22As I send you this chapter, I'd like broadcast my thanks for Enigma Lynn, patch138, LOVE IS A GIFT, and sujari6. Reviews are love.
Saving Lucifer
CHAPTER FOUR
"Morning, Rosalie."
Startled, her gaze snapped sideways toward the man dressed in navy blue.
Garrett O'Brien, one of the senior-ranked security guards of the facility, speculated Rosalie's anxiety. "What's up with you this morning? You look a bit rickety."
"Just stressed," she replied in a subdued tone, eyes returning to where they were looking at…
The man followed her stare and – "Uh oh, not drooling over Royce King again?"
A very pretty blush that pleasantly contradicted her boyish manners spread across her cheeks as she cleared her throat. Ducking her face so that all Garrett was able to see was her ratty hat, she muttered an excuse to the accusation. She could hear her friend sigh at her, obviously not buying it, before returning to his position near the front desk.
Embarrassment didn't dissolve as quickly as she would have liked. Rosalie surveyed Royce King again, but this time through the corner of her eyes so Garrett wouldn't catch her again. Like a savage Neanderthal, she actually swallowed, her throat dry, at the sight of the handsome man. Oh, his hair, all feathery gold and perfectly groomed without a strand out of place, was the kind only an immaculate archangel would have… And his eyes! They were the gentlest blue, the picture of the clearest day and the waters of Hawaii… The hue was so valuable that she felt ashamed of her own pathos pair which was the similar shade.
Rosalie had admired his presence for some time now, and while she felt idiotic and guilty for praising a man other than Edward Masen – the Edward Masen she loved, the Edward Masen with debonair looks, and not to mention, the most charitable heart – her world simply became beautiful when Royce King was around. But sometimes she wondered why he never smiled, why he walked so stiffly, or why he seemed to act so difficult around others. Surely, he must be a perfect gentleman with those dashing looks… Maybe it was his cynical frown that pushed other coworkers away…
"Rose!"
The girl shrieked like a banshee, jumping and turning and lowering to her karate position in a millisecond. Workers of Masen Corporations spun toward the source of the sound and started at what they saw. Immediately, Rosalie straightened up and fidgeted with her clothes, and by then, the watchers just scowled and grumbled impolite words before resuming to hurrying across the colossal lobby again. Sighing then glaring, Rosalie hissed, "What the hell, Emmett!"
She swore this – Emmett McCarty was made of steel and iron and titanium and platinum and – just anything that could be considered as hard as diamond itself because… well, muscles couldn't be that large, she was positively sure.
"What brought you here?" he chattered excitedly, stupidly oblivious to the girl's infuriation… like always, "Oh, not that I complain, you know…" he trailed off, simply settling with smiling at the end.
Rosalie cringed into her heavy sweater. This nineteen-year-old boy – a year younger than she – was hardly tolerable. He was very large, tall, and burly, and yet his mannerisms always made his bodybuilder physique laughable and almost ironic. Not to mention, he always made her all tingly and uncomfortable with that intense stare he'd have while they talked… Anyhow, like any other day, she didn't have time, and would do much greater things than to have tea and chitchat with this –
"Goober!"
The two's heads twisted toward Garrett.
"Oh! Sorry, Mr. O'Brien," Emmett apologized, lips twisting timidly, "I, uh, kind of had a –"
"Right. Traffic. I hear that everyday from you. Now stop bothering her and get changed. Time for work."
Embarrassed, the teenager replied his yea. Then, he faced Rosalie again with the biggest grin she ever saw. "Are you going to stay here longer?"
"No, I was just visiting," she answered stiffly, annoyed and blatantly displaying it for Emmett to see as she shrugged and reassembled her shoulder bag, "I have to get home before eight."
Dark eyebrows gathered into a line, his mustard eyes reading the numbers on his watch. "Uh… it's almost eight thirty now."
Her mouth went dry then.
Emmett scowled. "Do you seriously have a morning curfew? Wow, because I remember last week when you –"
Before he could finish his words, though, Rosalie vanished. He had barely seen her spin on her heels before flying away like the star athlete of the Olympics. Legs pumping crazily, she dodged men in monkey suits and uptight women in clacking high heels.
Emmett, riveted in the fluidity of her movements, waved a disappointed goodbye at her disappearing back. "Bye," he mumbled forlornly.
It kind of hurt his feelings – as girly as that sounded – that she didn't answer him, not that she was able to hear him in the first place. But on top of that, she hadn't even glanced backward to shoot him her pretty, idyllic smile – the one that would make his day.
Poor Emmett. Up until a second ago, he felt brave enough to ask the girl out for lunch.
"Maybe next time," Emmett mumbled to himself.
Yeah, next time – that was what he told himself yesterday too.
"You had my men running around the city after you all hour. I must confess myself… disappointed. I am beginning to wonder if you're questioning my authority."
Rosalie's stomach lurched.
"So, educate me. Have I been, perhaps, too vague about the limits of your leisure time hours? Or was it a selfish blunder on your part – your daftness averting you from returning on time? Oh, I'm not so sure anymore, Rosalie, if I can still call your audacity commendable. Now, it seems, more or less… pathetic."
