THE HERMIT

"Every Soul is upon some step of the path; we ourselves may have passed them on the way. When we refuse to recognize the Divine Center in others we are bearing false witness, for we are not seeing our fellowmen as they are. Gautama Buddha has said, 'The light of truth's high noon is not for tender leaves,' and from the Scriptures come the words of those who have faith, 'Thy Word shall be a light unto my path.'"

—Eden Gray, The Complete Guide to the Tarot

Divinatory Meaning: Silent counsel, prudence, discretion. Receiving wisdom from above; instruction from an expert in your field. A meeting with one who will guide the seeker on the path to material or spiritual ends. Attainment of goals. A journey may be necessary in order to gain knowledge.

Reversed: Refusal to listen to wisdom. Immaturity, foolish vices. Rejection of maturity; the tendency to be a perpetual Peter Pan.

—Joan Bunning, Learning the Tarot

NOW

& FOREVER


Before she was anyone that mattered—Alice Cullen did not yet exist nor did she know who Mary-Alice Brandon was—Alice followed a young boy around Grand Rapids, Michigan for seventeen days.

She did not hunt the child nor did she plan to kill him. At the time, she had no concept of age when it came to humans. Some were big, some were small. Some smelled worse than others and some tasted better than most. Looking back, she would've guessed the boy's age around seven or eight years old. But he'd been small, so she'd never even entertained the thought of taking him for a meal. It wouldn't have been enough to satisfy her.

It was the larger ones she preferred. The ones who wandered like she did, who shook where they lay in the streets at night, who stumbled blindly into her and grasped at her roughly, as if they could move her from her spot or cause her harm. It was easier sometimes to let her meals come to her, but most of the ones who approached her with intent to touch never smelled or tasted as good as the cleaner humans she came across in the daytime.

Besides, she tried not to compare tastes too much. She did not want to develop too keen of a palette. Alice knew that she would have to start eating animals at some point if she ever wanted her family to accept her. But for as long as it took her to learn how to be a person—for as long as her Jasper was far away, fighting, fucking, and feasting—she could afford to put her focus into other things first.

It was also nice, in a way, to have something to enjoy while she waited. Blood was not a substitute for company (for the future she understood so little but craved so badly) but it was the only indulgence she could afford.

Alice practiced constantly. She tied and braided grass into rows of knots, removed the wings from butterflies without tearing them, and she could even peel the shells away from the membranes of bird eggs. She knew that practice would make perfect and perfect would earn her a family who smiled at her and touched her gently and spoke her name.

When she first found the boy she would stalk for over two weeks, she was sitting in the shade under a tree, waiting for him to arrive. For four days she watched him approach the sandpit at the edge of the courtyard, flask of water tucked into his trousers, and a sack stuffed with small treasures; bottle caps, hairpins, leaves and sticks. Each morning Alice watched, entranced as he pushed the sand around, wetting it and digging and morphing it into something vaguely recognizable. The mounds of different shapes and sizes peppered with trinkets were an object of fascination for her. But it wasn't the pearl he aways reserved for the top of his creations she craved. It was the fluidity and ease of his human motions that she desperately tried to emulate.

At night, after she watched him tuck himself and a younger sister into the same bed, she would leave the rooftops and return to the courtyard to practice her own sand shapes. Alice willed her hands to be steady and still, desperate for the grains of sand to obey her the same way they did the child. Sometimes she would bring some water that she'd grabbed from a fountain down the road, cupped tightly into her hands so that she could make the grit malleable enough to form into shapes.

Lessons in fragility occupied her mind and by the fifth day Alice was pleased with her ability to move individual granules of sand and stone without pulverizing them into dust.

But even still, she watched the boy and copied his movements. Not only could he adjust his sleeves without tearing them but he made sure to lift his head and acknowledge the movements and sounds around him. Alice practiced looking toward the noises she heard and felt excited at her ability to blend in with the humans around her.

While Alice played human, wiggling her feet in front of her and smiling at passersby, the boy played with his sand in the pit across the street. Each day he added a new creation to his city of sand.

