We three—Rosalie, Gran, and I—sat in my living room, the tension palpable as we watched Mr. Saltzman. His gaze pierced through us, filled with an intensity that made it clear we were not in a typical situation. He had whisked us away from Rosalie's house, demanding she tell her cousin she was staying at my place. My phone had been ringing incessantly since we arrived, each ring adding to the anxiety that hung over us like a thick fog.
"What's going on?" Rosalie finally broke the silence, her voice tinged with frustration after a half-hour of unease.
Alaric Saltzman turned his attention to Rosalie for a brief moment, then fixed his eyes on me. "Elena Gilbert is dead."
The room froze.
Rosalie whipped her head towards me, shock plastered across her face, while Gran's composure shattered as she burst into tears. "Poor Jeremy," she sobbed, her voice cracking. "How did it happen?"
"There was an accident on Wickery Bridge," Alaric stated, his tone grave. "She drowned."
"An accident?" Rosalie's voice rose incredulously, disbelief spilling over. "How the hell does a girl with two vampires in love with her just die in a car accident?"
"Rebekah," I said decisively, recalling the haunting details of my dream. "Rebekah caused the accident."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Did Caroline tell you?"
"No," I replied, my voice steady. "It was from my dream about Elena—Rebekah was holding her down." I turned to him, intense determination in my eyes. "Wait, if Elena is dead, then how are you... still alive?"
"Technically..." he began, the words trailing off as a smirk played at the corners of his lips. 'I'm not.'
"I'm not in the mood for games, Ric!" I interjected, rising to my feet, frustration boiling over. "How are you still alive?"
Alaric laughed softly, opening a bottle of beer with deliberate slowness. "That's for me to know and you to..." he started to take a sip, but I couldn't stand it anymore. I forcefully slapped the bottle from his hand, which shattered against the floor, sending shards skittering across the tiles. "You little—"
"Answer me now!" I demanded, my heart racing in the charged silence.
"The witch lied to Elena," Rosalie whispered, her tone suddenly serious.
"What?" I turned to Rosalie, who was now avoiding my gaze, her expression clouded. "What?" I shot back at Alaric. "What does that mean?"
"What do you think it means?" Alaric snapped, glaring at the broken bottle with disdain. "That was my last beer."
"My dad said that's bastard's beer!" I retorted, gripping him by his shirt. "What does it mean?!"
"Let's just say," he replied, pausing as he flashed a smirk, "Elena isn't the only doppelganger running around."
Katherine, I thought.
"But Elena's... dead..." Rosalie murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, confusion and fear evident in her eyes.
"Not exactly," Alaric corrected, his expression shifting to one of seriousness, hinting at a more profound truth yet to be revealed.
Suddenly, I jolted awake, my chest heaving as I gasped for air as if I had been submerged underwater for too long.
The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow in my bedroom, and I found Stefan perched at the foot of my bed, his gaze fixed on me with a mixture of concern and relief. Confusion clouded my mind as I struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation.
"Stefan?" I croaked, my voice shaky and hoarse.
"Hey," he replied, his hand gentle as it brushed against my leg, a reassuring touch amid my panic. "I'm right here. You've been drifting in and out for hours."
"What happened?" I asked, my heart racing as I tried to piece together the fragments of my memory.
A heavy pause hung in the air, thick with tension, before he finally spoke. "You were in an accident."
Suddenly, an image of Rebekah, standing defiantly in the middle of the road, flashed vividly in my mind. "Oh my God," I whispered, dread pooling in my stomach.
Matt... was he...?
"Matt," I gasped, the fear gripping my throat. "Is he...?"
"Alive?" Damon's voice cut in, sharp and unexpected. I hadn't realized he had been sitting quietly on the window seat beside my bed. Stefan and I turned to him, our eyes wide with desperation. "Ask Stefan. The hero."
I turned back to Stefan, my heart pounding. "He's fine."