She winced and ducked her head low. "I'm sorry. It's just – I lost track of time, and…"
"Yes, my dear?"
She fell silent, powerless under the majestic glow and terrifyingly thorny voice this man had. So powerless… she always have been, even as a young girl… even when Edward –
"Is there more you want, my dear Rose? What is it? I told you I could give you the world, and yet you've declined it. Nonetheless, now, when I have granted you the one pitiful thing you seemed to desire so desperately, you've repaid me with the one thing I don't put up with… I suspect that you are already well aware that I don't tolerate disloyalty."
She kept her mouth shut, hiding her angry balls of fists behind her back.
"And look at you, wearing a commoner's clothes! You're a beautiful girl like your mother, a beautiful girl from class. Why can't you try to be more refined? You're not a child anymore!"
"I'm sorry."
"I see that you've grown into a slippery girl… one that's terrified of me. Are you afraid, dear child?"
Her heart sank. "No," she stuttered.
He chuckled condescendingly, and she blushed out of anger and humiliation.
"I'll believe you… for now."
"I'm really sorry," she murmured.
"That's all you ever say." He pressed his pale fingers against his dark hair and waved a hand at her as if dismissing one of their servants. "Enough. Leave. I have no more patience left for you this morning."
She stood up. "I'm truly sorry. I won't disappoint you again."
As Rosalie backed up, she thought she heard a snort from the man. Her steps were stiff and robotic as she finally escaped the cold chamber, and when she managed to reach her room and close the door behind her, her legs gave away and she sunk down to the floor. As anger slowly climbed to her throat, she couldn't hold it anymore. She slammed a fist on the ground and fastened two rows of her teeth together. Dropping her head to her knees, she began to sob, drowning in dread. Nothing could save her… Nothing…
Hope sounded especially wonderful to Bella at the moment. There were many reasons for that. Even without those reasons, however, Hope itself had always been wonderful because it meant a chance for one person and a surge of pride for another. Hope stood against frustration and fear, yet held hands with courage and willingness. And right now, it definitely meant a chance for Edward and a surge of private pride for Bella… and she could also see the courage and willingness lurking nearby.
Because just like any Sunday morning, she was at the cathedral.
Because Edward happened to be there too, to her wild and curious but exciting surprise.
Because he was playing the organ.
Because he was playing the organ without any music in front of him… as if he knew every hymn by heart…
And most of all, because he was wearing her red scarf. Oh, definitely.
Although she was ecstatic, Bella felt somewhat leery as well because she was drawing blank as to how and why he was here at the head of the cavity, exhausting himself to praise the Lord. And why was it that it was this cathedral? And why had he decided to volunteer to play for the services anyway?
But those didn't matter too much, because what she did know was that he was here and that her prayers might actually be receiving a proper attention – that maybe, God was finally listening to her voice and fixing things one by one, little by little.
Lucifer might be salvaged.
And to another delightful surprise, Bella discovered that he was good with controlling and playing the organ – very, very good. There was no doubting it, especially since Bella had been hearing the former musician play over the years. Even though her ears were never musically trained, she bluntly knew that the job was too much of a burden for the poor man, always fumbling through difficult chords and not keeping in time. But this – Edward was extraordinary in his playing. His face looked peaceful too, eyes unfocused and seeing something invisible in the distance while playing fluidly… and that was something she never imagined seeing.
Service that day ended too quickly, as if the hour had been a jiffy. Bella suddenly felt ashamed that she had forgotten the decency to keep her eyes casted away from the organist for the entire sixty minutes term. Thank goodness he hadn't caught her…
"Captivating, isn't he?"
Bella blinked and slanted her gaze away from the man and toward Esme who had been sitting by her. "Who is?"
"Weren't you staring at the new organist?"
"Oh." She watched Edward standing and drifting to the shadows next to the empty pews, his eyes distant and thoughtful… "Yeah. Yeah, I was. He's very good."
"Oh, yes, he is. Not rusty in the slightest, that boy, even after so much time. I was surprised." The older woman's soft smile seemed to silently whisper an untold story. "He could've gone out on that path only if…"
"Could've?" Realization stroke Bella, and her heart kicked up a gear. "You know him?"
Mother Esme didn't make any indication of an answer, but that only confirmed it. Why was it that people around her already knew him? How did they know him so well? Alice seemed reluctant to explain too…
"Even as a young boy, he was as talented as his father. Ah, but of course, Edward just had to be completely enamored by piano keys… It was a small disappointment to his father at first."
"I don't get it," Bella admitted, mind floating away and imagining Edward as a young boy with fiery hair, freckles, missing teeth… and a father. There was no reason to be fascinated by this brief account of his upbringing – it was as plain as any other – but she still was. As goofy as it sounded, the concept of her Lucifer being 'a young boy' once upon a time sounded absurd and unreal.