It was on day five, while he moved and compressed and dug through the sand, that another group of boys showed up. They were older, larger, louder, and Alice watched with fascination as they tried to take the boy's sand creations for themselves. For almost an hour the boy yelled, hit, and spat at the other children when they approached, but eventually he was overpowered and pushed to the side, and the older children resumed building onto what the boy had started.

The boy stood on the outskirts of the courtyard for several minutes, watching the others play with his creation, taking his hard work for themselves, and when the tears that had drawn streaks across his dirt-covered cheeks finally dried, he made a decision.

Alice watched in fascination as the boy walked over to his creation and destroyed it. The other boys yelled at him, pelted him with handfuls of the dirt and sand until he could no longer see, and then left him lying in the sandpit. The boy eventually blinked the grit from his eyes, stared down at what he had destroyed, and smiled.

Four years later, Alice went back to Grand Rapids and sought him out to sate her own curiosity. She knew what she would find but did not see what would end up happening. On her second day back in town she was following him on the street when a classmate of his shoved him into an alleyway. After a few seconds of scuffling on the ground—the two boys fought roughly with one another, rolling around amongst the dirt, broken glass, and garbage—the fresh blood in the air had been too much for her to resist.

Edward jerked his arm backwards as Alice's mind replayed the memory. She couldn't focus enough to apologize for imagining that particular meal. She was so thirsty. Her mind drifted to the hunt she was supposed to have taken part of the night prior and she pushed that memory away, too.

Thankfully, Edward didn't acknowledge her beyond that and continued listening to Carlisle pitch ideas. They were brainstorming something.

It took Alice a few seconds to realize that they were already planning on what to do in case they were successful. Alice shook herself free from her wandering thoughts and focused on their words for a moment, willing her mind to visualize their ideas in any way. If they were planning something, she would see it. If they were forming decisions, then she should know about it.

No visions came to her.

But that doesn't mean anything anymore, she thought, pushing her panic and fear to the side. Dread, heavy and awful, remained in the pit of her chest. Alice's visions weren't showing her a lot of things that were important now. Life or death, it didn't matter.

Edward didn't even acknowledge her depressing, pitiful thoughts anymore. Alice didn't blame him. There wasn't much he could do or say to her now to ease her worries. There wasn't anything anyone could say that would make her feel better about everything she had failed to see. At one point, Carlisle had tried to assure her that the visions Edward had gleaned were more than enough for them, but Alice had read the pity in his eyes and simply ignored the pointless affirmation.

It wasn't until Alice released the back of Edward's sleeve that he turned to acknowledge her. The vision she received of his question ("Where are you going?") was short and quick, and Alice did not respond to it in her mind. She didn't know where she was going, but she had to start moving.

If she didn't start now, she knew she would only remain trapped in her head.

Edward didn't verbalize his question, and Alice wandered out of the room, Edward's and Carlisle's eyes both on her. Alice ignored the snippets of their conversation she received then. Alice still hadn't fed and now that she was wandering away it was the topic of a quiet discussion. They kept human blood on hand in the deep freezer for Renesmee just in case (although her anatomy had so far proved that safeguard to be unnecessary) and were contemplating thawing some bags to give Alice and Emmett some strength back.

Alice didn't want it. She didn't need another excuse to not want to look in the mirror anymore.

Edward, having overheard Alice's visions and mental reaction, quickly dismissed the idea to Carlisle, who frowned and nodded.

It was too little, too late for her mind to start showing her things. After all, she didn't want these visions of overheard conversations anymore. She had to move around and see everyone with her own two eyes. She had to look at them and hear their words with her own ears and know that they were physically there with her. That they were still alive.

Alice floated through the foyer, toward the stairs, and did not stop climbing them until she'd reached the top. The stairway led directly into the loft where she now stood, idling. There were no doors to keep anyone in or out, and one large window on the far west wall that overlooked the front yard. Curtains and rolls of fabric and swatches of paint and wallpaper colors were strewn about, covering most of the floor and each surface. Pinned to the walls were examples of previous projects of Esme's and proof of Renesmee's progress as an artist. This was where Alice used to go to work and play, or to decompress after a frustrating day of visions.

It didn't shock Alice that this was where her feet brought her. And it did not shock her to see four pairs of eyes staring back at her.

