Chapter 8 - Caged Bird

"I've landed in Madrid, but he's somewhere to the southwest. Several hundred kilometers, at least."

"Hmm." Carlisle recalled a mental map of Spain and considered the possibilities. "He owns a large finca outside of Seville but had mentioned wanting to purchase an oceanfront property. It will be interesting to see where you find him."

Demetri's chuckle was low but still audible over the phone connection. "How many estates does one undead man need?"

"Eleazar is in mourning over the loss of Carmen. I don't see anything wrong with harmless distraction on his part," Carlisle said, more sharply than he'd intended.

"Damn, Carlisle, I'm sorry," Demetri quickly apologized. "That was really insensitive of me, especially considering, well…your own loss." He paused for a moment. "I've heard only great things about Esme. I wish I'd gotten a chance to meet her."

Carlisle closed his eyes and struggled against the surge of grief threatening to overwhelm him. "She was a wonderful person," he replied quietly. "And as someone who knows what it's like to lose a mate, I urge you to be considerate when you locate him. If he doesn't wish to help us, we'll make do without him."

After speaking with Demetri for a few minutes longer, Carlisle ended the call and then stood up from his desk. He had several more phone calls to make, but none were so urgent that they couldn't be delayed. His current mental state would probably render them unproductive, anyway.

He needed to take a break.

A touch on his office phone's screen connected him to Rosalie in Security Control. "I'm going for a run in the woods," he said without greeting. "And I'll be going alone. Have Caleb stay on the perimeter until I return."

"But—"

"No more than an hour."

"But—"

He signaled the end of their one-way conversation by closing the connection and walking out the door.

Rosalie didn't intercept him as he left the Manor, but he hadn't expected that she would. When Carlisle Cullen made up his mind to do something, very little would stop him.

The moment the leafy shade of the woods swallowed up his shadow, Carlisle took off as though fired from a gun. Intentionally choosing the most dense areas through which to run, he challenged himself to disturb as little of the habitat as possible. All of his concentration was required to dodge branches, leap over brush, and slide between swaths of tangled vines. On several occasions, he had to twist his body at the last moment to avoid stepping on snakes hidden under fallen leaves or colliding with squirrels that launched themselves from tree to tree out of fright.

For an immortal creature, a period as short as four years usually came and went in the blink of an eye. But to Carlisle, every second that had passed since Esme died felt like a fresh cut over an festering wound. There was never a moment when he didn't relive their fateful separation in at least some small portion of his expansive mind.

The final showdown in the throne room at Volterra Palace. Caius, stubborn and proud, refusing to surrender, with only his inner guard left of what was once a large and destructive army.

Zafrina blinding Caius and his guards. Alec countering with his own gift of sensory deprivation. Demetri relying on powerful tracking abilities to locate and injure Alec just as Afton is somehow able to engage Zafrina in battle. All senses restored. Jasper helping Demetri, Tanya going to the aid of Zafrina. Rosalie, Alice, Garrett, and Kate swarming and destroying Jane. Emmett fighting with Felix. Esme facing Heidi. Carlisle, with Edward at his side, intent on capturing Caius.

A shout of surprise. Felix hurling Emmett into Esme. Heidi lunging toward Emmett's throat before he can recover.

Esme throwing herself in Heidi's way to save her son.

Heidi grabbing onto caramel locks of hair as Felix brandishes a flame.

Esme's final gasp.

Carlisle's heart-rending cry of anguish.

A cry that would echo in his mind for as long as he existed.

Carlisle ran and ran, never slowing, never pausing, until he burst out of the forest at the same place he'd entered.

A full circle.

He glanced down at his once-immaculate clothing, now dirty and wrinkled and torn. Despite his best efforts, despite the care he'd taken to avoid this exact outcome, the forest had been too thick and snarled.

With a soul-weary sigh, Carlisle raked a hand through his disheveled hair and shook out the various leaves and twigs caught in the strands. He hardly looked the part of a distinguished head of state. Leaving his office was a foolish misstep; he should have known better. One couldn't challenge such a formidable opponent as nature and expect to win—or even survive unscathed.

As he began his walk of disgrace back to the Manor, he spotted a pile of neatly folded clothes on the ground beside a large oak tree.

Alice.

A sudden smile warmed his face and his shattered stone heart.

There had been many times over the past four years when Carlisle wondered if Marcus's past was to be his future. Centuries of tormented existence, unable to end the pain and longing, the only relief coming in the form of woolen numbness.

