Page 2

"Charlie," I hissed. Charlie wasn't exactly aware that Edward frequently stayed
over. In fact, he would have a stroke if that fact were brought to his attention. But
I didn't feel too guilty for deceiving him It wasn't as if we were up to anything he
wouldn't want me to be up to. Edward and his rules…
"He won't catch me," Edward promised as he disappeared silently out the door . .
and returned, catching the door before it had swung back to touch the frame. He
had the glass from the bathroom and the bottle of pills in one hand.
I took the pills he handed me without arguing—I knew I would lose the argument
And my arm really was starting to bother me.
My lullaby continued, soft and lovely, in the background.
"It's late," Edward noted. He scooped me up off the bed with one arm, and pulled
the cover back with the other. He put me down with my head on my pillow and
tucked the quilt around me. He lay down next to me—on top of the blanket so I
wouldn't get chilled—and put his arm over me.
I leaned my head against his shoulder and sighed happily.
"Thanks again," I whispered.
"You're welcome."
It was quiet for a long moment as I listened to my lullaby drift to a close. Another
song began. I recognized Esme's favorite.
"What are you thinking about?'" I wondered in a whisper.
He hesitated for a second before he told me. "I was thinking about right and
wrong, actually."
I felt a chill tingle along my spine.
"Remember how I decided that I wanted you to not ignore my birthday?" I asked
quickly, hoping it wasn't too clear that I was trying to distract him.
"Yes," he agreed, wary.
"Well, I was thinking, since it's still my birthday, that I'd like you to kiss me
again."
"You're greedy tonight."
"Yes, I am—but please, don't do anything you don't want to do," I added, piqued.
He laughed, and then sighed. "Heaven forbid that I should do anything I don't
want to do," he said in a strangely desperate tone as he put his hand under my
chin and pulled my face up to his.
The kiss began much the same as usual—Edward was as careful as ever, and my
heart began to overreact like it always did. And then something seemed to
change. Suddenly his lips became much more urgent, his free hand twisted into
my hair and held my face securely to his. And, though my hands tangled in his
hair, too, and though I was clearly beginning to cross his cautious lines, for once
he didn't stop me. His body was cold through the thin quilt, but I crushed myself
against him eagerly.
When he stopped it was abrupt; he pushed me away with gentle, firm hands.
I collapsed back onto my pillow, gasping, my head spinning. Something tugged
at my memory, elusive, on the edges.
"Sorry," he said, and he was breathless, too. "That was out of line."
"I don't mind," I panted.
He frowned at me in the darkness. "Try to sleep. Bella."
"No, I want you to kiss me again."
"You're overestimating my self-control."
"Which is tempting you more, my blood or my body?" I challenged.
"It's a tie." He grinned briefly in spite of himself, and then was serious again.
"Now. why don't you stop pushing your luck and go to sleep?"
"Fine," I agreed, snuggling closer to him. I really did feel exhausted. It had been a
long day in so many ways, yet I felt no sense of relief at its end. Almost as if
something worse was coming tomorrow. It was a silly premonition—what could
be worse than today?' Just the shock catching up with me, no doubt.
Trying to be sneaky about it, I pressed my injured arm against his shoulder, so his
cool skin would sooth the burning. It felt better at once.
I was halfway asleep, maybe more, when I realized what his kiss had reminded
me of: last spring, when he'd had to leave me to throw James off my trail, Edward
had kissed me goodbye, not knowing when—or if—we would see each other
again. This kiss had the same almost painful edge for some reason I couldn't
imagine. I shuddered into unconsciousness, as if I were already having a
nightmare.
3. THE END
I FELT ABSOLUTELY HIDEOUS IN THE MORNING. I HADN'T slept well;
my arm burned and my head ached. It didn't help my outlook that Edward's face
was smooth and remote as he kissed my forehead quickly and ducked out my
window. I was afraid of the time I'd spent unconscious, afraid that he might have
been thinking about right and wrong again while he watched me sleep. The
anxiety seemed to ratchet up the intensity of the pounding in my head.
Edward was waiting for me at school, as usual, but his face was still wrong.
There was something buried in his eyes that I couldn't be sure of—and it scared
me. I didn't want to bring up last night, but I wasn't sure if avoiding the subject
would be worse.
He opened my door for me.
"How do you feel?"
"Perfect," I lied, cringing as the sound of the slamming door echoed in my head.
We walked in silence, he shortening his stride to match mine. There were so
many questions I wanted to ask, but most of those questions would have to wait,
because chey were for Alice: How was Jasper this morning? What had they said
when I was gone? What had Rosalie said? And most importantly, what could she
see happening now in her strange, imperfect visions of the future? Could she
guess what Edward was thinking, why he was so gloomy? Was there a
foundation for the tenuous, instinctive fears that I couldn't seem to shake?
The morning passed slowly. I was impatient to see Alice, though I wouldn't be
able to really talk to her with Edward there. Edward remained aloof. Occasionally
he would ask about my arm, and I would lie.
Alice usually beat us to lunch; she didn't have to keep pace with a sloth like me.
But she wasn't at the table, waiting with a tray of food she wouldn't eat.
Edward didn't say anything about her absence. I wondered to myself if her class
was running late—until I saw Conner and Ben, who were in her fourth hour
French class.
"Where's Alice?" I asked Edward anxiously.
He looked at the granola bar he was slowly pulverizing between his fingertips
while he answered. "She's with Jasper."
"Is he okay?"
"He's gone away for a while."
"What? Where?"
Edward shrugged. "Nowhere in particular."
"And Alice, too," I said with quiet desperation. Of course, if Jasper needed her,
she would go.
"Yes. She'll be gone for a while. She was trying to convince him to go to Denali."
Denali was where the one other band of unique vampires—good ones like the
Cullens—lived. Tanya and her family. I'd heard of them now and again. Edward
had run to them last winter when my arrival had made Forks difficult for him.
Laurent, the most civilized member of James's little coven, had gone there rather
than siding with James against the Cullens. It made sense for Alice to encourage
Jasper to go there.
I swallowed, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in my throat. The guilt made my
head bow and my shoulders slump. I'd run them out of their home, just like
Rosalie and Emmett. I was a plague.
"Is your arm bothering you?" he asked solicitously.
"Who cares about my stupid arm?" I muttered in disgust.
He didn't answer, and I put my head down on the table.
By the end of the day, the silence was becoming ridiculous. I didn't want to be the
one to break it, but apparently that was my only choice if I ever wanted him to
talk to me again.
"You'll come over later tonight?" I asked as he walked me—silently—to my
truck. He always came over.
"Later?"
It pleased me that he seemed surprised. "I have to work. I had to trade with Mrs.
Newton to get yesterday off."
"Oh," he murmured.
"So you'll come over when I'm home, though, right?" I hated that I felt suddenly
unsure about this.
"If you want me to."
"I always want you," I reminded him, with perhaps a little more intensity than the
conversation required.
I expected he would laugh, or smile, or react somehow to my words.
"All right, then," he said indifferently.
He kissed my forehead again before he shut the door on me. Then he turned his
back and loped gracefully toward his car.
I was able to drive out of the parking lot before the panic really hit, but I was
hyperventilating by the time I got to Newton's.
He just needed time, I told myself. He would get over this. Maybe he was sad
because his family was disappearing. But Alice and Jasper would come back
soon, and Rosalie and Emmett, too. If it would help, I would stay away from the
big white house on the river—I'd never set foot there again. That didn't matter. I'd
still see Alice at school. She would have to come back for school, right? And she
was at my place all the time anyway. She wouldn't want to hurt Charlie's feelings
by staying away.
No doubt I would also run into Carlisle with regularity—in the emergency room.
After all, what had happened last night was nothing. Nothing had happened. So I
fell down—that was the story of my life. Compared to last spring, it seemed
especially unimportant. James had left me broken and nearly dead from loss of
blood—and yet Edward had handled the interminable weeks in the hospital much
better than this. Was it because, this time, it wasn't an enemy he'd had to protect
me from? Because it was his brother?
Maybe it would be better if he took me away, rather than his family being
scattered. I grew slightly less depressed as I considered all the uninterrupted
alone time. If he could just last through the school year, Charlie wouldn't be able
to object. We could go away to college, or pretend that's what we were doing,
like Rosalie and Emmett this year. Surely Edward could wait a year. What was a
year to an immortal? It didn't even seem like that much to me.
I was able to talk myself into enough composure to handle getting out of the truck
and walking to the store. Mike Newton had beaten me here today, and he smiled
and waved when I came in. I grabbed my vest, nodding vaguely in his direction. I
was still imagining pleasant scenarios that consisted of me running away with
Edward to various exotic locales.
Mike interrupted my fantasy. "How was your birthday?"
"Ugh," I mumbled. "I'm glad it's over."
Mike looked at me from the corners of his eyes like I was crazy.
Work dragged. I wanted to see Edward again, praying that he would be past the
worst of this, whatever it was exactly, by the time I saw him again. It's nothing, I
told myself over and over again. Everything will go back to normal.
The relief I felt when I turned onto my street and saw Edward's silver car parked
in front of my house was an overwhelming, heady thing. And it bothered me
deeply that it should be that way.
I hurried through the front door, calling out before I was completely inside.
"Dad? Edward?"
As I spoke, I could hear the distinctive theme music from ESPN's SportsCenter
coming from the living room.
"In here," Charlie called.
I hung my raincoat on its peg and hurried around the corner.
Edward was in the armchair, my father on the sofa. Both had their eyes trained on
the TV. The focus was normal for my father. Not so much for Edward.
"Hi," I said weakly.
"Hey, Bella," my father answered, eyes never moving. "We just had cold pizza. I
think it's still on the table."
"Okay."
I waited in the doorway. Finally, Edward looked over at me with a polite smile.
"I'll be right behind you," he promised. His eyes strayed back to the TV.
I stared for another minute, shocked. Neither one seemed to notice. I could feel
something, panic maybe, building up in my chest. I escaped to the kitchen.
The pizza held no interest for me. I sat in my chair, pulled my knees up, and
wrapped my arms around them. Something was very wrong, maybe more wrong
than I'd realized. The sounds of male bonding and banter continued from the TV
set.
I tried to get control of myself, to reason with myself.
What's the worst that can happen? I flinched. That was definitely the wrong
question to ask. I was having a hard time breathing right.
Okay, I thought again, what's the worst I can live through? I didn't like that
question so much, either. But I thought through the possibilities I'd considered
today.
Staying away from Edward's family. Of course, he wouldn't expect Alice to be
part of that. But if Jasper was off limits, that would lessen the time I could have
with her. I nodded to myself—I could live with that.