Occupying the only two couches at the opposite end of the rectangular space were Emmett and Rosalie, and Kate and Garrett.

Alice didn't spend much time looking at Kate. She knew that Kate was suffering; she was rightfully angry and heartbroken and had been chased out of her home, leaving the burning corpses of Eleazar and Tanya behind while she, Garrett, and Carmen ran for their lives.

Alice knew that sharp guilt existed somewhere within her, but actually feeling it didn't appear to be within her ability. It was yet another emotion she couldn't access. Too much was going on in her mind for her to parse what she was feeling, if there was anything there at all. She entertained the idea of apologizing and struggled to keep from giving in to the sudden temptation.

Alice didn't know what she'd be apologizing for, exactly. But the urge was overwhelming. After all, Alice hadn't stopped what had happened.

Kate was wearing borrowed clothes. Rosalie's top, a pair of Esme's pants. Garrett's loans had come from Edward. Alice was disappointed that she hadn't been the one to pick out their outfits.

Alice ignored Kate's skeptical stare and shifted her attention. Rosalie looked…terrible. Alice blinked a few times as she studied her sister. Her hair was a mess, she hadn't changed clothes in two days now, and her expression was one of abject misery. Alice almost didn't recognize her. Another apology almost bubbled up out of her at the sight of Rose, devastated. I'm sorry, she wanted to say, I wanted to protect him. I couldn't protect him. I didn't know how to protect him.

The words floated around her head, unbidden. She was unattached to the guilt and misery that she knew was supposed to accompany these thoughts. Even without the remorse that she knew she should be feeling, she'd practiced enough emotion over the past century in her desperate attempts to appear human, that she almost said it, like a knee-jerk reaction.

But a vision came to her then ("Hey, no. Please don't apologize, here come—") and Alice clenched her jaw to avoid saying it. The sound of her grinding teeth was the only noise in the loft. Instead of apologizing, she turned her attention toward Emmett. In the very next instant, she looked away and locked her eyes on the arm of the couch beside him.

It didn't matter how short of a glance she'd spared him, she'd seen them. The scars. The evidence of what they'd been through. Alice didn't have time to spare dwelling on it, but her mind was a traitor and the sounds of his screams were still loud in her head. She turned her head fully to the side and stared at a window instead. Alice knew they were all watching her, but she didn't care enough to pretend to be looking at anything important. They all knew her mind was her enemy right now. It didn't need to be stated outright.

Emmett's curly hair was just short enough that it didn't hide the scar that marred his brow, nor could it cover where his jaw had been split from his skull. The scar beneath his eye had healed better, but the way the overhead lights illuminated his face made her throat tighten. He was wearing long pants and long sleeves, and besides his facial injuries, Alice couldn't see any other evidence of their suffering.

(Maybe she should go change her outfit. Put on something that would cover her up better.)

Maria had accomplished something that was nothing short of miraculous when she stitched Emmett back together. But Emmett's new gait was foreign to him and because of his injuries he was just like her now—a liability.

Alice wanted to say sorry again. She wanted to scream it and sob it and tear apart every stitch in the room. She wanted to lie down and repeat it over and over again. She hadn't stopped it. She hadn't even tried because she couldn't have. She hadn't seen it coming. She hadn't done anything to prevent it.

"Alice, hey." The sound of Emmett calling her name made something sharp in her chest twist painfully. "Come here." There was a pause after his beckon that Rosalie quickly filled. "Do you want to sit with us?"

Alice didn't see but instead heard as Rose scooted further down the couch, making room. In fact she didn't turn her head at all. Not until Kate spoke up, her voice uneasy, "Alice?"

Alice looked toward them again, locking eyes with Kate and holding her gaze. She remembered her words ("Are your lives worth everyone else's?") and finally replied. "No, they're not."

Then, she turned and, ignoring Emmett's call and Rose quickly shushing him, walked back down the stairs.

Her wandering led her to the second floor landing instead. There was a sitting area that was close to the stairs, just around the corner, that existed mainly as a spot for Bella to read or Ness and Emmett to build ridiculous card houses. Alice could hear both Esme and Carmen clearly from where she paused on the stairs, noiseless and waiting.