"Thank you," I sighed, relief momentarily washing over me before doubt crept back in. "I thought that I—how did you...?"
"Save you?" Damon retorted, his tone biting. "He didn't."
"When Jeremy brought you to the hospital before all this happened," Stefan began slowly, his voice steady but filled with urgency, "your injuries were worse than anyone knew. Meredith Fell made a critical choice; she used Damon's blood to heal you."
"And when Rebekah ran Matt's truck off the road," Damon added, his eyes narrowing, "you had vampire blood coursing through your veins, Elena."
A wave of panic swept over me. "Oh my God. Does... does that mean that I—am I dead?" The weight of their silence pressed down on me. "No, no, no, no! This wasn't supposed to happen!"
"Maybe it doesn't have to," Stefan said softly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I spoke with Bonnie. She believes she's stronger than ever; there might be something she can do to help you."
"No," Damon interjected quickly, his voice firm. "The only thing that will help is for you to feed and complete the transition."
"We have all day before she has to feed, Damon. That's a day to explore every possible way out of this," Stefan countered, his tone insistent and unwavering.
"There is no way out of it," Damon insisted, his expression hardening. "We all know the drill. You either feed or you die.
There is no door number three."
"I was ready to die," I burst into tears, the weight of my fears spilling over. "I was supposed to die. I don't want to be—I can't be a vampire! If there's something Bonnie can do, we have to try!"
"We will," Stefan promised, his eyes filled with determination. "We'll try everything."
Damon scoffed, rolling his eyes dismissively. "Your choice, Elena. As always."
With that, he stood up and brushed past us, leaving the room with frustration and resignation. Stefan remained his gaze steady and comforting, watching as I cried, trying to quell the storm of emotions raging within me.
I strode into the kitchen, the familiar scent of wood and lingering aromas of past meals enveloping me, and grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the dark cupboard. The glass glinted in the dim light as I poured myself a drink, my thoughts swirling with frustration. Just then, Stefan stepped through the doorway, a shadow in the bright kitchen.
"Nice job getting her hopes up for something that has never happened in the history of vampirism," I erupted, barely able to contain my anger as soon as he crossed the threshold.
"You know what?" Stefan shot back, his expression hardening. "You weren't there the day Elena looked me in the eye and told me she absolutely never wanted this life."
With one swift motion, I downed the contents of my glass, the burn of the alcohol igniting a fire within me. "Then you should have done everything possible to keep her alive," I countered, my voice sharp as a knife.
"I never meant for her to die," he admitted, sorrow etched into the lines of his face. "She asked me to help Matt first, and I couldn't refuse."
"And now the world's got one more quarterback," I scoffed, bitterness seeping into my words. "Congratulations, brother. Brilliant choice."
I stood nearby, poured another drink, the liquid sloshing in the glass, catching the light like liquid gold.
"I made a choice that I will regret for the rest of my life," he said, his voice steady but filled with weight. "I need a chance to fix it."
As Stefan turned to leave, I finished my second drink in a single gulp, the sharpness of the alcohol mingling with the heavy atmosphere of unresolved tension lingering in the air.
In the dim light of my bedroom, I stood in front of the mirror, my heart racing and my breath coming in uneven bursts. As I rubbed my face, I could feel the tension beneath my skin, a simmering energy that felt foreign yet exhilarating. I touched my teeth gingerly, half-expecting to find fangs had sprouted in the chaos of my transformation. My senses had sharpened dramatically; I could hear the soft hum of electricity coursing through the lightbulb overhead, its gentle flicker drawing my gaze.
Suddenly, Jeremy's familiar figure appeared in the doorway, and I rushed to him without thinking.
"Jer!" I called, relief flooding through me as we embraced tightly.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched across his features. "I watched Vicki go through this—she was a total mess. Her emotions were everywhere, and all those old memories came rushing back."
