Chapter 18: Jailhouse Rock
1957 Scarborough, Maine
Emmett turned the volume dial on the radio a little bit higher as he got ready for tonight. The sound of Elvis Presley's "Hound Dog" filled the room, the infectious beat echoing off the walls and filling Emmett with a rambunctious spirit. He wished Rosie was here so he could start swinging her around right there in their bedroom, as if they were on the dance floor. The memory of their last dance outing was fresh in his mind, and he could almost feel Rosie's hands in his, her laughter mingling with the music.
He grabbed his can of hairspray, the familiar scent filling the air as he slicked back his hair. His hands worked deftly, styling it into the popular ducktail—a look that had become all the rage among men. The mirror reflected his concentration as he perfected every strand, ensuring his look was just right. He knew he looked the part of a dangerous hoodlum with just the right amount of rebellious cool that Rosie loved.
Satisfied with his hair, Emmett turned back to the large mirror above his dresser, giving his reflection a final once-over. His white T-shirt hugged his muscular frame, tucked into a pair of dark jeans that were cuffed just right. The jeans, worn in all the right places, emphasized his athletic build, and the polished leather of his boots caught the light perfectly, adding a touch of rugged charm.
The room around him was a blend of organized chaos—at least his side of the room. Rosie's side was always perfect, with her dresses hung neatly in the closet, and her perfume and other products neatly placed on her own dresser. His dresser was cluttered with trinkets from their adventures during the past twenty years. Souvenirs and other mementos reminding him of the amazing times he and Rosie had shared.
With a grin, he picked up the flyer he had been handed when he and Rosie had gone to a local car show in Portland last weekend.
It wasn't on the up and up, but every Tuesday night they held drag races outside of Portland at the old airstrip. The flyer's bold letters and flashy graphics announced the event, promising thrills and excitement under the cover of darkness. Emmett's golden eyes lit up at the thought. He just had to win. Ever since watching Rebel Without a Cause, he had dreamed of being in a drag race, feeling the adrenaline rush and the roar of the engines. And how could he lose with Rosie's newest creation?
Emmett picked up his leather jacket off their bed and slid it on, feeling the cool, supple leather against his skin. He looked just like James Dean as he nodded approvingly in the mirror, his reflection exuding that same rebellious charm. The jacket completed his look perfectly.
He switched off the radio, the room suddenly quiet except for the hum of excitement buzzing in his ears. He quickly sped down the stairs, his large frame surprisingly silent as he moved down the wooden steps to the first floor. He paused briefly at the front door, taking a moment to lock up the house.
The evening air was crisp as he stepped outside, a slight breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. The sky was dark, with the first stars beginning to twinkle. Emmett took a deep breath, savoring the anticipation that hung in the air around him. It was a perfect night for a race.
For the Cullens' current incarnation, Emmett and Rosie had decided to live alone as a newly married couple. Their home was nestled deep in the forest, about ten miles away from Carlisle and Esme's residence. Carlisle had established a private practice as a pediatrician, with him and Esme also portraying newlyweds. They had all been living in Maine for three years now, and everyone was very happy.
Rosie had started her own garage, focusing on making custom cars for wealthy clients. During the war, she had become highly knowledgeable about engines and had brought that skill set into creating souped-up cars with custom engines that incorporated aircraft parts and her special brand of ingenuity. Her garage was a true marvel, showcasing her boundless creativity. Emmett loved helping her out whenever she needed an extra pair of hands.
Several of Rosie's creations had already broken some of the land speed records. She had been offered jobs at many of the major automotive companies, but she had to turn them down due to the whole vamp issue. Emmett was pleased that Rosie hadn't been discouraged by her imposed restrictions. Instead, she had found immense satisfaction in her business and the garage she had created with her own two hands. Owning a car made by his wife was highly desired among the elite of car enthusiasts, and just last week, Rosie had finished one of her specialized cars, which might be the crown jewel of her creations so far. She had brought it home to test drive for a while before she planned to sell it.
