Disclaimer: New Moon is not mine, nor is babylon, or the theory of regression under stress.
Chapter Twenty Three: The CallCarlisle:
"You've got snow in your hair, dear," I pointed out. Esme laughed and flicked it off, dancing over to me. I smiled: it was amazing what four days had managed to do for her. She was much brighter now; younger, more energetic. I felt much the same.
My cell rung and I flipped it open to a string of unclear words from Rosalie. I laughed.
"Rose, calm down. If Emmett broke another wall down, you really should be calling Tanya, not us."
"It's not that." Her voice was urgent and...devastated. The smile slipped off my face. Esme immediately joined me, leaning in to listen at the other side of the phone.
"Carlisle, it's Bella," Rose explained. "She's dead: Alice saw her jump off a cliff. I've already called Edward, but I thought I should tell you two. You loved her. But do you see now, what we did to her? Do you see?"
Esme let out a strangled gasp. I sat her down before she fell, and she stared straight ahead. Her eyes were far away.
"I'm so sorry Bella," she cried, burying her face in her hands, sounding as ashamed and anguished as that night that had started this whole catastrophe.
"We're coming," I said to Rosalie. She hung up, and I left the cell beeping for a long moment, hardly able to believe what she had just told me. After all this work, all this time…Edward's painstaking efforts to protect her...how could things just go up in smoke like that?
"Did…did she say she's already called Edward?" Esme wondered in a small voice, looking up.
"Yes," I replied, tucking the cell back into my pocket. I froze, realising the implications of what I had just said. Edward had already been hard enough on himself over Bella's hospitalisation; this news would drive him mad...it would kill him.
I turned and ran for the Denali estate, glad Esme couldn't see the twist of anguish on my face.
"Then maybe some good can come of this," she blabbered, running behind me, her voice shaking with the fragility of her hope. "Maybe Edward will come home."
I shut my eyes, embracing my wife's hopeful words with all my being, willing myself to believe her.
Esme and I ran to the house as fast as we could. I pushed the pace but never felt as though we were running fast enough. I knew we couldn't do anything: Edward would easily beat us to Italy - not to mention, if we managed to catch up to him, he would run the second he heard our intentions. Maybe I was overdramatising things; maybe he really would come home. Either way, we were powerless. We were as useless at the house as we were in the middle of the forest, but still we rushed. We had to. That way, at least it felt like we were doing something.
.o.o.o.
Esme:
We burst over the threshold together and stumbled through the foyer, practically falling over each other as we came to a halt in the living room. It was only dimly lit, even though the main light and three lamps were on: it seemed the beams were being sucked into the night.
The Denalis were out, apparently. Rosalie and Emmett were gone too. The room was empty except for Jasper, who was staring at the Denalis handset – which was sitting face-up on the coffee table in front of him - without expression. No air of calm exuded from him, even though he surely knew Carlisle and I needed it. Given his often unquestioning generosity with his gift, I knew this meant something was severely wrong.
I gasped, realising that Alice wasn't in the room.
"It's Bella," he said neutrally. "She's not dead. Rosalie told him though. She told him, and he believed her." 'Him' being Edward. I forced myself to draw breath.
"Where-?" Carlisle started, suddenly fearful.
"Italy," Jasper said. "He isn't there yet, but he's on his way. Alice and Bella are going to stop him. He's going to beat them there, but Alice thinks they might get there in time. She…she said to prepare you. She says the odds aren't good."
"Oh, God grant me strength," Carlisle murmured, shuddering. "I mean I thought it might happen, but knowing that he's actually going..."
"No," I shook my head, refusing to believe it. I needed an answer. No: I needed someone to tell me this wasn't happening. I needed Edward. I snatched the phone off the table and my fingers flew over the buttons.
"Edward, please pick up," I prayed as it rang.
"Ola!" A friendly, thickly accented voice greeted. "You've reached Rio De Janeiro Airport Lost Property. Are you the owner of this mobile telephone?"
"No," I choked. It wasn't in answer to her question.
"Hello? Bonjour? Ola?" The attendant hung up. I was frozen, watching as the device slowly slipped out of my hand and fell onto the carpet, beeping regularly.
