules, and I'll follow them. Whatever you want from me."
I sighed. I didn't want anything from him. Hadn't he already sacrificed enough?
"Seriously," he insisted, "Tell me something, and I'll do it."
Ah. There was something. I smiled, satisfied. "All right, I've got one."
Patricia and Charles were well on their way to Seattle by now, no longer a threat, but there were others. The world was not as safe as the humans presumed it was, and it was particularly unsafe for Beau, for whatever reason.
"Yeah?"
"Don't go in the woods alone again."
Shock passed over his expression. "How did you know that?"
Just yesterday, the possibility of being able to confess this had been lost on me. Tonight, it was easy.
I touched the tip of my finger to my nose.
"Really?" Again with the odd enthusiasm, "You must have an incredible sense—"
"Are you going to agree to what I ask or not?" I interrupted him, for he had not promised yet.
"Sure, that one's easy. Can I ask why?"
I frowned and looked out the window, into the deep shadows of the forest bordering the east side of his property. "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shudder. "Whatever you say," he vowed.
I sighed. It was time for him to go, as much as I hated the idea of being away from him, for any length of time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Beau." Or, at least, he would see me tomorrow. I would see him much sooner than that.
He opened the door and began to step out of the car.
"Tomorrow," he said sternly.
Sharp torment it was, to watch him leave.
I yearned to keep him here, just a moment longer.
I leaned across the console.
"Beau?"
He turned and ducked back into the car, and his face was just inches from mine. His sweet, fragrant breath washed over my face, and the same urgency, the same desire that I had not been able to pinpoint, filled me anew.
His heartbeat stuttered.
"Sleep well," I breathed, exhaling my breath into his face, knowing what it would do to him. And then I leaned away before I did something I would regret.
He stayed there for a few seconds, stunned, and then he backed out of the car, clutching the frame—for balance?
I couldn't help but laugh. Although I felt much the same way, my recovery had been much quicker than his.
I watched him stumble to the front door, and then started the engine.
He was safe, in the warm light the front bulb casted across the porch, and I felt his eyes on me as I drove away, down the street.
Regardless of his momentary welfare, I would be back soon, to make sure he stayed that way.
I drove aimlessly up and down the night-darkened streets for hours, trying to make sense of the whirlwind in my mind. So much had taken place this evening, and the emotions were overwhelming me.
I was struck by the incredible relief that came in Beau knowing the truth. I hadn't expected to feel this way, and it was a pleasant surprise. Despite the fact that it 'didn't matter' to him, that he didn't care I was a monster, it was strangely cathartic for me.
But more than the relief, I was overwhelmed by the thought of Beau, and his requited love. I had spent so long torturing myself over the agony of thinking it would not be returned, that I had been alone in my feelings. To know he loved me—not as much as I loved him, but close—had given me the deepest joy I had ever known. I had been alone for nearly a century, always feeling like some part of me was missing, never feeling complete, and now, I had found that missing piece. Beau made me whole.
For a while I allowed myself to focus on that joy—just the joy, without the consequence. Just to feel that wholeness, that all-encompassing joy. To know that he had chosen me above everyone else who had fought for his attention. I allowed myself to imagine how it would be to be able just bask in his presence, day after day, to watch him smile, listen to him talk, to feel his radiating warmth—not only physical, but on more an emotional level. Beau's mental and emotional warmth was, to me, warmer than the sun. The buttery heat of a bright, mid-day sun could not compare to the luxuriant glow I felt when I was in his presence.
I conjured up the image of his face in my mind's eye, replaying his smile again, and again—the faint dimple in his chin, the swimming pools of his eyes, the way his skin had been so warm against my hand tonight…
I didn't realize where my train of thought was leading until it was too late. Suddenly, it wasn't his hand, relaxed, on top of mine, it was his hand clutching my forearm through my jacket; it was the panic on his face, blue eyes shards of terrified ice.
"Drive, Edythe!" he'd shouted desperately, "He's got a gun!"
A low, infuriated snarl ripped through my teeth. And the rage from before, extinguished by the joy of loving Beau, burst into flames anew.
I was glad that I knew Beau was safe where he was, inside the shelter of his home. I was glad for the figure of authority he had in his father—Chief Swan would be able to defend his son against the kinds of humans that had tried to hurt him tonight. But could I let these particular ones go free? Could I allow them to carry on with their savage ways? They had been prepared to murder the object of my love and total devotion, because they'd assumed he'd seen something he insisted he had not. It was absolute insanity. How many other people had they hurt for ridiculous reasons such as this? How many lives had been stolen for absolutely no reason?
