Katinki graciously edited this story. Thank you, my dear friend!

Chapter 28

Two days later…

A loud knock on the door wakes me up, and for a second, I can't figure out why there's so much light in my room.

"Madame? May I come in?" Mr. Felps's voice sounds unsure but urgent.

Something extraordinary must have happened, as he's rarely, if ever, seen anywhere near my bedroom.

I rasp, "One moment," and rush to open the door, accidentally catching my reflection in the mirror.

I wish I hadn't.

The person staring back at me is barely recognizable. My eyes are grotesquely swollen, and my lips are unnaturally puffy. A giant crease runs from my chin to my temple—likely from the collar of my nightgown. My skin has taken on an unhealthy purplish-greenish color, like it's on the edge of a bruise but not quite there.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that right now, I could pass for one of those victims of botched plastic surgery on TV.

Oh well.

I guess you can't cry non-stop for two nights in a row and then expect to look fresh as a daisy.

I quickly avert my eyes from the unsavory sight and open the door.

As soon as Mr. Felps steps into the room, unease settles in my stomach. Our ever-calm, sphinx-like butler looks unusually rattled.

"My apologies for the intrusion, Mrs. Dwyer. Jessica could not assist you in the morning due to falling sick," he says.

I wrinkle my nose. She looked fine last night—as vigilant and nosy as ever.

"What is the matter with her?" I ask. "Have you called a doctor?"

"Siobhan is attending to her, but she is in a lot of pain. We fear it might be brain fever."

Apparently, Siobhan also takes on nursing duties in what must be her non-existent free time. But what on earth is "brain fever?"

"Take me to her," I tell Mr. Felps.

We climb upstairs to the servants' floor. The moment I see Jessica curled in a fetal position on her tiny bed, quietly sobbing with her eyes shut, I know that whatever she has, it's serious.

Siobhan stands hunched over her, pressing a damp cloth to her forehead.

I briefly touch Jessica's wrist and realize that she's burning.

Siobhan and I exchange worried glances.

"Mr. Felps, please bring a few ice chips wrapped in a cloth," I say. "Several pieces of cloth, in fact. We need to bring her fever down. And send someone to fetch Dr. Carlisle Masen. Tell him that it is urgent and that Isabella Dwyer begs him to come here at once."

Please, please don't let him be gone already, I silently pray. It didn't occur to me to ask Edward, but I can't imagine that he would leave Carlisle behind.

Mr. Felps hesitates for a moment—ice is expensive and not meant to be used by servants—but then he nods and quickly leaves the room. He returns in ten minutes with several ice compresses that we place on Jessica's forehead and her inner elbows and wrists.

Soon after, someone calls Mr. Felps from outside the room. He disappears momentarily, only to return with the news that Dr. Masen will be coming shortly.

Thank God.

I can't do much for Jessica right now, so I hurry downstairs to meet Carlisle. I bump into him on the landing, and he steadies me, his unwavering smile in place.

Unexpectedly, I burst into tears. Carlisle's brows furrow as he gently squeezes my arm.

"Bella, wait downstairs. I will examine your maid and let you know what I find," he tells me.

I nod and stumble to the kitchen to grab a bucket of water. Then I return to my room, surprisingly spilling none of its content, quickly wash my face, and brush my teeth. I change my gown just in time to hear Carlisle walking down the stairs, and I rush into the living room to meet him.

"So?" I blurt, breathless from the physical activity I'm no longer used to. "What's wrong with her?"

Carlisle's face turns somber, and my stomach flips. "She indeed shows all the symptoms of brain fever. Which is concerning. I suggest that, from now on, you stay away from her room as much as possible."

"Because she's contagious? How should we treat her?"

"Yes to your first question," he says. "From my experience, it is very contagious. And as for treatment, there is not much we can do."

"Crap," I murmur, waving for him to sit down. "What's brain fever anyway? Is it like meningitis? Fever, headache, and stiff neck?"

Carlisle looks at me in astonishment.

"Um… Charlie had The New Illustrated Medical Encyclopedia at home, and I loved reading. Charlie's my dad," I clarify.

Carlisle's eyes flash with a mixture of excitement and longing, but then he shakes his head, and his expression returns to neutral.

"So, how can we help Jessica? And how long will it take for her to get better? What should we expect?" I ask.