"Oh, Edward Sr. was a violinist, you see. He was more fascinated with violin than piano, and wanted his son to be too." Esme paused, as if she realized she had divulged too much. But after a measuring moment of staring coolly into Bella's eyes, as if they were the windows of her soul, she seemed to relax. "They were a great duo. They played here during the offerings all the time."
Bella's heart stopped for a second. Then she whispered, "He's a Catholic?"
"Was."
Never in her life did Bella imagine that the word 'was' could sound so punctual, so final, so conclusive… Overwhelmed and somewhat panicked, Bella examined the fallen angel again. How in the world could a fallen angel be a Catholic, a submissive soul completely devoted to God? Maybe she had it all wrong… But then –
"Then what happened to him?" Bella whispered.
"It's complicated," Esme replied mundanely.
Bella knew she had to tread the water lightly… cautiously… "How'd you find him?"
Mother Esme hummed softly.
"Yes?"
In the minute of silence, Esme cocked her head to the side. "Is something wrong, Bella?"
"No… Yes… I mean…" She swallowed, unable to speak. It took her a few moments when she confessed, "Esme, he's the one I've been talking about. He's that boy I wanted to help – Lucifer."
Bella watched Esme registering this new bit of knowledge very closely. The elder woman's expression shifted from its initial concern… to surprise… to speculation… to skepticism… and then to nothing. Bella wanted find the way to understand what thoughts this generous sage was having: An epiphany? A revelation? A flashback?
Esme's hazel eyes zeroed around Edward's neck, which was thoroughly banded in woven red filaments, a scarf that looked too feminine for a man to wear… "I see," she finally said.
Bella bit her lip. "I want to know what happened. Please, Mother Esme."
"He's a good boy… a very good person. He's almost too perfect to be a mortal. That's all I'm going to say." The aging lines near her mouth folded as she smiled at what seemed like a private joke, while her eyes turned mischievous. "Hmm, Lucifer indeed."
Bella almost groaned. Alice's ambiguity had been more than enough for her these past several days, and now Esme too?
"I must tell you though. Whatever you're planning for him, he's going to be really tough. He's not a flexible person, and not going to be changed easily… He's always been stubborn since he was a little boy."
"There's no such thing as impossible."
One side of Esme's lip tipped upward into a wiry grin. "I never said it was."
Bella frowned.
"But yes, it's close to impossible." Esme glanced at Edward, all elegant and wicked as he stood under the golden cross at the front of the grand hall. It was an irony – Satan gazing toward the heavens under God's holy symbol. "Oh, so very close."
The thoughts of Edward the Lucifer didn't leave Bella's head after that Sunday. As if he wasn't already in every thought she had, it was worse. It became her new habit to daydream about his past and to brainstorm a plethora of ideas that eventually turned to theories. His actions toward her after the service did no help to this newfound obsession too – he had openly ignored her when she tossed him a tentative word of greeting. She still remembered the shade of red that covered her from head to toe as he walked away.
But what really hurt her, though, was that it all became painfully obvious: he wasn't going to tolerate her anymore. After all, he didn't even give her the chance to stumble for words or argue that time. Now, Alice's bash night sounded incredibly ancient, a distant memory, as if that smiling boy she saw for the shortest second was all conjured-up imagination inside Bella's head… or possibly, a doppelganger.
And that was when she began to grudgingly accept the truth that even if Edward didn't hate her, he most definitely didn't want to talk to her… befriend her… spend time with her… or reveal himself to her.
It was funny that that ugly truth sent her heart aching, and that was when she came to a second realization. Reliving all three of short but pivotal encounters, she realized that the two decades of her life she spent schooling the English language had been wholly obliterated by this enigmatic boy with messy, bay hair. Oh, God, she had been acting utterly inarticulate – almost illiterate, for all he knew – in front of him in practically most of the conversations, stuttering, mumbling, and standing speechless.
Now, things were much more serious and complicated than just nudging Edward to the religion that could help him and possibly lead to a better life, and hoping and praying wasn't going to do. After all, he was basically already a Catholic. What Bella had to really sort out was the way to break that icy exterior to get a peek at his real substance… Oh, man, what was the real Edward like anyway? Curiosity was slowly undoing her, and next Sunday couldn't come fast enough.
It turned out to be that she didn't have to wait so long.
It was five day later, Friday, and almost midnight. She was returning home from her self-planned tour around Masen Corporations, which she was to start commuting on the returning Monday. Naturally, she had plotted to over-prepare herself, just in case. So the entire afternoon, Bella did exactly that, diligently learning the transportation routes using the subway and sidewalks and taking several glimpses into the magnificent building of dozens of stories and its workers.
This is what I wanted since my first year in college, Bella had to remind herself repeatedly with every bated breath, carefully going down the subway stairs. Nevertheless, she scowled at her swollen toes peeping out from her one and only pair of open-toe heels. Of course, the girl still did think it was a clever idea on her part to dress out of her casual wear and select something more formal because she had thought a few steps ahead and decided that she wouldn't be able to resist to take a minute-long field trip inside the facility once she got there. It turned out to be, though, it was not so clever to change that minute-long field trip into a five-minute-long trip… and before she knew it, she spent two, solid hours in there. Dreams hurt. Ah, my toes hurt. Stupid. I should've worn wedge heels…
By the time the girl reached the platform, she almost gave up under the torture of her shoes and ripped them off her feet. She didn't, however, when she came across a large, rectangular mirror against the grimy walls that showed her entire length. Limping to a stop, she gazed carefully into the mirror, deep in thought.
