New Moon - Stephenie Meyer

New Moon
By: Stephenie Meyer
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Contents
PREFACE
1. PARTY
2 STITCHES
3. THE END
OCTOBER
NOVEMBER
DECEMBER
JANUARY
4. WAKING UP
5. CHEATER
6. FRIENDS
7. REPETITION
8. ADRENALINE
9. THIRD WHEEL
10. THE MEADOW
11. CULT
12. INTRUDER
13. KILLER
14. FAMILY
15. PRESSURE
16. PARIS
17. VISITOR
18. THE FUNERAL
19. HATE
20. VOLTERRA
21. VERDICT
22. FLIGHT
23. THE TRUTH
24. VOTE
EPILOGUE TREATY
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Text copyright © 2006 by Stephenie Meyer
All rights reserved
Little, Brown ard Company
Hachette Book Group USA
1271 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY10020 Visit our Web site at
www.lbteens com
First Edition September 2006
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not
intended by the author
Meyer, Stephenie, 1973—New Moon a novel / b) Stepheme Meyer—1st ed p cm
Summary:Grade 9 Up–Recovered from the vampire attack that hospitalized her in the conclusion of Twilight (Little, Brown, 2005), Bella celebrates her birthday with her boyfriend Edward and his family, a unique clan of vampires that has sworn off human blood. But the celebration abruptly ends when the teen accidentally cuts her arm on broken glass. The sight and smell of her blood trickling away forces the Cullen family to retreat lest they be tempted to make a meal of her. After all is mended, Edward, realizing the danger that he and his family create for Bella, sees no option for her safety but to leave. Mourning his departure, she slips into a downward spiral of depression that penetrates and lingers over her every step. Vampire fans will appreciate the subsequently dour mood that permeates the novel, and it's not until Bella befriends Jacob, a sophomore from her school with a penchant for motorcycles, that both the pace and her disposition begin to take off. Their adventures are wild, dare-devilish, and teeter on the brink of romance, but memories of Edward pervade Bella's emotions, and soon their fun quickly morphs into danger, especially when she uncovers the true identities of Jacob and his pack of friends. Less streamlined than Twilight yet just as exciting, New Moon will more than feed the bloodthirsty hankerings of fans of the first volume and leave them breathless for the third.
1. Vampires—Fiction.
2. Werewolves—Fiction
3. High schools—Fiction
4.Schools—Fiction
5.Washington (State)—Fiction
Printed in the United States of America
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For my dad, Stephen Morgan—
No one has ever been given more loving and unconditional
support than I have been given by you.
I love you, too.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like
fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume.
Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI
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PREFACE
I FELT LIKE I WAS TRAPPED IN ONE OF THOSE TERRIFYING nightmares, the one
where you have to run, run till your lungs burst, but you can't make your
body move fast enough. My legs seemed to move slower and slower as I
fought my way through the callous crowd, but the hands on the huge clock
tower didn't slow. With relentless, uncaring force, they turned
inexorably toward the end—the end of everything.
But this was no dream, and, unlike the nightmare, I wasn't running for my
life; I was racing to save something infinitely more precious. My own
life meant little to me today.
Alice had said there was a good chance we would both die here. Perhaps
the outcome would be different if she weren't trapped by the brilliant
sunlight; only I was free to run across this bright, crowded square.
And I couldn't run fast enough.
So it didn't matter to me that we were surrounded by our extraordinarily
dangerous enemies. As the clock began to toll out the hour, vibrating
under the soles of my sluggish feet, I knew I was too late—and I was glad
something bloodthirsty waited in the wings. For in failing at this, I
forfeited any desire to live.
The clock tolled again, and the sun beat down from the exact center point
of the sky.
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Cái gì xuất phát từ trái tim thì sẽ đi đến trái tim
G. Piet – Pháp
Leo*

1. PARTY
I WAS NINETY-NINE POINT NINE PERCENT SURE I WAS dreaming.
The reasons I was so certain were that, first, I was standing in a bright
shaft of sunlight—the kind of blinding clear sun that never shone on my
drizzly new hometown in Forks, Washington—and second, I was looking at my
Grandma Marie. Gran had been dead for six years now, so that was solid
evidence toward the dream theory.
Gran hadn't changed much; her face looked just the same as I remembered
it. The skin was soft and withered, bent into a thousand tiny creases
that clung gently to the bone underneath. Like a dried apricot, but with
a puff of thick white hair standing out in a cloud around it.
Our mouths—hers a wizened picker—spread into the same surprised
half-smile at just the same time. Apparently, she hadn't been expecting
to see me, either.
I was about to ask her a question; I had so many—What was she doing here
in my cream? What had she been up to in the past six years? Was Pop okay,
and had they found each other, wherever they were?—but she opened her
mouth when I did, so I stopped to let her go first. She paused, too, and
then we Goth smiled at the little awkwardness.
"Bella!"
It wasn't Gran who called my name, and we both turned to see the addition
to our small reunion. I didn't have to look to know who it was; this was
a voice I would know anywhere—know, and respond to, whether I was awake
or asleep… or even dead, I'd bet. The voice I'd walk through fire for—or,
less dramatically, slosh every day through the cold and endless rain for.
Edward.
Even though I was always thrilled to see him—conscious or otherwise—and
even though I was almost positive that I was dreaming, I panicked as
Edward walked toward us through the glaring sunlight.
I panicked because Gran didn't know that I was in love with a
vampire—nobody knew that—so how was I supposed to explain the fact that
the brilliant sunbeams were shattering off his skin into a thousand
rainbow shards like he was made of crystal or diamond?
Well, Gran, yon might have noticed that my boyfriend glitters. It's just
something he does in the sun. Don't worry about it…
What was he doing? The whole reason he lived in Forks, the rainiest place
in the world, was so that he could be outside in the daytime without
exposing his family's secret. Yet here he was, strolling gracefully
toward me—with the most beautiful smile on his angel's face—as if I were
the only one here.
In that second, I wished that I was not the one exception to his
mysterious talent; I usually felt grateful that I was the only person
whose thoughts he couldn't hear just as clearly as if they were spoken
aloud. But now I wished he could hear me, too, so that he could hear the
warning I was screaming in my head.
I shot a panicked glance back at Gran, and saw that it was too late. She
was just turning to stare back at me, her eyes as alarmed as mine.
Edward—still smiling so beautifully that my heart felt like it was going
to swell up and burst through my chest—put his arm around my shoulder and
turned to face my grandmother.
Gran's expression surprised me. Instead of looking horrified, she was
staring at me sheepishly, as if waiting for a scolding. And she was
standing in such a strange position—one arm held awkwardly away from her
body, stretched out and then curled around the air. Like she had her arm
around someone I couldn't see, someone invisible…
Only then, as I looked at the bigger picture, did I notice the huge gilt
frame that enclosed my grandmother's form. Uncomprehending, I raised the
hand that wasn't wrapped around Edward's waist and reached out to touch
her. She mimicked the movement exactly, mirrored it. But where our
fingers should have met, there was nothing but cold glass…
With a dizzying jolt, my dream abruptly became a nightmare.
There was no Gran.
That was me. Me in a mirror. Me—ancient, creased, and withered.
Edward stood beside me, casting no reflection, excruciatingly lovely and
forever seventeen.
He pressed his icy, perfect lips against my wasted cheek.
"Happy birthday," he whispered.
I woke with a start—my eyelids popping open wide—and gasped. Dull gray
light, the familiar light of an overcast morning, took the place of the
blinding sun in my dream.
Just a dream, I told myself. It was only a dream. I took a deep breath,
and then jumped again when my alarm went off. The little calendar in the
corner of the clock's display informed me that today was September
thirteenth.
Only a dream, but prophetic enough in one way, at least. Today was my
birthday. I was officially eighteen years old.
I'd been dreading this day for months.
All through the perfect summer—the happiest summer I had ever had, the
happiest summer anyone anywhere had ever had, and the rainiest summer in
the history of the Olympic Peninsula—this bleak date had lurked in
ambush, waiting to spring.
And now that it had hit, it was even worse than I'd feared it would be. I
could feel it—I was older. Every day I got older, but this was different,
worse, quantifiable. I was eighteen.
And Edward never would be.
When I went to brush my teeth, I was almost surprised that the face in
the mirror hadn't changed. I stared at myself, looking for some sign of
impending wrinkles in my ivory skin. The only creases were the ones on my
forehead, though, and I knew that if I could manage to relax, they would
disappear. I couldn't. My eyebrows stayed lodged in a worried line over
my anxious brown eyes.
It was just a dream, I reminded myself again. Just a dream… but also my
worst nightmare.
I skipped breakfast, in a hurry to get out of the house as quickly as
possible. I wasn't entirely able to avoid my dad, and so I had to spend a
few minutes acting cheerful. I honestly tried to be excited about the
gifts I'd asked him not to get me, but every time I had to smile, it felt
like I might start crying.
I struggled to get a grip on myself as I drove to school. The vision of
Gran—I would not think of it as me—was hard to get out of my head. I
couldn't feel anything but despair until I pulled into the familiar
parking lot behind ForksHigh School and spotted Edward leaning
motionlessly against his polished silver Volvo, like a marble tribute to
some forgotten pagan god of beauty. The dream had not done him justice.
And he was waiting there for me, just the same as every other day.
Despair momentarily vanished; wonder took its place. Even after half a
year with him, I still couldn't believe that I deserved this degree of
good fortune.
His sister Alice was standing by his side, waiting for me, too.
Of course Edward and Alice weren't really related (in Forks the story was
that all the Cullen siblings were adopted by Dr. Carlisle Culler and his
wife, Esme, both plainly too young to have teenage children), but their
skin was precisely the same pale shade, their eyes had the same strange
golden tint, with the same deep, bruise-like shadows beneath them. Her
face, like his, was also startlingly beautiful. To someone in the
know—someone like me—these similarities marked them for what they were.
The sight of Alice waiting there—her tawny eyes brilliant with
excitement, and a small silver-wrapped square in her hands—made me frown.
I'd told Alice I didn't want anything, anything, not gifts or even
attention, for my birthday. Obviously, my wishes were being ignored.
I slammed the door of my '53 Chevy truck—a shower of rust specks
fluttered down to the wet blacktop—and walked slowly toward where they
waited. Alice skipped forward to meet me, her pixie face glowing under
her spiky black hair.
"Happy birthday, Bella!"
"Shh!" I hissed, glancing around the lot to make sure no one had heard
her. The last thing I wanted was some kind of celebration of the black
event.
She ignored me. "Do you want to open your present now or later?" she
asked eagerly as we made our way to where Edward still waited.
"No presents," I protested in a mumble.
She finally seemed to process my mood. "Okay… later, then. Did you like
the scrapbook your mom sent you? And the camera from Charlie?"
I sighed. Of course she would know what my birthday presents were. Edward
wasn't the only member of his family with unusual skills. Alice would
have "seen" what my parents were planning as soon as they'd decided that
themselves.
"Yeah. They're great."
"I think it's a nice idea. You're only a senior once. Might as well
document the experience."
"How many times have you been a senior?"
"That's different."
We reached Edward then, and he held out his hand for mine. I took it
eagerly, forgetting, for a moment, my glum mood. His skin was, as always,
smooth, hard, and very cold. He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. I
looked into his liquid topa2 eyes, and my heart gave a
not-quite-so-gentle squeeze of its own. Hearing the stutter in my
heartbeats, he smiled again.
He lifted his free hand and traced one cool fingertip around the outside
of my lips as he spoke. "So, as discussed, I am not allowed to wish you a
happy birthday, is that correct?"
"Yes. That is correct." I could never quite mimic the flow of his
perfect, formal articulation. It was something that could only be picked
up in an earlier century.
"Just checking." He ran his hand through his tousled bronze hair. "You
might have changed your mind. Most people seem to enjoy things like
birthdays and gifts."
Alice laughed, and the sound was all silver, a wind chime. "Of course
you'll enjoy it. Everyone is supposed to be nice to you today and give
you your way, Bella. What's the worst that could happen?" She meant it as
a rhetorical question.
"Getting older," I answered anyway, and my voice was not as steady as I
wanted it to be.
Beside me, Edward's smile tightened into a hard line.
"Eighteen isn't very old," Alice said. "Don't women usually wait till
they're twenty-nine to get upset over birthdays?"
"It's older than Edward," I mumbled.
He sighed.
"Technically," she said, keeping her tone light. "Just by one little
year, though."
And I supposed… if I could be sure of the future I wanted, sure that I
would get to spend forever with Edward, and Alice and the rest of the
Cullens (preferably not as a wrinkled little old lady)… then a year or
two one direction or the other wouldn't matter to me so much. But Edward
was dead set against any future that changed me. Any future that made me
like him—that made me immortal, too.
An impasse, he called it.
I couldn't really see Edward's point, to be honest. What was so great
about mortality? Being a vampire didn't look like such a terrible
thing—not the way the Cullens did it, anyway.
"What time will you be at the house?" Alice continued, changing the
subject. From her expression, she was up to exactly the kind of thing I'd
been hoping to avoid.
"I didn't know I had plans to be there."
"Oh, be fair, Bella!" she complained. "You aren't going to ruin all our
fun like that, are you?"
"I thought my birthday was about what I want."
"I'll get her from Charlie's right after school," Edward told her,
ignoring me altogether.
"I have to work," I protested.
"You don't, actually," Alice told me smugly. "I already spoke to Mrs.
Newton about it. She's trading your shifts. She said to tell you 'Happy
Birthday.'"
"I—I still can't come over," I stammered, scrambling for an excuse. "I,
well, I haven't watched Romeo and Juliet yet for English."
Alice snorted. "You have Romeo and Juliet memorized."
"But Mr. Berty said we needed to see it performed to fully appreciate
it—that's how Shakespeare intended it to be presented."
Edward rolled his eyes.
"You've already seen the movie," Alice accused.
"But not the nineteen-sixties version. Mr. Berty said it was the best."
Finally, Alice lost the smug smile and glared at me. "This can be easy,
or this can be hard, Bella, but one way or the other—"
Edward interrupted her threat. "Relax, Alice. If Bella wants to watch a
movie, then she can. It's her birthday."
"So there," I added.
"I'll bring her over around seven," he continued. "That will give you
more time to set up."
Alice's laughter chimed again. "Sounds good. See you tonight, Bella!
It'll be fun, you'll see." She grinned—the wide smile exposed all her
perfect, glistening teeth—then pecked me on the cheek and danced off
toward her first class before I could respond.
"Edward, please—" I started to beg, but he pressed one cool finger to my
lips.
"Let's discuss it later. We're going to be late for class."
No one bothered to stare at us as we took our usual seats in the back of
the classroom (we had almost every class together now—it was amazing the
favors Edward could get the female administrators to do for him). Edward
and I had been together too long now to be an object of gossip anymore.
Even Mike Newton didn't bother to give me the glum stare that used to
make me feel a little guilty. He smiled now instead, and I was glad he
seemed to have accepted that we could only be friends. Mike had changed
over the summer—his face had lost some of the roundness, making his
cheekbones more prominent, and he was wearing his pale blond hair a new
way; instead of bristly, it was longer and gelled into a carefully casual
disarray. It was easy to see where his inspiration came from—but Edward's
look wasn't something that could be achieved through imitation.
As the day progressed, I considered ways to get out of whatever was going
down at the Cullen house tonight. It would be bad enough to have to
celebrate when I was in the mood to mourn. But, worse than that, this was
sure to involve attention and gifts.
Attention is never a good thing, as any other accident-prone klutz would
agree. No one wants a spotlight when they're likely to fall on their face.
And I'd very pointedly asked—well, ordered really—that no one give me any
presents this year. It looked like Charlie and Renee weren't the only
ones who had decided to overlook that.
I'd never had much money, and that had never bothered me. Renee had
raised me on a kindergarten teacher's salary. Charlie wasn't getting rich
at his job, either—he was the police chief here in the tiny town of
Forks. My only personal income came from the three days a week I worked
at the local sporting goods store. In a town this small, I was lucky to
have a job. Every penny I made went into my microscopic college fund.
(College was Plan B. I was still hoping for Plan A, but Edward was just
so stubborn about leaving me human…)
Edward had a lot of money—I didn't even want to think about how much.
Money meant next to nothing to Edward or the rest of the Cullens. It was
just something that accumulated when you had unlimited time on your hands
and a sister who had an uncanny ability to predict trends in the stock
market. Edward didn't seem to understand why I objected to him spending
money on me—why it made me uncomfortable if he took me to an expensive
restaurant in Seattle, why he wasn't allowed to buy me a car that could
reach speeds over fifty-five miles an hour, or why I wouldn't let him pay
my college tuition (he was ridiculously enthusiastic about Plan B).
Edward thought I was being unnecessarily difficult.
But how could I let him give me things when I had nothing to reciprocate
with? He, for some unfathomable reason, wanted to be with me. Anything he
gave me on top of that just threw us more out of balance.
As the day went on, neither Edward nor Alice brought my birthday up
again, and I began to relax a little.
We sat at our usual table for lunch.
A strange kind of truce existed at that table. The three of us—Edward,
Alice, and I—sat on the extreme southern end of the table. Now that the
"older" and somewhat scarier (in Emmett's case, certainly) Cullen
siblings had graduated, Alice and Edward did not seem quite so
intimidating, and we did not sit here alone. My other friends, Mike and
Jessica (who were in the awkward post-breakup friendship phase), Angela
and Ben (whose relationship had survived the summer), Eric, Conner,
Tyler, and Lauren (though that last one didn't really count in the friend
category) all sat at the same table, on the other side of an invisible
line. That line dissolved on sunny days when Edward and Alice always
skipped school, and then the conversation would swell out effortlessly to
include me.
Edward and Alice didn't find this minor ostracism odd or hurtful the way
I would have. They barely noticed it. People always felt strangely ill at
ease with the Cullens, almost afraid for some reason they couldn't
explain to themselves. I was a rare exception to that rule. Sometimes it
bothered Edward how very comfortable I was with being close to him. He
thought he was hazardous to my health—an opinion I rejected vehemently
whenever he voiced it.
The afternoon passed quickly. School ended, and Edward walked me to my
truck as he usually did. But this time, he held the passenger door open
for me. Alice must have been taking his car home so that he could keep me
from making a run for it.
I folded my arms and made no move to get out of the rain. "It's my
birthday, don't I get to drive?"
"I'm pretending it's not your birthday, just as you wished."
"If it's not my birthday, then I don't have to go to your house tonight…"
"All right." He shut the passenger door and walked past me to open the
driver's side. "Happy birthday."
"Shh," I shushed him halfheartedly. I climbed in the opened door, wishing
he'd taken the other offer.
Edward played with the radio while I drove, shaking his head in
disapproval.
"Your radio has horrible reception."
I frowned. I didn't like it when he picked on my truck. The truck was
great—it had personality.
"You want a nice stereo? Drive your own car." I was so nervous about
Alice's plans, on top of my already gloomy mood, that the words came out
sharper than I'd meant them. I was hardly ever bad-tempered with Edward,
and my tone made him press his lips together to keep from smiling.
When I parked in front of Charlie's house, he reached over to take my
face in his hands. He handled me very carefully, pressing just the tips
of his fingers softly against my temples, my cheekbones, my jawline. Like
I was especially breakable. Which was exactly the case—compared with him,
at least.
"You should be in a good mood, today of all days," he whispered. His
sweet breath fanned across my face.
"And if I don't want to be in a good mood?" I asked, my breathing uneven.
His golden eyes smoldered. "Too bad."
My head was already spinning by the time he leaned closer and pressed his
icy lips against mine. As he intended, no doubt, I forgot all about my
worries, and concentrated on remembering how to inhale and exhale.
His mouth lingered on mine, cold and smooth and gentle, until I wrapped
my arms around his neck and threw myself into the kiss with a little too
much enthusiasm. I could feel his lips curve upward as he let go of my
face and reached back to unlock my grip on him.
Edward had drawn many careful lines for our physical relationship, with
the intent being to keep me alive. Though I respected the need for
maintaining a safe distance between my skin and his razor-sharp,
venom-coated teeth, I tended to forget about trivial things like that
when he was kissing me.
"Be good, please," he breathed against my cheek. He pressed his lips
gently to mine one more time and then pulled away, folding my arms across
my stomach.
My pulse was thudding in my ears. I put one hand over my heart. It
drummed hyperactively under my palm.
"Do you think I'll ever get better at this?" I wondered, mostly to
myself. "That my heart might someday stop trying to jump out of my chest
whenever you touch me?"
"I really hope not," he said, a bit smug.
I rolled my eyes. "Let's go watch the Capulets and Montagues hack each
other up, all right?"
"Your wish, my command."
Edward sprawled across the couch while I started the movie,
fast-forwarding through the opening credits.
When I perched on the edge of the sofa in front of him, he wrapped his
arms around my waist and pulled me against his chest. It wasn't exactly
as comfortable as a sofa cushion would be, what with his chest being hard
and cold—and perfect—as an ice sculpture, but it was definitely
preferable. He pulled the old afghan off the back of the couch and draped
it over me so I wouldn't freeze beside his body.
"You know, I've never had much patience with Romeo," he commented as the
movie started.
"What's wrong with Romeo?" I asked, a little offended. Romeo was one of
my favorite fictional characters. Until I'd met Edward, I'd sort of had a
thing for him.
"Well, first of all, he's in love with this Rosaline—don't you think it
makes him seem a little fickle? And then, a few minutes after their
wedding, he kills Juliet's cousin. That's not very brilliant. Mistake
after mistake. Could he have destroyed his own happiness any more
thoroughly?"
I sighed. "Do you want me to watch this alone?"
"No, I'll mostly be watching you, anyway." His fingers traced patterns
across the skin of my arm, raising goose bumps. "Will you cry?"
"Probably," I admitted, "if I'm paying attention."
"I won't distract you then." But I felt his lips on my hair, and it was
very distracting.
The movie eventually captured my interest, thanks in large part to Edward
whispering Romeo's lines in my ear—his irresistible, velvet voice made
the actor's voice sound weak and coarse by comparison. And I did cry, to
his amusement, when Juliet woke and found her new husband dead.
"I'll admit, I do sort of envy him here," Edward said, drying the tears
with a lock of my hair.
"She's very pretty."
He made a disgusted sound. "I don't envy him the girl—just the ease of
the suicide," he clarified in a teasing tone. "You humans have it so
easy! All you have to do is throw down one tiny vial of plant extracts…"
"What?" I gasped.
"It's something I had to think about once, and I knew from Carlisle's
experience that it wouldn't be simple. I'm not even sure how many ways
Carlisle tried to kill himself in the beginning… after he realized what
he'd become…" His voice, which had grown serious, turned light again.
"And he's clearly still in excellent health."
I twisted around so that I could read his face. "What are you talking
about?" I demanded. "What do you mean, this something you had to think
about once?"
"Last spring, when you were… nearly killed…" He paused to take a deep
breath, snuggling to return to his teasing tone. "Of course I was trying
to focus on finding you alive, but part of my mind was making contingency
plans. Like I said, it's not as easy for me as it is for a human."
For one second, the memory of my last trip to Phoenix washed through my
head and made me feel dizzy. I could see it all so clearly—the blinding
sun, the heat waves coming off the concrete as I ran with desperate haste
to find the sadistic vampire who wanted to torture me to death. James,
waiting in the mirrored room with my mother as his hostage—or so I'd
thought. I hadn't known it was all a ruse. Just as James hadn't known
that Edward was racing to save me; Edward made it in time, but it had
been a close one. Unthinkingly, my fingers traced the crescent-shaped
scar on my hand that was always just a few degrees cooler than the rest
of my skin.
I shook my head—as if I could shake away the bad memories—and tried to
grasp what Edward meant. My stomach plunged uncomfortably. "Contingency
plans?" I repeated.
"Well, I wasn't going to live without you." He rolled his eyes as if that
fact were childishly obvious. "But I wasn't sure how to do it—I knew
Emmett and Jasper would never help… so I was thinking maybe I would go to
Italy and do something to provoke the Volturi."
I didn't want to believe he was serious, but his golden eyes were
brooding, focused on something far away in the distance as he
contemplated ways to end his own life. Abruptly, I was furious.
"What is a Volturi?" I demanded.
"The Volturi are a family," he explained, his eyes still remote. "A very
old, very powerful family of our kind. They are the closest thing our
world has to a royal family, I suppose. Carlisle lived with them briefly
in his early years, in Italy, before he settled in America—do you
remember the story?"
"Of course I remember."
I would never forget the first time I'd gone to his home, the huge white
mansion buried deep in the forest beside the river, or the room where
Carlisle—Edward's father in so many real ways—kept a wall of paintings
that illustrated his personal history. The most vivid, most wildly
colorful canvas there, the largest, was from Carlisle's time in Italy. Of
course I remembered the calm quartet of men, each with the exquisite face
of a seraph, painted into the highest balcony overlooking the swirling
mayhem of color. Though the painting was centuries old, Carlisle—the
blond angel—remained unchanged. And I remembered the three others,
Carlisle's early acquaintances. Edward had never used the name Volturi
for the beautiful trio, two black-haired, one snow white. He'd called
them Aro, Caius, and Marcus, nighttime patrons of the arts…
"Anyway, you don't irritate the Volturi," Edward went on, interrupting
ray reverie. "Not unless you want to die—or whatever it is we do." His
voice was so calm, it made him sound almost bored by the prospect.
My anger turned to horror. I took his marble face between my hands and
held it very tightly.
"You must never, never, never think of anything like that again!" I said.
"No matter what might ever happen to me, you are not allowed to hurt
yourself!"
"I'll never put you in danger again, so it's a moot point."
"Put me in danger! I thought we'd established that all the bad luck is my
fault?" I was getting angrier. "How dare you even think like that?" The
idea of Edward ceasing to exist, even if I were dead, was impossibly
painful.
"What would you do, if the situation were reversed?" he asked.
"That's not the same thing."
He didn't seem to understand the difference. He chuckled.
"What if something did happen to you?" I blanched at the thought. "Would
you want me to go off myself?"
A trace of pain touched his perfect features.
"I guess I see your point… a little," he admitted. "But what would I do
without you?"
"Whatever you were doing before I came along and complicated your
existence."
He sighed. "You make that sound so easy."
"It should be. I'm not really that interesting."
He was about to argue, but then he let it go. "Moot point," he reminded
me. Abruptly, he pulled himself up into a more formal posture, shifting
me to the side so that we were no longer touching.
"Charlie?" I guessed.
Edward smiled. After a moment, I heard the sound of the police cruiser
pulling into the driveway. I reached out and took his hand firmly. My dad
could deal with that much.
Charlie came in with a pizza box in his hands.
"Hey, kids." He grinned at me. "I thought you'd like a break from cooking
and washing dishes for your birthday. Hungry?"
"Sure. Thanks, Dad."
Charlie didn't comment on Edward's apparent lack of appetite. He was used
to Edward passing on dinner.
"Do you mind if I borrow Bella for the evening?" Edward asked when
Charlie and I were done.
I looked at Charlie hopefully. Maybe he had some concept of birthdays as
stay-at-home, family affairs—this was my first birthday with him, the
first birthday since my mom, Renee, had remarried and gone to live in
Florida, so I didn't know what he would expect.
"That's fine—the Mariners are playing the Sox tonight," Charlie
explained, and my hope disappeared. "So I won't be any kind of company…
Here." He scooped up the camera he'd gotten me on Renee's suggestion
(because I would need pictures to fill up my scrap-book), and threw it to
me.
He ought to know better than that—I'd always been coordinationally
challenged. The camera glanced off the tip of my finger, and tumbled
toward the floor. Edward snagged it before it could crash onto the
linoleum.
"Nice save," Charlie noted. "If they're doing something fun at the
Cullens' tonight, Bella, you should take some pictures. You know how your
mother gets—she'll be wanting to see the pictures faster than you can
take them."
"Good idea, Charlie," Edward said, handing me the camera.
I turned the camera on Edward, and snapped the first picture. "It works."
"That's good. Hey, say hi to Alice for me. She hasn't been over in a
while." Charlie's mouth pulled down at one corner.
"It's been three days, Dad," I reminded him. Charlie was crazy about
Alice. He'd become attached last spring when she'd helped me through my
awkward convalescence; Charlie would be fore'ter grateful to her for
saving him from the horror of an almost-adult daughter who needed help
showering. "I'll tell her."
"Okay. You kids have fun tonight." It was clearly a dismissal. Charlie
was already edging toward the living room and the TV.
Edward smiled, triumphant, and took my hand to pull me from the kitchen.
When we got to the truck, he opened the passenger door for me again, and
this time I didn't argue. I still had a hard time finding the obscure
turnoff to his house in the dark.
Edward drove north through Forks, visibly chafing at the speed limit
enforced by my prehistoric Chevy. The engine groaned even louder than
usual as he pushed it over fifty.
"Take it easy," I warned him.
"You know what you would love? A nice little Audi coupe. Very quiet, lots
of power…"
"There's nothing wrong with my truck. And speaking of expensive
nonessentials, if you know what's good for you, you didn't spend any
money on birthday presents."
"Not a dime," he said virtuously.
"Good."
"Can you do me a favor?"
"That depends on what it is."
He sighed, his lovely face serious. "Bella, the last real birthday any of
us had was Emmett in 1935. Cut us a little slack, and don't be too
difficult tonight. They're all very excited."
It always startled me a little when he brought up things like that.
"Fine, I'll behave."
"I probably should warn you…"
"Please do."
"When I say they're all excited… I do mean all of them."
"Everyone?" I choked. "I thought Emmett and Rosalie were in Africa." The
rest of Forks was under the impression that the older Cullens had gone
off to college this year, to Dartmouth, but I knew better.
"Emmett wanted to be here."
"But… Rosalie?"
"I know, Bella. Don't worry, she'll be on her best behavior."
I didn't answer. Like I could just not worry, that easy. Unlike Alice,
Edward's other "adopted" sister, the golden blond and exquisite Rosalie,
didn't like me much. Actually, the feeling was a little bit stronger than
just dislike. As far as Rosalie was concerned, I was an unwelcome
intruder into her family's secret life.
I felt horribly guilty about the present situation, guessing that Rosalie
and Emmett's prolonged absence was my fault, even as I furtively enjoyed
not having to see her Emmett, Edward's playful bear of a brother, I did
miss. He was in many ways just like the big brother I'd always wanted…
only much, much more terrifying.
Edward decided to change the subject. "So, if you won't let me get you
the Audi, isn't there anything that you'd like for your birthday?"
The words came out in a whisper. "You know what I want."
A deep frown carved creases into his marble forehead. He obviously wished
he'd stuck to the subject of Rosalie.
It felt like we'd had this argument a lot today.
"Not tonight, Bella. Please."
"Well, maybe Alice will give me what I want."
Edward growled—a deep, menacing sound. "This isn't going to be your last
birthday, Bella," he vowed.
"That's not fair!"
I thought I heard his teeth clench together.
We were pulling up to the house now. Bright light shined from every
window on the first two floors. A long line of glowing Japanese lanterns
hung from the porch eaves, reflecting a soft radiance on the huge cedars
that surrounded the house. Big bowls of flowers—pink roses—lined the wide
stairs up to the front doors.
I moaned.
Edward took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "This is a party," he
reminded me. "Try to be a good sport."
"Sure," I muttered.
He came around to get my door, and offered me his hand.
"I have a question."
He waited warily.
"If I develop this film," I said, toying with the camera in my hands,
"will you show up in the picture?"
Edward started laughing. He helped me out of the car, pulled me up the
stairs, and was still laughing as he opened the door for me.
They were all waiting in the huge white living room; when I walked
through the door, they greeted me with a loud chorus of "Happy birthday,
Bella!" while I blushed and looked down. Alice, I assumed, had covered
every flat surface with pink candles and dozens of crystal bowls filled
with hundreds of roses. There was a table with a white cloth draped over
it next to Edward's grand piano, holding a pink birthday cake, more
roses, a stack of glass plates, and a small pile of silver-wrapped
presents.
It was a hundred times worse than I'd imagined.
Edward, sensing my distress, wrapped an encouraging arm around my waist
and kissed the top of my head.
Edward's parents, Carlisle and Esme—impossibly youthful and lovely as
ever—were the closest to the door. Esme hugged me carefully, her soft,
caramel-colored hair brushing against my cheek as she kissed my forehead,
and then Carlisle put his arm around my shoulders.
"Sorry about this, Bella," he stage-whispered. "We couldn't rein Alice
in."
Rosalie and Emmett stood behind them. Rosalie didn't smile, but at least
she didn't glare. Emmett's face was stretched into a huge grin. It had
been months since I'd seen them; I'd forgotten how gloriously beautiful
Rosalie was—it almost hurt to look at her. And had Emmett always been so…
big?
"You haven't changed at all," Emmett said with mock disappointment. "I
expected a perceptible difference, but here you are, red-faced just like
always."
"Thanks a lot, Emmett," I said, blushing deeper.
He laughed, "I have to step out for a second"—he paused to wink
conspicuously at Alice—"Don't do anything funny while I'm gone."
"I'll try."
Alice let go of Jasper's hand and skipped forward, all her teeth
sparkling in the bright light. Jasper smiled, too, but kept his distance.
He leaned, long and blond, against the post at the foot of the stairs.
During the days we'd had to spend cooped up together in Phoenix, I'd
thought he'd gotten over his aversion to me. But he'd gone back to
exactly how he'd acted before—avoiding me as much as possible—the moment
he was free from that temporary obligation to protect me. I knew it
wasn't personal, just a precaution, and I tried not to be overly
sensitive about it. Jasper had more trouble sticking to the Cullens' diet
than the rest of them; the scent of human blood was much harder for him
to resist than the others—he hadn't been trying as long.
"Time to open presents," Alice declared. She put her cool hand under my
elbow and towed me to the table with the cake and the shiny packages.
I put on my best martyr face. "Alice, I know I told you I didn't want
anything—"
"But I didn't listen," she interrupted, smug. "Open it." She took the
camera from my hands and replaced it with a big, square silver box.
The box was so light that it felt empty. The tag on top said that it was
from Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper. Selfconsciously, I tore the paper off
and then stared at the box it concealed.
It was something electrical, with lots of numbers in the name. I opened
the box, hoping for further illumination. But the box was empty.
"Um… thanks."
Rosalie actually cracked a smile. Jasper laughed. "It's a stereo for your
truck," he explained. "Emmett's installing it right now so that you can't
return it."
Alice was always one step ahead of me. "Thanks, Jasper, Rosalie," I told
them, grinning as I remembered Edward's complaints about my radio this
afternoon—all a setup, apparently. "Thanks, Emmett!" I called more loudly.
I heard his booming laugh from my truck, and I couldn't help laughing,
too.
"Open mine and Edward's next," Alice said, so excited her voice was a
high-pitched trill. She held a small, flat square in her hand.
I turned to give Edward a basilisk glare. "You promised."
Before he could answer, Emmett bounded through the door. "Just in time!"
he crowed. He pushed in behind Jasper, who had also drifted closer than
usual to get a good look.
"I didn't spend a dime," Edward assured me. He brushed a strand of hair
from my face, leaving my skin tingling from his touch.
I inhaled deeply and turned to Alice. "Give it to me," I sighed.
Emmett chuckled with delight.
I took the little package, rolling my eyes at Edward while I stuck my
finger under the edge of the paper and jerked it under the tape.
"Shoot," I muttered when the paper sliced my finger; I pulled it out to
examine the damage. A single drop of blood oozed from the tiny cut.
It all happened very quickly then.
"No!" Edward roared.
He threw himself at me, flinging me back across the table. It fell, as I
did, scattering the cake and the presents, the flowers and the plates. I
landed in the mess of shattered crystal.
Jasper slammed into Edward, and the sound was like the crash of boulders
in a rock slide.
There was another noise, a grisly snarling that seemed to be coming from
deep in Jasper's chest. Jasper tried to shove past Edward, snapping his
teeth just inches from Edward's face.
Emmett grabbed Jasper from behind in the next second, locking him into
his massive steel grip, but Jasper struggled on, his wild, empty eyes
focused only on me.
Beyond the shock, there was also pain. I'd tumbled down to the floor by
the piano, with my arms thrown out instinctively to catch my fall, into
the jagged shards of glass. Only now did I feel the searing, stinging
pain that ran from my wrist to the crease inside my elbow.
Dazed and disoriented, I looked up from the bright red blood pulsing out
of my arm—into the fevered eyes of the six suddenly ravenous vampires.
===========================================================================