Any one of them could have been, and still had the potential to be, someone's Beau.
That thought gave me resolve.
I turned the car north, accelerating smoothly now that I knew where I was going. Whenever I had a dilemma such as this one—something substantial I wouldn't be able to undertake on my own—there was one person I always went to.
Archie was sitting on the porch, waiting for me, staring up at the stars. I put the car in park in front of the house rather than going around to the garage.
"Carine's in her office," he told me without my having to ask.
"Thanks," I said as I passed him.
Thank you for returning my call, he thought darkly.
I paused. "I'm sorry," I said, pulling out my phone and checking my recent calls. "I didn't even check to see who it was. I was… Distracted."
"Yeah," he said dismissively, "I'm sorry, too. By the time I saw what was going to happen, you were gone."
I sighed. "It was close… Too close."
Sorry. The shame was obvious in the tenor of his mental tone, and I turned back to sit beside him on the step for a moment.
I rested my head on his shoulder. It was easy to be gracious when I knew Beau was safe. "Don't be. You can't fix every problem in the world. No one expects you to be that good, Arch." I grinned at him, and knocked his shoulder with mine.
"Yeah." He was still apologetic.
"I thought about asking you to a movie tonight—did you catch that?"
He grinned. "Nope, missed that one too. I would have been there in a heartbeat."
"What had you so distracted that you missed so much?"
He laughed. I'm trying to figure out what Jess is gonna do for our anniversary. She's trying not to make any decisions yet, but I think I have an idea.
I laughed. "You're shameless."
"Yep."
Then he narrowed his eyes at me.
I paid better attention once I caught on to what was happening. Are you going to clue them in that he knows?
I sighed, having already thought of the conundrum that would be. "Yes. But not right now."
I won't tell a soul, he promised, Do me a favor and tell Roy when I'm not around?
I flinched. "You got it."
Beau took it pretty well, he noted.
I groaned, lifting my eyes to the stars, searching for Saturn's rings. "Too well," I whispered.
Archie laughed and wrapped an affectionate arm around my shoulders. Don't underestimate him.
I tried to block the mental image of their friendship out.
Impatient now, I sighed and began to rise. I wanted this next part of the evening over with. But I was a little anxious to leave Forks.
"Archie?" I began to ask, but he was two steps ahead of me.
He'll be good for tonight. I better keep a closer eye on my man. He kind of requires twenty-four seven surveillance, doesn't he?
I rolled my eyes. "At least."
"Anyway." He patted my leg, "You'll be back together soon enough."
I sighed once more, but this time in satisfaction. The words were beautiful to me.
"Go on—get this over with so you can be where you want to be," he urged.
I nodded and headed inside and up the stairs, to Carine's office.
She was waiting for me, eyes on the door rather than on the thick text that lay in front of her on the desk.
"I heard Archie tell you where to find me," she explained, smiling tenderly. It filled her, too, with joy to see me happy after such a long-extended bout of unhappiness.
I felt great relief being here with her, to be able to see the wisdom and the compassion in her eyes. She would have the answers I needed.
She came to me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders—seeing the dilemma in my eyes.
"I need help," I confessed against her shoulder.
She leaned back and appraised my face. "Anything, Edythe," she promised, and the vow was genuine.
"Did Archie tell you what…" My jaw clenched, the rage surging once more. "…Almost happened to Beau tonight?"
Yes.
I let my head hang underneath the weight of the guilt. "I want… Very much… To kill them," I confessed. Carine's hands were on my shoulders, helping me hold up this very black weight. My next words followed in hitching gasps, "But I know that would be wrong, because I want vengeance, not justice. I'm being led purely by anger, there is no objectivity in my thoughts… But still—it can't be right to leave dangerous gang members like that running around! I don't know anyone there, but I can't let them continue to take victims for reasons as ludicrous as the ones they were prepared to kill Beau over tonight. Other people have their own 'Beaus' out there, and they may feel the same way I do. Might suffer what I would have if Beau had been harmed—"
The unexpected wide smile on Carine's face stopped my words.
Oh, Edythe, she mused with tenderness as she pulled me into another hug. He is so very good for you, can't you see? Such compassion, such self-possessiveness… I'm awestruck by your personal growth in the past short while.
