Chapter Two

1 "Bella, please step away from the mirror, take a moment, and calm down!" Edward's clanging, scraping voice – dear Lord, he sounded as if he were speaking into a tin funnel from a hundred miles away – was imperious. He clearly was willing her to do as she was told, there was no mistaking that tone. This rang a bell, somehow, and made her feel like punching someone out. "All is well. You just need to-"

"No!" Her fist collided with the gilded monstrosity that was this goddamn mirror. What idiot had thought that she would want to see this hideous monster she'd become? That she would want to be like this? Never like this!

The glass shattered into a million pieces, raining down on her impervious, hard skin. It felt as if she were being pelted with foam plastic. From outside the room, this awful, damned, stifling dump of a fricking room, she heard voices shouting, and suddenly, it all crashed back down on her, all the noises, the chaos, the swirling maelstrom of everything pounding down on her senses at once. Edward yelled again, Jacob's voice was somewhere in there, too, but this was all too much. It was all too goddamn much; she couldn't take it anymore.

Desperate, Bella pressed the heels of her hands to her ears, spun around, ran, and jumped – straight through the closed window. Crashing through the thick glass didn't hurt; it was as painful as brushing twigs against her skin. The ground came flying up to meet her; she shielded her face and collided with the lawn with a big, dull thump. It took her only a second to shake off her confusion. She scrambled up, blinking, trying hard to focus, to make sense of the world around her. Quick as lightning, she climbed out of the hole her body had left in the soft earth, pressed her rubbery, alien lips together, and broke into a run, stumbling and veering left and right like a drunk as she did so. It didn't matter where she was running. She needed to get away from that room, from this house, from all these people. She needed to get away from that thing she'd seen in the mirror. She needed to run.

She crashed into trees, breaking off branches and ripping that ridiculously stupid dress to ribbons, stumbled, fell, and ran again. After a moment or two, she splashed into water – a river. This invoked familiarity in her; there'd been a river before, and she remembered it. She remembered it. Everything that she remembered from before was a good thing. It made her recall somewhat what it felt like to be an actual, real person again, instead of a hollow, undead, revolting thing.

The water splashing her feet and calves made her stop. She breathed in deeply, even though her body did not need it and it brought no relief. A second later, she forced herself to relax her tensed-up muscles and opened her eyes. Immediately, she was pummelled by a thousand different images trying to be the focus of her attention. Groaning, she squinted, concentrated, and managed to zoom in on the water flowing over her naked, disgusting and stony feet. It felt warm and soft, almost silky to the touch. A little smile curved up the corners of her lips. It vanished a split second later, though, when she made out the sound of pursuing feet.

No. Oh, no, she was not going to go back, look at their weird, monstrous faces, let it all overwhelm her, drive her insane – not yet. She needed to be alone, at least for a while. With no hesitation, she stepped out of the river, walked backwards, ran, and launched herself across, firmly believing that she'd land face-first in the middle of the stream. Surprisingly, she flew wide, far across the water, and crashed noisily into a huge cedar tree. The tree groaned and swayed, but didn't fall. Bella clung to it with arms and legs, eyes shut. When she didn't fall off, she ventured to look again. The sight of it all gave her vertigo: she was at least five metres above the ground. The running steps behind her came closer. Trying not to think too much, she placed her naked feet on a thick branch below her, crouched, steadied herself, and jumped again.

This time, she was better prepared and didn't crash into the earth quite as clumsily as before. She gnashed her teeth together, pushed herself to her feet, and dashed off into the woods. If there was one thing that she remembered from before, from when she'd still been alive, it was that new-born vampires where both stronger and faster than their older counterparts. She may be a clumsy, useless wreck, but if she had an advantage, she was certainly going to press it.

As she moved through the forest, weaving between the trees, jumping over roots that jotted out of the ground, evading and flying and leaping, she felt as good as she ever could remember feeling. Her vision was focussed, her hearing was filtering out individual noises and not trying to make sense of everything at once. She was starting to get a feel for this weird, stony thing she was now trapped in. Two or three times, she tripped over her feet and crashed into the ground, or bounced off a tree, but nothing tragic. None of these things could hurt her anymore, at least not if she simply ran into them like a right moron.

Running and zooming, listening and filtering, she pushed on; it was taxing, but rewarding. The forest was teeming with life, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen: leaves glistening with moisture, finely-textured tree-barks that displayed the most complex mosaic patterns, insects buzzing through the air, squirrels scurrying away, hiding from the approaching predator, sunbeams filtered through the foliage. Could this be a good thing? Could there actually be something good about being this thing she had let them turn her into? Was there some degree of peace to be found? Maybe. It was enough to spark the smallest flame of hope inside of her.