Sentimental – that was what it was. Wearing nice, fancy clothes – classy business attire that'd been ironed and placed deep inside her close for years – and standing like this, she felt her pride soar.
Internship at Masen Corporations. She really did it, didn't she?
Simply thinking of that title and her internship at such large company made Bella feet better and no longer tired, famished, or sore near the calves.
Her lips curved up into a smile, broad and young at heart, as she adjusted her outfit and stood tall. I'll be wearing something like this almost everyday for the next several months. Alice was right. Every woman really should thank the anonymous who invented heels – at least for one, I look much taller. And it's not that uncomfortable… if they're wedge heels. Oh, well. I should just get used to it now, or – Bella's eyes lost their focus on her body and zoomed in on something else…
A flash of ghastly viridian.
Her body froze on the spot, legs stationary and feet glued to the floor, frightened and inquisitive simultaneously. What was that? I think I just made eye-contact with someone…
It was late and dark, but it was still a Friday night. The train station was bumbling with a reasonably thick crowd, drunk and sober, young and old. She could've met eyes with just about anyone, the possibility infinite.
Bella knew it was stupid, and yet, she used the mirror to sift and scan through the suspects, desperately searching and wanting to find the person more than anything else in the world for some strange reason. Her brown eyes sought anxiously for the source of that wild, spectral neon. When she finally did, though, she still could just barely see, the person hidden behind the throng.
Glimpse. Glimpse.
Bella craned her neck slightly, trying to piece the bits of glimpses together into a bigger picture.
Glimpse. Glimpse.
People wove in and out, and she still could only see him in stripes… spectrums… broken pieces... She could faintly see the outline of a man… There was a big, navy sweater… ailing, undernourished cheekbones… haggard shoulders… khaki eyes… the frown… oh, my, that frown… exceptional, roan tufts… fair fingers caressing the chin… oh, those fingers!
Pianist's fingers – no, organist's fingers! The ones she adored watching as they brought the organ to life last Sunday…
The swooshing sound of the train growing louder and louder suddenly captured Bella's attention. She knew she didn't have much time. And even after the train fully stopped and its doors slid opened – her view obscured again – she simply stood where she was, unmoving and waiting for something she wasn't sure what with a furiously pumping heart. Meanwhile, everyone on her side of the platform got on the compartments. She was alone.
With a boisterous sound, the train picked up its pace again, disappearing back into the tunnel and out of sight and hearing distance. Then, her patience was rewarded with the vision of him again – much clearer and void of distractions.
Bella had seen him in many states of emotions through the few happenstances – confused, enraged, vulnerable, aloof, suspicious, inquiring, moved, peaceful, humored… This time it was none of those – something entirely new; it was different – oh, so very different. Her entire universe repainted anew, seeing him with that guise. To any other normal person, he only had his eyes slightly narrowed into jade glints, lips barely agape, and a rigid countenance. To them, it was just another introspective demeanor. But to Bella – to someone who understood Lucifer and was passionate enough to help – she thought that maybe… just maybe he was –
"He's crying," Bella whispered inaudibly, lips barely grazing against each other.
Lucifer was crying, staring right into her. He was crying in that familiar way she knew where no single tear was shed… wasn't allowed to be shed… a cry so silent, so parched, so agonizing, so heartbreaking… Bella knew that cry very well – the way few people cried… the only way for them because they had no other choice but to sustain their emotions to survive in this harsh world.
A train arrived in his platform, disconnecting their joining of the eyes.
That rare cry that never allowed a tear… something she never imagined to see again…
With every frantic beat of her heart, something sprouted deep inside her core… Hope, she recognized again. Will he wait for me too? Will he not get on the train just to see me again?
It was then that she discovered the essence of her pristine hope – for the first time since she was fourteen, she wanted someone to wait. For her and her only.
His train began to speed away – as did her beating heart – and in seconds, its whistles and moving wheels disappeared altogether, just like the train that had left her own platform. By then – as if the powerful spell that was put on her was now finally broken – Bella was able to turn and now directly face the other side.
Her stomach dropped.
Nobody. No sight of gleaming, shiny pair of green apples. Bella had waited for him, but he hadn't waited for her.
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
He didn't wait for her…
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
Hope: crushed.
Ring, ring, ring, ring
"Hello?" Bella answered her phone, voice low and gravelly from abiding disappointment.
"Is this… Ms. Isabella Swan?"
Sighing, Bella leaned against the wall, her eyes latching lifelessly onto her blistered toe. "Yes, this is she."
"We're calling from the police department. We have Ms. Mary Brandon here with a man. She had a brawl at a nightclub earlier this evening, and is still pretty drunk at the moment… We'd like it if someone could come pick her up instantly."