Cái gì xuất phát từ trái tim thì sẽ đi đến trái tim
G. Piet – Pháp
Leo*

2 STITCHES
 
CARLISLE WAS NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO STAYED calm. Centuries of experience in
the emergency room were evident in his quiet, authoritative voice.
"Emmett, Rose, get Jasper outside."
Unsmiling for once, Emmett nodded. "Come on, Jasper."
Jasper struggled against Emmett's unbreakable grasp, twisting around,
reaching toward his brother with his bared teeth, his eyes still past
reason.
Edward's face was whiter than bone as he wheeled to crouch over me,
taking a clearly defensive position. A low warning growl slid from
between his clenched teeth. I could tell that he wasn't breathing.
Rosalie, her divine face strangely smug, stepped in front of
Jasper—keeping a careful distance from his teeth—and helped Emmett
wrestle him through the glass door that Esme held open, one hand pressed
over her mouth and nose.
Esme's heart-shaped face was ashamed. "I'm so sorry, Bella," she cried as
she followed the others into the yard.
"Let me by, Edward," Carlisle murmured.
A second passed, and then Edward nodded slowly and relaxed his stance.
Carlisle knelt beside me, leaning close to examine my arm. I could feel
the shock frozen on my face, and I tried to compose it.
"Here, Carlisle," Alice said, handing him a towel.
He shook his head. "Too much glass in the wound." He reached over and
ripped a long, thin scrap from the bottom of the white tablecloth. He
twisted it around my arm above the elbow to form a tourniquet. The smell
of the blood was making me dizzy. My ears rang.
"Bella," Carlisle said softly. "Do you want me to drive you to the
hospital, or would you like me to take care of it here?"
"Here, please," I whispered. If he took me to the hospital, there would
be no way to keep this from Charlie.
"I'll get your bag," Alice said.
"Let's take her to the kitchen table," Carlisle said to Edward.
Edward lifted me effortlessly, while Carlisle kept the pressure steady on
my arm.
"How are you doing, Bella?" Carlisle asked.
"I'm fine." My voice was reasonably steady, which pleased me.
Edward's face was like stone.
Alice was there. Carlisle's black bag was already on the table, a small
but brilliant desk light plugged into the wall. Edward sat me gently into
a chair, and Carlisle pulled up another. He went to work at once.
Edward stood over me, still protective, still not breathing.
"Just go, Edward," I sighed.
"I can handle it," he insisted. But his jaw was rigid; his eyes burned
with the intensity of the thirst he fought, so much worse for him than it
was for the others.
"You don't need to be a hero," I said. "Carlisle can fix me up without
your help. Get some fresh air."
I winced as Carlisle did something to my arm that stung.
"I'll stay," he said.
"Why are you so masochistic?" I mumbled.
Carlisle decided to intercede. "Edward, you may as well go find Jasper
before he gets too far. I'm sure he's upset with himself, and I doubt
he'll listen to anyone but you right now."
"Yes," I eagerly agreed. "Go find Jasper."
"You might as well do something useful," Alice added.
Edward's eyes narrowed as we ganged up on him, but, finally, he nodded
once and sprinted smoothly through the kitchen's back door. I was sure he
hadn't taken a breath since I'd sliced my finger.
A numb, dead feeling was spreading through my arm.
Though it erased the sting, it reminded me of the gash, and I watched
Carlisle's face carefully to distract me from what his hands were doing.
His hair gleamed gold in the bright light as he bent over my arm. I could
feel the faint stirrings of unease in the pit of my stomach, but I was
determined not to let my usual squeamishness get the best of me. There
was no pain now, just a gentle tugging sensation that I tried to ignore.
No reason to get sick like a baby.
If she hadn't been in my line of sight, I wouldn't have noticed Alice
give up and steal out of the room. With a tiny, apologetic smile on her
lips, she disappeared through the kitchen doorway.
"Well, that's everyone," I sighed. "I can clear a room, at least."
"It's not your fault," Carlisle comforted me with a chuckle. "It could
happen to anyone."
"Could" I repeated. "But it usually just happens to me."
He laughed again.
His relaxed calm was only more amazing set in direct contrast with
everyone else's reaction. I couldn't find any trace of anxiety in his
face. He worked with quick, sure movements. The only sound besides our
quiet breathing was the soft plink, plink as the tiny fragments of glass
dropped one by one to the table.
"How can you do this?" I demanded. "Even Alice and Esme…" I trailed off,
shaking my head in wonder. Though the rest of them had given up the
traditional diet of vampires just as absolutely as Carlisle had, he was
the only one who could bear the smell of my blood without suffering from
the intense temptation. Clearly, this was much more difficult than he
made it seem.
"Years and years of practice," he told me. "I barely notice the scent
anymore."
"Do you think it would be harder if you took a vacation from the hospital
for a long time. And weren't around any blood?"
"Maybe." He shrugged his shoulders, but his hands remained steady. "I've
never felt the need for an extended holiday." He flashed a brilliant
smile in my direction. "I enjoy my work too much."
Plink, plink, plink. I was surprised at how much glass there seemed to be
in my arm. I was tempted to glance at the growing pile, just to check the
size, but I knew that idea would not be helpful to my no-vomiting
strategy.
"What is it that you enjoy?" I wondered. It didn't make sense to me—the
years of struggle and self-denial he must have spent to get to the point
where he could endure this so easily. Besides, I wanted to keep him
talking; the conversation kept my mind off the queasy feeling in my
stomach.
His dark eyes were calm and thoughtful as he answered. "Hmm. What I enjoy
the very most is when my… enhanced abilities let me save someone who
would otherwise have been lost. It's pleasant knowing that, thanks to
what I can do, some people's lives are better because I exist. Even the
sense of smell is a useful diagnostic tool at times." One side of his
mouth pulled up in half a smile.
I mulled that over while he poked around, making sure all the glass
splinters were gone. Then he rummaged in his bag for new tools, and I
tried not to picture a needle and thread.
"You try very hard to make up for something that was never your fault," I
suggested while a new kind of tugging started at the edges of my skin.
"What I mean is, it's not like you asked for this. You didn't choose this
kind of life, and yet you have to work so hard to be good."
"I don't know that I'm making up for anything," he disagreed lightly.
"Like everything in life, I just had to decide what to do with what I was
given."
"That makes it sound too easy."
He examined my arm again. "There," he said, snipping a thread. "All
done." He wiped an oversized Q-tip, dripping with some syrup-colored
liquid, thoroughly across the operation site. The smell was strange; it
made my head spin. The syrup stained my skin.
"In the beginning, though," I pressed while he taped another long piece
of gauze securely in place, sealing it to my skin. "Why did you even
think to try a different way than the obvious one?"
His lips turned up in a private smile. "Hasn't Edward told you this
story?"
"Yes. But I'm trying to understand what you were thinking…"
His face was suddenly serious again, and I wondered if his thoughts had
gone to the same place that mine had. Wondering what I would be thinking
when—I refused to think if—it was me.
"You know my father was a clergyman," he mused as he cleaned the table
carefully, rubbing everything down with wet gauze, and then doing it
again. The smell of alcohol burned in my nose. "He had a rather harsh
view of the world, which I was already beginning to question before the
time that I changed." Carlisle put all the dirty gauze and the glass
slivers into an empty crystal bowl. I didn't understand what he was
doing, even when he lit the match. Then he threw it onto the
alcohol-soaked fibers, and the sudden blaze made me jump.
"Sorry," he apologized. "That ought to do it… So I didn't agree with my
father's particular brand of faith. But never, in the nearly four hundred
years now since I was born, have I ever seen anything to make me doubt
whether God exists in some form or the other. Not even the reflection in
the mirror."
I pretended to examine the dressing on my arm to hide my surprise at the
direction our conversation had taken. Religion was the last thing I
expected, all things considered. My own life was fairly devoid of belief.
Charlie considered himself a Lutheran, because that's what his parents
had been, but Sundays he worshipped by the river with a fishing pole in
his hand. Renee tried out a church now and then, but, much like her brief
affairs with tennis, pottery, yoga, and French classes, she moved on by
the time I was aware of her newest fad.
"I'm sure all this sounds a little bizarre, coming from a vampire." He
grinned, knowing how their casual use of that word never failed to shock
me. "But I'm hoping that there is still a point to this life, even for
us. It's a long shot, I'll admit," he continued in an offhand voice. "By
all accounts, we're damned regardless. But I hope, maybe foolishly, that
we'll get some measure of credit for trying."
"I don't think that's foolish," I mumbled. I couldn't imagine anyone,
deity included, who wouldn't be impressed by Carlisle. Besides, the only
kind of heaven I could appreciate would have to include Edward. "And I
don't think anyone else would, either."
"Actually, you're the very first one to agree with me."
"The rest of them don't feel the same?" I asked, surprised, thinking of
only one person in particular.
Carlisle guessed the direction of my thoughts again. "Edward's with me up
to a point. God and heaven exist… and so does hell. But he doesn't
believe there is an afterlife for our kind." Carlisle's voice was very
soft; he stared out the big window over the sink, into the darkness. "You
see, he thinks we've lost our souls."
I immediately thought of Edward's words this afternoon: unless you want
to die—or whatever it is that we do. The lightbulb flicked on over my
head.
"That's the real problem, isn't it?" I guessed. "That's why he's being so
difficult about me."
Carlisle spoke slowly. "I look at my… son. His strength, his goodness,
the brightness that shines out of him—and it only fuels that hope, that
faith, more than ever. How could there not be more for one such as
Edward?"
I nodded in fervent agreement.
"But if I believed as he does…" He looked down at me with unfathomable
eyes. "If you believed as he did. Could you take away his soul?"
The way he phrased the question thwarted my answer.
If he'd asked me whether I would risk my soul for Edward, the reply would
be obvious. But would I risk Edward's soul? I pursed my lips unhappily.
That wasn't a fair exchange.
"You see the problem."
I shook my head, aware of the stubborn set of my chin.
Carlisle sighed.
"It's my choice," I insisted.
"It's his, too." He held up his hand when he could see that I was about
to argue. "Whether he is responsible for doing that to you."
"He's not the only one able to do it." I eyed Carlisle speculatively.
He laughed, abruptly lightening the mood. "Oh, no! You're going to have
to work this out with him." But then he sighed. "That's the one part I
can never be sure of. I think, in most other ways, that I've done the
best I could with what I had to work with. But was it right to doom the
others to this life? I can't decide."
I didn't answer. I imagined what my life would be like if Carlisle had
resisted the temptation to change his lonely existence… and shuddered.
"It was Edward's mother who made up my mind." Carlisle's voice was almost
a whisper. He stared unseeingly out the black windows.
"His mother?" Whenever I'd asked Edward about his parents, he would
merely say that they had died long ago, and his memories were vague. I
realized Carlisle's memory of them, despite the brevity of their contact,
would be perfectly clear.
"Yes. Her name was Elizabeth. Elizabeth Masen. His father, Edward Senior,
never regained consciousness in the hospital. He died in the first wave
of the influenza. But Elizabeth was alert until almost the very end.
Edward looks a great deal like her—she had that same strange bronze shade
to her hair, and her eyes were exactly the same color green."
"His eyes were green?" I murmured, trying to picture it.
"Yes…" Carlisle's ocher eyes were a hundred years away now. "Elizabeth
worried obsessively over her son. She hurt her own chances of survival
trying to nurse him from her sickbed. I expected that he would go first,
he was so much worse off than she was. When the end came for her, it was
very quick. It was just after sunset, and I'd arrived to relieve the
doctors who'd been working all day. That was a hard time to pretend—there
was so much work to be done, and I had no need of rest. How I hated to go
back to my house, to hide in the dark and pretend to sleep while so many
were dying.
"I went to check Elizabeth and her son first. I'd grown attached—always a
dangerous thing to do considering the fragile nature of humans. I could
see at once that she'd taken a bad turn. The fever was raging out of
control, and her body was too weak to fight anymore.
"She didn't look weak, though, when she glared up at me from her cot.
"Save him!' she commanded me in the hoarse voice that was all her throat
could manage.
"I'll do everything in my power,' I promised her, taking her hand. The
fever was so high, she probably couldn't even tell how unnaturally cold
mine felt. Everything felt cold to her skin.
"You must," she insisted, clutching at my hand with enough strength that
I wondered if she wouldn't pull through the crisis after all. Her eyes
were hard, like stones, like emeralds. 'You must do everything in your
power. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward."
"It frightened me. She looked it me with those piercing eyes, and, for
one instant, I felt certain that she knew my secret. Then the fever
overwhelmed her, and she never regained consciousness. She died within an
hour of making her demand.
"I'd spent decades considering the idea of creating a companion for
myself. Just one other creature who could really know me, rather than
what I pretended to be. But I could never justify it to myself—doing what
had been done to me.
"There Edward lay, dying. It was clear that he had only hours left.
Beside him, his mother, her face somehow not yet peaceful, not even in
death."
Carlisle saw it all again, his memory unblurred by the intervening
century. I could see it clearly, too, as he spoke—the despair of the
hospital, the overwhelming atmosphere of death. Edward burning with
fever, his life slipping away with each tick of the clock… I shuddered
again, and forced the picture from my mind.
"Elizabeth's words echoed in my head. How could she guess what I could
do? Could anyone really want that for her son?
"I looked at Edward. Sick as he was, he was still beautiful. There was
something pure and good about his face. The kind of face I would have
wanted my son to have.
"After all those years of indecision, I simply acted on a whim. I wheeled
his mother to the morgue first, and then I came back for him. No one
noticed that he was still breathing. There weren't enough hands, enough
eyes, to keep track of half of what the patients needed. The morgue was
empty—of the living, at least. I stole him out the back door, and carried
him across the rooftops back to my home.
"I wasn't sure what had to be done. I settled for recreating the wounds
I'd received myself, so many centuries earlier in London. I felt bad
about that later. It was more painful and lingering than necessary.
"I wasn't sorry, though. I've never been sorry that I saved Edward." He
shook his head, coming back to the present. He smiled at me. "I suppose I
should take you home now."
"I'll do that," Edward said. He came through the shadowy dining room,
walking slowly for him. His face was smooth, unreadable, but there was
something wrong with his eyes—something he was trying very hard to hide.
I felt a spasm of unease in my stomach.
"Carlisle can take me," I said. I looked down at my shirt; the light blue
cotton was soaked and spotted with my blood. My right shoulder was
covered in thick pink frosting.
"I'm fine." Edward's voice was unemotional. "You'll need to change
anyway. You'd give Charlie a heart attack the way you look. I'll have
Alice get you something." He strode out the kitchen door again.
I looked at Carlisle anxiously. "He's very upset."
"Yes," Carlisle agreed. "Tonight is exactly the kind of thing that he
fears the most. You being put in danger, because of what we are."
"It's not his fault."
"It's not yours, either."
I looked away from his wise, beautiful eyes. I couldn't agree with that.
Carlisle offered me his hand and helped me up from the table. I followed
him out into the main room. Esme had come back; she was mopping the floor
where I'd fallen—with straight bleach from the smell of it.
"Esme, let me do that." I could feel that my face was bright red again.
"I'm already done." She smiled up at me. "How do you feel?"
"I'm fine," I assured her. "Carlisle sews faster than any other doctor
I've had."
They both chuckled.
Alice and Edward came in the back doors. Alice hurried to my side, but
Edward hung back, his face indecipherable.
"C'mon," Alice said. "I'll get you something less macabre to wear."
She found me a shirt of Esme's that was close to the same color mine had
been. Charlie wouldn't notice, I was sure. The long white bandage on my
arm didn't look nearly as serious when I was no longer spattered in gore.
Charlie was never surprised to see me bandaged.
"Alice," I whispered as she headed back to the door.
"Yes?" She kept her voice low, too, and looked at me curiously, her head
cocked to the side.
"How bad is it?" I couldn't be sure if my whispering was a wasted effort.
Even though we were upstairs, with the door closed, perhaps he could hear
me.
Her face tensed. "I'm not sure yet."
"How's Jasper?"
She sighed. "He's very unhappy with himself. It's all so much more of
challenge for him, and he hates feeling weak."
"It's not his fault. You'll tell him that I'm not mad at him, not at all,
won't you?"
"Of course."
Edward was waiting for me by the front door. As I got to the bottom of
the staircase, he held it open without a word.
"Take your things!" Alice cried as I walked warily toward Edward. She
scooped up the two packages, one half-opened, and my camera from under
the piano, and pressed them into my good arm. "You can thank me later,
when you've opened them."
Esme and Carlisle both said a quiet goodnight. I could see them stealing
quick glances at their impassive son, much like I was.
It was a relief to be outside; I hurried past the lanterns and the roses,
now unwelcome reminders. Edward kept pace with me silently. He opened the
passenget side for me, and I climbed in without complaint.
On the dashboard was a big red ribbon, stuck to the new stereo. I pulled
it off, throwing it to the floor. As Edward slid into the other side, I
kicked the ribbon under my seat.
He didn't look at me or the stereo. Neither of us switched it on, and the
silence was somehow intensified by the sudden thunder of the engine. He
drove too fast down the dark, serpentine lane.
The silence was making me insane.
"Say something," I finally begged as he turned onto the freeway.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked in a detached voice.
I cringed at his remoteness. 'Tell me you forgive me."
That brought a flicker of life to his face—a flicker of anger. "Forgive
you? For what?"
"If I'd been more careful, nothing would have happened."
"Bella, you gave yourself a paper cut—that hardly deserves the death
penalty."
"It's still my fault."
My words opened up the floodgate.
"Your fault? If you'd cut yourself at Mike Newton's house, with Jessica
there and Angela and your other normal friends, the worst that could
possibly have happened would be what? Maybe they couldn't find you a
bandage? If you'd tripped and knocked over a pile of glass plates on your
own—without someone throwing you into them—even then, what's the worst?
You'd get blood on the seats when they drove you to the emergency room?
Mike Newton could have held your hand while they stitched you up—and he
wouldn't be righting the urge to kill you the whole time he was there.
Don't try to take any of this on yourself, Bella. It will only make me
more disgusted with myself."
"How the hell did Mike Newton end up in this conversation?" I demanded.
"Mike Newton ended up in this conversation because Mike Newton would be a
hell of a lot healthier for you to be with," he growled.
"I'd rather die than be with Mike Newton," I protested. "I'd rather die
than be with anyone but you."
"Don't be melodramatic, please."
"Well then, don't you be ridiculous."
He didn't answer. He glared through the windshield, his expression black.
I racked my brain for some way to salvage the evening. When we pulled up
in front of my house, I still hadn't come up with anything.
He killed the engine, but his hands stayed clenched around the steering
wheel.
"Will you stay tonight?" I asked.
"I should go home."
The last thing I wanted was for him to go wallow in remorse.
"For my birthday," I pressed.
"You can't have it both ways—either you want people to ignore your
birthday or you don't. One or the other."
His voice was stern, but not .is serious as before. I breathed a silent
sigh of relief.
"Okay. I've decided that I don't want you to ignore my birthday. I'll see
you upstairs."
I hopped out, reaching back in for my packages. He frowned.
"You don't have to take those."
"I want them," I responded automatically, and then wondered if he was
using reverse psychology.
"No, you don't. Carlisle and Esme spent money on you."
"I'll live." I tucked the presents awkwardly under my good arm and
slammed the door behind me. He was out of the truck and by my side in
less than a second.
"Let me carry them, at least." he said as he took them away. "I'll be in
your room."
I smiled. "Thanks."
"Happy birthday," he sighed, and leaned down to touch his lips to mine.
I reached up on my toes to make the kiss last longer when he pulled away.
He smiled my favorite crooked smile, and then he disappeared into the
darkness.
The game was still on; as soon as I walked through the front door I could
hear the announcer rambling over the babble of the crowd.
"Bell?" Charlie called.
"Hey, Dad," I said as I came around the corner. I held my arm close to my
side. The slight pressure burned, and I wrinkled my nose. The anesthetic
was apparently losing its effectiveness.
"How was it?" Charlie lounged across the sofa with his bare feet propped
up on the arm. What was left of his curly brown hair was crushed flat on
one side.
"Alice went overboard. Flowers, cake, candles, presents—the whole bit."
"What did they get you?"
"A stereo for my truck." And various unknowns.
"Wow."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Well, I'm calling it a night."
"I'll see you in the morning."
I waved. "See ya."
"What happened to your arm?"
I flushed and cursed silently. "I tripped. It's nothing."
"Bella," he sighed, shaking his head.
"Goodnight, Dad."
I hurried up to the bathroom, where I kept my pajamas for just such
nights as these. I shrugged into the matching tank top and cotton pants
that I'd gotten to replace the holey sweats I used to wear to bed,
wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches. I washed my face
one-handed, brushed my teeth, and then skipped to my room.
He was sitting in the center of my bed, toying idly with one of the
silver boxes.
"Hi," he said. His voice was sad. He was wallowing.
I went to the bed, pushed the presents out of his hands, and climbed into
his lap.
"Hi." I snuggled into his stone chest. "Can I open my presents now?"
"Where did the enthusiasm come from?" he wondered.
"You made me curious."
I picked up the long flat rectangle that must have been from Carlisle and
Esme.
"Allow me," he suggested. He took the gift from my hand and tore the
silver paper off with one fluid movement. He handed the rectangular white
box back to me.
"Are you sure I can handle lifting the lid?" I muttered, but he ignored
me.
Inside the box was a long thick piece of paper with an overwhelming
amount of fine print. It took me a minute to get the gist of the
information.
"We're going to Jacksonville?" And I was excited, in spite of myself. It
was a voucher for plane tickets, for both me and Edward.
"That's the idea."
"I can't believe it. Renee is going to flip! You don't mind, though, do
you? It's sunny, you'll have to stay inside all day."
"I think I can handle it," he said, and then frowned. "If I'd had any
idea that you could respond to a gift this appropriately, I would have
made you open it in front of Carlisle and Esme. I thought you'd complain."
"Well, of course it's too much. But I get to take you with me!"
He chuckled. "Now I wish I'd spent money on your present. I didn't
realize that you were capable of being reasonable."
I set the tickets aside and reached for his present, my curiosity
rekindled. He took it from me and unwrapped it like the first one.
He handed back a clear CD jewel case, with a blank silver CD inside.
"What is it?" I asked, perplexed.
He didn't say anything; he took the CD and reached around me to put it in
the CD player on the bedside table. He hit play, and we waited in
silence. Then the music began.
I listened, speechless and wide-eyed. I knew he was waiting for my
reaction, but I couldn't talk. Tears welled up, and I reached up to wipe
them away before they could spill over.
"Does your arm hurt?" he asked anxiously.
"No, it's not my arm. It's beautiful, Edward. You couldn't have given me
anything I would love more. I can't believe it." I shut up, so I could
listen.
It was his music, his compositions. The first piece on the CD was my
lullaby.
"I didn't think you would let me get a piano so I could play for you
here," he explained.
"You're right."
"How does your arm feel?"
"Just fine." Actually, it was starting to blaze under the bandage. I
wanted ice. I would have settled for his hand, but that would have given
me away.
"I'll get you some Tylenol."
"I don't need anything," I protested, but he slid me off his lap and
headed for the door.
"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.

Cái gì xuất phát từ trái tim thì sẽ đi đến trái tim
G. Piet – Pháp
Leo*

 
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 X-rays. 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
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NOVEMBER
===========================================================================
DECEMBER
===========================================================================
JANUARY

Cái gì xuất phát từ trái tim thì sẽ đi đến trái tim
G. Piet – Pháp
Leo*

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.
===========================================================================

Cái gì xuất phát từ trái tim thì sẽ đi đến trái tim
G. Piet – Pháp
Leo*

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
wind-whipped 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 red-brown 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
self-satisfaction. 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."
Billy was in the tiny square living room, a book in his hands. He set the
book in his lap and wheeled himself forward when he saw me.
"Well, what do you know! It's good to see you, Bella."
We shook hands. Mine was lost in his wide grasp.
"What brings you out here? Everything okay with Charlie?"
"Yes, absolutely. I just wanted to see Jacob—I haven't seen him in
forever."
Jacob's eyes brightened at my words. He was smiling so big it looked like
it would hurt his cheeks.
"Can you stay for dinner?" Billy was eager, too.
"No, I've got to feed Charlie, you know."
"I'll call him now," Billy suggested. "He's always invited."
I laughed to hide my discomfort. "It's not like you'll never see me
again. I promise I'll be back again soon—so much you'll get sick of me."
After all, if Jacob could fix the bike, someone had to teach me how to
ride it.
Billy chuckled in response. "Okay, maybe next time."
"So, Bella, what do you want to do?" Jacob asked.
"Whatever. What were you doing before I interrupted?" I was strangely
comfortable here. It was familiar, but only distantly. There were no
painful reminders of the recent past.
Jacob hesitated. "I was just heading out to work on my car, but we can do
something else…"
"No, that's perfect!" I interrupted. "I'd love to see your car."
"Okay," he said, not convinced. "It's out back, in the garage."
Even better, I thought to myself. I waved at Billy. "See you later."
A thick stand of trees and shrubbery concealed his garage from the house.
The garage was no more than a couple of big preformed sheds that had been
bolted together with their interior walls knocked out. Under this
shelter, raised on cinder blocks, was what looked to me like a completed
automobile. I recognized the symbol on the grille, at least.
"What kind of Volkswagen is that?" I asked.
"It's an old Rabbit—1986, a classic."
"How's it going?"
"Almost finished," he said cheerfully. And then his voice dropped into a
lower key. "My dad made good on his promise last spring."
"Ah," I said.
He seemed to understand my reluctance to open the subject. I tried not to
remember last May at the prom. Jacob had been bribed by his father with
money and car parts to deliver a message there. Billy wanted me to stay a
safe distance from the most important person in my life. It turned out
that his concern was, in the end, unnecessary. I was all too safe now.
But I was going to see what I could do to change that.
"Jacob, what do you know about motorcycles?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Some. My friend Embry has a dirt bike. We work on it
together sometimes. Why?"
"Well…" I pursed my lips as I considered. I wasn't sure if he could keep
his mouth shut, but I didn't have many other options. "I recently
acquired a couple of bikes, and they're not in the greatest condition. I
wonder if you could get them running?"
"Cool." He seemed truly pleased by the challenge. His face glowed. "I'll
give it a try."
I held up one finger in warning. "The thing is," I explained, "Charlie
doesn't approve of motorcycles. Honestly, he'd probably bust a vein in
his forehead if he knew about this. So you can't tell Billy."
"Sure, sure." Jacob smiled. "I understand."
"I'll pay you," I continued.
This offended him. "No. I want to help. You can't pay me."
"Well… how about a trade, then?" I was making this up as I went, but it
seemed reasonable enough. "I only need one bike—and I'll need lessons,
too. So how about this? I'll give you the other bike, and then you can
teach me."
"Swee-eet." He made the word into two syllables.
"Wait a sec—are you legal yet? When's your birthday?"
"You missed it," he teased, narrowing his eyes in mock resentment. "I'm
sixteen."
"Not that your age ever stopped you before," I muttered. "Sorry about
your birthday."
"Don't worry about it. I missed yours. What are you, forty?"
I sniffed. "Close."
"We'll have a joint party to make up for it."
"Sounds like a date."
His eyes sparkled at the word.
I needed to reign in the enthusiasm before I gave him the wrong idea—it
was just that it had been a long time since I'd felt so light and
buoyant. The rarity of the feeling made it more difficult to manage.
"Maybe when the bikes are finished—our present to ourselves," I added.
"Deal. When will you bring them down?"
I bit my lip, embarrassed. "They're in my truck now," I admitted.
"Great." He seemed to mean it.
"Will Billy see if we bring them around?"
He winked at me. "We'll be sneaky."
We eased around from the east, sticking to the trees when we were in view
of the windows, affecting a casual-looking stroll, just in case. Jacob
unloaded the bikes swiftly from the truck bed, wheeling them one by one
into the shrubbery where I hid. It looked too easy for him—I'd remembered
the bikes being much, much heavier than that.
"These aren't half bad," Jacob appraised as we pushed them through the
cover of the trees. "This one here will actually be worth something when
I'm done—it's an old Harley Sprint."
"That one's yours, then."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"These are going to take some cash, though," he said, frowning down at
the blackened metal. "We'll have to save up for parts first."
"We nothing," I disagreed. "If you're doing this for free, I'll pay for
the parts."
"I don't know…" he muttered.
"I've got some money saved. College fund, you know." College, schmollege,
I thought to myself. It wasn't like I'd saved up enough to go anywhere
special—and besides, I had no desire to leave Forks anyway. What
difference would it make if I skimmed a little bit off the top?
Jacob just nodded. This all made perfect sense to him.
As we skulked back to the makeshift garage, I contemplated my luck. Only
a teenage boy would agree to this: deceiving both our parents while
repairing dangerous vehicles using money meant for my college education.
He didn't see anything wrong with that picture. Jacob was a gift from the
gods.
===========================================================================