"—without even trying. He worked for them for so long. The wedding present they sent us is on the mantle above the—was. Was on the mantle." A pause. "It all means nothing now. I thought—I really expected to live peacefully after we lost Irina."

"I know," Esme's voice was soothing, quiet in comparison to Carmen's half-hysterical ramblings. "I'm so sorry you had to see it."

"I'm going to do it," Carmen spoke, her voice dropping, "I'm still going to fight like hell. I don't want them to get away with this, but after, I—" her voice choked on half of a sob and she spent a few seconds breathing slowly in and steadily out. "I need him. I don't know what to do without him."

There wasn't much sound after that beyond shushing. It sounded like Esme had wrapped her in another embrace, and Carmen's muffled gasps meant she must have buried her face into Esme's shoulder.

Alice saw a vision then ("Let's go upstairs. Spend time with the others. It'll do us both some good.") and continued moving. She did not care if Esme and Carmen knew she'd been standing around the corner eavesdropping, but she did not want another invitation into the loft. Alice was not going to let herself be herded onto a couch where she would sit and be fawned and fussed over.

She wanted them to stop fucking tiptoeing around her.

Alice stepped across the hall and slipped into Ness' room.

She walked over to the dresser and cupped a few of her necklaces where they dangled from her pin-board. Alice wondered if Ness was wearing the one Alice had bought her for her birthday; the Cartier one with the sapphire and diamond pendant. Alice didn't see it among the ones she traced with her fingers.

There were photos, too. Renesmee had gotten plenty of use out of the camera she'd received for her birthday. Polaroids were delicately pinned up—Ness had been careful not to damage or puncture the actual photos, balancing them between pushpins and under tape and string—most of them from her birthday party.

Alice traced a few silhouettes featured inside the small white frames. A photo of Emmett, standing proud with the impressively decorated cake he and Esme had made; the small blue cake looked even tinier in his hands. Rosalie, who so rarely played music for anyone, sitting behind the piano, smiling as she performed a classic rendition of one of Ness's favorite, more contemporary artists. Then, Carlisle and Esme, dancing to one of said renditions; Carlisle's smile was blinding as he twirled Esme, her dress billowing out around her knees. The next one, a family portrait. Edward, Ness, and Bella standing side by side, a picture perfect image, one that Alice had taken herself. Alice didn't know where the two other versions of this picture went, but she was glad to see this was the one Ness had pinned.

Alice let her finger brush over one final picture but didn't allow herself to focus on it too much. In her mind, she observed the details of it and tried to keep all emotion pushed down deep where it belonged. Where it could be ignored.

(She didn't have to try, really.)

In the picture, a woman sat on the arm of a sofa, her legs draped over the lap of a man seated on the cushion beside her. His arms were wrapped tight around her waist, holding her to him closely, and her arms were loose around his neck. She was leaning forward, laughing against his cheek while he looked down, as if trying to hide the smile erupting on his own face, as vibrant and glowing as the reflective party hat on his head.

Alice tried not to think about the image. She plucked it from the lineup and threw it to the ground so she wouldn't have to look at it any longer. Then, she went back to poking through Ness' pinned necklaces.

Ness was alright. Last night, sometime after Maria had fixed Alice up, Edward had noticed one missed call and one voicemail on his phone. It had been Ness, reciting the code words Bella had assigned her (Bella confirmed this, holding back relieved sobs) and saying a quick "I'm safe, I love you," before hanging up. Ness hopefully had disposed of the phone and if all went well, she was with Jacob now and they were off to hide somewhere in the world.

Either they'd be sought out eventually by whoever survived this next encounter, or they'd stay on the run for the rest of their lives.

Demetri's face flickered through her mind and Alice clenched her fist tight. She crushed an old Tiffany's necklace Rose had given Ness, and reminded herself to replace it if she lived until morning.

Ness was alright. Bella had outdone them all beautifully to get her daughter out of the line of fire, and Alice was relieved to see it. It was one thing that had gone right. Perhaps the only thing.

Alice heard Carmen and Esme begin their ascent to the loft, and left Ness' room behind.