At the news, she straightened up and cleared her throat. Bella began pacing around, her fingers tucking her hair behind her ear again and again. "Is she okay? What's going on? What happened? A man? What was he doing to her? Hello? Officer?"
"Err… not quite, miss. They were fighting over… what was it, Ms. Brandon?" Bella briefly heard the squeaks and screams of her best friend from the other line. "Oh, right. They were arguing about the last Harry Potter book."
"Oh, really?" A scoffing laugh caught in the man's throat. The blond man had been sprawling comfortably on the chair with two hands behind his head, but now straightened up and leaned forward with a wry smirk. "What exactly is wrong with you? Here I thought that you were some crazy Amazon lady, emotionally attached to a witless fictional character and piddling and laying out at a bar –"
Alice could hear the buzz roaring in her ears.
"– when in reality, you're just a moronic little gnome with the mind of an adolescent."
"Okay, that's it, Mr. Uppity," Alice screamed at the top of her lungs, being held back by two pairs of massive arms of police officers. Her legs were furiously kicking at the air as she shot a scathing glare. "You have no right to insult me –"
"Mr. Uppity? Seriously, doll?"
Alice's shriek was deafening, as everyone recoiled at the sound. "Who the hell said Southern guys are gentlemen?"
His eyes darkened. "And I thought a Yankee was supposed to be tolerable."
She erupted. "You know, you should've just minded your own business! Who are you to butt in if I feel a special bond with the Harry Potter books anyway, huh? Huh? Huh? And you totally killed my buzz! Stealing my drink? My drink! And practically tackling me in the middle of the dance floor? Ha!"
His smirk grew as the little Seattle woman continued ranting.
Her breath hitched in her throat – in a bad, angry way – as she saw the aggravating shift of his face, and so more incomprehensible words began to spill out of her mouth.
"Careful there, little girl, you're walking on a slant."
"I am not!"
"You are too."
Mr. Uppity was right, in all honesty. With face puerile and rosy pink, sleepy eyes, warm skin, buzzing ears, and the frequent brain shutdowns, yep, Alice Brandon was certainly drunk.
"Alice!"
Eyes moist, the twenty-six-year-old beauty pouted and almost sang with joy as she saw her brown-haired friend by the entrance door. "Bella," she gushed, "you came!"
"What in the world did you do?" Bella hissed, fidgeting with the ends of the frills of her blouse as she quickened her steps to come stand by her friend's side.
"Just get me out of here," mumbled Alice, sniffing and ducking her head.
It was humiliation, worry, and panic altogether. Alice Brandon wasn't someone who would do whatever she was doing now; this woman was not the kind to go out and get into arguments at a random bar. Regardless, at the moment, the black-haired woman was so drunk that by the looks of it, it was as though she couldn't seem to bring herself to sit without twisting every other half second.
Bella patted the ink hair of her older friend as she asked the second time, "What did you do, Alice?"
She sighed very loudly, crossing her arms and glaring at something in front of her. "I finished the last Harry Potter book this afternoon, and found out that my Remus Lupin dies at the end."
Eyebrows furrowed, Bella asked, "And?"
Alice's little body jolted upward, glowering at Bella so fiercely it almost left a burn. "What do you mean 'and?' Bella, he was my favorite character out of the entire series!"
"Okay… so you ended up hostage at a local police station because you were upset about a fictional character's death and got drunk for it…" Bella prodded on Alice with the slow nods of her head.
Alice bobbed her head feverishly like a little girl who was glad she was winning over a friend to her side in a playground territory quarrel, face blooming into a wondrous grin. "And this heartless jerk made fun of my favorite werewolf!"
"What? Who –" Bella turned to the way Alice was pointing, confused, and –
Oh.
"Are you –?"
"Jasper Whitlock, ma'am," the man greeted, smiling in a perfectly polite manner.
Next to Bella, she heard Alice snort.
Even at very first glance, Bella simply knew he was from the South – she simply anticipated his voice was going to sound honey-like sweet and thickly coated with the singsong Southern accent.
"Uh, Bella," she introduced as well, though she had no reason to. Damn, Jasper Whitlock had the charisma. "I'm Alice's…" – she had to think about it – "… guardian."
He laughed pleasantly, and Bella felt her own lips twitch. Alice would never get in an argument with this man, she concluded. He was the kind of man who was stretchy tall and naturally tough, as if his body was composed of only lean muscles and lengthy bones. His face was shaped into a soft square, and his presence completely and visibly exuded that he was the absolute epitome of 'experience' itself. Although not intimidating, his body was inked with different kinds of interesting tattoos that would tire any onlooker's eyes when they try to follow each intricate pattern, and had few modest piercings. This attractive man was no doubt a unique individuality – all of bohemian, Texan cowboy, and James Dean in perfect equilibrium, as odd and horrid as that might sound.
"So you and Alice…" Bella trailed off.