Or going away. Maybe he wouldn't want to wait till the end of the school year,
maybe it would have to be now.
In front of me, on the table, my presents from Charlie and Renee were where I
had left them, the camera I hadn't had the chance to use at the Cullens' sitting
beside the album. I touched the pretty cover of the scrapbook my mother had
given me, and sighed, thinking of Renee. Somehow, living without her for as
long as I had did not make the idea of a more permanent separation easier. And
Charlie would be left all alone here, abandoned. They would both be so hurt…
But we'd come back, right? We'd visit, of course, wouldn't we?
I couldn't be certain about the answer to that.
I leaned my cheek against my knee, staring at the physical tokens of my parents'
love. I'd known this path I'd chosen was going to be hard. And, after all, I was
thinking about the worst-case scenario—the very worst I could live through.
I touched the scrapbook again, flipping the front cover over. Little metal corners
were already in place to hold the first picture. It wasn't a half-bad idea, to make
some record of my life here. I felt a strange urge to get started. Maybe I didn't
have that long left in Forks.
I toyed with the wrist strap on the camera, wondering about the first picture on
the roll. Could it possibly turn out anything close to the original? I doubted it. But
he didn't seem worried that it would be blank. I chuckled to myself, thinking of
his carefree laughter last night. The chuckle died away. So much had changed,
and so abruptly. It made me feel a little bit dizzy, like I was standing on an edge,
a precipice somewhere much too high.
I didn't want to think about that anymore. I grabbed the camera and headed up the
stairs.
My room hadn't really changed all that much in the seventeen years since my
mother had been here. The walls were still light blue, the same yellowed lace
curtains hung in front of the window. There was a bed, rather than a crib, but she
would recognize the quilt draped untidily over the top—it had been a gift ROM
Gran.
Regardless, I snapped a picture of my room. There wasn't much else I could do
tonight—it was too dark outside—and the feeling was growing stronger, it was
almost a compulsion now. I would record everything about Forks before I had to
leave it.
Change was coming. I could feel it. It wasn't a pleasant prospect, not when life
was perfect the way it was.
I took my time coming back down the stairs, camera in hand, trying to ignore the
butterflies in my stomach as I thought of the strange distance I didn't want to see
in Edward's eyes. He would get over this. Probably he was worried that I would
be upset when he asked me to leave. I would let him work through it without
meddling. And I would be prepared when he asked.
I had the camera ready as I leaned around the corner, being sneaky. I was sure
there was no chance that I had caught Edward by surprise, but he didn't look up. I
felt a brief shiver as something icy twisted in my stomach; I ignored that and took
the picture.
They both looked at me then. Charlie frowned. Edward's face was empty,
expressionless.
"What are you doing, Bella?" Charlie complained.
"Oh, come on." I pretended to smile as I went to sit on the floor in front of the
sofa where Charlie lounged. "You know Mom will be calling soon to ask if I'm
using my presents. I have to get to work before she can get her feelings hurt."
"Why are you taking pictures of me, though?" he grumbled.
"Because you're so handsome," I replied, keeping it light. "And because, since
you bought the camera, you're obligated to be one of my subjects."
He mumbled something unintelligible.
"Hey, Edward," I said with admirable indifference. "Take one of me and my dad
together."
I threw the camera toward him, carefully avoiding his eyes, and knelt beside the
arm of the sofa where Charlie's face was. Charlie sighed.
"You need to smile, Bella," Edward murmured.
I did my best, and the camera flashed.
"Let me take one of you kids," Charlie suggested. I knew he was just trying to
shift the camera's focus from himself.
Edward stood and lightly tossed him the camera.
I went to stand beside Edward, and the arrangement felt formal and strange to
me. He put one hand lightly on my shoulder, and I wrapped my arm more
securely around his waist. I wanted to look at his face, but I was afraid to.
"Smile, Bella," Charlie reminded me again.
I took a deep breath and smiled. The flash blinded me.
"Enough pictures for tonight," Charlie said then, shoving the camera into a
crevice of the sofa cushions and rolling over it. "You don't have to use the whole
roll now."
Edward dropped his hand from my shoulder and twisted casually out of my arm.
He sat back down in the armchair.
I hesitated, and then went to sit against the sofa again. I was suddenly so
frightened that my hands were shaking. I pressed them into my stomach to hide
them, put my chin on my knees and stared at the TV screen in front of me, seeing
nothing.
When the show ended, I hadn't moved an inch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw
Edward stand.
"I'd better get home," he said.
Charlie didn't look up from the commercial. "See ya."
I got awkwardly to my feet—I was stiff from sitting so still—and followed
Edward out the front door. He went straight to his car.
"Will you stay?" I asked, no hope in my voice.
I expected his answer, so it didn't hurt as much.
"Not tonight."
I didn't ask for a reason.
He got in his car and drove away while I stood there, unmoving. I barely noticed
that it was raining. I waited, without knowing what I waited for, until the door
opened behind me.
"Bella, what are you doing?" Charlie asked, surprised to see me standing there
alone and dripping.
"Nothing." I turned and trudged back to the house.
It was a long night, with little in the way of rest.
I got up as soon as there was a faint light outside my window. I dressed for
school mechanically, waiting for the clouds to brighten. When I had eaten a bowl
of cereal, I decided that it was light enough for pictures. I took one of my truck,
and then the front of the house. I turned and snapped a few of the forest by
Charlie's house. Funny how it didn't seem sinister like it used to. I realized I
would miss this—the green, the timelessness, the mystery of the woods. All of it.
I put the camera in my school bag before I left. I tried to concentrate on my new
project rather than the fact that Edward apparently hadn't gotten over things
during the night.
Along with the fear, I was beginning to feel impatience. How long could this last?
It lasted through the morning. He walked silently beside me, never seeming to
actually look at me. I tried to concentrate on my classes, but not even English
could hold my attention. Mr. Berty had to repeat his question about Lady Capulet
twice before I realized he was talking to me. Edward whispered the correct
answer under his breath and then went back to ignoring me.
At lunch, the silence continued. I felt like I was going to start screaming at any
moment, so, to distract myself, I leaned across the table's invisible line and spoke
to Jessica.
"Hey, Jess?"
"What's up, Bella?"
"Could you do me a favor?" I asked, reaching into my bag. "My mom wants me
to get some pictures of my friends for a scrapbook. So, take some pictures of
everybody, okay?"
I handed her the camera.
"Sure," she said, grinning, and turned to snap a candid shot of Mike with his
mouth full.
A predictable picture war ensued. I watched them hand the camera around the
table, giggling and flirting and complaining about being on film. It seemed
strangely childish. Maybe I just wasn't in the mood for normal human behavior
today.
"Uh-oh," Jessica said apologetically as she returned the camera. "I think we used
all your film."
"That's okay. I think I already got pictures of everything else I needed."
After school, Edward walked me back to the parking lot in silence. I had to work
again, and for once, I was glad. Time with me obviously wasn't helping things.
Maybe time alone would be better.
I dropped my film off at the Thriftway on my way to Newton's, and then picked
up the developed pictures after work. At home, I said a brief hi to Charlie,
grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen, and hurried up to my room with the
envelope of photographs tucked under my arm.
I sat in the middle of my bed and opened the envelope with wary curiosity.
Ridiculously, I still half expected the first print to be a blank.
When I pulled it out, I gasped aloud. Edward looked just as beautiful as he did in
real life, staring at me out of the picture with the warm eyes I'd missed for the
past few days. It was almost uncanny that anyone could look so… so… beyond
description. No thousand words could equal this picture.
I flipped through the rest of the stack quickly once, and then laid three of them
out on the bed side by side.
The first was the picture of Edward in the kitchen, his warm eyes touched with
tolerant amusement. The second was Edward and Charlie, watching ESPN. The
difference in Edward's expression was severe. His eyes were careful here,
reserved. Still breathtakingly beautiful, but his face was colder, more like a
sculpture, less alive.
The last was the picture of Edward and me standing awkwardly side by side.
Edward's face was the same as the last, cold and statue-like. But that wasn't the
most troubling part of this photograph. The contrast between the two of us was
painful. He looked like a god. I looked very average, even for a human, almost
shamefully plain. I flipped the picture over with a feeling of disgust.
Instead of doing my homework, I stayed up to put my pictures into the album.
With a ballpoint pen I scrawled captions under all the pictures, the names and the
dates. I got to the picture of Edward and me, and, without looking at it too long, I
folded it in half and stuck it under the metal tab, Edward-side up.
When I was done, I stuffed the second set of prints in a fresh envelope and
penned a long thank-you letter to Renee.
Edward still hadn't come over. I didn't want to admit that he was the reason I'd
stayed up so late, but of course he was. I tried to remember the last time he'd
stayed away like this, without an excuse, a phone call… He never had.
Again, I didn't sleep well.
School followed the silent, frustrating, terrifying pattern of the last two days. I
felt relief when I saw Edward waiting for me in the parking lot, but it faded
quickly. He was no different, unless maybe more remote.
It was hard to even remember the reason for all this mess. My birthday already
felt like the distant past. If only Alice would come back. Soon. Before this got
any more out of hand.
But I couldn't count on that. I decided that, if I couldn't talk to him today, really
talk, then I was going to see Carlisle tomorrow. I had to do something.
After school, Edward and I were going to talk it out, I promised myself. I wasn't
accepting any excuses.
He walked me to my truck, and I steeled myself to make my demands.
"Do you mind if I come over today?" he asked before we got to the truck, beating
me to the punch.
"Of course not."
"Now?" he asked again, opening my door for me.
"Sure," I kept my voice even, though I didn't like the urgency in his tone. "I was
just going to drop a letter for Renee in the mailbox on the way. I'll meet you
there."
He looked at the fat envelope on the passenger seat. Suddenly, he reached over
me and snagged it.
"I'll do it," he said quietly. "And I'll still beat you there." He smiled my favorite
crooked smile, but it was wrong. It didn't reach his eyes.
"Okay," I agreed, unable to smile back. He shut the door, and headed toward his
car.
He did beat me home. He was parked in Charlie's spot when I pulled up in front
of the house. That was a bad sign. He didn't plan to stay, then. I shook my head
and took a deep breath, trying to locate some courage.
He got out of his car when I stepped out of the truck, and came to meet me. He
reached to take my book bag from me. That was normal. But he shoved it back
onto the seat. That was not normal.
"Come for a walk with me," he suggested in an unemotional voice, taking my
hand.
I didn't answer. I couldn't think of a way to protest, but I instantly knew that I
wanted to. I didn't like this. This is bad, this is very bad, the voice in my head
repeated again and again.