"I'll go get Rose and Emmett," Jasper offered quietly, as Carlisle hung up the phone and came to sit beside me. "Don't be mad, she feels awful."
Jasper left.
.o.o.o.
"Edward is going to Volterra," I choked. It was the first words I had said in an hour. I couldn't say anything else. I spoke those words because I wanted to believe they were just words. I wanted to erase all meaning behind them from existence. I wanted to erase them from my mind, from my heart, and from my eyes. "Edward…is going…to Volterra…Alice…and Bella…are going after him."
Breathe, I told myself. And I did, but the crisp Alaska air did nothing to clear my head.
"It's Saint Marcus Day," Carlisle muttered, shaking his head. He flipped the handset slowly, then he turned the phone on and brought it up to his ear.
"Hello, I'm looking for a flight to Seattle," he requested, his voice as calm as if he was organising a business trip or a holiday. "As soon as possible please…No, I don't mind...Of course. Thank you." He hung up and sighed.
"Come on, love. Time to go," he encouraged, his hand resting gently on my arm. I cringed away from his touch, but I didn't let him see it as I nodded and stood. There was no reason left in my head. Blurred memories intermingled with the present until I couldn't sort out what went when. All I knew was this pain...this gut-wrenching pain...
"My son," I choked.
"Come on, Esme," a soft voice whispered, gentle hands encouraging me forward. Three people – strangers, yet familiar - were already waiting in the car with sullen expressions on their tired faces.
"She's shocked," the man with me explained to them, prying my fingers from his shirt.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled emotionlessly, the first thing that came to mind. I kept expecting someone to shout at me to snap out of it, or slap me across the face or charge at me with a knife in an attempt to get a reaction from me, but they didn't. The man in front of me ran his hands down my arms.
"Esme, look at me…" he said. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"I have. I've done something terrible." I was shaking violently now. I pulled myself out of his grasp, frightened. "I must have done, to deserve this."
"You don't deserve this, Esme," the golden-eyed man assured me. He moved to come after me, and I screamed.
"NO! Don't touch me, don't hurt me…" I pressed myself up against the car, and felt more eyes on me.
"No one is going to hurt you," the man promised, reaching for me slower now. He looked at me with steady, kind eyes. "Look at me, Esme. Trust me. It's Carlisle." I nodded, knowing even through the numbness that I had to trust this man.
"Carlisle," I mumbled as his fingers caressed my hands reassuringly. That name…that name meant something to me. It was the name dearest to my heart. It was the name that started breaking through the shock. Wake up, Esme. You're safe here. You know these people. It's Carlisle. When Carlisle's hands disappeared, an ache formed in my chest. I felt like someone had ripped something out of me. In my head, I cried out for Samuel, but the rest of me knew it wasn't Samuel I had lost this time. It was Edward, dear Edward...
"Oh, Esme, I'm sorry!" Rosalie wailed. "This is all my fault!"
"No, Rose," I replied, though I was hardly in the state to judge that. At least now I remembered what century it was. And Carlisle…that name, that man, was my everything. The three 'strangers' in that car were my family, my beloved family - Jasper and Emmett in the front seats, and poor Rose in the back. I sat down beside her and she pressed her face into my shoulder with a heartbroken whimper.
"Mum, I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," I assured her. I hated to see my daughter like this; she had such a strong, independent nature usually. "Besides…they'll stop him, you'll see."
I nodded to myself, breaking through the numbness at last and suddenly finding pain as my most recent memories came flooding back. Bella was dead and then she wasn't, and Edward was headed for Italy and Alice was chasing him and we were all stuck here, useless. I took a deep breath, trying to fix a more positive outlook on things. Alice and Bella would save Edward, and everything would be fine again, and we could fix this together.
"They'll stop him," I repeated in a breath as Carlisle joined us and pulled the door shut. He was on the phone again, arguing - or, more accurately, pleading - with someone in Italian.
"Devo parlare di Aro, {I must speak with Aro}" he begged. "Per favore, consentitemi di parlare per lui. {Please let me speak to him} Non, non facciamo che!{No, don't do that!} Non facciamo-"
He snarled briefly under his breath and snapped his cell shut.
"It's Saint Marcus day," he murmured. "They'll stop him."
But I don't think he was talking about Alice and Bella.