A/N: There are references to Lovecraft's work, the Terminator, My Little Pony, and He-Man in this chapter.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
1 June woke up Jerry, her cameraman and editor, by knocking crisply on his motel room door. When he opened the door with a sour look on his pillow-marked face, his dark and curly hair all over the place, she held up the I'm-sorry-here's-my-peace-offering Styrofoam coffee cups and bag with cinnamon rolls, smiling brightly.
He grumbled something incoherent and let her inside. His way too huge pyjama pants swished over the carpeted floor. The t-shirt he was wearing was so gigantic, it made him look even more scrawny than he already was. He didn't like to feel confined in his sleep, he once told her when she observed that he looked like a kid who'd stolen daddy's jogging outfit in those things.
Five minutes later, they were sitting at the small-ish table, having their unhealthy but pretty awesome breakfast.
She granted him a few sips of his sugary, creamy coffee before starting her assault. "I went to the Quileute reservation early this morning."
He raised his thin eyebrows at her, scrutinised her with his usual woman-you-annoy-me scowl, and swallowed down a mouthful of cinnamon roll, before mumbling, "That's proof. This. You're a Terminator. They never let anything go, either…or sleep. Another thing your kind cannot comprehend, along with the human emotion we call love."
"I do sleep. I just don't hibernate like you do," she replied sunnily. "Be thankful I didn't drag you along, Mister Lopes. You're a lot better at filming stuff than I am, and I am undaunted by your eternal grumpiness."
"Not a morning person," he said, clearly faking the grouchiness like he always did, and took another sip of coffee, before tugging down on the sleeves of the dark-blue sweater he'd put on before settling down. "Get anything juicy?"
"Not a chance. Got chased off the land," she said, closing her well-manicured hands around her own Styrofoam cup carrying black, unsweetened coffee. Unlike Jerry, she didn't really have a sweet tooth.
He forgot to be cantankerous for a moment and stared at her out of huge, dark-brown eyes. "Excuse me?"
"Young man ninja-scurried up to me and told me to get lost. I considered telling him to shove it, but ended up deciding to sound the retreat." She sipped her coffee and shrugged. "Wasn't in the mood to cause a kerfuffle. Tasering the local youth is usually frowned upon."
"What, you didn't want to cause trouble? You? Is this opposite day and nobody notified me? Boo."
"You're a douche," she said affectionately, reached out, and patted his arm.
"But you love me."
"Friendship really is magic." She couldn't help but crack a smile, and even the corners of his mouth twitched a little. "There's something really fishing going on, here, Jer – really fishy." Just for his sake, she refrained from making an ocean-town-related pun.
"Which is why the FBI is here. They're supposed to investigate and we're supposed to report, remember?"
She opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it, and briefly mimicked shooting a gun at him with her right hand. "Nice try."
This time, he did smile openly. "Everyone's got a skill."
"I got a call from a local, telling me that not only were these white look-alikes seen driving to La Push, but that he saw Isabella Swan, too. And get this" – She folded her arms atop the table and leaned forward – "she looked weird, like she'd gotten plastic surgery."
"It sounds a little like a conspiracy theory, doesn't it?"
June squinted slightly and tilted her head to the side, not taking her eyes off his. "Does it? You know what my FBI guy said. They don't think any theory is far-fetched enough-"
"Except for the zombie theory," he said, and took a hearty bite out of another cinnamon roll.
"Except for that, yes. But just imagine what it would be like if we uncovered a global crime ring where members get ritualistic plastic surgery. How awesome would that be?" She couldn't keep her voice from trembling a little with excitement.
"Pretty awesome. Tell me how the people in La Push are involved in all this."
She leaned back, picked up her cup, and shrugged. "No clue. It'll be something involving money, of course. Maybe they got cheated by one fraction of the crime ring and teamed up with the European branch."
He thought about this for a moment. "It's the most likely theory."
"We need to find out more." She batted her eyelashes at him with mock innocence.
After making a face, he rolled his eyes, and said, "Oh, great. Why do I always have to be the cannon fodder for angry locals who don't like reporters?"
"Because I'm the star of this show, and the show must go on," she said, grinning. Serious again, she added, "Hon, we really need to get on this before anyone else does. We're investigative reporters. Our subscribers want the truth. Besides, I don't like being chased away without finding out what I wasn't supposed to find out."
"Of course you don't." He picked up a paper napkin and wiped his mouth. "Seriously, though: I take this job as seriously as you do, peaches, but if things get iffy…"
"Yes, yes, no life-risking," she said, waving off. "Gotcha."
Not looking overly convinced, he said, "I mean it, June. June. I mean it. If the FBI shows up and tells us to fuck off, we fuck off. If an angry mob chases after us, we fuck off, too. The job is not worth our lives or our freedom."
"All right, I get it. Calm your holey socks," she said, and cracked a beatific smile. "So, how about we do some research on La Push and the Quileutes? We might stumble upon something worthwhile, and you know that old and trusted axiom: knowledge is power."
Tension drained from his posture. "Library it is. You know, for an online reporter, you're remarkably old-school."
"It's how I roll. Also, I am told that reading books is good for your brain."
"Then by all means, let's get you some."
Her smile morphed into a grin. "You're a douche."
The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "But you love me."
2 Everything happened at once, it seemed. Jasper and Bella rushed upstairs, into the small bedroom where Renesmee's body was. Jacob's heartbeat all but exploded. He broke free, phased, burst out of his room. Demetri ran out of the room Charlie was occupying, knowing the other two vampires had taken the dhampir, and stormed into the master suite.