"She is gravely ill, and should she survive the initial days, her recovery will be slow," Carlisle says. "Siobhan is giving her willow bark for fever and pain, but it might not be enough. I have prescribed her another medicine. Whoever attends to her must ensure it is given exactly as directed. Beyond that, we have to rely on her young age and good health."

He fumbles in his bag and hands me a dark brown bottle that says LAUDANUM, and then below in smaller letters, 10% Opium by Weight.

I examine the bottle, not daring to open it or smell its contents. It's covered in fine print, but when I look closely, I realize the text is just a bunch of marketing bullshit. It takes me a moment to locate the "how to use" section.

"Isn't this stuff toxic? She needs antibiotics," I mumble. Carlisle, of course, hears me but says nothing. "How… What's your plan, Carlisle? Are you staying here or going? With… him?"

I don't even say Edward's name, but the splinter in my chest suddenly comes alive and twists on its own, making me wince.

"I am to conclude a few matters here in London, and then I shall join Edward in Cádiz. He is already on his way there," Carlisle says softly.

Without warning, his face becomes a blur. "I'm so sorry, Carlisle." My throat tightens in a futile effort to hold back tears. "I just…"

"Shhhh…" He pats my shoulder sympathetically. "I understand. Edward is… headstrong. He did not leave you much of a choice." He hands me a handkerchief that I gratefully accept.

"But… why? Why is he like this? Why does he hate himself so much?" I mutter through my sobs.

That's the question I've been asking myself for the last two days but couldn't fathom the answer.

Carlisle sighs. "It is difficult to say with certainty, yet one must remember that our psyche remains, in essence, preserved at the moment of transition. Though the memories of our mortal lives may fade, their influence lingers and will continue to shape us for all eternity." He pauses to rub his forehead in a perfectly human gesture. "Edward's childhood was marked by hardship, but what impacted him most profoundly was the juxtaposition of faith and violence during his formative years—two forces intertwined, with our father, a minister, serving as both spiritual guide and the source of that violence. I shall never forgive myself for not being there for Edward. My mind was consumed with the pursuit of my own escape from the nightmare that was our family, leaving me unable to protect him."

"He always said that you were the best brother one could wish for," I tell him.

Carlisle shrugs and smiles weakly. "It matters no longer. We cannot change the past." He then rises from his chair and heads to the door. "I am to depart five days from now. Let us hope that Jessica will be on her way to recovery by then."

As Carlisle leaves, I glance down at my left hand clutching the ominous bottle and notice that Edward's engagement ring still shines brightly on my finger.

XXX

I consider taking the ring off and sending it to Carlisle, so he can eventually return it to Edward, but quickly realize that I can't bring myself to do it.

Not yet.

And it's not just because I need to keep up the pretense, at least for a while, that Edward and I are still engaged. The concept of an engagement ring hasn't really been "established" just yet, so I doubt anyone would even notice if I stopped wearing it. There's something more to it, though, something I'm too exhausted and numb to unpack. Maybe I'm just a masochist. Some people, myself possibly included, cling to suffering because they think it makes them stronger. But really, when you think about it, that logic makes no sense at all.

Eventually, I decide to keep the ring on my finger but flip it so that the stone faces inward. For some reason, it just feels right. For now. I remember that in The Three Musketeers—a book I've admittedly reread far more often than The Medical Encyclopedia—D'Artagnan was advised to do exactly that so no one would recognize the diamond ring that the Queen had given him. As a kid, I always wondered how on earth he managed that trick. I naively thought he actually took the stone out of the prongs, flipped it, and put it back in. Little me was totally baffled.

Thinking about it now makes me smile for the first time since Edward left.

For the next two days, I busy myself, taking care of Jessica and arranging for all kinds of things to be done. In Maggie's absence, I need to keep the household running, and although it's not much, it still takes all my time because I'm new to this and have to ask Mr. Felps a lot of questions. I sent an urgent message to my aunt and uncle, asking them to stay in Guildford until further notice. I don't want them to be here right now, at all. Thankfully, Alistair agrees. In the return letter that comes in with the same messenger, he wishes Jessica well and begs me to be cautious.

Jessica is not getting better though.

