Heavy, cold rain fell. Fell in the cloud-shrouded dark, soaking the earth, forming pools on the surface of the road, flooding the ditches and the gutters. I remember thinking it should have been snow.
As Mercy drove, slowly and badly, and sometimes sang a few bars of something I’d never heard, I found my thoughts drifting ever so often back to that imaginary dance with the only woman I’d ever loved. For several moments I let myself fixate on her deep brown eyes, the way her hair framed her face, the feel of her against me. And then I tried to remind myself how ridiculous the whole thing was. How can you possibly love someone you’ve never met? How can you love someone you will never hope to meet? You can’t do it—it isn’t possible. It couldn’t have been love. This couldn't be real grief. It must have been some fucked up displacement of my grief for my mother. Yes, Dr. Freud would have approved of this interpretation. It had just been some bizarre fantasy I’d twisted Alice’s vision into, and it had to be over now. Whoever she was, had been, she was dead now. I had to bury the fantasy with her. But how?
As we got closer to Gray, I considered my next move. I’d see Alice and try to sort out what was going on with her, what she’d seen, and what I’d have to do to make that future disappear. But as soon as she was back to herself again, as soon as possible, I’d put Reckoner back in the water and leave. I’d sail south and just spend a year or so at sea. However long it took to get my head back together, if that was even possible. I just wanted to get far, far away from where I could do any more damage to anyone I loved.
We turned down the long driveway of the Cullen House and I balked a little as I considered what an asshole I’d been to Carlisle. I didn’t look forward to facing him again after what I’d done. But at least I could give him a proper apology. He deserved a lot more than that.
As the house came into view, we saw Alice standing in the middle of the lane, in the downpour without her penguin slicker or her boots this time. Her feet were bare. She wore a pair of Jasper’s running pants that hung off of her and an old black fleece with rug lint all over it. I almost didn’t believe it was her. A light flickered and went out in the kitchen and then Jasper came to the window and then backed away.
“Oh dear,” Mercy said, pulling the car to a stop.
“Wait here,” I said. I got out of the car and approached Alice cautiously.
Her thoughts were garbled and fragmented, conflicted, confused feelings of agony and relief but no words I could decipher. I couldn’t tell the last time she’d bathed, but it wasn’t recent.
“This is all my fault,” she said out of nowhere, wringing her hands. Her eyes were weary, like she’d actually seen the horror of my assorted futures with them instead of in her mind.
“No, Alice,” I said. “It’s not your fault at all. It’s my fault.”
You’re going to get yourself killed and it will be my fault. My fault that I ever showed you that woman…
“This is exactly why I asked you to stop watching my future.”
I’d stop watching if you’d stop trying to get yourself killed.
“I’m not trying to get myself killed,” I said. “I just wanted—”
“Vengeance,” she said, her eyes flashing in the dark.
“Justice.”
We stood there facing each other. Her hair was soaked and sticking to the side of her face. She buried her head in her hands and when she did that, I couldn’t help myself. I put my arms around her and pressed her tightly to me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left.”
You never even said goodbye. It’s like you don’t care what happens to the rest of us anymore. All you care about is her, and that’s my fault.
“Alice,” I said, feeling defensive, but then I caught myself. Really, after how I’d behaved, what else could she think?
“Just tell me,” I said. “What can I do to make it better?”
“Stay,” she said.
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t want to say no. But I really didn’t want to say yes, either.
Alice looked up at me, doubtful. The expectation of disappointment I read across her face told me she didn’t—couldn’t count on me anymore. And I didn’t want to be that guy, the one who was so self-absorbed with his own bullshit that the people in the world he loved the most couldn’t count on him. Couldn’t trust him. However much I’d fucked up in my life, especially recently, that just wasn’t who I was—who I ever wanted to become.
“Will Carlisle even take me back?” I asked.
He already has.