As Emmett opened the garage door, he beheld the wonder of the car Rosie had dubbed 'Black Beauty.' The car itself was a '48 Ford, painted a sleek, glossy black that gleamed under the overhead lights. The interior was a classic black and white, the upholstery meticulously redone. But the car was so much more than just its appearance. Rosie had removed the original engine and replaced it with a V12 so massive and powerful that she had to customize the hood, cutting away parts to make everything fit seamlessly.
Emmett walked around the car, admiring the curves and the powerful stance it held. The chrome details sparkled, and the car seemed to embody the raw power of the woman who had crafted it. He could see all the love and effort Rosie had poured into this project. Every inch of the car spoke of her dedication and skill.
Sliding into the driver's seat, Emmett ran his hand along the smooth steering wheel, appreciating the detail put into the vehicle. Damn, Rosie was good at this.
He turned the key, and the engine roared to life with such ferocity that it sounded like an aircraft ready to take off. The deep, throaty rumble filled the garage, vibrating through the floor. The sheer power of the engine was palpable, as if it were a wild beast straining against its leash, wanting to break free. Emmett couldn't help but grin, feeling the raw, almost uncontrollable power at his fingertips.
Emmett shifted the car into drive and grabbed the stick shift, pulling it out of the garage. The car lurched forward, eager to unleash its full potential. The headlights cut through the early evening shadows, illuminating the driveway, and he smiled. He couldn't wait to show off the car and proudly tell everyone that it was his wife who had crafted this masterpiece.
As he drove down their long driveway, Emmett hoped Rosie wouldn't be too mad at him. She had told him she had a big repair job to finish for a client tonight and would probably be working at the shop until morning. He figured he could go win the race, come back, and surprise her with the news that her car had been victorious.
He wondered if they gave trophies out in addition to the $100 prize for the winning driver. True, he didn't need the money, but he still wanted to show Rosie's car off to the other motorheads. The image of Rosie's face lighting up with pride when he handed her a trophy made him smile.
As he drove down the highway, Emmett was amazed at how much power the car had. It felt like the car wanted to take off, and he realized any driver would have to be quite strong to keep this car in a straight path. He wondered if a human could even handle a car like this. The raw energy and force beneath the hood were beyond what he had ever experienced in an automobile, making the car feel more like a rocket than a road vehicle.
Making it to the airport with plenty of time, he pulled up next to the other competing cars. There appeared to be a good selection of cars racing tonight. As he hopped out of Black Beauty, he looked at what he was up against. There were an assortment of hot rods, several converted Model T's, and one car he couldn't quite figure out. That particular vehicle had a giant engine that jutted out from the hood, giving it a monstrous, most likely homemade, appearance.
The scene at the old airstrip was a flurry of activity. Under the glow of a few scattered floodlights, drivers tinkered with their engines, while others huddled in groups, exchanging tips and bets. The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber filled the air, mingling with the sound of revving engines and the occasional bursts of laughter. The crowd was a mix of leather-clad bikers, young hotrodders, and curious onlookers drawn by the promise of high-speed thrills. Emmett could feel the excitement from everyone around him. The night sky stretched out above them, clear and star-studded. The entire illicit gathering gave off a vibe that spoke to him, and if he indeed had fun tonight, he knew he would have to come back with Rosie in the future.
As he scanned the competitors, Emmett felt a thrill of excitement wash over him. This was going to be a night to remember.
"Holy smokes," one guy said, his eyes wide as he inspected Rosie's car. "Where did you get this? I've never seen an engine configured like this."
"My wife made it. She runs Rosie's Customs out on Route 1," Emmett proudly replied. He always loved hyping Rosie's business.
"Really? Your woman made this? Wow, you're a lucky man. All my girl likes to do is shop and nag." The man pulled out a flashlight and flipped it on to look underneath Black Beauty.
Emmett grinned as he watched the man's amazement. The flashlight's beam illuminated the intricate work Rosie had done, every part meticulously placed and fine-tuned to perfection. He couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for his wife's craftsmanship.
