He led me back to the room that he'd pointed out as Carlisle's office. He paused
outside the door for an instant.
"Come in," Carlisle's voice invited.
Edward opened the door to a high-ceilinged room with tall, west-facing
windows. The walls were paneled again, in a darker wood — where they were
visible. Most of the wall space was taken up by towering bookshelves that
reached high above my head and held more books than I'd ever seen outside a
Carlisle sat behind a huge mahogany desk in a leather chair. He was just placing
a bookmark in the pages of the thick volume he held. The room was how I'd
always imagined a college dean's would look — only Carlisle looked too young
to fit the part.
"What can I do for you?" he asked us pleasantly, rising from his seat.
"I wanted to show Bella some of our history," Edward said. "Well, your history,
"We didn't mean to disturb you," I apologized.
"Not at all. Where are you going to start?"
"The Waggoner," Edward replied, placing one hand lightly on my shoulder and
spinning me around to look back toward the door we'd just come through. Every
time he touched me, in even the most casual way, my heart had an audible
reaction. It was more embarrassing with Carlisle there.
The wall we faced now was different from the others. Instead of bookshelves,
this wall was crowded with framed pictures of all sizes, some in vibrant colors,
others dull monochromes. I searched for some logic, some binding motif the
collection had in common, but I found nothing in my hasty examination.
Edward pulled me toward the far left side, standing me in front of a small square
oil painting in a plain wooden frame. This one did not stand out among the
bigger and brighter pieces; painted in varying tones of sepia, it depicted a
miniature city full of steeply slanted roofs, with thin spires atop a few scattered
towers. A wide river filled the foreground, crossed by a bridge covered with
structures that looked like tiny cathedrals.
"London in the sixteen-fifties," Edward said.
"The London of my youth," Carlisle added, from a few feet behind us. I flinched;
I hadn't heard him approach. Edward squeezed my hand.
"Will you tell the story?" Edward asked. I twisted a little to see Carlisle's
He met my glance and smiled. "I would," he replied. "But I'm actually running a
bit late. The hospital called this morning — Dr. Snow is taking a sick day.
Besides, you know the stories as well as I do," he added, grinning at Edward
It was a strange combination to absorb — the everyday concerns of the town
doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenthcentury
It was also unsettling to know that he spoke aloud only for my benefit.
After another warm smile for me, Carlisle left the room.
I stared at the little picture of Carlisle's hometown for a long moment.
"What happened then?" I finally asked, staring up at Edward, who was watching
me. "When he realized what had happened to him?"
He glanced back to the paintings, and I looked to see which image caught his
interest now. It was a larger landscape in dull fall colors — an empty, shadowed
meadow in a forest, with a craggy peak in the distance.
"When he knew what he had become," Edward said quietly, "he rebelled against
it. He tried to destroy himself. But that's not easily done."
"How?" I didn't mean to say it aloud, but the word broke through my shock.
"He jumped from great heights," Edward told me, his voice impassive. "He tried
to drown himself in the ocean… but he was young to the new life, and very
strong. It is amazing that he was able to resist… feeding… while he was still so
new. The instinct is more powerful then, it takes over everything. But he was so
repelled by himself that he had the strength to try to kill himself with starvation."
"Is that possible?" My voice was faint.
"No, there are very few ways we can be killed."
I opened my mouth to ask, but he spoke before I could.
"So he grew very hungry, and eventually weak. He strayed as far as he could
from the human populace, recognizing that his willpower was weakening, too.
For months he wandered by night, seeking the loneliest places, loathing himself.
"One night, a herd of deer passed his hiding place. He was so wild with thirst
that he attacked without a thought. His strength returned and he realized there
was an alternative to being the vile monster he feared. Had he not eaten venison
in his former life? Over the next months his new philosophy was born. He could
exist without being a demon. He found himself again.
"He began to make better use of his time. He'd always been intelligent, eager to
learn. Now he had unlimited time before him. He studied by night, planned by
day. He swam to France and —"
"He swam to France?"
"People swim the Channel all the time, Bella," he reminded me patiently.
"That's true, I guess. It just sounded funny in that context. Go on."
"Swimming is easy for us —"
"Everything is easy for you," I griped.
He waited, his expression amused.
"I won't interrupt again, I promise."
He chuckled darkly, and finished his sentence. "Because, technically, we don't
need to breathe."
"No, no, you promised." He laughed, putting his cold finger lightly to my lips.
"Do you want to hear the story or not?"
"You can't spring something like that on me, and then expect me not to say
anything," I mumbled against his finger.
He lifted his hand, moving it to rest against my neck. The speed of my heart
reacted to that, but I persisted.
"You don't have to breathe?" I demanded.
"No, it's not necessary. Just a habit." He shrugged.
"How long can you go… without breathing?"
"Indefinitely, I suppose; I don't know. It gets a bit uncomfortable — being
without a sense of smell."
"A bit uncomfortable," I echoed.
I wasn't paying attention to my own expression, but something in it made him
grow somber. His hand dropped to his side and he stood very still, his eyes intent
on my face. The silence lengthened. His features were immobile as stone.
"What is it?" I whispered, touching his frozen face.