As she was working hard to not lose focus, she didn't keep track of the minutes she was on the run, but from moment to moment, she grew more comfortable at it, better, more skilled, more-

She collided with a huge tree she had no name for, face-first. With a loud bonk, she hit it, bounced back, landed heavily on her butt. The world spun, and for a few seconds, everything threatened to become too much again, but luckily, she managed to get her senses under control once more. When she put her mind to it, she heard that her pursuers were relatively far off, that she had gained nicely on them despite crashing through the forest like a doped triceratops. Gingerly, she rose to her feet, not daring to look down at herself. She could feel the air touching her alien skin, and she didn't want to look and down and see…

…and see…

Dear God, what was that heavenly scent? It was…faint in the air, mingling with all the other smells of the forest, the earthy, green, musky, leafy ones. No, this one was different. Bella closed her eyes and focussed, forced herself to concentrate on her senses, to zero in on that weak, beautiful smell that stood out amongst all others like the finest aroma imaginable. Ah, there it was, suddenly so strong, so pervasive, she wondered how she hadn't noticed it sooner. This was the best, most appetising thing she had ever breathed in. It was rich, strong, metallic, sweet and salty at the same time. It was…there was no describing its unique, tantalising richness, its inherent perfection, the life it carried, the relief it promised.

It was blood, being pumped through human veins by human hearts.

Thirst flared in her throat, sudden and burning and scorching, tearing and clawing at her throat, her mouth, her entire body. The forest became irrelevant. All that was left was that smell, that otherworldly, wonderful, perfect scent – and her thirst. She licked her rubber lips with her rubber tongue, clenched her fists, and broke into a run, not even thinking about it. There was fresh blood in the vicinity, and she was thirsty. Oh God, was she thirsty.

2 It was all she could hear: dun-dun, dun-dun, dun-dun. Hearts beating, pumping blood, the sound of it wet and rich and so alive. Every second Bella stayed away from the source of that sound, of that scent, the red-hot agony in her throat got worse, until it felt as if her insides were blistering and cracking and boiling. Her tongue lay heavy in her parched mouth. All of her body was in pain, and it was only getting worse. Memories of her transformation surfaced, plaguing her with how fresh, how crystal-clear they were: her body decomposing, burning, splitting, breaking, dying. A shadow of that pain flooded her head, her limbs, her mind. She was dehydrated, starved, needing wanting craving dear Lord needed to have to get to drink to soothe alleviate quench break kill.

She found them in a small clearing by a bubbling creek: four beating hearts in four bodies pervaded by veins, running with warm, flowing, living blood. The scent was strong now, so unbelievably strong, she couldn't satiate the fire in her throat soon enough. It all happened very quickly: one of the bodies made a noise. Speech? Didn't matter. They stared at her out of huge eyes. Didn't matter, either. Nothing mattered except the thirst and the pain and the blood calling out to her, screaming her name, waiting to be taken, consumed, eradicated.

Bella curled her upper lip back, and her fangs protruded from her gums, above her teeth, big and crooked and yellow and gleaming with whitish-pink venom, reeking of sweet decay. There was screaming. She grabbed one of the bodies – the biggest, meatiest one – sank her fangs into its soft flesh, and drank greedily. It was like heaven. Warm blood gushed into her mouth, down her gullet, seemingly filling up every crevice of her leached and drained self. The living body struggled, but it might as well have been trying to wrestle a rock. It was empty soon enough. She dropped it, sought out the others.

One of the bodies pointed something metallic at her – a gun, it was a gun – and fired. The bullet pelted her abdomen, but did no damage. She heard herself snarl. She leapt, landed on top of the shooter, drank it – drank it dry, tore at it, revelled in the power she had, in how easy it was to break destroy end eat drink kill. Still, her thirst was not quenched. Licking her teeth and the protruding fangs with her rubber tongue, she felt light, high, thrilled, exhilarated. Not ever had she experienced something this exciting, this riveting, this satisfying. The two other bodies tried to run, screaming, but they were no match for her. She caught them both, feeling so fast and strong and powerful and eternal, so above all and everything. She ripped their skins open, clamped her mouth over their pulsating jugulars, buried her fingernails in their limbs, clawed at them, let their screams fade off into the forest.

Finally, all the bodies were drained, dumped lifelessly onto the rich, dark earth, contorted, expressions of horror now forever stamped onto their dead faces. Bella stood in the middle of their camp, dishevelled and bloody and feral, her head spinning and her body filled with glorious life. The thirst was quenched, the burning was gone. She was full, sated, satisfied. For the first time since she could remember, she felt complete, she felt good, she felt like she owned this body she now occupied…she felt alive. Raising her face to the sky, she breathed in the smell of the forest, felt the breeze cooling her warmed skin, felt the soft ground below her naked feet. She raised her arms, closed her eyes, and laughed like she hadn't thought she would ever able to laugh again.