Over her shoulder I could see Carlisle, Jasper and Esme emerging from the house, cautiously observing us. Emmett came out next, a little befuddled, but there was a sense of relief too. Rosalie peered at us through a window upstairs. Mercy got out of the car and joined them on the porch, where Esme hugged her and thanked her for finding me, and I was immobilized there in the lane, facing a most uncharacteristically bedraggled Alice and her pessimistic eyes, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. And like the asshole’s own asshole because still, all I could think about was leaving. All I wanted was to be alone until I could figure out some way to move forward in my existence without resenting every moment I had ahead of me. But that wasn’t what I would do. I knew it not from my own thoughts, but from the small, grateful smile Alice gave me then, and the sigh of relief when she put her head back on my shoulder and hugged me.
I stood there quiet for a couple of minutes, my eyes shifting away from hers, over to the porch where my family looked worried and haggard.
“How do I get over this, Alice?” I asked. “Tell me I get over it.”
“I don’t know, Edward,” she said. “I can’t see it. But maybe that’s because you haven’t tried.”
~~~
So I tried.
I apologized to Carlisle and asked if I could come back. Of course, he welcomed me back as a Cullen without any caveat, any reprimand, any warning. None was needed, I knew the expectations well enough. My apology was accepted with hardly a comment, just an “I know you’re sorry, Edward. I’m just glad you’re home.”
I did swear to stop plotting Allston Kaine’s death, and immediately Alice’s appearance changed, not quite back to the old Alice but much improved from the depressed and half-deranged one. I swore off decree killing forever, again, and felt immediately better. Carlisle was right about that. He always had been.
I also agreed to return to Forks with them at the first sign of trouble. Rosalie was pissed at the prospect of moving back to “the most depressing place on earth,” as far as she was concerned, but then Rosalie was pissed off most of the time anyway.
“She’ll deal with it,” Carlisle said. “And hopefully things won’t get that far.”
The very next night, Carlisle, Jasper, Emmett and I met with Allston and his muscle in Portland at Jim’s Bar and Grill. We picked a public place for obvious reasons—nobody was likely to get their legs ripped off in a bar. We hammered out a new truce with the Kaines—one where they wouldn’t out me to my enemies in Boston and I wouldn’t go around killing their suppliers. I had a very, very hard time with this, I will admit. But I agreed to it. For Alice. For all of my family. It went more smoothly than I expected, but just as we were leaving, Allston gave one last taunt.
You can thank Mercy for this new arrangement, he thought. She paid me a special visit last night and that girl has always had a way of being persuasive.
Then he shared a vision of Mercy in his bed, as though this would rankle me with jealousy, as though Mercy hadn’t taken to the bed of more random lovers than I could ever count or name in the time I’d known her. Had the image been real it would have bothered me anyway, just because he was such an asshole. But the fact that he didn’t realize I’d know immediately that he was lying nearly made me laugh. Instead I tried to appear duly perturbed, and I must have been convincing because he smirked and then turned to Carlisle and said, “You really must bring the family over sometime soon. We’ll get Mercy to perform and make a night of it.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Carlisle said. And that's all he said.
We never did get that invitation to the Kaines, though that was fine since the following week I went into the studio with Mercy and we recorded those songs we'd worked on before I left. I have to say, that helped my mood a lot. At least it gave me something to do all day. Nothing had really changed between Mercy and me, other than I found myself completely uninterested in sleeping with her, or anyone, actually. That certainly didn’t put her out or slow her down any. She brought plenty of guests home, but instead of watching or joining like I once might have, I just went out for long walks, went to midnight showings of classic films. I spent hours in Carlisle’s library reading medical texts for the hell of it. I did anything I could do to not think about vengeance. To not think about that fantasy or that beautiful woman I'd never know.
Over the following weeks, Carlisle relaxed and Esme encouraged my newfound tranquility. Spring came and I hunted religiously every week with Emmett and Jasper, just to keep myself focused. Best of all, Alice was back to her old pixieish self, and that made the effort feel well worth it. It seemed as though maybe I was really on my way--maybe I would find a way to get over things. It certainly looked that way on the outside, and Alice was relaxed enough that I could almost believe it. But inside of me something was still wrong.
And that was my thirst.
~~~
Until next week...