After paying the $10 entrance fee, Emmett's anticipation built as he watched the first races get underway. The glow of the moon bathed the airstrip in a silver light, adding an almost ethereal quality to the scene. His enhanced vision allowed him to see far into the distance, making out every detail of the flat landing strip where the races were held. The roar of engines filled the air, each car a blur of speed and color as they hurtled down the makeshift track.
Emmett watched intently as the first few races unfolded, tires burning rubber when the flag dropped. The crowd's cheers blended into a cacophony of excitement, creating an electrifying atmosphere. He joined in the merriment, rooting for the other drivers.
As he waited for his turn, he couldn't help but imagine the crowd's reaction when Black Beauty hit the track. The car's raw power and Rosie's innovative engineering were sure to make an impression on everyone.
Finally, it was his turn. Black Beauty roared to life as Emmett drove it up to the starting line. He could feel the raw power of the engine beneath him as he revved it, the sound echoing through the night and drawing the attention of everyone around.
He watched the girl in front of him and his opponent's car, her arm raised high with the flag. The moment the flag dropped, signaling the start of the race, Emmett floored the accelerator. Black Beauty surged forward with a deafening roar, the force pushing him back into his seat. The tires screeched against the pavement, and the car shot forward like a bullet.
Hurtling down the straightaway, the wind whipped over the windshield, tugging at Emmett's hair and clothes. He pushed Black Beauty to its limits, watching the speedometer climb rapidly. To his delight, the other car was left far behind in Black Beauty's wake. He could imagine the crowd's cheers, and with adrenaline pumping through him, everything seemed sharper and more vivid.
This was almost too easy.
As Emmett approached the turnaround loop, he readied himself to control the beast. The lights from the floodlights cast sharp shadows on the track, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. He attempted to maneuver Black Beauty around the tight curve but quickly realized that the sheer power of the vehicle was too much for the angle of the turn. The car lurched dangerously, tires screeching in protest against the asphalt.
For a moment, Emmett thought Black Beauty would careen off the track. The roar of the engine drowned out all other sounds, creating a tunnel of noise. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly he feared he might break it off. The car's back end fishtailed, the wheels struggling for traction.
Meanwhile, his opponent seized the opportunity, capitalizing on Emmett's struggle and gaining ground, pulling ahead. Emmett gritted his teeth in frustration, cursing under his breath as he battled the sheer power of the car. The tires screeched and the engine roared, the vehicle fighting against his control as he tried to handle the tight turn.
It seemed as if his dreams of winning were about to be shattered. Emmett gritted his teeth, knowing he would be a dead vampire walking if he crashed Rosie's baby. He shook his head. No fucking way was he going to let that happen and disappoint Rosie. With fierce determination, he wrestled Black Beauty back under control, finally feeling the beast respond to his command. As he rounded the loop, the straightaway stretched out before him, and he saw his opponent several car lengths ahead.
With the finish line in sight, Emmett shifted into high gear, the engine roaring to life with renewed vigor. Black Beauty surged forward like a bat out of hell, the force pressing him back into his seat. The speed was amazing, the scenery blurring past him as he closed the gap. He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd as he caught up to the other hot rod, then passed it in a frenzy of speed. The other car could do nothing but eat his dust.
In the end, it wasn't even close as he blasted over the finish line to the cheers of other drivers and the crowd of onlookers. The adrenaline rush was electrifying, filling him with a sense of triumph. With a victorious whoop, Emmett slowed Black Beauty and pulled off to the side of the track. The sweet taste of victory coursed through his veins, the thrill of the race still buzzing in his ears.
He stepped out of the car, a victorious grin spreading across his face as he surveyed the track. Emmett knew this was just the beginning. It was clear he was destined to win this whole thing.