Cái gì xuất phát từ trái tim thì sẽ đi đến trái tim
G. Piet – Pháp
Leo*

6. FRIENDS
 
THE MOTORCYCLES DIDN'T NEED TO BE HIDDEN ANY further than simply placing
them in Jacob's shed. Billy's wheelchair couldn't maneuver the uneven
ground separating it from the house.
Jacob started pulling the first bike—the red one, which was destined for
me—to pieces immediately. He opened up the passenger door of the Rabbit
so I could sit on the seat instead of the ground. While he worked, Jacob
chattered happily, needing only the lightest of nudges from me to keep
the conversation rolling. He updated me on the progress of his sophomore
year of school, running on about his classes and his two best friends.
"Quil and Embry?" I interrupted. "Those are unusual names."
Jacob chuckled. "Quil's is a hand-me-down, and I think Embry got named
after a soap opera star. I can't say anything, though. They fight dirty
if you start on their names—they'll tag team you."
"Good friends." I raised one eyebrow.
"No, they are. Just don't mess with their names."
Just then a call echoed in the distance. "Jacob?" someone shouted.
"Is that Billy?" I asked.
"No." Jacob ducked his head, and it looked like he was blushing under his
brown skin. "Speak of the devil," he mumbled, "and the devil shall
appear."
"Jake? Are you out here?" The shouting voice was closer now.
"Yeah!" Jacob shouted back, and sighed.
We waited through the short silence until two tall, dark-skinned boys
strolled around the corner into the shed.
One was slender, and almost as tall as Jacob. His black hair was
chin-length and parted down the middle, one side tucked behind his left
ear while the right side swung free. The shorter boy was more burly. His
white T-shirt strained over his well-developed chest, and he seemed
gleefully conscious of that fact. His hair was so short it was almost a
buzz.
Both boys stopped short when they saw me. The thin boy glanced swiftly
back and forth between Jacob and me, while the brawny boy kept his eyes
on me, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"Hey, guys," Jacob greeted them halfheartedly.
"Hey, Jake," the short one said without looking away from me. I had to
smile in response, his grin was so impish. When I did, he winked at me.
"Hi, there."
"Quil, Embry—this is my friend, Bella."
Quil and Embry, I still didn't know which was which, exchanged a loaded
look.
"Charlie's kid, right?" the brawny boy asked me, holding out his hand.
"That's right," I confirmed, shaking hands with him. His grasp was firm;
it looked like he was flexing his bicep.
"I'm Quil Ateara," he announced grandly before releasing my hand.
"Nice to meet you, Quil."
"Hey, Bella. I'm Embry, Embry Call—you probably already figured that out,
though." Embry smiled a shy smile and waved with one hand, which he then
shoved in the pocket of his jeans.
I nodded. "Nice to meet you, too."
"So what are you guys doing?" Quil asked, still looking at me.
"Bella and I are going to fix up these bikes," Jacob explained
inaccurately. But bikes seemed to be the magic word. Both boys went to
examine Jacob's project, drilling him with educated questions. Many of
the words they used were unfamiliar to me, and I figured I'd have to have
a Y chromosome to really understand the excitement.
They were still immersed in talk of parts and pieces when I decided that
I needed to head back home before Charlie showed up here. With a sigh, I
slid out of the Rabbit.
Jacob looked up, apologetic. "We're boring you, aren't we?"
"Naw." And it wasn't a lie. I was enjoying myself—how strange. "I just
have to go cook dinner for Charlie."
"Oh… well, I'll finish taking these apart tonight and figure out what
more we'll need to get started rebuilding them. When do you want to work
on them again?"
"Could I come back tomorrow?" Sundays were the bane of my existence.
There was never enough homework to keep me busy.
Quil nudged Embry's arm and they exchanged grins.
Jacob smiled in delight. "That would be great!"
"If you make a list, we can go shop for parts," I suggested.
Jacob's face fell a little. "I'm still not sure I should let you pay for
everything."
I shook my head. "No way. I'm bankrolling this party. You just have to
supply the labor and expertise."
Embry rolled his eyes at Quil.
"That doesn't seem right," Jacob shook his head.
"Jake, if I took these to a mechanic, how much would he charge me?" I
pointed out.
He smiled. "Okay, you're getting a deal."
"Not to mention the riding lessons," I added.
Quil grinned widely at Embry and whispered something I didn't catch.
Jacob's hand flashed out to smack the back of Quil's head. "That's it,
get out," he muttered.
"No, really, I have to go," I protested, heading for the door. "I'll see
you tomorrow, Jacob."
As soon as I was out of sight, I heard Quil and Embry chorus, "Wooooo!"
The sound of a brief scuffle followed, interspersed with an "ouch" and a
"hey!"
"If either of you set so much as one toe on my land tomorrow…" I heard
Jacob threaten. His voice was lost as I walked through the trees.
I giggled quietly. The sound made my eyes widen in wonder. I was
laughing, actually laughing, and there wasn't even anyone watching. I
felt so weightless that I laughed again, just make the feeling last
longer.
I beat Charlie home. When he walked in I was just taking the fried
chicken out of the pan and laying it on a pile of paper towels.
"Hey, Dad." I flashed him a grin.
Shock flitted across his face before he pulled his expression together.
"Hey, honey," he said, his voice uncertain. "Did you have fun with Jacob?"
I started moving the food to the table. "Yeah, I did."
"Well, that's good." He was still cautious. "What did you two do?"
Now it was my turn to be cautious. "I hung out in his garage and watched
him work. Did you know he's rebuilding a Volkswagen?"
"Yeah, I think Billy mentioned that."
The interrogation had to stop when Charlie began chewing, but he
continued to study my face as he ate.
After dinner, I dithered around, cleaning the kitchen twice, and then did
my homework slowly in the front room while Charlie watched a hockey game.
I waited as long as I could, but finally Charlie mentioned the late hour.
When I didn't respond, he got up, stretched, and then left, turning out
the light behind him. Reluctantly, I followed.
As I climbed the stairs, I felt the last of the afternoon's abnormal
sense of well-being drain from my system, replaced by a dull fear at the
thought of what I was going to have to live through now.
I wasn't numb anymore. Tonight would, no doubt, be as horrific as last
night. I lay down on my bed and curled into a ball in preparation for the
onslaught. I squeezed my eyes shut and… the next thing I next I knew, it
was morning.
I stared at the pale silver light coming through my window, stunned.
For the first time in more than four months, I'd slept without dreaming.
Dreaming or screaming. I couldn't tell which emotion was stronger—the
relief or the shock.
I lay still in my bed for a few minutes, waiting for it to come back.
Because something must be coming. If not the pain, then the numbness. I
waited, but nothing happened. I felt more rested than I had in a long
time.
I didn't trust this to last. It was a slippery, precarious edge that I
balanced on, and it wouldn't take much to knock me back down. Just
glancing around my room with these suddenly clear eyes—noticing how
strange it looked, too tidy, like I didn't live here at all—was dangerous.
I pushed that thought from my mind, and concentrated, as I got dressed,
on the fact that I was going to see Jacob again today. The thought made
me feel almost… hopeful. Maybe it would be the same as yesterday. Maybe I
wouldn't have to remind myself to look interested and to nod or smile at
appropriate intervals, the way I had to with everyone else. Maybe… but I
wouldn't trust this to last, either. Wouldn't trust it to be the same—so
easy—as yesterday. I wasn't going to set myself up for disappointment
like that.
At breakfast, Charlie was being careful, too. He tried to hide his
scrutiny, keeping his eyes on his eggs until he thought I wasn't looking.
"What are you up to today?" he asked, eyeing a loose thread on the edge
of his cuff like he wasn't paying much attention to my answer.
"I'm going to hang out with Jacob again."
He nodded without looking up. "Oh," he said.
"Do you mind?" I pretended to worry. "I could stay…"
He glanced up quickly, a hint of panic in his eyes. "No, no! You go
ahead. Harry was going to come up to watch the game with me anyway."
"Maybe Harry could give Billy a ride up," I suggested. The fewer
witnesses the better.
"That's a great idea."
I wasn't sure if the game was just an excuse for kicking me out, but he
looked excited enough now. He headed to the phone while I donned my rain
jacket. I felt self-conscious with the checkbook shoved in my jacket
pocket. It was something I never used.
Outside, the rain came down like water slopped from a bucket. I had to
drive more slowly than I wanted to; I could hardly see a car length in
front of the truck. But I finally made it through the muddy lanes to
Jacob's house. Before I'd killed the engine, the front door opened and
Jacob came running out with a huge black umbrella.
He held it over my door while I opened it.
"Charlie called—said you were on your way," Jacob explained with a grin.
Effortlessly, without a conscious command to the muscles around my lips,
my answering smile spread across my face. A strange feeling of warmth
bubbled up in my throat, despite the icy rain splattering on my cheeks.
"Hi, Jacob."
"Good call on inviting Billy up." He held up his hand for a high five.
I had to reach so high to slap his hand that he laughed.
Harry showed up to get Billy just a few minutes later. Jacob took me on a
brief tour of his tiny room while we waited to be unsupervised.
"So where to, Mr. Goodwrench?" I asked as soon as the door closed behind
Billy.
Jacob pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and smoothed it out. "We'll
start at the dump first, see if we can get lucky. This could get a little
expensive," he warned me. "Those bikes are going to need a lot of help
before they'll run again." My face didn't look worried enough, so he
continued. "I'm talking about maybe more than a hundred dollars here."
I pulled my checkbook out, fanned myself with it, and rolled my eyes at
his worries. "We're covered."
It was a very strange kind of day. I enjoyed myself. Even at the dump, in
the slopping rain and ankle-deep mud. I wondered at first if it was just
the aftershock of losing the numbness, but I didn't think that was enough
of an explanation.
I was beginning to think it was mostly Jacob. It wasn't just that he was
always so happy to see me, or that he didn't watch me out of the corner
of his eye, waiting for me to do something that would mark me as crazy or
depressed. It was nothing that related to me at all.
It was Jacob himself. Jacob was simply a perpetually happy person, and he
carried that happiness with him like an aura, sharing it with whoever was
near him. Like an earthbound sun, whenever someone was within his
gravitational pull, Jacob warmed them. It was natural, a part of who he
was. No wonder I was so eager to see him.
Even when he commented on the gaping hole in my dashboard, it didn't send
me into a panic like it should have.
"Did the stereo break?" he wondered.
"Yeah," I lied.
He poked around in the cavity. "Who took it out? There's a lot of damage…"
"I did," I admitted.
He laughed. "Maybe you shouldn't touch the motorcycles too much."
"No problem."
According to Jacob, we did get lucky at the dump. He was very excited
about several grease-blackened pieces of twisted metal that he found; I
was just impressed that he could tell what they were supposed to be.
From there we went to the Checker Auto Parts down in Hoquiam. In my
truck, it was more than a two hour drive south on the winding freeway,
but the time passed easily with Jacob. He chattered about his friends and
his school, and I found myself asking questions, not even pretending,
truly curious to hear what he had to say.
"I'm doing all the talking," he complained after a long story about Quil
and the trouble he'd stirred up by asking out a senior's steady
girlfriend. "Why don't you take a turn? What's going on in Forks? It has
to be more exciting than La Push."
"Wrong," I sighed. "There's really nothing. Your friends are a lot more
interesting than mine. I like your friends. Quil's funny."
He frowned. "I think Quil likes you, too."
I laughed. "He's a little young for me."
Jacob's frown deepened. "He's not that much younger than you. It's just a
year and a few months."
I had a feeling we weren't talking about Quil anymore. I kept my voice
light, teasing. "Sure, but, considering the difference in maturity
between guys and girls, don't you have to count that in dog years? What
does that make me, about twelve years older?"
He laughed, rolling his eyes. "Okay, but if you're going to get picky
like that, you have to average in size, too. You're so small, I'll have
to knock ten years off your total."
"Five foot four is perfectly average." I sniffed. "It's not my fault
you're a freak."
We bantered like that till Hoquiam, still arguing over the correct
formula to determine age—I lost two more years because I didn't know how
to change a tire, but gained one back for being in charge of the
bookkeeping at my house—until we were in Checker, and Jacob had to
concentrate again. We found everything left on his list, and Jacob felt
confident that he could make a lot of progress with our haul.
By the time we got back to La Push, I was twenty-three and he was
thirty—he was definitely weighting skills in his favor.
I hadn't forgotten the reason for what I was doing. And, even though I
was enjoying myself more than I'd thought possible, there was no
lessening of my original desire. I still wanted to cheat. It was
senseless, and I really didn't care. I was going to be as reckless as I
could possibly manage in Forks. I would not be the only keeper of an
empty contract. Getting to spend time with Jacob was just a much bigger
perk than I'd expected.
Billy wasn't back yet, so we didn't have to be sneaky about unloading our
day's spoils. As soon as we had everything laid out on the plastic floor
next to Jacob's toolbox, he went right to work, still talking and
laughing while his fingers combed expertly through the metal pieces in
front of him.
Jacob's skill with his hands was fascinating. They looked too big for the
delicate tasks they performed with ease and precision. While he worked,
he seemed almost graceful. Unlike when he was on his feet; there, his
height and big feet made him nearly as dangerous as I was.
Quil and Embry did not show up, so maybe his threat yesterday had been
taken seriously.
The day passed too quickly. It got dark outside the mouth of the garage
before I was expecting it, and then we heard Billy calling for us.
I jumped up to help Jacob put things away, hesitating because I wasn't
sure what I should touch.
"Just leave it," he said. "I'll work on it later tonight."
"Don't forget your schoolwork or anything," I said, feeling a little
guilty. I didn't want him to get in trouble. That plan was just for me.
"Bella?"
Both our heads snapped up as Charlie's familiar voice wafted through the
trees, sounding closer than the house.
"Shoot," I muttered. "Coming!" I yelled toward the house.
"Let's go." Jacob smiled, enjoying the cloak-and-dagger. He snapped the
light off, and for a moment I was blind. Jacob grabbed my hand and towed
me out of the garage and through the trees, his feet finding the familiar
path easily. His hand was rough, and very warm.
Despite the path, we were both tripping over our feet in the darkness. So
we were also both laughing when the house came into view. The laughter
did not go deep; it was light and superficial, but still nice. I was sure
he wouldn't notice the faint hint of hysteria. I wasn't used to laughing,
and it felt right and also very wrong at the same time.
Charlie was standing under the little back porch, and Billy was sitting
in the doorway behind them.
"Hey, Dad," we both said at the same time, and that started us laughing
again.
Charlie stared at me with wide eyes that flashed down to note Jacob's
hand around mine.
"Billy invited us for dinner," Charlie said to us in an absentminded tone.
"My super secret recipe for spaghetti. Handed down for generations,"
Billy said gravely.
Jacob snorted. "I don't think Ragu's actually been around that long."
The house was crowded. Harry Clearwater was there, too, with his
family—his wife, Sue, whom I knew vaguely from my childhood summers in
Forks, and his two children. Leah was a senior like me, but a year older.
She was beautiful in an exotic way—perfect copper skin, glistening black
hair, eyelashes like feather dusters—and preoccupied. She was on Billy's
phone when we got in, and she never let it go. Seth was fourteen; he hung
on Jacob's every word with idolizing eyes.
There were too many of us for the kitchen table, so Charlie and Harry
brought chairs out to the yard, and we ate spaghetti off plates on our
laps in the dim light from Billy's open door. The men talked about the
game, and Harry and Charlie made fishing plans. Sue teased her husband
about his cholesterol and tried, unsuccessfully, to shame him into eating
something green and leafy. Jacob talked mostly to me and Seth, who
interrupted eagerly whenever Jacob seemed in danger of forgetting him.
Charlie watched me, trying to be inconspicuous about it, with pleased but
cautious eyes.
It was loud and sometimes confusing as everyone talked over everyone
else, and the laughter from one joke interrupted the telling of another.
I didn't have to speak often, but I smiled a lot, and only because I felt
like it.
I didn't want to leave.
This was Washington, though, and the inevitable rain eventually broke up
the party; Billy's living room was much too small to provide an option
for continuing the get-together. Harry had driven Charlie down, so we
rode together in my truck on the way back home. He asked about my day,
and I told mostly the truth—that I'd gone with Jacob to look at parts and
then watched him work in his garage.
"You think you'll visit again anytime soon?" he wondered, trying to be
casual about it.
"Tomorrow after school," I admitted. "I'll take homework, don't worry."
"You be sure to do that," he ordered, trying to disguise his satisfaction.
I was nervous when we got to the house. I didn't want to go upstairs. The
warmth of Jacob's presence was fading and, in its absence, the anxiety
grew stronger. I was sure I wouldn't get away with two peaceful nights of
sleep in a row.
To put bedtime off, I checked my e-mail; there was a new message from
Renee.
She wrote about her day, a new book club that rilled the time slot of the
meditation classes she'd just quit, her week subbing in the second grade,
missing her kindergarteners. She wrote that Phil was enjoying his new
coaching job, and that they were planning a second honeymoon trip to
Disney World.
And I noticed that the whole thing read like a journal entry, rather than
a letter to someone else. Remorse flooded through me, leaving an
uncomfortable sting behind. Some daughter I was.
I wrote back to her quickly, commenting on each part of her letter,
volunteering information of my own—describing the spaghetti party at
Billy's and how I felt watching Jacob build useful things out of small
pieces of metal—awed and slightly envious. I made no reference to the
change this letter would be from the ones she'd received in the last
several months. I could barely remember what I'd written to her even as
recently as last week, but I was sure it wasn't very responsive. The more
I thought about it, the guiltier I felt; I really must have worried her.
I stayed up extra late after that, finishing more homework than strictly
necessary. But neither sleep deprivation nor the time spent with
Jacob—being almost happy in a shallow kind of way—could keep the dream
away for two nights in a row.
I woke shuddering, my scream muffled by the pillow.
As the dim morning light filtered through the fog outside my window, I
lay still in bed and tried to shake off the dream. There had been a small
difference last night, and I concentrated on that.
Last night I had not been alone in the woods. Sam Uley—the man who had
pulled me from the forest floor that night I couldn't bear to think of
consciously—was there. It was an odd, unexpected alteration. The man's
dark eyes had been surprisingly unfriendly, filled with some secret he
didn't seem inclined to share. I'd stared at him as often as my frantic
searching had allowed; it made me uncomfortable, under all the usual
panic, to have him there. Maybe that was because, when I didn't look
directly at him, his shape seemed to shiver and change in my peripheral
vision. Yet he did nothing but stand and watch. Unlike the time when we
had met in reality, he did not offer me his help.
Charlie stared at me during breakfast, and I tried to ignore him. I
supposed I deserved it. I couldn't expect him not to worry. It would
probably be weeks before he stopped watching for the return of the
zombie, and I would just have to try to not let it bother me. After all,
I would be watching for the return of the zombie, too. Two days was
hardly long enough to call me cured.
School was the opposite. Now that I was paying attention, it was clear
that no one was watching here.
I remembered the first day I'd come to Forks High School—how desperately
I'd wished that I could turn gray, fade into the wet concrete of the
sidewalk like an oversized chameleon. It seemed I was getting that wish
answered, a year late.
It was like I wasn't there. Even my teachers' eyes slid past my seat as
if it were empty.
I listened all through the morning, hearing once again the voices of the
people around me. I tried to catch up on what was going on, but the
conversations were so disjointed that I gave up.
Jessica didn't look up when I sat down next to her in Calculus.
"Hey, Jess," I said with put-on nonchalance. "How was the rest of your
weekend?"
She looked at me with suspicious eyes. Could she still be angry? Or was
she just too impatient to deal with a crazy person?
"Super," she said, turning back to her book.
"That's good," I mumbled.
The figure of speech cold shoulder seemed to have some literal truth to
it. I could feel the warm air blowing from the floor vents, but I was
still too cold. I took the jacket off the back of my chair and put it on
again.
My fourth hour class got out late, and the lunch table I always sat at
was full by the time I arrived. Mike was there, Jessica and Angela,
Conner, Tyler, Eric and Lauren. Katie Marshall, the redheaded junior who
lived around the corner from me, was sitting with Eric, and Austin
Marks—older brother to the boy with the motorcycles—was next to her. I
wondered how long they'd been sitting here, unable to remember if this
was the first day or something that was a regular habit.
I was beginning to get annoyed with myself. I might as well have been
packed in Styrofoam peanuts through the last semester.
No one looked up when I sat down next to Mike, even though the chair
squealed stridently against the linoleum as I dragged it back.
I tried to catch up with the conversation.
Mike and Conner were talking sports, so I gave up on that one at once.
"Where's Ben today?" Lauren was asking Angela. I perked up, interested. I
wondered if that meant Angela and Ben were still together.
I barely recognized Lauren. She'd cut off all her blond, corn-silk
hair—now she had a pixie cut so short that the back was shaved like a
boy. What an odd thing for her to do. I wished I knew the reason behind
it. Did she get gum stuck in it? Did she sell it? Had all the people she
was habitually nasty to caught her behind the gym and scalped her? I
decided it wasn't fair for me to judge her now by my former opinion. For
all I knew, she'd turned into a nice person.
"Ben's got the stomach flu," Angela said in her quiet, calm voice.
"Hopefully it's just some twenty-four hour thing. He was really sick last
night."
Angela had changed her hair, too. She'd grown out her layers.
"What did you two do this weekend?" Jessica asked, not sounding as if she
cared about the answer. I'd bet that this was just an opener so she could
tell her own stories. I wondered if she would talk about Port Angeles
with me sitting two seats away? Was I that invisible, that no one would
feel uncomfortable discussing me while I was here?
"We were going to have a picnic Saturday, actually, but… we changed our
minds," Angela said. There was an edge to her voice that caught my
interest.
Jess, not so much. "That's too bad," she said, about to launch into her
story. But I wasn't the only one who was paying attention.
"What happened?" Lauren asked curiously.
"Well," Angela said, seeming more hesitant than usual, though she was
always reserved, "we drove up north, almost to the hot springs—there's a
good spot just about a mile up the trail. But, when we were halfway
there… we saw something."
"Saw something? What?" Lauren's pale eyebrows pulled together. Even Jess
seemed to be listening now.
"I don't know," Angela said. "We think it was a bear. It was black,
anyway, but it seemed… too big."
Lauren snorted. "Oh, not you, too!" Her eyes turned mocking, and I
decided I didn't need to give her the benefit of the doubt. Obviously her
personality had not changed as much as her hair. "Tyler tried to sell me
that one last week."
"You're not going to see any bears that close to the resort," Jessica
said, siding with Lauren.
"Really," Angela protested in a low voice, looking down at the table. "We
did see it."
Lauren snickered. Mike was still talking to Conner, not paying attention
to the girls.
"No, she's right," I threw in impatiently. "We had a hiker in just
Saturday who saw the bear, too, Angela. He said it was huge and black and
just outside of town, didn't he, Mike?"
There was a moment of silence. Every pair of eyes at the table turned to
stare at me in shock. The new girl, Katie, had her mouth hanging open
like she'd just witnessed an explosion. Nobody moved.
"Mike?" I muttered, mortified. "Remember the guy with the bear story?"
"S-sure," Mike stuttered after a second. I didn't know why he was looking
at me so strangely. I talked to him at work, didn't I? Did I? I thought
so…
Mike recovered. "Yeah, there was a guy who said he saw a huge black bear
right at the trailhead—bigger than a grizzly," he confirmed.
"Hmph." Lauren turned to Jessica, her shoulders stiff, and changed the
subject.
"Did you hear back from USC?" she asked.
Everyone else looked away, too, except for Mike and Angela. Angela smiled
at me tentatively, and I hurried to return the smile.
"So, what did you do this weekend, Bella?" Mike asked, curious, but oddly
wary.
Everyone but Lauren looked back, waiting for my response.
"Friday night, Jessica and I went to a movie in Port Angeles. And then I
spent Saturday afternoon and most of Sunday down at La Push."
The eyes flickered to Jessica and back to me. Jess looked irritated. I
wondered if she didn't want anyone to know she'd gone out with me, or
whether she just wanted to be the one to tell the story.
"What movie did you see?" Mike asked, starting to smile.
"Dead End—the one with the zombies." I grinned in encouragement. Maybe
some of the damage I'd done in these past zombie months was reparable.
"I heard that was scary. Did you think so?" Mike was eager to continue
the conversation.
"Bella had to leave at the end, she was so freaked," Jessica inserted
with a sly smile.
I nodded, trying to look embarrassed. "It was pretty scary."
Mike didn't stop asking me questions till lunch was over. Gradually, the
others were able to start up their own conversations again, though they
still looked at me a lot. Angela talked mostly to Mike and me, and, when
I got up to dump my tray, she followed.
"Thanks," she said in a low voice when we were away from the table.
"For what?"
"Speaking up, sticking up for me."
"No problem."
She looked at me with concern, but not the offensive, maybe-she's-lost-it
kind. "Are you okay?"
This is why I'd picked Jessica over Angela—though I'd always liked Angela
more—for the girls' night movie. Angela was too perceptive.
"Not completely," I admitted. "But I'm a little bit better."
"I'm glad," she said. "I've missed you."
Lauren and Jessica strolled by us then, and I heard Lauren whisper
loudly, "Oh, joy Bella's back."
Angela rolled her eyes at them, and smiled at me in encouragement.
I sighed It was like I was starting all over again.
"What's today's date?" I wondered suddenly.
"It's January nineteenth."
"Hmm."
"What is it?" Angela asked.
"It was a year ago yesterday that I had my first day here," I mused.
"Nothing's changed much," Angela muttered, looking after Lauren and
Jessica.
"I know, I agreed I was just thinking the same thing."

Cái gì xuất phát từ trái tim thì sẽ đi đến trái tim
G. Piet – Pháp
Leo*

7 REPETITION
 
I WASN'T SURE WHAT THE HELL I WAS DOING HERE Was I trying to push myself
back into the zombie stupor? Had I turned masochistic—developed a taste
for torture? I should have gone straight down to La Push I felt much,
much healthier around Jacob This was not a healthy thing to do.
But I continued to drive slowly down the overgrown lane, twisting through
the trees that arched over me like a green, living tunnel My hands were
shaking, so I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
I knew that part of the reason I did this was the nightmare, now that I
was really awake, the nothingness of the dream gnawed on my nerves, a dog
worrying a bone.
There was something to search for. Unattainable and impossible, uncaring
and distracted… but he was out there, somewhere. I had to believe that.
The other part was the strange sense of repetition I'd felt at school
today, the coincidence of the date. The feeling that I was starting
over—perhaps the way my first day would have gone if I'd really been the
most unusual person in the cafeteria that afternoon.
The words ran through my head, tonelessly, like I was reading them rather
than hearing them spoken:
It will be as if I'd never existed.
I was lying to myself by splitting my reason for coming here into just
two parts. I didn't want to admit the strongest motivation. Because it
was mentally unsound.
The truth was that I wanted to hear his voice again, like I had in the
strange delusion Friday night. For that brief moment, when his voice came
from some other part of me than my conscious memory, when his voice was
perfect and honey smooth rather than the pale echo my memories usually
produced, I was able to remember without pain. It hadn't lasted; the pain
had caught up with me, as I was sure it would for this fool's errand. But
those precious moments when I could hear him again were an irresistible
lure. I had to find some way to repeat the experience… or maybe the
better word was episode.
I was hoping that déjà vu was the key. So I was going to his home, a
place I hadn't been since my ill-fated birthday party, so many months ago.
The thick, almost jungle-like growth crawled slowly past my windows. The
drive wound on and on. I started to go faster, getting edgy. How long had
I been driving? Shouldn't I have reached the house yet? The lane was so
overgrown that it did not look familiar.
What if I couldn't find it? I shivered. What if there was no tangible
proof at all?
Then there was the break in the trees that I was looking for, only it was
not so pronounced as before. The flora here did not wait long to reclaim
any land that was left unguarded. The tall ferns had infiltrated the
meadow around the house, crowding against the trunks of the cedars, even
the wide porch. It was like the lawn had been flooded—waist-high—with
green, feathery waves.
And the house was there, but it was not the same. Though nothing had
changed on the outside, the emptiness screamed from the blank windows. It
was creepy. For the first time since I'd seen the beautiful house, it
looked like a fitting haunt for vampires.
I hit the brakes, looking away. I was afraid to go farther.
But nothing happened. No voice in my head.
So I left the engine running and jumped out into the fern sea. Maybe,
like Friday night, if I walked forward…
I approached the barren, vacant face slowly, my truck rumbling out a
comforting roar behind me. I stopped when I got to the porch stairs,
because there was nothing here. No lingering sense of their presence… of
his presence. The house was solidly here, but it meant little. Its
concrete reality would not counteract the nothingness of the nightmares.
I didn't go any closer. I didn't want to look in the windows. I wasn't
sure which would be harder to see. If the rooms were bare, echoing empty
from floor to ceiling, that would certainly hurt. Like my grandmother's
funeral, when my mother had insisted that I stay outside during the
viewing. She had said that I didn't need to see Gran that way, to
remember her that way, rather than alive.
But wouldn't it be worse if there were no change? If the couches sat just
as I'd last seen them, the paintings on the walls—worse still, the piano
on its low platform? It would be second only to the house disappearing
all together, to see that there was no physical possession that tied them
in anyway. That everything remained, untouched and forgotten, behind them.
Just like me.
I turned my back on the gaping emptiness and hurried to my truck. I
nearly ran. I was anxious to be gone, to get back to the human world. I
felt hideously empty, and I wanted to see Jacob. Maybe I was developing a
new kind of sickness, another addiction, like the numbness before. I
didn't care. I pushed my truck as fast as it would go as I barreled
toward my fix.
Jacob was waiting for me. My chest seemed to relax as soon as I saw him,
making it easier to breathe.
"Hey, Bella," he called.
I smiled in relief. "Hey, Jacob," I waved at Billy, who was looking out
the window.
"Let's get to work," Jacob said in a low but eager voice.
I was somehow able to laugh. "You seriously aren't sick of me yet?" I
wondered. He must be starting to ask himself how desperate I was for
company.
Jacob led the way around the house to his garage.
"Nope. Not yet."
"Please let me know when I start getting on your nerves. I don't want to
be a pain."
"Okay." He laughed, a throaty sound. "I wouldn't hold your breath for
that, though."
When I walked into the garage, I was shocked to see the red bike standing
up, looking like a motorcycle rather than a pile of jagged metal.
"Jake, you're amazing," I breathed.
He laughed again. "I get obsessive when I have a project." He shrugged.
"If I had any brains I'd drag it out a little bit."
"Why?"
He looked down, pausing for so long that I wondered if he hadn't heard my
question. Finally, he asked me, "Bella, if I told you that I couldn't fix
these bikes, what would you say?"
I didn't answer right away, either, and he glanced up to check my
expression.
"I would say… that's too bad, but I'll bet we could figure out something
else to do. If we got really desperate, we could even do homework."
Jacob smiled, and his shoulders relaxed. He sat down next to the bike and
picked up a wrench. "So you think you'll still come over when I'm done,
then?"
"Is that what you meant?" I shook my head. "I guess I am taking advantage
of your very underpriced mechanical skills. But as long as you let me
come over, I'll be here."
"Hoping to see Quil again?" he teased.
"You caught me."
He chuckled. "You really like spending time with me?" he asked, marveling.
"Very, very much. And I'll prove it. I have to work tomorrow, but
Wednesday we'll do something nonmechanical."
"Like what?"
"I have no idea. We can go to my place so you won't be tempted to be
obsessive. You could bring your schoolwork—you have to be getting behind,
because I know I am."
"Homework might be a good idea." He made a face, and I wondered how much
he was leaving undone to be with me.
"Yes," I agreed. "We'll have to start being responsible occasionally, or
Billy and Charlie aren't going to be so easygoing about this." I made a
gesture indicating the two of us as a single entity. He liked that—he
beamed.
"Homework once a week?" he proposed.
"Maybe we'd better go with twice," I suggested, thinking of the pile I'd
just been assigned today.
He sighed a heavy sigh. Then he reached over his toolbox to a paper
grocery sack. He pulled out two cans of soda, cracking one open and
handing it to me. He opened the second, and held it up ceremoniously.
"Here's to responsibility," he toasted. "Twice a week."
"And recklessness every day in between," I emphasized.
He grinned and touched his can to mine.
I got home later than I'd planned and found Charlie had ordered a pizza
rather than wait for me. He wouldn't let me apologize.
"I don't mind," he assured me. "You deserve a break from all the cooking,
anyway."
I knew he was just relieved that I was still acting like a normal person,
and he was not about to rock the boat.
I checked my e-mail before I started on my homework, and there was a long
one from Renee. She gushed over every detail I'd provided her with, so I
sent back another exhaustive description of my day. Everything but the
motorcycles. Even happy-go-lucky Renee was likely to be alarmed by that.
School Tuesday had its ups and downs. Angela and Mike seemed ready to
welcome me back with open arms—to kindly overlook my few months of
aberrant behavior. Jess was more resistant. I wondered if she needed a
formal written apology for the Port Angeles incident.
Mike was animated and chatty at work. It was like he'd stored up the
semester's worth of talk, and it was all spilling out now. I found that I
was able to smile and laugh with him, though it wasn't as effortless as
it was with Jacob. It seemed harmless enough, until quitting time.
Mike put the closed sign in the window while I folded my vest and shoved
it under the counter.
"This was fun tonight," Mike said happily.
"Yeah," I agreed, though I'd much rather have spent the afternoon in the
garage.
"It's too bad that you had to leave the movie early last week."
I was a little confused by his train of thought. I shrugged. "I'm just a
wimp, I guess."
"What I mean is, you should go to a better movie, something you'd enjoy,"
he explained.
"Oh," I muttered, still confused.
"Like maybe this Friday. With me. We could go see something that isn't
scary at all."
I bit my lip.
I didn't want to screw things up with Mike, not when he was one of the
only people ready to forgive me for being crazy. But this, again, felt
far too familiar. Like the last year had never happened. I wished I had
Jess as an excuse this time.
"Like a date?" I asked. Honesty was probably the best policy at this
point. Get it over with.
He processed the tone of my voice "If you want. But it doesn't have to be
like that."
"I don't date," I said slowly, realizing how true that was. That whole
world seemed impossibly distant.
"Just as friends?" he suggested. His clear blue eyes were not as eager
now. I hoped he really meant that we could be friends anyway.
"That would be fun. But I actually have plans already this Friday, so
maybe next week?"
"What are you doing?" he asked, less casually than I think he wanted to
sound.
"Homework. I have a… study session planned with a friend."
"Oh. Okay. Maybe next week."
He walked me to my car, less exuberant than before. It reminded me so
clearly of my first months in Forks. I'd come full circle, and now
everything felt like an echo—an empty echo, devoid of the interest it
used to have.
The next night, Charlie didn't seem the smallest bit surprised to find
Jacob and me sprawled across the living room floor with our books
scattered around us, so I guessed that he and Billy were talking behind
our backs.
"Hey, kids," he said, his eyes straying to the kitchen. The smell of the
lasagna I'd spent the afternoon making—while Jacob watched and
occasionally sampled—wafted down the hall; I was being good, trying to
atone for all the pizza.
Jacob stayed for dinner, and took a plate home for Billy. He grudgingly
added another year to my negotiable age for being a good cook.
Friday was the garage, and Saturday, after my shift at Newton's, was
homework again. Charlie felt secure enough in my sanity to spend the day
fishing with Harry. When he got back, we were all done—feeling very
sensible and mature about it, too—and watching Monster Garage on the
Discovery Channel.
"I probably ought to go." Jacob sighed. "It's later than I thought."
"Okay, fine," I grumbled. "I'll take you home."
He laughed at my unwilling expression—it seemed to please him.
"Tomorrow, back to work," I said as soon as we were safe in the truck.
"What time do you want me to come up?"
There was an unexplained excitement in his answering smile. "I'll call
you first, okay?"
"Sure." I frowned to myself, wondering what was up. His smile widened.
I cleaned the house the next morning—waiting for Jacob to call and trying
to shake off the Litest nightmare. The scenery had changed. Last night
I'd wandered in a wide sea of ferns interspersed with huge hemlock trees.
There was nothing else there, and I was lost, wandering aimless and
alone, searching for nothing. I wanted to kick myself for the stupid
field trip last week. I shoved the dream out of my conscious mind, hoping
it would stay locked up somewhere and not escape again.
Charlie was outside washing the cruiser, so when the phone rang, I
dropped the toilet brush and ran downstairs to answer it.
"Hello?" I asked breathlessly.
"Bella," Jacob said, a strange, formal tone to his voice.
"Hey, Jake."
"I believe that… we have a date" he said, his tone thick with
implications.
It took me a second before I got it. "They're done? I can't believe it!"
What perfect timing. I needed something to distract me from nightmares
and nothingness.
"Yeah, they run and everything."
"Jacob, you are absolutely, without a doubt, the most talented and
wonderful person I know. You get ten years for this one."
"Cool! I'm middle-aged now."
I laughed. "I'm on my way up!"
I threw the cleaning supplies under the bathroom counter and grabbed my
jacket.
"Headed to see Jake," Charlie said when I ran past him. It wasn't really
a question.
"Yep," I replied as I jumped in my truck.
"I'll be at the station later," Charlie called after me.
"Okay," I yelled back, turning the key.
Charlie said something else, but I couldn't hear him clearly over the
roar of the engine. It sounded sort of like, "Where's the fire?"
I parked my truck off to the side of the Blacks' house, close to the
trees, to make it easier for us to sneak the bikes out. When I got out, a
splash of color caught my eye—two shiny motorcycles, one red, one black,
were hidden under a spruce, invisible from the house. Jacob was prepared.
There was a piece of blue ribbon tied in a small bow around each of the
handlebars. I was laughing at that when Jacob ran out of the house.
"Ready?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes sparkling.
I glanced over his shoulder, and there was no sign of Billy.
"Yeah," I said, but I didn't feel quite as excited as before; I was
trying to imagine myself actually on the motorcycle.
Jacob loaded the bikes into the bed of the truck with ease, laying them
carefully on their sides so they didn't show.
"Let's go," he said, his voice higher than usual with excitement. "I know
the perfect spot—no one will catch us there."
We drove south out of town. The dirt road wove in and out of the
forest—sometimes there was nothing but trees, and then there would
suddenly be a breathtaking glimpse of the Pacific Ocean, reaching to the
horizon, dark gray under the clouds. We were above the shore, on top of
the cliffs that bordered the beach here and the view seemed to stretch on
forever.
I was driving slowly, so that I could safely stare out across the ocean
now and then, as the road wound closer to the sea cliffs. Jacob was
talking about finishing the bikes, but his descriptions were getting
technical, so I wasn't paying close attention.
That was when I noticed four figures standing on a rocky ledge, much too
close to the precipice. I couldn't tell from the distance how old they
were, but I assumed they were men. Despite the chill in the air today,
they seemed to be wearing only shorts.
As I watched, the tallest person stepped closer to the brink. I slowed
automatically, my foot hesitating over the brake pedal.
And then he threw himself off the edge.
"No!" I shouted, stomping down on the brake.
"What's wrong?" Jacob shouted back, alarmed.
"That guy—he just jumped off the cliff! Why didn't they stop him? We've
got to call an ambulance!" I threw open my door and started to get out,
which made no sense at all. The fastest way to a phone was to drive back
to Billy's. But I couldn't believe what I'd just seen. Maybe,
subconsciously, I hoped I would see something different without the glass
of the windshield in the way.
Jacob laughed, and I spun to stare at him wildly. How could he be so
calloused, so cold-blooded?
"They're just cliff diving, Bella. Recreation. La Push doesn't have a
mall, you know." He was teasing, but there was a strange note of
irritation in his voice.
"Cliff diving?" I repeated, dazed. I stared in disbelief as a second
figure stepped to the edge, paused, and then very gracefully leaped into
space. He fell for what seemed like an eternity to me, finally cutting
smoothly into the dark gray waves below.
"Wow. It's so high." I slid back into my seat, still staring wide-eyed at
the two remaining divers. "It must be a hundred feet."
"Well, yeah, most of us jump from lower down, that rock that juts out
from the cliff about halfway." He pointed out his window. The place he
indicated did seem much more reasonable. "Those guys are insane. Probably
showing off how tough they are. I mean, really, it's freezing today. That
water can't feel good." He made a disgruntled face, as if the stunt
personally offended him. It surprised me a little. I would have thought
Jacob was nearly impossible to upset.
"You jump off the cliff?" I hadn't missed the "us."
"Sure, sure." He shrugged and grinned. "It's fun. A little scary, kind of
a rush."
I looked back at the cliffs, where the third figure was pacing the edge.
I'd never witnessed anything so reckless in all my life. My eyes widened,
and I smiled. "Jake, you have to take me cliff diving."
He frowned back at me, his face disapproving. "Bella, you just wanted to
call an ambulance for Sam," he reminded me. I was surprised that he could
tell who it was from this distance.
"I want to try," I insisted, start ing to get out of the car again.
Jacob grabbed my wrist. "Not today, all right? Can we at least wait for a
warmer day?"
"Okay, fine," I agreed. With the door open, the glacial breeze was
raising goose bumps on my arm. "But I want to go soon."
"Soon." He rolled his eyes. "Sometimes you're a little strange, Bella. Do
you know that?"
I sighed. "Yes."
"And we're not jumping off the top."
I watched, fascinated, as the third boy made a running start and flung
himself farther into the empty air than the other two. He twisted and
cartwheeled through space as he fell, like he was skydiving. He looked
absolutely free—unthinking and utterly irresponsible.
"Fine," I agreed. "Not the first time, anyway."
Now Jacob sighed.
"Are we going to try out the bikes or not?" he demanded.
"Okay, okay," I said, tearing my eyes away from the last person waiting
on the cliff. I put my seat belt back on and closed the door. The engine
was still running, roaring as it idled. We started down the road again.
"So who were those guys—the crazy ones?" I wondered.
He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "The La Push gang."
"You have a gang?" I asked. I realized that I sounded impressed.
He laughed once at my reaction. "Not like that. I swear, they're like
hall monitors gone bad. They don't start fights, they keep the peace." He
snorted. "There was this guy from up somewhere by the Makah rez, big guy
too, scary-looking. Well, word got around that he was selling meth to
kids, and Sam Uley and his disciples ran him off our land. They're all
about our land, and tribe pride… it's getting ridiculous. The worst part
is that the council takes them seriously. Embry said that the council
actually meets with Sam." He shook his head, face full of resentment.
"Embry also heard from Leah Clearwater that they call themselves
'protectors' or something like that."
Jacob's hands were clenched into fists, as if he'd like to hit something.
I'd never seen this side of him.
I was surprised to hear Sam Uley's name. I didn't want it to bring back
the images from my nightmare, so I made a quick observation to distract
myself. "You don't like them very much."
"Does it show?" he asked sarcastically.
"Well… It doesn't sound like they're doing anything bad." I tried to
soothe him, to make him cheerful again. "Just sort of annoyingly
goody-two-shoes for a gang."
"Yeah. Annoying is a good word. They're always showing off—like the cliff
thing. They act like… like, I don't know. Like tough guys. I was hanging
out at the store with Embry and Quil once, last semester, and Sam came by
with his followers, Jared and Paul. Quil said something, you know how
he's got a big mouth, and it pissed Paul off. His eyes got all dark, and
he sort of smiled—no, he showed his teeth but he didn't smile—and it was
like he was so mad he was shaking or something. But Sam put his hand
against Paul's chest and shook his head. Paul looked at him for a minute
and calmed down. Honestly, it was like Sam was holding him back—like Paul
was going to tear us up if Sam didn't stop him." He groaned. "Like a bad
western. You know, Sam's a pretty big guy, he's twenty. But Paul's just
sixteen, too, shorter than me and not as beefy as Quil. I think any one
of us could take him."
"Tough guys," I agreed. I could see it in my head as he described it, and
it reminded me of something… a trio of tall, dark men standing very still
and close together in my father's living room. The picture was sideways,
because my head was lying against the couch while Dr. Gerandy and Charlie
leaned over me… Had that been Sam's gang?
I spoke quickly again to divert myself from the bleak memories. "Isn't
Sam a little too old for this kind of thing?"
"Yeah. He was supposed to go to college, but he stayed. And no one gave
him any crap about it, either. The whole council pitched a fit when my
sister turned down a partial scholarship and got married. But, oh no, Sam
Uley can do no wrong."
His face was set in unfamiliar lines of outrage—outrage and something
else I didn't recognize at first.
"It all sounds really annoying and… strange. But I don't get why you're
taking it so personally." I peeked over at his face, hoping I hadn't
offended him. He was suddenly calm, staring out the side window.
"You just missed the turn," he said in an even voice.
I executed a very wide U-turn, nearly hitting a tree as my circle ran the
truck halfway off the road.
"Thanks for the heads-up," I muttered as I started up the side road.
"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
It was quiet for a brief minute.
"You can stop anywhere along here," he said softly.
I pulled over and cut the engine. My ears rang in the silence that
followed. We both got out, and Jacob headed around to the back to get the
bikes. I tried to read his expression. Something more was bothering him.
I'd hit a nerve.
He smiled halfheartedly as he pushed the red bike to my side. "Happy late
birthday. Are you ready for this?"
"I think so." The bike suddenly looked intimidating, frightening, as I
realized I would soon be astride it.
"We'll take it slow," he promised. I gingerly leaned the motorcycle
against the truck's fender while he went to get his.
"Jake…"I hesitated as he came back around the truck.
"Yeah?"
"What's really bothering you? About the Sam thing, I mean? Is there
something else?" I watched his face. He grimaced, but he didn't seem
angry. He looked at the dirt and kicked his shoe against the front tire
of his bike again and again, like he was keeping time.
He sighed. "It's just… the way they treat me. It creeps me out." The
words started to rush out now. "You know, the council is supposed to be
made up of equals, but if there was a leader, it would be my dad. I've
never been able to figure out why people treat him the way they do. Why
his opinion counts the most. It's got something to do with his father and
his father's father. My great-grandpa, Ephraim Black, was sort of the
last chief we had, and they still listen to Billy, maybe because of that.
"But I'm just like everyone else. Nobody treats me special… until now."
That caught me off guard. "Sam treats you special?"
"Yeah," he agreed, looking up at me with troubled eyes. "He looks at me
like he's waiting for something… like I'm going to join his stupid gang
someday. He pays more attention to me than any of the other guys. I hate
it."
"You don't have to join anything." My voice was angry. This was really
upsetting Jacob, and that infuriated me. Who did these "protectors" think
they were?
"Yeah." His foot kept up its rhythm against the tire.
"What?" I could tell there was more.
He frowned, his eyebrows pulling up in a way that looked sad and worried
rather than angry. "It's Embry. He's been avoiding me lately."
The thoughts didn't seem connected, but I wondered if I was to blame for
the problems with his friend. "You've been hanging out with me a lot," I
reminded him, feeling selfish. I'd been monopolizing him.
"No, that's not it. It's not just me—it's Quil, too, and everyone. Embry
missed a week of school, but he was never home when we tried to see him.
And when he came back, he looked… he looked freaked out. Terrified. Quil
and I both tried to get him to tell us what was wrong, but he wouldn't
talk to either one of us."
I stared at Jacob, biting my lip anxiously—he was really frightened. But
he didn't look at me. He watched his own foot kicking the rubber as if it
belonged to someone else. The tempo increased.
"Then this week, out of nowhere, Embry's hanging out with Sam and the
rest of them. He was out on the cliffs today." His voice was low and
tense.
He finally looked at me. "Bella, they bugged him even more than they
bother me. He didn't want anything to do with them. And now Embry's
following Sam around like he's joined a cult.
"And that's the way it was with Paul. Just exactly the same. He wasn't
friends with Sam at all. Then he stopped coming to school for a few
weeks, and, when he came back, suddenly Sam owned him. I don't know what
it means. I can't figure it out, and I feel like I have to, because
Embry's my friend and… Sam's looking at me funny . . and…" He trailed off.
"Have you talked to Billy about this?" I asked. His horror was spreading
to me. I had chills running on the back of my neck.
Now there was anger on his face. "Yes," he snorted. "That was helpful."
"What did he say?"
Jacob's expression was sarcastic, and when he spoke, his voice mocked the
deep tones of his father's voice. "It's nothing you need to worry about
now, Jacob. In a few years, if you don't… well, I'll explain later." And
then his voice was his own. "What am I supposed to get from that? Is he
trying to say it's some stupid puberty, coming-of-age thing? This is
something else. Something wrong."
He was biting his lower lip and clenching his hands. He looked like he
was about to cry.
I threw my arms around him instinctively, wrapping them around his waist
and pressing my face against his chest. He was so big, I felt like I was
a child hugging a grown-up.
"Oh, Jake, it'll be okay!" I promised. "If it gets worse you can come
live with me and Charlie. Don't be scared, we'll think of something!"
He was frozen for a second, and then his long arms wrapped hesitantly
around me. "Thanks, Bella." His voice was huskier than usual.
We stood like that for a moment, and it didn't upset me; in fact, I felt
comforted by the contact. This didn't feel anything like the last time
someone had embraced me this way. This was friendship. And Jacob was very
warm.
It was strange for me, being this close—emotionally rather than
physically, though the physical was strange for me, too—to another human
being. It wasn't my usual style. I didn't normally relate to people so
easily, on such a basic level.
Not human beings.
"If this is how you're going to react, I'll freak out more often."
Jacob's voice was light, normal again, and his laughter rumbled against
my ear. His fingers touched my hair, soft and tentative.
Well, it was friendship for me.
I pulled away quickly, laughing with him, but determined to put things
back in perspective at once.
"It's hard to believe I'm two years older than you," I said, emphasizing
the word older. "You make me feel like a dwarf." Standing this close to
him, I really had to crane my neck to see his face.
"You're forgetting I'm in my forties, of course."
"Oh, that's right."
He patted my head. "You're like a little doll," he teased. "A porcelain
doll."
I rolled my eyes, taking another step away. "Let's not start with the
albino cracks."
"Seriously, Bella, are you sure you're not?" He stretched his russet arm
out next to mine. The difference wasn't flattering. "I've never seen
anyone paler than you… well, except for—" He broke off, and I looked
away, trying to not understand what he had been about to say.
"So are we going to ride or what?"
"Let's do it," I agreed, more enthusiastic than I would have been half a
minute ago. His unfinished sentence reminded me of why I was here.
===========================================================================