But he didn't wait for an answer. He pulled me along toward the east side of the
yard, where the forest encroached. I followed unwillingly, trying to think through
the panic. It was what I wanted, I reminded myself. The chance to talk it all
through. So why was the panic choking me?
We'd gone only a few steps into the trees when he stopped. We were barely on
the trail—I could still see the house.
Some walk.
Edward leaned against a tree and stared at me, his expression unreadable.
"Okay, let's talk," I said. It sounded braver than it felt.
He took a deep breath.
"Bella, we're leaving."
I took a deep breath, too. This was an acceptable option. I thought I was prepared.
But I still had to ask.
"Why now? Another year—"
"Bella, it's time. How much longer could we stay in Forks, after all? Carlisle can
barely pass for thirty, and he's claiming thirty-three now. We'd have to start over
soon regardless."
His answer confused me. I thought the point of leaving was to let his family live
in peace. Why did we have to leave if they were going? I stared at him, trying to
understand what he meant.
He stared back coldly.
With a roll of nausea, I realized I'd misunderstood.
"When you say we—," I whispered.
"I mean my family and myself." Each word separate and distinct.
I shook my head back and forth mechanically, trying to clear it. He waited
without any sign of impatience. It took a few minutes before I could speak.
"Okay," I said. "I'll come with you."
"You can't, Bella. Where we're going… It's not the right place for you."
"Where you are is the right place for me."
"I'm no good for you, Bella."
"Don't be ridiculous." I wanted to sound angry, but it just sounded like I was
begging. "You're the very best part of my life."
"My world is not for you," he said grimly.
"What happened with Jasper—that was nothing, Edward! Nothing!"
"You're right," he agreed. "It was exactly what was to be expected."
"You promised! In Phoenix, you promised that you would stay—"
"As long as that was best for you," he interrupted to correct me.
"No! This is about my soul, isn't it?" I shouted, furious, the words exploding out
of me—somehow it still sounded like a plea. "Carlisle told me about that, and I
don't care, Edward. I don't care! You can have my soul. I don't want it without you
—it's yours already!"
He took a deep breath and stared, unseeingly, at the ground for a long moment.
His mouth twisted the tiniest bit. When he finally looked up, his eyes were
different, harder—like the liquid gold had frozen solid.
"Bella, I don't want you to come with me." He spoke the words slowly and
precisely, his cold eyes on my face, watching as I absorbed what he was really
saying.
There was a pause as I repeated the words in my head a few times, sifting through
them for their real intent.
"You… don't… want me?" I tried out the words, confused by the way they
sounded, placed in that order.
"No."
I stared, uncomprehending, into his eyes. He stared back without apology. His
eyes were like topaz—hard and clear and very deep. I felt like I could see into
them for miles and miles, yet nowhere in rheir bottomless depths could I see a
contradiction to the word he'd spoken.
"Well, that changes things." I was surprised by how calm and reasonable my
voice sounded. It must be because I was so numb. I couldn't realize what he was
telling me. It still didn't make any sense.
He looked away into the trees as he spoke again. "Of course, I'll always love
you… in a way. But what happened the other night made me realize that it's time
for a change. Because I'm… tired of pretending to be something I'm not, Bella. I
am not human." He looked back, and the icy planes of his perfect face were not
human. "I've let this go on much too long, and I'm sorry for that."
"Don't." My voice was just a whisper now; awareness was beginning to seep
through me, trickling like acid through my veins. "Don't do this."
He just stared at me, and I could see from his eyes that my words were far too
late. He already had.
"You're not good for me, Bella." He turned his earlier words around, and so I had
no argument. How well I knew that I wasn't good enough for him.
I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again. He waited
patiently, his face wiped clean of all emotion. I tried again.
"If… that's what you want."
He nodded once.
My whole body went numb. I couldn't feel anything below the neck.
"I would like to ask one favor, though, if that's not too much," he said.
I wonder what he saw on my face, because something flickered across his own
face in response. But, before I could identify it, he'd composed his features into
the same serene mask.
"Anything," I vowed, my voice faintly stronger.
As I watched, his frozen eyes melted. The gold became liquid again, molten,
burning down into mine with an intensity that was overwhelming.
"Don't do anything reckless or stupid," he ordered, no longer detached. "Do you
understand what I'm saying?"
I nodded helplessly.
His eyes cooled, the distance returned. "I'm thinking of Charlie, of course. He
needs you. Take care of yourself—for him."
I nodded again. "I will," I whispered.
He seemed to relax just a little.
"And I'll make you a promise in return," he said. "I promise that this will be the
last time you'll see me. I won't come back. I won't put you through anything like
this again. You can go on with your life without any more interference from me.
It will be as if I'd never existed."
My knees must have started to shake, because the trees were suddenly wobbling.
I could hear the blood pounding faster than normal behind my ears. His voice
sounded farther away.
He smiled gently. "Don't worry. You're human—your memory is no more than a
sieve. Time heals all wounds for your kind."
"And your memories?" I asked. It sounded like there was something stuck in my
throat, like I was choking.
"Well"—he hesitated for a short second—"I won't forget. But my kind… we're
very easily distracted." He smiled; the smile was tranquil and it did not touch his
eyes.
He took a step away from me. "That's everything, I suppose. We won't bother you
again."
The plural caught my attention. That surprised me; I would have thought I was
beyond noticing anything.
"Alice isn't coming back," I realized. I don't know how he heard me—the words
made no sound—but he seemed to understand.
He shook his head slowly, always watching my face.
"No. They're all gone. I staved behind to tell you goodbye."
"Alice is gone?" My voice was blank with disbelief.
"She wanted to say goodbye, but I convinced her that a clean break would be
better for you."
I was dizzy; it was hard to concentrate. His words swirled around in my head, and
I heard the doctor at the hospital in Phoenix, last spring, as he showed me the Xrays.
You can see it's a clean break, his finger traced along the picture of my
severed bone. That's good. It will heal more easily, more quickly.
I tried to breathe normally. I needed to concentrate, to find a way out of this
nightmare.
"Goodbye, Bella," he said in the same quiet, peaceful voice.
"Wait!" I choked out the word, reaching for him, willing my deadened legs to
carry me forward.
I thought he was reaching for me, too. But his cold hands locked around my
wrists and pinned them to my sides. He leaned down, and pressed his lips very
lightly to my forehead for the briefest instant. My eyes closed.
"Take care of yourself," he breathed, cool against my skin.
There was a light, unnatural breeze. My eyes flashed open. The leaves on a small
vine maple shuddered with the gentle wind of his passage.
He was gone.
With shaky legs, ignoring the fact that my action was useless, I followed him into
the forest. The evidence of his path had disappeared instantly. There were no
footprints, the leaves were still again, but I walked forward without thinking. I
could not do anything else. I had to keep moving. If I stopped looking for him, it
was over.
Love, life, meaning… over.
I walked and walked. Time made no sense as I pushed slowly through the thick
undergrowth. It was hours passing, but also only seconds. Maybe it felt like time
had frozen because the forest looked the same no matter how far I went. I started
to worry that I was traveling in a circle, a very small circle at that, but I kept
going. I stumbled often, and, as it grew darker and darker, I fell often, too.
Finally, I tripped over something—it was black now, I had no idea what caught
my foot—and I stayed down. I rolled onto my side, so that I could breathe, and
curled up on the wet bracken.
As I lay there, I had a feeling that more time was passing than I realized. I
couldn't remember how long it had been since nightfall. Was it always so dark
here at night? Surely, as a rule, some little bit of moonlight would filter down
through the clouds, through the chinks in the canopy of trees, and find the ground.
Not tonight. Tonight the sky was utterly black. Perhaps there was no moon tonight
—a lunar eclipse, a new moon.
A new moon. I shivered, though I wasn't cold.
It was black for a long time before I heard them calling.
Someone was shouting my name. It was muted, muffled by the wet growth that
surrounded me, but it was definitely my name. I didn't recognize the voice. I
thought about answering, but I was dazed, and it took a long time to come to the
conclusion that I should answer. By then, the calling had stopped.
Sometime later, the rain woke me up. I don't think I'd really fallen asleep; I was
just lost in an unthinking stupor, holding with all my strength to the numbness
that kept me from realizing what I didn't want to know.
The rain bothered me a little. It was cold. I unwrapped my arms from around my
legs to cover my face.
It was then that I heard the calling again. It was farther away this time, and
sometimes it sounded like several voices were calling at once. I tried to breathe
deeply. I remembered that I should answer, but I didn't think they would be able
to hear me. Would I be able to shout loud enough?
Suddenly, there was another sound, startlingly close. A kind of snuffling, an
animal sound. It sounded big. I wondered if I should feel afraid. I didn't—just
numb. It didn't matter. The snuffling went away.
The rain continued, and I could feel the water pooling up against my cheek. I was
trying to gather the strength to turn my head when I saw the light.
At first it was just a dim glow reflecting off the bushes in the distance. It grew
brighter and brighter, illuminating a large space unlike the focused beam of a
flashlight. The light broke through the closest brush, and I could see that it was a
propane lantern, but that was all I could see—the brightness blinded me for a
moment.
"Bella."
The voice was deep and unfamiliar, but full of recognition. He wasn't calling my
name to search, he was acknowledging that I was found.
I stared up—impossibly high it seemed—at the dark face that I could now see
above me. I was vaguely aware that the stranger probably only looked so tall
because my head was still on the ground.
"Have you been hurt?"
I knew the words meant something, but I could only stare, bewildered. How
could the meaning matter at this point?
"Bella, my name is Sam Uley."
There was nothing familiar about his name.
"Charlie sent me to look for you."
Charlie? That struck a chord, and I tried to pay more attention to what he was
saying. Charlie mattered, if nothing else did.
The tall man held out a hand. I gazed at it, not sure what I was supposed to do.
His black eyes appraised me for a second, and then he shrugged. In a quick and
supple notion, he pulled me up from the ground and into his arms.
I hung there, limp, as he loped swiftly through the wet forest. Some part of me
knew this should upset me—being carried away by a stranger. But there was
nothing left in me to upset.
It didn't seem like too much time passed before there were lights and the deep
babble of many male voices. Sam Uley slowed as he approached the commotion.
"I've got her!" he called in a booming voice.
The babble ceased, and then picked up again with more intensity. A confusing
swirl of faces moved over me. Sam's voice was the only one that made sense in
the chaos, perhaps because my ear was against his chest.
"No, I don't think she's hurt," he told someone. "She just keeps saying 'He's gone.'
"
Was I saying that out loud? I bit down on my lip.
"Bella, honey, are you all right?"
That was one voice I would know anywhere—even distorted, as it was now, with
worry.
"Charlie?" My voice sounded strange and small.