Oh, no.
Only milliseconds. No time to think. No time to be afraid.
The huge, russet-coloured wolf squeezed through the doorframe, hackles on end, fangs bared, growling.
On the bed stood the smaller wolf, the grey fur of her chest dripping with blood, her muscles coiled.
It all happened so quickly.
Jacob jumped Leah jumped collided in the air Demetri forgot his humanity fangs out blood lust he jumped grabbed Jacob's body in mid-air slammed both of them into the wall. They crashed. Plaster rained on them. Jacob growled, bucked, fought. Damn it, Jacob was strong, too strong! Demetri buried his icy finger into the fur the hot skin broke it Jacob yowled. Growling, Leah collided with them, buried them under her. Helped by this momentum, Demetri turned on his back ripped into Jacob's skin bit into his neck tasted blood revolting disgusting sinews muscles skin fur all tearing up under his razor-sharp teeth blood splattering on his face. Jacob howled buckled struggled but he was weakened still weakened still too strong for Demetri to handle by himself. But how could he even be up at all? Jasper that wanker had to have been him didn't matter didn't matter. Leah hit her paw across Jacob's chest scratched deeply Jacob yowled shuddered lay still.
Leah panted, rolled off both of them, phased into human form, and was silent.
3 Feeding off a cheerily chatting human was weird enough, but doing so without popping the fangs was even stranger. Luckily, though, Irina didn't mess up. Half an hour after she walked into the little room at the back of Vampire Day Spa, she'd drunk from four different people, all of who struck up conversation with her, telling her about how awesome their vacation in Italy was. Okay, then. The humans were neither killed, nor turned, and they remembered nothing besides a vague feeling of contentment. No, this kind of feeding was not nearly as satisfying as draining five entire humans, but it was much, much better than sticking to the animal diet. Like this, a slight burning in the throat remained, but her wits stayed, too, and nobody had to die. That was a good compromise as far as she was concerned.
After Irina had her portion, Chelsea returned her to her guest room and informed her that she'd be heading back to America for a spell. Irina wished her a good journey, decided that none of that was any of her business and that she shouldn't pry, and finished paging through The Count of Monte Cristo before Aro re-joined her. She put the book down carefully – it was a beautiful tome and deserved respect – and rose to her feet.
He cracked a radiant smile at her. "Emperor business all taken care of. How was your feeding session?"
Unable and unwilling to help herself, she returned the expression. "It was very interesting and not at all what I'd expected."
"It seldom is," he said, good-natured, and held out his hand. "I think our mutual patient has had some time to rest. Shall we take a look?"
Irina's thoughts turned to poor, tortured Fiora, the helpless yet terrifying monster, and she felt heavy. Going about the stronghold with Chelsea, taking in all the new impressions of the unorthodox feeding ground, getting some sustenance…it had all distracted her from the dhampir's torment. Sure, vampires often suffered from attention deficit and had problems focussing on any one thing for long, but Fiora was the whole reason she was in Volterra in the first place. How could she forget the wretched girl and feel at peace, proud at her achievement, and even happy? This was awful.
The smile was wiped off her face. "I hope it works."
"So do I, dear girl," he said, still holding out his hand. "Shall we?"
She braced herself but also told herself off for internally whining about her own guilty feelings. Fiora's pain wasn't about Irina's guilt; shining the spotlight on her own feelings in face of such suffering was in very poor taste. The girl couldn't help being what she was. If Irina could help Fiora become less dangerous and therefore contribute to the girl being allowed to live more comfortably, then it was her duty to at least try. She never wanted to be responsible for anyone else's suffering ever again. "Yes," she said, walked up to him, and took his hand. "Yes, we shall."
4 "How long until we get to Port Angeles?" This was incredible. Bella was running at full speed, the incapacitated Renesmee in her arms, and she could still talk just fine. Everything was in sharp, high definition. After feeding on some unfortunate locals in under a minute, she didn't just feel exhilarated and invincible; she felt like a goddess. Who could ever catch her? Who could ever defeat her? There was no-one who was even capable of it. How could they ever presume to judge her? Vampires were at the very top of the food chain. Why would they even be able to do all the things they could if they were somehow not allowed? And even if some mysterious entity decided to deny them their natural rights, such restrictions were not enforceable.
"A few hours. Much easier, travelling like this, isn't it?" Jasper said from her right, running effortlessly beside her.
"Much."
They stayed away from the roads and steered clear of humans, but even if they didn't, what was the worst that could happen? Vampires were way too fast to be caught by anyone or anything. How quickly could a missile fly? Didn't matter. Vampires could outsmart and outthink and outmanoeuvre everyone. Heck, Quileute werewolves were faster, and even they were helpless against gifted immortals such as Jasper.
There was no need to worry about Charlie anymore, either. He was safe with Demetri, and when the time came and he re-joined her in Forks, she would turn him into an immortal. There was a solution to every problem, and there was no problem her perfect vampire brain could not solve with razor-sharp perfection.
Almost giving into the strange urge to laugh out loud, Bella held her lifeless daughter closer to her marble body and ran, feeling ageless and strong and beautiful like a living goddess. Nothing and no-one would ever be able to stop her, and now, she was on her way to finally claim her special place in the word. She was no longer hideously human, but a glorious immortal, and she loved herself in that role.