Cái gì xuất phát từ trái tim thì sẽ đi đến trái tim
G. Piet – Pháp
Leo*

8. ADRENALINE
"OKAY, WHERE'S YOUR CLUTCH?"
I pointed to the lever on my left handlebar. Letting go of the grip was a
mistake. The heavy bike wobbled underneath me, threatening to knock me
sidewise. I grabbed the handle again, trying to hold it straight.
"Jacob, it won't stay up," I complained.
"It will when you're moving," he promised. "Now where's your brake?"
"Behind my right foot."
"Wrong."
He grabbed my right hand and curled my fingers around the lever over the
throttle.
"But you said—"
"This is the brake you want. Don't use the back brake now, that's for
later, when you know what you're doing."
"That doesn't sound right," I said suspiciously. "Aren't both brakes kind
of important?"
"Forget the back brake, okay? Here—" He wrapped his hand around mine and
made me squeeze the lever down. "That is how you brake. Don't forget." He
squeezed my hand another time.
"Fine," I agreed.
"Throttle?"
I twisted the right grip.
"Gearshift?"
I nudged it with my left calf.
"Very good. I think you've got all the parts down. Now you just have to
get it moving."
"Uh-huh," I muttered, afraid to say more. My stomach was contorting
strangely and I thought my voice might crack. I was terrified. I tried to
tell myself that the fear was pointless. I'd already lived through the
worst thing possible. In comparison with that, why should anything
frighten me now? I should be able to look death in the face and laugh.
My stomach wasn't buying it.
I stared down the long stretch of dirt road, bordered by thick misty
green on every side. The road was sandy and damp. Better than mud.
"I want you to hold down the clutch," Jacob instructed.
I wrapped my fingers around the clutch.
"Now this is crucial, Bella," Jacob stressed. "Don't let go of that,
okay? I want you to pretend that I've handed you a live grenade. The pin
is out and you are holding down the spoon."
I squeezed tighter.
"Good. Do you think you can kick-start it?"
"If I move my foot, I will fall over," I told him through gritted teeth,
my fingers tight around my live grenade.
"Okay, I'll do it. Don't let go of the clutch."
He took a step back, and then suddenly slammed his foot down on the
pedal. There was a short ripping noise, and the force of his thrust
rocked the bike. I started to fall sideways, but Jake caught the bike
before it knocked me to the ground.
"Steady there," he encouraged. "Do you still have the clutch?"
"Yes," I gasped.
"Plant your feet—I'm going to try again." But he put his hand on the back
of the seat, too, just to be safe.
It took four more kicks before the ignition caught. I could feel the bike
rumbling beneath me like an angry animal. I gripped the clutch until my
fingers ached.
"Try out the throttle," he suggested. "Very lightly. And don't let go of
the clutch."
Hesitantly, I twisted the right handle. Though the movement was tiny, the
bike snarled beneath me. It sounded angry and hungry now. Jacob smiled in
deep satisfaction.
"Do you remember how to put it into first gear?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, go ahead and do it."
"Okay."
He waited for a few seconds.
"Left foot," he prompted.
"I know," I said, taking a deep breath.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jacob asked. "You look scared."
"I'm fine," I snapped. I kicked the gearshift down one notch.
"Very good," he praised me. "Now, very gently, ease up on the clutch."
He took a step away from the bike.
"You want me to let go of the grenade?" I asked in disbelief. No wonder
he was moving back.
"That's how you move, Bella. Just do it little by little."
As I began to loosen my grip, I was shocked to be interrupted by a voice
that did not belong to the boy standing next to me.
"This is reckless and childish and idiotic, Bella," the velvet voice
fumed.
"Oh!" I gasped, and my hand fell off the clutch.
The bike bucked under me, yanking me forward and then collapsing to the
ground half on top of me. The growling engine choked to a stop.
"Bella?" Jacob jerked the heavy bike off me with ease. "Are you hurt?"
But I wasn't listening.
"I told you so," the perfect voice murmured, crystal clear.
"Bella?" Jacob shook my shoulder.
"I'm fine," I mumbled, dazed.
More than fine. The voice in my head was back. It still rang in my
ears—soft, velvety echoes.
My mind ran swiftly through the possibilities. There was no familiarity
here—on a road I'd never seen, doing something I'd never done before—no
deja vu So the hallucinations must be triggered by something else… I felt
the adrenaline coursing through my veins again, and I thought I had the
answer. Some combination of adrenaline and danger, or maybe just
stupidity.
Jacob was pulling me to my feet.
"Did you hit your head?" he asked.
"I don't think so." I shook it back and forth, checking. "I didn't hurt
the bike, did I?" This thought worried me. I was anxious to try again,
right away. Being reckless was paying off better than I'd thought. Forget
cheating. Maybe I'd found a way to generate the hallucinations—that was
much more important.
"No. You just stalled the engine," Jacob said, interrupting my quick
speculations. "You let go of the clutch too fast."
I nodded. "Let's try again."
"Are you sure?" Jacob asked.
"Positive."
This time I tried to get the kick-start myself. It was complicated; I had
to jump a little to slam down on the pedal with enough force, and every
time I did that, the bike tried to knock me over. Jacob's hand hovered
over the handlebars, ready to catch me if I needed him.
It took several good tries, and even more poor tries, before the engine
caught and roared to life under me. Remembering to hold on to the
grenade, I revved the throttle experimentally. It snarled at the
slightest touch. My smile mirrored Jacob's now.
"Easy on the clutch," he reminded me.
"Do you want to kill yourself, then? Is that what this is about?" the
other voice spoke again, his tone severe.
I smiled tightly—it was still working—and ignored the questions. Jacob
wasn't going to let anything serious happen to me.
"Go home to Charlie," the voice ordered. The sheer beauty of it amazed
me. I couldn't allow my memory to lose it, no matter the price.
"Ease off slowly," Jacob encouraged me.
"I will," I said. It bothered me a bit when I realized I was answering
both of them.
The voice in my head growled against the roar of the motorcycle.
Trying to focus this time, to not let the voice startle me again, I
relaxed my hand by tiny degrees. Suddenly, the gear caught and wrenched
me forward.
And I was flying.
There was wind that wasn't there before, blowing my skin against my skull
and flinging my hair back behind me with enough force that it felt like
someone was tugging on it. I'd left my stomach back at the starting
point; the adrenaline coursed through my body, tingling in my veins. The
trees raced past me, blurring into a wall of green.
But this was only first gear. My foot itched toward the gearshift as I
twisted for more gas.
"No, Bella!" the angry, honey-sweet voice ordered in my ear. "Watch what
you're doing!"
It distracted me enough from the speed to realize that the road was
starting a slow curve to the left, and I was still going straight. Jacob
hadn't told me how to turn.
"Brakes, brakes," I muttered to myself, and I instinctively slammed down
with my right foot, like I would in my truck.
The bike was suddenly unstable underneath me, shivering first to one side
and then the other. It was dragging me toward the green wall, and I was
going too fast. I tried to turn the handlebar the other direction, and
the sudden shift of my weight pushed the bike toward the ground, still
spinning toward the trees.
The motorcycle landed on top of me again, roaring loudly, pulling me
across the wet sand until it hit something stationary. I couldn't see. My
face was mashed into the moss. I tried to lift my head, but there was
something in the way.
I was dizzy and confused. It sounded like there were three things
snarling—the bike over me, the voice in my head, and something else…
"Bella!" Jacob yelled, and I heard the roar of the other bike cut off.
The motorcycle no longer pinned me to the ground, and I rolled over to
breathe. All the growling went silent.
"Wow," I murmured. I was thrilled. This had to be it, the recipe for a
hallucination—adrenaline plus clanger plus stupidity. Something close to
that, anyway.
"Bella!" Jacob was crouching over me anxiously. "Bella, are you alive?"
"I'm great!" I enthused. I flexed my arms and legs. Everything seemed to
be working correctly. "Let's do it again."
"I don't think so." Jacob still sounded worried. "I think I'd better
drive you to the hospital first."
"I'm fine."
"Um, Bella? You've got a huge cut on your forehead, and it's gushing
blood," he informed me.
I clapped my hand over my head. Sure enough, it was wet and sticky. I
could smell nothing but the damp moss on my face, and that held off the
nausea.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Jacob." I pushed hard against the gash, as if I could
force the blood back inside my head.
"Why are you apologizing for bleeding?" he wondered as he wrapped a long
arm around my waist and pulled me to my feet. "Let's go. I'll drive." He
held out his hand for the keys.
"What about the bikes?" I asked, handing them over.
He thought for a second. "Wait here. And take this." He pulled off his
T-shirt, already spotted with blood, and threw it to me. I wadded it up
and held it tightly to my forehead. I was starting to smell the blood; I
breathed deeply through my mouth and tried to concentrate on something
else.
Jacob jumped on the black motorcycle, kicked it to a start in one try,
and raced back down the road, spraying sand and pebbles behind him. He
looked athletic and professional as he leaned over the handlebars, head
low, face forward, his shiny hair whipping against the russet skin of his
back. My eyes narrowed enviously. I was sure I hadn't looked like that on
my motorcycle.
I was surprised at how far I'd gone. I could barely see Jacob in the
distance when he finally got to the truck. He threw the bike into the bed
and sprinted to the driver's side.
I really didn't feel bad at all as he coaxed my truck to a deafening roar
in his hurry to get back to me. My head stung a little, and my stomach
was uneasy, but the cut wasn't serious. Head wounds just bled more than
most. His urgency wasn't necessary.
Jacob left the truck running as he raced back to me, wrapping his arm
around my waist again.
"Okay, let's get you in the truck."
"I'm honestly fine," I assured him as he helped me in. "Don't get worked
up. It's just a little blood."
"Just a lot of blood," I heard him mutter as he went back for my bike.
"Now, let's think about this for a second," I began when he got back in.
"If you take me to the ER like this, Charlie is sure to hear about it." I
glanced down at the sand and dirt caked into my jeans.
"Bella, I think you need stitches. I'm not going to let you bleed to
death."
"I won't," I promised. "Let's just take the bikes back first, and then
we'll make a stop at my house so I can dispose of the evidence before we
go to the hospital."
"What about Charlie?"
"He said he had to work today."
"Are you really sure?"
"Trust me. I'm an easy bleeder. It's not nearly as dire as it looks."
Jacob wasn't happy—his full mouth turned down in an uncharacteristic
frown—but he didn't want to get me in trouble. I stared out the window,
holding his ruined shirt to my head, while he drove me to Forks.
The motorcycle was better than I'd dreamed. It had served its original
purpose. I'd cheated—broken my promise. I'd been needlessly reckless. I
felt a little less pathetic now that the promises had been broken on both
sides.
And then to discover the key to the hallucinations! At least, I hoped I
had. I was going to test the theory as soon as possible. Maybe they'd get
through with me quickly in the ER, and I could try again tonight.
Racing down the road like that had been amazing. The feel of the wind in
my face, the speed and the freedom… it reminded me of a past life, flying
through the thick forest without a road, piggyback while he ran—I stopped
thinking right there, letting the memory break off in the sudden agony. I
flinched.
"You still okay?" Jacob checked.
"Yeah." I tried to sound as convincing as before.
"By the way," he added. "I'm going to disconnect your foot brake tonight."
At home, I went to look at myself in the mirror first thing; it was
pretty gruesome. Blood was drying in thick streaks across my cheek and
neck, matting in my muddy hair. I examined myself clinically, pretending
the blood was paint so it wouldn't upset my stomach. I breathed through
my mouth, and was fine.
I washed up as well as I could. Then I hid my dirty, bloody clothes in
the bottom of my laundry basket, putting on new jeans and a button-up
shirt (that I didn't have to pull over my head) as carefully as I could.
I managed to do this one-handed and keep both garments blood-free.
"Hurry up," Jacob called.
"Okay, okay," I shouted back. After making sure I left nothing
incriminating behind me, I headed downstairs.
"How do I look?" I asked him.
"Better," he admitted.
"But do I look like I tripped in your garage and hit my head on a hammer?"
"Sure, I guess so."
"Let's go then."
Jacob hurried me out the door, and insisted on driving again. We were
halfway to the hospital when I realized he was still shirtless.
I frowned guiltily. "We should have grabbed you a jacket."
"That would have given us away," he teased. "Besides, it's not cold."
"Are you kidding?" I shivered and reached out to turn the heat on.
I watched Jacob to see if he was just playing tough so I wouldn't worry,
but he looked comfortable enough. He had one arm over the back of my
seat, though I was huddled up to keep warm.
Jacob really did look older than sixteen—not quite forty, but maybe older
than me. Quil didn't have too much on him in the muscle department, for
all that Jacob claimed to be a skeleton. The muscles were the long wiry
kind, but they were definitely there under the smooth skin. His skin was
such a pretty color, it made me jealous.
Jacob noticed my scrutiny.
"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing. I just hadn't realized before. Did you know, you're sort of
beautiful?"
Once the words slipped out, I worried that he might take my impulsive
observation the wrong way.
But Jacob just rolled his eyes. "You hit your head pretty hard, didn't
you?"
"I'm serious."
"Well, then, thanks. Sort of."
I grinned. "You're sort of welcome."
I had to have seven stitches to c lose the cut on my forehead. After the
sting of the local anesthetic, there was no pain in the procedure. Jacob
held my hand while Dr. Snow was sewing, and I tried not to think about
why that was ironic.
We were at the hospital forever. By the time I was done, I had to drop
Jacob off at his home and hurry back to cook dinner for Charlie. Charlie
seemed to buy my story about falling in Jacob's garage. After all, it
wasn't like I hadn't been able to land myself in the ER before with no
more help than my own feet.
This night was not as bad as that first night, after I'd heard the
perfect voice in Port Angeles. The hole came back, the way it always did
when I was away from Jacob, but it didn't throb so badly around the
edges. I was already planning ahead, looking forward to more delusions,
and that was a distraction. Also, I knew I would feel better tomorrow
when I was with Jacob again. That made the empty hole and the familiar
pain easier to bear; relief was in sight. The nightmare, too, had lost a
little of its potency. I was horrified by the nothingness, as always, but
I was also strangely impatient as I waited for the moment that would send
me screaming into consciousness. I knew the nightmare had to end.
The next Wednesday, before I could get home from the ER, Dr. Gerandy
called to warn my father that I might possibly have a concussion and
advised him to wake me up every two hours through the night to make sure
it wasn't serious. Charlie's eyes narrowed suspiciously at my weak
explanation about tripping again.
"Maybe you should just stay out of the garage altogether, Bella," he
suggested that night during dinner.
I panicked, worried that Charlie was about to lay down some kind of edict
that would prohibit La Push, and consequently my motorcycle. And I wasn't
giving it up—I'd had the most amazing hallucination today. My
velvet-voiced delusion had yelled at me for almost five minutes before
I'd hit the brake too abruptly and launched myself into the tree. I'd
take whatever pain that would cause me tonight without complaint.
"This didn't happen in the garage," I protested quickly. "We were hiking,
and I tripped over a rock."
"Since when do you hike?" Charlie asked skeptically.
"Working at Newton's was bound to rub off sometime," I pointed out.
"Spend every day selling all the virtues of the outdoors, eventually you
get curious."
Charlie glared at me, unconvinced.
"I'll be more careful," I promised, surreptitiously crossing my fingers
under the table.
"I don't mind you hiking right there around La Push, but keep close to
town, okay?"
"Why?"
"Well, we've been getting a lot of wildlife complaints lately. The
forestry department is going to check into it, but for the time being…"
"Oh, the big bear," I said with sudden comprehension. "Yeah, some of the
hikers coming through Newton's have seen it. Do you think there's really
some giant mutated grizzly out there?"
His forehead creased. "There's something. Keep it close to town, okay?"
"Sure, sure," I said quickly. He didn't look completely appeased.
"Charlie's getting nosy," I complained to Jacob when I picked him up
after school Friday.
"Maybe we should cool it with the bikes." He saw my objecting expression
and added, "At least for a week or so. You could stay out of the hospital
for a week, right?"
"What are we going to do?" I griped.
He smiled cheerfully. "What ever you want."
I thought about that for a minute—about what I wanted.
I hated the idea of losing even my brief seconds of closeness with the
memories that didn't hurt—the ones that came on their own, without me
thinking of them consciously. If I couldn't have the bikes, I was going
to have to find some other avenue to the danger and the adrenaline, and
that was going to take serious thought and creativity. Doing nothing in
the meantime was not appealing. Suppose I got depressed again, even with
Jake? I had to keep occupied.
Maybe there was some other way, some other recipe… some other place.
The house had been a mistake, certainly. But his presence must be stamped
somewhere, somewhere other than inside me. There had to be a place where
he seemed more real than among all the familiar landmarks that were
crowded with other human memories.
I could think of one place where that might hold true. One place that
would always belong to him and no one else. A magic place, full of light.
The beautiful meadow I'd seen only once in my life, lit by sunshine and
the sparkle of his skin.
This idea had a huge potential for backfiring—it might be dangerously
painful. My chest ached with emptiness even to think of it. It was hard
to hold myself upright, to not give myself away. But surely, there of all
places, I could hear his voice. And I'd already told Charlie I was hiking…
"What are you thinking about so hard?" Jacob asked.
"Well…" I began slowly. "I found this place in the forest once—I came
across it when I was, um, hiking. A little meadow, the most beautiful
place. I don't know if I could track it down again on my own. It would
definitely take a few tries…"
"We could use a compass and a grid pattern," Jacob said with confident
helpfulness. "Do you know where you started from?"
"Yes, just below the trailhead where the one-ten ends. I was going mostly
south, I think."
"Cool. We'll find it." As always, Jacob was game for anything I wanted.
No matter how strange it was.
So, Saturday afternoon, I tied on my new hiking boots—purchased that
morning using my twenty-per-cent-off employee discount for the first
time—grabbed my new topographical map of the Olympic Peninsula, and drove
to La Push.
We didn't get started immediately; first, Jacob sprawled across the
living room floor—taking up the whole room—and, for a full twenty
minutes, drew a complicated web across the key section of the map while I
perched on a kitchen chair and talked to Billy. Billy didn't seem at all
concerned about our proposed hiking trip. I was surprised that Jacob had
told him where we were going, given the fuss people were making about the
bear sightings. I wanted to ask Billy not to say anything about this to
Charlie, but I was afraid that making the request would cause the
opposite result.
"Maybe we'll see the super bear," Jacob joked, eyes on his design.
I glanced at Billy swiftly, fearing a Charlie-style reaction.
But Billy just laughed at his son. "Maybe you should take a jar of honey,
just in case."
Jake chuckled. "Hope your new boots are fast, Bella. One little jar isn't
going to keep a hungry bear occupied for long."
"I only have to be faster than you."
"Good luck with that!" Jacob said, rolling his eyes as he refolded the
map. "Let's go."
"Have fun," Billy rumbled, wheeling himself toward the refrigerator.
Charlie was not a hard person to live with, but it looked to me like
Jacob had it even easier than I did.
I drove to the very end of the dirt road, stopping near the sign that
marked the beginning of the trailhead. It had been a long time since I'd
been here, and my stomach reacted nervously. This might be a very bad
thing. But it would be worth it, if I got to hear him.
I got out and looked at the dense wall of green.
"I went this way," I murmured, pointing straight ahead.
"Hmm," Jake muttered.
"What?"
He looked at the direction I'd pointed, then at the clearly marked trail,
and back.
"I would have figured you for a trail kind of girl."
"Not me." I smiled bleakly. "I'm a rebel."
He laughed, and then pulled out our map.
"Give me a second." He held the compass in a skilled way, twisting the
map around till it angled the way he wanted.
"Okay—first line on the grid. Let's do it."
I could tell that I was slowing Jacob up, but he didn't complain. I tried
not to dwell on my last trip through this part of the forest, with a very
different companion. Normal memories were still cangerous. If I let
myself slip up, I'd end up with my arms clutching my chest to hold it
together, gasping for air, and how would I explain that to Jacob?
It wasn't as hard as I would have thought to keep focused on the present.
The forest looked a lot like any other part of the peninsula, and Jacob
set a vastly different mood.
He whistled cheerfully, an unfamiliar tune, swinging his arms and moving
easily through the rough undergrowth. The shadows didn't seem as dark as
usual. Not with my personal sun along.
Jacob checked the compass every few minutes, keeping us in a straight
line with one of the radiating spokes of his grid. He really looked like
he knew what he was doing. I was going to compliment him, but I caught
myself. No doubt he'd add another few years to his inflated age.
My mind wandered as I walked, and I grew curious. I hadn't forgotten the
conversation we'd had by the sea cliffs—I'd been waiting for him to bring
it up again, but it didn't look like that was going to happen.
"Hey… Jake?" I asked hesitantly.
"Yeah?"
"How are things… with Embry? Is he back to normal yet?"
Jacob was silent for a minute, still moving forward with long paces. When
he was about ten feet ahead, he stopped to wait for me.
"No. He's not back to normal," Jacob said when I reached him, his mouth
pulling down at the corners. He didn't start walking again. I immediately
regretted bringing it up.
"Still with Sam."
"Yup."
He put his arm around my shoulder, and he looked so troubled that I
didn't playfully shake it off, as I might have otherwise.
"Are they still looking at you funny?" I half-whispered.
Jacob stared through the trees. "Sometimes."
"And Billy?"
"As helpful as ever," he said in a sour, angry voice that disturbed me.
"Our couch is always open," I offered.
He laughed, breaking out of the unnatural gloom. "But think of the
position that would put Charlie in—when Billy calls the police to report
my kidnapping."
I laughed too, glad to have Jacob back to normal.
We stopped when Jacob said we'd gone six miles, cut west for a short
time, and headed back along another line of his grid. Everything looked
exactly the same as the way in, and I had a feeling that my silly quest
was pretty much doomed. I admitted as much when it started to get darker,
the sunless day fading toward a starless night, but Jacob was more
confident.
"As long as you're sure we're starting from the right place…" He glanced
down at me.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Then we'll find it," he promised, grabbing my hand and pulling me
through a mass of ferns. On the other side was the truck. He gestured
toward it proudly. "Trust me."
"You're good," I admitted. "Next time we bring flashlights, though."
"We'll save hiking for Sundays from now on. I didn't know you were that
slow."
I yanked my hand back and stomped around to the driver's side while he
chuckled at my reaction.
"So you up for another try tomorrow.'" he asked, sliding into the
passenger seat.
"Sure. Unless you want to go without me so I don't tie you down to my
gimpy pace."
"I'll survive," he assured me. "If we're hiking again, though, you might
want to pick up some moleskin. I bet you can feel those new boots right
now."
"A little," I confessed. It felt like I had more blisters than I had
space to fit them.
"I hope we see the bear tomorrow. I'm sort of disappointed about that."
"Yes, me, too," I agreed sarcastically. "Maybe we'll get lucky tomorrow
and something will eat us!"
"Bears don't want to eat people. We don't taste that good." He grinned at
me in the dark cab. "Of course, you might be an exception. I bet you'd
taste good."
"Thanks so much," I said, looking away. He wasn't the first person to
tell me that.
===========================================================================
9. THIRD WHEEL
TIME BEGAN TO TRIP ALONG MUCH MORE QUICKLY than before. School, work, and
Jacob—though not necessarily in that order—created a neat and effortless
pattern to follow. And Charlie got his wish: I wasn't miserable anymore.
Of course, I couldn't fool myself completely. When I stopped to take
stock of my life, which I tried not to do too often, I couldn't ignore
the implications of my behavior.
I was like a lost moon—my planet destroyed in some cataclysmic,
disaster-movie scenario of desolation—that continued, nevertheless, to
circle in a tight little orbit around the empty space left behind,
ignoring the laws of gravity.
I was getting better with my bike, which meant fewer bandages to worry
Charlie. But it also meant that the voice in my head began to fade, until
I heard it no more. Quietly, I panicked. I threw myself into the search
for the meadow with slightly frenzied intensity. I racked my brain for
other adrenaline-producing activities.
I didn't keep track of the days :hat passed—there was no reason, as I
tried to live as much in the present as possible, no past fading, no
future impending. So I was surprised by the date when Jacob brought it up
on one of our homework days. He was waiting when I pulled up in front of
his house.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Jacob said, smiling, but ducking his head as he
greeted me.
He held out a small, pink box, balancing it on his palm. Conversation
hearts.
"Well, I feel like a schmuck," I mumbled. "Is today Valentine's Day?"
Jacob shook his head with mock sadness. "You can be so out of it
sometimes. Yes, it is the fourteenth day of February. So are you going to
be my Valentine? Since you didn't get me a fifty-cent box of candy, it's
the least you can do."
I started to feel uncomfortable. The words were teasing, but only on the
surface.
"What exactly does that entail?" I hedged.
"The usual—slave for life, that kind of thing."
"Oh, well, if that's all…" I took the candy. But I was trying to think of
some way to make the boundaries clear. Again. They seemed to get blurred
a lot with Jacob.
"So, what are we doing tomorrow? Hiking, or the ER?"
"Hiking," I decided. "You're not the only one who can be obsessive. I'm
starting to think I imagined that place…" I frowned into space.
"We'll find it," he assured me. "Bikes Friday?" he offered.
I saw a chance and took it without taking time to think it through.
"I'm going to a movie Friday. I've been promising my cafeteria crowd that
I would go out forever." Mike would be pleased.
But Jacob's face fell. I caught the expression in his dark eyes before he
dropped them to look at the ground.
"You'll come too, right?" I added quickly. "Or will it be too much of a
drag with a bunch of boring seniors?" So much for my chance to put some
distance between us. I couldn't stand hurting Jacob; we seemed to be
connected in an odd way, and his pain set off little stabs of my own.
Also, the idea of having his company for the ordeal—I had promised Mike,
but really didn't feel any enthusiasm at the thought of following
through—was just too tempting.
"You'd like me to come, with your friends there?"
"Yes," I admitted honestly, knowing as I continued that I was probably
shooting myself in the foot with my words. "I'll have a lot more fun if
you're there. Bring Quil, and we'll make it a party."
"Quil's gonna freak. Senior girls." He chortled and rolled his eyes. I
didn't mention Embry, and neither did he. I laughed, too. "I'll try to
get hin a good selection."
I broached the subject with Mike in English.
"Hey, Mike," I said when class was over. "Are you free Friday night?"
He looked up, his blue eyes instantly hopeful. "Yeah, I am. You want to
go out?"
I worded my reply carefully. "I was thinking about getting a group"—I
emphasized the word—"together to go see Crosshairs." I'd done my homework
this time—even reading the movie spoilers to be sure I wouldn't be caught
off guard. This movie was supposed to be a bloodbath from start to
finish. I wasn't so recovered that I could stand to sit through a
romance. "Does that sound like fun?"
"Sure," he agreed, visibly less eager.
"Cool."
After a second, he perked back up to near his former excitement level.
"How about we get Angela and Ben? Or Eric and Katie?"
He was determined to make this some kind of double date, apparently.
"How about both?" I suggested "And Jessica, too, of course. And Tyler and
Conner, and maybe Lauren," I tacked on grudgingly. I had promised Quil
variety.
"Okay," Mike muttered, foiled.
"And," I continued, "I've got a couple of friends from La Push I'm
inviting. So it sounds like we'll need your Suburban if everyone comes."
Mike's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"These are the friends you spend all your time studying with now?"
"Yep, the very ones," I answered cheerfully. "Though you could look at it
as tutoring—they're only sophomores."
"Oh," Mike said, surprised. After a second of thought, he smiled.
In the end, though, the Suburban wasn't necessary.
Jessica and Lauren claimed to be busy as soon as Mike let it slip that I
was involved in the planning. Eric and Katie already had plans—it was
their three-week anniversary or something. Lauren got to Tyler and Conner
before Mike could, so those two were also busy. Even Quil was
out—grounded for fighting at school. In the end, only Angela and Ben,
and, of course Jacob, were able to go.
The diminished numbers didn't dampen Mike's anticipation, though. It was
all he could talk about Friday.
"Are you sure you don't want to see Tomorrow and Forever instead?" he
asked at lunch, naming the current romantic comedy that was ruling the
box office. "Rotten Tomatoes gave it a better review."
"I want to see Crosshairs" I insisted. "I'm in the mood for action. Bring
on the blood and guts!"
"Okay." Mike turned away, but not before I saw his
maybe-she's-crazy-after-all expression.
When I got home from school, a very familiar car was parked in front of
my house. Jacob was leaning against the hood, a huge grin lighting up his
face.
"No way!" I shouted as I jumped out of the truck. "You're done! I can't
believe it! You finished the Rabbit!"
He beamed. "Just last night. This is the maiden voyage."
"Incredible." I held my hand up for a high five.
He smacked his hand against mine, but left it there, twisting his fingers
through mine. "So do I get to drive tonight?"
"Definitely," I said, and then I sighed.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm giving up—I can't top this one. So you win. You're oldest."
He shrugged, unsurprised by my capitulation. "Of course I am."
Mike's Suburban chugged around the corner. I pulled my hand out of
Jacob's, and he nude a face that I wasn't meant to see.
"I remember this guy," he said in a low voice as Mike parked across the
street. "The one who thought you were his girlfriend. Is he still
confused?"
I raised one eyebrow. "Some people are hard to discourage."
"Then again," Jacob said thoughtfully, "sometimes persistence pays off."
"Most of the time it's just annoying, though."
Mike got out of his car and crossed the road.
"Hey, Bella," he greeted me, and then his eyes turned wary as he looked
up at Jacob. I glanced briefly at Jacob, too, trying to be objective. He
really didn't look like a sophomore at all. He was just so big—Mike's
head barely cleared Jacob's shoulder; I didn't even want to think where I
measured next to him—and then his face was older-looking than it used to
be, even a month ago.
"Hey, Mike! Do you remember Jacob Black?"
"Not really." Mike held out his hand.
"Old family friend," Jacob introduced himself, shaking hands. They locked
hands with more force than necessary. When their grip broke, Mike flexed
his fingers.
I heard the phone ringing from the kitchen.
"I'd better get that—it might be Charlie," I told them, and dashed inside.
It was Ben. Angela was sick with the stomach flu, and he didn't feel like
coming without her. He apologized for bailing on us.
I walked slowly back to the waiting boys, shaking my head. I really hoped
Angela would feel better soon, but I had to admit that I was selfishly
upset by this development. Just the three of us, Mike and Jacob and me,
together for the evening—this had worked out brilliantly, I thought with
grim sarcasm.
It didn't seem like Jake and Mike had made any progress towards
friendship in my absence. They were several yards apart, facing away from
each other as they waited for me; Mike's expression was sullen, though
Jacob's was cheerful as always.
"Ang is sick," I told them glumly. "She and Ben aren't coming."
"I guess the flu is making another round. Austin and Conner were out
today, too. Maybe we should do this another time," Mike suggested.
Before I could agree, Jacob spoke.
"I'm still up for it. But if you'd rather to stay behind, Mike—"
"No, I'm coming," Mike interrupted. "I was just thinking of Angela and
Ben. Let's go." He started toward his Suburban.
"Hey, do you mind if Jacob drives?" I asked. "I told him he could—he just
finished his car. He built it from scratch, all by himself," I bragged,
proud as a PTA mom with a student on the principal's list.
"Fine," Mike snapped.
"All right, then," Jacob said, as if that settled everything. He seemed
more comfortable than anyone else.
Mike climbed in the backseat of the Rabbit with a disgusted expression.
Jacob was his normal sunny self, chattering away until I'd all but
forgotten Mike sulking silently in the back.
And then Mike changed his strategy. He leaned forward, resting his chin
on the shoulder of my seat; his cheek almost touched mine. I shifted
away, turning my back toward the window.
"Doesn't the radio work in this thing?" Mike asked with a hint of
petulance, interrupting Jacob mid-sentence.
"Yes," Jacob answered. "But Bella doesn't like music."
I stared at Jacob, surprised. I'd never told him that.
"Bella?" Mike asked, annoyed.
"He's right," I mumbled, still looking at Jacob's serene profile.
"How can you not like music?" Mike demanded.
I shrugged. "I don't know. It just irritates me."
"Hmph." Mike leaned away.
When we got to the theater, Jacob handed me a ten-dollar bill.
"What's this?" I objected.
"I'm not old enough to get into this one," he reminded me.
I laughed out loud. "So much for relative ages. Is Billy going to kill me
if I sneak you in?"
"No. I told him you were planning to corrupt my youthful innocence."
I snickered, and Mike quickened his pace to keep up with us.
I almost wished that Mike had decided to bow out. He was still sullen—not
much of an addition to the party. But I didn't want to end up on a date
alone with Jacob, either. That wouldn't help anything.
The movie was exactly what it professed to be. In just the opening
credits, four people got blown up and one got beheaded. The girl in front
of me put her hands over her eyes and turned her face into her date's
chest. He patted her shoulder, and winced occasionally, too. Mike didn't
look like he was watching. His face was stiff as he glared toward the
fringe of curtain above the screen.
I settled in to endure the two hours, watching the colors and the
movement on the screen rather than seeing the shapes of people and cars
and houses. But then Jacob started sniggering.
"What?" I whispered.
"Oh, c'mon!" he hissed back. "The blood squirted twenty feet out of that
guy. How fake can you get?"
He chuckled again, as a flagpole speared another man into a concrete wall.
After that, I really watched the show, laughing with him as the mayhem
got more and more ridiculous. How was I ever going to fight the blurring
lines in our relationship when I enjoyed being with him so much?
Both Jacob and Mike had claimed the armrests on either side of me. Both
of their hands rested lightly, palms up, in an unnatural looking
position. Like steel bear traps, open and ready. Jacob was in the habit
of taking my hand whenever the opportunity presented itself, but here in
the darkened movie theater, with Mike watching, it would have a different
significance—and I was sure he knew that. I couldn't believe that Mike
was thinking the same thing, but his hand was placed exactly like Jacob's.
I folded my arms tightly across my chest and hoped that both their hands
fell asleep.
Mike gave up first. About halfway through the movie, he pulled his arm
back, and leaned forward to put his head in his hands. At first I thought
he was reacting to something on the screen, but then he moaned.
"Mike, are you okay?" I whispered.
The couple in front of us turned to look at him as he groaned again.
I could see the sheen of sweat across his face in the light from the
screen.
Mike groaned again, and bolted for the door. I got up to follow him, and
Jacob copied me immediately.
"No, stay," I whispered. "I'll make sure he's okay."
Jacob came with me anyway.
"You don't have to come. Get your eight bucks worth of carnage," I
insisted as we walked up the aisle.
"That's okay. You sure can pick them, Bella. This movie really sucks."
His voice rose from a whisper to its normal pitch as we walked out of the
theater.
There was no sign of Mike in the hallway, and I was glad then that Jacob
had come with me—he ducked into the men's bathroom to check for him there.
Jacob was back in a few seconds.
"Oh, he's in there, all right," he said, rolling his eyes. "What a
marshmallow. You should hold out for someone with a stronger stomach.
Someone who laughs at the gore that makes weaker men vomit."
"I'll keep my eyes open for someone like that."
We were all alone in the hallway. Both theaters were halfway through the
movie, and it was deserted—quiet enough for us to hear the popcorn
popping at the concession counter in the lobby.
Jacob went to sit on the velveteen-upholstered bench against the wall,
patting the space beside him.
"He sounded like he was going to be in there for a while," he said,
stretching his long legs out in front of him as he settled in to wait.
I joined him with a sigh. He looked like he was thinking about blurring
more lines. Sure enough, as soon as I sat down, he shifted over to put
his arm around my shoulders.
"Jake," I protested, leaning away. He dropped his arm, not looking
bothered at all by the minor rejection. He reached out and took my hand
firmly, wrapping his other hand around my wrist when I tried to pull away
again. Where did he get the confidence from?
"Now, just hold on a minute, Bella," he said in a calm voice. "Tell me
something."
I grimaced. I didn't want to do this. Not just not now, but not ever.
There was nothing lett in my life at this point that was more important
than Jacob Black. But he seemed determined to ruin everything.
"What?" I muttered sourly.
"You like me, right?"
"You know I do."
"Better than that joker puking his guts out in there?" He gestured toward
the bathroom door.
"Yes," I sighed.
"Better than any of the other guys you know?" He was calm, serene—as if
my answer didn't matter, or he already knew what it was.
"Better than the girls, too," I pointed out.
"But that's all," he said, and it wasn't a question.
It was hard to answer, to say the word. Would he get hurt and avoid me?
How would I stand that?
"Yes," I whispered.
He grinned down at me. "That's okay, you know. As long as you like me the
best. And you think I'm good-looking—sort of. I'm prepared to be
annoyingly persistent."
"I'm not going to change," I said, and though I tried to keep my voice
normal, I could hear the sadness in it.
His face was thoughtful, no longer teasing. "It's still the other one,
isn't it?"
I cringed. Funny how he seemed to know not to say the name—just like
before in the car with the music. He picked up on so much about me that I
never said.
"You don't have to talk about it," he told me.
I nodded, grateful.
"But don't get mad at me for hanging around, okay?" Jacob patted the back
of my hand. "Because I'm not giving up. I've got loads of time."
I sighed. "You shouldn't waste it on me," I said, though I wanted him to.
Especially if he was willing to accept me the way I was—damaged goods, as
is.
"It's what I want to do, as long as you still like to be with me."