"I'm right here, baby."
There was a shifting under me, followed by the leathery smell of my dad's sheriff
jacket. Charlie staggered under my weight.
"Maybe I should hold on to her," Sam Uley suggested.
"I've got her," Charlie said, a little breathless.
He walked slowly, struggling. I wished I could tell him to put me down and let
me walk, but I couldn't find my voice.
There were lights everywhere, held by the crowd walking with him. It felt like a
parade. Or a funeral procession. I closed my eyes.
"We're almost home now, honey," Charlie mumbled now and then.
I opened my eyes again when I heard the door unlock. We were on the porch of
our house, and the tall dark man named Sam was holding the door for Charlie,
one arm extended toward us, as if he was preparing to catch me when Charlie's
arms failed.
But Charlie managed to get me through the door and to the couch in the living
room.
"Dad, I'm all wet," I objected feebly.
"That doesn't matter." His voice was gruff. And then he was talking to someone
else. "Blankets are in the cupboard at the top of the stairs."
"Bella?" a new voice asked. I looked at the gray-haired man leaning over me, and
recognition came after a few slow seconds.
"Dr. Gerandy?" I mumbled.
"That's right, dear," he said. "Are you hurt, Bella?"
It took me a minute to think that through. I was confused by the memory of Sam
Uley's similar question in the woods. Only Sam had asked something else: Have
you been hurt? he'd said. The difference seemed significant somehow.
Dr. Gerandy was waiting. One grizzled eyebrow rose, and the wrinkles on his
forehead deepened.
"I'm not hurt," I lied. The words, were true enough for what he'd asked.
His warm hand touched my forehead, and his fingers pressed against the inside of
my wrist. I watched his lips as he counted to himself, his eyes on his watch.
"What happened to you?" he asked casually.
I froze under his hand, tasting panic in the back of my throat.
"Did you get lost in the woods?" he prodded. I was aware of several other people
listening. Three tall men with dark faces—from La Push, the Quileute Indian
reservation down on the coastline, I guessed—Sam Uley among them, were
standing very close together and staring at me. Mr. Newton was there with Mike
and Mr. Weber, Angela's father; they all were watching me more surreptitiously
than the strangers. Other deep voices rumbled from the kitchen and outside the
front door. Half the town must have been looking for me.
Charlie was the closest. He leaned in to hear my answer.
"Yes," I whispered. "I got lost."
The doctor nodded, thoughtful, his fingers probing gently against the glands
under my jaw. Charlie's face hardened.
"Do you feel tired?" Dr. Gerandy asked.
I nodded and closed my eyes obediently.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with her," I heard the doctor mutter to
Charlie after a moment. "Just exhaustion. Let her sleep it off, and I'll come check
on her tomorrow," he paused. He must have looked at his watch, because he
added, "Well, later today actually."
There was a creaking sound as they both pushed off from the couch to get to their
feet.
"Is it true?" Charlie whispered. Their voices were farther away now. I strained to
hear. "Did they leave?"
"Dr. Cullen asked us not to say anything," Dr. Gerandy answered. "The offer was
very sudden; they had to choose immediately. Carlisle didn't want to make a big
production out of leaving."
"A little warning might have been nice," Charlie grumbled.
Dr. Gerandy sounded uncomfortable when he replied. "Yes, well, in this
situation, some warning might have been called for."
I didn't want to listen anymore. I felt around for the edge of the quilt someone had
laid on top of me, and pulled it over my ear.
I drifted in and out of alertness. I heard Charlie whisper thanks to the volunteers
as, one by one, they left. I felt his fingers on my forehead, and then the weight of
another blanket. The phone rang a few times, and he hurried to catch it before it
could wake me. He muttered reassurances in a low voice to the callers.
"Yeah, we found her. She's okay. She got lost. She's fine now," he said again and
again.
I heard the springs in the armchair groan when he settled himself in for the night.
A few minutes later, the phone rang again.
Charlie moaned as he struggled to his feet, and then he rushed, stumbling, to the
kitchen I pulled my head deeper under the blankets, not wanting to listen to the
same conversation again.
"Yeah," Charlie said, and yawned.
His voice changed, it was much more alert when he spoke again. "Where?'"
There was a pause. "You're sure it's outside the reservation?" Another short
pause. "But what could be burning out there?" He sounded both worried and
mystified. "Look, I'll call down there and check it out."
I listened with more interest as he punched in a number.
"Hey, Billy, it's Charlie—sorry I'm calling so early… no, she's fine. She's
sleeping… Thanks, but that's not why I called. I just got a call from Mrs. Stanley,
and she says that from her second-story window she can see fires out on the sea
cliffs, but I didn't really… Oh!" Suddenly there was an edge in his voice—
irritation… or anger. "And why are they doing that? Uh huh. Really?" He said it
sarcastically. "Well, don't apologize to me. Yeah, yeah. Just make sure the flames
don't spread… I know, I know, I'm surprised they got them lit at all in this
weather."
Charlie hesitated, and then added grudgingly. "Thanks for sending Sam and the
other boys up. You were right—they do know the forest better than we do. It was
Sam who found her, so I owe you one… Yeah, I'll talk to you later," he agreed,
still sour, before hanging up.
Charlie muttered something incoherent as he shuffled back to the living room.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He hurried to my side.
"I'm sorry I woke you, honey."
"Is something burning?"
"It's nothing," he assured me. "Just some bonfires out on the cliffs."
"Bonfires?" I asked. My voice didn't sound curious. It sounded dead.
Charlie frowned. "Some of the kids from the reservation being rowdy," he
explained.
"Why?" I wondered dully.
I could tell he didn't want to answer. He looked at the floor under his knees.
"They're celebrating the news." His tone was bitter.
There was only one piece of news I could think of, try as I might not to. And then
the pieces snapped together. "Because the Cullens left," I whispered. "They don't
like the Cullens in La Push—I'd forgotten about that."
The Quileutes had their superstitions about the "cold ones," the blood-drinkers
that were enemies to their tribe, just like they had their legends of the great flood
and wolf-men ancestors. Just stories, folklore, to most of them. Then there were
the few that believed. Charlie's good friend Billy Black believed, though even
Jacob, his own son, thought he was full of stupid superstitions. Billy had warned
me to stay away from the Cullens…
The name stirred something inside me, something that began to claw its way
toward the surface, something I knew I didn't want to face.
"It's ridiculous," Charlie spluttered.
We sat in silence for a moment. The sky was no longer black outside the window.
Somewhere behind the rain, the sun was beginning to rise.
"Bella?" Charlie asked.
I looked at him uneasily.
"He left you alone in the woods?" Charlie guessed.
I deflected his question. "How did you know where to find me?" My mind shied
away from the inevitable awareness that was coming, coming quickly now.
"Your note," Charlie answered. surprised. He reached into the back pocket of his
jeans and pulled out a much-abused piece of paper. It was dirty and damp, with
multiple creases from being opened and refolded many times. He unfolded it
again, and held it up as evidence. The messy handwriting was remarkably close
to my own.
Going for a walk with Edward, up the path, it said. Back soon, B.
"When you didn't come back, I called the Cullens, and no one answered," Charlie
said in a low voice. "Then I called the hospital, and Dr. Gerandy told me that
Carlisle was gone."
"Where did they go?" I mumbled.
He stared at me. "Didn't Edward tell you?"
I shook my head, recoiling. The sound of his name unleashed the thing that was
clawing inside of me—a pain that knocked me breathless, astonished me with its
force.
Charlie eyed me doubtfully as he answered. "Carlisle took a job with a big
hospital in Los Angeles. I guess they threw a lot of money at him."
Sunny L.A. The last place they would really go. I remembered my nightmare
with the mirror… the bright sunlight shimmering off of his skin—
Agony ripped through me with the memory of his face.
"I want to know if Edward left you alone out there in the middle of the woods,"
Charlie insisted.
His name sent another wave of torture through me. I shook my head, frantic,
desperate to escape the pain. "It was my fault. He left me right here on the trail, in
sight of the house… but I tried to follow him."
Charlie started to say something; childishly, I covered my ears. "I can't talk about
this anymore, Dad. I want to go to my room."
Before he could answer, I scrambled up from the couch and lurched my way up
the stairs.
Someone had been in the house to leave a note for Charlie, a note that would lead
him to find me. From the minute that I'd realized this, a horrible suspicion began
to grow in my head. I rushed to my room, shutting and locking the door behind
me before I ran to the CD player by my bed.
Everything looked exactly the same as I'd left it. I pressed down on the top of the
CD player. The latch unhooked, and the lid slowly swung open.
It was empty.
The album Renee had given me sat on the floor beside the bed, just where I'd put
it last. I lifted the cover with a shaking hand.
I didn't have to flip any farther than the first page. The little metal corners no
longer held a picture in place. The page was blank except for my own
handwriting scrawled across the bottom: Edward Cullen, Charlie's kitchen, Sept.
13th.
I stopped there. I was sure that he would have been very thorough.
It will be as if I'd never existed, he'd promised me.
I felt the smooth wooden floor beneath my knees, and then the palms of my
hands, and then it was pressed against the skin of my cheek. I hoped that I was
fainting, but, to my disappointment, I didn't lose consciousness. The waves of
pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my
head, pulling me under.
I did not resurface.
OCTOBER
NOVEMBER
DECEMBER
JANUARY
4. WAKING UP
TIME PASSES. EVEN WHEN IT SEEMS IMPOSSIBLE. EVEN when each
tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes
unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.
CHARLIE'S FIST CAME DOWN ON THE TABLE. "THAT'S IT, Bella! I'm
sending you home."
I looked up from my cereal, which I was pondering rather than eating, and stared
at Charlie in shock. I hadn't been following the conversation—actually, I hadn't
been aware that we were having a conversation—and I wasn't sure what he meant.
"I am home," I mumbled, confused.
"I'm sending you to Renee, to Jacksonville," he clarified.
Charlie watched with exasperation as I slowly grasped the meaning of his words.
"What did I do?" I felt my face crumple. It was so unfair. My behavior had been
above reproach for the past four months. After that first week, which neither of us
ever mentioned, I hadn't missed a day of school or work. My grades were perfect.
I never broke curfew—I never went anywhere from which to break curfew in the
first place. I only very rarely served leftovers.
Charlie was scowling.
"You didn't do anything. That's the problem. You never do anything."
"You want me to get into trouble?" I wondered, my eyebrows pulling together in
mystification. I made an effort to pay attention. It wasn't easy. I was so used to
tuning everything out, my ears felt stopped up.
"Trouble would be better than this… this moping around all the time!"
That stung a bit. I'd been careful to avoid all forms of moroseness, moping
included.