Alice's feet brought her back into the foyer. She stepped over the pieces of the broken door that they'd marched through instead of moved aside, and wood crunched under her bare feet. She paused on the front steps for a few seconds and listened to the forest. She knew Maria was out there somewhere, stalking the perimeter of their property and most likely daring to venture beyond it. Maria took risks, but they were calculated enough that Alice didn't worry.

A flicker of a vision—fire, the smell of death, the heat of burning trees—pushed itself into her awareness, incomprehensible and jumbled.

Ten before two a fire blooms, her mind provided swiftly. Then, Alice doubted whether it was a vision or a memory. It looked just like one she'd received a few months ago. New or old, she couldn't tell the difference anymore.

Alice turned around and wandered back inside. Glass crunched under her feet when she entered. Someone really ought to sweep it up. Maybe she'd grab a broom in a few minutes. That was what Carlisle and Edward should be discussing; how they were going to clean up the foyer and the garage.

With that thought in her mind, she wandered back down the hall and into the area where the kitchen and the den lay. Then, she turned left and wandered past Edward, Carlisle, and Bella (she must've joined them while Alice was in the loft) and headed toward the garage.

She saw the vision of Edward reaching out, but he quickly refrained. Then, a vision of him calling her name, and again, he resisted. There must have been something he saw in someone's mind that made him not worry, because neither Edward nor Carlisle nor Bella stopped her from walking down the hall, through the mudroom, and into the garage.

The door was ajar; it wasn't as if closing it would keep noise out from the rest of the house. There was nowhere you could go to escape the sounds of yelling, hissing, growling, and correction after correction as the newborns trained.

The younger hybrid girl, Maysun, took note of her immediately. She glared toward Alice, as if she could repel her presence with just one hateful look, and watched as Alice silently padded into the room. Serena, the older sibling, did not turn to acknowledge her. Instead her eyes were focused forward, fixed across the garage where the training was still ongoing.

Maria was the one who had ordered them into the garage to watch, even after they claimed they'd learned enough. (Alice had still been clinging to her arm during that. It was after their argument began that Alice released Maria's arm and snuck away to hide in the library.) Maria's language had been curt and full of disrespect, but even despite the words Maysun exchanged with her, just as cruel and angry, both Serena and Maysun ended up back in the garage. Alice knew that no amount of fronting could ever hide the fact that these two would do whatever they could to get their sister back.

The hybrids' way of life may have been different than theirs, but Alice knew that their love was still there, buried beneath the fear.

Alice didn't know if Nahuel and Huilen were coming but Edward insisted that the girls at least believed that they were. Alice did not know Nahuel well, despite their time spent together, but she knew that if any of his sisters ever called to him for help, he'd drop absolutely everything to lend aide.

She sorely hoped he'd make it in time. But if he and Huilen weren't there by nightfall, her family would have to make do with what they possessed. Which was two hybrids, three southern war veterans, nine newborns, eight vegetarians, and Alice.

Alice almost didn't count herself—after all, what good was she anymore?—but figured that she was still a body. And Maria said it herself: they needed every body they could get.

The sound of nails against concrete drew her attention toward the training. Alice felt detached from her body as she watched Peter work hands-on with the newborns. He corrected the angle of punches, he twisted out of headlocks, and picked at each and every hole in their defenses.

Another person she wanted to apologize to. I'm sorry I couldn't save Charlotte. I'm sorry I let her die.

Then, Alice stared blankly at the back of Jasper's head, and watched. He stood on the perimeter of their matches, close enough that he could step forward and physically intervene but far enough away that he was separate from the chaos of the fight.

Alice didn't realize she was still moving until she stopped, feet away from him.

Either he hadn't heard her approach or he was ignoring her. It didn't matter. Alice stared at his back and when a vision flooded her, she let it. It wasn't like she'd be able to stop it if she tried…

Jasper's expression is clinical and detached as he watches the two-on-two fights. The concentration on his expression is a familiar look, and when his fingers twitch at his side his eye sometimes twitches in unison. Then, Peter gives another correction and Jasper's fingers still.

Alice watches Jasper's hands with a vivid intensity, unable to pull her eyes off of them. But something forces her eyes upward. She looks just in time to catch one of the newborns—Connor—staring at her in surprise. Barely a millisecond passes before he's hit in the jaw, hard. The flesh cracks audibly and Alice flinches back, her feet shuffling slightly as she scurries away.