This distracted, she didn't even hear the steps approaching her, as her pursuers finally caught up.

"Too late," a voice said, cool and nonchalant.

Bella was dragged out of her frenzy. She spun around to the source of the voice, blinked, focussed, saw the thing that was Edward watching her with an impassive expression she didn't know how to interpret. With him were others, but it was so hard to look at them and see them without allowing it all to crash down upon her brain again. The dizzying feeling of elation puffed out of her, like air out of a punctured balloon. She let her arms hang by her side, slumped her shoulders, blinked again.

"Oh, God, Bella, what have you done?"

The sound of Jacob's voice, the unmistakeable horror in his tremulous voice, the… the disgust, if that's what it was, it made her snap out of it completely. Feeling as if she were waking up from the deepest sleep, she slowly looked down at herself. The moronic dress someone had dolled her up with was in tatters, barely covering anything, and it was stained with earth and drenched in…

…drenched in blood. All of her was, in fact. She could feel sticky moisture on her face. Carefully, gingerly, she raised one stony hand and wiped her weird rubber lips. When she raised her hand to her eyes, it was smeared with glistening red. The stuff was inside her mouth, too, tasting metallic and wonderful, still.

She couldn't panic. How could she call what was going on with her panic, if there was no elevated heartbeat, no adrenaline surge, no cotton mouth, no nausea, no hyperventilation, no…anything? She was a walking corpse, an undead thing, an unholy, disgusting, hideous abomination that had shed all that had once made her unique, that had once made her human. Up until now, she had not grasped what that really meant. The agony building up inside her, the mounting terror of her conscious, rational mind catching up with reality, it all slowed her down, froze her in place, stopped time. Edward, Jacob, and two others she dared not try to zoom in on were standing there in absolute silence, watching her, waiting for…she had no clue. She had no clue about anything anymore.

Finally, she made herself shake off her lethargy and very slowly, very carefully looked around to inspect her surroundings. What she saw made her want to be able to feel sick, made her want to be able to flip out in hysterics and pass out, made her want to be able to weep. All around her were the bodies of the four people she had killed. No, she hadn't just killed them. She hadn't just sucked them dry. She had ripped them apart. All around her were body parts, torn off and strewn about carelessly: an arm here, a leg, a torso, a…a head. There was the ripped-off head of a woman, her eyes glazed over and wide in obvious horror, her mouth perpetually open in a soundless scream. The skin at her throat was ragged, hanging off in shreds.

Dear God, she had chewed a woman's head off. She hadn't just killed them. She hadn't just eaten them. She had torn them to pieces. People. Living, breathing people. Dead now. In shreds, thrown on the ground like garbage. Gone, as if they'd never existed.

"Stay calm, Bella," Edward said slowly, calmly. "It's all right. Everything is going to be fine."

"How can you say that?" she whispered, wanting, willing her voice to be shaky, to carry some of the dread that was spreading throughout her like poison.

Her body betrayed none of her terror, though. She could speak normally, move normally. Worst of all, she felt physically fine. Her thirst was sated. It was as if someone had charged her batteries; she was wired, vibrant, buzzing with energy. In fact, she hadn't felt this at ease in her new skin even once before now. How could this be? How could she be responsible for such destruction, for such pain, for ending four human lives, and feel good inside her body? Dear God, what had happened to her? She didn't just look like a monster: she was one.

"It won't be okay. It will never be okay again," she said slowly, tonelessly, and locked eyes with Jacob, wished she could make sense of the expression on his face, wished she could cry. "I killed them. I'm a murderer. I'm a monster."

"No, Bella," Edward said, taking a step forward.

Her head snapped to the side abruptly, and she focussed on him. It was still hard to get used to how strange and inhuman he looked, how repulsive, but frankly, right now, she couldn't care less. Fighting against the physical stupor that stood in stark contrast to what she knew she should be feeling was taxing enough.

"Yes," she countered sharply, flinching at the brassy quality of her hated voice – the thing's voice. But what was she now? Not Bella Swan trapped in the body of a monster. She was the monster, soulless and inhuman, a blight upon the earth, a mockery of creation. No wonder Edward thought that vampires had no soul. "Look at this, goddamn you! Look at it and tell me that it isn't monstrous!"

"Bella, you have to stay calm," a different voice said, equally tinny, equally not human. "It's very important that you not panic. Everything will be all right."

At once, something very odd happened: calm washed over her, warm and fuzzy and pleasant, taking the edge off the sharp anguish she wanted so desperately to be able to express. What was this? What was happening? She looked at the owner of the new voice, at his odd, scarred face, and was able to connect a name to it: Jasper. That rang a bell, too, didn't it? More warmth and cottony indifference spread throughout her body, and she remembered. Wanting to get mad made no never mind to her stupid brain, though, which simply refused to obey her commands.

