Hunter

Dang it! I said I would have this up by Friday. Oh, well, I still plan on finishing those last 15,302 words by next Monday.

Here's Chapter 20

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Renée Colt: Journal Excerpt, January 5th, 2010

I've started training a new Hunter. His name is Phil. I'm still not completely sure how it happened.

I went to an anonymous group meeting for people who lost someone they love. I'm still not sure how I ended up there. I saw a poster for it outside a YMCA, so I went inside.

I felt like I was in a dream. There were eight of us, plus the group mediator, a woman with curly brown hair and bright red glasses. She told us the normal bull. Everything we said would be confidential. This was a safe place. No put-downs. I just sort of sat and stared, not really feeling like I was there.

Then we started with our stories. Most of them were awful in their commonness. Cancer, drugs, car accidents. I tuned out the details and just watched, debating whether or not to tell them that my daughter sold her soul to a demon to save my life, and how I sometimes wake up and hear her screaming, begging me to save her.

Then it got to Phil. He looked different than the others. Less put together. His hair hadn't been brushed in what seemed like forever. His clothes were rumpled and stained. The others, apart from me, had made some effort to look presentable.

Not Phil, though.

"You know my story," he said. His voice was flat, unemotional. It grabbed my interest. For the first time since Bella died, I felt like a Hunter.

"Now Phil, we've talked about this," the mediator scolded. "Your girlfriend's suicide had nothing to do with her roommate. Sandy was very ill."

"She was never ill before," he retorted. "Everything started going bad the second she moved in. Don't you think I would have noticed if Sandy was schizophrenic? I knew her for five years and she never displayed any psychotic behaviour until that…woman showed up! I'm studying to be a psychiatrist for God's sake! Don't you think I would have known?"

"Mental illness isn't always obvious, Phil," the mediator explained, trying to placate him. "Many schizophrenics, especially in the early years of their illness, can hide their symptoms for months, or even years before it gets away from them. And remission is not entirely uncommon in young adults. She could have had episodes earlier in life."

"NO! There was no history! There were no earlier episodes! On Monday she was completely mentally stable, and by Friday…" He trailed off, clenching his fists. "Why am I even talking to you? You never listen."

"What did the autopsy say?" It took me a minute to realize that I was the one who spoke.

"She slit her wrists," Phil answered. "Cause of death was severe haemorrhaging."

"Anything unusual?"

He looked up at me with haunted eyes. "Like what?"

I leaned forward in my chair. "You know, strange marks on her body, like a small hole on the back of her neck, abnormal dopamine levels."

"Excuse me, miss?" the mediator said, sounding annoyed. "This is grief counselling, not a detective agency."

"I don't know anything about strange marks," Phil replied, ignoring her, "but her dopamine levels were abnormal."

"Abnormal dopamine levels are perfectly normal in schizophrenic individuals on anti-psychotics," the mediator argued, baring her teeth at us.

"Anti-psychotics suppress dopamine," Phil argued back. "Hers was elevated. Extremely elevated, now that I think about it."

"That's it!" the mediator stood up and pointed a shaking finger at the door. "Both of you - out! I will not have this turn into a - a…" She couldn't seem to think of anything nasty enough to say. "I suggest the both of you check yourselves into the nearest hospital for some professional help."

I laughed in her face, suddenly feeling as if I was channelling Bella as I quipped, "And what do you call this? Unprofessional help?"

The mediator turned bright red as some of the other group members laughed in surprise. She threatened to call the police, so Phil and I made tracks. I'd left my car back at the hotel, but Phil offered to give me a ride. I accepted. If things went downhill, I could always shoot him.

"So," I began, "does this roommate have a name?"

"Karla Gilchrist. She's a nurse at the psychiatric hospital where Sandy ki-…passed away."

"Have there been a lot of suicides there recently?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Well, it's a psychiatric hospital. The mentally ill are at a much higher risk of suicide than the unaffected populace."

"That's not an answer."

"There have been…six…since December."

"Since Karla came to town?" I clarified.

"Yes." He looked puzzled.

"And how many were there beforehand? On average."

"Maybe…two or three…a year. It's a good hospital. The doctors there have helped a lot of people."

"But not Karla, you don't think."

He looked at me, confusion and panic in his eyes. "I don't know what's going on," he answered. He looked so lost.

"I think Karla did something to her patients - Sandy too - and I think we should do something about it."

Phil pulled into the hotel parking lot. "What are you suggesting? That she drugged them? Or that she…"

"I think she did both."

He shook his head. "This is crazy."

"No, what's crazy is that a perfectly healthy young woman had a complete psychotic breakdown in less than a week, and a hospital's suicide rate has skyrocketed! For Christ's sake, Phil! It's a myth that more people kill themselves near the holidays. All the celebrations give them hope."