5 In his pain and confusion, Jacob phased back to human form, but the neck wound was too severe, the scratches on his torso inflicted by Leah too deep; he lost consciousness. He had a healthy dose of vampire venom in his veins, adding to the ebbing effect of Bella's. Renesmee was gone, her influence on Jacob probably weakened, maybe even gone completely. Charlie was downstairs, talking to Maria's minions.
Demetri could hear them frantically assuring that Maria would never go against a Volturi order, that none of her people would ever do anything to assist a rogue element. He believed them. The move from Jasper and Bella's part had been spontaneous. There was no doubt in his mind about it. It had all happened too quickly, too suddenly, and they had left too many loose ends. This action had been a complete gamble; it still was. In place of uselessly wondering whether Jasper's betrayal had been long in the making and whether it could have been prevented at all, there were other questions rattling around in Demetri's brain. Had it been the dhampir's influence that had brought Jacob back? Had she been able to work her uncanny, unholy powers even with a broken neck? Given how powerful she was at this tender age, nothing seemed impossible. The creature was only a few months old and already as powerful as Fiora had ever been.
Images flashed before his mind's eye: burning bodies, soulless humans with blank faces and white eyes that oozed blood and black pus, old friends that had lost their minds and free will forever, a heartbreakingly beautiful girl screaming in a both high-pitched and deeply rumbling voice that had the power to simply crumple dozens of bodies as if they were being crushed by an invisible but inescapable weight.
Shaking his head, he told himself to stop this. There was much going on, and there was no time for indulging in memories, good or bad.
Finding out the details of how Jacob had been able to break free at all was a priority, but not the first. First, Demetri checked on Leah, who'd lost consciousness for a moment but was now awake, lying on her back, wheezing and coughing. Her wound had ripped open again and was bleeding profusely. She tried to speak but couldn't. Breathing was too hard. Her heart hammered loudly. The sound of it was not exactly comforting.
"It's quite all right," Demetri told her, tried to smile, and briefly placed his cold hands on her feverish shoulders. Her eyes were wide. Her usually bronzed skin had a greyish pallor to it he didn't care for one single bit. "You did well. I couldn't have defeated him by myself. Now hang on; I'll patch you up in a minute."
As quickly as possible, he scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the bed, got the first-aid kit from the master bathroom, and took care of the wound as well as he could. For good measure, he fed her some painkillers that would get her over the worst of it. This was bad. She did not look well at all. There was no way she'd be able to travel for hours on end in a car, battered like this. Werewolf healing powers or no, her body could only take so much.
Just to make sure, after taking some care of and tying up the unconscious and human Jacob, Demetri broke both of Jacob's legs. The bones would heal quickly enough, but it would take a few hours, and within these few hours, his fate would have to be decided. After everything that had happened, there was no doubt in Demetri's mind that there could only be one solution to this particular problem. Jacob's fate was sealed. There was no repairing the damage that he had suffered. There was no cure. He had no future.
Still, this wasn't only Demetri's problem. Jacob was Leah's former pack leader; he was her kin. Whatever happened to him, she deserved to be a part of it. Even if that wasn't true, she'd want to shoulder that awful responsibility. She'd feel that she owed that to her cousin.
Demetri was pretty sure that he was not projecting.
About half an hour passed before Leah was able to talk again. "Jacob?"
"Alive, wounds dressed, but unable to move," he said. He was standing by the side of the bed, watching both her and Jacob intently; one could never be too careful. When she gave him a doubtful look, he added, "I made sure. Also, Renesmee is gone. Jasper and Bella took her."
"Charlie?" She barely mouthed it.
"Downstairs. He's fine."
For a moment, she closed her eyes. Then, she whispered, "Why didn't you kill him? Jacob. When I was out."
"Because I'm sure you wouldn't want that," he said, watching her struggle to keep her composure, wishing he could do something to make it better.
"Everything's so fucked." She coughed again, pressed her fist to her lips, and waved off weakly when he made to hand her a glass of water. "Help me sit, please."
"Leah, I don't think-"
"Just help me."
He did, as carefully as possible. About a minute went by during which she just sat there in silence, propped against the pillows, eyes closed, breathing hard. During that time, Charlie came trudging up the stairs and very warily stepped into the room.
Charlie harrumphed, and said, "The vamps downstairs tell me that their leader had no idea that the Cullen boy and…and" – He took a deep breath, shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and looked down at his feet – "my daughter would double-cross you."
"I believe them," Demetri said quietly, glanced at Charlie, and then focussed his attention on Leah again. "You'll be fine. You just need some time to heal."
She blinked up at the ceiling, grimacing. "I'm a goddamn damsel in distress. This is about the fiftieth time you saved me." Her voice was still hardly above a whisper, but at least she was talking.
"That's not true. We took him down together. You were hurt because you saved Charlie's life. It's got nothing to do with being a damsel." Demetri knew that she just hated to feel incapacitated. He could sympathise. It was easier to blame oneself than to admit that sometimes, circumstances were just beyond one's control.
"Damn straight," Charlie said. When she gave him a thoroughly unhappy look, he added, "Thank you for saving my life, by the way. I was sure I was dead meat when I broke that little freak's neck."
"Anytime," she rasped, and actually smiled a little. It was a welcome sight.