"I am not moping around."
"Wrong word," he grudgingly conceded. "Moping would be better—that would
be doing something. You're just… lifeless, Bella. I think that's the word I want."
This accusation struck home. I sighed and tried to put some animation into my
response.
"I'm sorry, Dad." My apology sounded a little flat, even to me. I'd thought I'd
been fooling him. Keeping Charlie from suffering was the whole point of all this
effort. How depressing to think that the effort had been wasted.
"I don't want you to apologize."
I sighed. "Then tell me what you do want me to do."
"Bella," he hesitated, scrutinizing my reaction to his next words. "Honey, you're
not the first person to go through this kind of thing, you know."
"I know that." My accompanying grimace was limp and unimpressive.
"Listen, honey. I think that—that maybe you need some help."
"Help?"
He paused, searching for the words again. "When your mother left," he began,
frowning, "and took you with her." He inhaled deeply. "Well, that was a really
bad time for me."
"I know, Dad," I mumbled.
"But I handled it," he pointed out. "Honey, you're not handling it. I waited, I
hoped it would get better." He stared at me and I looked down quickly. "I think
we both know it's not getting better."
"I'm fine."
He ignored me. "Maybe, well, maybe if you talked to someone about it. A
professional."
"You want me to see a shrink?" My voice was a shade sharper as I realized what
he was getting at.
"Maybe it would help."
"And maybe it wouldn't help one little bit."
I didn't know much about psychoanalysis, but I was pretty sure that it didn't work
unless the subject was relatively honest. Sure, I could tell the truth—if I wanted
to spend the rest of my life in a padded cell.
He examined my obstinate expression, and switched to another line of attack.
"It's beyond me, Bella. Maybe your mother—"
"Look," I said in a flat voice. "I'll go out tonight, if you want. I'll call Jess or
Angela."
"That's not what I want," he argued, frustrated. "I don't think I can live through
seeing you try harder. I've never seen anyone trying so hard. It hurts to watch."
I pretended to be dense, looking down at the table. "I don't understand, Dad. First
you're mad because I'm not doing anything, and then you say you don't want me
to go out."
"I want you to be happy—no, not even that much. I just want you not to be
miserable. I think you'll have a better chance if you get out of Forks."
My eyes flashed up with the first small spark of feeling I'd had in too long to
contemplate.
"I'm not leaving," I said.
"Why not?" he demanded.
"I'm in my last semester of school—it would screw everything up."
"You're a good student—you'll figure it out."
"I don't want to crowd Mom and Phil."
"Your mother's been dying to have you back."
"Florida is too hot."
His fist came down on the table again. "We both know what's really going on
here, Bella, and it's not good for you." He took a deep breath. "It's been months.
No calls, no letters, no contact. You can't keep waiting for him."
I glowered at him. The heat almost, but not quite, reached my face. It had been a
long time since I'd blushed with any emotion.
This whole subject was utterly forbidden, as he was well aware.
"I'm not waiting for anything. I don't expect anything," I said in a low monotone.
"Bella—," Charlie began, his voice thick.
"I have to get to school," I interrupted, standing up and yanking my untouched
breakfast from the table. I dumped my bowl in the sink without pausing to wash
it out. I couldn't deal with any more conversation.
"I'll make plans with Jessica," I called over my shoulder as I strapped on my
school bag, not meeting his eyes. "Maybe I won't be home for dinner. We'll go to
Port Angeles and watch a movie."
I was out the front door before he could react.
In my haste to get away from Charlie, I ended up being one of the first ones to
school. The plus side was that I got a really good parking spot. The downside was
that I had free time on my hands, and I tried to avoid free time at all costs.
Quickly, before I could start thinking about Charlie's accusations, I pulled out my
Calculus book. I flipped it open to the section we should be starting today, and
tried to make sense of it. Reading math was even worse than listening to it, but I
was getting better at it. In the last several months, I'd spent ten times the amount
of time on Calculus than I'd ever spent on math before. As a result, I was
managing to keep in the range of a low A. I knew Mr. Varner felt my
improvement was all due to his superior teaching methods. And if that made him
happy, I wasn't going to burst his bubble.
I forced myself to keep at it until the parking lot was full, and I ended up rushing
to English. We were working on Animal Farm, an easy subject matter. I didn't
mind communism; it was a welcome change from the exhausting romances that
made up most of the curriculum. I settled into my seat, pleased by the distraction
of Mr. Berty's lecture.
Time moved easily while I was in school. The bell rang all too soon. I started
repacking my bag.
"Bella?"
I recognized Mike's voice, and I knew what his next words would be before he
said them.
"Are you working tomorrow?"
I looked up. He was leaning across the aisle with an anxious expression. Every
Friday he asked me the same question. Never mind that I hadn't taken so much as
a sick day. Well, with one exception, months ago. But he had no reason to look at
me with such concern. I was a model employee.
"Tomorrow is Saturday, isn't it?" I said. Having just had it pointed out to me by
Charlie, I realized how lifeless my voice really sounded.
"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "See you in Spanish." He waved once before turning his
back. He didn't bother walking me to class anymore.
I trudged off to Calculus with a grim expression. This was the class where I sat
next to Jessica.
It had been weeks, maybe months, since Jess had even greeted me when I passed
her in the hall. I knew I had offended her with my antisocial behavior, and she
was sulking. It wasn't going to be easy to talk to her now—especially to ask her
to do me a favor. I weighed my options carefully as I loitered outside the
classroom, procrastinating.
I wasn't about to face Charlie again without some kind of social interaction to
report. I knew I couldn't lie, though the thought of driving to Port Angeles and
back alone—being sure my odometer reflected the correct mileage, just in case he
checked—was very tempting. Jessica's mom was the biggest gossip in town, and
Charlie was bound to run into Mrs. Stanley sooner rather than later. When he did,
he would no doubt mention the trip. Lying was out.
With a sigh, I shoved the door open.
Mr. Varner gave me a dark look—he'd already started the lecture. I hurried to my
seat. Jessica didn't look up as I sat next to her. I was glad that I had fifty minutes
to mentally prepare myself.
This class flew by even faster than English. A small part of that speed was due to
my goody-goody preparation this morning in the truck—but mostly it stemmed
from the fact that time always sped up when I was looking forward to something
unpleasant.
I grimaced when Mr. Varner dismissed the class five minutes early. He smiled
like he was being nice.
"Jess?" My nose wrinkled as I cringed, waiting for her to turn on me.
She twisted in her seat to face me, eyeing me incredulously. "Are you talking to
me, Bella?"
"Of course." I widened my eyes to suggest innocence.
"What? Do you need help with Calculus?" Her tone was a tad sour.
"No." I shook my head. "Actually, I wanted to know if you would… go to the
movies with me tonight? I really need a girls' night out." The words sounded stiff,
like badly delivered lines, and she looked suspicious.
"Why are you asking me?" she asked, still unfriendly.
"You're the first person I think of when I want girl time." I smiled, and I hoped
the smile looked genuine. It was probably true. She was at least the first person I
thought of when I wanted to avoid Charlie. It amounted to the same thing.
She seemed a little mollified. "Well, I don't know."
"Do you have plans?"
"No… I guess I can go with you. What do you want to see?"
"I'm not sure what's playing," I hedged. This was the tricky part. I racked my
brain for a clue—hadn't I heard someone talk about a movie recently? Seen a
poster? "How about that one with the female president?"
She looked at me oddly. "Bella, that one's been out of the theater forever."
"Oh." I frowned. "Is there anything you'd like to see?"
Jessica's natural bubbliness started to leak out in spite of herself as she thought
out loud. "Well, there's that new romantic comedy that's getting great reviews. I
want to see that one. And my dad just saw Dead End and he really liked it."
I grasped at the promising title. "What's that one about?"
"Zombies or something. He said it was the scariest thing he'd seen in years."
"That sounds perfect." I'd rather deal with real zombies than watch a romance.
"Okay." She seemed surprised by my response. I tried to remember if I liked
scary movies, but I wasn't sure. "Do you want me to pick you up after school?"
she offered.
"Sure."
Jessica smiled at me with tentative friendliness before she left. My answering
smile was just a little late, but I thought that she saw it.
The rest of the day passed quickly, my thoughts focused on planning for tonight.
I knew from experience that once I got Jessica talking, I would be able to get
away with a few mumbled responses at the appropriate moments. Only minimal
interaction would be required.
The thick haze that blurred my days now was sometimes confusing. I was
surprised when I found myself in my room, not clearly remembering the drive
home from school or even opening the front door. But that didn't matter. Losing
track of time was the most I asked from life.
I didn't fight the haze as I turned to my closet. The numbness was more essential
in some places than in others. I barely registered what I was looking at as I slid
the door aside to reveal the pile of rubbish on the left side of my closet, under the
clothes I never wore.
My eyes did not stray toward the black garbage bag that held my present from
that last birthday, did not see the shape of the stereo where it strained against the
black plastic; I didn't think of the bloody mess my nails had been when I'd
finished clawing it out of the dashboard.
I yanked the old purse I rarely used off the nail it hung from, and shoved the door
shut.
Just then I heard a horn honking. I swiftly traded my wallet from my schoolbag
into the purse. I was in a hurry, as if rushing would somehow make the night pass
more quickly.
I glanced at myself in the hall mirror before I opened the door, arranging my
features carefully into a smile and trying to hold them there.
"Thanks for coming with me tonight," I told Jess as I climbed into the passenger
seat, trying to infuse my tone with gratitude. It had been a while since I'd really
thought about what I was saying to anyone besides Charlie. Jess was harder. I
wasn't sure which were the right emotions to fake.
"Sure. So, what brought this on?" Jess wondered as she drove down my street.
"Brought what on?"
"Why did you suddenly decide… to go out?" It sounded like she changed her
question halfway through.
I shrugged. "Just needed a change."
I recognized the song on the radio then, and quickly reached for the dial. "Do you
mind?" I asked.
"No, go ahead."
I scanned through the stations until I found one that was harmless. I peeked at
Jess's expression as the new music filled the car.
Her eyes squinted. "Since when do you listen to rap?"
"I don't know," I said. "A while."
"You like this?" she asked doubtfully.
"Sure."
It would be much too hard to interact with Jessica normally if I had to work to
tune out the music, too. I nodded my head, hoping I was in time with the beat.
"Okay…" She stared out the windshield with wide eyes.
"So what's up with you and Mike these days?" I asked quickly.
"You see him more than I do."
The question hadn't started her talking like I'd hoped it would.
"It's hard to talk at work," I mumbled, and then I tried again. "Have you been out
with anyone lately?"