I didn't know why I was getting so into this. I'd spent Christmas morning holed up in a hotel room with a bottle of whisky. I didn't think I had any hope left.

"So, you think Karla gave Sandy something that mimicked the symptoms of schizophrenia, and then killed her? Why?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe she didn't. Maybe I'm wrong and Miss Unprofessional was right. Still, it's worth looking into."

I managed to convince Phil to bring me to the hospital the next day. Students came and went all the time, so nobody gave us a second glance after Phil showed the secretary his student card.

Phil led me to the autopsy room. There was a new body from yesterday. That made seven suicides in less than forty days.

The coroner had already checked it out. The girl, Wendy, was only eighteen. Her dopamine levels were also elevated, as well as her serotonin and nor-epinephrine. I felt around her hairline until I found a small puncture wound just below her ear. I grabbed a five-inch long cotton swab and prodded the wound. The hole went all the way through to her brain.

With Phil guarding the door, I sent a silent apology to the beautiful dead girl and carved the top of her skull off with the coroner's electric saw. Once I was done, I reached inside and pulled out Wendy's brain.

It was dry and shrivelled, not at all like a brain would look after one night of decomposition. Phil walked in then, saw the brain, and barely kept himself from throwing up. "Someone's coming!" he gasped, still retching.

I put Wendy's skull back on and prayed it would hold. We left the hospital in a hurry. Phil was upset.

"What the hell is going on? And don't give me any bull! There's no drug on the market that can make a brain turn into…that!"

I don't know why I told him. I've always been so good at spinning stories. But he just looked so lost, so afraid, and so desperate for answers. I couldn't deny him this.

"It's a wraith," I told him. "They're kind of like doppelgangers. They mimic human forms, though their reflections reveal what they truly are. They feed off of the chemicals found in brains. Dopamine, serotonin. If they get close enough, they can inject you with a poison that makes you produce more of these chemicals. As the poison spreads, you start seeing things, becoming paranoid, getting dizzy spells…easy pickings. All it has to do then is suck the brain dry."

Phil watched me very carefully, not speaking.

"The only way to kill a wraith is with silver. Bullets are good. Knives work better."

"You're crazy."

"I'm a Hunter. I've been fighting things like this for a long time, Phil. Trust me. I'm not crazy, but if you stick around Karla too long, you might be. And then you'll be dead."

I don't know how or why I convinced him to help me take her out, but we did.

I didn't expect him to ask to stay with me. I don't know why I let him come.

Maybe I'm just lonely.

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Edward's POV

I think I knew - even before I smelled her blood, and sensed Jasper's thoughts go wild with hunger - that my happiness couldn't last much longer.

I stopped breathing, but Jasper was too new in this life to do the same. I heard him struggle internally for just a second, and then he lost himself in the scent.

I shoved Bella back - too hard, but there was no time to be gentle - and stood in front of her protectively. Jasper was a skilled fighter, but I knew his every move before he even made it. I pushed him back, sending him crashing into my piano. I felt momentarily anguished at losing something so important to me, but it was worth it.

Jasper launched himself back to his feet and charged. Carlisle reached out to grab him, but he ducked under his outstretched arms. Emmett was larger, more difficult to avoid. He gripped our out-of-control brother by the wrists and pulled him back. Carlisle grabbed his other arm to help. Alice rushed up to her lover and grasped his face in her dainty hands. "Jazz, Jazz, it's okay; it's just a little…blood."

We all turned slowly to look at Bella. Her eyes were shut tightly. She held her right arm to her chest, and I saw tiny pieces of glass embedded in it. Blood dripped from the wounds, soaking her jeans. She was trembling, but not with fear.

Her knife - the one that she always carried on her, the one that could cut through vampire flesh as though it was hot butter - was levitating in front of her face as she sat sprawled on the carpet. It jerked midair, as if pulled by invisible strings.

"Edward," she moaned, and she sounded scared. "Get out of here. I can't hold it back." She tensed, and the knife shot forward a few inches, almost too fast for even my eyes to follow. "I don't want to hurt you guys." There were obvious signs of pain on her face, and as I watched in horror, blood started dripping from her nose.

That was Carlisle's cue. He rushed toward her and plucked the knife out of the air, seeming to struggle for a second. Bella let out a gasp and folded into herself. Her head rested on her knee, and I was fleetingly worried by her flexibility. Had she broken something? A rib? Her spine?

Carlisle looked up at me. "Edward, get Jasper out of here. I'll look after her."

I fought the instinct to stay, knowing that every second I spent near her made me more likely to attack.

For what seemed like the millionth time, I envied Carlisle and his perfect control. There he was, inches from veins throbbing with blood, and all his thoughts were centered on how to help.

