Alaric slowly opened his eyes, the morning light softly illuminating his room at the Gilberts'. His gaze landed on Damon, seated in a worn chair nearby.
"Hey, what's going on?" Alaric questioned, still groggy from sleep.
Damon flashed a cocky grin and replied, "Just making sure the witch didn't turn you into a toad or a block of salt. Bonnie did a little spell; it's nothing to worry about. It's just something to keep the killer in you at bay."
Alaric instinctively flexed his left hand and winced as he noticed the pain from the injury.
The memory of being with Meredith flashed through his mind, and a sense of concern crept in.
"Did something happen?" Alaric probed, attempting to mask the unease in his voice.
There was a brief silence before Damon responded, "Let's just say you've got an alter ego hell-bent on killing Council members. So, we'll pack up some of your stuff and go to the loft. You know, it's like house arrest. Polite."
"Wait, where's Meredith?" Alaric pressed, his concern evident in his tone.
Damon's expression softened slightly as he assured, "She'll be fine. She's just resting, Ric."
"Did Dr. Fell forget about you, Rosalie?" Gran asked, her voice warm yet tinged with concern as Rosalie stared out the frosted window, lost in thought.
"No, ma'am," Rosalie replied, her demeanor polite as she turned to Gran with a small smile. "She mentioned she has some business in the neighborhood."
"Well, you're more than welcome to stay with us," Gran offered, her eyes twinkling with kindness.
"Thank you, Mrs. Higginbotham," Rosalie said, her voice softening at the warmth of the invitation.
"Do you have any questions?" I interjected, my curiosity piqued as I sensed a weight of unspoken thoughts lingering in the air.
Rosalie spun around to face me, her expression a closed book, revealing nothing of her internal struggle.
"Why didn't you tell me from the beginning?" she asked, her tone laced with frustration.
"Because neither Elena nor I wanted to acknowledge the existence of the other," I exclaimed, my emotions spilling over. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure I want to do that now. This isn't just my secret, Rosalie. I've known about my adoption for years, but Elena discovered hers only after the tragic loss of her parents. She is still grappling with it."
"What about her father?" Rosalie pressed, her brow furrowing in concern. "Do you—Hey, when you told me you were adopted, you were being stalked by our favorite teacher."
"Stalked by our favorite teacher?!" Gran echoed, disbelief and shock evident in her voice.
"Is he Elena's father?" Rosalie asked, her eyes narrowing as she focused intently on me, ignoring Gran's response.
"No, and I can't tell you who it is," I replied firmly, feeling the weight of the unshared secret.
Rosalie's frown deepened, shadows of confusion and frustration crossing her face. "Why not?"
"Because that's not my secret to reveal, Rosalie."
"Okay," Rosalie said reluctantly, "but how does he fit into this?"
"Mr. Saltzman was Isobel's husband," I revealed, my heart racing at the implications of my words.
"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa," Rosalie exclaimed, stepping back slightly, her hands raised to ward off the shocking news.
"Does he know?"
"Yes. Elena and her aunt, Jenna, went digging for information about Elena—our mother. Elena found her first," I explained, the memory of their determination kindling a complex mix of nostalgia and anxiety within me.
"How did Mr. Saltzman find out?" she asked, her curiosity consuming her.
"Elena's aunt uncovered that his wife's name was Isobel and asked him about her. She showed him a photograph, and he confirmed it," I responded, the detail hanging in the air like a revelation.
"How did he find out about you?"
"I guess that when they uncovered the truth about me, Elena told him," I said, my voice tinged with uncertainty.
"I suppose that explains why he wants to be around you," Rosalie murmured, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
I shrugged, feeling a mix of vulnerability and defiance. "Maybe. But Rosalie, you cannot mention any of this to anyone!"
"Did Matt and Caroline know about this before me?!" she said, a sense of urgency creeping into her voice.
"I guess Elena must have told them—wait, why would you say that?" I asked, puzzled by her sudden revelation.
"Matt blurted out that you and Elena were sisters," she replied, a look of realization dawning on her.