"Not really. I go out with Conner sometimes. I went out with Eric two weeks
ago." She rolled her eyes, and I sensed a long story. I clutched at the opportunity.
"Eric Yorkie? Who asked who?"
She groaned, getting more animated. "He did, of course! I couldn't think of a nice
way to say no."
"Where did he take you?" I demanded, knowing she would interpret my
eagerness as interest. "Tell me all about it."
She launched into her tale, and I settled into my seat, more comfortable now. I
paid strict attention, murmuring in sympathy and gasping in horror as called for.
When she was finished with her Eric story, she continued into a Conner
comparison without any prodding.
The movie was playing early, so Jess thought we should hit the twilight showing
and eat later. I was happy to go along with whatever she wanted; after all, I was
getting what I wanted—Charlie off my back.
I kept Jess talking through the previews, so I could ignore them more easily. But I
got nervous when the movie started. A young couple was walking along a beach,
swinging hands and discussing their mutual affection with gooey falseness. I
resisted the urge to cover my ears and start humming. I had not bargained for a
romance.
"I thought we picked the zombie movie," I hissed to Jessica.
"This is the zombie movie."
"Then why isn't anyone getting eaten?" I asked desperately.
She looked at me with wide eyes that were almost alarmed. "I'm sure that part's
coming," she whispered.
"I'm getting popcorn. Do you want any?"
"No, thanks."
Someone shushed us from behind.
I took my time at the concession counter, watching the clock and debating what
percentage of a ninety-minute movie could be spent on romantic exposition. I
decided ten minutes was more than enough, but I paused just inside the theater
doors to be sure. I could hear horrified screams blaring from the speakers, so I
knew I'd waited long enough.
"You missed everything," Jess murmured when I slid back into my seat. "Almost
everyone is a zombie now."
"Long line." I offered her some popcorn. She took a handful.
The rest of the movie was comprised of gruesome zombie attacks and endless
screaming from the handful of people left alive, their numbers dwindling quickly.
I would have thought there was nothing in that to disturb me. But I felt uneasy,
and I wasn't sure why at first.
It wasn't until almost the very end, as I watched a haggard zombie shambling
after the last shrieking survivor, that I realized what the problem was. The scene
kept cutting between the horrified face of the heroine, and the dead, emotionless
face of her pursuer, back and forth as it closed the distance.
And I realized which one resembled me the most.
I stood up.
"Where are you going? There's, like, two minutes left," Jess hissed.
"I need a drink," I muttered as I raced for the exit.
I sat down on the bench outside the theater door and tried very hard not to think
of the irony. But it was ironic, all things considered, that, in the end, I would
wind up as a zombie. I hadn't seen that one coming.
Not that I hadn't dreamed of becoming a mythical monster once—just never a
grotesque, animated corpse. I shook my head to dislodge that train of thought,
feeling panicky. I couldn't afford to think about what I'd once dreamed of.
It was depressing to realize that I wasn't the heroine anymore, that my story was
over.
Jessica came out of the theater doors and hesitated, probably wondering where
the best place was to search for me. When she saw me, she looked relieved, but
only for a moment. Then she looked irritated.
"Was the movie too scary for you?" she wondered.
"Yeah," I agreed. "I guess I'm just a coward."
"That's funny." She frowned. "I didn't think you were scared—I was screaming
all the time, but I didn't hear you scream once. So I didn't know why you left."
I shrugged. "Just scared."
She relaxed a little. "That was the scariest movie I think I've ever seen. I'll bet
we're going to have nightmares tonight."
"No doubt about that," I said, trying to keep my voice normal. It was inevitable
that I would have nightmares, but they wouldn't be about zombies. Her eyes
flashed to my face and away. Maybe I hadn't succeeded with the normal voice.
"Where do you want to eat?" Jess asked.
"I don't care."
"Okay."
Jess started talking about the male lead in the movie as we walked. I nodded as
she gushed over his hotness, unable to remember seeing a non-zombie man at all.
I didn't watch where Jessica was leading me. I was only vaguely aware that it was
dark and quieter now. It took me longer than it should have to realize why it was
quiet. Jessica had stopped babbling. I looked at her apologetically, hoping I hadn't
hurt her feelings.
Jessica wasn't looking at me. Her face was tense; she stared straight ahead and
walked fast. As I watched, her eyes darted quickly to the right, across the road,
and back again.
I glanced around myself for the first time.
We were on a short stretch of unlit sidewalk. The little shops lining the street
were all locked up for the night, windows black. Half a block ahead, the
streetlights started up again, and I could see, farther down, the bright golden
arches of the McDonald's she was heading for.
Across the street there was one open business. The windows were covered from
inside and there were neon signs, advertisements for different brands of beer,
glowing in front of them. The biggest sign, in brilliant green, was the name of the
bar—One-Eyed Pete's. I wondered if there was some pirate theme not visible
from outside. The metal door was propped open; it was dimly lit inside, and the
low murmur of many voices and the sound of ice clinking in glasses floated
across the street. Lounging against the wall beside the door were four men.
I glanced back at Jessica. Her eyes were fixed on the path ahead and she moved
briskly. She didn't look frightened—just wary, trying to not attract attention to
herself.
I paused without thinking, looking back at the four men with a strong sense of
déjà vu. This was a different road, a different night, but the scene was so much
the same. One of them was even short and dark. As I stopped and turned toward
them, that one looked up in interest.
I stared back at him, frozen on the sidewalk.
"Bella?" Jess whispered. "What are you doing?"
I shook my head, not sure myself. "I think I know them…" I muttered.
What was I doing? I should be running from this memory as fast as I could,
blocking the image of the four lounging men from my mind, protecting myself
with the numbness I couldn't function without. Why was I stepping, dazed, into
the street?
It seemed too coincidental that I should be in Port Angeles with Jessica, on a dark
street even. My eyes focused on the short one, trying to match the features to my
memory of the man who had threatened me that night almost a year ago. I
wondered if there was any way I would recognize the man, if it was really him.
That particular part of that particular evening was just a blur. My body
remembered it better than my mind did; the tension in my legs as I tried to decide
whether to run or to stand my ground, the dryness in my throat as I struggled to
build a decent scream, the tight stretch of skin across my knuckles as I clenched
my hands into fists, the chills on the back of my neck when the dark-haired man
called me "sugar."…
There was an indefinite, implied kind of menace to these men that had nothing to
do with that other night. It sprung from the fact that they were strangers, and it
was dark here, and they outnumbered us—nothing more specific than that. But it
was enough that Jessica's voice cracked in panic as she called after me.
"Bella, come on!"
I ignored her, walking slowly forward without ever making the conscious
decision to move my feet. I didn't understand why, but the nebulous threat the
men presented drew me toward them. It was a senseless impulse, but I hadn't felt
any kind of impulse in so long… I followed it.
Something unfamiliar beat through my veins. Adrenaline, I realized, long absent
from my system, drumming my pulse faster and fighting against the lack of
sensation. It was strange—why the adrenaline when there was no fear? It was
almost as if it were an echo of the last time I'd stood like this, on a dark street in
Port Angeles with strangers.
I saw no reason for fear. I couldn't imagine anything in the world that there was
left to be afraid of, not physically at least. One of the few advantages of losing
everything.
I was halfway across the street when Jess caught up to me and grabbed my arm.
"Bella! You can't go in a bar!" she hissed.
"I'm not going in," I said absently, shaking her hand off. "I just want to see
something…"
"Are you crazy?" she whispered. "Are you suicidal?"
That question caught my attention, and my eyes focused on her.
"No, I'm not." My voice sounded defensive, but it was true. I wasn't suicidal.
Even in the beginning, when death unquestionably would have been a relief, I
didn't consider it. I owed too much to Charlie. I felt too responsible for Renee. I
had to think of them.
And I'd made a promise not to do anything stupid or reckless. For all those
reasons, I was still breathing.
Remembering that promise. I felt a twinge of guilt.
but what I was doing fight now didn't really count. It wasn't like I was taking a
blade to my wrists.
Jess's eyes were round, her mouth hung open. Her question about suicide had
been rhetorical, I realized too late.
"Go eat," I encouraged her, waving toward the fast food. I didn't like the way she
looked at me. "I'll catch up in a minute."
I turned away from her, back to the men who were watching us with amused,
curious eyes.
"Bella, stop this right now!"
My muscles locked into place, froze me where I stood. Because it wasn't Jessica's
voice that rebuked me now. It was a furious voice, a familiar voice, a beautiful
voice—soft like velvet even though it was irate.
It was his voice—I was exceptionally careful not to think his name—and I was
surprised that the sound of it did not knock me to my knees, did not curl me onto
the pavement in a torture of loss. But there was no pain, none at all.
In the instant that I heard his voice, everything was very clear. Like my head had
suddenly surfaced out of some dark pool. I was more aware of everything—sight,
sound, the feel of the cold air that I hadn't noticed was blowing sharply against
my face, the smells coming from the open bar door.
I looked around myself in shock.
"Go back to Jessica," the lovely voice ordered, still angry. "You promised—
nothing stupid."
I was alone. Jessica stood a few feet from me, staring at me with frightened eyes.
Against the wall, the strangers watched, confused, wondering what I was doing,
standing there motionless in the middle of the street.
I shook my head, trying to understand. I knew he wasn't there, and yet, he felt
improbably close, close for the first time since… since the end. The anger in his
voice was concern, the same anger that was once very familiar—something I
hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime.
"Keep your promise." The voice was slipping away, as if the volume was being
turned down on a radio.
I began to suspect that I was having some kind of hallucination. Triggered, no
doubt, by the memory—the deja vu, the strange familiarity of the situation.
I ran through the possibilities quickly in my head.
Option one: I was crazy. That was the layman's term for people who heard voices
in their heads.
Possible.
Option two: My subconscious mind was giving me what it thought I wanted. This
was wish fulfillment—a momentary relief from pain by embracing the incorrect
idea that he cared whether I lived or died. Projecting what he would have said if
A) he were here, and B) he would be in any way bothered by something bad
happening to me.
Probable.
I could see no option three, so I hoped it was the second option and this was just
my subconscious running amuck, rather than something I would need to be
hospitalized for.
My reaction was hardly sane, though—I was grateful. The sound of his voice was
something that I'd feared I was losing, and so, more than anything else, I felt
overwhelming gratitude that my unconscious mind had held onto that sound
better than my conscious one had.
I was not allowed to think of him. That was something I tried to be very strict
about. Of course I slipped; I was only human. But I was getting better, and so the
pain was something I could avoid for days at a time now. The tradeoff was the
never-ending numbness. Between pain and nothing, I'd chosen nothing.
I waited for the pain now. I was not numb—my senses felt unusually intense after
so many months of the haze—but the normal pain held off. The only ache was
the disappointment that his voice was fading.