If anything, her condition becomes even more worrisome. She sleeps a lot, thanks to the laudanum I give her, but when she's awake, it's brutal. We have to keep the curtains down at all times because even the dim natural light coming from the window disturbs her. Her headache is excruciating, accompanied by nausea and vomiting, and she says strange things sometimes, which means that her brain is under immense duress. She can't eat anything, but luckily, she can keep down liquids, mostly warm sweetened tea, and I force her to drink often.

It's only on the fifth day that we notice that her fever is slightly down, and there's finally hope that she might survive it. She's still extremely weak, though, and when Carlisle comes to check on her, he orders that she stays in bed for another week at the very least. I exhale in relief. Jessica is an annoying little thing, but she's kind of grown on me in the past few months. I like her optimism and perkiness. She often reminds me of Alice, only if just a little bit.

After examining Jessica, Carlisle takes me by the elbow and walks with me downstairs.

"Bella, did I not tell you not to spend too much time in her room?" he admonishes.

I shrug. "It's all the same. I'd been in contact with her right before she got sick. Isn't that when the person is most contagious? Anyway, Siobhan can't spend all her time with her—she has work to do. I don't."

Of course, I don't mention that keeping busy like this also lets me avoid thinking about his brother. It's basically like taking Tylenol for a bad headache—it doesn't erase the pain, but it dulls the edge, making it a bit less unbearable.

Carlisle searches my face and abruptly winces.

"What?"

"I am not entirely certain, but… your scent. It has altered. The change is exceedingly subtle and might be attributed to any number of processes occurring within your body…" He hesitates, as though uncertain how to proceed.

"What are you not telling me?" I demand. My pulse races.

"It may also signify that the disease has begun to take root in your body," he says. "I have observed this in humans on numerous occasions over the years—a slight alteration in scent often precedes the onset of symptoms."

Oh shit.

What did I expect, though? Being in close proximity with someone so sick should never be taken lightly.

But what else could I do? Just let her suffer in her room and possibly die alone?

"Oh shit," I repeat, this time aloud. "How quickly does it develop?"

Carlisle takes a deep breath. "It can advance with alarming swiftness. I have witnessed young and healthy individuals perish within days, if not mere hours. I must confess, I am both exceedingly relieved and astonished that Jessica is likely to make a full recovery, though her mental faculties will require considerable time to be fully restored. She is blessed to be living in this house, for I am sure Sir Alistair will be most understanding. Many others have not been so fortunate." He takes my hand and cradles it gently in both of his. His coolness soothes me. "I am saying this not to scare you, Bella. Edward told me that you had found a possible way to travel… though whether it is traveling back or elsewhere remains unclear. My advice is do not wait until it is too late. You may feel apprehension of the unknown pressing on you, but remember this: once the disease has taken full hold, you will find yourself unable to make any decisions."

I gasp. "Oh God, did he tell you? Please make sure you don't tell Rosalie! And… try not to bump into Aro on your way to America. He must not know."

Carlisle nods. "Edward has warned me. You have nothing to worry about."

"Good. And by the way, I can't just leave… What about Maggie? Alistair? I need to explain this to them… somehow. They'll probably think I'm nuts, I mean, insane, but I need to prepare them in case Isabella ends up back in my place… She would be clueless… God, this is such a mess!" I press my palms against my face.

Can I get a break already?

"Alistair and Maggie should remain where they are now. They are safer away from this house," Carlisle says. "Let me know if you develop any symptoms. Send for me immediately. I shall stay in London until I know that you are safe."

After Carlisle leaves, I take a moment to examine myself. I feel perfectly fine—no headaches, nothing.

Still, I decide to write a letter to the Buchans, just in case. After brief consideration, I opt to leave out any details about who I really am. There's no way they would believe it, and it would only make them more concerned about Isabella's mental health if they were to find her without any memory of the past months and then read my letter. Not to mention, leaving any evidence of time travel is just not very smart.

So, instead, I tell them how much I love them. How they make me feel so cherished and needed. How they're the most wonderful, kindest people on the planet.

By the time I seal the letter, tears flow freely down my cheeks.

XXX

It's almost bedtime when I feel the first signs that something isn't right.

It starts with a chill, like the room just got colder out of nowhere. Then, there's this mild discomfort in my neck and head. Nothing too bad—yet. Trying not to panic, I give Jessica her last dose of medicine for the day—hopefully, I haven't turned her into an opium junkie—and head downstairs. The stairs feel wobbly under my feet… Hmm, that's new. Clutching the rails with both hands and steadying myself against the walls, I finally reach the kitchen and set the bottle of laudanum on the table. Siobhan knows how to administer it, though there's only enough left for maybe one last dose.