Suddenly, a furious frustration—a red-hot hatred that makes Alice's skin buzz—envelopes the room. Jasper is yelling before he even turns around. "I told you to either stay put or get out!"

Never in their 90 years together has he raised his voice like this, and when he realizes who he's yelling at—when he sees the shock and fear on her face—he stops his outburst in his tracks.

Alice ripped herself out of the vision before it could continue, turned, and ran. She didn't run far. Only into the mudroom, barely thirty feet away. Only far enough that she knew that if Jasper saw her, it was only for a split-second, at most. If she were lucky, he hadn't noticed.

Alice stood still, listening to the noise in the garage, waiting for any sign that she'd been found out, or that she'd foolishly risked distracting their first line of defense in her mindless meandering. Six seconds passed, she unfroze her feet, and continued onward.

Alice wandered back into the kitchen, her pace just as slow as it was before she'd entered the garage like some silly idiot, and avoided the stares that her three family members fixed her with.

She didn't need their pity. They didn't understand. Even Edward didn't understand. She hadn't fled from Jasper. She wanted to stomp her foot and scream but instead she kept walking until she reached the library. Then, she walked to the corner of the room and settled herself back into the suede seat she'd occupied earlier. She couldn't afford to have Jasper yell at her like that. Not for her own sake, but for his.

Because Alice knew that the instant Jasper realized what he'd done, he'd approach, he'd apologize, and he'd pull her from the room. He would soften himself for her and he'd hold her and because of that he would lose his hard-fought-for concentration.

She could not afford to distract him because the way he was now—angry, focused, fractured—was his best chance at survival. Jasper didn't need the reminder that he had a miserable wife that was currently filling the role of 'biggest liability' in the house. Any break in Jasper's concentration right now would cause him to lose focus, and that could mean the death of all of them.

Alice didn't need to remind Jasper that she was still there, unwell and useless. He had already made himself this for her; a weapon resharpened to keep her safe. Edward blamed Maria, but Alice blamed herself. It was her fault he had done this to himself. He had always placed her safety first. He had always priced her life higher than his.

She felt sick with dread and curled in on herself tighter.

Being sharp would keep Jasper safe. His focus would carry him through this battle and all of this would be worth it. It had to be worth it, for the sake of their family. For the sake of his own survival.

Alice, alone, did not feel worth it.

A vision crept up on her, swallowing her whole. It was a snake unhinging its jaw before the strike. A windowless room with the lights suddenly switched off. Alice felt the scene pull her under, its weight threatening to drown her as images flashed inside of her mind.

It seemed they truly could not have one good thing.

(Ness was not alright.)

Edward was in the room before the vision finished, barreling toward her at a speed that made her flinch despite the dizzying disconnect she felt in between her brain and her body. She'd seen, in swift images, that he'd intended on grabbing her by the arms. Edward had planned on yelling, on begging, on shaking her the way he'd done so many times over the past several decades.

Alice didn't know whether it was the fear on her face or the visions in her mind that made Edward hesitate, but the moment was long enough to allow Carlisle and Bella to catch up. They moved so fast that Alice couldn't help but watch as papers—still taped up, now useless—fluttered noisily around them. The sound was irritating. Alice wanted to walk the perimeter of the room and tear them all down. Maybe she'd do it after this.

Grab her phone. The swift command was the only thought in her head for a moment. A reflex that still worked. Don't tell her. Grab it. Now. But Edward either couldn't hear her or was choosing to ignore her.

When Bella's phone rang, all Alice could do was whisper into the room.

"I'm sorry."

As if what would happen next was also her fault.

No one spoke for the second and a half it took for Bella to pull her phone out of her back pocket. Alice couldn't tell who gasped—she was looking at the stupid papers she'd had Peter and Emmett tape up around the library as they settled back into stillness—but the phone rang two more times before Bella answered it.

Jacob Black's voice on the other end of the line was frustrated, angry. "Bella, what the fuck is going on?"

No one replied. Jacob continued to talk.

"I'm on the way to the airport right now, so you have about twenty-five minutes to explain as fast as possible before I turn into the TSA's biggest asshole of the day. Also, tell Edward I'm using that fancy card for this."