But he was not Marcus, and his life was so much different than his old friend's. He had a full, loving family who would keep him from drifting too far asea. They would buoy him up when the burden of loss threatened to pull him under.

They made his endless time on earth something to be cherished instead of merely survived.

With a much lightened countenance, Carlisle changed into a crisply pressed set of slacks and shirt. He retightened his favorite dark blue tie around his neck—Esme had given it to him—headed toward the manor.

Though Rosalie could see his return through the feed of one of the many surveillance cameras around the Compound, he decided to check in with her personally—and apologize for his earlier rude behavior.

She never gave him the chance.

The moment he stepped inside Security Control, she was there, wrapping her arms around him in a tender yet firm embrace. Carlisle let out a long breath of air and allowed his daughter to comfort him like no other could. Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek on the top of her head and squeezed her in return.

Just as Rosalie knew when to move in close, she also stepped away at the right time and shifted easily into her position as Chief of his personal security.

"All quiet on the western front," she quipped, returning to her workstation in front of the large LED screens. "Caleb is out on patrol. Angela, Brady, and Alice are in the Manor. And Emmett, well…he's at the Wolf Den. Apparently, Seth is teaching him how to cook."

"Cook?" Carlisle asked, both surprise and humor in his voice.

Rosalie's nose wrinkled ever so slightly. "Emmett and Alice have taken it upon themselves to be the 'Human Hospitality' committee for the girl. Alice has been holed up her room since last evening, and I have a strong feeling we'll be receiving several packages over the next week or so. Emmett put himself in charge of food quality."

"Is he planning on sampling all his creations?" Carlisle asked with an uncontained grin.

"I don't know, but I'd like to see it if he does." Rosalie shuddered. "I hope the girl has a strong stomach."

Carlisle focused on the two video feeds of Isabella Swan. She was reading a book while stretched out over the cell's twin-sized bed.

"Speaking of human frailties, I should expand my medical supply inventory," he murmured, mostly to himself. "She should also be given a complete physical exam as soon as possible."

Rosalie nodded, pulling up a new window on one of her computers. "Jasper and I have gone over the medical records transferred with her from Hazelton, but you're right. We need to do one ourselves."

"I can perform most of it now. The gynecological portions will have to wait until we get a few more supplies, but—"

"Really, Chancellor? You're going to examine the girl?" Rosalie snorted. "Well isn't she a lucky thing. Not many people can say they had their temperature taken by royalty."

"Oh, please. I'm hardly that." Carlisle rolled his eyes as if the unmannerly gesture somehow proved his point. Then he touched his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose it's a valid concern, though. I also suppose you're going to nominate yourself for the task."

"It makes the most sense, what with our next most-qualified candidate being a prince and all," she replied with a shrug. "Jasper could do it tomorrow when he gets back, but given his heightened attraction to her blood…"

"No, no, you're obviously the best choice. I would like to be present, however. It's not that I doubt your abilities, of course, but in terms of practical knowledge, well…it's just that I have quite a bit more hands-on experience, and—"

"Yeah, I get it," she said, chuckling at Carlisle's discomfort in tooting his own horn. "How about doing the exam this evening? I'll touch base with Angela and have her put it on your schedule." She smirked. "Plus, I'll need time to dig out my old Human Anatomy 101 notes."

Carlisle squeezed her shoulder fondly while shaking his head. "I'm beginning to feel sorry for Ms. Swan. Emmett's cooking, your poking and prodding…"

"Eh, she's a federal prisoner who tried to put a bullet through the Vice President. Being a vampire's guinea pig is a mild punishment compared to what she deserves."

Sobering at the comment, Carlisle turned his full attention back to the video feed. "I really don't want my first meeting with her—in her new capacity, that is—to happen during the exam. I'd like to speak with her before then." He glanced at a frowning Rosalie. "Is there a reason why now is a bad time? A valid reason?"

"I guess not," she muttered. "But I'm going in with you. Let me get Alice down here to—"

"I'm on it," declared a voice from the other side of the opening door. Alice breezed into room and smoothly bumped Rosalie out of her chair. "I actually saw this one coming a few days ago, and though I have no idea how the conversation's going to go, I'm as certain as I can be that she doesn't pose a danger."

Carlisle could practically see Rosalie's mind whirring as she ran through numerous possible scenarios, including their inherent risks and outcomes. He walked to room's exit and waited for her at the door.

"Everything's going to be fine," he promised as she all but stomped past him toward Prisoner 235527's cell.