"What?! When did this happen?!" I exclaimed, my heart racing with a mix of disbelief and anger.
"A couple of days ago. Didn't Elena tell you?"
I felt the heat rise within me, a wave of frustration and betrayal washing over me. "No, she didn't."
"Did Alaric Saltzman kill my father?" Caroline asked, her voice filled with disbelief and anger.
"I can't expect you to be okay with this," I sighed, feeling the weight of the situation press down on me. "But at least these herbs Bonnie's giving him are healing and keeping the dark side buried."
"Yeah, and that's supposed to make everything okay?" Caroline's voice trembled with emotion as she struggled to face the situation.
I grabbed Caroline's arm, turning her to face me. Tears glistened in her eyes.
"No, Caroline, it's not okay," I held her tightly, trying to offer some comfort. "It's horrible, and I feel horrible about it, but he's a victim of something supernatural; he didn't ask for this; it just happened to him. Just like Abby, I mean, she didn't ask to become a vampire. And neither did Stefan or Tyler."
"Or me," Caroline muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Or you. None of you asked for this, but who would I be if I just turned my back on any of you?"
Caroline moved to my side, wrapping her arm around my shoulders as we walked off, seeking solace in each other's presence.
"Hey. What's with the cryptic secret meeting text?" Matt appeared, looking confused by the mysterious summons.
"I don't know. Stefan just said to meet here," I shrugged, sharing Matt's confusion.
"Where's Bonnie?" Stefan's voice asked, joining the group.
We turned to see Stefan and Damon approaching us, their expressions betraying a sense of urgency.
"Um, Bonnie's mom bailed on her. Again. So, let us leave her out of this one," Caroline explained, the frustration evident in her tone.
"What are we doing here?" Matt inquired, clearly feeling left out of the loop.
"We found some more white oak," Damon said, his words carrying a weight of significance. "Long story, wait for the movie."
"Wait, white oak? You have a weapon that can kill Klaus?" I gasped, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness of our situation.
"Nope." Stefan threw down a duffel bag, the sound of it hitting the ground punctuating the moment's gravity. "We all have a weapon."
Hello?
Hello, who is this?
Is this Isabella?
Who is this?
Me, Ric.
Mr. Saltzman?
Just call me Ric.
I'll just call you Mr. Saltzman
Fine.
I don't know where Elena is.
Well, that's troubling, but not why I'm texting.
Oh, why are you texting then?
Jeremy.
Is he OK?
He's fine, but with everything that's going on with me, he needs someone level-headed to look after him.
With everything that's going on with you?
Didn't Elena tell you?
Elena doesn't tell me a lot of stuff.
Well, the Gilbert ring.
The magic ring that brings you back from the dead?
Yeah. It's done something to me.
Like what?
It's made me do horrible things.
What did it make you?
Things that will change your opinion of me.
I doubt that, but go on.
I've killed people. Humans.
What?!
I killed Bill Forbes.
And the medical examiner. You killed the medical examiner, didn't you?
I don't know when it happens, but I know I can't hurt Jeremy or let my evil side hurt him.
Why would you or your evil side do this? Why would you kill them?
Because they're vampire sympathizers, I recently stabbed a doctor who was using vampire blood to heal people.
Did you hurt Elena?
No.
Caroline cautiously observed her history teacher, Alaric Saltzman, as he sat in the library of the Salvatore Boarding House. She hesitated for a moment before approaching him.
"Hey," she said, trying to start a conversation. "I heard about your encounter with Buffy the Vampire."
Alaric sighed, "Yeah, I'll survive. What brings you here?"
"Just checking up on you," Caroline replied. "In case you're not yourself."
"I'm me," he affirmed.
"Well, I guess even if you weren't yourself, you'd still say that," she mused, handing him a bottle of herbs. "Elena said you have to drink this. I hope it tastes better than it smells."
"It doesn't," Alaric grimaced as he swallowed the medicine. "That's disgusting."
"It's either that or harming people," Caroline explained. "Elena told me everything."