"The brawl," one of the police officers explained lazily. Bella only just noticed that he and his coworkers had a firm grip on Alice's shoulders, holding her down – they might as well tie the lady to the chair too…
"The brawl," Bella conceded, snorting, "Well, I'm very sorry, Jasper. My friend usually doesn't get this drunk, and –"
"What in God's name are we apologizing for?" Alice interrupted loudly. Oh, that scathing look she was giving the poor man could melt off his face in a couple of seconds. "He was rude to me!"
"All right, all right. Hush, you." Turning to the officers, Bella gave each of them a small smile. "I'm sorry. May we leave now?"
"Oh, please do," one of the officers said too cheerfully, "Just sign the paperwork, and we'll gladly let you leave."
The bohemian soul covered his slightly bearded mouth, snorting and chuckling. "This fellow here has been quite a handful to these officers." Amusement trickled his words. "You have an interesting friend, sweet Bella."
"Stop testing me, you evil spirit!" Alice snapped, kicking again, though her legs were too short and weak to formulate the intended jab. If someone should hand her a bowl of holy water, she'd splash it on the hapless cowboy's ass without missing a beat.
"I was talking to your friend, little girl," Jasper said breezily.
"May I ask what you did to get her this angry?" Bella asked, laughing along and hence earning a glare from her drunken friend, "Or should I ask what she did to you?"
Jasper turned his face to the side of his cheek that was just beginning to sully into a bruise.
Bella winced, comprehending. "Alice hit you?"
He wore a clandestine smirk. "Don't ask."
When the paperwork was signed and done, the three were kicked out of the police department facility by the overly joyful officers, even waving a goodbye. Bella would never forget that gleeful smile each and every one of them wore as they watched Alice Brandon, the night's troublemaker, step out the entrance. Hopefully, Alice wouldn't make a second trip ever again.
"I'm going to tell you right now," Alice grumbled, tucking in her chin and burping deep in her chest, "I never, never want to see your sorry face again! You got that, Mister?"
"Alice," Bella hissed, nudging the black-haired woman's ribs.
"We wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't been bumbling around the bar like a lunatic. You were in my way," Jasper pointed out calmly.
That was Bella's cue to try to placate her provoked friend, who was now officially trying to scoop out the poor man's eye.
It made a farcical contrast – Jasper Whitlock standing at ease with one eyebrow with the silver stud raised in a flawless arch, while the fierce, girly doll transformed into a Godzilla. All the while watching the struggle of two girls in front of him, his eyes stayed suspicious, exhausted, and apparently incredulous. He cocked his head to the side, wavy blond hair touching the cowboy handkerchief around his neck. "The least you can do is thank me, little girl. I've done many things for you tonight."
Alice had to resist the urge to scream – probably what this Jasper Whitlock was waiting for with that every-present smile – as her features darkened. "Oh, I'm sorry, so was I supposed to thank you for tackling me?"
"So I take it's my fault you were lumbering around like a loon?"
"Is it a crime to walk around in a club?"
"It should be, especially if you're a gal who looks too young to be of drinking age."
"I'm twenty-six, you dumbass!" Alice ranted, fiery and yet still managing to look glorious in her rage.
"– who looks like a brainless teenage lassie. Girl, do you have any idea what you'd be doing right now –"
"You stole my drink too!"
"Oh, please."
Blood boiling, Alice spat out, "Remus Lupin! You offended my idol too!"
An unusual yet familiar spark of annoyance flickered through him, his tattooed fists clenching into balls. His chest heaved up and down as he tried to press down his anger. Not here, Whitlock, stay cool. "You seriously can't be angry about me being honest with your unhealthy werewolf obsession."
Uh oh, Bella thought, eyes swiveling between the two faces in the argument like watching a tennis ball bounce from one side of the court to another. She'd been standing there, haltingly watching, knowing that she wasn't in the position to budge in. But now, Bella wasn't so sure if she should continue to stay put because she could have sworn she heard the gnashing of Alice's teeth… and that was never a good sign.
"I came out to drown my sorrows for Lupin tonight, and you ruined it!" Shifting and stepping closer to her target, Alice redoubled, jabbing a finger into his chest, "Next time you want to pick up a girl, do us all a favor and try not to be a complete jerk! And while you're working on that, don't ever tackle her in the middle of the bar, steal her drink, and most definitely, do not offend her favorite werewolf! Do you –" Alice suddenly stiffened, her hands flying to her face to cover her mouth. Then she spun to the side at the last millisecond, almost whacking the Southern gentleman on the face with the back of her head, before –
"I knew she was out of kilter after that sixth martini," was all Jasper said as he watched Bella Swan huddling near Alice and the puddle of bile, "Hang in there, little girl, I think I saw a mop inside the police station."
"Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I cannot believe this." Jasper rubbed his eyes tiredly, carding a restless hand through his blond locks. He had just finished cleaning up the pool of vomit and realized he now reeked of it. "Tonight's not my night."
"You don't deserve to say that," Alice mumbled. It was a miracle she still had the energy to glare with her bloodshot eyes and make a sassy comeback with her sour-tasting mouth.