I helped Emmett push Jasper out the door. Esme and my sisters followed behind. If Alice wasn't a vampire, she would have cried. Once away from the smell, Jasper regained his senses. I couldn't feel any hate for my brother, despite his actions. Hadn't I once wanted to do the same? Even now a small, feral part of me wanted to go back inside and-

Jasper wasn't the only one who needed to hunt. We avoided looking at each other as we went into the woods in search of prey.

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Bella's POV

"How bad is it?" I asked Carlisle once everyone else cleared the room. My eyes were still shut. I didn't want to risk opening them, not when I could feel my horrible power straining to get out.

God, I could've killed one of them.

"Not too bad, I don't think," he reassured me. "I just need to get the glass out, but you'll need stitches."

I took a deep breath. "I can do it at home."

"I'd prefer to do it, actually."

I finally got up the courage to open my eyes. When the room didn't immediately burst into flames, I relaxed. "I really can do it. I've been doing stitches for years."

"And I've been doing them for centuries," he retorted, not unkindly. "Please, Bella." He took my hand and helped me to my feet.

Once we were in his office, he began picking out the glass slivers with tweezers. "What did I hit?" I asked, indicating to the glass.

"Just a vase of flowers." Carlisle finished plucking the glass out and began dabbing the cuts with medicated gauze. I was barely aware of the faint sting.

"How do you do it?" I asked, amazed at how easy it was for him to be near my blood.

"Years and years of practice," he said with a smile.

"Did you ever think of just…doing it the easy way?"

"No, I knew who I wanted to be. I wanted to help people." It was hard to judge the truth of his words. Vampires moved so quickly, even their facial expressions were hard to keep up with. But, I felt that he was sincere. "It brings me happiness, even if I am damned, regardless."

Whoa! Back up!

"Damned?" I asked, feeling my heart start to pound. "Like…hell?" He didn't answer, just continued stitching up my arm. "Carlisle, you couldn't be damned. You're too…" I couldn't think of the right way to put it. "You try very hard to make up for something that was never your fault," I finally said. "What I mean is, it's not like you asked for this. You didn't choose this kind of life, and yet you have to work so hard to be good."

"Thank you, Bella," he replied. "But I don't know if I'm making up for anything," he disagreed lightly. "Like everything in life, I just had to decide what to do with what I was given."

"You sound like my mom," I told him. "Honestly, you sound like me." My nose wrinkled. "Oh, man, it's true. You really do turn into your parents."

"I don't think so," he contradicted, catching my interest. "I think we take what lessons we can from our parents and try to adjust them to what we feel is right for us. I'm glad I didn't turn into my father, but I'm also very glad for the things he taught me."

I kept silent, waiting for him to explain.

"I didn't agree with my father's particular brand of faith. But never, in the nearly four hundred years now since was born, have I ever seen anything to make me doubt whether God exists in some form or the other. Not even the reflection in the mirror."

I looked down, remembering my outburst about God from that first time I'd eaten lunch in this house. I felt a little ashamed.

"I'm sure all this sounds a little bizarre, coming from a vampire." He grinned. "But I'm hoping that there is still a point to this life, even for us. It's a long shot, I'll admit," he continued in an offhand voice. "By all accounts, we're damned regardless. But I hope, maybe foolishly, that we'll get some measure of credit for trying."

"I don't think that's foolish," I said fiercely. "People's intentions are important. Someone who kills in self-defence is a helluva lot better than someone who kills just because they like hurting people. Hell, I've committed dozens of acts of identity fraud. I have unregistered weapons. I've broken into people's houses. I've dug up graves and torched corpses. Any judge who heard that would send me straight to jail, but if they knew why I was doing it - to save lives - then maybe they would understand."

He smiled at me. "You're the very first one to agree with me on this."

"The rest of them don't feel the same?" I asked, surprised, thinking of only one person in particular.

Carlisle guessed the direction of my thoughts again. "Edward's with me up to a point. God and heaven exist…and so does hell…as you obviously know." His eyes flicked uncomfortably to my face, judging my reaction. I didn't let anything bad show, and he continued. "But he doesn't believe there is an afterlife for our kind." His voice was very soft. "You see, he thinks we've lost our souls."

I sniffed. "Well, I hate to burst his bubble, but you need a soul to go to hell too. Doesn't he know that I traded mine for Renée?"

He looked disturbed for just an instant, but then his face relaxed. "Perhaps we don't know as much as we think we do. You have much more experience with things like this. Still, it's hard to change Edward's mind. He's stubborn, like his mother."

I blinked. "His mother?" I asked, suddenly fascinated.