I momentarily diverted my eyes to the lightbulb again, its glow almost hypnotic, but I quickly refocused on Jeremy. "I'm fine. I'm not Vicki," I insisted, trying to anchor myself in my own reality.
"No, you're not," he replied earnestly, his voice steadying me. "You're you. You always act like everything's okay, so no one worries about you but needs help."
His words hung in the air, heavy and unsettling. I couldn't shake the irritation building inside me. With a glare, I shot back, "I said I'm fine, okay?" The intensity of my tone surprised even me. "I—I'm sorry, I... Have you talked to Bonnie?"
"Yeah," he replied, his gaze softening. "She said that when I was shot, she made a plea to the witch spirits to bring me back, and they actually listened."
I shrugged, feeling a cold knot in the pit of my stomach. "Yeah, but the consequences were horrible."
Jeremy's expression hardened. "And what could be more horrible than you turning into a vampire?" he challenged, his voice thick with emotion. "I need my sister back, not another one of them."
I took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings inside me. "We're going to find a way out of this," I promised, my voice firm. "Everything's going to be okay."
"I hope so," he murmured, uncertainty lingering in his eyes.
After Jeremy left the room, I turned back to the lightbulb, its relentless glow beginning to grate on my nerves. Driven by a sudden surge of frustration, I strode purposefully toward it, yanked off the lampshade, and, with a swift, decisive motion, crushed the lightbulb in my hand. The sharp shatter echoing in the silence reflected the chaos inside me.
Alaric Saltzman leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked onto the aged woman seated across from him, Marie Higginbotham. The subtle afternoon light filtered through the kitchen window, casting shadows that danced on the worn table between them. Isobel and Rosalie were off at school, leaving him with the uneasy silence of their empty home.
"Stop glaring at me," he said, his voice low and edged with irritation.
"Are you going to eat us?" Marie asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. Her dark eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him.
"No," he replied, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Why do you keep asking me that?"
"What do you want, Alaric?" she pressed, her tone shifting to anxious curiosity.
"I've already told you— I want a world free of vampires," he asserted, his gaze unwavering.
"What do you want with Bella?" she shot back, a hint of desperation lacing her words.
"I want Isobel to be unharmed and safe, just as much as you do," he answered, his voice firm and resolute.
"Then why are you doing this?" she demanded, her frail hands
clenching on the table.
"Do you really want your granddaughter to become a vampire like Elena?" he countered, his tone sharp and direct.
"No…" she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Neither do I," he said, his expression softening briefly.
"Then leave us alone," Marie implored, her voice breaking slightly under the weight of worry.
"What do you think will happen when the Originals discover I'm still alive?" Alaric asked, his voice rising, filled with urgency. "They're going to piece it together, and soon!"
"What does that have to do with us—" she began to protest, but her words faltered as a shiver ran through her, her face paling. "Oh God... it's her... Isabella is why you're still alive."
"If the Originals find out, she's dead," he growled, his expression darkening. "But I know something crucial they don't— something not even Bella understands."
"What is it?" Marie Higginbotham questioned, her voice trembling with fear and curiosity. "What do you know that they don't?"
An unsettling feeling washed over me as Rosalie and I entered school the following day. The air was thick with an unusual tension. Across the the lot, I spotted Dr. Francis deep in conversation with a uniformed officer, their expressions serious and intense.
"I wonder what that's about," a voice whispered behind us, curiosity lacing the tone.
I jumped at the unexpected sound, turning to find Victoria standing close, her eyes darting from the officer to Dr. Francis. The three of us exchanged glances, their whispers mixing with the low hum of chatter as we watched the two figures disappear into the main school building.
"There's always something brewing in this town," Victoria stated confidently, a hint of excitement in her voice. "Do either of you have the homework for Mr. Saltzman's class? I could really use it. Twenty bucks for a copy sounds fair."
"I was planning to ask Jeremy Gilbert for his, so you might have to beat me to it," I replied, determination creeping into my tone.