There was a second of choice.
The wise thing would be to run away from this potentially destructive—and
certainly mentally unstable—development. It would be stupid to encourage
hallucinations.
But his voice was fading.
I took another step forward, testing.
"Bella, turn around," he growled.
I sighed in relief. The anger was what I wanted to hear—false, fabricated
evidence that he cared, a dubious gift from my subconscious.
Very few seconds had passed while I sorted this all out. My little audience
watched, curious. It probably looked like I was just dithering over whether or not
I was going to approach them. How could they guess that I was standing there
enjoying an unexpected moment of insanity?
"Hi," one of the men called, his tone both confident and a bit sarcastic. He was
fair-skinned and fair-haired, and he stood with the assurance of someone who
thought of himself as quite good-looking. I couldn't tell whether he was or not. I
was prejudiced.
The voice in my head answered with an exquisite snarl. I smiled, and the
confident man seemed to take that as encouragement.
"Can I help you with something? You look lost." He grinned and winked.
I stepped carefully over the gutter, running with water that was black in the
darkness.
"No. I'm not lost."
Now that I was closer—and my eyes felt oddly in focus—I analyzed the short,
dark man's face. It was not familiar in any way. I suffered a curious sensation of
disappointment that this was not the terrible man who had tried to hurt me almost
a year ago.
The voice in my head was quiet now.
The short man noticed my stare. "Can I buy you a drink?" he offered, nervous,
seeming flattered that I'd singled him out to stare at.
"I'm too young," I answered automatically.
He was baffled—wondering why I had approached them. I felt compelled to
explain.
"From across the street, you looked like someone I knew. Sorry, my mistake."
The threat that had pulled me across the street had evaporated. These were not the
dangerous men I remembered. They were probably nice guys. Safe. I lost interest.
"That's okay," the confident blonde said. "Stay and hang out with us."
"Thanks, but I can't." Jessica was hesitating in the middle of the street, her eyes
wide with outrage and betrayal.
"Oh, just a few minutes."
I shook my head, and turned to rejoin Jessica.
"Let's go eat," I suggested, barely glancing at her. Though I appeared to be, for
the moment, freed of the zombie abstraction, I was just as distant. My mind was
preoccupied. The safe, numb deadness did not come back, and I got more anxious
with every minute that passed without its return.
"What were you thinking?" Jessica snapped. "You don't know them—they could
have been psychopaths!"
I shrugged, wishing she would let it go. "I just thought I knew the one guy."
"You are so odd, Bella Swan. I feel like I don't know who you are."
"Sorry." I didn't know what else to say to that.
We walked to McDonald's in silence. I'd bet that she was wishing we'd taken her
car instead of walking the short distance from the theater, so that she could use
the drive-through. She was just as anxious now for this evening to be over as I
had been from the beginning.
I tried to start a conversation a few times while we ate, but Jessica was not
cooperative. I must have really offended her.
When we go back in the car, she tuned the stereo back to her favorite station and
turned the volume too loud to allow easy conversation.
I didn't have to struggle as hard as usual to ignore the music. Even though my
mind, for once, was not carefully numb and empty, I had too much to think about
to hear the lyrics.
I waited for the numbness to return, or the pain. Because the pain must be
coming. I'd broken my personal rules. Instead of shying away from the memories,
I'd walked forward and greeted them. I'd heard his voice, so clearly, in my head.
That was going to cost me, I was sure of it. Especially if I couldn't reclaim the
haze to protect myself. I felt too alert, and that frightened me.
But relief was still the strongest emotion in my body—relief that came from the
very core of my being.
As much as I struggled not to think of him, I did not struggle to forget. I worried
—late in the night, when the exhaustion of sleep deprivation broke down my
defenses—that it was all slipping away. That my mind was a sieve, and I would
someday not be able to remember the precise color of his eyes, the feel of his
cool skin, or the texture of his voice. I could not think of them, but I must
remember them.
Because there was just one thing that I had to believe to be able to live—I had to
know that he existed. That was all. Everything else I could endure. So long as he
existed.
That's why I was more trapped in Forks than I ever had been before, why I'd
fought with Charlie when he suggested a change. Honestly, it shouldn't matter; no
one was ever coming back here.
But if I were to go to Jacksonville, or anywhere else bright and unfamiliar, how
could I be sure he was real? In a place where I could never imagine him, the
conviction might fade… and that I could not live through.
Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.
I was surprised when Jessica stopped the car in front of my house. The ride had
not taken long, but, short as it seemed, I wouldn't have thought that Jessica could
go that long without speaking.
"Thanks for going out with me, Jess," I said as I opened my door. "That was…
fun." I hoped that fun was the appropriate word.
"Sure," she muttered.
"I'm sorry about… after the movie."
"Whatever, Bella." She glared out the windshield instead of looking at me. She
seemed to be growing angrier rather than getting over it.
"See you Monday?"
"Yeah. Bye."
I gave up and shut the door. She drove away, still without looking at me.
I'd forgotten her by the time I was inside.
Charlie was waiting for me in the middle of the hall, his arms folded tight over
his chest with his hands balled into fists.
"Hey, Dad," I said absentmindedly as I ducked around Charlie, heading for the
stairs. I'd been thinking about him for too long, and I wanted to be upstairs before
it caught up with me.
"Where have you been?" Charlie demanded.
I looked at my dad, surprised. "I went to a movie in Port Angeles with Jessica.
Like I told you this morning."
"Humph," he grunted.
"Is that okay?"
He studied my face, his eyes widening as if he saw something unexpected.
"Yeah, that's fine. Did you have fun?"
"Sure," I said. "We watched zombies eat people. It was great."
His eyes narrowed.
"'Night, Dad."
He let me pass. I hurried to my room.
I lay in my bed a few minutes later, resigned as the pain finally made its
appearance.
It was a crippling thing, this sensation that a huge hole had been punched through
my chest, excising my most vital organs and leaving ragged, unhealed gashes
around the edges that continued to throb and bleed despite the passage of time.
Rationally, I knew my lungs must still be intact, yet I gasped for air and my head
spun like my efforts yielded me nothing. My heart must have been beating, too,
but I couldn't hear the sound of my pulse in my ears; my hands felt blue with
cold. I curled inward, hugging my ribs to hold myself together. I scrambled for
my numbness, my denial, but it evaded me.
And yet, I found I could survive. I was alert, I felt the pain—the aching loss that
radiated out from my chest, sending wracking waves of hurt through my limbs
and head—but it was manageable. I could live through it. It didn't feel like the
pain had weakened over time, rather that I'd grown strong enough to bear it.
Whatever it was that had happened tonight—and whether it was the zombies, the
adrenaline, or the hallucinations that were responsible—it had woken me up.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't know what to expect in the morning.
5. CHEATER
"BELLA, WHY DON'T YOU TAKE OFF," MIKE SUGGESTED, his eyes
focused off to the side, not really looking at me. I wondered how long that had
been going on without me noticing.
It was a slow afternoon at Newton's. At the moment there were only two patrons
in the store, dedicated backpackers from the sound of their conversation. Mike
had spent the last hour going through the pros and cons of two brands of
lightweight packs with them. But they'd taken a break from serious pricing to
indulge in trying to one-up each other with their latest tales from the trail. Their
distraction had given Mike a chance to escape.
"I don't mind staying," I said. I still hadn't been able to sink back into my
protective shell of numbness, and everything seemed oddly close and loud today,
like I'd taken cotton out of my ears. I tried to tune out the laughing hikers without
success.
"I'm telling you," said the thickset man with the orange beard that didn't match
his dark brown hair. "I've seen grizzlies pretty close up in Yellowstone, but they
had nothing on this brute." His hair was matted, and his clothes looked like they'd
been on his back for more than a few days. Fresh from the mountains.
"Not a chance. Black bears don't get that big. The grizzlies you saw were
probably cubs." The second man was tall and lean, his face tanned and windwhipped
into an impressive leathery crust.
"Seriously, Bella, as soon as these two give up, I'm closing the place down,"
Mike murmured.
"If you want me to go…" I shrugged.
"On all fours it was taller than you," the bearded man insisted while I gathered
my things together. "Big as a house and pitch-black. I'm going to report it to the
ranger here. People ought to be warned—this wasn't up on the mountain, mind
you—this was only a few miles from the trailhead."
Leather-face laughed and rolled his eyes. "Let me guess—you were on your way
in? Hadn't eaten real food or slept off the ground in a week, right?"
"Hey, uh, Mike, right?" the bearded man called, looking toward us.
"See you Monday," I mumbled.
"Yes, sir," Mike replied, turning away.
"Say, have there been any warnings around here recently—about black bears?"
"No, sir. But it's always good to keep your distance and store your food correctly.
Have you seen the new bear-safe canisters? They only weigh two pounds…"
The doors slid open to let me out into the rain. I hunched over inside my jacket as
I dashed for my truck. The rain hammering against my hood sounded unusually
loud, too, but soon the roar of the engine drowned out everything else.
I didn't want to go back to Charlie's empty house. Last night had been particularly
brutal, and I had no desire to revisit the scene of the suffering. Even after the pain
had subsided enough for me to sleep, it wasn't over. Like I'd told Jessica after the
movie, there was never any doubt that I would have nightmares.
I always had nightmares now, every night. Not nightmares really, not in the
plural, because it was always the same nightmare. You'd think I'd get bored after
so many months, grow immune to it. But the dream never failed to horrify me,
and only ended when I woke myself with screaming. Charlie didn't come in to see
what was wrong anymore, to make sure there was no intruder strangling me or
something like that—he was used to it now.
My nightmare probably wouldn't even frighten someone else. Nothing jumped
out and screamed, "Boo!" There were no zombies, no ghosts, no psychopaths.
There was nothing, really. Only nothing. Just the endless maze of moss-covered
trees, so quiet that the silence was an uncomfortable pressure against my
eardrums. It was dark, like dusk on a cloudy day, with only enough light to see
that there was nothing to see. I hurried through the gloom without a path, always
searching, searching, searching, getting more frantic as the time stretched on,
trying to move faster, though the speed made me clumsy… Then there would
come the point in my dream—and I could feel it coming now, but could never
seem to wake myself up before it hit—when I couldn't remember what it was that
I was searching for. When I realized that there was nothing to search for, and
nothing to find. That there never had been anything more than just this empty,
dreary wood, and there never would be anything more for me… nothing but
nothing…
That was usually about when the screaming started.
I wasn't paying attention to where I was driving—just wandering through empty,
wet side roads as I avoided the ways that would take me home—because I didn't
have anywhere to go.