But as Emmett turned to check in with the timekeeper, his gaze fell upon the most beautiful and infuriated woman he had ever seen. His joyous smile faded as he saw the piercing golden eyes of his wife, glaring at him. He was surprised laser beams hadn't already shot out of those golden orbs and sliced him in two. "Hey Rosie," he called out, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
"That's what you have to say? 'Hey Rosie,' after you nearly destroyed my baby?" Rosalie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tried to get her anger under control. She had arrived just in time to see Emmett taking off, and watched both delighted and apprehensive as he navigated the course. Knowing the trouble that awaited him at the turnaround, she had held her breath as Emmett fought against the power of the car. Thankfully, he had prevailed, blazing past the finish line to the cheers of everyone.
Rosalie opened her eyes, her fury tempered by the undeniable love she felt for Emmett. Even his mischievous, childlike shenanigans, which he seemed to be a master of getting into, couldn't diminish her affection for him. She walked up to him, letting him sweat it out for a moment before giving him a hug and pulling him down for a proper victory kiss. When she finally let him go, the smile she adored was back on his face.
"You were great, slick," she said, her voice softening. "Now, how about I tell you what to do for that loop so you won't have those same issues during the next round?"
Emmett had been scared for a moment, but luckily his Rosie hadn't truly been mad at him. She soon shifted her focus to showing him how to handle Black Beauty correctly. She explained each nuance of the car's handling, her voice steady and knowledgeable. Emmett absorbed everything, and when she finished, he couldn't resist asking, "How did you know I was here?"
Rosalie laughed, the sound musical and light. "You left the flyer on your dresser, and my baby was missing. It was pretty easy to put two and two together. Next time, tell me. I would have been sad if I missed you racing."
Emmett grinned sheepishly before wrapping his wife up in a big hug, lifting her off her feet. "I'm sorry. I won't make that mistake again. Now, do you want to ride shotgun?"
"You know it," she replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Now, let's win this thing, and when we get home, I'll give you a very special winner's reward that will put the prize money right out of your mind." Rosalie whispered the last part into Emmett's ear before slowly licking it. A shiver of anticipation ran down his spine, and a wide smile spread across his face.
By the end of the night, Black Beauty remained undefeated, gleaming under the moonlight as if basking in its own glory. Emmett stood beside the car, a proud grin stretching across his face as he was handed the prize money.
The organizers handed Emmett and Rosalie two bottles of beer to celebrate their victory. The crowd of onlookers and other competitors erupted into cheers, congratulating them on their win.
Rosalie held her bottle, smiling at the scene. But her eyes widened in astonishment as she watched Emmett rip the bottle cap off with his teeth, spitting it on the ground before chugging the entire beer in one smooth motion. When he finished, he held the empty bottle aloft and let out a triumphant howl of victory.
Rosalie shook her head, laughter bubbling up from her chest. Only her husband…
Later that night, as they lay naked in bed together, Rosie cuddled next to Emmett's large frame, her head resting on his chest. The moonlight streamed in through the windows, casting a soft glow over their intertwined bodies. The room was filled with the afterglow of their lovemaking and the deep sense of satisfaction that came with their victory.
Rosie traced her fingers over Emmett's muscled chest, her touch light and affectionate. She couldn't help but voice what she was thinking. "You really were great tonight, Em," she murmured, her voice filled with admiration. "I've been thinking, and we should enter some more races across the country. I think it would spread the word about our shop when you win. What do you say? Do you want to be my official driver?"
Emmett's smile stretched from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "You know it, babe," he replied, his voice a deep rumble of happiness. He started picturing himself at some of the larger, more official drag races. Luckily, they usually ran them at night.
He pulled Rosie closer, shifting her body so that she was lying on top of him. Her golden hair cascaded around them like a curtain, and he watched her smile as she sat up, her eyes locking onto his. Slowly, she lowered herself onto his large member, the intimate connection sending shivers of pleasure through both of them. Once he was fully sheathed inside her, she began to rock her body slowly in a sensual rhythm.