"Take this," he murmured, producing a baby pink candy and offering it.
Alice observed it and scrunched up her nose. "Medication, really? You're really trying to poison me now?"
"For the love of God," he deadpanned, incredulous, "it's only an antacid. Shit like this neutralizes the stomach after hurling."
Alice didn't move.
"He's trying to help you." Bella leaned onto her knees to get a closer look at Alice who was sitting on the ground, exhausted and ill, "Take it, Alice."
She didn't. "Bella, don't you think it's a little suspicious that a person carries around an Antacid in his pocket?"
Rolling his eyes, Jasper came down from his height to forcefully shove the pink stuff into her mouth, ignoring the moans and protests without difficulty. Afterward, he stood back up and brushed off his pants. "I wish I can say I have more of that, but that one's my last." He checked his watch and pursed his lips. "I have to get going now, actually."
"Oh." Bella straightened up also, and grinned wanly, more exhausted than she was before. "Thank you, Jasper. And I apologize for my friend for whatever crazy thing she might've done…"
"'S fine, sweet Bella." One hand in his worn-out jean pockets, he twisted his neck down to see the woman at his feet again. He wore a wiry, ironic expression, a halfway point between a smile and a scowl, as he ordered, "Don't brush your teeth for another hour no matter how foul your mouth tastes like… well, unless you want the acids to be pushed in further. Finish off the Antacid slowly, and" – he fished out a new water bottle from his rucksack and gave it – "try to drink as much water as your stomach can handle. You're probably very dehydrated."
Alice blinked, and then narrowed her eyes. "I know the 'drinking a lot of water' part –"
"When you return home," Jasper overlapped her complaints effectively, "eat some saltine crackers or other dry, slightly salty breads with some carbonated drink – nothing sweet, though. That should settle the upset stomach, and please – rest. I think it's safe for me to say that I know enough of you after tonight that you're not the gal who likes to stay still, but do try. Oh, and when you feel better, eat something with potassium… like bananas or tomatoes. That'll help balance the electrolytes."
"I don't like bananas or tomatoes," Alice deadpanned.
"Too bad then" – he shrugged nonchalantly – "not my detriment if you die off from potassium deficiency, is it?"
Bella had to stifle a giggle, and Alice glared at both of them equally. She seemed to do that a lot tonight.
Rubbing his neck, he began to walk away backwards. "Bye, little girl, try to be good now. Bye to you too, sweet Bella."
"I hope you have a nice life, idiot."
"Bye, Jasper. Thank you."
"Hate him," Alice spoke from the corner of her lips, eyes glued onto the form of Jasper Whitlock drifting away farther and deeper into the staid darkness.
"All right, that's enough from you tonight. You've made enough trouble, hussy." Bella sighed, cracked her knuckles, and helped her friend up to her feet. "It's time to get you home."
"I have some bad news."
Jesus Christ. How much more bad news would he be able to take? It's been years, for crying out loud.
"Continue." A steely edge tinted Edward's voice.
"He's been last spotted at a shabby café couple of miles outside Chicago… He's still playing, I think, constantly moving from place to place." The caller sighed. "I'm sorry, Edward. We lost him again."
Edward Masen coiled into a ball at the bottom of the cathedral steps, his withered hand raking the pile of bronze leaves that was his skein and sighing so deeply his breath nearly wore the dirt away from the ground. A muddy puddle between his legs casted a reflection of his face, catching his misery flawlessly. The man he saw was all dark and fair at the same time, his skin the shade of an elephant's tusk while his eyes held the contamination of disgusting black of the brutality that was about to break free from him…
The voice from his phone continued, "He's been moving around much more often recently. It's almost unpredictable."
The twenty-three-year-old man felt he could be at least fifty, his body turning lax from disenchantment. He had to give himself a minute to collect his thoughts and emotions, but even when he did, he realized it didn't do any good.
"Edward? Are you there?"
"Yes" – he cleared his throat to get rid of the husky tone – "I… so… how are we going to find him again?"
"I'm working on it. I don't know how long, but…"
The term of silence that followed echoed the hopelessness of the situation, and his hand tightened around his cell phone, as did his scornful smile around his cheeks. "No matter what, I don't want you to feel guilty about not being able to overcome some of the roadblocks we face. You're a wonderful woman, and you've already done so much for me. Thank you for everything."
The caller paused for a long time. "It's the least I can do."
"Edward?"
Gingerly, Edward raised his head to face God's golden messenger in satin white and red before him. Edward muttered into his phone a quick goodbye and a promise that he'll call back in a moment, when all the while, his stare remained inert on the blue eyes – the eyes that were full of mischief yet so piercing...
Carlisle Cullen's forehead wrinkled as he knit his flaxen brows. "You didn't have to dismiss your call for me."
Rising from his sitting position, he answered stiffly, "It was private."
"Then I'm sorry."
Edward let out a giant sigh. "Just what the hell do you want?"
The Catholic priest sighed as well – but out of sadness – and reached out to put a hand on the young man's shoulder… only he flinched away with a glare. Carlisle acted like he didn't notice. "It's been years. I thought you might want to talk."