"You're brainwashing me," she said, unable to take her eyes off his mangled face. It looked terrifying, taken apart and sown back together – a mesh of dozens of scars, big and small, criss-crossing every free inch of his skin. Frankenstein's monster, her thoughts whispered. Put back together from dead body parts, animated and cursed. Like me. "Stop it."

"It's going to be okay, Bella," Jasper said, raising his hands, his palms outstretched.

Bella wasn't sure what this was supposed to mean, what the hell he wanted her to respond, how she was meant to react to this gesture, and the irritation of her cluelessness pierced through the involuntary mellowness like a hot poker through infected flesh. "I don't want it to be okay," she said slowly and sluggishly. Dang it. This was ridiculous. "Stop doping me up. I don't want this. I don't want to feel okay about…about this." She pointed at the severed head. "I did this – me. I killed them." Another deep breath confirmed that this gesture, too, was hollow, that it brought no relief. "I killed them."

"Everyone stop for a minute." The voice was warm, organic, alive – Jacob. She heard his steps approaching and stood still. When his big, warm hands took her by the shoulders and gently turned her around to face him, she did not resist. "Bella, please look at me." Hesitantly, she did. "You need to get away from here, from this, from anywhere you might run into people. You have to pull yourself together, come with us, and stay calm. Anything else would just make it all worse."

"Make it worse?" She stared at him in disbelief. "I killed four people! It doesn't get any-"

"Yes, it does. It can get a whole lot worse, maybe not for your guilt, but for all those people you could rip to pieces. This isn't about you; it's about them. I'm trying to minimise human loss, not cater to your ego." His voice was trembling, as were his hands. This was fury, wasn't it? It must be; she recognised it.

"I…" She trailed off, unsure of what to think, to say, to feel. "What happens here?"

"We'll take care of it," Edward said. The contrast between his strange, hollow voice and Jacob's warm and living one was egregious. "Don't worry about it."

Was that right? That couldn't be the right thing to do – it couldn't. "But," she started, fighting in vain against Jasper's unwanted manipulations, "their families, the police…" The police. That word, that concept, it triggered something in her, something stronger than a vampire's supernatural Valium. A memory surfaced, bright as day and sharp as a knife: a man with kind eyes, smiling, picking her up and planting a kiss on her cheek. His moustache had tickled her, and she'd giggled. It was a good memory. It reminded her of being able to love. "My dad. Oh, God, where's my dad? What happened to" – She hesitated, had to concentrate, to rip through the surface with metaphorical fingernails and dig the name out of the jumbled fragments of her human past – "to Charlie?"

"One thing after the other," Jacob said, giving her shoulders a little squeeze. He took a couple of deep breaths. They seemed to soothe him. That was good – probably. "First things first, though: we need to take care of this mess. We need to get you-"

"You should kill me." She looked him straight in the eye, saw his pupils widening, didn't know what that meant. Holy crow, was that frustrating! "You…you're not human. You're one of those things that kill things like me. You're meant to kill me, Jacob. You hate me."

Something happened to his expression: the frown disappeared, he closed his eyes for a second, pressed his lips together. Even his shoulders slumped a bit. "I wish I could," he said lowly, "but that ship has sailed. It doesn't matter anymore. I couldn't kill you, even if I wanted to. Please, Bells, come with me. I'll take you back to Castle New Money."

"Hey, watch it, Old Yeller!" a fourth voice said. This one was familiar, too, rough and deep and, it seemed, good-natured. Was that right? That couldn't be right. Who in the hell could be amused by all this ghastly horror? "That's my family's tasteful home you're bashing."

"Eat me, jockstrap," Jacob returned, not taking his eyes off Bella's. "Come on, let's go."

She shook her head curtly. "I am not going back into that horrible room!"

"You don't have to," Jacob said, staring down at her intently, "but you need to come with me, now. We'll talk about this later."

"You and Jasper take her," Voice Number Four boomed. Thankfully, its owner was standing behind Bella, now; otherwise, she would not have been able to resist trying to focus her vision on him, Jacob, and Jasper, all at once. He just sounded so strangely light-hearted. "Wardo and I'll clean up the mess. We'll discuss the magnitude of our fuck-up later, and yes, this is on all of us. Not even you could contest that, eh, Wardo?"

"Don't call me that," Edward snapped.

"Whatever you say, bro. Dog-boy, you copacetic?"

"No, but screw it. Bella?"

She looked down at her feet, those ugly, repulsive, inhuman feet, and heaved an unnecessary sigh. "Okay."

More slowly than before, they made their way back to the Cullen residence. Judging by the position of the sun, it was still early in the morning, but it felt as if this day had already lasted a hundred years. Too much had happened; too much had been irreparably broken.