He averted his gaze, struggling to meet her eyes, while Caroline took a seat.
"Caroline," he finally looked at her. "I am so sorry. I don't even know what else I could say."
"When I first turned into a vampire, I killed someone," Caroline confessed. "A stranger. I just...killed him. And what's worse is I liked it. I have blood on my hands, too; we all do."
"Yeah, but the blood on my hands is your father's," Alaric acknowledged.
"Yes, it is," Caroline acknowledged. "And maybe the man I killed was someone's father, too." She turned away. "All I know is I'm no better than you. So, I'm going to take a page from the Elena Gilbert handbook and choose to believe that you can be saved. Okay?"
"Okay," Alaric responded, visibly moved by her words.
"So, what's going on?" Rosalie asked, her brow furrowing in concern as we strolled down the sunlit path toward the school, the faint murmur of distant laughter echoing off the brick walls.
"What do you mean?" I replied, glancing sideways at her.
"The Salvatore brothers arrive, and suddenly, people are dropping like flies? That can't be just a coincidence," she insisted, an edge of urgency creeping into her voice.
I halted, turning to face her, the weight of her words
pressing down on me. "Rosalie—"
Before I could respond further, a sultry, accented voice cut through the air, pulling our attention. "Child," it called, rich and melodic.
We exchanged glances, the tension in the atmosphere palpable. "Did you hear that?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
"Yeah, I did," I admitted, my heart racing.
"Isabella," the voice emerged again, this time more insistent, drawing us toward the looming entrance of the school.
"Where is everyone?" Rosalie demanded, irritation sparking in her tone.
"I think we're late," I replied, anxiety creeping in.
"And I think we just witnessed the rapture," she quipped, turning to me with a mix of fear and dark humor. "Damn, we're going to hell."
With a resigned sigh, we trudged toward our classroom, Mr. Saltzman's domain, the heavy wooden doors standing as silent sentinels.
Yet, when we entered, the room was startlingly empty. Only Mr. Saltzman sat in front, his brow furrowed in
contemplation, alongside a woman who seemed to radiate an enigmatic charm.
"Where is everyone?" Rosalie asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
"Who's this?" Mr. Saltzman inquired, gesturing toward the woman.
"Rebekah!" I exclaimed, instinctually pulling on Rosalie's arm, feeling a rush of recognition.
Alaric, standing nearby, motioned toward the woman with a sense of gravity. "No, this is Esther."
I studied her, taking in every detail: the way her tall, slender frame commanded attention, the undeniable beauty that softened the lines of age etched on her face. She looked to be in her late forties, yet her natural grace and the wave of lustrous blond hair cascading down her back made her seem younger. Warm brown eyes, gentle but piercing, held a depth of experience suggesting untold secrets. It dawned on me that Rebekah had inherited her mother's fair complexion, flowing hair, and, most strikingly, Elijah's unmistakable eyes.
Esther...
The name rang a bell, echoing in my mind with unexpected familiarity.
She resembled Rebekah and yet somehow felt more profound.
"Isabella," Alaric and Esther's eyes turned toward me in unison, urgency flooding the air. "Rosalie, could you give—"
"No," Esther interjected firmly, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that sent chills down my spine. "If having her friend makes her—"
"No, she's not a part of this!" I shot back, feeling the protective instinct surge within me.
"But it's only a matter of time before my children or the Salvatore brothers bring her into this," Esther persisted, her voice laced with an unsettling truth. She turned to us, her tone transforming from admonishing to pleading. "I am Esther—"
"Klaus' mother," I breathed, the reality sinking in.
"Who's Klaus?" Rosalie blurted out, bewilderment coloring her features. "What's going on?"
"Klaus is my son, and if your friend doesn't help me, he will destroy everything you hold dear," Esther replied, her voice steady yet filled with dread.
"What is she on about?" Rosalie flared, frustration bubbling up.
"She found a way to stop them, Bella," Alaric interjected, determination surging in his stance. "We can end the original vampires."