East of the Sun, West of the Moon

Is … a bell … ahhh …

Wakes her through layers of dream, to look down the length of her bed.

Is … a bell … ahhh …

Her nightlight has cast a shadow onto the chair.

It startles, frozen, in the gaze of her eye.

She sits up slowly. Afraid to blink. Afraid to look away. Afraid her father may hear something and come in through the door.

It is not a shadow. And it does not move. Dimly, dimly, she sees the outlines of face and form as she remembers them. The figure stays. Motionless. On the chair.

Owl calls once more. And flies away.

Tears start out of her eyes. Resolutely she brings her hands up, to rub her eyes thoroughly. If he is gone when she brings her hands down, she will know that it was just a dream. Just grief and sorrow watching her sleep.

Her hands return to the bedclothes around her. She opens her eyes.

Beloved gargoyle he remains, crouched on the chair.

Her glance shoots once more to the door, listens as hard as she can. The only movement in all the house is her heart in her chest.

Now she is at the foot of the bed, kneeling upright at the edge, both arms stretched wide to each side.

Come.

Come.

Come back. Come home.

She doesn't realize that her eyes have squeezed shut again, her breathing suppressed, with the effort of this silent call.

… …

The shock of tentative embrace, cool breath at her ear, wrings a gasp from her that is almost a cry.

"Bella," he whispers. "Don't fall. Not again."

Breath returns, ragged, sobbing, fighting not to make noise. One arm locked around him, the other hand bringing a fistful of jacket to stop up her mouth, her face pressing into the curve of his collarbone.

"Shhh, Bella, shhh," he whispers. "Bella. Oh, Bella." And, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

They shudder together. He, standing at the foot of the bed; she, kneeling upright at its edge, but the starch gone out of her now, letting him support her, until they both can settle.

"Everyone said you were dead. All of you. They said —"

"We are. All of us."

She looks at him. Up close. Exactly as she remembers. The van. The sea. The meadow. The kiss. She's let go of his jacket. Smooths it back against his chest now, even with the damp from her mouth.

"But … you're here."

"No. Bella. I'm not. Not in real life."

She shakes her head hard. Gestures at the room, dim and shadowed around them. "What do you call this, then?"

"Bardo. Dreamtime." His eyes close and his face radiates pain with the words.

"The in-between?"

His gaze at her goes tender and sad. "It's as good a word as any."

She pokes his shoulder. Pinches herself. Glares with the evidence of her senses.

"You're in it too, right now," he sighs. "That's why everything feels … like it does."

"How do we get out?"

He stares at her. As he did in the forest, when she opened her jacket to shield him from sunlight. As he did in the meadow. When she offered her friendship against the loneliness of a monstrous life. "There is only one way out, Bella. Across … the Great Divide."

"The Rocky Mountains?"

"Oh, Bella."

"Stay, then. Stay. Tell your family to come too. Everyone stay."

"You know that's not possible."

"I don't know anything."

He brings his hand up, touches her cheek, ever so lightly. Perhaps he doesn't know anything either.

"Why are you here then?" she asks.

"I couldn't stay away. I had to know that you were okay. Not knowing was …" He cannot finish.

"I'm not okay. Not even a little bit."

He shakes his head mournfully. "I can't be here. My family is waiting for me."

"Across the Rocky Mountains?"

Sigh. "Yes."

"Stay." Firmly. With conviction.

"I can't. I broke every law of forever to be here."

"I don't care."

He cradles her face in his hands. His hands that made the medicine recipe into a flower. That fiddled the diner receipt into mysterious origamis. That stopped a van, and now are holding her so, so carefully, yet still chill her skin. She leans into it all, closing her eyes, as he bows his forehead to touch hers. "Sleep, Bella," he whispers. "Real sleep. Not this …" Lucid dreaming.

But her mind is racing, to map out the rules for meeting. She will need them, she is sure.
"I can't see you when I'm awake, can I? You can't … come across when I'm awake."

"No."

She ties herself to the mast. "Stay. Or take me back with you!"

"NO!" His voice is too loud, and both pairs of eyes shoot panicked to the door. A breath passes. Two. Three. The hallway and the house remain silent. Only a thin curtain of rain begins a soft tattoo outside the window.

"Morning," she whispers. "Stay until morning."

Until the morning dove sings

He brings his arms around her again,

hold me forever

draws her slowly close to him, in shivering surrender. "Close your eyes." His face is in her hair. "I'll stay until you fall asleep."

"Sunrise."

She feels him shake his head, feels the soft exhalation through his nose at her bargaining.

"First light," he replies.

You're upside down, Edward.

Well so are you, Miss Swan.

He settles her back onto the bed, among the quilts, and lies down alongside, bringing the warmth of the bedclothes back over her. She will not be satisfied until the quilts cover them both, hiding them in a secret fort for two. Only then does she quiet against him, and confide into his shirt. "I'm not okay. You have to come back. And come back and come back and come back."

He lies very still. Whispering to the crown of her head. "Sleep. Bella. Let yourself rest." He breathes only just enough to form words. "I'll keep my promise. I promise. I'll be here, right here. Until first light."

Even with his cold body beside her, the air under the quilts warms. She is surrounded by the remembered fragrance — like forest, like incense, like myrrh — and she remembers how he had to hold his hands tented over his nose, because of how she smelled to him.

"Is this okay?"

"Not really. But it's all we have."

Author's Notes:

This chapter ... this pair ... might have a sound track ...

Hold Me Forever by Grace Griffith

Alone I have traveled, no friend but the wind
I've carried my troubles, in a place deep within
With no one to turn to, no place to rest
Just living by instinct, and doing my best ...

When the night is a lullaby, in the arms of a dream
When the world is forgotten, and nothing remains
Turn to me gently … don't say a thing
Hold me forever, until the morning dove sings.

So long I've been searching, all the valleys and plains
For a place to stop struggling, heal all my pain
Not a fountain of youth, or a pulpit on high
Just the look that you give me, when your eyes meet mine …

When the night is a lullaby, in the arms of a dream
When the world is forgotten, and nothing remains
Turn to me gently … don't say a thing
Hold me forever, 'til the morning dove sings
Hold me forever, 'til the morning dove sings.

: / / open dot spotify dot com / track / 6WJh6vowi3GnTogWYcgtzA#login

What is Edward talking about ...

Bardo: (via : / / www dot lionsroar dot com / whats-a-bardo /) "Bardo is the Tibetan term for the intermediate state or gap we experience between death and our next rebirth. The Tibetan title of the fourteenth-century text published in 1927 in English as The Tibetan Book of the Dead is Bardo Tödöl, meaning 'Liberation in the Intermediate State Through Hearing.'

"More generally, the word bardo refers to the gap or space we experience between any two states. The lesser-known bardos described in the traditional texts include the bardo of dreaming, the bardo of meditating, and even the bardo of this life—which is, after all, the intermediate state between birth and death."

Dreamtime: (via : / / aboriginaldreamtime dot com dot au / what-is-dreamtime /) "The period of creation before time as we know it existed is known to the Australian Aboriginal people as The Dreaming. The lessons of this period of enlightenment, and the ability to live in peace and harmony, are encapsulated within The Dreaming and passed on to the next generation in the oral traditions. This is when the very essence of human nature came to be understood."