Their eyes never left each other, the intensity of their gaze creating a private world just for them. The room was filled with the sounds of their breathing, the gentle creak of the bed, and the occasional whisper of love and encouragement. Emmett's hands roamed over Rosie's back, feeling the smooth curve of her spine, the warmth of her skin. He loved the way she moved, the way she knew exactly how to drive him wild with desire.
Rosie's hands rested on his chest for support as she moved, her touch sending sparks of pleasure through him. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering kiss that deepened the connection between them. Emmett's hands moved to her hips, guiding her movements as they both lost themselves in the moment. God, he loved her.
1957 Volterra, Italy
Edward lay on his cot, the cold, hard surface beneath him a familiar companion after all these years. In the deep silence of the dungeon, a solitary sound reached his ears—a steady, rhythmic drip of water echoing from somewhere beyond his cell.
The drip was an enigma, sometimes pausing for hours, only to return with an insistent, erratic cadence. Edward had spent countless hours contemplating its source, but the mysteries of Volterra's ancient underground remained elusive. The castle was surely a thousand years old, if not older, especially the dungeon, so the drip could have originated from any number of hidden conduits. The sound had became a part of his routine, a curious anomaly in his otherwise monotonous existence.
He lay still, listening intently, his heightened senses picking up the subtle variations in the sound. The drip seemed to be coming from a crack in the distant stonework, a hidden conduit carrying water from the world above to the depths below. When the drips were absent, the silence was almost more pronounced, amplifying the stillness that was his reality. Yet, when they resumed, they brought a peculiar kind of interest—a reminder that time still moved forward, even in this timeless place.
Little had changed in the past 28 years. The big excitement in the dungeon had come around seven years ago when electricity had been installed. Previously, the only light had been the torch outside Edward's cell, its flickering glow casting dancing shadows on the cold stone walls. Now, he had the dubious privilege of his very own light bulb in his cell. When it was installed, the guards had made it clear that any tampering with it would result in a severe beating. Edward had heard the guards beating other prisoners over the years, their cries echoing through the stone corridors. He didn't wish to suffer the same fate, so he had never bothered with the light.
The guards controlled whether it was on or off, but they usually just kept it off. Not that it mattered much to Edward. The lights outside his cell were always on, casting a perpetual dim glow. And truthfully, there was nothing of interest to look at.
Aro, true to his word, had not summoned Edward again since that one time in the early '40s. For that, Edward was grateful. He despised Aro and everything about the Volturi. He was sure Aro was just keeping him locked up out of spite. Edward doubted Aro truly believed he could break him, but rather than ending his existence, Aro seemed content to let him pass the centuries away locked up in this cage.
News sometimes trickled down to the cells, mostly from the guards talking among themselves. The prisoners, however, were made aware quite early in their stay that any talking amongst themselves was not permitted unless they enjoyed being punished. Over the years, by listening carefully, Edward had pieced together that there had been another world war, and thankfully, America had once again been victorious. He often wondered what it had been about, but it had been over a decade since he gathered it had ended, so it seemed unlikely that the guards would start discussing it now.
When Edward was human, he had often wished to be a soldier and go off to war to be a 'hero.' He had envisioned himself in uniform, marching bravely into battle, earning glory and honor. He had never gotten that chance, 'dying' before he was old enough to enlist. But as a vampire, he had seen the consequences of that war firsthand in the minds of the men who had returned. Their memories had been terrible, filled with the horrors of combat. The screams, the blood, the loss—it had all been etched into their minds, a permanent scar on their souls.
Edward lay on his cot, trying to think of something else as he usually didn't like to dwell on those awful memories, but sometimes he couldn't help it. The minds of many former soldiers had been fractured to a point where he didn't think some would ever recover. Disjointed images filled his mind: a soldier clutching his rifle, his face smeared with dirt and fear; the chaos of battle, where comrades fell like leaves in a storm; the endless nights of terror and the cries of the wounded echoing in the darkness. These glimpses, stolen from the minds of those who had survived, had convinced Edward of how awful wars truly were, and he was glad he had never become a soldier to experience the horrors firsthand.