"We need to decide what to do," Demetri said, not wanting to intrude but not seeing any other option than to press on. Jasper and Bella had Renesmee and were undoubtedly heading toward Caius. Jacob needed to be taken care of. Dealing with awful things and being forced to decide over the life or death of a sapient creature was always terrible, but sometimes, there was no escaping the hard decisions. Both Charlie and Leah looked at him. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket over his freezing hands and crossed his arms. "Since Bella and Jasper didn't try to kill you" – He locked eyes with Leah – "it stands to reason to assume that they want to help Caius eliminate your people in La Push. It's what I would do in their place. Given the fact that Jasper is not an idiot, he will have picked up on Caius's hatred of all werewolves everywhere. He'll have deduced that Caius will look for an excuse to kill them all anyway, despite the ultimatum he gave me."
"You're wrong," Leah said quietly, and pulled up one corner of her mouth in a crooked little smile. "That's not what you would do in their place."
He smiled right back at her. "You're right. It's not."
She tried to talk again, coughed, grimaced, breathed, and sighed. "Damn it." Then, she looked at Demetri again. "You seemed to trust that ultimatum earlier. Why not anymore?"
There was no need to think about the answer. "Because it's become clear to me that he knew from the beginning that I would fail. It was never a test. It's just an excuse to, in the end, murder all those wolves without having to justify himself to Aro." He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Jasper knows that, too. He doesn't exactly like me and will use both Caius's paranoia and his own admittedly impressive powers to persuade Caius to get rid of me and all the Quileute werewolves. That would, judging by the way he seems to think, solve all his problems."
"That boy is a special brand of psychopathic," Charlie said, slowly shaking his head. "Creepy little fucker." He squinted at both the others in turn. "Sorry about the language."
"I can take it and he's a thousand years old, anyway," Leah said, and reached out a trembling hand to grab the half-full glass of water from the wooden nightstand. She spilled some of it on the thick duvet, but neither of the men interfered. If she wanted help, she'd ask for it. "We can't catch up to them. I can't phase before this stupid hole in my chest is healed, and Charlie's human. He can't run that fast, and I doubt that you can carry us both and still see where you're going, Vampire Boy."
"It'd be the death of you," Demetri replied gravely, "so it's out of the question, anyway."
"Brute force won't do," Charlie said, scratching his neck. "At the hotel of horrors, Jacob tried to strike some conversation and told me about the evils of vampires with magic powers. If we barge into your little club, Matt…I mean, Demetri, then we'll get pulverised instead of saving the day. No, we need to use our brains to get out of this pickle."
It was Demetri's turn to look down at his feet. "I'll have to disobey a direct order from my general. I, uh…" He trailed off, chuckled humourlessly, and shook his head, before making himself look each of the others in the eye. "I've never done that before."
"Well, seems like the guy set you up, first," Charlie said, before Leah had a chance. She'd already opened her mouth to protest. He shrugged. "When a commanding officer is no longer fit to command, he is relieved of duty. I don't know you very well, kid, but from what I can tell, you're not exactly the type who'll sit by and let a genocide happen."
"I'm not." There was no need to think about that answer, either.
"Times are changing," Leah said quietly. Her voice was a little firmer now. "You yourself keep saying this. There's internet and social networks and missiles and napalm and god knows what else. The old way of doing things might've worked until recently, but if we don't adapt, we'll die – leeches and wolves alike. Killing or turning humans in the know doesn't work as a precaution anymore. Waging wars and committing genocide attracts unwanted attention. What we need is to work together to protect ourselves and each other." When her voice broke, she grimaced and massaged her throat, but didn't cough. "You and I are friends. We work well together. We have each other's back. Charlie saved all of us by snapping Re-Name-Me's neck. Why insist that things stay as they've been for thousands of years? The world isn't what it used to be."
Since this was basically what Demetri had been preaching to his fellow Volturi for the past century or so, it was almost funny to hear someone else giving The Speech. The present situation, however, left little room for humour. "You're right," he said. "There's too much attention being drawn to the supernatural as it is. More deaths would only make it worse. We need to find a different solution, and we need to do so quickly."
"Might I make a suggestion?" Charlie said, raising a hand as if at school. Both Leah and Demetri focussed their eyes on him. "Why not use the attention this whole mess has already attracted to our advantage?"
When Leah only creased her forehead, Demetri said, "What do you mean?"
It was Charlie's turn to smile slightly. "Well, I'll need your help, you'll need mine, and we all will need a specific other person's, but I think I've got a plan."
6 The emaciated girl in the cell of horrors down the corridor of curiosities (and Irina still didn't want to know what was lying in wait behind the other doors) was silent – not just physically, since she had no voice, but telepathically, too. As he had done the previous times, Aro opened the door and Irina stepped inside the cold little room. This time, however, the unspeakable agony of pleading screams inside her head did not assault her. No, this time, there was absolute, blissful silence. The girl sat chained to the wall, filthy and immobile, staring at Irina out of huge, reddened eyes, surprise written all over her perfectly symmetrical face. There was something different. Both of them could feel it.
"Has anything changed?" Aro's pleasant voice came in through the little rectangular opening in the thick metal door.
It took Irina a moment to snap out of it. "Yes." She didn't dare take her eyes of Fiora's. Actually, she believed that the feeling was quite mutual. "There's nothing – no pull, no urge to free her, no voice. It's amazing."
"Wonderful!" He sounded delighted as ever. "I want you to briefly touch her skin again – only for a split second."
"All right," she said, and sighed inwardly. Saying that she was looking forward to getting closer to Fiora again would be a lie, but she did want to help her. "Let's hope this works." Quick as lightning, she darted forward, pressed her fingertips to the girl's grimy, warm and smooth forehead, and backed off against the metal door again. She waited, but once more, nothing happened. Tension drained from her posture. She felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Nothing."