I briefly consider sending for Carlisle, but I don't feel like I'm on the brink of death just yet. Instead, I tell Mr. Felps that I'm going to practice the pianoforte for a while and make my way to the living room. Once there, I close the door and open the sheet music for the Aria.

Playing the piano… no, scratch that.

Even just sitting on the piano bench in this room, without touching a single key, is hard. It's the strongest reminder of my time with Edward, second only to being intimate with him. The urge to slam the lid shut, turn off the light, and crawl into bed is almost overpowering, but I know my weakness is going to cost me.

"Get it together, you silly cow," I mutter through the clenched teeth. "If you're lucky, you'll have plenty of opportunities to break down later."

By sheer force of will, I focus on the memories of my visit to Rosalie instead. A new worry washes over me: what if the key to opening the portal wasn't just me being in a "trance?" What if it won't work without Rosalie's voice?

A sense of dread begins at my fingertips and slowly creeps up my arms and neck. Rationally, I know it's just the fever taking hold, but the way it messes with my mind is unsettling. I quickly reach for my shawl and wrap it tightly around me, then grab a blanket from Maggie's armchair and drape it over my lap to cover my lower body.

It doesn't help one bit.

Reluctantly, I begin to play the introduction to the Aria. We'd skipped it when practicing with Rosalie, but after that, I learned it almost by heart. My hands, however, begin to violently shake, and when it's time for me to start singing, my voice fares no better.

I stop playing and just sit there for a moment, thinking. I'd take a hot bath, but unfortunately, that's just not possible to arrange quickly in this century, and I'm clearly running out of time. So, now what?

As far as I could judge, willow bark didn't do much at all for Jessica's fever, although maybe it was the kind of fever that was hard to bring down. Laudanum, however, made her less shaky.

Without hesitation, I sprint to the kitchen, grab the bottle, and rush back to the living room. There, I gulp the remaining content and wait.

The tincture tastes awful, like extremely strong alcohol laced with bitterness—it practically screams poison. Which, to be fair, is exactly what it is. Because I didn't have a chance to eat much today, it kicks in right away. I stop shaking almost immediately. Warmth spreads all over my body. My headache doesn't vanish completely but it fades enough that, if not for the stiffness in my neck, I'd almost feel okay (and maybe just a little buzzed).

Let's not waste time then.

With renewed determination, I begin to play the introduction. Interestingly, now it sounds as if someone else is playing it.

Then someone begins to sing…

Wait.

It's you, Sherlock, duh! There's nobody else here because you didn't send for Carlisle and now there's a good chance you're going to die here all by yourself.

But I digress.

Back to my voice… It's actually not as bad as I always thought it was. In fact, it sounds kind of nice—small and unsteady at times, but also bright and clear.

Thank you, Irina, for all the solfege lessons you forced on me!

Too bad my Italian is just awful.

Total embarrassment—Aro would probably roll his eyes.

He can kiss my behind, though… In opera, nobody pays attention to words anyway, and accent or not, the music is just so beautiful.

No, seriously!

How could a flawed, mortal man have composed something so perfect?

I, Bella Swan, might die tonight, but this Aria? It will live forever.

Dang, isn't it fascinating?

And Edward…

Edward should live forever, too.

Infuriating, stubborn vampire!

How dare he think about ending his life!

How could he not want to have it with me?

Did he even love me as much as he claimed he did?

And now my soul, the existence of which he'd almost convinced me, will forever long for him.

Forever grieve for him.

Does loving an immortal mean that the torment will never stop?!

A sharp, searing pain ripples through my chest, momentarily drowning out all other sensations, and that's when it happens again.

My portal.

The edges of my vision blur in a familiar way, but this time there's no surge of nausea—or maybe I just don't register it because I already feel so awful. Unfortunately, either my headache has returned, or the laudanum's already run its course because the pounding in my head resumes with a vengeance.

Summoning all the willpower I have left, I keep on singing and playing.

I cling to the Aria like it's my lifeline.

The blackness gradually expands, and the sheet music in front of me melts into a slow, thick whirlpool.

Abruptly, I can't hear myself anymore.

Then everything goes black, and I finally let go.

.

.

.