Edward forced himself to stop thinking negative thoughts. Nothing good would come from that. Instead, he focused on happier thoughts, which nearly brought a smile to his lips. His mind was the one thing the Volturi could not take from him. To this end, he liked to escape into a world of his own imagination, filling his days with vivid, active musings even though his real life and body remained inert.
He often envisioned himself climbing to the highest mountaintops, feeling the rush of cold air against his skin and the sense of accomplishment as he reached the peak and looked out over the world. He could almost feel the rough texture of the rocks under his hands and see the breathtaking view that stretched out before him. The freedom of being so high above everything, away from the suffocating confines of his cell, filled him with a fleeting sense of peace.
At other times, he imagined swimming deep below to the bottom of the sea, the cool water enveloping him in its embrace. He pictured the vibrant marine life, the schools of fish darting around him, and the coral reefs teeming with color and life. The tranquility of the underwater world was a stark contrast to the darkness and silence of his dungeon. The idea of floating weightlessly, surrounded by the gentle ebb and flow of the ocean, brought a soothing calm to his mind.
He also enjoyed visualizing what the present was like outside his cell. After 30 years, he knew a lot of things must have changed, and he often wondered how he would cope if he ever escaped. He imagined bustling cities with technology that he could scarcely comprehend and all the cultural shifts that had taken place while he was entombed in stone. How had the world progressed without him?
Edward had even conceived of many inventions over the years in his mind, and he was intensely curious to discover if any of them had been invented in the real world. The prospect of stepping out into the world of tomorrow was both thrilling and daunting, and he would give almost anything for that chance. The key word, of course, was almost. The one thing that would grant him that freedom, he would not do.
It was while he was daydreaming his time away that he heard it. Edward stopped instantly, his brain focusing like a hawk on the unexpected sound. To his astonishment, music was playing. He closed his eyes, praying that it wouldn't stop. He had not heard real music since a brief snippet in 1943, and he was eager to hear how it had evolved.
Edward loved playing the piano and had composed many pieces himself when he had been free. Now, as he listened, he absorbed the words and was captivated by the upbeat tempo of the music. The lyrics seemed fitting, as they spoke of people being imprisoned. The song ended, and he learned it was called "Jailhouse Rock" by a man named Elvis. Edward knew he would be replaying that song often in his mind as the next tune started.
One song that stood out to him was called "Johnny B. Goode." The beat was so infectious that he found himself tapping his fingers against the cold stone of his cell. What intrigued him the most, however, was the instrument that seemed to lead the melody. It sounded like a guitar, but not like any guitar he had ever heard before. The sharp, clear notes and the way they cut through the rhythm were unlike the guitars he had learned to play. This was something new and exciting, and he knew he would be wondering for quite a while what the instrument was. The music seemed to vibrate with energy, filling his mind with a sense of urgency and innovation.
In total, eleven songs were played before the guards shut the radio off, but to Edward, it felt like Christmas had finally come to Volterra. He had so much new material to analyze. His mind raced as he started to break down each song, focusing on the different instruments and the unique singing styles, which were so different from the songs of his time. The melodies and rhythms were vibrant, full of life and energy. He felt invigorated, as if the music had breathed new life into his soul. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope and excitement, a reminder of the world outside his cell and how it had continued to change and evolve. He hoped it had become a better place.
Edward smiled, feeling a spark of inspiration ignite within him. He would begin writing his own music again, drawing from these fresh influences. The prospect of creating new compositions filled him with a sense of purpose. If he ever got out of here, he planned to publish his novels and now, hopefully, have his future songs recorded as well.
The thought of being free, of sharing his music with the world, brought a rare smile to his face. He closed his eyes and let the music fill his mind, already crafting new melodies in his head. The dungeon faded away, replaced by a vibrant band with him as its leader.
I hope you enjoyed a peek into the lives of Emmett and Edward in the 1950s. In the next chapter, Bella makes it to California and celebrates her 21st birthday. Reviews or comments are appreciated. I enjoy reading your feedback.