Her disdain clearly on display, Rosalie banged on the door to alert Swan of their presence and then yanked on the handle. She managed to restrain herself long enough to let Carlisle enter first.

The petite young woman lying on her bed glanced at them over the top of her paperback book. Upon seeing the Chancellor, she began to clamber into a sitting position but froze halfway through the movement. A scowl spread over her features, as if she'd automatically reacted to his position of authority before remembering that she didn't want to grant him that kind of respect.

Carlisle watched her flop back down onto the mattress and flip over to her stomach so that she faced away from him. He heard Rosalie's low growl and had to put up a hand before she leaped to Swan's side and yanked the girl to her feet. The rude behavior didn't bother him quite as much as it did Rosalie. If anything, he regretted the loss of the sweet innocence Swan seemed to possess when he interacted with her over six years ago, in Forks.

Their first meeting occurred when she came to the community hospital's emergency room because of a broken leg suffered from a slip on ice. Speaking only a few quiet words throughout the entirety of her visit, Isabella Swan projected the image of a shy but thoughtful girl who was just beginning to emerge from that awkward teenage phase of life. Carlisle recalled thinking that she'd likely grow into a lovely and confident woman.

He'd seen a hint of that developing maturity the second time he treated her. It was her eighteenth birthday, and when a few of her Quileute friends—including the now-infamous Jacob Black—attempted to surprise her, she had stumbled backward into a glass table. The table shattered, resulting in a gash in her upper arm that required suturing. While working to close the wound, Carlisle had noticed that Isabella seemed to be studying him curiously, as though she realized something was amiss. When he tried to draw her into conversation, hopefully to distract her, she sidestepped his attempts with dogged determination.

"I'm glad your leg healed well. Have you experienced any residual discomfort from the injury?"

"No, it's fine…can I ask you a question, Dr. Cullen?"

"Of course."

"Your eyes—they're, um…an interesting color."

The loss of rhythm in Carlisle's suturing was so brief that only another vampire would have noticed. Rather than point out the fact that she hadn't actually posed a question, he glossed over the issue.

"Yes, they are. How is your senior year coming along? Do you have any thoughts on furthering your education?"

"I'll probably go to a state school, either here or in Florida. Um, Alice and Jasper…their eyes are interesting, too."

Choosing not to respond, he finished tying off the final suture more quickly than he probably should have.

"Well, Isabella," he said, covering her wound lightly with a gauze bandage. "I'm sorry that you had to come here on your birthday, but I hope you'll be able to enjoy the rest of your evening. Nurse Davis will talk you shortly about your discharge instructions. Please give my regards to your father."

As if expecting his deflection, she nodded and offered a bashful smile. "Sure thing, Dr. Cullen. Thanks for taking care of me."

For a brief time afterward, Carlisle considered having Edward come down from Alaska to gauge her interest and potential threat level. Jasper, however, allayed his fears after sampling her emotions for a week. Isabella did pay slightly more attention to Alice and Jasper at school than the rest of the students, but she didn't seem to harbor anything stronger than mild curiosity.

Carlisle briefly wondered if the present situation would be any different had Edward visited Forks before the newborn threat, if he had sought out contact with Isabella Swan. His abilities hadn't yet been changed—would her mind still have been silent to him? Would she have hated him after the Great War despite a prior meeting?

Previous positive interaction certainly seemed to have no effect on her feelings toward Carlisle. The glare she'd leveled at him before turning away was rife with hostility and accusation.

Undeterred, he took a seat in a chair located about five feet from her bedside. While she didn't look at him, Carlisle had the feeling the book in her hands was only acting as a prop at the moment.

"Hello, Isabella," he said quietly. "I hope you're doing well today."

She remained silent, but he didn't expect otherwise.

"I've come by to say hello and welcome you to Cullen Manor. Of course, I do wish the circumstances surrounding your stay were different. This is something of a learning situation for us, and your patience would be appreciated as we work out the logistics of your residency. There's a good chance you'll be here for some time, so it's in both of our best interests to develop a mutually respectful relationship."

Swan's head jerked up in surprise. "What the hell are you talking about? I've already been here way too long. I'm supposed to go back to Hazelton."

Rosalie took a threatening step toward the bed at the girl's rude tone. Carlisle cleared his throat meaningfully to keep her at bay.

"That may change. Yours is a…unique case. We're currently discussing options with the Judicial Committee and will be contacting your attorney soon. One of the highly likely scenarios is that you serve your sentence at Cullen Manor."

"What?" she screeched, sitting up quickly. "There's no way in hell I'm going to stay with you leeches. Get me a phone! I wanna talk to my lawyer right this fucking second!"