Alice found a loose string on her sleeve—one of the hastily-sewn hems was starting to come undone—and pulled it slowly, watching as it unravelled in front of her. After it was tugged loose she set to work snapping it into smaller and smaller pieces, trying to keep their lengths as even as possible.

Bella's voice shook as she spoke. "Jake, what—I don't—where are you?"

"On the way to Sea-Tac. Ness filled me in a little last night; listen. I don't know what happened and you can give me like, the full specifics once I'm back, but you've gotta cut the kid some slack. She's doing worse than I am at this point, and—"

"Jacob. Where is Renesmee?"

There was a pause. Alice picked up her tiny fragments of string and began to unravel them further, trying to make each individual strand as thin as possible. She could probably tie each of them back together, make a string that was thinner but still longer even despite the number of knots she'd have to tie to reconnect the ends.

"I don't know. She told me, at like 8 or 9 last night—I don't know, I'd have to check the timestamps—she said she'd explain, and told me not to talk to you guys, but I haven't heard from her since, so obviously she should know all bets are off." A pause. "Bells, what happened?"

Bella sobbed in reply, and Alice only looked up when she saw Edward finally pry the phone out of her fingers. He turned his back on them, the phone pressed up against his ear, and strode out of the room in a flurry.

Alice's eyes focused on the movement before her, watching as Carlisle was suddenly the only thing keeping Bella from collapsing to the ground. Bella was making a surprisingly small amount of noise for the terror displayed so plainly on her face; her cries sounded more like gasps and she could not steady her breathing into any form or pattern.

By the time an avalanche of noise crashed upon them—people were rushing down the stairs—Bella was already scrambling out of the library, chasing after Edward as a horrible, ear-splitting cry exploded out of her. Carlisle did not spare Alice a second glance as he took off after Bella and Edward.

"I'm sorry," Alice whispered again, this time to an empty room. She knew no one in the house had heard her. The abruptness of the rug being pulled out from under them—their only foothold of hope in this desolate wasteland of a day—was spinning everyone's carefully curated calm into a cyclone of chaos. The words of her family became background noise. Just wind in a storm soothing children to sleep. A schoolyard scuffle that passersby overlooked because that was what everyone else did. Someone else's problem.

Children destined for the dirt.

Renesmee was not with Jacob. Renesmee was not safe. There was no one left to hope for but themselves, and Alice had resigned herself to death the last time she'd looked at the sky.

With an abrupt clarity, Alice knew that there were fires burning. Or at least, there would be soon. The vision was crisp, clear, but unplaced. She did not see a person attached to it. She did not hear anything outside of the crackling of the flames as it ate away at the forest. All she saw was fire, all she smelled was death, all she felt was pain, and then a sudden blankness. A nothingness.

Her death, she realized.

Alice stared at the carpet in the library and refocused her eyes. She wondered if she should tell someone. She wondered if Edward had seen it. She wondered if she should just say it, out loud, so it existed somewhere else besides her head. Even if no one else heard it—and how could she blame them for ignoring more of her senseless rambling?—perhaps putting it into the world would help.

But the doubt was quick to assist her hesitance, and Alice did not move from her spot on the chair. She'd been wrong enough. They didn't need the girl who cried wolf to start crying again. Alice did not trust her mind and knew that they shouldn't either. She couldn't protect them anymore, which was so, so much worse than knowing she couldn't protect herself.

Alice ground her teeth together and dropped each string to the carpet below, one at a time.

There were too many goodbyes currently transpiring in the house, both unstated and explicit. Alice didn't need to add hers onto theirs. If Alice said goodbye, they'd know what awaited her. They would know she'd seen something. They would know that there was no hope. If she said anything now—if she said goodbye to the people she'd known and loved all her life, long before she'd met them—then they would know the fate that awaited her.

Even if Alice didn't know herself.


A/N: Sorry about the late chapter. I was out of town this past weekend, plus it needed incredibly heavy edits, which turned into me adding almost 1.5k more words. I've looked at this chapter so many times now that I'm blind to any and all mistakes that are probably still leftover. Don't worry. Monday's update will be on time, and things will move very fast after that. Get ready.