I pulled back from her embrace. "I'm not looking for compliments, Carine."
"Of course not," she said, "But I can't help my reactions now, can I?" She smiled softly, holding my face in her hands for another moment. "I'll take care of it. You can rest easy, my child. No one else will be harmed in Beau's place."
I saw the course of action she would take in her mind. It did not hold the same brutality I had wished I could carry out, but I knew, regardless, it was the right thing.
"I'll show you where to find them."
"Let's be on our way, then."
She picked up her black bag on our way out the door. I would have much preferred a more aggressive form of sedation—a cracked skull, perhaps—but I would let Carine do this her way.
We took my car. Archie was still sitting on the step and waved as we drove away. He'd looked ahead for us and had discovered we would encounter no opposition.
The drive back to Port Angeles was very short. I drove with the headlights off, so as not to attract attention. If Beau had been frightened before, how would he react now? I almost smiled at the idea.
Carine was thinking of Beau, too.
I didn't imagine just how well a fit he would be for her. That's unexpected. Perhaps this was somehow meant to be, to serve a higher purpose… Only…
She pictured Beau with snowy white skin, and blood red eyes, and I flinched away from the image.
Yes. Only indeed.
My mood plummeted into blackest night, and again, I was swarmed with the anguish of impossibility. How could I damn someone so pure, and so blameless?
Edythe deserves happiness. She is innately good, though she cannot see it. If only she could see herself the way I see her… I was surprised by the fierceness in Carine's thoughts. There must be a way.
I wished I could believe any of the thoughts she had, but there was no higher purpose. Only cruel circumstance come to steal away everything the boy deserved.
I didn't linger in the small tourist town. Quickly, I located the woman's thoughts—the one who had originally decided Beau would be better off dead—and was glad to find the tall man with the gun was with her, along with the remainder of their accomplices. I took Carine to the scummy bar they were drinking in. She could see how difficult it was for me to be near the people who had wronged me so.
My breathing accelerated, and my fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
Go home, Edythe, Carine urged, Go back to Beau.
These were the only words that could have made it through to me in this moment, through the funneling vortex of rage.
I left her with the car and ran back to Forks in a straight line through the damp, dark forest. The return was faster on foot, and I was scaling the side of Beau's house in no time at all.
I pushed the window out of my way and eased myself into the room.
And everything was how it should be. Beau was asleep in the small bed across the room, his hair awry. He was curled into a ball, though, which was not the usual way he tended to sleep, and as I watched, he shivered, his lips trembling. Hmm. I frowned. He was cold.
I deliberated for a moment, and then stepped silently into the hallway, a part of the house I had never explored before. In the next room, Charlie's snores were loud and steady. He was dreaming, though I couldn't quite make it out… Something about the babble of water, and patient expectation… Fishing, perhaps?
I went to the small linen closet at the top of the stairs and selected the thickest looking blanket, and carried it back into Beau's bedroom.
I held my breath as I draped the extra layer over him, but he didn't react to the added weight, and I settled myself into my usual seat in the corner.
I waited anxiously for his body temperature to come up.
It took about half an hour, but he finally relaxed out of the tight ball he'd been curled into and sighed. His breathing slowed, and sure enough, he began to mumble unintelligibly.
I found myself smiling, satisfied. It was an inconsequential happening, but at least he was more comfortable tonight due to my presence.
"Edythe," he mumbled, and he smiled, too.
I shoved my formerly sour mood aside for the moment, and let joy overtake me once more.
…
A/N: Aww… So sweet….
And now, we return to our previously scheduled programing…!
Holland Roden makes such a perfect Edythe to me (also debating Madeline Petsch from Riverdale, but Holland's face is just a tad… Kinder? Not that I don't think Madeline is a Queeeeeen. She's just a little more severe-looking kind of beautiful. But idk. Aren't vampires all about that 'severe kind of beautiful'?)
Beau, however… Agh. So much trouble. Do I go for SM's pick of Logan Lerman? He just looks too young, or something… Though maybe since last year he's come of age a bit… Or maybe Nate Hill…? Though Nate is just a little too perfect looking, IMO. Dylan Minette is another good choice, I think. From 13 Reasons Why? Yeah. IDK. I'm still deciding.
Leave your opinions in the reviews for me, because, obviously, your girl is struggling!
And as always, leave me some love. I'm sending tons to you, my lovely readers! xo