"Amazing. Truly amazing." He sounded almost awed. "Now we know that you do have a special gift, my dear: your venom contains a natural immunity to dhampir powers. That is, if I may say so, quite a revolution!"
When he re-opened the door, she gave Fiora a little smile and hurried outside. "It's kind of an ineffectual one, though, if you think about it: I was not able to completely resist Renesmee."
He locked the door, spun around, and cracked a dizzying, sunny, warm smile at her. "You didn't succumb to her powers; you were mildly affected by them. In the end, you acted against her interests, which indicates that you were building some kind of resistance. Now, you silenced the telepathic abilities of one of the most powerful supernatural creatures to ever walk the Earth."
"That doesn't mean much if she manages to dazzle anyone else."
The smile broadened. "Which leads us to phase two of our experiment." He took her hands and squeezed them slightly. "Have some faith in the universe, Irina. Have some faith that in the end, things will turn out for the best."
"I'll try," she said, returning his expression. "And once we find out that I can suppress her powers indefinitely, then we can get her out of that horrible place, right?"
For a second, he just kept looking at her, that solicitous expression on his unremarkably remarkable face unwavering, and then he said, "Yes. Of course we will. If it works."
"If it works," she echoed dreamily, not for the first time wishing she had a heartbeat that could physically display the excitement she was feeling. Finally, she had the chance to actually spread some good in the world instead of being a permanent source for destruction and misery.
7 The North Olympic Library System, Forks Branch, was a cute one-story building in downtown Forks. It was relatively small, but well-equipped, and doing research in it made June feel like she was actually in a movie or book investigating a big mystery in a small town. Well, stranger than fiction and all that jazz. Much of her research, she did online, but frankly, being a child of the Eighties, she enjoyed some hands-on activity that involved reading actual books, travelling places, and actually talking to people. For example, the NOLS people were very forthcoming and helpful, being able to direct her to registries and old newspapers and microfiche – things that would either take forever to find online, or that simply were too low-tech for the internet.
In one of the big, dusty tomes containing decades-old newspapers (that kind of paper that made her sneeze and that made her fingers itch), it was Jerry Lopes, intrepid cameraman and long-suffering best friend, who found something remarkable and seemingly impossible: he found a photograph that should not exist.
After joining him at one of the big reading tables, she stared at the grainy picture for what felt like five eternities – blinking, slack-jawed, brain-fried. The only thing that was missing was drool dripping down her chin. What the hell was this? It…it couldn't be. Could this actually be for real? Were the young FBI agents in Quantico actually right with their ridiculous pet theory?
"By the Power of Grayskull," she whispered, reached out, and gently traced her fingers across the carefully conserved newspaper. No, this wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do, but she just had to touch it, had to make sure that it wouldn't disappear in a puff of smoke.
"Is this shit real?" Jerry whispered right back, sounding both suspicious and daunted at the same time.
"It has to be," she said lowly, her voice trembling slightly. "I mean, look at it. Look at the book bindings. Think about the fact that no-one has found out about this yet. If it were fake, it wouldn't be dusting away in a forgotten corner of a library nobody goes to."
"Whatever it is, your subscribers will go wild."
She cast him an irritated look. "This isn't about our subscribers, Jer. Think about it: we might be onto something that could change our entire outlook on humanity." It cost her a good amount of effort to keep her voice down. Acting suspicious would do no-one any good. "And we're the ones to stumble upon it."
"If it's real."
"Oh, it's real, all right," she said, and motioned at the date at the top corner of the paper, reading Sunday, April 19, 1936. "This is over seventy years old, and the man hasn't aged one day – neither of them, as a matter of fact."
Jerry shrugged. "Identical grandfather?"
Again, she glared at him sideways. "Yeah, right. Identical grandfather and identical adopted son? Try again. This is real, and it's ours to reveal to the world. The Feds won't be thrilled that online vloggers found out about this horror movie stuff before they did, but our work will help them, too. This will open up a whole new avenue of investigations! We have to share."
"After we get more information," he said, raising his left index finger.
"After we get more information," she confirmed, nodding. With a slightly shaky hand, she brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. "But this is our biggest break yet. I can feel it." Shock and awe had subsided and made way for something that was both anticipation and glee. Allowing a broad smile to spread across her face, she looked down at the seven-decades-old picture of Carlisle and Edward Cullen as the former shook hands with the local hospital's dean of medicine. "Times are changing, buddy boy of mine, and we are riding the crest of the wave."
8 Charlie's plan was a gamble, but it was admittedly pretty clever. It was also the only choice they had, given that things were going down the drain in every conceivable way and they needed to exert some damage control as quickly as possible. As Demetri did his bit and Charlie set his own part into motion, Leah braced herself to dislodge the pebble that might end up causing an avalanche. Yeah, it sucked. Boy, did it suck. The whole stupid thing did. Not only did she have to deal with her wound and with the La Push stuff, no. She had to deal with Jacob, too – Jacob, who was bound and gagged and poisoned and broken, twitching and groaning and in agony both spiritual and physical Leah would not wish upon her worst enemy…
…not even Jasper.
She hated that fucker. There was no other way of putting it, no euphemism that might even remotely encompass her disgust and revulsion, her simple wish to see him erased from the face of the Earth. He had to die and she wanted to be the one to do it. But did she wish the torture on him that he would gleefully put her through, were he given half the chance? Nope. Just because she truly and honestly wanted him to snuff it, it didn't mean that she had suddenly turned into a sadist. Killing was ugly business, and one should not derive joy from it – ever.