I wished I could feel numb again, but I couldn't remember how I'd managed it
before. The nightmare was nagging at my mind and making me think about
things that would cause me pain. I didn't want to remember the forest. Even as I
shuddered away from the images, I felt my eyes fill with tears and the aching
begin around the edges of the hole in my chest. I took one hand from the steering
wheel and wrapped it around my torso to hold it in one piece.
It will be as if I'd never existed. The words ran through my head, lacking the
perfect clarity of my hallucination last night. They were just words, soundless,
like print on a page. Just words, but they ripped the hole wide open, and I
stomped on the brake, knowing I should not drive while this incapacitated.
I curled over, pressing my face against the steering wheel and trying to breathe
without lungs.
I wondered how long this could last. Maybe someday, years from now—if the
pain would just decrease to the point where I could bear it—I would be able to
look back on those few short months that would always be the best of my life.
And, if it were possible that the pain would ever soften enough to allow me to do
that, I was sure that I would feel grateful for as much time as he'd given me. More
than I'd asked for, more than I'd deserved. Maybe someday I'd be able to see it
that way.
But what if this hole never got any better? If the raw edges never healed? If the
damage was permanent and irreversible?
I held myself tightly together. As if he'd never existed, I thought in despair. What
a stupid and impossible promise to make! He could steal my pictures and reclaim
his gifts, but that didn't put things back the way they'd been before I'd met him.
The physical evidence was the most insignificant part of the equation. I was
changed, my insides altered almost past the point of recognition. Even my
outsides looked different—my face sallow, white except for the purple circles the
nightmares had left under my eyes. My eyes were dark enough against my pallid
skin that—if I were beautiful, and seen from a distance—I might even pass for a
vampire now. But I was not beautiful, and I probably looked closer to a zombie.
As if he'd never existed? That was insanity. It was a promise that he could never
keep, a promise that was broken as soon as he'd made it.
I thumped my head against the steering wheel, trying to distract myself from the
sharper pain.
It made me feel silly for ever worrying about keeping my promise. Where was the
logic in sticking to an agreement that had already been violated by the other
party? Who cared if I was reckless and stupid? There was no reason to avoid
recklessness, no reason why I shouldn't get to be stupid.
I laughed humorlessly to myself, still gasping for air. Reckless in Forks—now
there was a hopeless proposition.
The dark humor distracted me, and the distraction eased the pain. My breath
came easier, and I was able to lean back against the seat. Though it was cold
today, my forehead was damp with sweat.
I concentrated on my hopeless proposition to keep from sliding back into the
excruciating memories. To be reckless in Forks would take a lot of creativity—
maybe more than I had. But I wished I could find some way… I might feel better
if I weren't holding fast, all alone, to a broken pact. If I were an oath-breaker, too.
But how could I cheat on my side of the deal, here in this harmless little town? Of
course, Forks hadn't always been so harmless, but now it was exactly what it had
always appeared to be. It was dull, it was safe.
I stared out the windshield for a long moment, my thoughts moving sluggishly—I
couldn't seem to make those thoughts go anywhere. I cut the engine, which was
groaning in a pitiful way after idling for so long, and stepped out into the drizzle.
The cold rain dripped through my hair and then trickled across my cheeks like
freshwater tears. It helped to clear my head. I blinked the water from my eyes,
staring blankly across the road.
After a minute of staring, I recognized where I was. I'd parked in the middle of
the north lane of Russell Avenue. I was standing in front of the Cheneys' house—
my truck was blocking their driveway—and across the road lived the Markses. I
knew I needed to move my truck, and that I ought to go home. It was wrong to
wander the way I had, distracted and impaired, a menace on the roads of Forks.
Besides, someone would notice me soon enough, and report me to Charlie.
As I took a deep breath in preparation to move, a sign in the Markses' yard caught
my eye—it was just a big piece of cardboard leaning against their mailbox post,
with black letters scrawled in caps across it.
Sometimes, kismet happens.
Coincidence? Or was it meant to be? I didn't know, but it seemed kind of silly to
think that it was somehow fated, that the dilapidated motorcycles rusting in the
Markses' front yard beside the hand-printed FOR SALE, AS IS sign were serving
some higher purpose by existing there, right where I needed them to be.
So maybe it wasn't kismet. Maybe there were just all kinds of ways to be
reckless, and I only now had my eyes open to them.
Reckless and stupid. Those were Charlie's two very favorite words to apply to
motorcycles.
Charlie's job didn't get a lot of action compared to cops in bigger towns, but he
did get called in on traffic accidents. With the long, wet stretches of freeway
twisting and turning through the forest, blind corner after blind corner, there was
no shortage of that kind of action. But even with all the huge log-haulers
barreling around the turns, mostly people walked away. The exceptions to that
rule were often on motorcycles, and Charlie had seen one too many victims,
almost always kids, smeared on the highway. He'd made me promise before I was
ten that I would never accept a ride on a motorcycle. Even at that age, I didn't
have to think twice before promising. Who would want to ride a motorcycle
here? It would be like taking a sixty-mile-per-hour bath.
So many promises I kept…
It clicked together for me then. I wanted to be stupid and reckless, and I wanted
to break promises. Why stop at one?
That's as far as I thought it through. I sloshed through the rain to the Markses'
front door and rang the bell.
One of the Marks boys opened the door, the younger one, the freshman. I couldn't
remember his name. His sandy hair only came up to my shoulder.
He had no trouble remembering my name. "Bella Swan?" he asked in surprise.
"How much do you want for the bike?" I panted, jerking my thumb over my
shoulder toward the sales display.
"Are you serious?" he demanded.
"Of course I am."
"They don't work."
I sighed impatiently—this was something I'd already inferred from the sign.
"How much?"
"If you really want one, just take it. My mom made my dad move them down to
the road so they'd get picked up with the garbage."
I glanced at the bikes again and saw that they were resting on a pile of yard
clippings and dead branches. "Are you positive about that?"
"Sure, you want to ask her?"
It was probably better not to involve adults who might mention this to Charlie.
"No, I believe you."
"You want me to help you?" he offered. "They're not light."
"Okay, thanks. I only need one, though."
"Might as well take both," the boy said. "Maybe you could scavenge some parts."
He followed me out into the downpour and helped me load both of the heavy
bikes into the back of my truck. He seemed eager to be rid of them, so I didn't
argue.
"What are you going to do with them, anyway?" he asked. "They haven't worked
in years."
"I kind of guessed that," I said, shrugging. My spur-of-the-moment whim hadn't
come with a plan intact. "Maybe I'll take them to Dowling's."
He snorted. "Dowling would charge more to fix them than they'd be worth
running."
I couldn't argue with that. John Dowling had earned a reputation for his pricing;
no one went to him except in an emergency. Most people preferred to make the
drive up to Port Angeles, if their car was able. I'd been very lucky on that front—
I'd been worried, when Charlie first gifted me my ancient truck, that I wouldn't be
able to afford to keep it running. But I'd never had a single problem with it, other
than the screaming-loud engine and the fifty-five-mile-per-hour maximum speed
limit. Jacob Black had kept it in great shape when it had belonged to his father,
Billy…
Inspiration hit like a bolt of lightning—not unreasonable, considering the storm.
"You know what? That's okay. I know someone who builds cars."
"Oh. That's good." He smiled in relief.
He waved as I pulled away, still smiling. Friendly kid.
I drove quickly and purposefully now, in a hurry to get home before there was the
slightest chance of Charlie appearing, even in the highly unlikely event that he
might knock off early. I dashed through the house to the phone, keys still in hand.
"Chief Swan, please," I said when the deputy answered. "It's Bella."
"Oh, hey, Bella," Deputy Steve said affably. "I'll go get him."
I waited.
"What's wrong, Bella?" Charlie demanded as soon as he picked up the phone.
"Can't I call you at work without there being an emergency?"
He was quiet for a minute. "You never have before. Is there an emergency?"
"No. I just wanted directions to the Blacks' place—I'm not sure I can remember
the way. I want to visit Jacob. I haven't seen him in months."
When Charlie spoke again, his voice was much happier. "That's a great idea,
Bells. Do you have a pen?"
The directions he gave me were very simple. I assured him that I would be back
for dinner, though he tried to tell me not to hurry. He wanted to join me in La
Push, and I wasn't having that.
So it was with a deadline that I drove too quickly through the storm-darkened
streets out of town. I hoped I could get Jacob alone. Billy would probably tell on
me if he knew what I was up to.
While I drove, I worried a little bit about Billy's reaction to seeing me. He would
be too pleased. In Billy's mind, no doubt, this had all worked out better than he
had dared to hope. His pleasure and relief would only remind me of the one I
couldn't bear to be reminded of. Not again today, I pleaded silently. I was spent.
The Blacks' house was vaguely familiar, a small wooden place with narrow
windows, the dull red paint making it resemble a tiny barn. Jacob's head peered
out of the window before I could even get out of the truck. No doubt the familiar
roar of the engine had tipped him off to my approach. Jacob had been very
grateful when Charlie bought Billy's truck for me, saving Jacob from having to
drive it when he came of age. I liked my truck very much, but Jacob seemed to
consider the speed restrictions a shortcoming.
He met me halfway to the house.
"Bella!" His excited grin stretched wide across his face, the bright teeth standing
in vivid contrast to the deep russet color of his skin. I'd never seen his hair out of
its usual ponytail before. It fell like black satin curtains on either side of his broad
face.
Jacob had grown into some of his potential in the last eight months. He'd passed
that point where the soft muscles of childhood hardened into the solid, lanky
build of a teenager; the tendons and veins had become prominent under the redbrown
skin of his arms, his hands. His face was still sweet like I remembered it,
though it had hardened, too—the planes of his cheekbones sharper, his jaw
squared off, all childish roundness gone.
"Hey, Jacob!" I felt an unfamiliar surge of enthusiasm at his smile. I realized that
I was pleased to see him. This knowledge surprised me.
I smiled back, and something clicked silently into place, like two corresponding
puzzle pieces. I'd forgotten how much I really liked Jacob Black.
He stopped a few feet away from me, and I stared up at him in surprise, leaning
my head back though the rain pelted my face.
"You grew again!" I accused in amazement.
He laughed, his smile widening impossibly. "Six five," he announced with selfsatisfaction.
His voice was deeper, but it had the husky tone I remembered.
"Is it ever going to stop?" I shook my head in disbelief. "You're huge."
"Still a beanpole, though." He grimaced. "Come inside! You're getting all wet."
He led the way, twisting his hair in his big hands as he walked. He pulled a
rubber band from his hip pocket and wound it around the bundle.
"Hey, Dad," he called as he ducked to get through the front door. "Look who
stopped by."