"Maybe Mr. Saltzman finally lost it on some girl," Victoria suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Who?" Rosalie asked, a frown furrowing her brow as she tried to piece it together.
"That girl he lives with," Victoria said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "What's her name again?"
"Elena Gilbert," I interrupted, my heart racing as I recalled recent events.
Elena is a vampire now, I reminded myself, a rush of anxiety tightening my chest.
"Hey, maybe this is related to the fire at the Young Farm," Rosalie said, her voice dropping as if she were afraid of the topic.
"Oh, I heard about that," Victoria replied, her excitement replaced by concern.
"What happened at the Young Farm?" I demanded, my curiosity piqued.
"It burned down last night, taking Pastor Young and eleven others with it," Rosalie stated grimly, her expression growing serious.
"Any survivors?" I pressed, my voice filled with urgency.
"No," Victoria said, shaking her head slowly.
"It was packed with members of the town council," Rosalie added, her tone heavy with implication.
Elena is a vampire, and now several town council members are dead. This wasn't going to end well for anyone involved.
"What if Mr. Saltzman is behind it?" Victoria suggested in a hushed voice, her eyes widening.
What if…? The thought lingered ominously in my mind.
"Excuse me," an accented voice, sleek and commanding, interrupted us from behind.
We instinctively moved aside as Rebekah Mikaelson slipped past, her presence striking and unapologetic.
"Excuse you," Victoria snapped, annoyance rising as Rebekah nearly knocked us off our feet.
"Move," Rebekah huffed, barely glancing our way.
I thought this was all her fault, frustration boiling inside me as I watched her stride away. She caused all this chaos!
"Whoa!" Victoria exclaimed as strong arms suddenly wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me back.
"Bella," Rosalie said, surprised, coloring her tone as she stared.
"What are you going to do?!" Rebekah challenged, facing us, her eyes glinting with confrontational fire.
"Not worth it," Victoria whispered, leaning closer to me.
"Let's just get to class."
I felt as if Victoria nearly swept me off my feet and carried me to the Stoner's Pit, Rosalie close behind, her expression a mix of concern and disbelief.
"I can't stand her," I declared vehemently as we left the scene behind us.
"Who is she?" Victoria asked as she finally set me down, her tone now steeped in curiosity.
"Rebekah Mikaelson," Rosalie replied, her voice steady.
"And what's her deal?" Victoria pressed, her interest clearly piqued.
"Simple," I said firmly, locking eyes with her. "She's a life stealer."
"Has anyone seen Bella?" Elena inquired one day, her voice breaking the tense silence as the group lounged in the cozy yet somber atmosphere of the Salvatore boarding house.
At the sound of her question, an uncomfortable knot formed in my stomach; it was something I had been dreading.
I couldn't shake the feeling that we needed to separate the two girls. Elena had been struggling lately, unable to hold down blood for days. The turmoil within her made it clear she wasn't adjusted enough to be around a human with such a tantalizing scent, especially one like Isabella Swan.
"No," Caroline replied, glancing around the room with concern. "But I heard her grandmother is back in town."
Elena's eyes brightened with determination. "I want to see her." She turned to me, her gaze earnest. "Stefan, I want to see her."
"Elena—" I started, hesitating, knowing the potential consequences.
"That might be too overwhelming for you," Caroline interjected softly, concern etched on her face. "Bella's scent is incredibly potent—"
"I'll be okay. I can control myself!" Elena insisted fiercely.
Caroline shook her head, her expression grave. "You only say that because you've never experienced her scent. It could incapacitate you."
"I will be fine," Elena said, irritation rising.
"Maybe you could call her," I suggested, trying to find a safer alternative. "See if she's coming to school tomorrow."
"Do you think that would be a good idea?" Jeremy chimed in, worry flickering in his eyes. "If Caroline's right, then Bella could be in danger—"
"It's going to be okay, Jeremy," Bonnie assured him, her tone soothing. "Elena won't hurt Bella."