Skinny kid in a soccer jersey. Short lady. Chubby boy. Pixie-haircut girl.
Jacob.
Would she see his face forever before her mind's eye, too, once he was gone? Yes. Of course she would. Hell, even if this weren't a forgone conclusion, she'd make herself remember him – remember him how he'd been before Bella fucking Swan's demon baby had eaten his brain and killed the stubborn, melodramatic, annoying, brave, jovial, sweet boy that he'd once been. Yes, Leah knew that he'd made his own bed and that his choices up until seeing Re-name-me for the first time had been his own. Ultimately, everyone was responsible for their own fate, at least to a certain degree. Did that make anything less tragic? Nope. No, it didn't. But this wasn't about her and how she felt about all this. This was about Jacob, about his father, about all of the people in La Push whose lives were in danger.
She needed to get a move on.
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she picked up her phone (Irina's – it was Irina's. Leah had smashed her own in a fit of rage. Seemed like strange aeons ago) from the nightstand, where Demetri had put it, and called the number she needed to call.
Not five seconds later, the intended recipient picked up. "Yes?"
After clearing her throat again and bracing herself for disaster, she said, "Sam, it's me."
A little pause ensued. "You sound awful. What happened?"
"I got hurt, but I'll live. Listen, I need to-"
"You got hurt? What the hell happened? Where's Jacob? I-"
"Sam, shut the fuck up and listen!" That was painful, but miraculously, it worked. "Jasper and Bella are bringing the demon-spawn to Port Angeles, to the albino leech. They plan to kill all of you, but Charlie, Demetri, and I have a plan."
"Charlie's alive! That's great news. Not so sure about your boyfriend, though."
Rolling her eyes hurt, too, but she couldn't and wouldn't stop herself. It was either that or telling Sam to jump up her ass, and she needed his help. "Listen: we – I need you to do something for me. It's crucial that it works, you hear me? If you don't listen to me this time, you are all going to die. I'm not into saying 'I told you so', but remember how things turned out last time you ignored my advice."
To be honest, she basically expected him to yell at her and hang up without hesitation, but he decided to defy her expectations.
After a moment's awkward silence, he finally said, "Okay. I'm listening."
The weight of the world slid off her shoulders. She unclenched her left fist, closed her eyes, and sunk back against the pillows. "Good. I just got to tell you right off the bat: you're not gonna like this."
"I don't expect to."
Without wasting any more time, they talked business.
9 The Forks Community Hospital was the nursing home that housed the oldest living Forks native, a woman named Betty Williams. This woman was ninety years old and suffered from some sort of slow-working cancer, but she wasn't just as sharp-minded as ever, she also had a cell phone. This was how June first contacted her and asked her if she and her cameraman could pay her a visit and ask about some anecdotes of the olden days, so to speak. The reason they did this was that, in the newspaper photograph, she'd been standing behind the young man who looked exactly like Edward Cullen.
Mrs Williams, a relatively tall and straight, thin lady with white, papery skin and even whiter, wavy hair, met June and Jerry in the home's small lobby. She was smiling. It lit up her whole face. Old age or no, this was one beautiful woman. "Miss Cassidy, Mister Lopes! So good of you to come!" she called out, her voice loud and clear, and held out a hand to both new arrivals. With her other hand, she was leaning heavily on a sturdy cane.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Jerry said, and shook the offered hand.
June did the same. "You said you watch our show?"
Mrs William's smile grew broader, crinkling the skin around her eyes even more. There was a merry, almost mischievous quality to that smile that made June wish she'd age half as gracefully. "I was one of your first subscribers, and now that you've put our little town on the map, I feel entitled to inform everyone of that little factoid."
June laughed; she couldn't help herself. "Well, I am honoured," she said, lightly bowing her head. "Shall we sit down somewhere to have our little chat about that picture?"
"Follow me." Resolutely, Mrs Williams led the way to her room, which was relatively small, but bright and friendly, being furnished with a bed, a closet, a round little table, and two chairs. "You can start filming whenever you like."
She sat down on one of the chairs, June on the other. Jerry stood in the corner and fired up the handheld camcorder.
"Rolling in three, two, one…" he said, and gave the women the thumbs-up.
June screwed on her TV smile, as she herself had dubbed it, and looked into the lens. "Hey, lovely subscribers, and welcome back! Jerry and I are at the Forks Community Hospital, and we're about to interview who must be the most interesting person in Clallam County, Misses Betty Williams!" She half-turned to Mrs Williams. "Say hello to the viewers, Mrs Williams!"
"You can call me Betty," she said, and nodded once at the camera.
"I'm June. So, the reason we are here today is-"
"The fact that the Cullen family already lived here about seventy years ago, before disappearing and then showing up again long after they should have died," Betty cut in energetically.
It took June a couple of seconds to shake off the surprise. She fidgeted with her left hoop earring. Dang it. People were going to catch onto that. Didn't matter. Real emotions were always good for traffic. "That's right. We found a photograph of who seems to be Carlisle and Edward Cullen in a 1936 newspaper, which you can see right here." During the editing process, Jerry would insert the picture into the frame. "It's not a fake; it's not Photoshop. This baby is real. In the background, you can see a young Betty. That really is you, isn't it, Betty?"
"It is, and the two strapping lads in the same shot don't just seem to be Carlisle and Edward Cullen; they are Carlisle and Edward Cullen," Betty said, smiling serenely. "I've been trying to tell people for the past year, and everyone thought I was senile. Not so senile anymore, am I?"