"I can't imagine how I could not like being with you," I told him
honestly.
Jacob beamed. "I can live with that."
"Just don't expect more," I warned him, trying to pull my hand away. He
held onto it obstinately.
"This doesn't really bother you, does it?" he demanded, squeezing my
fingers.
"No," I sighed. Truthfully, it felt nice. His hand was so much warmer
than mine; I always felt too cold these days.
"And you don't care what he thinks." Jacob jerked his thumb toward the
bathroom.
"I guess not."
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem," I said, "is, that it means something different to me than
it does to you."
"Well." He tightened his hand around mine "That's my problem, isn't it?"
"Fine," I grumbled. "Don't forget it, though."
"I won't. The pin's out of the grenade for me, now, eh?" He poked me in
the ribs.
I rolled my eyes. I guess if he felt like making a joke out of it, he was
entitled.
He chuckled quietly for a minute while his pinky finger absently traced
designs against the side of my hand.
"That's a funny scar you've got there," he suddenly said, twisting my
hand to examine it. "How did that happen?"
The index finger of his free hand followed the line of the long silvery
crescent that was barely visible against my pale skin.
I scowled. "Do you honestly expect me to remember where all my scars come
from?"
I waited for the memory to hit—to open the gaping hole. But, as it so
often did, Jacob's presence kept me whole.
"It's cold," he murmured, pressing lightly against the place where James
had cut me with his teeth.
And then Mike stumbled out of the bathroom, his face ashen and covered in
sweat. He looked horrible.
"Oh, Mike," I gasped.
"Do you mind leaving early?" he whispered.
"No, of course not." I pulled my hand free and went to help Mike walk. He
looked unsteady.
"Movie too much for you?" Jacob asked heartlessly.
Mike's glare was malevolent. "I didn't actually see any of it," he
mumbled. "I was nauseated before the lights went down."
"Why didn't you say something?" I scolded as we staggered toward the exit.
"I was hoping it would pass," he said.
"Just a sec," Jacob said as we reached the door. He walked quickly back
to the concession stand.
"Could I have an empty popcorn bucket?" he asked the salesgirl. She
looked at Mike once, and then thrust a bucket at Jacob.
"Get him outside, please," she begged. She was obviously the one who
would have to clean the floor.
I towed Mike out into the cool, wet air. He inhaled deeply. Jacob was
right behind us. He helped me get Mike into the back of the car, and
handed him the bucket with a serious gaze.
"Please," was all Jacob said.
We rolled down the windows, letting the icy night air blow through the
car, hoping it would help Mike. I curled my arms around my legs to keep
warm.
"Cold, again?" Jacob asked, putting his arm around me before I could
answer.
"You're not?"
He shook his head.
"You must have a fever or something," I grumbled. It was freezing. I
touched my fingers to his forehead, and his head was hot.
"Whoa, Jake—you're burning up!"
"I feel fine." He shrugged. "Fit as a fiddle."
I frowned and touched his head again. His skin blazed under my fingers.
"Your hands are like ice," he complained.
"Maybe it's me," I allowed.
Mike groaned in the backseat, and threw up in the bucket. I grimaced,
hoping my own stomach could stand the sound and smell. Jacob checked
anxiously over his shoulder to make sure his car wasn't defiled.
The road felt longer on the way back.
Jacob was quiet, thoughtful. He left his arm around me, and it was so
warm that the cold wind felt good.
I stared out the windshield, consumed with guilt.
It was so wrong to encourage Jacob. Pure selfishness. It didn't matter
that I'd tried to make my position clear. If he felt any hope at all that
this could turn into something other than friendship, then I hadn't been
clear enough.
How could I explain so that he would understand? I was an empty shell.
Like a vacant house—condemned—for months I'd been utterly uninhabitable.
Now I was a little improved. The front room was in better repair. But
that was all—just the one small piece. He deserved better than
that—better than a one-room, falling-down fixer-upper. No amount of
investment on his part could put me back in working order.
Yet I knew that I wouldn't send him away, regardless. I needed him too
much, and I was selfish. Maybe I could make my side more clear, so that
he would know to leave me. The thought made me shudder, and Jacob
tightened his arm around me.
I drove Mike home in his Suburban, while Jacob followed behind us to take
me home. Jacob was quiet all the way back to my house, and I wondered if
he were thinking the same things that I was. Maybe he was changing his
mind.
"I would invite myself in, since we're early," he said as we pulled up
next to my truck. "But I think you might be right about the fever. I'm
starting to feel a little… strange."
"Oh no, not you, too! Do you want me to drive you home?"
"No." He shook his head, his eyebrows pulling together. "I don't feel
sick yet. Just… wrong. If I have to, I'll pull over."
"Will you call me as soon as you get in?" I asked anxiously.
"Sure, sure." He frowned, staring ahead into the darkness and biting his
lip.
I opened my door to get out, but he grabbed my wrist lightly and held me
there. I noticed again how hot his skin felt on mine.
"What is it, Jake?" I asked.
"There's something I want to tell you, Bella… but I think it's going to
sound kind of corny."
I sighed. This would be more of the same from the theater. "Go ahead."
"It's just that, I know how you're unhappy a lot. And, maybe it doesn't
help anything, but I wanted you to know that I'm always here. I won't
ever let you down—I promise that you can always count on me. Wow, that
does sound corny. But you know that, right? That I would never, ever hurt
you?"
"Yeah, Jake. I know that. And I already do count on you, probably more
than you know."
The smile broke across his face the way the sunrise set the clouds on
fire, and I wanted to cut my tongue out. I hadn't said one word that was
a lie, but I should have lied. The truth was wrong, it would hurt him. I
would let him down.
A strange look crossed his face. "I really think I'd better go home now,"
he said.
I got out quickly.
"Call me!" I yelled as he pulled away.
I watched him go, and he seemed to be in control of the car, at least. I
stared at the empty street when he was gone, feeling a little sick
myself, but not for any physical reason.
How much I wished that Jacob Black had been born my brother, my flesh-and
-blood brother, so that I would have some legitimate claim on him that
still left me free of any blame now. Heaven knows I had never wanted to
use Jacob, but I couldn't help but interpret the guilt I felt now to mean
that I had.
Even more, I had never meant to love him. One thing I truly knew—knew it
in the pit of my stomach, in the center of my bones, knew it from the
crown of my head to the soles of my feet, knew it deep in my empty
chest—was how love gave someone the power to break you.
I'd been broken beyond repair.
But I needed Jacob now, needed him like a drug. I'd used him as a crutch
for too long, and I was in deeper than I'd planned to go with anyone
again. Now I couldn't bear for him to be hurt, and I couldn't keep from
hurting him, either. He thought time and patience would change me, and,
though I knew he was dead wrong, I also knew that I would let him try.
He was my best friend. I would always love him, and it would never, ever
be enough.
I went inside to sit by the phone and bite my nails.
"Movie over already?" Charlie asked in surprise when I came in. He was on
the floor, just a foot from the TV. Must be an exciting game.
"Mike got sick," I explained. "Some kind of stomach flu."
"You okay?"
"I feel fine now," I said doubtfully. Clearly, I'd been exposed.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, my hand inches from the phone, and
tried to wait patiently. I thought of the strange look on Jacob's face
before he drove away, and my fingers started drumming against the
counter. I should have insisted on driving him home.
I watched the clock as the minutes ticked by Ten. Fifteen. Even when I
was driving, it took only fifteen minutes, and Jacob drove faster than I
did. Eighteen minutes. I picked up the phone and dialed.
It rang and rang. Maybe Billy was asleep. Maybe I'd dialed wrong. I tried
again.
On the eighth ring, just as I was about to hang up, Billy answered.
"Hello?" he asked. His voice was wary, like he was expecting bad news.
"Billy, it's me, Bella—did Jake make it home yet? He left here about
twenty minutes ago."
"He's here," Billy said tonelessly.
"He was supposed to call me." I was a little irritated. "He was getting
sick when he left, and I was worried."
"He was… too sick to call. He's not feeling well right now." Billy
sounded distant. I realized he must want to be with Jacob.
"Let me know if you need any help," I offered. "I could come down." I
thought of Billy, stuck in his chair, and Jake fending for himself…
"No, no," Billy said quickly. "We're fine. Stay at your place."
The way he said it was almost rude.
"Okay," I agreed.
"Bye, Bella."
The line disconnected.
"Bye," I muttered.
Well, at least he'd made it home. Oddly, I didn't feel less worried. I
trudged up the stairs, fretting. Maybe I would go down before work
tomorrow to check on him. I could take soup—we had to have a can of
Campbell's around here somewhere.
I realized all such plans were canceled when I woke up early—my clock
said four thirty—and sprinted to the bathroom. Charlie found me there a
half hour later, lying on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold
edge of the bathtub.
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Stomach flu," he finally said.
"Yes," I moaned.
"You need something?" he asked.
"Call the Newtons for me, please," I instructed hoarsely. "Tell them I
have what Mike has, and that I can't make it in today. Tell them I'm
sorry."
"Sure, no problem," Charlie assured me.
I spent the rest of the day on the bathroom floor, sleeping for a few
hours with my head on a crumpled up towel. Charlie claimed that he had to
work, but I suspected that he just wanted access to a bathroom. He left a
glass of water on the floor beside me to keep me hydrated.
It woke me up when he came back home. I could see that it was dark in my
room—after nightfall. He clumped up the stairs to check on me.
"Still alive?"
"Sort of," I said.
"Do you want anything?"
"No, thanks."
He hesitated, clearly out of his element. "Okay, then," he said, and then
he went back down to the kitchen.
I heard the phone ring a few minutes later. Charlie spoke to someone in a
low voice for a moment, and then hung up.
"Mike feels better," he called up to me.
Well, that was encouraging. He'd only gotten sick eight hours or so
before me. Eight more hours. The thought made my stomach turn, and I
pulled myself up to lean over the toilet.
I fell asleep on the towel again, but when I woke up I was in my bed and
it was light outside my window. I didn't remember moving; Charlie must
have carried me to my room—he'd also put the glass of water on my bedside
table. I felt parched. I chugged it down, though it tasted funny from
sitting stagnant all night.
I got up slowly, trying not to trigger the nausea again. I was weak, and
my mouth tasted horrible, but my stomach felt fine. I looked at my clock.
My twenty-four hours were up.
I didn't push it, eating nothing but saltine crackers for breakfast.
Charlie looked relieved to see me recovered.
As soon as I was sure that I wasn't going to have to spend the day on the
bathroom floor again, I called Jacob.
Jacob was the one who answered, but when I heard his greeting I knew he
wasn't over it.
"Hello?" His voice was broken, cracking.
"Oh, Jake," I groaned sympathetically. "You sound horrible."
"I feel horrible," he whispered.
"I'm so sorry I made you go out with me. This sucks."
"I'm glad I went." His voice was still a whisper. "Don't blame yourself.
This isn't your fault."
"You'll get better soon," I promised. "I woke up this morning, and I was
fine."
"You were sick?" he asked dully.
"Yes, I got it, too. But I'm fine now."
"That's good." His voice was dead.
"So you'll probably be better in a few hours," I encouraged.
I could barely hear his answer. "I don't think I have the same thing you
did."
"Don't you have the stomach flu?" I asked, confused.
"No. This is something else."
"What's wrong with you?"
"Everything," he whispered. "Every part of me hurts."
The pain in his voice was nearly tangible.
"What can I do, Jake? What can I bring you?"
"Nothing. You can't come here." He was abrupt. It reminded me of Billy
the other night.
"I've already been exposed to whatever you have," I pointed out.
He ignored me. "I'll call you when I can. I'll let you know when you can
come down again."
"Jacob—"
"I've got to go," he said with sudden urgency.
"Call me when you feel better."
"Right," he agreed, and his voice had a strange, bitter edge.
He was silent for a moment. I was waiting for him to say goodbye, but he
waited too.
"I'll see you soon," I finally said. "Wait for me to call," he said
again. "Okay… Bye, Jacob."
"Bella," he whispered my name, and then hung up the phone.
===========================================================================
10. THE MEADOW
JACOB DIDN'T CALL.
The first time I called, Billy answered and told me that Jacob was still
in bed. I got nosy, checking to make sure that Billy had taken him to a
doctor. Billy said he had, but, for some reason I couldn't nail down, I
didn't really believe him. I called again, several times a day, for the
next two days, but no one was ever there.
Saturday, I decided to go see him, invitation be damned. But the little
red house was empty. This frightened me—was Jacob so sick that he'd
needed to go to the hospital? I stopped by the hospital on the way back
home, but the nurse at the front desk told me neither Jacob or Billy had
been in.
I made Charlie call Harry Clearwater as soon as he got home from work. I
waited, anxious, while Charlie chatted with his old friend; the
conversation seemed to go on forever without Jacob even being mentioned.
It seemed that Harry had been in the hospital . . some kind of tests for
his heart. Charlie's forehead got all pinched together, but Harry joked
with him, blowing it off, until Charlie was laughing again. Only then did
Charlie ask about Jacob, and now his side of the conversation didn't give
me much to work with, just a lot of hmms and yeahs. I drummed my fingers
against the counter beside him until he put a hand over mine to stop me.
Finally, Charlie hung up the phone and turned to me.
"Harry says there's been some trouble with the phone lines, and that's
why you haven't been able to get through. Billy took Jake to the doc down
there, and it looks like he has mono. He's real tired, and Billy said no
visitors," he reported.
"No visitors?" I demanded in disbelief.
Charlie raised one eyebrow. "Now don't you go making a pest of yourself,
Bells. Billy knows what's best for Jake. He'll be up and around soon
enough. Be patient."
I didn't push it. Charlie was too worried about Harry. That was clearly
the more important issue—it wouldn't be right to bug him with my lesser
concerns. Instead, I went straight upstairs and turned on my computer. I
found a medical site online and typed "mononucleosis" into the search box.
All I knew about mono was that you were supposed to get it from kissing,
which was clearly not the case with Jake. I read through the symptoms
quickly—the fever he definitely had, but what about the rest of it? No
horrible sore throat, no exhaustion, no headaches, at least not before
he'd gone home from the movie; he'd said he felt "fit as a fiddle." Did
it really come on so fast? The article made it sound like the sore stuff
showed up first.
I glared at the computer screen and wondered why, exactly, I was doing
this. Why did I feel so… so suspicious, like I didn't believe Billy's
story? Why would Billy lie to Harry?
I was being silly, probably. I was just worried, and, to be honest, I was
afraid of not being allowed to see Jacob—that made me nervous.
I skimmed through the rest of the article, looking for more information.
I stopped when I got to the part about how mono could last more than a
month.
A month? My mouth fell open.
But Billy couldn't enforce the no-visitors thing that long. Of course
not. Jake would go crazy stuck in bed that long without anyone to talk to.
What was Billy afraid of, anyway? The article said that a person with
mono needed to avoid physical activity, but there was nothing about
visitors. The disease wasn't very infectious.
I'd give Billy a week, I decided, before I got pushy. A week was generous.
A week was long. By Wednesday, I was sure I wasn't going to live till
Saturday.
When I'd decided to leave Billy and Jacob alone for a week, I hadn't
really believed that Jacob would go along with Billy's rule. Every day
when I got home from school, I ran to the phone to check for messages.
There never were any.
I cheated three times by trying to call him, but the phone lines still
weren't working.
I was in the house much too much, and much too alone. Without Jacob, and
my adrenaline and my distractions, everything I'd been repressing started
creeping up on me. The dreams got hard again. I could no longer see the
end coming. Just the horrible nothingness—half the time in the forest,
half the time in the empty fern sea where the white house no longer
existed. Sometimes Sam Uley was there in the forest, watching me again. I
paid him no attention—there was no comfort in his presence; it made me
feel no less alone. It didn't stop me from screaming myself awake, night
after night.
The hole in my chest was worse than ever. I'd thought that I'd been
getting it under control, but I found myself hunched over, day after day,
clutching my sides together and gasping for air.
I wasn't handling alone well.
I was relieved beyond measure the morning I woke up—screaming, of
course—and remembered that it was Saturday. Today I could call Jacob. And
if the phone lines still weren't working, then I was going to La Push.
One way or another, today would be better than the last lonely week.
I dialed, and then waited without high expectations.
It caught me off guard when Billy answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Oh, hey, the phone is working again! Hi, Billy. It's Bella. I was just
calling to see how Jacob is doing. Is he up for visitors yet? I was
thinking about dropping by—"
"I'm sorry, Bella," Billy interrupted, and I wondered if he were watching
TV; he sounded distracted. "He's not in."
"Oh." It took me a second. "So he's feeling better then?"
"Yeah," Billy hesitated for an instant too long. "Turns out it wasn't
mono after all. Just some other virus."
"Oh. So… where is he?"
"He's giving some friends a ride up to Port Angeles—I think they were
going to catch a double feature or something. He's gone for the whole
day."
"Well, that's a relief. I've been so worried. I'm glad he felt good
enough to get out." My voice sounded horribly phony as I babbled on.
Jacob was better, but not well enough to call me. He was out with
friends. I was sitting home, missing him more every hour. I was lonely,
worried, bored… perforated—and now also desolate as I realized that the
week apart had not had the same effect on him.
"Is there anything in particular you wanted?" Billy asked politely.
"No, not really."
"Well, I'll tell him that you called," Billy promised. "Bye, Bella."
"Bye," I replied, but he'd already hung up.
I stood for a moment with the phone still in my hand.
Jacob must have changed his mind, just like I'd feared. He was going to
take my advice and not waste any more time on someone who couldn't return
his feelings. I felt the blood run out of my face.
"Something wrong?" Charlie asked as he came down the stairs.
"No," I lied, hanging up the phone. "Billy says Jacob is feeling better.
It wasn't mono. So that's good."
"Is he coming here, or are you going there?" Charlie asked absentmindedly
as he started poking through the fridge.
"Neither," I admitted. "He's going out with some other friends."
The tone of my voice finally caught Charlie's attention. He looked up at
me with sudden alarm, his hands frozen around a package of cheese slices.
"Isn't it a little early for lunch?" I asked as lightly as I could
manage, trying to distract him.
"No, I'm just packing something to take out to the river…"
"Oh, fishing today?"
"Well, Harry called… and it's not raining." He was creating a stack of
food on the counter as he spoke. Suddenly he looked up again as if he'd
just realized something. "Say, did you want me to stay with you, since
Jake's out?"
"That's okay, Dad," I said, working to sound indifferent. "The fish bite
better when the weather's nice."
He stared at me, indecision clear on his face. I knew that he was
worrying, afraid to leave me alone, in case I got "mopey" again.
"Seriously, Dad. I think I'll call Jessica," I fibbed quickly. I'd rather
be alone than have him watching me all day. "We have a Calculus test to
study for. I could use her help." That part was true. But I'd have to
make do without it.
"That's a good idea. You've been spending so much time with Jacob, your
other friends are going to think you've forgotten them."
I smiled and nodded as if I cared what my other friends thought.
Charlie started to turn, but then spun back with a worried expression.
"Hey, you'll study here or at Jess's, right?"
"Sure, where else?"
"Well, it's just that I want you to be careful to stay out of the woods,
like I told you before."
It took me a minute to understand, distracted as I was. "More bear
trouble?"
Charlie nodded, frowning. "We've got a missing hiker—the rangers found
his camp early this morning, but no sign of him. There were some really
big animal prints… of course those could have come later, smelling the
food… Anyway, they're setting traps for it now."
"Oh," I said vaguely. I wasn't really listening to his warnings; I was
much more upset by the situation with Jacob than by the possibility of
being eaten by a bear.
I was glad that Charlie was in a hurry. He didn't wait for me to call
Jessica, so I didn't have to put on that charade. I went through the
motions of gathering my school-books on the kitchen table to pack them in
my bag; that was probably too much, and if he hadn't been eager to hit
the holes, it might have made him suspicious.
I was so busy looking busy that the ferociously empty day ahead didn't
really crash down on me until after I'd watched him drive away. It only
took about two minutes of staring at the silent kitchen phone to decide
that I wasn't staying home today. I considered my options.
I wasn't going to call Jessica. As far as I could tell, Jessica had
crossed over to the dark side.
I could drive to La Push and get my motorcycle—an appealing thought but
for one minor problem: who was going to drive me to the emergency room if
I needed it afterward?
Or… I already had our map and compass in the truck. I was pretty sure I
understood the process well enough by now that I wouldn't get lost. Maybe
I could eliminate two lines today, putting us ahead of schedule for
whenever Jacob decided to honor me with his presence again. I refused to
think about how long that might be. Or if it was going to be never.
I felt a brief twinge of guilt as I realized how Charlie would feel about
this, but I ignored it. I just couldn't stay in the house again today.
A few minutes later I was on the familiar dirt road that led to nowhere
in particular. I had the windows rolled down and I drove as fast as was
healthy for my truck, trying to enjoy the wind against my face. It was
cloudy, but almost dry—a very nice day, for Forks.
Getting started took me longer than it would have taken Jacob. After I
parked in the usual spot, I had to spend a good fifteen minutes studying
the little needle on the compass face and the markings on the now worn
map. When I was reasonably certain that I was following the right line of
the web, I set off into the woods.
The forest was full of life today, all the little creatures enjoying the
momentary dryness. Somehow, though, even with the birds chirping and
cawing, the insects buzzing noisily around my head, and the occasional
scurry of the field mice through the shrubs, the forest seemed creepier
today; it reminded me of my most recent nightmare. I knew it was just
because I was alone, missing Jacob's carefree whistle and the sound of
another pair of feet squishing across the damp ground.
The sense of unease grew stronger the deeper I got into the trees.
Breathing started to get more difficult—not because of exertion, but
because I was having trouble with the stupid hole in my chest again. I
kept my arms tight around my torso and tried to banish the ache from my
thoughts. I almost turned around, but I hated to waste the effort I'd
already expended.
The rhythm of my footsteps started to numb my mind and my pain as I
trudged on. My breathing evened out eventually, and I was glad I hadn't
quit. I was getting better at this bushwhacking thing; I could tell I was
faster.
I didn't realize quite how much more efficiently I was moving. I thought
I'd covered maybe four miles, and I wasn't even starting to look around
for it yet. And then, with an abruptness that disoriented me, I stepped
through a low arch made by two vine maples—pushing past the chest-high
ferns—into the meadow.
It was the same place, of that I was instantly sure. I'd never seen
another clearing so symmetrical. It was as perfectly round as if someone
had intentionally created the flawless circle, tearing out the trees but
leaving no evidence of that violence in the waving grass. To the east, I
could hear the stream bubbling quietly.
The place wasn't nearly so stunning without the sunlight, but it was
still very beautiful and serene. It was the wrong season for wildflowers;
the ground was thick with tall grass that swayed in the light breeze like
ripples across a lake.
It was the same place… but it didn't hold what I had been searching for.
The disappointment was nearly as instantaneous as the recognition. I sank
down right where I was, kneeling there at the edge of the clearing,
beginning to gasp.
What was the point of going any farther? Nothing lingered here. Nothing
more than the memories that I could have called back whenever I wanted
to, if I was ever willing to endure the corresponding pain—the pain that
had me now, had me cold. There was nothing special about this place
without him. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd hoped to feel here, but the
meadow was empty of atmosphere, empty of everything, just like everywhere
else. Just like my nightmares. My head swirled dizzily.
At least I'd come alone. I felt a rush of thankfulness as I realized
that. If I'd discovered the meadow with Jacob… well, there was no way I
could have disguised the abyss I was plunging into now. How could I have
explained the way I was fracturing into pieces, the way I had to curl
into a ball to keep the empty hole from tearing me apart? It was so much
better that I didn't have an audience.
And I wouldn't have to explain to anyone why I was in such a hurry to
leave, either. Jacob would have assumed, after going to so much trouble
to locate the stupid place, I would want to spend more than a few seconds
here. But I was already trying to find the strength to get to my feet
again, forcing myself out of the ball so that I could escape. There was
too much pain in this empty place to bear—I would crawl away if I had to.
How lucky that I was alone!
Alone. I repeated the word with grim satisfaction as I wrenched myself to
my feet despite the pain. At precisely that moment, a figure stepped out
from the trees to the north, some thirty paces away.
A dizzying array of emotions shot through me in a second. The first was
surprise; I was far from any trail here, and I didn't expect company.
Then, as my eyes focused on the motionless figure, seeing the utter
stillness, the pallid skin, a rush of piercing hope rocked through me. I
suppressed it viciously, fighting against the equally sharp lash of agony
as my eyes continued to the face beneath the black hair, the face that
wasn't the one I wanted to see. Next was fear; this was not the face I
grieved for, but it was close enough for me to know that the man facing
me was no stray hiker.
And finally, in the end, recognition.
"Laurent!" I cried in surprised pleasure.
It was an irrational response. I probably should have stopped at fear.
Laurent had been one of James's coven when we'd first met. He hadn't been
involved with the hunt that followed—the hunt where I was the quarry—but
that was only because he was afraid; I was protected by a bigger coven
than his own. It would have been different if that wasn't the case—he'd
had no compunctions, at the time, against making a meal of me. Of course,
he must have changed, because he'd gone to Alaska to live with the other
civilized coven there, the other family that refused to drink human blood
for ethical reasons. The other family like… but I couldn't let myself
think the name.
Yes, fear would have made more sense, but all I felt was an overwhelming
satisfaction. The meadow was a magic place again. A darker magic than I'd
expected, to be sure, but magic all the same. Here was the connection I'd
sought. The proof, however remote, that—somewhere in the same world where
I lived—he did exist.
It was impossible how exactly the same Laurent looked. I suppose it was
very silly and human to expect some kind of change in the last year. But
there was something… I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
"Bella?" he asked, looking more astonished than I felt.
"You remember." I smiled. It was ridiculous that I should be so elated
because a vampire knew my name.
He grinned. "I didn't expect to see you here." He strolled toward me, his
expression bemused.
"Isn't it the other way around? I do live here. I thought you'd gone to
Alaska."
He stopped about ten paces away, cocking his head to the side. His face
was the most beautiful face I'd seen in what felt like an eternity. I
studied his features with a strangely greedy sense of release. Here was
someone I didn't have to pretend for—someone who already knew everything
I could never say.
"You're right," he agreed. "I did go to Alaska. Still, I didn't expect…
When I found the Cullen place empty, I thought they'd moved on."
"Oh." I bit my lip as the name set the raw edges of my wound throbbing.
It took me a second to compose myself. Laurent waited with curious eyes.
"They did move on," I finally managed to tell him.
"Hmm," he murmured. "I'm surprised they left you behind. Weren't you sort
of a pet of theirs?" His eyes were innocent of any intended offense.
I smiled wryly. "Something like that."
"Hmm," he said, thoughtful again.
At that precise moment, I realized why he looked the same—too much the
same. After Carlisle told us that Laurent had stayed with Tanya's family,
I'd begun to picture him, on the rare occasions that I thought of him at
all, with the same golden eyes that the… Cullens—I forced the name out,
wincing—had. That all good vampires had.
I took an involuntary step back, and his curious, dark red eyes followed
the movement.
"Do they visit often?" he asked, still casual, but his weight shifted
toward me.
"Lie," the beautiful velvet voice whispered anxiously from my memory.
I started at the sound of his voice, but it should not have surprised me.
Was I nor in the worst danger imaginable? The motorcycle was safe as
kittens next to this.
I did what the voice said to do.
"Now and again." I tried to make my voice light, relaxed. "The time seems
longer to me, I imagine. You know how they get distracted…" I was
beginning to babble. I had to work to shut myself up.
"Hmm," he said again. "The house smelled like it had been vacant for a
while…"
"You must lie better than that, Bella," the voice urged.
I tried. "I'll have to mention to Carlisle that you stopped by. He'll be
sorry they missed your visit." I pretended to deliberate for a second.
"But I probably shouldn't mention it to… Edward, I suppose—" I barely
managed to say his name, and it twisted my expression on the way out,
ruining my bluff "—he has such a temper… well, I'm sure you remember.
He's still touchy about the whole James thing." I rolled my eyes and
waved one hand dismissively, like it was all ancient history, but there
was an edge of hysteria to my voice. I wondered if he would recognize
what it was.
"Is he really?" Laurent asked pleasantly… skeptically.
I kept my reply short, so that my voice wouldn't betray my panic.
"Mm-hmm."
Laurent took a casual step to the side, gazing around at the little
meadow. I didn't miss that the step brought him closer to me. In my head,
the voice responded with a low snarl.
"So how are things working out in Denali? Carlisle said you were staying
with Tanya?" My voice was too high.
The question made him pause. "I like Tanya very much," he mused. "And her
sister Irina even more… I've never stayed in one place for so long
before, and I enjoy the advantages, the novelty of it. But, the
restrictions are difficult… I'm surprised that any of them can keep it up
for long." He smiled at me conspiratorially. "Sometimes I cheat."
I couldn't swallow. My foot started to ease back, but I froze when his
red eyes flickered down to catch the movement.
"Oh," I said in a faint voice. "Jasper has problems with that, too."
"Don't move," the voice whispered. I tried to do what he instructed. It
was hard; the instinct to take flight was nearly uncontrollable.
"Really?" Laurent seemed interested. "Is that why they left?"
"No," I answered honestly. "Jasper is more careful at home."
"Yes," Laurent agreed. "I am, too."
The step forward he took now was quite deliberate.
"Did Victoria ever find you?" I asked, breathless, desperate to distract
him. It was the first question that popped into my head, and I regretted
it as soon as the words were spoken. Victoria—who had hunted me with
James, and then disappeared—was not someone I wanted to think of at this
particular moment.
But the question did stop him.
"Yes," he said, hesitating on that step. "I actually came here as a favor
to her." He made a face. "She won't be happy about this."
"About what?" I said eagerly, inviting him to continue. He was glaring
into the trees, away from me. I took advantage of his diversion, taking a
furtive step back.
He looked back at me and smiled—the expression made him look like a
black-haired angel.
"About me killing you," he answered in a seductive purr.
I staggered back another step. The frantic growling in my head made it
hard to hear.
"She wanted to save that part for herself," he went on blithely. "She's
sort of… put out with you, Bella."
"Me?" I squeaked.
He shook his head and chuckled. "I know, it seems a little backward to
me, too. But James was her mate, and your Edward killed him."
Even here, on the point of death, his name tore against my unhealed
wounds like a serrated edge.
Laurent was oblivious to my reaction. "She thought it more appropriate to
kill you than Edward—fair turnabout, mate for mate. She asked me to get
the lay of the land for her, so to speak. I didn't imagine you would be
so easy to get to. So maybe her plan was flawed—apparently it wouldn't be
the revenge she imagined, since you must not mean very much to him if he
left you here unprotected."
Another blow, another tear through my chest.
Laurent's weight shifted slightly, and I stumbled another step back.
He frowned. "I suppose she'll be angry, all the same."
"Then why not wait for her?" I choked out.
A mischievous grin rearranged his features. "Well, you've caught me at a
bad time, Bella. I didn't come to this place on Victoria's mission—I was
hunting. I'm quite thirsty, and you do smell… simply mouthwatering."
Laurent looked at me with approval, as if he meant it as a compliment.
"Threaten him," the beautiful delusion ordered, his voice distorted with
dread.
"He'll know it was you," I whispered obediently. "You won't get away with
this."
"And why not?" Laurent's smile widened. He gazed around the small opening
in the trees. "The scent will wash away with the next rain. No one will
find your body—you'll simply go missing, like so many, many other humans.
There's no reason for Edward to think of me, if he cares enough to
investigate. This is nothing personal, let me assure you, Bella. Just
thirst."
"Beg," my hallucination begged.
"Please," I gasped.
Laurent shook his head, his face kind. "Look at it this way, Bella.
You're very lucky I was the one to find you."
"Am I?" I mouthed, faltering another step back.
Laurent followed, lithe and graceful.
"Yes," he assured me. "I'll be very quick. You won't feel a thing, I
promise. Oh, I'll lie to Victoria about that later, naturally, just to
placate her. But if you knew what she had planned for you, Bella…" He
shook his head with a slow movement, almost as if in disgust. "I swear
you'd be thanking me for this."
I stared at him in horror.
He sniffed at the breeze that blew threads of my hair in his direction.
"Mouthwatering," he repeated, inhaling deeply.
I tensed for the spring, my eyes squinting as I cringed away, and the
sound of Edward's furious roar echoed distantly in the back of my head.
His name burst through all the walls I'd built to contain it. Edward,
Edward, Edward. I was going to die. It shouldn't matter if I thought of
him now. Edward, I love you.
Through my narrowed eyes, I watched as Laurent paused in the act of
inhaling and whipped his head abruptly to the left. I was afraid to look
away from him, to follow his glance, though he hardly needed a
distraction or any other trick to overpower me. I was too amazed to feel
relief when he started slowly backing away from me.
"I don't believe it," he said, his voice so low that I barely heard it.
I had to look then. My eyes scanned the meadow, searching for the
interruption that had extended my life by a few seconds. At first I saw
nothing, and my gaze flickered back to Laurent. He was retreating more
quickly now, his eyes boring into the forest.
Then I saw it; a huge black shape eased out of the trees, quiet as a
shadow, and stalked deliberately toward the vampire. It was enormous—as
tall as a horse, but thicker, much more muscular. The long muzzle
grimaced, revealing a line of dagger-like incisors. A grisly snarl rolled
out from between the teeth, rumbling across the clearing like a prolonged
crack of thunder.
The bear. Only, it wasn't a bear at all. Still, this gigantic black
monster had to be the creature causing all the alarm. From a distance,
anyone would assume it was a bear. What else could be so vast, so
powerfully built?
I wished I were lucky enough to see it from a distance. Instead, it
padded silently through the grass a mere ten feet from where I stood.
"Don't move an inch," Edward's voice whispered.
I stared at the monstrous creature, my mind boggling as I tried to put a
name to it. There was a distinctly canine cast to the shape of it, the
way it moved. I could only think of one possibility, locked in horror as
I was. Yet I'd never imagined that a wolf could get so big.
Another growl rumbled in its throat, and I shuddered away from the sound.
Laurent was backing toward the edge of the trees, and, under the freezing
terror, confusion swept through me. Why was Laurent retreating? Granted,
the wolf was monstrous in size, but it was just an animal. What reason
would a vampire have for fearing an animal? And Laurent was afraid. His
eyes were wide with horror, just like mine.
As if in answer to my question, suddenly the mammoth wolf was not alone.
Flanking it on either side, another two gigantic beasts prowled silently
into the meadow. One was a deep gray, the other brown, neither one quite
as tall as the first. The gray wolf came through the trees only a few
feet from me, its eyes locked on Laurent.
Before I could even react, two more wolves followed, lined up in a V,
like geese flying south. Which meant that the rusty brown monster that
shrugged through the brush last was close enough for me to touch.
I gave an involuntary gasp and jumped back—which was the stupidest thing
I could have done. I froze again, waiting for the wolves to turn on me,
the much weaker of the available prey. I wished briefly that Laurent
would get on with it and crush the wolf pack—it should be so simple for
him. I guessed that, between the two choices before me, being eaten by
wolves was almost certainly the worse option.
The wolf closest to me, the reddish brown one, turned its head slightly
at the sound of my gasp.
The wolf's eyes were dark, nearly black. It gazed at me for a fraction of
a second, the deep eyes seeming too intelligent for a wild animal.
As it stared at me, I suddenly thought of Jacob—again, with gratitude. At
least I'd come here alone, to this fairytale meadow filled with dark
monsters. At least Jacob wasn't going to die, too. At least I wouldn't
have his death on my hands.
Then another low growl from the leader caused the russet wolf to whip his
head around, back toward Laurent.
Laurent was staring at the pack of monster wolves with unconcealed shock
and fear. The first I could understand. But I was stunned when, without
warning, he spun and disappeared into the trees.
He ran away.
The wolves were after him in a second, sprinting across the open grass
with a few powerful bounds, snarling and snapping so loudly that my hands
flew up instinctively to cover my ears. The sound faded with surprising
swiftness once they disappeared into the woods.
And then I was alone again.
My knees buckled under me, and I fell onto my hands, sobs building in my
throat.
I knew I needed to leave, and leave now. How long would the wolves chase
Laurent before they doubled back for me? Or would Laurent turn on them?
Would he be the one that came looking?
I couldn't move at first, though; my arms and legs were shaking, and I
didn't know how to get back to my feet.
My mind couldn't move past the fear, the horror or the confusion. I
didn't understand what I'd just witnessed.