"Yes. Her name was Elizabeth. Elizabeth Masen. His father, Edward Senior, never regained consciousness in the hospital. He died in the first wave of the influenza. But Elizabeth was alert until almost the very end. Edward looks a great deal like her. She had that same strange bronze shade to her hair, and her eyes were exactly the same color green."

"His eyes were green?" I murmured, trying to picture it. I couldn't, nor could I picture him with peach skin, and soft, human features.

"Yes…" Carlisle's ochre eyes were a hundred years away now. "Elizabeth worried obsessively over her son. She hurt her own chances of survival trying to nurse him from her sickbed. I expected that he would go first, he was so much worse off than she was. When the end came for her, it was very quick. It was just after sunset, and I'd arrived to relieve the doctors who'd been working all day." His voice grew with frustration. "That was a hard time to pretend - there was so much work to be done, and I had no need of rest. How I hated to go back to my house, to hide in the dark and pretend to sleep while so many were dying."

I flinched with empathy, suddenly remembering the phone call from this morning. I'd forgotten about it - nearly getting eaten by a vampire could do that to you - but now I couldn't get it out of my head. People were dying, and I was just sitting here. At least Carlisle had a reason for hiding. I was just being selfish.

"I went to check Elizabeth and her son first," Carlisle continued, oblivious to my self-loathing. "I'd grown attached - always a dangerous thing to do considering the fragile nature of humans. I could see at once that she'd taken a bad turn. The fever was raging out of control, and her body was too weak to fight anymore."

I tried to picture what it was like for him, knowing that one day, every human he knew would be dead, and he would still be here. Then I realized I knew exactly what the first part felt like, everyone did in their own way. The second part - living forever - it frightened me, but at the same time thrilled me.

"She didn't look weak, though, when she glared up at me from her cot.

"Save him!' she commanded me hoarsely.

"I'll do everything in my power,' I promised her, taking her hand. The fever was so high, she probably couldn't even tell how unnaturally cold mine felt. Everything felt cold to her skin.

"You must,' she insisted, clutching at my hand with enough strength that I wondered if she wouldn't pull through the crisis after all. Her eyes were hard, like stones, like emeralds. She muttered something about a man who'd promised to help Edward, and called him a liar. Perhaps another doctor, or a hallucination. It was so hard to tell. She was just so sick."

"She told me, 'You must do everything in your power. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward."

"It frightened me. She looked at me with those piercing eyes, and, for one instant, I felt certain that she knew my secret. Then the fever overwhelmed her, and she never regained consciousness. She died within an hour of making her demand."

I felt a rush of sympathy for Edward's mother. She gave everything she had to protect Edward, even her life. Just like I would.

"I'd spent decades considering the idea of creating a companion for myself. Just one other creature who could really know me, rather than what I pretended to be. But I could never justify it to myself - doing what had been done to me."

"So, you decided to save Edward," I finished.

He nodded. "After all those years of indecision, I simply acted on a whim. I wheeled his mother to the morgue first, and then I came back for him. No one noticed that he was still breathing. There weren't enough hands, enough eyes, to keep track of half of what the patients needed. The morgue was empty - of the living, at least. I stole him out the back door, and carried him across the rooftops back to my home. I wasn't sure what had to be done. I settled for recreating the wounds I'd received myself, so many centuries earlier in London. I felt bad about that later. It was more painful and lingering than necessary."

"I wasn't sorry, though. I've never been sorry that I saved Edward." He shook his head, coming back to the present. He smiled at me. "I suppose I should take you home now."

I shook my head. "I need to talk to Edward. Calm him down." I smiled distantly, staring at the bowl of bloody gauze. "He's too protective of me."

"Only because you're the most important thing in the world to him."

I rolled my eyes. "Stop it, Doc, you're making me blush."

"Bella?"

I turned and saw Edward by the office door. His face was tight, eyes bright gold. He'd gone hunting.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking pointedly at my bandaged arm.

I pulled my sleeve over it and shrugged my leather jacket on. "Top of the food chain, Superman. Now, I believe you owe me some fries…since, you know, my cake is totally ruined," I taunted light-heartedly.

"I don't think anything's open right now," Edward said, gesturing to the window. It was getting dark out, and, unfortunately, small towns rarely had 24-hour diners.

"Damn! I guess I'll have to take a rain check. Will tomorrow work for you?" I asked.

He nodded stiffly and walked away. I stared, a little surprised, and then gave Carlisle a sideways glance.

He shrugged back at me, then motioned to the bowl full of bloody gauze. I nodded in response, and started following Edward outside as Carlisle set the gauze on fire.

Happy birthday to me.

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Not too bad of a chapter. I took a lot of it from the book, but I added in a little extra something. See if you can find it. Virtual cookies if you can guess what it means.

Bye, everyone, I'm going to go relax.