"Not in the slightest," June said, frowning a little and shaking her head. It wasn't a faked emotion, either. This lady obviously still had her wits about her, and even if she didn't, she was still right on the money. "So, do you remember that day, Betty? Or any other specific occurrence involving these Cullens?" She only just refrained from making air-quotes when she said the name.
Betty straightened her posture and straightened the collar of her dark-red blouse. "Yes, I can. On the day that picture was taken – and I'd completely forgotten about the press being there, to tell you the truth – a new wing of the hospital was inaugurated, which Carlisle Cullen had basically paid for by himself. The rumour back then was that no-one could have that kind of money without having killed someone for it, those days being plagued by the Depression, but I always thought that this was nonsense. He seemed a little aloof, but otherwise pretty pleasant. It was the boy that I disliked – well, actually, the boys, plural."
June's carefully plucked eyebrows wandered almost up to her hairline. "Boys?"
"Yes. What were their names again?" Betty tapped one golden-ring-adorned finger against her lips. "The snooty brat was Edward; I remember that. There was a huge, bulky young man whose laughter sounded like a donkey braying. The third one was scary. His name was something with J. James? Jared?"
"Jasper?"
There was a spark in Betty's brown eyes. "That's right. Jasper. There was something wrong with that one. I remember them quite well. They moved into town and stayed for a few years. Then, they left again. I basically forgot all about them until one day, imagine my surprise when I saw Doctor Cullen at the hospital. This happened about a year ago." She sneered and looked directly into the camera. "Guess some of you incorrigibles will say that I'm senile and these young people are exploiting that. How far do you think a journalist who's never once posted a sensationalist video would go to fake newspaper clippings at the local library?"
"She's got a point, there," June said, flashing a smile at the camera and Jerry, who gave her the thumbs-up again. "Whatever this actually means, people, we've stumbled onto another baffling side of this huge mystery involving the so-called Cullen family. Are they time-travellers? Are they somehow able to slow their ageing? Are they undead? Is this some hyper-advanced form of plastic surgery? We'll keep you all posted. Thank you so much for watching, and don't forget to subscribe!"
Little later, they wrapped it up, thanked Betty for her time and assistance, and headed for the parking lot. Jerry was silent, but June felt like she had to say something lest her head explode from all the excitement.
"This is amazing! I can't believe we actually stumbled over something that just has to be a global conspiracy!" she said, bubbly, and almost jumped for joy. The sky was overcast and it had started to drizzle, but she didn't care. Taking in a deep lungful of the fresh, heavy, salty ocean air, she grinned at Jerry, who was only slightly shorter than she was. "What do you think is the real story?"
"Whatever it is, we're going to find out," he said, standing by the Beetle's passenger side door and patiently waiting for her to unlock the car. After stowing away his camera and getting inside, he told her, who was already starting the engine, "People are gonna say it's fake."
"Doesn't matter. Even if the authorities lie to the people to cover something up, which is well within the realm of possibilities, we know it's true, and we've got at least one witness. Our next stop should be the hospital where Cullen worked. I'm pretty sure they've got neatly kept archives they might be willing to let us trawl." She pulled out of the parking space and drove onto the not very busy street.
"Maybe we should share our findings with the FBI before we post our next video," he said, thoughtful, eyeing her sideways.
She glanced at him briefly, grimacing. "Do you seriously expect the Feds to allow us to post anything if we ask them for permission, first? Also, we're journalists, and uncovering the truth is our job. New York Times reporters don't ask the cops for permission before publishing articles about crimes, either." That tone conveyed zero tolerance for back-talking, and she knew that he knew it. Since she didn't want him to feel any more bossed around than he already must be feeling, she added, in a more solicitous tone, "Listen, Jer: I know this is a lot to deal with, and I understand your trepidations, but I honestly believe that-"
In her jacket pocket, Eye of the Tiger started to blare.
Wordlessly, Jerry snatched her phone out of said pocket, pressed the appropriate button, and held the battered little thing to his ear. "June Cassidy's selfless and amazingly patient cameraman speaking. She can't come to the phone right now because she's driving and I don't want to die. Can I take a message?"
His tone was dry, but when June glanced at him a moment later, his brown eyes were wide and his usually light-brown skin was strangely pale.
"What?" she mouthed at him and turned to stare, irritated, when she had to stop at a red traffic light.
"Okay," Jerry said, using a quiet, insecure tone that wasn't at all like him. "We'll call you from our motel in about five minutes." He cut the connection and locked eyes with her, slowly shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what had just taken place. "Holy crap hitting even holier fans, June. Holy effing crap."
"Who the hell was that? You're scaring me a little, honey."
"That," he said, and briefly held up her phone, "was our fugitive friend, Matthew Darcy. He says he can answer all our questions and that he'll talk exclusively to us – you, actually, but I spontaneously decided to include myself."
Her heart picked up the pace. She drew in a shaky breath. When the light turned green, she forgot to drive, and the driver of the pickup truck behind her angrily honked the horn of the righteous. Startled, she stepped on the gas pedal, and the Beetle lurched into motion. "This has got to be the luckiest day of our careers," she said, sounding as awed and subdued as Jerry just had. "Finally, we're actually getting somewhere where the FBI has failed for years."
"Miracles do happen," he replied, deadpan.
They drove the rest of the way to the motel in stunned silence.
10 When Charlie and Demetri returned to the master suite, Leah had managed to not only sit up, but to swing her legs out of bed. The chest wound still hurt like a mother, but the bleeding was stilled and she could feel herself healing. Thankfully, neither guy told her to take it easy or that she was being stupid.