A vampire should not have run from overgrown dogs like that. What good
would their teeth be against his granite skin?
And the wolves should have given Laurent a wide berth. Even if their
extraordinary size had taught them to fear nothing, it still made no
sense that they would pursue him. I doubted his icy marble skin would
smell anything like food. Why would they pass up something warmblooded
and weak like me to chase after Laurent?
I couldn't make it add up.
A cold breeze whipped through the meadow, swaying the grass like
something was moving through it.
I scrambled to my feet, backing away even though the wind brushed
harmlessly past me. Stumbling in panic, I turned and ran headlong into
the trees.
The next few hours were agony. It took me three times as long to escape
the trees as it had to get to the meadow.
At first I paid no attention to where I was headed, focused only on what
I was running from By the time I collected myself enough to remember the
compass, I was deep in the unfamiliar and menacing forest. My hands were
shaking so violently that I had to set the compass on the muddy ground to
be able to read it. Every few minutes I would stop to put the compass
dowr and check that I was still heading northwest, hearing—when the
sounds weren't hidden behind the frantic squelching of my footsteps—the
quiet whisper of unseen things moving in the leaves.
The call of a jaybird made me leap back and fall into a thick stand of
young spruce, scraping up my arms and tangling my hair with sap. The
sudden rush of a squirrel up a hemlock made me scream so loud it hurt my
own ears.
At last there was a break in the trees ahead. I came out onto the empty
road a mile or so south of where I'd left the truck. Exhausted as I was,
I jogged up the lane until I found it. By the time I pulled myself into
the cab, I was sobbing again. I fiercely shoved down both stiff locks
before I dug my keys out of my pocket. The roar of the engine was
comforting and sane. It helped me control the tears as I sped as fast as
my truck would allow toward the main highway.
I was calmer, but still a mess when I got home. Charlie's cruiser was in
the driveway—I hadn't realized how late it was. The sky was already dusky.
"Bella?" Charlie asked when I slammed the front door behind me and
hastily turned the locks.
"Yeah, it's me." My voice was unsteady.
"Where have you been?" he thundered, appearing through the kitchen
doorway with an ominous expression.
I hesitated. He'd probably called the Stanleys. I'd better stick to the
truth.
"I was hiking," I admitted.
His eyes were tight. "What happened to going to Jessica's?"
"I didn't feel like Calculus today."
Charlie folded his arms across his chest. "I thought I asked you to stay
out of the forest."
"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I won't do it again." I shuddered.
Charlie seemed to really look at me for the first time. I remembered that
I had spent some time on the forest floor today; I must be a mess.
"What happened?" Charlie demanded.
Again, I decided that the truth, or part of it anyway, was the best
option. I was too shaken to pretend that I'd spent an uneventful day with
the flora and fauna.
"I saw the bear." I tried to say it calmly, but my voice was high and
shaky. "It's not a bear, though—it's some kind of wolf. And there are
five of them. A big black one, and gray, and reddish-brown…"
Charlie's eyes grew round with horror. He strode quickly to me and
grabbed the tops of my arms.
"Are you okay?"
My head bobbed in a weak nod.
"Tell me what happened."
"They didn't pay any attention to me. But aftet they were gone, I ran
away and I fell down a lot."
He let go of my shoulders and wrapped his arms around me. For a long
moment, he didn't say anything.
"Wolves," he murmured.
"What?"
"The rangers said the tracks were wrong for a bear—but wolves just don't
get that big…"
"These were huge."
"How many did you say you saw?"
"Five."
Charlie shook his head, frowning with anxiety, He finally spoke in a tone
that allowed no argument. "No more hiking."
"No problem," I promised fervently.
Charlie called the station to report what I'd seen. I fudged a little bit
about where exactly I'd seen the wolves—claiming I'd been on the trail
that led to the north. I didn't want my dad to know how deep I'd gone
into the forest against his wishes, and, more importantly, I didn't want
anyone wandering near where Laurent might be searching for me. The
thought of it made me feel sick.
"Are you hungry?" he asked me when he hung up the phone.
I shook my head, though I must have been starving. I hadn't eaten all day.
"Just tired," I told him. I turned for the stairs.
"Hey," Charlie said, his voice suddenly suspicious again. "Didn't you say
Jacob was gone for the day?"
"That's what Billy said," I told him, confused by his question.
He studied my expression for a minute, and seemed satisfied with what he
saw there.
"Huh."
"Why?" I demanded. It sounded like he was implying that I'd been lying to
him this morning. About something besides studying with Jessica.
"Well, it's just that when I went to pick up Harry, I saw Jacob out in
front of the store down there with some of his friends. I waved hi, but
he… well, I guess I don't know if he saw me. I think maybe he was arguing
with his friends. He looked strange, like he was upset about something.
And… different. It's like you can watch that kid growing! He gets bigger
every time I see him."
"Billy said Jake and his friends were going up to Port Angeles to see
some movies. They were probably just waiting for someone to meet them."
"Oh." Charlie nodded and headed for the kitchen.
I stood in the hall, thinking about Jacob arguing with his friends. I
wondered if he had confronted Embry about the situation with Sam. Maybe
that was the reason he'd ditched me today—if it meant he could sort
things out with Embry, I was glad he had.
I paused to check the locks again before I went to my room. It was a
silly thing to do. What difference would a lock make to any of the
monsters I'd seen this afternoon? I assumed the handle alone would stymie
the wolves, not having opposable thumbs. And if Laurent came here…
Or… Victoria.
I lay down on my bed, but I was shaking too hard to hope for sleep. I
curled into a cramped ball under my quilt, and faced the horrifying facts.
There was nothing I could do. There were no precautions I could take.
There was no place I could hide. There was no one who could help me.
I realized, with a nauseous roll of my stomach, that the situation was
worse than even that. Because all those facts applied to Charlie, too. My
father, sleeping one room away from me, was just a hairsbreadth off the
heart of the target that was centered on me. My scent would lead them
here, whether I was here or not.
The tremors rocked me until my teeth chattered.
To calm myself, I fantasized the impossible: I imagined the big wolves
catching up to Laurent in the woods and massacring the indestructible
immortal the way they would any normal person. Despite the absurdity of
such a vision, the idea comforted me. If the wolves got him, then he
couldn't tell Victoria I was here all alone. If he didn't return, maybe
she'd think the Cullens were still protecting me. If only the wolves
could win such a fight…
My good vampires were never coming back; how soothing it was to imagine
that the other kind could also disappear.
I squeezed my eyes tight together and waited for unconsciousness—almost
eager for my nightmare to start. Better that than the pale, beautiful
face that smiled at me now from behind my lids.
In my imagination, Victoria's eyes were black with thirst, bright with
anticipation, and her lips curled back from her gleaming teeth in
pleasure. Her red hair was brilliant as fire; it blew chaotically around
her wild face.
Laurent's words repeated in my head. If you knew what she had planned for
you …
I pressed my fist against my mouth to keep from screaming.
===========================================================================
11. CULT
EACH TIME THAT I OPENED MY EYES TO THE MORNING light and realized I'd
lived through another night was a surprise to me. After the surprise wore
off, my heart would start to race and my palms would sweat; I couldn't
really breathe again until I'd gotten up and ascertained that Charlie had
survived as well.
I could tell he was worried—watching me jump at any loud sound, or my
face suddenly go white for no reason that he could see. From the
questions he asked now and then, he seemed to blame the change on Jacob's
continued absence.
The terror that was always foremost in my thoughts usually distracted me
from the fact that another week had passed, and Jacob still hadn't called
me. But when I was able to concentrate on my normal life—if my life was
really ever normal—this upset me.
I missed him horribly.
It had been bad enough to be alone before I was scared silly. Now, more
than ever, I yearned for his carefree laugh and his infectious grin. I
needed the safe sanity of his homemade garage and his warm hand around my
cold fingers.
I'd half expected him to call on Monday. If there had been some progress
with Embry, wouldn't he want to report it? I wanted to believe that it
was worry for his friend that was occupying all his time, not that he was
just giving up on me.
I called him Tuesday, but no one answered. Were the phone lines still
having problems? Or had Billy invested in caller I.D.?
On Wednesday I called every half hour until after eleven at night,
desperate to hear the warmth of Jacob's voice.
Thursday I sat in my truck in front of my house—with the locks pushed
down—keys in hand, for a solid hour. I was arguing with myself, trying to
justify a quick trip to La Push, but I couldn't do it.
I knew that Laurent had gone back to Victoria by now. If I went to La
Push, I took the chance of leading one of them there. What if they caught
up to me when Jake was nearby? As much as it hurt me, I knew it was
better for Jacob that he was avoiding me. Safer for him.
It was bad enough that I couldn't figure out a way to keep Charlie safe.
Nighttime was the most likely time that they would come looking ior me,
and what could I say to get Charlie out of the house? If I told him the
truth, he'd have me locked up in a rubber room somewhere. I would have
endured that—welcomed it, even—if it could have kept him safe. But
Victoria would still come to his house first, looking for me. Maybe, if
she found me here, that would be enough for her. Maybe she would just
leave when she was done with me.
So I couldn't run away. Even if I could, where would I go? To Renee? I
shuddered at the thought of dragging my lethal shadows into my mother's
safe, sunny world. I would never endanger her that way.
The worry was eating a hole in my stomach. Soon I would have matching
punctures.
That night, Charlie did me another favor and called Harry again to see if
the Blacks were out of town. Harry reported that Billy had attended the
council meeting Wednesday night, and never mentioned anything about
leaving. Charlie warned me not to make a nuisance of myself—Jacob would
call when he got around to it.
Friday afternoon, as I drove home from school, it hit me out of the blue.
I wasn't paying attention to the familiar road, letting the sound of the
engine deaden my brain and silence the worries, when my subconscious
delivered a verdict it must have been working on for some time without my
knowledge.
As soon as I thought of it, I felt really stupid for not seeing it
sooner. Sure. I'd had a lot on my mind—revenue-obsessed vampires, giant
mutant wolves, a ragged hole in the center of my chest—but when I laid
the evidence out, it was embarrassingly obvious.
Jacob avoiding me. Charlie saying he looked strange, upset. . . . Billy's
vague, unhelpful answers.
Holy crow, I knew exactly what was going on with Jacob.
It was Sam Uley. Even my nightmares had been trying to tell me that. Sam
had gotten to Jacob. Whatever was happening to the other boys on the
reservation had reached out and stolen my friend. He'd been sucked into
Sam's cult.
He hadn't given up on me at all, I realized with a rush of feeling.
I let my truck idle in front of my house. What should I do? I weighed the
dangers against each other.
If I went looking for Jacob, I risked the chance of Victoria or Laurent
finding me with him.
If I didn't go after him, Sam would pull him deeper into his frightening,
compulsory gang. Maybe it would be too late if I didn't act soon.
It had been a week, and no vampires had come for me yet. A week was more
than enough time for them to have returned, so I must not be a priority.
Most likely, as I'd decided before, they would come for me at night. The
chances of them following me to La Push were much lower than the chance
of losing Jacob to Sam.
It was worth the danger of the secluded forest road. This was no idle
visit to see what was going on. I knew what was going on. This was a
rescue mission. I was going to talk to Jacob—kidnap him if I had to. I'd
once seen a PBS show on deprogramming the brainwashed. There had to be
some kind of cure.
I decided I'd better call Charlie first. Maybe whatever was going on down
in La Push was something the police should be involved in. I dashed
inside, in a hurry to be on my way.
Charlie answered the phone it the station himself.
"Chief Swan."
"Dad, it's Bella."
"What's wrong?'"
I couldn't argue with his doomsday assumption this time. My voice was
shaking.
"I'm worried about Jacob."
"Why?" he asked, surprised by the unexpected topic.
"I think… I think something weird is going on down at the reservation.
Jacob told me about some strange stuff happening with the other boys his
age. Now he's acting the same way and I'm scared."
"What kind of stuff?" He used his professional, police business voice.
That was good; he was taking me seriously.
"First he was scared, and then he was avoiding me, and now… I'm afraid
he's part of that bizarre gang down there, Sam's gang. Sam Uley's gang."
"Sam Uley?" Charlie repeated, surprised again.
"Yes."
Charlie's voice was more relaxed when he answered. "I think you've got it
wrong, Bells. Sam Uley is a great kid. Well, he's a man now. A good son.
You should hear Billy talk about him. He's really doing wonders with the
youth on the reservation. He's the one who—" Charlie broke off
mid-sentence, and I guessed that he had been about to make a reference to
the night I'd gotten lost in the woods. I moved on quickly.
"Dad, it's not like that. Jacob was scared of him."
"Did you talk to Billy about this?" He was trying to soothe me now. I'd
lost him as soon as I'd mentioned Sam.
"Billy's not concerned."
"Well, Bella, then I'm sure it's okay. Jacob's a kid; he was probably
just messing around. I'm sure he's fine. He can't spend every waking
minute with you, after all."
"This isn't about me," I insisted, but the battle was lost.
"I don't think you need to worry about this. Let Billy take care of
Jacob."
"Charlie…" My voice was starting to sound whiney.
"Bells, I got a lot on my plate right now. Two tourists have gone missing
off a trail outside crescent lake." There was an anxious edge to his
voice. "This wolf problem is getting out of hand."
I was momentarily distracted—stunned, really—by his news. There was no
way the wolves could have survived a match-up with Laurent…
"Are you sure that's what happened to them?" I asked.
"Afraid so, honey. There was—" He hesitated. "There were tracks again,
and… some blood this time."
"Oh!" It must not have come to a confrontation, then. Laurent must have
simply outrun the wolves, but why? What I'd seen in the meadow just got
stranger and stranger—more impossible to understand.
"Look, I really have to go. Don't worry about Jake, Bella. I'm sure it's
nothing."
"Fine," I said curtly, frustrated as his words reminded me of the more
urgent crisis at hand. "Bye." I hang up.
I stared at the phone for a long minute. What the hell, I decided.
Billy answered after two rings.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Billy," I almost growled. I tried to sound more friendly as I
continued. "Can I talk to Jacob, please?"
"Jake's not here."
What a shock. "Do you know where he is?"
"He's out with his friends." Billy's voice was careful.
"Oh yeah? Anyone I know? Quil?" I could tell the words didn't come across
as casually as I'd meant them to.
"No," Billy said slowly. "I don't think he's with Quil today."
I knew better than to mention Sam's name.
"Embry?" I asked.
Billy seemed happier to answer this one. "Yeah, he's with Embry."
That was enough for me. Embry was one of them.
"Well, have him call me when he gets in, all right?"
"Sure, sure. No problem." Click.
"See you soon, Billy," I muttered into the dead phone.
I drove to La Push determined to wait. I'd sit out front of his house all
night if I had to. I'd miss school. The boy was going to have to come
home sometime, and when he did, he was going to have to talk to me.
My mind was so preoccupied that the trip I'd been terrified of making
seemed to take only a few seconds. Before I was expecting it, the forest
began to thin, and I knew I would soon be able to see the first little
houses of the reservation.
Walking away, along the left side of the road, was a tall boy with a
baseball cap.
My breath caught for just a moment in my throat, hopeful that luck was
with me for once, and I'd srumbled across Jacob without hardly trying.
But this boy was too wide, and the hair was short under the hat. Even
from behind, I was sure it was Quil, though he looked bigger than the
last time I'd seen him. What was with these Quileute boys? Were they
feeding them experimental growth hormones?
I crossed over to the wrong side of the road to stop next to him. He
looked up when the roar of my truck approached.
Quil's expression frightened me more than it surprised me. His face was
bleak, brooding, his forehead creased with worry.
"Oh, hey, Bella," he greeted me dully.
"Hi, Quil… Are you okay?"
He stared at me morosely. "Fine."
"Can I give you a ride somewhere?" I offered.
"Sure, I guess," he mumbled. He shuffled around the front of the truck
and opened the passenger door to climb in.
"Where to?"
"My house is on the north side, back behind the store," he told me.
"Have you seen Jacob today." The question burst from me almost before
he'd finished speaking.
I looked at Quil eagerly, waiting for his answer. He stared out the
windshield for a second before he spoke. "From a distance," he finally
said.
"A distance?" I echoed.
"I tried to follow them—he was with Embry." His voice was low, hard to
hear over the engine. I leaned closer. "I know they saw me. But they
turned and just disappeared into the trees. I don't think they were
alone—I think Sam and his crew might have been with them.
"I've been stumbling around in the forest for an hour, yelling for them.
I just barely found the road again when you drove up."
"So Sam did get to him." The words were a little distorted—my teeth were
gritted together.
Quil stared at me. "You know about that.?"
I nodded. "Jake told me… before."
"Before," Quil repeated, and sighed.
"Jacob's just as bad as the others now?"
"Never leaves Sam's side." Quil turned his head and spit out the open
window.
"And before that—did he avoid everyone? Was he acting upset?"
His voice was low and rough. "Not for as long as the others. Maybe one
day. Then Sam caught up with him."
"What do you think it is? Drugs or something?"
"I can't see Jacob or Embry getting into anything like that… but what do
I know? What else could it be? And why aren't the old people worried?" He
shook his head, and the fear showed in his eyes now. "Jacob didn't want
to be a part of this… cult. I don't understand what could change him." He
stared at me, his face frightened. "I don't want to be next."
My eyes mirrored his fear. That was the second time I'd heard it
described as a cult. I shivered. "Are your parents any help?"
He grimaced. "Right. My grandfather's on the council with Jacob's dad.
Sam Uley is the best thing that ever happened to this place, as far as
he's concerned."
We stared at each other for a prolonged moment. We were in La Push now,
and my truck was barely crawling along the empty road. I could see the
village's only store not too far ahead.
"I'll get out now," Quil said. "My house is right over there." He
gestured toward the small wooden rectangle behind the store. I pulled
over to the shoulder, and he jumped out.
"I'm going to go wait for Jacob," I told him in a hard voice.
"Good luck." He slammed the door and shuffled forward along the road, his
head bent forward, his shoulders slumped.
Quil's face haunted me as I made a wide U-turn and headed back toward the
Blacks'. He was terrified of being next. What was happening here?
I stopped in front of Jacob's house, killing the motor and rolling down
the windows. It was stuffy today, no breeze. I put my feet up on the
dashboard and settled in to wait.
A movement flashed in my peripheral vision—I turned and spotted Billy
looking at me through the front window with a confused expression. I
waved once and smiled a tight smile, but stayed where I was.
His eyes narrowed; he let the curtain fall across the glass.
I was prepared to stay as long as it took, but I wished I had something
to do. I dug up a pen out of the bottom of my backpack, and an old test.
I started to doodle on the back of the scrap.
I'd only had time to scrawl one row of diamonds when there was a sharp
tap against my door.
I jumped, looking up, expecting Billy.
"What are you doing here, Bella.'" Jacob growled.
I stared at him in blank astonishment.
Jacob had changed radically in the last weeks since I'd seen him. The
first thing I noticed was his hair—his beautiful hair was all gone,
cropped quite short, covering his head with an inky gloss like black
satin. The planes of his face seemed to have hardened subtly, tightened…
aged. His neck and his shoulders were different, too, thicker somehow.
His hands, where they gripped the window frame, looked enormous, with the
tendons and veins more prominent under the russet skin. But the physical
changes were insignificant.
It was his expression that made him almost completely unrecognizable. The
open, friendly smile was gone like the hair, the warmth in his dark eyes
altered to a brooding resentment that was instantly disturbing. There was
a darkness in Jacob now. Like my sun had imploded.
"Jacob?" I whispered.
He just stared at me, his eyes tense and angry.
I realized we weren't alone. Behind him stood four others; all tall and
russet-skinned, black hair chopped short just like Jacob's. They could
have been brothers—I couldn't even pick Embry out of the group. The
resemblance was only intensified by the strikingly similar hostility in
every pair of eyes.
Every pair but one. The oldest by several years, Sam stood in the very
back, his face serene and sure. I had to swallow back the bile that rose
in my throat. I wanted to take a swing at him. No, I wanted to do more
than that. More than anything, I wanted to be fierce and deadly, someone
no one would dare mess with. Someone who would scare Sam Uley silly.
I wanted to be a vampire.
The violent desire caught me off guard and knocked the wind out of me. It
was the most forbidden of all wishes—even when I only wished it for a
malicious reason like this, to gain an advantage over an enemy—because it
was the most painful. That future was lost to me forever, had never
really been within my grasp. I scrambled to gain control of myself while
the hole in my chest ached hollowly.
"What do you want?" Jacob demanded, his expression growing more resentful
as he watched the play of emotion across my face.
"I want to talk to you," I said in a weak voice. I tried to focus, but I
was still reeling against the escape of my taboo dream.
"Go ahead," he hissed through his teeth. His glare was vicious. I'd never
seen him look at anyone like that, least of all me. It hurt with a
surprising intensity—a physical pain, a stabbing in my head.
"Alone!" I hissed, and my voice was stronger.
He looked behind him, and I knew where his eyes would go. Every one of
them was turned for Sam's reaction.
Sam nodded once, his face unperturbed. He made a brief comment in an
unfamiliar, liquid language—I could only be positive that it wasn't
French or Spanish, but I guessed that it was Quileute. He turned and
walked into Jacob's house. The others, Paul, Jared, and Embry, I assumed,
followed him in.
"Okay." Jacob seemed a bit less furious when the others were gone. His
face was a little calmer, but also more hopeless. His mouth seemed
permanently pulled down at the corners.
I took a deep breath. "You know what I want to know."
He didn't answer. He just stared at me bitterly.
I stared back and the silence stretched on. The pain in his face unnerved
me. I felt a lump beginning to build in my throat.
"Can we walk?" I asked while I could still speak.
He didn't respond in any way; his face didn't change.
I got out of the car, feeling unseen eyes behind the windows on me, and
started walking toward the trees to the north. My feet squished in the
damp grass and mud beside the road, and, as that was the only sound, at
first I thought he wasn't following me. But when I glanced around, he was
right beside me, his feet having somehow found a less noisy path than
mine.
I felt better in the fringe of trees, where Sam couldn't possibly be
watching. As we walked, I struggled for the right thing to say, but
nothing came. I just got more and more angry that Jacob had gotten sucked
in… that Billy had allowed this… that Sam was able to stand there so
assured and calm…
Jacob suddenly picked up the pace, striding ahead of me easily with his
long legs, and then swinging around to face me, planting himself in my
path so I would have to stop too.
I was distracted by the overt grace of his movement. Jacob had been
nearly as klutzy as me with his never-ending growth spurt. When did that
changed?
But Jacob didn't give me time to think about it.
"Let's get this over with," he said in a hard, husky voice.
I waited. He knew what I wanted.
"It's not what you think." His voice was abruptly weary. "It's not what I
thought—I was way off."
"So what is it, then?"
He studied my face for a long moment, speculating. The anger never
completely left his eyes. "I can't tell you," he finally said.
My jaw tightened, and I spoke through my teeth. "I thought we were
friends."
"We were." There was a slight emphasis on the past tense.
"But you don't need friends anymore," I said sourly. "You have Sam. Isn't
that nice—you've always looked up to him so much."
"I didn't understand him before."
"And now you've seen the light. Hallelujah."
"It wasn't like I thought it was. This isn't Sam's fault. He's helping me
as much as he can." His voice turned brittle and he looked over my head,
past me, rage burning out from his eyes.
"He's helping you," I repeated dubiously. "Naturally."
But Jacob didn't seem to be listening. He was taking deep, deliberate
breaths, trying to calm himself. He was so mad that his hands were
shaking.
"Jacob, please," I whispered "Won't you tell me what happened? Maybe I
can help."
"No one can help me now." The words were a low moan; his voice broke.
"What did he do to you?" I demanded, tears collecting in my eyes. I
reached out to him, as I had once before, stepping forward with my arms
wide.
This time he cringed away, holding his hands up defensively. "Don't touch
me," he whispered.
"Is Sam catching?" I mumbled. The stupid tears had escaped the corners of
my eyes. I wiped them away with the back of my hand, and folded my arms
across my chest.
"Stop blaming Sam." The words came out fast, like a reflex. His hands
reached up to twist around the hair that was no longer there, and then
fell limply at his sides.
"Then who should I blame?" I retorted.
He halfway smiled; it was a bleak, twisted thing.
"You don't want to hear that."
"The hell I don't!" I snapped. "I want to know, and I want to know now."
"You're wrong," he snapped back.
"Don't you dare tell me I'm wrong—I'm not the one who got brainwashed!
Tell me now whose fault this all is, if it's not your precious Sam!"
"You asked for it," he growled at me, eyes glinting hard. "If you want to
blame someone, why don't you point your finger at those filthy, reeking
bloodsuckers that you love so much?"
My mouth fell open and my breath came out with a whooshing sound. I was
frozen in place, stabbed through with his double-edged words. The pain
twisted in familiar patterns through my body, the jagged hole ripping me
open from the inside out, but it was second place, background music to
the chaos of my thoughts. I couldn't believe that I'd heard him
correctly. There was no trace of indecision in his face. Only fury.
My mouth still hung wide.
"I told you that you didn't want to hear it," he said.
"I don't understand who you mean," I whispered.
He raised one eyebrow in disbelief. "I think you understand exactly who I
mean. You're not going to make me say it, are you? I don't like hurting
you."
"I don't understand who you mean," I repeated mechanically.
"The Cullens," he said slowly, drawing out the word, scrutinizing my face
as he spoke it. "I saw that—I can see in your eyes what it does to you
when I say their name."
I shook my head back and forth in denial, trying to clear it at the same
time. How did he know this? And how did it have anything to do with Sam's
cult? Was it a gang of vampire-haters? What was the point of forming such
a society when no vampires lived in Forks anymore? Why would Jacob start
believing the stories about the Cullens now, when the evidence of them
was long gone, never to return?
It took me too long to come up with the correct response. "Don't tell me
you're listening to Billy's superstitious nonsense now," I said with a
feeble attempt at mockery.
"He knows more than I gave him credit for."
"Be serious, Jacob."
He glared at me, his eyes critical.
"Superstitions aside," I said quickly. "I still don't see what you're
accusing the... Cullens"—wince—"of. They left more than half a year ago.
How can you blame them for what Sam is doing now?"
"Sam isn't doing anything, Bella. And I know they're gone. But sometimes…
things are set in motion, and then it's too late."
"What's set in motion? What's too late? What are you blaming them for?"
He was suddenly right in my face, his fury glowing in his eyes. "For
existing," he hissed.
I was surprised and distracted as the warning words came in Edward's
voice again, when I wasn't even scared.
"Quiet now, Bella. Don't push him," Edward cautioned in my ear.
Ever since Edward's name had broken through the careful walls I'd buried
it behind, I'd been unable to lock it up again. It didn't hurt now—not
during the precious seconds when I could hear his voice.
Jacob was fuming in front of me, quivering with anger.
I didn't understand why the Edward delusion was unexpectedly in my mind.
Jacob was livid, but he was Jacob. There was no adrenaline, no danger.
"Give him a chance to calm down," Edward's voice insisted.
I shook my head in confusion. "You're being ridiculous," I told them both.
"Fine," Jacob answered, breathing deeply again. "I won't argue it with
you. It doesn't matter anyway, the damage is done."
"What damage?"
He didn't flinch as I shouted the words in his face.
"Let's head back. There's nothing more to say."
I gaped. "There's everything more to say! You haven't said anything yet!"
He walked past me, striding back toward the house.
"I ran into Quil today," I yelled after him.
He paused midstep, but didn't turn.
"You remember your friend, Quil? Yeah, he's terrified."
Jacob whirled to face me. His expression was pained. "Quil" was all he
said.
"He's worried about you, too. He's freaked out."
Jacob stared past me with desperate eyes.
I goaded him further. "He's frightened that he's next."
Jacob clutched at a tree for support, his face turning a strange shade of
green under the red-brown surface. "He won't be next," Jacob muttered to
himself. "He can't be. It's over now. This shouldn't still be happening.
Why? Why?" His fist slammed against the tree. It wasn't a big tree,
slender and only a few feet taller than Jacob. But it still surprised me
when tht trunk gave way and snapped off loudly under his blows.
Jacob stared at the sharp, broken point with shock that quickly turned to
horror.
"I have to get back." He whirled and stalked away so swiftly that I had
to jog to keep up.
"Back to Sam!"
"That's one way of looking at it," it sounded like he said. He was
mumbling and facing away.
I chased him back to the truck. "Wait!" I called as he turned toward the
house.
He spun around to face me, and I saw that his hands were shaking again.
"Go home, Bella. I can't hang out with you anymore."
The silly, inconsequential hurt was incredibly potent. The tears welled
up again. "Are you… breaking up with me?" The words were all wrong, but
they were the best way I could think to phrase what I was asking. After
all, what Jake and I had was more than any schoolyard romance. Stronger.
He barked out a bitter laugh. "Hardly. If that were the case, I'd say
'Let's stay friends.' I can't even say that."
"Jacob… why? Sam won't let you have other friends? Please, Jake. You
promised. I need you!" The blank emptiness of my life before—before Jacob
brought some semblance of reason back into it—reared up and confronted
me. Loneliness choked in my throat.
"I'm sorry, Bella," Jacob said each word distinctly in a cold voice that
didn't seem to belong to him.
I didn't believe that this was really what Jacob wanted to say. It seemed
like there was something else trying to be said through his angry eyes,
but I couldn't understand the message.
Maybe this wasn't about Sam at all. Maybe this had nothing to do with the
Cullens. Maybe he was just trying to pull himself out of a hopeless
situation. Maybe I should let him do that, if that's what was best for
him. I should do that. It would be right.
But I heard my voice escaping in a whisper.
"I'm sorry that I couldn't… before… I wish I could change how I feel
about you, Jacob." I was desperate, reaching, stretching the truth so far
that it curved nearly into the shape of a lie. "Maybe… maybe I would
change," I whispered. "Maybe, if you gave me some time… just don't quit
on me now, Jake. I can't take it."
His face went from anger to agony in a second. One shaking hand reached
out toward me.
"No. Don't think like that, Bella, please. Don't blame yourself, don't
think this is your fault. This one is all me. I swear, it's not about
you."
"It's not you, it's me," I whispered. "There's a new one."
"I mean it, Bella. I'm not…" he struggled, his voice going even huskier
as he fought to control his emotion. His eyes were tortured. "I'm not
good enough to be your friend anymore, or anything else. I'm not what I
was before. I'm not good."
"What?" I stared at him, confused and appalled. "What are you saying?
You're much better than I am, Jake. You are good! Who told you that you
aren't? Sam? It's a vicious lie, Jacob! Don't let him tell you that!" I
was suddenly yelling again.
Jacob's face went hard and flat. "No one had to tell me anything. I know
what I am."
"You're my friend, that's what you are! Jake—don't!"
He was backing away from me.
"I'm sorry, Bella," he said again; this time it was a broken mumble. He
turned and almost ran into the house.
I was unable to move from where I stood. I stared at the little house; it
looked too small to hold four large boys and two larger men. There was no
reaction inside. No flutter at the edge of the curtain, no sound of
voices or movement. It faced me vacantly.
The rain started to drizzle, stinging here and there against my skin. I
couldn't take my eyes off the house. Jacob would come back. He had to.
The rain picked up, and so did the wind. The drops were no longer falling
from above; they slanted at an angle from the west. I could smell the
brine from the ocean. My hair whipped in my face, sticking to the wet
places and tangling in my lashes. I waited.
Finally the door opened, and I took a step forward in relief.
Billy rolled his chair into the door frame. I could see no one behind him.
"Charlie just called, Bella. I told him you were on your way home." His
eyes were full of pity.
The pity made it final somehow. I didn't comment. I just turned
robotically and climbed in my truck. I'd left the windows open and the
seats were slick and wet. It didn't matter. I was already soaked.
Not as bad! Not as bad! my mind tried to comfort me. It was true. This
wasn't as bad. This wasn't the end of the world, not again. This was just
the end of what little peace there was left behind. That was all.
Not as bad, I agreed, then added, but bad enough.
I'd thought Jake had been healing the hole in me—or at least plugging it
up, keeping it from hurting me so much. I'd been wrong. He'd just been
carving out his own hole, so that I was now riddled through like Swiss
cheese. I wondered why I didn't crumble into pieces.
Charlie was waiting on the porch. As I rolled to a stop, he walked out to
meet me.
"Billy called. He said you got in fight with Jake—said you were pretty
upset," he explained as he opened my door for me.
Then he looked at my face. A kind of horrified recognition registered in
his expression. I tried to feel my face from the inside out, to know what
he was seeing. My face felt empty and cold, and I realized what it would
remind him of.
"That's not exactly how it happened," I muttered.
Charlie put his arm around me and helped me out of the car. He didn't
comment on my sodden clothes.
"Then what did happen'" he asked when we were inside. He pulled the
afghan off the back of the sofa as he spoke and wrapped it around my
shoulders. I realized I was shivering still.
My voice was lifeless. "Sam Uley says Jacob can't be my friend anymore."
Charlie shot me a strange look. "Who told you that?"
"Jacob," I stated, though that wasn't exactly what he'd said. It was
still true.
Charlie's eyebrows pulled together. "You really think there's something
wrong with the Uley kid?"
"I know there is. Jacob wouldn't tell me what, though." I could hear the
water from my clothes dripping to the floor and splashing on the
linoleum. "I'm going to go change."
Charlie was lost in thought. "Okay," he said absently.
I decided to take a shower because I was so cold, but the hot water
didn't seem to affect the temperature of my skin. I was still freezing
when I gave up and shut the water off. In the sudden quiet, I could hear
Charlie talking to someone downstairs. I wrapped a towel around me, and
cracked the bathroom door.
Charlie's voice was angry. "I'm not buying that. It doesn't make any
sense."
It was quiet then, and I realized he was on the phone. A minute passed.
"Don't you put this on Bella!" Charlie suddenly shouted.
I jumped. When he spoke again, his voice was careful and lower. "Bella's
made it very clear all along that she and Jacob were just friends… Well,
if that was it, then why didn't you say so at first? No, Billy, I think
she's right about this… Because I know my daughter, and if she says Jacob
was scared before—" He was cut off mid-sentence, and when he answered he
was almost shouting again.
"What do you mean I don't know my daughter as well as I think I do!" He
listened for a brief second, and his response was almost too low for me
to hear. "If you think I'm going to remind her about that, then you had
better think again. She's only just starting to get over it, and mostly
because of Jacob, I think. If whatever Jacob has going on with this Sam
character sends her back into that depression, then Jacob is going to
have to answer to me. You're my friend, Billy, but this is hurting my
family."
There was another break for Billy to respond.
"You got that right—those boys set one toe out of line and I'm going to
know about it. We'll be keeping an eye on the situation, you can be sure
of that." He was no longer Charlie; he was Chief Swan now.
"Fine. Yeah. Goodbye." The phone slammed into the cradle.
I tiptoed quickly across the hall into my room. Charlie was muttering
angrily in the kitchen.
So Billy was going to blame me. I was leading Jacob on and he'd finally
had enough.
It was strange, for I'd feared that myself, but after the last thing
Jacob had said this afternoon, I didn't believe it anymore. There was
much more to this than an unrequited crush, and it surprised me that
Billy would stoop to claiming that. It made me think that whatever secret
they were keeping was bigger than I'd been imagining. At least Charlie
was on my side now.
I put my pajamas on and crawled into bed. Life seemed dark enough at the
moment chat I let myself cheat. The hole—holes now—were already aching,
so why not? I pulled out the memory—nor a real memory that would hurt too
much, but the false memory of Edward's voice in my mind this
afternoon—and played it over and over in my head until I fell asleep with
the tears still streaming calmly down my empty face.
It was a new dream tonight. Rain was falling and Jacob was walking
soundlessly beside me, though beneath my feet the ground crunched like
dry gravel. But he wasn't my Jacob; he was the new, bitter, graceful
Jacob. The smooth suppleness of his walk reminded me of someone else,
and, as I watched, his features started to change. The russet color of
his skin leached away, leaving his face pale white like bone. His eyes
turned gold, and then crimson, and then back to gold again. His shorn
hair twisted in the breeze, turning bronze where the wind touched it. And
his face became so beautiful that it shattered my heart. I reached for
him, but he took a step away, raising his hands like a shield. And then
Edward vanished.
I wasn't sure, when I woke in the dark, if I'd just begun crying, or if
my tears had run while I slept and simply continued now. I stared at my
dark ceiling. I could feel that it was the middle of the night—I was
still half-asleep, maybe more than half. I closed my eyes wearily and
prayed for a dreamless sleep.
That's when I heard the noise that must have wakened me in the first
place. Something sharp scraped along the length of my window with a
high-pitched squeal, like fingernails against the glass.
===========================================================================