His face softened under my hand, and he sighed. "I keep waiting for it to
"For what to happen?"
"I know that at some point, something I tell you or something you see is going to
be too much. And then you'll run away from me, screaming as you go." He
smiled half a smile, but his eyes were serious. "I won't stop you. I want this to
happen, because I want you to be safe. And yet, I want to be with you. The two
desires are impossible to reconcile…" He trailed off, staring at my face. Waiting.
"I'm not running anywhere," I promised.
"We'll see," he said, smiling again.
I frowned at him. "So, go on — Carlisle was swimming to France."
He paused, getting back into his story. Reflexively, his eyes flickered to another
picture — the most colorful of them all, the most ornately framed, and the
largest; it was twice as wide as the door it hung next to. The canvas overflowed
with bright figures in swirling robes, writhing around long pillars and off
marbled balconies. I couldn't tell if it represented Greek mythology, or if the
characters floating in the clouds above were meant to be biblical.
"Carlisle swam to France, and continued on through Europe, to the universities
there. By night he studied music, science, medicine — and found his calling, his
penance, in that, in saving human lives." His expression became awed, almost
reverent. "I can't adequately describe the struggle; it took Carlisle two centuries
of torturous effort to perfect his self-control. Now he is all but immune to the
scent of human blood, and he is able to do the work he loves without agony. He
finds a great deal of peace there, at the hospital…" Edward stared off into space
for a long moment. Suddenly he seemed to recall his purpose. He tapped his
finger against the huge painting in front of us.
"He was studying in Italy when he discovered the others there. They were much
more civilized and educated than the wraiths of the London sewers."
He touched a comparatively sedate quartet of figures painted on the highest
balcony, looking down calmly on the mayhem below them. I examined the
grouping carefully and realized, with a startled laugh, that I recognized the
"Solimena was greatly inspired by Carlisle's friends. He often painted them as
gods," Edward chuckled. "Aro, Marcus, Caius," he said, indicating the other
three, two black-haired, one snowy-white. "Nighttime patrons of the arts."
"What happened to them?" I wondered aloud, my fingertip hovering a centimeter
from the figures on the canvas.
"They're still there." He shrugged. "As they have been for who knows how many
millennia. Carlisle stayed with them only for a short time, just a few decades. He
greatly admired their civility, their refinement, but they persisted in trying to
cure his aversion to 'his natural food source,' as they called it. They tried to
persuade him, and he tried to persuade them, to no avail. At that point, Carlisle
decided to try the New World. He dreamed of finding others like himself. He
was very lonely, you see.
"He didn't find anyone for a long time. But, as monsters became the stuff of fairy
tales, he found he could interact with unsuspecting humans as if he were one of
them. He began practicing medicine. But the companionship he craved evaded
him; he couldn't risk familiarity.
"When the influenza epidemic hit, he was working nights in a hospital in
Chicago. He'd been turning over an idea in his mind for several years, and he had
almost decided to act — since he couldn't find a companion, he would create
one. He wasn't absolutely sure how his own transformation had occurred, so he
was hesitant. And he was loath to steal anyone's life the way his had been stolen.
It was in that frame of mind that he found me. There was no hope for me; I was
left in a ward with the dying. He had nursed my parents, and knew I was alone.
He decided to try…"
His voice, nearly a whisper now, trailed off. He stared unseeingly through the
west windows. I wondered which images filled his mind now, Carlisle's
memories or his own. I waited quietly.
When he turned back to me, a gentle angel's smile lit his expression.
"And so we've come full circle," he concluded.
"Have you always stayed with Carlisle, then?" I wondered.
"Almost always." He put his hand lightly on my waist and pulled me with him as
he walked through the door. I stared back at the wall of pictures, wondering if I
would ever get to hear the other stories.
Edward didn't say any more as we walked down the hall, so I asked, "Almost?"
He sighed, seeming reluctant to answer. "Well, I had a typical bout of rebellious
adolescence — about ten years after I was… born… created, whatever you want
to call it. I wasn't sold on his life of abstinence, and I resented him for curbing
my appetite. So I went off on my own for a time."
"Really?" I was intrigued, rather than frightened, as I perhaps should have been.
He could tell. I vaguely realized that we were headed up the next flight of stairs,
but I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings.
"That doesn't repulse you?"
"I guess… it sounds reasonable."
He barked a laugh, more loudly than before. We were at the top of the stairs
now, in another paneled hallway.
"From the time of my new birth," he murmured, "I had the advantage of
knowing what everyone around me was thinking, both human and non-human
alike. That's why it took me ten years to defy Carlisle — I could read his perfect
sincerity, understand exactly why he lived the way he did.
"It took me only a few years to return to Carlisle and recommit to his vision. I
thought I would be exempt from the… depression… that accompanies a
conscience. Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the
innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley
where he stalked a young girl — if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible."
I shivered, imagining only too clearly what he described — the alley at night, the
frightened girl, the dark man behind her. And Edward, Edward as he hunted,
terrible and glorious as a young god, unstoppable. Would she have been grateful,
that girl, or more frightened than before?