"I spoke with the vlogger," Demetri said, placing himself right next to the unconscious Jacob, whom he'd dressed in a spare (and somewhat undersized) pair of jeans, and under whose head he'd carefully placed a pillow. "She and her partner had no trouble believing my story, mostly because they sort of stumbled onto the truth by themselves only this morning." He smiled a little. It looked both grim and as if he felt vindicated. Well, he'd earned the right to do that, hadn't he? He'd been preaching the gospel forever, now, and finally, rapture had decided to make a special guest appearance. "You were right: times are changing indeed."
"You were both right," Charlie said, watching Leah with care and worry stamped all over his face. He obviously also didn't want to hover, which was fine by her. "I made some calls, too, and my people are game. The story they got to hear was a different one, though, obviously."
"Even if not, you could always claim that your head injury rendered you temporarily insane," Demetri said, clearly trying to be funny. Weird as it was, he actually succeeded.
Charlie chuckled. "Yeah. You know, I'm not entirely convinced this isn't what really happened, anyway."
Discretion and sensitivity or no, when Leah tried to stand but swayed and nearly crashed down on her sorry ass, Demetri was by her side in a flash, steadying her.
"Please don't try to do too much, too quickly," he said, making a face like someone had stepped on his foot really hard. "I really admire your strength and determination, but I don't want to watch you die, either." Okay. Fine. Yuppie Vamp had a bit of a point, there. One had to give him that much. Apparently, he made a habit of it, too.
She inhaled as deeply as she could without making the pain become unbearable, shook some greasy and dishevelled hair out of her face, and said, "I need to take care of Jacob, and I need to do it right now."
Neither man said anything. A weird, heavy, awkward silence ensued. It was as if the air had become thicker, somehow, staler, harder to move in, harder to breathe.
Finally, Charlie shuffled his feet, scratched his stubble, harrumphed, and said, "Leah…"
"I have to." She did her own feet-shuffling trick and turned herself around so that she was looking in Jacob's direction. "He's my cousin. We were in the same pack. I owe it to him to be the one to do it. It has to be me, and it has to happen now. I can't stand to let him suffer like this any longer." There was a knot in her throat. Her eyes stung. Her stomach lurched. In a quiet, uncharacteristically shy voice, she added, "Please don't make this any harder for me than it needs to be, guys, okay?"
They stayed silent, and she dragged her mangled body across the few steps that separated her from Jacob's prostrate, twitching form.
He was grimacing, groaning lowly. Sweat was beading on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his temples. It ran down the sides of his face in rivulets. His hair was drenched. He kept clenching his fists and flexing his muscles. His broken legs jerked uncontrollably, the healing process slowed by the vampire venom, causing him even more pain. The wound on his neck was hideous, even with a bandage. Demetri had nearly chewed his head off in his attempt to stop him, because Jacob simply wouldn't quit trying to murder his own family. The deep scratches on his chest were bandaged, too, but soaked in blood. He baked off heat like he was burning from a fever. He stank, too, as if his innards were rotting while he was still alive to feel all of it.
This was no life. The boy she had known, had respected, had cared about…that boy was gone. He'd been gone for months now, his mind wiped away and his personality irreversibly replaced by something entirely foreign, something entirely awful and alien. Leah had known this. She had known all along that he would not be saved, that he couldn't be saved, but she had clung onto the delusions of a timely rescue all the same. With everything that had happened, with all the losses she and her people had suffered, this was simply the last straw, the one thing she couldn't face.
But now she had to face it. She was all out of options. Besides, her pain was crippling, yes, but this wasn't about her. Right now, it was all about Jacob. She owed him this at least. "Please help me kneel," she said, and her vampire friend did so without a word. She knew that she would be eternally grateful to him for that. There was no way she'd be able to deal with his worry, with admonitions, or even with pity. This needed to be done, and it needed to be done now. If she didn't manage at this precise moment, she didn't think she'd ever work up the courage again. Once she was down, she shifted her weight, sat, crossed her legs, and gently placed Jacob's troubled head in her lap. With her fingertips, she brushed a sweat-soaked strand of his straight, dark hair out of his creased, damp forehead.
He whimpered. Tears squeezed through his thick eyelashes and ran down the sides of his face, mixing with the sweat.
"It's okay," she said lowly, and wiped some of the grime out of his face. "Quiet down. It's okay. I'm here. You're not alone."
God, he was so young. He was barely older than her baby brother.
Poor Seth. Could he be saved?
Angrily, she told herself to cut it out. There was a time and a place, and this was neither. "You were always such a brat, Jacob," she said, and snickered. Her vision grew blurry. The tip of her nose itched. The knot in her throat got thicker. Her hands felt cold and clammy, but her face was hot. She was trembling. "Such a colossal brat. Remember when I used to babysit you, and you tried to pull all kinds of stupid pranks on me and failed every time?" She laughed lowly and sniffled. Tears spilt from her eyes. "It was funny. You thought you were so smart and mature. You always wanted to grow up too fast and couldn't see that you were still a kid." A little pause ensued. The silence was heavy as lead. "Now, you're gonna stay a kid forever." Slowly, ignoring the screaming agony of her wound, she bent down, placed a little kiss on his forehead, and straightened up again. After taking another shaky breath, she put her hands to the side of his face, closed her eyes, said, "Goodbye," and broke his neck.
Jacob was gone. He'd been gone for a long time. It was now time for him to rest easy.