Cái gì xuất phát từ trái tim thì sẽ đi đến trái tim
G. Piet – Pháp
Leo*

12. INTRUDER
MY EYES FLEW WIDE OPEN WITH FRIGHT, THOUGH I WAS so exhausted and muddled
that I was not yet positive whether I was awake or asleep.
Something scratched against my window again with the same thin,
high-pitched sound.
Confused and clumsy with sleep, I stumbled out of my bed and to the
window, blinking the lingering tears from my eyes on the way.
A huge, dark shape wobbled erratically on the other side of the glass,
lurching toward me like it was going to smash right through. I staggered
back, terrified, my throat closing around a scream.
Victoria.
She'd come for me.
I was dead.
Not Charlie, too!
I choked back the building scream. I would have to keep quiet through
this. Somehow. I had to keep Charlie from coming to investigate…
And then a familiar, husky voice called from the dark shape.
"Bella!" it hissed. "Ouch! Damn it, open the window! OUCH!"
I needed two seconds to shake off the horror before I could move, but
then I hurried to the window and shoved the glass out of the way. The
clouds were dimly lit from behind, enough for me to make sense of the
shapes.
"What are you doing?" I gasped.
Jacob was clinging precariously to the top of the spruce that grew in the
middle of Charlie's little front yard. His weight had bowed the tree
toward the house and he now swung—his legs dangling twenty feet above the
ground—not a yard away from me. The thin branches at the tip of the tree
scraped against the side of the house again with a grating squeal.
"I'm trying to keep"—he huffed, shifting his weight as the treetop
bounced him—"my promise!"
I blinked my wet blurry eyes, suddenly sure that I was dreaming.
"When did you ever promise to kill yourself falling out of Charlie's
tree?"
He snorted, unamused, swinging his legs to improve his balance. "Get out
of the way," he ordered.
"What?"
He swung his legs again, backwards and forward, increasing his momentum.
I realized what he was ttying to do.
"No, Jake!"
But I ducked to the side, aecause it was too late. With a grunt, he
launched himself toward my open window.
Another scream built in my throat as I waited for him to fall to his
death—or at least maim himself against the wooden siding. To my shock, he
swung agilely into my room, landing on the balls of his feet with a low
thud.
We both looked to the door automatically, holding our breath, waiting to
see if the noise had woken Charlie. A short moment of silence passed, and
then we heard the muffled sound of Charlie's snore.
A wide grin spread slowly across Jacob's face; he seemed extremely
pleased with himself. It wasn't the grin that I knew and loved—it was a
new grin, one that was a bitter mockery of his old sincerity, on the new
face that belonged to Sam.
That was a bit much for me.
I'd cried myself to sleep over this boy. His harsh rejection had punched
a painful new hole in what was left of my chest. He'd left a new
nightmare behind him, like an infection in a sore—the insult after the
injury. And now he was here in my room, smirking at me as if none of that
had passed. Worse than that, even though his arrival had been noisy and
awkward, it reminded me of when Edward used to sneak in through my window
at night, and the reminder picked viciously at the unhealed wounds.
All of this, coupled with the fact that I was dog-tired, did not put me
in a friendly mood.
"Get out!" I hissed, putting as much venom into the whisper as I could.
He blinked, his face going blank with surprise.
"No," he protested. "I came to apologize."
"I don't accept!"
I tried to shove him back out the window—after all, if this was a dream,
it wouldn't really hurt him. It was useless, though. I didn't budge him
an inch. I dropped my hands quickly, and stepped away from him.
He wasn't wearing a shirt, though the air blowing in the window was cold
enough to make me shiver, and it made me uncomfortable to have my hands
on his bare chest. His skin was burning hot, like his head had been the
last time I'd touched him. Like he was still sick with the fever.
He didn't look sick. He looked huge. He leaned over me, so big that he
blacked out the window, tongue-tied by my furious reaction.
Suddenly, it was just more than I could handle—it felt as if all of my
sleepless nights were crashing down on me en masse. I was so brutally
tired that I thought I might collapse right there on the floor. I swayed
unsteadily, and struggled to keep my eyes open.
"Bella?" Jacob whispered anxiously. He caught my elbow as I swayed again,
and steered me back to the bed. My legs gave out when I reached the edge,
and I plopped into a limp heap on the mattress.
"Hey, are you okay?" Jacob asked, worry creasing his forehead.
I looked up at him, the tears not yet dried on my cheeks. "Why in the
world would I be okay, Jacob?"
Anguish replaced some of the bitterness in his face. "Right," he agreed,
and took a deep breath. "Crap. Well… I—I'm so sorry, Bella." The apology
was sincere, no doubt about it, though there was still an angry twist to
his features.
"Why did you come here? I don't want apologies from you, Jake."
"I know," he whispered. "But I couldn't leave things the way I did this
afternoon. Thar was horrible. I'm sorry."
I shook my head wearily. "I don't understand anything."
"I know. I want to explain—" He broke off suddenly, his mouth open,
almost like something had cut off his air. Then he sucked in a deep
breath. "But I can't explain," he said, still angry. "I wish I could."
I let my head fall into my hands. My question came out muffled by my arm.
"Why?"
He was quiet for a moment. I twisted my head to the side—too tired to
hold it up—to see his expression. It surprised me. His eyes were
squinted, his teeth clenched, his forehead wrinkled in effort.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He exhaled heavily, and I realized he'd been holding his breath, too. "I
can't do it," he muttered, frustrated.
"Do what?"
He ignored my question. "Look, Bella, haven't you ever had a secret that
you couldn't tell anyone?"
He looked at me with knowing eyes, and my thoughts jumped immediately to
the Cullens. I hoped my expression didn't look guilty.
"Something you felt like you had to keep from Charlie, from your mom… ?"
he pressed. "Something you won't even talk about with me? Not even now?"
I felt my eyes tighten. I didn't answer his question, though I knew he
would take that as a confirmation.
"Can you understand that I might have the same kind of… situation?" He
was struggling again, seeming to fight for the right words. "Sometimes,
loyalty gets in the way of what you want to do. Sometimes, it's not your
secret to tell."
So, I couldn't argue with that. He was exactly right—I had a secret that
wasn't mine to tell, yet a secret I felt bound to protect. A secret that,
suddenly, he seemed to know all about.
I still didn't see how it applied to him, or Sam, or Billy. What was it
to them, now that the Cullens were gone?
"I don't know why you came here, Jacob, if you were just going to give me
riddles instead of answers."
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "This is so frustrating."
We looked at each other for a long moment in the dark room, both our
faces hopeless.
"The part that kills me," he said abruptly, "is that you already know. I
already told yon everything!"
"What are you talking about?"
He sucked in a startled breath, and then leaned toward me, his face
shifting from hopelessness to blazing intensity in a second. He stared
fiercely into my eyes, and his voice was fast and eager. He spoke the
words right into my face; his breath was as hot as his skin.
"I think I see a way to make this work out—because you know this, Bella!
I can't tell you, but if you guessed it! That would let me right off the
hook!"
"You want me to guess? Guess what?"
"My secret! You can do it—you know the answer!"
I blinked twice, trying to clear my head. I was so tired. Nothing he said
made sense.
He took in my blank expression, and then his face tensed with effort
again. "Hole on, let me see if I give you some help," he said. Whatever
he was trying to do, it was so hard he was panting.
"Help?" I asked, trying to keep up. My lids wanted to slip closed, but I
forced them open.
"Yeah," he said, breathing hard. "Like clues."
He took my face in his enormous, too-warm hands and held it just a few
inches from his. He stared into my eyes while he whispered, as if to
communicate something besides the words he spoke.
"Remember the first day we met—on the beach in La Push?"
"Of course I do."
"Tell me about it."
I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. "You asked about my truck…"
He nodded, urging me on.
"We talked about the Rabbit…"
"Keep going."
"We went for a walk down the beach…" My cheeks were growing warm under
his palms as I remembered, but he wouldn't notice, hot as his skin was.
I'd asked him to walk with me, flirting ineptly but successfully, in
order to pump him for information.
He was nodding, anxious for more.
My voice was nearly soundless. "You told me scary stories… Quileute
legends."
He closed his eyes and opened them again. "Yes." The word was tense,
fervent, like he was on the edge of something vital. He spoke slowly,
making each word distinct. "Do you remember what I said?"
Even in the dark, he must be able to see the change in the color of my
face. How could I ever forget that? Without realizing what he was doing,
Jacob had told me exactly what I needed to know that day—that Edward was
a vampire.
He looked at me with eyes that knew too much. "Think hard," he told me.
"Yes, I remember," I breathed.
He inhaled deeply, struggling. "Do you remember all the stor—" He
couldn't finish the question. His mouth popped open like something had
stuck in his throat.
"All the stories?" I asked.
He nodded mutely.
My head churned. Only one story really mattered. I knew he'd begun with
others, but I couldn't remember the inconsequential prelude, especially
not while my brain was so clouded with exhaustion. I started to shake my
head.
Jacob groaned and jumped off the bed. He pressed his fists against his
forehead and breathed fast and angry. "You know this, you know this," he
muttered to himself.
"Jake? Jake, please, I'm exhausted. I'm no good at this right now. Maybe
in the morning…"
He took a steadying breath and nodded. "Maybe it will come back to you. I
guess I understand why you only remember the one story," he added in a
sarcastic, bitter tone. He plunked back onto the mattress beside me. "Do
you mind if I ask you a question about that?" he asked, still sarcastic.
"I've been dying ro know."
"A question about what?" I asked warily.
"About the vampire story I told you."
I stared at him with guarded eyes, unable to answer. He asked his
question anyway.
"Did you honestly not know?" he asked me, his voice turning husky. "Was I
the one who told you what he was?"
How did he know this? Why did he decide to believe, why now? My teeth
clenched together. I stared back at him, no intention of speaking. He
could see that.
"See what I mean about loyalty?" he murmured, even huskier now. "It's the
same for me, only worse. You can't imagine how tight I'm bound…"
I didn't like that—didn't like the way his eyes closed as if he were in
pain when he spoke of being bound. More than dislike—I realized I hated
it, hated anything that caused him pain. Hated it fiercely.
Sam's face filled my mind.
For me, this was all essentially voluntary. I protected the Cullens'
secret out of love; unrequited, but true. For Jacob, it didn't seem to be
that way.
"Isn't there any way for you to get free?" I whispered, touching the
rough edge at the back of his shorn hair.
His hands began to tremble, but he didn't open his eyes. "No. I'm in this
for life. A life sentence." A bleak laugh. "Longer, maybe."
"No, Jake," I moaned. "What if we ran away? Just you and me. What if we
left home, and left Sam behind?"
"It's not something I can run away from, Bella," he whispered. "I would
run with you, though, if I could." His shoulders were shaking now, too.
He took a deep breath. "Look, I've got to leave."
"Why?"
"For one thing, you look like you're going to pass out at any second. You
need your sleep—I need you firing on all pistons. You're going to figure
this out, you have to."
"And why else?"
He frowned. "I had to sneak out—I'm not supposed to see you. They've got
to be wondering where I am." His mouth twisted. "I suppose I should go
let them know."
"You don't have to tell them anything," I hissed.
"All the same, I will."
The anger flashed hot inside me. "I hate them!"
Jacob looked at me with wide eyes, surprised. "No, Bella. Don't hate the
guys. It's not Sam's or any of the others' faults. I told you before—it's
me. Sam is actually… well, incredibly cool. Jared and Paul are great,
too, though Paul is kind of… And Embry's always been my friend. Nothing's
changed there—the only thing that hasn't changed. I feel really bad abour
the things I used to think about Sam…"
"Sam was incredibly cool." I glared at him in disbelief, but let it go.
"Then why aren't you supposed to see me?" I demanded.
"It's not safe," he mumbled looking down.
His words sent a thrill of fear through me.
Did he know that, too? Nobody knew that besides me. But he was right—it
was the middle of the night, the perfect time for hunting. Jacob
shouldn't be here in my room. If someone came for me, I had :o be alone.
"If I thought it was too… too risky," he whispered, "I wouldn't have
come. But Bella," he looked at me again, "I made you a promise. I had no
idea it would be so hard to keep, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to
try."
He saw the incomprehension in my face. "After that stupid movie," he
reminded me. "I promised you that I wouldn't ever hurt you… So I really
blew it this afternoon, didn't I?"
"I know you didn't want to do it, Jake. It's okay."
"Thanks, Bella." He took my hand. "I'm going to do what I can to be here
for you, just like I promised." He grinned at me suddenly. The grin was
not mine, nor Sam's, but some strange combination of the two. "It would
really help if you could figure this out on your own, Bella. Put some
honest effort into it."
I made a weak grimace. "I'll try."
"And I'll try to see you soon." He sighed. "And they'll try to talk me
out of that."
"Don't listen to them."
"I'll try." He shook his head, as if he doubted his success. "Come and
tell me as soon as you figure it out." Something occurred to him just
then, something that made his hands shake. "If you… if you want to."
"Why wouldn't I want to see you?"
His face turned hard and bitter, one hundred percent the face that
belonged to Sam. "Oh, I can think of a reason," he said in a harsh tone.
"Look, I really have to go. Could you do something for me?"
I just nodded, frightened of the change in him.
"At least call me—if you don't want to see me again. Let me know if it's
like that."
"That won't happen—"
He raised one hand, cutting me off. "Just let me know."
He stood and headed for the window.
"Don't be an idiot, Jake," I complained. "You'll break your leg. Use the
door. Charlie's not going to catch you."
"I won't get hurt," he muttered, but he turned for the door. He hesitated
as he passed me, staring at me with an expression like something was
stabbing him. He held one hand out, pleading.
I took his hand, and suddenly he yanked me—too roughly—right off the bed
so that I thudded against his chest.
"Just in case," he muttered against my hair, crushing me in a bear hug
that about broke my ribs.
"Can't—breathe!" I gasped.
He dropped me at once, keeping one hand at my waist so I didn't fall
over. He pushed me, more gently this time, back down on the bed.
"Get some sleep, Bells. You've got to get your head working. I know you
can do this. I need you. to understand. I won't lose you, Bella. Not for
this."
He was to the door in one stride, opening it quietly, and then
disappearing through it. I listened for him to hit the squeaky step in
the stairs, but there was no sound.
I lay back on my bed, my head spinning. I was too confused, too worn out.
I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of it, only to be swallowed up by
unconsciousness so swiftly that it was disorienting.
It was not the peaceful, creamless sleep I'd yearned for—of course not. I
was in the forest again, and I started to wander the way I always did.
I quickly became aware that this was not the same dream as usual. For one
thing, I felt no compulsion to wander or to search; I was merely
wandering out of habit, because that was what was usually expected of me
here. Actually, this wasn't even the same forest. The smell was
different, and the light, too. It smelled, not like the damp earth of the
woods, but like the brine of the ocean. I couldn't see the sky; still, it
seemed like the sun must be shining—the leaves above were bright jade
green.
This was the forest around La Push—near the beach there, I was sure of
it. I knew that if I found the beach, I would be able to see the sun, so
I hurried forward, following the faint sound of waves in the distance.
And then Jacob was there. He grabbed my hand, pulling me back toward the
blackest part of the forest.
"Jacob, what's wrong?" I asked. His face was the frightened face of a
boy, and his hair was beautiful again, swept back into a ponytail on the
nape of his neck. He yanked with all his strength, but I resisted; I
didn't want to go into the dark.
"Run, Bella, you have to run!" he whispered, terrified.
The abrupt wave of deja vu was so strong it nearly woke me up.
I knew why I recognized this place now. It was because I'd been here
before, in another dream. A million years ago, part of a different life
entirely. This was the dream I'd had the night after I'd walked with
Jacob on the beach, the first night I knew that Edward was a vampire.
Reliving that day with Jacob must have dredged this dream out of my
buried memories.
Detached from the dream now, I waited for it to play out. A light was
coming toward me from the beach. In just a moment, Edward would walk
through the trees, his skin faintly glowing and his eyes black and
dangerous. He would beckon to me, and smile. He would be beautiful as an
angel, and his teeth would be pointed and sharp…
But I was getting ahead of myself. Something else had to happen first.
Jacob dropped my hand and yelped. Shaking and twitching, he fell to the
ground at my feet.
"Jacob!" I screamed, but he was gone.
In his place was an enormous, red-brown wolf with dark, intelligent eyes.
The dream veered off course, like a train jumping the tracks.
This was not the same wolf that I'd dreamed of in another life. This was
the great russet wolf I'd stood half a foot from in the meadow, just a
week ago. This wolf was gigantic, monstrous, bigger than a bear.
This wolf stared intently at me, trying to convey something vital with
his intelligent eyes. The black-brown, familiar eyes of Jacob Black.
I woke screaming at the top of my lungs.
I almost expected Charlie to come check on me this time. This wasn't my
usual screaming. I buried my head in my pillow and tried to muffle the
hysterics that my screams were building into. J pressed the cotton tight
against my face, wondering if I couldn't also somehow smother the
connection I'd just made.
But Charlie didn't come in. and eventually I was able to strangle the
strange screeching coming out of my throat.
I remembered it all now—every word that Jacob had said to me that day on
the beach, even the part before he got to the vampires, the "cold ones."
Especially that first part.
"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from—the
Quileutes, I mean?" he asked.
"Not really," I admitted.
"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to
the Flood—supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops
of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive, like Noah and the ark."
He smiled then, to show me how little stock he put in the histories.
"Another legend claims that we descended from wolves—and that the wolves
are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.
"Then there are the stories about the cold ones." His voice dropped a
little lower.
"The cold ones?"
"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and
some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew
some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our
land." Jacob rolled his eyes.
" Your great-grandfather?"
"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the
natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf really, but the wolves
that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."
"Werewolves have enemies?"
"Only one."
There was something stuck in my throat, choking me. I tried to swallow it
down, but it was lodged there, un-moving. I tried to spit it out.
"Werewolf," I gasped.
Yes, that was the word that I was choking on.
The whole world lurched, tilting the wrong way on its axis.
What kind of a place was this? Could a world really exist where ancient
legends went wandering around the borders of tiny, insignificant towns,
facing down mythical monsters? Did this mean every impossible fairy tale
was grounded somewhere in absolute truth? Was there anything sane or
normal at all, or was everything just magic and ghost stories?
I clutched my head in my hands, trying to keep it from exploding.
A small, dry voice in the back of my mind asked me what the big deal was.
Hadn't I already accepted the existence of vampires long ago—and without
all the hysterics that time?
Exactly, I wanted to scream back at the voice. Wasn't one myth enough for
anyone, enough for a lifetime?
Besides, there'd never been one moment that I wasn't completely aware
that Edward Cullen was above and beyond the ordinary. It wasn't such a
surprise to find out what he was—because he so obviously was something.
But Jacob? Jacob, who was just Jacob, and nothing more than that? Jacob,
my friend? Jacob, the only human I'd ever been able to relate to…
And he wasn't even human.
I fought the urge to scream again.
What did this say about me?
I knew the answer to that one. It said that there was something deeply
wrong with me. Why else would my life be filled with characters from
horror movies? Why else would I care so much about them that it would
tear big chunks right out of my chest when they went off along their
mythical ways?
In my head, everything spun and shifted, rearranging so that things that
had meant one thing before, now meant something else.
There was no cult. There had never been a cult, never been a gang. No, it
was much worse than that. It was a pack.
A pack of five mind-blowingly gigantic, multihued werewolves that had
stalked right past me in Edward's meadow…
Suddenly, I was in a frantic hurry. I glanced at the clock—it was way too
early and I didn't care. I had to go to La Push now. I had to see Jacob
so he could tell me that I hadn't lost my mind altogether.
I pulled on the first clean clothes I could find, not bothering to be
sure they matched, and took the stairs two at a time. I almost ran into
Charlie as I skidded into the hallway, headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked, as surprised to see me as I was to see
him. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Yeah. I have to go see Jacob."
"I thought the thing with Sam—"
"That doesn't matter, I have to talk to him right now."
"It's pretty early." He frowned when my expression didn't change. "Don't
you want breakfast?"
"Not hungry." The words flew through my lips. He was blocking my path to
the exit. I considered ducking around him and making a run for it, but I
knew I would have to explain that to him later. "I'll be back soon, okay?"
Charlie frowned. "Straight to Jacob's house, right? No stops on the way?"
"Of course not, where would I stop?" My words were running together in my
hurry.
"I don't know," he admitted. "It's just… well, there's been another
attack—the wolves again. It was real close to the resort by the hot
springs—there's a witness this time. The victim was only a dozen yards
from the road when he disappeared. His wife saw a huge gray wolf just a
few minutes later, while she was searching for him, and ran for help."
My stomach dropped like I'd hit a corkscrew on a roller coaster. "A wolf
attacked him?"
"There's no sign of him—just a little blood again." Charlie's face was
pained. "The rangers are going out armed, taking armed volunteers.
There're a lot of hunters who are eager to be involved—there's a reward
being offered for wolf carcasses. That's going to mean a lot of firepower
out there in the forest, and it worries me." He shook his head. "When
people get too excited, accidents happen…"
"They're going to shoot the wolves?" My voice shot through three octaves.
"What else can we do? What's wrong?" he asked, his tense eyes studying my
face. I felt faint; I must be whiter than usual. "You aren't turning into
a tree-hugger on me, are you?"
I couldn't answer. If he hadn't been watching me, I would have put my
head between my knees. I'd forgotten about the missing hikers, the bloody
paw prints… I hadn't connected those facts to my first realization.
"Look, honey, don't let this scare you. Just stay in town or on the
highway—no stops—okay?"
"Okay," I repeated in a weak voice.
"I've got to go."
I looked at him closely for the first time, and saw that he had his gun
strapped to his waist and hiking boots on.
"You aren't going out there after the wolves, are you, Dad?"
"I've got to help, Bells. People are disappearing."
My voice shot up again, almost hysterical now. "No! No, don't go. It's
too dangerous!"
"I've got to do my job, kid. Don't be such a pessimist—I'll be fine." He
turned for the door, and held it open. "You leaving?"
I hesitated, my stomach still spinning in uncomfortable loops. What could
I say to stop him? I was too dizzy to think of a solution.
"Bells?"
"Maybe it's too early to go to La Push," I whispered.
"I agree," he said, and he stepped out into the rain, shutting the door
behind him.
As soon as he was out of sight, I dropped to the floor and put my head
between my knees.
Should I go after Charlie? What would I say?
And what about Jacob? Jacob was my best friend; I needed to warn him. If
he really was a—I cringed and forced myself to think the word—werewolf
(and I knew it was true, I could feel it), then people would be shooting
at him! I needed to tell him and his friends that people would try to
kill them if they went running around like gigantic wolves. I needed to
tell them to stop.
They had to stop! Charlie was out there in the woods. Would they care
about that? I wondered… Up until now, only strangers had disappeared. Did
that mean anything, or was it just chance?
I needed to believe that Jacob, at least, would care about that.
Either way, I had to warn him.
Or… did I?
Jacob was my best friend, but was he a monster, too? A real one? A bad
one? Should I warn him, if he and his friends were… were murderers! If
they were out slaughtering innocent hikers in cold blood? If they were
truly creatures from a horror movie in every sense, would it be wrong to
protect them?
It was inevitable that I would have to compare Jacob and his friends to
the Cullens. I wrapped my arms around my chest, fighting the hole, while
I thought of them.
I didn't know anything about werewolves, clearly. I would have expected
something closer to the movies—big hairy half-men creatures or
something—if I'd expected anything at all. So I didn't know what made
them hunt, whether hunger or thirst or just a desire to kill. It was hard
to judge, not knowing that.
But it couldn't be worse than what the Cullens endured in their quest to
be good. I thought of Esme—the tears started when I pictured her kind,
lovely face—and how, as motherly and loving as she was, she'd had to hold
her nose, all ashamed, and run from me when I was bleeding. It couldn't
be harder than that. I thought of Carlisle, the centuries upon centuries
that he had struggled to teach himself to ignore blood, so that he could
save lives as a doctor. Nothing could be harder than that.
The werewolves had chosen a different path.
Now, what should I choose?
===========================================================================
1 3 . KILLER
IF IT WAS ANYONE BUT JACOB, I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, shaking my head as I
drove down the forest-lined highway to La Push.
I still wasn't sure if I was domg the right thing, but I'd made a
compromise with myself.
I couldn't condone what Jacob and his friends, his pack, were doing. I
understood now what he'd said last night—that I might not want to see him
again—and I could have called him as he'd suggested, but that felt
cowardly. I owed him a face-to-face conversation, at least. I would tell
him to his face that I couldn't just overlook what was going on. I
couldn't be friends with a killer and say nothing, let the killing
continue… That would make me a monster, too.
But I couldn't not warn him, either. I had to do what I could to protect
him.
I pulled up to the Blacks' house with my lips pressed together into a
hard line. It was bad enough that my best friend was a werewolf. Did he
have to be a monster, too?
The house was dark, no lights in the windows, but I didn't care if I woke
them. My fist thudded against the front door with angry energy; the sound
reverberated through the walls.
"Come in," I heard Billy call after a minute, and a light flicked on.
I twisted the knob; it was unlocked. Billy was leaning around an open
doorway just off the little kitchen, a bathrobe around his shoulders, not
in his chair yet. When he saw who it was, his eyes widened briefly, and
then his face turned stoic.
"Well, good morning, Bella. What are you doing up so early?"
"Hey, Billy. I need to talk to Jake—where is he?"
"Um… I don't really know," he lied, straight-faced.
"Do you know what Charlie is doing this morning?" I demanded, sick of the
stalling.
"Should I?"
"He and half the other men in town are all out in the woods with guns,
hunting giant wolves."
Billy's expression flickered, and then went blank.
"So I'd like to talk to Jake about that, if you don't mind," I continued.
Billy pursed his thick lips for a long moment. "I'd bet he's still
asleep," he finally said, nodding toward the tiny hallway off the front
room. "He's out late a lot these days. Kid needs his rest—probably you
shouldn't wake him."
"It's my turn," I muttered under my breath as I stalked to the hallway.
Billy sighed.
Jacob's tiny closet of a room was the only door in the yard-long hallway.
I didn't bother to knock. I threw the door open; it slammed against the
wall with a bang.
Jacob—still wearing just the same black cut-off sweats he'd worn last
night—was stretched diagonally across the double bed that took up all of
his room but a few inches around the edges. Even on a slant, it wasn't
long enough; his feet hung off the one end and his head off the other. He
was fast asleep, snoring lightly with his mouth hanging open. The sound
of the door hadn't even made him twitch.
His face was peaceful with (deep sleep, all the angry lines smoothed out.
There were circles under his eyes that I hadn't noticed before. Despite
his ridiculous size, he looked very young now, and very weary. Pity shook
me.
I stepped back out, and shut the door quietly behind me.
Billy stared with curious, guarded eyes as I walked slowly back into the
front room.
"I think I'll let him get some rest."
Billy nodded, and then we gazed at each other for a minute. I was dying
to ask him about his part in this.
What did he think of what his son had become? But I knew how he'd
supported Sam from the very beginning, and so I supposed the murders must
not bother him. How he justified that to himself I couldn't imagine.
I could see many questions for me in his dark eyes, but he didn't voice
them either.
"Look," I said, breaking the loud silence. "I'll be down at the beach for
a while. When he wakes up, tell him I'm waiting for him, okay?"
"Sure, sure," Billy agreed.
I wondered if he really would. Well, if he didn't, I'd tried, right?
I drove down to First Beach and parked in the empty dirt lot. It was
still dark—the gloomy predawn of a cloudy day—and when I cut the
headlights it was hard to see. I had to let my eyes adjust before I could
find the path that led through the tall hedge of weeds. It was colder
here, with the wind whipping off the black water, and I shoved my hands
deep into the pockets of my winter jacket. At least the rain had stopped.
I paced down the beach toward the north seawall. I couldn't see St. James
or the other islands, just the vague shape of the water's edge. I picked
my way carefully across the rocks, watching out for driftwood that might
trip me.
I found what I was looking for before I realized I was looking for it. It
materialized out of the gloom when it was just a few feet away: a long
bone-white driftwood tree stranded deep on the rocks. The roots twisted
up at the seaward end, like a hundred brittle tentacles. I couldn't be
sure that it was the same tree where Jacob and I had had our first
conversation—a conversation that had begun so many different, tangled
threads of my life—but it seemed to be in about the same place I sat down
where I'd sat before, and stared out across the invisible sea.
Seeing Jacob like that—innocent and vulnerable in sleep—had stolen all my
revulsion, dissolved all my anger. I still couldn't turn a blind sye to
what was happening, like Billy seemed to, but I couldn't condemn Jacob
for it either. Love didn't work that way, I decided. Once you cared about
a person, it was impossible to be logical about them anymore. Jacob was
my friend whether he killed people or not. And I didn't know what I was
going to do about that.
When I pictured him sleeping so peacefully, I felt an overpowering urge
to protect him. Completely illogical.
Illogical or not, I brooded over the memory his peaceful face, trying to
come up with some answer, some way to shelter him, while the sky slowly
turned gray.
"Hi, Bella."
Jacob's voice came from the darkness and made me jump. It was soft,
almost shy, but I'd been expecting some forewarning from the noisy rocks,
and so it still startled me. I could see his silhouette against the
coming sunrise—it looked enormous.
"Jake?"
He stood several paces away, shifting his weight from foot to foot
anxiously.
"Billy told me you came by—didn't take you very long, did it? I knew you
could figure it out."
"Yeah, I remember the right story now," I whispered.
It was quiet for a long moment and, though it was still too dark to see
well, my skin prickled as if his eyes were searching my face. There must
have been enough light for him to read my expression, because when he
spoke again, his voice was suddenly acidic.
"You could have just called," he said harshly.
I nodded. "I know."
Jacob started pacing along the rocks. If I listened very hard, I could
just hear the gentle brush of his feet on the rocks behind the sound of
the waves. The rocks had clattered like castanets for me.
"Why did you come?" he demanded, not halting his angry stride.
"I thought it would be better face-to-face."
He snorted. "Oh, much better."
"Jacob, I have to warn you—"
"About the rangers and the hunters? Don't worry about it. We already
know."
"Don't worry about it?" I demanded in disbelief. "Jake, they've got guns!
They're setting traps and offering rewards and—"
"We can take care of ourselves," he growled, still pacing. "They're not
going to catch anything. They're only making it more difficult—they'll
start disappearing soon enough, too."
"Jake!" I hissed.
"What? It's just a fact."
My voice was pale with revulsion. "How can you… feel that way? You know
these people. Charlie's out there!" The thought made my stomach twist.
He came to an abrupt stop. "What more can we do?" he retorted.
The sun turned the clouds a slivery pink above us. I could see his
expression now; it was angry, frustrated, betrayed.
"Could you… well, try to not be a… werewolf?" I suggested in a whisper.
He threw his hands up in the air. "Like I have a choice about it!" he
shouted. "And how would that help anything, if you're worried about
people disappearing?"
"I don't understand you."
He glared at me, his eyes narrowing and his mouth twisting into a snarl.
"You know what makes me so mad I could just spit?"
I flinched away from his hostile expression. He seemed to be waiting for
an answer, so I shook my head.
"You're such a hypocrite, Bella—there you sit, terrified of me! How is
that fair?" His hands shook with anger.
"Hypocrite? How does being afraid of a monster make me a hypocrite?"
"Ugh!" he groaned, pressing his trembling fists to his temples and
squeezing his eyes shut. "Would you listen to yourself?"
"What?"
He took two steps toward me, leaning over me and glaring with fury.
"Well, I'm so sorry that I can't be the right kind of monster for you,
Bella. I guess I'm just not as great as a bloodsucker, am I?"
I jumped to my feet and glared back. "No, you're not!" I shouted. "It's
not what you are, stupid, it's what you do!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He roared, his entire frame quivering
with rage.
I was taken entirely by surprise when Edward's voice cautioned me. "Be
very careful, Bella," his velvet voice warned. "Don't push him too far.
You need to calm him down."
Even the voice in my head was making no sense today.
I listened to him, though. I would do anything for that voice.
"Jacob," I pleaded, making my tone soft and even. "Is it really necessary
to kill people, Jacob? Isn't there some other way? I mean, if vampires
can find a way to survive without murdering people, couldn't you give it
a try, too?"
He straightened up with a jerk, like my words had sent an electric shock
through him. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes stared wide.
"Killing people?" he demanded.
"What did you think we were talking about?"
He wasn't trembling anymore. He looked at me with half-hopeful disbelief.
"I thought we were talking about your disgust for werewolves."
"No, Jake, no. It's not that you're a… wolf. That's fine," I promised
him, and I knew as I said the words that I meant them. I really didn't
care if he turned into a big wolf—he was still Jacob. "If you could just
find a way not to hurt people… that's all that upsets me. These ate
innocent people, Jake, people like Charlie, and I can't just look the
other way while you—"
"Is that all? Really?" he interrupted me, a smile breaking across his
face. "You're just scared because I'm a murderer? That's the only reason?"
"Isn't that reason enough?"
He started to laugh.
"Jacob Black, this is so not funny!"
"Sure, sure," he agreed, still chortling.
He took one long stride and caught me in another vice-tight bear hug.
"You really, honestly don't mind that I morph into a giant dog?" he
asked, his voice joyful in my ear.
"No," I gasped. "Can't—breathe—Jake!"
He let me go, but took both my hands. "I'm not a killer, Bella."
I studied his face, and it was clear that this was the truth. Relief
pulsed through me.
"Really?" I asked.
"Really," he promised solemnly.
I threw my arms around him. It reminded me of that first day with the
motorcycles—he was bigger, though, and I felt even more like a child now.
Like that other time, he stroked my hair.
"Sorry I called you a hypocrite," he apologized.
"Sorry I called you a murderer."
He laughed.
I thought of something then, and pulled away from him so that I could see
his face. My eyebrows furrowed in anxiety. "What about Sam? And the
others?"
He shook his head, smiling like a huge burden had been removed from his
shoulders. "Of course not. Don't you remember what we call ourselves?"
The memory was clear—I'd just been thinking of that very day.
"Protectors?"
"Exactly."
"But I don't understand. What's happening in the woods? The missing
hikers, the blood?"
His face was serious, worried at once. "We're trying to do our job,
Bella. We're trying to protect them, but we're always just a little too
late."
"Protect them from what? Is there really a bear out there, too?"
"Bella, honey, we only protect people from one thing—our one enemy. It's
the reason we exist—because they do."
I stared at him blankly for one second before I understood. Then the
blood drained from my face and a thin, wordless cry of horror broke
through my lips.
He nodded. "I thought you, of all people, would reali2e what was really
going on."
"Laurent," I whispered. "He's still here."
Jacob blinked twice, and cocked his head to one side. "Who's Laurent?"
I tried to sort out the chaos in my head so that I could answer. "You
know—you saw him in the meadow. You were there…" The words came out in a
wondering tone as it all sunk in. "You were there, and you kept him from