"But as time went on, I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn't escape
the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified. And I went back
to Carlisle and Esme. They welcomed me back like the prodigal. It was more
than I deserved."
We'd come to a stop in front of the last door in the hall.
"My room," he informed me, opening it and pulling me through.
His room faced south, with a wall-sized window like the great room below. The
whole back side of the house must be glass. His view looked down on the
winding Sol Duc River, across the untouched forest to the Olympic Mountain
range. The mountains were much closer than I would have believed.
The western wall was completely covered with shelf after shelf of CDs. His
room was better stocked than a music store. In the corner was a sophisticatedlooking
sound system, the kind I was afraid to touch because I'd be sure to break
something. There was no bed, only a wide and inviting black leather sofa. The
floor was covered with a thick golden carpet, and the walls were hung with
heavy fabric in a slightly darker shade.
"Good acoustics?" I guessed.
He chuckled and nodded.
He picked up a remote and turned the stereo on. It was quiet, but the soft jazz
number sounded like the band was in the room with us. I went to look at his
mind-boggling music collection.
"How do you have these organized?" I asked, unable to find any rhyme or reason
to the titles.
He wasn't paying attention.
"Ummm, by year, and then by personal preference within that frame," he said
I turned, and he was looking at me with a peculiar expression in his eyes.
"I was prepared to feel… relieved. Having you know about everything, not
needing to keep secrets from you. But I didn't expect to feel more than that. I like
it. It makes me… happy." He shrugged, smiling slightly.
"I'm glad," I said, smiling back. I'd worried that he might regret telling me these
things. It was good to know that wasn't the case.
But then, as his eyes dissected my expression, his smile faded and his forehead
"You're still waiting for the running and the screaming, aren't you?" I guessed.
A faint smile touched his lips, and he nodded.
"I hate to burst your bubble, but you're really not as scary as you think you are. I
don't find you scary at all, actually," I lied casually.
He stopped, raising his eyebrows in blatant disbelief. Then he flashed a wide,
"You really shouldn't have said that," he chuckled.
He growled, a low sound in the back of his throat; his lips curled back over his
perfect teeth. His body shifted suddenly, half-crouched, tensed like a lion about
I backed away from him, glaring.
I didn't see him leap at me — it was much too fast. I only found myself suddenly
airborne, and then we crashed onto the sofa, knocking it into the wall. All the
while, his arms formed an iron cage of protection around me — I was barely
jostled. But I still was gasping as I tried to right myself.
He wasn't having that. He curled me into a ball against his chest, holding me
more securely than iron chains. I glared at him in alarm, but he seemed well in
control, his jaw relaxed as he grinned, his eyes bright only with humor.
"You were saying?" he growled playfully.
"That you are a very, very terrifying monster," I said, my sarcasm marred a bit
by my breathless voice.
"Much better," he approved.
"Um." I struggled. "Can I get up now?"
He just laughed.
"Can we come in?" a soft voice sounded from the hall.
I struggled to free myself, but Edward merely readjusted me so that I was
somewhat more conventionally seated on his lap. I could see it was Alice, then,
and Jasper behind her in the doorway. My cheeks burned, but Edward seemed at
"Go ahead." Edward was still chuckling quietly.
Alice seemed to find nothing unusual in our embrace; she walked — almost
danced, her movements were so graceful — to the center of the room, where she
folded herself sinuously onto the floor. Jasper, however, paused at the door, his
expression a trifle shocked. He stared at Edward's face, and I wondered if he was
tasting the atmosphere with his unusual sensitivity.
"It sounded like you were having Bella for lunch, and we came to see if you
would share," Alice announced.
I stiffened for an instant, until I realized Edward was grinning — whether at her
comment or my response, I couldn't tell.
"Sorry, I don't believe I have enough to spare," he replied, his arms holding me
"Actually," Jasper said, smiling despite himself as he walked into the room,
"Alice says there's going to be a real storm tonight, and Emmett wants to play
ball. Are you game?"
The words were all common enough, but the context confused me. I gathered
that Alice was a bit more reliable than the weatherman, though.
Edward's eyes lit up, but he hesitated.
"Of course you should bring Bella," Alice chirped. I thought I saw Jasper throw
a quick glance at her.
"Do you want to go?" Edward asked me, excited, his expression vivid.
"Sure." I couldn't disappoint such a face. "Um, where are we going?"
"We have to wait for thunder to play ball — you'll see why," he promised.
"Will I need an umbrella?"
They all three laughed aloud.
"Will she?" Jasper asked Alice.
"No." She was positive. "The storm will hit over town. It should be dry enough
in the clearing."
"Good, then." The enthusiasm in Jasper's voice was catching, naturally. I found
myself eager, rather than scared stiff.
"Let's go see if Carlisle will come." Alice bounded up and to the door in a
fashion that would break any ballerina's heart.
"Like you don't know," Jasper teased, and they were swiftly on their way. Jasper
managed to inconspicuously close the door behind them.
"What will we be playing?" I demanded.
"You will be watching," Edward clarified. "We will be playing baseball."
I rolled my eyes. "Vampires like baseball?"
"It's the American pastime," he said with mock solemnity.
Will not be in for a while..