"Human Elena wouldn't," Jeremy murmured, skepticism coloring his words.
In a sudden burst of frustration, Elena lunged towards Jeremy, pushing him forcefully into the couch. The furniture tipped slightly under the impact as he lost his balance.
"I SAID I'M FINE!" Elena screeched, her voice echoing off the walls, filled with desperation.
"Jeremy!" Bonnie exclaimed, rushing to his side, concern for him eclipsing her worries about Elena.
"Elena!" I yelled, quickly intervening as I restrained her, afraid of where this might lead.
"Yeah, sure," Jeremy replied sarcastically as he clambered to his feet, a look of disbelief on his face. "Perfectly fine."
"Jer," Elena said, the weight of her actions crashing down on her like a tidal wave. "I didn't—I'm sorry."
But before she could articulate her regret, Jeremy stormed away, leaving her calling after him. "Jeremy." The tension in the air hung heavy, a stark reminder of the fragility of our situation.
Elena and I settled into our desks, the familiar scent of chalk dust hanging in the air, bringing back a flood of memories. I glanced over at her, noticing how her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she stared at the front of the room, clearly lost in thought. I followed her gaze to the chalkboard, covered in Alaric's neat handwriting—a distorted reminder of lessons learned and moments shared. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I recognized the reason for her sadness.
"It's the first time we've been back in Alaric's classroom," I murmured, my heart aching for both of us.
"First period," Elena replied, her voice shaky. "And I'm ready to bawl my eyes out."
The classroom door swung open, and Rebekah burst in, a stack of colorful flyers clutched in her hands. "Morning, everyone," she announced cheerfully, her bright demeanor contrasting sharply with the mood.
"Morning, Bekah," someone mumbled, the response lackluster.
"Just like that," Elena muttered, her expression darkening. "I'm no longer feeling sentimental."
Rebekah grinned, seeming unfazed. "So, I'm throwing a little anti-curfew party at my new house," she declared, her eyes sparkling excitedly. "It starts at fifth period and goes until
whenever. Spread the word!" She began distributing flyers, her bright energy lighting up the room. She then turned to Elena, her tone shifting slightly. "You're welcome to join, Elena, if you'd like to bury the hatchet."
With a slightly hesitant hand, Rebekah offered Elena a flyer. Elena took it, glancing down at it with skepticism. "It's a pretty enormous hatchet, Rebekah," she replied, her tone pointed.
"Well, I'm feeling generous," Rebekah replied playfully, dramatically rolling her eyes.
"New house, huh?" Elena asked, reading over the flyer. "Did your brother finally kick you out?"
"He didn't kick me out," Rebekah scoffed, her voice sharp. "I left."
"So, you left the only person on earth who actually likes you?" Elena shot back, disbelief coloring her voice.
Rebekah turned her gaze toward me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Well, your boyfriend liked me once," she said, her smirk growing wider. I felt a wave of frustration wash over me; I wasn't fond of being pulled into their rivalry. "Actually, a lot more than once," she added, her playful taunt igniting Elena's fury.
"Why are you still in town, Rebekah?" I demanded, unable to
hold back my irritation. "Don't you have anywhere else to go?"
"Well, history's my favorite class," Rebekah responded, her voice dripping with smugness. "Actually, where is Mr. Saltzman...?" She paused for effect, letting the silence linger. Elena's anger flared further. "Oh, that's right, I killed him," she declared, a hint of satisfaction in her tone.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," came a familiar voice from the door.
We spun around to see Alaric walking in, looking very much alive.
No, he's dead—how...?
Elena, Rebekah, and I exchanged bewildered glances as Ric took his seat at his desk, his presence shifting the atmosphere in the room.
"Everyone take your seats," Ric said with a deadly smile, his eyes glinting with authority. "Class is about to begin."