killing me…"
"Oh, the black-haired leech?" He grinned, a tight, fierce grin. "Was that
his name?"
I shuddered. "What were you thinking?" I whispered. "He could have killed
you! Jake, you don't realize how dangerous—"
Another laugh interrupted me "Bella, one lone vampire isn't much of a
problem for a pack as big as ours. It was so easy, it was hardly even
fun!"
"What was so easy?"
"Killing the bloodsucker who was going to kill you. Now, I don't count
that towards the whole murder thing," he added quickly. "Vampires don't
count as people."
I could only mouth the words. "You… killed… Laurent?"
He nodded. "Well, it was a group effort," he qualified.
"Laurent is dead?" I whispered.
His expression changed. "You're not upset about that, are you? He was
going to kill you—he was going for the kill, Bella, we were sure of that
before we attacked. You know that, right?"
"I know that. No, I'm not upset—I'm…" I had to sit down. I stumbled back
a step until I felt the driftwood against my calves, and then sank down
onto it. "Laurent is dead. He's not coming back for me."
"You're not mad? He wasn't one of your friends or anything, was he?"
"My friend?" I stared up at him, confused and dizzy with relief. I
started babbling, my eyes getting moist. "No, Jake. I'm so… so relieved.
I thought he was going to find me—I've been waiting for him every night,
just hoping that he'd stop with me and leave Charlie alone. I've been so
frightened, Jacob… But how? He was a vampire! How did you kill him? He
was so strong, so hard, like marble…"
He sat down next to me and put one big arm around me comfortingly. "It's
what we're made for, Bells. We're strong, too. I wish you would have told
me that you were so afraid. You didn't need to be."
"You weren't around," I mumbled, lost in thought.
"Oh, right."
"Wait, Jake—I thought you knew, though. Last night, you said it wasn't
safe for you to be in my room. I thought you knew that a vampire might be
coming. Isn't that what you were talking about?"
He looked confused for a minute, and then he ducked his head. "No, that's
not what I meant."
"Then why didn't you think it was safe for you there?"
He looked at me with guilt-ridden eyes. "I didn't say it wasn't safe for
me. I was thinking of you."
"What do you mean?"
He looked down and kicked a rock. "There's more than one reason I'm not
supposed to be around you, Bella. I wasn't supposed to tell you our
secret, for one thing, but the other part is that it's not safe for you.
If I get too mad… too upset… you might get hurt."
I thought about that carefully. "When you were mad before… when I was
yelling at you… and you were shaking… ?"
"Yeah." His face dropped even lower. "That was pretty stupid of me. I
have to keep a better hold on myself. I swore I wasn't going to get mad,
no matter what you said to me. But… I just got so upser that I was going
to lose you… that you couldn't deal with what I am…"
"What would happen… if you got too mad?" I whispered.
"I'd turn into a wolf," he whispered back.
"You don't need a full moon."
He rolled his eyes. "Hollywood's version doesn't get much right." Then he
sighed, and was serious again. "You don't need to be so stressed out,
Bells. We're going to take care of this. And we're keeping a special eye
on Charlie and the others—we won't let anything happen to him. Trust me
on that."
Something very, very obvious, something I should have grasped at once—but
I'd been so distracted by the idea of Jacob and his friends fighting with
Laurent, that I'd completely missed it at the time—occurred to me only
then, when Jacob used the present tense again.
We're going to take care of this.
It wasn't over.
"Laurent is dead," I gasped, and my entire body went ice cold.
"Bella?" Jacob asked anxiously, touching my ashen cheek.
"If Laurent died… a week ago… then someone else is killing people now."
Jacob nodded; his teeth clenched together, and he spoke through them.
"There were two of them. We thought his mate would want to fight us—in
our stories, they usually get pretty pissed off if you kill their
mate—but she just keeps running away, and then coming back again. If we
could figure out what she was after, it would be easier to take her down.
But she makes no sense. She keeps dancing around the edges, like she's
testing our defenses, looking for a way in—but in where? Where does she
want to go? Sam thinks she's trying to separate us, so she'll have a
better chance…"
His voice faded until it sounded like it was coming through a long
tunnel; I couldn't make out the individual words anymore. My forehead
dewed with sweat and my stomach rolled like I had the stomach flu again.
Exactly like I had the flu.
I turned away from him quickly, and leaned over the tree trunk. My body
convulsed with useless heaves, my empty stomach contracting with
horrified nausea, though there was nothing in it to expel.
Victoria was here. Looking for me. Killing strangers in the woods. The
woods where Charlie was searching…
My head spun sickeningly.
Jacob's hands caught my shoulders—kept me from sliding forward onto the
rocks. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek. "Bella! What's wrong?"
"Victoria," I gasped as soon as I could catch my breath around the
nauseous spasms.
In my head, Edward snarled in fury at the name.
I felt Jacob pull me up from my slump. He draped me awkwardly across his
lap, laying my limp head against his shoulder. He struggled to balance
me, to keep me from sagging over, one way or the other He brushed the
sweaty hair back from my face.
"Who?" Jacob asked. "Can you hear me, Bella? Bella?"
"She wasn't Laurent's mate," I moaned into his shoulder. "They were just
old friends…"
"Do you need some water? A doctor? Tell me what to do," he demanded,
frantic.
"I'm not sick—I'm scared," I explained in a whisper. The word scared
didn't really seem to cover it.
Jacob patted my back. "Scaled of this Victoria?" I nodded, shuddering.
"Victoria is the red-haired female?" I trembled again, and whimpered,
"Yes."
"How do you know she wasn't his mate?"
"Laurent told me James was her mate," I explained, automatically flexing
the hand with the scar.
He pulled my face around, holding it steady in his big hand. He stared
intently into my eyes. "Did he tell you anything else, Bella? This is
important. Do you know what she wants?"
"Of course," I whispered. "She wants me." His eyes flipped wide, then
narrowed into slits. "Why?" he demanded.
"Edward killed James," I whispered. Jacob held me so tightly that there
was no need for me to clutch at the hole—he kept me in one piece. "She
did get… pissed off. But Laurent said she thought it was fairer to kill
me than Edward. Mate for mate. She didn't know—still doesn't know, I
guess—that… that…" I swallowed hard. "That things aren't like that with
us anymore. Not for Edward, anyway."
Jacob was distracted by that, his face torn between several different
expressions. "Is that what happened? Why the Cullens left?"
"I'm nothing but a human, after all. Nothing special," I explained,
shrugging weakly.
Something like a growl—not a real growl, just a human
approximation—rumbled in Jacob's chest under my ear. "If that idiot
bloodsucker is honestly stupid enough—"
"Please," I moaned. "Please. Don't."
Jacob hesitated, then nodded once.
"This is important," he said again, his face all business now. "This is
exactly what we needed to know. We've got to tell the others right away."
He stood, pulling me to my feet. He kept two hands on my waist until he
was sure I wasn't going to fall.
"I'm okay," I lied.
He traded his hold on my waist for one of my hands. "Let's go."
He pulled me back toward the truck.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "I'll call a meeting. Hey, wait here for
just a minute, okay?" He leaned me against the side of the truck and
released my hand.
"Where are you going?"
"I'll be right back," he promised. Then he turned and sprinted through
the parking lot, across the road, and into the bordering forest. He
flitted into the trees, swift and sleek as a deer.
"Jacob!" I yelled after him hoarsely, but he was already gone.
It was not a good time to be left alone. Seconds after Jacob was out of
sight, I was hyperventilating. I dragged myself into the cab of the
truck, and mashed the locks down at once. It didn't make me feel any
better.
Victoria was already hunting me. It was just luck that she hadn't found
me yet—just luck and five teenage werewolves. I exhaled sharply. No
matter what Jacob said, the thought of him coming anywhere close to
Victoria was horrifying. I didn't care what he could turn into when he
got mad. I could see her in my head, her face wild, her hair like flames,
deadly, indestructible…
But, according to Jacob, Laurent was gone. Was that really possible?
Edward—I clutched automatically at my chest—had told me how difficult it
was to kill a vampire. Only another vampire could do the job. Yet Jake
said this was what werewolves were made for…
He said they were keeping a special eye on Charlie—that I should trust
the werewolves to keep my father safe. How could I trust that? None of us
were safe! Jacob the very least of all, if he was trying to put himself
between Victoria and Charlie… between Victoria and me.
I felt like I might be about to throw up again.
A sharp rap on the truck's window made me yelp in terror—but it was just
Jacob, back already. I unlocked the door with trembling, grateful fingers.
"You're really scared, aren't you?" he asked as he climbed in.
I nodded.
"Don't be. We'll take care of you—and Charlie, too. I promise."
"The idea of you finding Victoria is scarier than the idea of her finding
me," I whispered.
He laughed. "You've got to have a little more confidence in us than that.
It's insulting."
I just shook my head. I'd seen too many vampires in action.
"Where did you go just now?" I asked.
He pursed his lips, and said nothing.
"What? Is it a secret?"
He frowned. "Not really. It's kind of weird, though. I don't want to
freak you out."
"I'm sort of used to weird by this point, you know." I tried to smile
without much success.
Jacob grinned back easily. "Guess you'd have to be. Okay. See, when we're
wolves, we can… hear each other."
My eyebrows pulled down in confusion.
"Not hear sounds," he went on, "but we can hear… thoughts—each other's
anyway—no matter how far away from each other we are. It really helps
when we hunt, but it's a big pain otherwise. It's embarrassing—having no
secrets like that. Freaky, eh?"
"Is that what you meant last night, when you said you would tell them
you'd seen me, even though you didn't want to?"
"You're quick."
"Thanks."
"You're also very good with weird. I thought that would bother you."
"It's not… well, you're not the first person I've known who could do
that. So it doesn't seem so weird to me."
"Really?… Wait—are you talking about your bloodsuckers?"
"I wish you wouldn't call them that."
He laughed. "Whatever. The Cullens, then?"
"Just… just Edward." I pulled one arm surreptitiously around my torso.
Jacob looked surprised—unpleasantly so. "I thought those were just
stories. I've heard legends about vampires who could do… extra stuff, but
I thought that was just a myth."
"Is anything just a myth anymore?" I asked him wryly.
He scowled. "Guess not. Okay, we're going to meet Sam and the others at
the place we go to ride our bikes."
I started the truck and headed back up the road.
"So did you just turn into a wolf now, to talk to Sam?" I asked, curious.
Jacob nodded, seeming embarrassed. "I kept it real short—I tried not to
think about you so they wouldn't know what was going on. I was afraid Sam
would tell me I couldn't bring you."
"That wouldn't have stopped me." I couldn't get rid of my perception of
Sam as the bad guy. My teeth clenched together whenever I heard his name.
"Well, it would have stopped me," Jacob said, morose now. "Remember how I
couldn't finish my sentences last night? How I couldn't just tell you the
whole story?"
"Yeah. You looked like you were choking on something."
He chuckled darkly. "Close enough. Sam told me I couldn't tell you. He's…
the head of the pack, you know. He's the Alpha. When he tells us to do
something, or not to do something—when he really means it, well, we can't
just ignore him."
"Weird," I muttered.
"Very," he agreed. "It's kind of a wolf thing."
"Huh" was the best response I could think of.
"Yeah, there's a load of stuff like that—wolf things. I'm still learning.
I can't imagine what it was like for Sam, trying to deal with this alone.
It sucks bad enough to go through it with a whole pack for support."
"Sam was alone?"
"Yeah." Jacob's voice lowered. "When I… changed, it was the most…
horrible, the most terrifying thing I've ever been through—worse than
anything I could have imagined. But I wasn't alone—there were the voices
there, in my head, telling me what had happened and what I had to do.
That kept me from losing my mind, I think. But Sam…" He shook his head.
"Sam had no help."
This was going to take some adjusting. When Jacob explained it like that,
it was hard not to feel compassion for Sam. I had to keep reminding
myself that there was no reason to hate him anymore.
"Will they be angry that I'm with you?" I asked.
He made a face. "Probably."
"Maybe I shouldn't—"
"No, it's okay," he assured me. "You know a ton of things that can help
us. It's not like you're just some ignorant human. You're like a… I don't
know, spy or something. You've been behind enemy lines."
I frowned to myself. Was that what Jacob would want from me? Insider
information to help them destroy their enemies? I wasn't a spy, though. I
hadn't been collecting that kind of information. Already, his words made
me feel like a traitor.
But I wanted him to stop Victoria, didn't I?
No.
I did want Victoria to be stopped, preferably before she tortured me to
death or ran into Charlie or killed another stranger. I just didn't want
Jacob to be the one to stop her, or rather to try. I didn't want Jacob
within a hundred miles of her.
"Like the stuff about the mind-reading bloodsucker," he continued,
oblivious to my reverie. "That's the kind of thing we need to know about.
That really sucks that those stories are true. It makes everything more
complicated. Hey, do you think this Victoria can do anything special?"
"I don't think so," I hesitated, and then sighed. "He would have
mentioned it."
"He? Oh, you mean Edward—oops, sorry. I forgot. You don't like to say his
name. Or hear it."
I squeezed my midsection, trying to ignore the throbbing around the edges
of my chest. "Not really, no."
"Sorry."
"How do you know me so well, Jacob? Sometimes it's like you can read my
mind."
"Naw. I just pay attention."
We were on the little dirt road where Jacob had first taught me to ride
the motorcycle.
"This good?" I asked.
"Sure, sure."
I pulled over and cut the engine.
"You're still pretty unhappy, aren't you?" he murmured.
I nodded, staring unseeingly into the gloomy forest.
"Did you ever think… that maybe… you're better off?"
I inhaled slowly, and then let my breath out. "No."
"'Cause he wasn't the best—"
"Please, Jacob," I interrupted, begging in a whisper. "Could we please
not talk about this? I can't stand it."
"Okay." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I said anything."
"Don't feel bad. If things were different, it would be nice to finally be
able to talk to someone about it."
He nodded. "Yeah, I had a hard time keeping a secret from you for two
weeks. It must be hell to not be able to talk to anyone."
"Hell," I agreed.
Jacob sucked in a sharp breath. "They're here. Let's go."
"Are you sure?" I asked while he popped his door open. "Maybe I shouldn't
be here."
"They'll deal with it," he said, and then he grinned. "Who's afraid of
the big, bad wolf?"
"Ha ha," I said. But I got out of the truck, hurrying around the front
end to stand close beside Jacob. I remembered only too clearly the giant
monsters in the meadow. My hands were trembling like Jacob's had been
before, but with fear rather than rage.
Jake took my hand and squeezed it. "Here we go."
===========================================================================
14. FAMILY
I COWERED INTO JACOB'S SIDE, MY EYES SCANNING the forest for the other
werewolves. When they appeared, striding out from between the trees, they
weren't what I was expecting. I'd gotten the image of the wolves stuck in
my head. These were just four really big half-naked boys.
Again, they reminded me of brothers, quadruplets. Something about the way
they moved almost in synchronization to stand across the road from us,
the way they all had the same long, round muscles under the same
red-brown skin, the same cropped black hair, and the way their
expressions altered at exactly the same moment.
They started out curious and cautious. When they saw me there,
half-hidden beside Jacob, they all became furious in the same second.
Sam was still the biggest, though Jacob was getting close to catching up
with him. Sam didn't really count as a boy. His face was older—not in the
sense of lines or signs of aging, but in the matunry, the patience of his
expression.
"What have you done, Jacob?" he demanded.
One of the others, one I didn't recognize—Jared or Paul—thrust past Sam
and spoke before Jacob could defend himself.
"Why can't you just follow the rules, Jacob?" he yelled, throwing his
arms in the air. "What the hell are you thinking? Is she more important
than everything—than the whole tribe? Than the people getting killed?"
"She can help," Jacob said quietly.
"Help!" the angry boy shouted. His arms begin to quiver. "Oh, that's
likely! I'm sure the leech-lover is just dying to help us out!"
"Don't talk about her like that!" Jacob shouted back, stung by the boy's
criticism.
A shudder rippled through the other boy, along his shoulders and down his
spine.
"Paul! Relax!" Sam commanded.
Paul shook his head back and forth, not in defiance, but as though he
were trying to concentrate.
"Jeez, Paul," one of the other boys—probably Jared—muttered. "Get a grip."
Paul twisted his head toward Jared, his lips curling back in irritation.
Then he shifted his glare in my direction. Jacob took a step to put
himself in front of me.
That did it.
"Right, protect her!" Paul roared in outrage. Another shudder, a
convulsion, heaved through his body. He threw his head back, a real growl
tearing from between his teeth.
"Paul!" Sam and Jacob shouted together.
Paul seemed to fall forward, vibrating violently. Halfway to the ground,
there was a loud ripping noise, and the boy exploded.
Dark silver fur blew out from the boy, coalescing into a shape more than
five-times his size—a massive, crouched shape, ready to spring.
The wolf's muzzle wrinkled back over his teeth, and another growl rolled
through his colossal chest. His dark, enraged eyes focused on me.
In the same second, Jacob was running across the road straight for the
monster.
"Jacob!" I screamed.
Mid-stride, a long tremor shivered down Jacob's spine. He leaped forward,
diving headfirst into the empty air.
With another sharp tearing sound, Jacob exploded, too. He burst out of
his skin—shreds of black and white cloth blasted up into the air. It
happened so quickly that if I'd blinked, I'd have missed the entire
transformation. One second it was Jacob diving into the air, and then it
was the gigantic, russet brown wolf—so enormous that I couldn't make
sense of its mass somehow fitting inside Jacob—charging the crouched
silver beast.
Jacob met the other werewolf's attack head-on. Their angry snarls echoed
like thunder off the trees.
The black and white scraps—the remains of Jacob's clothes—fluttered to
the ground where he'd disappeared.
"Jacob!" I screamed again, staggering forward.
"Stay where you are, Bella," Sam ordered. It was hard to hear him over
the roar of the fighting wolves. They were snapping and tearing at each
other, their sharp teeth flashing toward each other's throats. The
Jacob-wolf seemed to have the upper hand—he was visibly bigger than the
other wolf, and it looked like le was stronger, too. He rammed his
shoulder against the gray wolf again and again, knocking him back toward
the trees.
"Take her to Emily's," Sam shouted toward the other boys, who were
watching the conflict with rapt expressions. Jacob had successfully
shoved the gray wolf off the road, and they were disappearing into the
forest, though the sound of their snarls was still loud. Sam ran after
them, kicking off his shoes on the way. As he darted into the trees, he
was quivering from head to toe.
The growling and snapping was fading into the distance. Suddenly, the
sound cut off and it was very quiet on the road.
One of the boys started laughing.
I turned to stare at him—my wide eyes felt frozen, like I couldn't even
blink them.
The boy seemed to be laughing at my expression. "Well, there's something
you don't see every day," he snickered. His face was vaguely
familiar—thinner than the others… Embry Call.
"I do," the other boy, Jared, grumbled. "Every single day."
"Aw, Paul doesn't lose his temper every day," Embry disagreed, still
grinning. "Maybe two out of three."
Jared stopped to pick something white up off the ground. He held it up
toward Embry; it dangled in limp strips from his hand.
"Totally shredded," Jared said. "Billy said this was the last pair he
could afford—guess Jacob's going barefoot now."
"This one survived," Embry said, holding up a white sneaker. "Jake can
hop," he added with a laugh.
Jared started collecting various pieces of fabric from the dirt. "Get
Sam's shoes, will you? All the rest of this is headed for the trash."
Embry grabbed the shoes and then jogged into the trees where Sam had
disappeared. He was back in a few seconds with a pair of cut-off jeans
draped over his arm. Jared gathered the torn remnants of Jacob's and
Paul's clothes and wadded them into a ball. Suddenly, he seemed to
remember me.
He looked at me carefully, assessing.
"Hey, you're not going to faint or puke or anything?" he demanded.
"I don't think so," I gasped.
"You don't look so good. Maybe you should sit down."
"Okay," I mumbled. For the second time in one morning, I put my head
between my knees.
"Jake should have warned us," Embry complained.
"He shouldn't have brought his girlfriend into this. What did he expect?"
"Well, the wolf's out of the bag now." Embry sighed. "Way to go, Jake."
I raised my head to glare at the two boys who seemed to be taking this
all so lightly. "Aren't you worried about them at all?" I demanded.
Embry blinked once in surprise "Worried? Why?"
"They could hurt each other!"
Embry and Jared guffawed.
"I hope Paul gets a mouthful of him," Jared said. "Teach him a lesson."
I blanched.
"Yeah, right!" Embry disagreed. "Did you see Jake? Even Sam couldn't have
phased on the fly like that. He saw Paul losing it, and it took him,
what, half a second to attack? The boy's got a gift."
"Paul's been fighting longer. I'll bet you ten bucks he leaves a mark."
"You're on. Jake's a natural. Paul doesn't have a prayer."
They shook hands, grinning.
I tried to comfort myself with their lack of concern, but I couldn't
drive the brutal image of the fighting werewolves from my head. My
stomach churned, sore and empty, my head ached with worry.
"Let's go see Emily. You know she'll have food waiting." Embry looked
down at me. "Mind giving us a ride?"
"No problem," I choked.
Jared raised one eyebrow. "Maybe you'd better drive, Embry. She still
looks like she might hurl."
"Good idea. Where are the keys?" Embry asked me.
"Ignition."
Embry opened the passenger-side door. "In you go," he said cheerfully,
hauling me up from the ground with one hand and stuffing me into my seat.
He appraised the available space. "You'll have to ride in the back," he
told Jared.
"That's fine. I got a weak stomach. I don't want to be in there when she
blows."
"I bet she's tougher than that. She runs with vampires."
"Five bucks?" Jared asked.
"Done. I feel guilty, taking your money like this."
Embry got in and started the engine while Jared leapt agilely into the
bed. As soon as his door was closed, Embry muttered to me, "Don't throw
up, okay? I've only got a ten, and if Paul got his teeth into Jacob…"
"Okay," I whispered.
Embry drove us back toward the village.
"Hey, how did Jake get around the injunction anyway?"
"The… what?"
"Er, the order. You know, to not spill the beans. How did he tell you
about this?"
"Oh, that," I said, remembering Jacob trying to choke out the truth to me
last night. "He didn't. I guessed right."
Embry pursed his lips, looking surprised. "Hmm. S'pose that would work."
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Emily's house. She's Sam's girlfriend… no, fiancee, now, I guess.
They'll meet us back there after Sam gives it to them for what just
happened. And after Paul and Jake scrounge up some new clothes, if Paul
even has any left."
"Does Emily know about… ?"
"Yeah. And hey, don't stare at her. That bugs Sam."
I frowned at him. "Why would I stare?"
Embry looked uncomfortable. "Like you saw just now, hanging out around
werewolves has its risks." He changed the subject quickly. "Hey, are you
okay about the whole thing with the black-haired bloodsucker in the
meadow? It didn't look like he was a friend of yours, but. ." Embry
shrugged.
"No, he wasn't my friend."
"That's good. We didn't want to start anything, break the treaty, you
know."
"Oh, yeah, Jake told me about the treaty once, a long time ago. Why would
killing Laurent break the treaty?"
"Laurent," he repeated, snorting, like he was amused the vampire had had
a name. "Well, we were technically on Cullen turf. We're not allowed to
attack any of them, the Cullens, at least, off our land—unless they break
the treaty first. We didn't know if the black-haired one was a relative
of theirs or something. Looked like you knew him."
"How would they go about breaking the treaty?"
"If they bite a human. Jake wasn't so keen on the idea of letting it go
that far."
"Oh. Um, thanks. I'm glad you didn't wait."
"Our pleasure." He sounded like he meant that in a literal sense.
Embry drove past the easternmost house on the highway before turning off
onto a narrow dirt road. "Your truck is slow," he noted.
"Sorry."
At the end of the lane was a tiny house that had once been gray. There
was only one narrow window beside the weathered blue door, but the window
box under it was filled with bright orange and yellow marigolds, giving
the whole place a cheerful look.
Embry opened the truck door and inhaled. "Mmm, Emily's cooking."
Jared jumped out of the back of the truck and headed for the door, but
Embry stopped him with one hand on his chest. He looked at me
meaningfully, and cleared his throat.
"I don't have my wallet on me," Jared said.
"That's okay. I won't forget."
They climbed up the one step and entered the house without knocking. I
followed timidly after them.
The front room, like Billy's house, was mostly kitchen. A young woman
with satiny copper skin and long, straight, crow-black hair was standing
at the counter by the sink, popping big muffins out of a tin and placing
them on a paper plate. For one second, I thought the reason Embry had
told me not to stare was because the girl was so beautiful.
And then she asked "You guys hungry?" in a melodic voice, and she turned
to face us full on, a smile on half of her face.
The right side of her face was scarred from hairline to chin by three
thick, red lines, livid in color though they were long healed. One line
pulled down the corner of her dark, almond-shaped right eye, another
twisted the right side of her mouth into a permanent grimace.
Thankful for Embry's warning, I quickly turned my eyes to the muffins in
her hands. They smelled wonderful—like fresh blueberries.
"Oh," Emily said, surprised. "Who's this?"
I looked up, trying to focus on the left half of her face.
"Bella Swan," Jared told her, shrugging. Apparently, I'd been a topic of
conversation before. "Who else?"
"Leave it to Jacob to find a way around," Emily murmured. She stared at
me, and neither half of her once-beautiful face was friendly. "So, you're
the vampire girl."
I stiffened. "Yes. Are you the wolf girl?"
She laughed, as did Embry and Jared. The left half of her face warmed. "I
guess I am." She turned to Jared. "Where's Sam?"
"Bella, er, surprised Paul this morning."
Emily rolled her good eye. "Ah, Paul," she sighed. "Do you think they'll
be long? I was just about to start the eggs."
"Don't worry," Embry told her. "If they're late, we won't let anything go
to waste."
Emily chuckled, and then opened the refrigerator. "No doubt," she agreed.
"Bella, are you hungry? Go ahead and help yourself to a muffin."
"Thanks." I took one from the plate and started nibbling around the
edges. It was delicious, and it felt good in my tender stomach. Embry
picked up his third and shoved it into his mouth whole.
"Save some for your brothers," Emily chastised him, hitting him on the
head with a wooden spoon. The word surprised me, but the others thought
nothing of it.
"Pig," Jared commented.
I leaned against the counter and watched the three of them banter like a
family. Emily's kitchen was a friendly place, bright with white cupboards
and pale wooden floorboards. On the little round table, a cracked
blue-and-white china pitcher was overflowing with wildflowers. Embry and
Jared seemed entirely at ease here.
Emily was mixing a humongous batch of eggs, several dozen, in a big
yellow bowl. She had the sleeves of her lavender shirt pushed up, and I
could see that the scars extended all the way down her arm to the back of
her right hand. Hanging out with werewolves truly did have its risks,
just as Embry had said.
The front door opened, and Sam stepped through.
"Emily," he said, and so much love saturated his voice that I felt
embarrassed, intrusive, as I watched him cross the room in one stride and
take her face in his wide hands. He leaned down and kissed the dark scars
on her right cheek before he kissed her lips.
"Hey, none of that," Jared complained. "I'm eating."
"Then shut up and eat," Sam suggested, kissing Emily's ruined mouth again.
"Ugh," Embry groaned.
This was worse than any romantic movie; this was so real that it sang out
loud with joy and life and true love. I put my muffin down and folded my
arms across my empty chest. I stared at the flowers, trying to ignore the
utter peace of their moment, and the wretched throbbing of my wounds.
I was grateful for the distraction when Jacob and Paul came through the
door, and then shocked when I saw that they were laughing. While I
watched, Paul punched Jacob on the shoulder and Jacob went for a kidney
jab in return. They laughed again. They both appeared to be in one piece.
Jacob scanned the room, his eyes stopping when he found me leaning,
awkward and out of place, against the counter in the far corner of the
kitchen.
"Hey, Bells," he greeted me cheerfully. He grabbed two muffins as he
passed the table and came to stand beside me. "Sorry about before," he
muttered under his breath. "How are you holding up.'"
"Don't worry, I'm okay. Good muffins." I picked mine back up and started
nibbhrg again. My chest felt better as soon as Jacob was beside me.
"Oh, man!" Jared wailed, interrupting us.
I looked up, and he and Embry were examining a fading pink line on Paul's
forearm. Embry was grinning, exultant.
"Fifteen dollars," he crowed.
"Did you do that?" I whispered to Jacob, remembering the bet.
"I barely touched him. He'll be perfect by sundown."
"By sundown?" I looked at the line on Paul's arm. Odd, but it looked
weeks old.
"Wolf thing," Jacob whispered.
I nodded, trying to not look weirded out.
"You okay?" I asked him under my breath.
"Not a scratch on me." His expression was smug.
"Hey, guys," Sam said in a loud voice, interrupting all the conversations
going on in the small room. Emily was at the stove, scraping the egg
mixture around a big skillet, but Sam still had one hand touching the
small of her back, an unconscious gesture. "Jacob has information for us."
Paul looked unsurprised. Jacob must have explained this to him and Sam
already. Or… they'd just heard his thoughts.
"I know what the redhead wants." Jacob directed his words toward Jared
and Embry. "That's what I was trying to tell you before." He kicked the
leg of the chair Paul had settled into.
"And?" Jared asked.
Jacob's face got serious. "She is trying to avenge her mate—only it
wasn't the black-haired leech we killed. The Cullens got her mate last
year, and she's after Bella now."
This wasn't news to me, but I still shivered.
Jared, Embry, and Emily stared at me with open-mouthed surprise.
"She's just a girl," Embry protested.
"I didn't say it made sense. But that's why the bloodsucker's been trying
to get past us. She's been heading for Forks."
They continued to stare at me, mouths still hanging open, for a long
moment. I ducked my head.
"Excellent," Jared finally said, a smile beginning to pull up the corners
of his mouth. "We've got bait."
With stunning speed, Jacob yanked a can opener from the counter and
launched it at Jared's head. Jared's hand flicked up faster than I would
have thought possible, and he snagged the tool just before it hit his
face.
"Bella is not bait."
"You know what I mean," Jared said, unabashed.
"So we'll be changing oar patterns," Sam said, ignoring their squabble.
"We'll try leaving a few holes, and see if she falls for it. We'll have
to split up, and I don't like that. But if she's really after Bella, she
probably won't try to take advantage of our divided numbers."
"Quit's got to be close to joining us," Embry murmured. "Then we'll be
able to split evenly."
Everyone looked down. I glanced at Jacob's face, and it was hopeless,
like it had been yesterday afternoon, outside his house. No matter how
comfortable they seemed to be with their fate, here in this happy
kitchen, none of these werewolves wanted the same fate for their friend.
"Well, we won't count on that," Sam said in a low voice, and then
continued at his regular volume. "Paul, Jared, and Embry will take the
outer perimeter, and Jacob and I will take the inner. We'll collapse in
when we've got her trapped."
I noticed that Emily didn't particularly like that Sam would be in the
smaller grouping. Her worry had me glancing up at Jacob, worrying, too.
Sam caught my eye. "Jacob thinks it would be best if you spent as much
time as possible here in La Push. She won't know where to find you so
easily, just in case."
"What about Charlie?" I demanded.
"March Madness is still going," Jacob said. "I think Billy and Harry can
manage to keep Charlie down here when he's not at work."
"Wait," Sam said, holding one hand up. His glance flickered to Emily and
then back to me. "That's what Jacob thinks is best, but you need to
decide for yourself. You should weigh the risks of both options very
seriously. You saw this morning how easily things can get dangerous here,
how quickly they get out of hand. If you choose to stay with us, I can't
make any guarantees about your safety."
"I won't hurt her," Jacob mumbled, looking down.
Sam acted as if he hadn't heard him speak. "If there was somewhere else
you felt safe…"
I bit my lip. Where could I go that wouldn't put someone else in danger?
I recoiled again from the idea of bringing Renee into this—pulling her
into the circle of the target I wore… "I don't want to lead Victoria
anywhere else," I whispered.
Sam nodded. "That's true. It's better to have her here, where we can end
this."
I flinched. I didn't want Jacob or any of the rest of them trying to end
Victoria. I glanced at Jake's face; it was relaxed, almost the same as I
remembered it from before the onset of the wolf thing, and utterly
unconcerned by the idea of hunting vampires.
"You'll be careful, right?" I asked, an audible lump in my throat.
The boys burst into loud hoots of amusement. Everyone laughed at
me—except Emily. She met my eyes, and I could suddenly see the symmetry
underlying her deformity. Her face was still beautiful, and alive with a
concern even more fierce than mine. I had to look away, before the love
behind that concern could start me aching again.
"Food's ready," she announced then, and the strategic conversation was
history. The guys hurried to surround the table—which looked tiny and in
danger of being crushed by them—and devoured the buffet-sized pan of eggs
Emily placed in their midst in record time. Emily ate leaning against the
counter like me—avoiding the bedlam at the table—and watched them with
affectionate eyes. Her expression clearly stated that this was her family.
All in all, it wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting from a pack of
werewolves.
I spent the day in La Push, the majority of it in Billy's house. He left
a message on Charlie's phone and at the station, and Charlie showed up
around dinnertime with two pizzas. It was good he brought two larges;
Jacob ate one all by himself.
I saw Charlie eyeing the two of us suspiciously all night, especially the
much-changed Jacob. He asked about the hair; Jacob shrugged and told him
it was just more convenient.
I knew that as soon as Charlie and I were headed home, Jacob would take
off—off to run around as a wolf, as he had done intermittently through
the entire day. He and his brothers of sorts kept up a constant watch,
looking for some sign of Victoria's return. But since they'd chased her
away from the hot springs last night—chased her halfway to Canada,
according to Jacob—she'd yet to make another foray.
I had no hope at all that she might just give up. I didn't have that kind
of luck.
Jacob walked me to my truck after dinner and lingered by the window,
waiting for Charlie to drive away first.
"Don't be afraid tonight," Jacob said, while Charlie pretended to be
having trouble with his seat belt. "We'll be out there, watching."
"I won't worry about myself," I promised.
"You're silly. Hunting vampires is fun. It's the best part of this whole
mess."
I shook my head. "If I'm silly, then you're dangerously unbalanced."
He chuckled. "Get some rest, Bella, honey. You look exhausted."
"I'll try."
Charlie honked his horn impatiently.
"See you tomorrow," Jacob said. "Come down first thing."
"I will."
Charlie followed me home. I paid scant attention to the lights in my
rearview mirror. Instead, I wondered where Sam and Jared and Embry and
Paul were, out running in the night. I wondered if Jacob had joined them
yet.
When we got home, I hurried for the stairs, but Charlie was right behind
me.
"What's going on, Bella?" he demanded before I could escape. "I thought
Jacob was part of a gang and you two were fighting."
"We made up."
"And the gang?"
"I don't know—who can understand teenage boys? They're a mystery. But I
met Sam Uley and his fiancee, Emily. The seemed pretty nice to me." I
shrugged. "Must have all been a misunderstanding."
His face changed. "I hadn't heard that he and Emily had made it official.
That's nice. Poor girl."
"Do you know what happened to her?"
"Mauled by a bear, up north, during salmon spawning season—horrible
accident It was more than a year ago now. I heard Sam was really messed
up over it."
"That's horrible," I echoed. More than a year ago. I'd bet that meant it
had happened when there was just one werewolf in La Push. I shuddered at
the thought of how Sam must have felt every time he looked at Emily's
face.
That night, I lay awake for a long time trying to sort through the day. I
worked my way backward through dinner with Billy, Jacob, and C harlie, to
the long afternoon in the Blacks' house, waiting anxiously to hear
something from Jacob, to Emily's kitchen, to the horror of the werewolf
fight, to talking with Jacob on the beach.
I thought about what Jacob had said early this morning, about hypocrisy.
I thought about that for a long time. I didn't like to think that I was a
hypocrite, only what was the point of lying to myself?
I curled into a tight ball. No, Edward wasn't a killer. Even in his
darker past, he'd never been a murderer of innocents, at least.
But what if he had been? What if, during the time I that I'd known him,
he'd been just like any other vampire? What if people had been
disappearing from the woods, just like now? Would that have kept me away
from him?
I shook my head sadly. Love is irrational, I reminded myself. The more
you loved someone, the less sense anything made.
I rolled over and tried to think of something else—and I thought of Jacob
and his brothers, out running in the darkness. I fell asleep imagining
the wolves, invisible in the night, guarding me from danger. When I
dreamed, I stood in the forest again, but I didn't wander. I was holding
Emily's scarred hand as we faced into the shadows and waited anxiously
for our werewolves to come home.
===========================================================================