Nothing would stop Rosalie this time. She lunged at the girl and shoved her against the bed's headboard.

"Watch yourself, 255627. Speak like that to the Chancellor again, and I will make your life miserable here, no matter how long you stay."

Carlisle's neutral expression remained unchanged throughout Swan's outburst, but he did allow a severe edge to seep into his voice. "While we will try to accommodate your needs and wishes as much as possible, do not mistake decency for leniency. You made an attempt on the life of Vice President—a friend of mine, by the way—while your friends attacked me. You are in pre-trial confinement for a very serious crime, not on a vacation. And quite frankly, Miss Swan, you have such a terrible attitude that I'm inclined to let my security chief give you a lesson in manners." He took a breath and shook his head sadly. "Knowing Charlie as I did, I'm certain he'd be very disappointed in you right now."

Swan's eyes grew wide, and for a moment, Carlisle could see a glimpse of that seemingly conscientious and sweet girl he'd met six years ago. But all too soon, her features hardened, and he found himself on the receiving end of her most scathing glare yet.

"You don't know anything," she spit out, turning to lie on her stomach again. She picked up her book and made a deliberate show of ignoring him.

Carlisle had to physically take hold of Rosalie's arm to keep her from roughing up the girl again.

"I would have a better idea if you talk to me," he said quietly to Swan. "You've suffered great loss in both your family and your community, but the ones who committed those terrible crimes are gone. Your anger is understandable, but it's grossly misdirected." He leaned forward and spoke with an earnest voice. "It's not too late, Isabella. It's not too late for many things. You will be punished for your attack, but cooperation will go a long way toward a reduced sentence. And if—when—you are assigned to serve your term here, take the opportunity to learn about us. Keep an open mind, make observations, talk to us…I think you'll find we're not the monsters you believe us to be."

He paused to let her consider his words. Swan didn't appear to be paying attention to him, but the stiff set of her shoulders suggested otherwise. Carlisle glanced at the paperback gripped tightly between her fingers.

He was rather surprised when he noted the title.

A wealth of sarcastic gibes sprang to the tip of his tongue, but he kept his dry amusement to himself. He did, however, make a few implicative remarks regarding her literary selection.

"I've never met Maya Angelou," he said, standing up and walking to the door, "but I remember the racism that was rampant during the years of her youth…and before them…and after. In fact, I've seen prejudice of many forms during my 370 years, and the constricting weight of its hate and oppression can indeed feel like a cage. It is truly a shame that such destructive negativity still exists in the world today."

The room was quiet except for the steady beat of the girl's heart and the hum of the ventilation. Carlisle sighed, wondering if anything he'd said had an impact on her or if his visit had been mostly a waste of time. He moved aside to let Rosalie work the door's keypad.

The whispered question reached him just as he was about to step into the hallway.

"Is he okay?"

Carlisle stopped but didn't turn to look at the girl.

"He?"

She huffed in annoyance as if an explanation shouldn't have been necessary.

"The mind rap—, er, reader…you know, the growly one with crazy hair and self-control problems."

"Edward?" Carlisle asked, surprised at the unexpected query. He glanced at her over his shoulder; she was still lying on her stomach, staring blankly at her copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

"Yeah, that one," she muttered. "Last I saw, he was being carried outta here. No one mentioned him yesterday, so…"

"The Vice Chancellor is fine. He's currently out of the area on government business but is scheduled to return tomorrow morning." Carlisle paused. "If you'd like to speak with him sooner than that, I can arrange a telephone or video conference…"

"What? No!" she sputtered. "I'm fine never talking to that psycho again. Christ, he nearly freakin' ate me last time he was in here. No, I just wanted to know if he was hurt or dead or whatever so I wouldn't have to deal with him again. That's all."

"I see," Carlisle said, his voice cold. "Well, I'm happy to report that's not the case. You will be meeting with him again. Soon, as a matter of fact."

Jaw clenched, he strode out of the room, leaving Rosalie to close the cell's heavy door.

Edward had more self-control than almost anyone he knew, Carlisle thought as he headed to his office. His son didn't have "problems" controlling himself at all.

No, the problem was Isabella Swan. In addition to being thoroughly annoying and hell-bent on the destruction of his race, she confounded Edward's abilities and apparently could injure him with her mind. On top of that, her blood held special appeal to gifted male vampires.

She was a problem, all right—a confusing, complicated, and potentially dangerous one.

And Carlisle had no idea what to do about it.