"No," Edward bit off quickly, climbing up one more step on the stairs for some distance, "No, I don't."
"Son –"
"Stop," he cut off. Taking in a shuddering breath, he went on, "I'm sick and tired of this. I saw the look you gave me all afternoon, Carlisle. Listen, you've been nothing but generous to me since the moment I could remember you, but I'll have to be honest now – I didn't come back here for the reason you think I did. I'm here for Rosalie and Rosalie only. She's twenty, and yet still trapped under the confines of – … She needs me right now, and… I'm going to do everything to protect the one person I love."
Under the January sky, the two contrasting men stood in the chilly silence. The blond was warm, glorious, and peaceful in his stance, as did the bronze-haired man but in two noticeably distinct ways. Sure, the younger lad also appeared at ease himself – if one didn't notice the slight ticking in his jaw and the tension in his body as if he was ready to spring up any moment and make a run for it.
"So you do love her," the priest retorted at last.
Edward's eyes flashed. "Of course I do."
Carlisle smiled, and Edward realized his mistake a second too late – he had admitted his personal emotions aloud, something he swore he'd never do.
"Look… I don't want to give you false hope just because I'm behind the cathedral doors again. I'm playing the organ only because…" Of course he still didn't know the answer to that either – not yet. Frustrated, he groaned. "Just… I don't know, okay? But – but it's not because of my renewed belief in – in –"
"I know."
Edward's teeth snapped shut, fists that were clenched relaxing. "What?"
Carlisle Cullen had always been a reasonable yet incomprehensible man to Edward Masen since their first meeting. A mentor, a friend, a father-like figure, this man with aging blond hair had made him cry one moment then laugh the next. He had helped the nine-year-old Edward read the entire Bible, saying all he had to read was a single page everyday; he had given the shelter the confused sixteen-year-old Edward needed; he had went down to his knees and gathered his hands millions of times to pray for the redemption of sins of the eighteen-year-old Edward made. This Catholic pastor with deep laugh lines even taught Edward how to bake the most delicious cookies in the world. All Edward's life, Carlisle was there, one way or the other.
Now, Edward Masen was a twenty-three-year-old adult and Carlisle Cullen was a graying senior with a bulging stomach. It was finally that time where the older man became trounced under the stealthy youth, fire, and muscles of his former favorite boy who used to be God's reincarnation of an angel. However, although time had passed, some things never changed.
One, though Edward Masen didn't know – and declined to be brave enough and accept the truth – he still needed the warmth of the neutrality and compassion Carlisle Cullen offered.
Two, Carlisle Cullen will remain Carlisle Cullen, untouched by the tick of the clock. And for that reason, he will perpetually possess the regal power Edward will not have. He'll forevermore make Edward feel like the kid caught in the middle of the night, sneaking cookies. He'll always have those brilliant blue eyes that see through all of flesh, bones, blood… and mind.
"What are you up to, son?"
Edward's eyes turned into slits. "That's none of your business."
Thin lips stretched up into a smile of a father watching his son making an unconvincing lie. "You might be surprised at how much I know. I'm an old man who has devoted more than half his life praying and praising the Lord, but I'm not quite that obtuse."
Face pink with irritation, Edward skirted around the priest and spat at the ground next to his shoe. Without looking back, he headed toward the entrance gates.
"Are you going to run away again, Edward?"
His steps faltered.
"You can run away as much as you want, but one day, you'll bump into the final wall where you won't be able to do even that. By then, you'll have nothing more to turn your back on. Trapped and lost –"
"Stop."
"– you won't have another place to go… or the ability retrace your steps even if you want to. Everything will be too late."
"Stop it!"
"Don't be a coward."
"I said stop it!" he shouted brokenly. Seeing red and flustered, Edward marched back until he was facing the seraph again.
Their eyes met in a silent clash, fiery and challenging yet gentle and imploring. Although the noble angel still remained tranquil, it didn't quite reach his eyes anymore. However, that didn't make him weak enough to flinch away from the cold, green fire the youth wore. Instead, he merely held his ground and stood strong with his old feet.
"You're looking for your father."
"I thought I had this straight, but I guess I was wrong," he whispered fiercely, green eyes millimeters away from blue, "You stay out of this. I don't know what you heard or who you heard it from, but I want you to know that I'm in my life completely alone. I don't need you, Rosalie, Alice, Esme – anyone. So don't give me that pitiful look and try to help me out of this living hell" – his face iced over, the demon overcastting his features, challenging the kindness of the angel – "'cause it – won't – work."
"You can't continue this vagabond's way of life. One day, you'll have to stop. I know that you know this," Carlisle coaxed, "Your life can't be this way forever, Edward. I won't let that."
A chuckle escaped his throat but it didn't quite sound amused. Edward's face twisted into a sour, malevolent smirk, and Carlisle had to contain his sigh. Oh, this boy had turned into something completely different…
"I have no future," Edward whispered bleakly.
"Yes" – Carlisle paused – "because if you live in the past, you can never move forward."
"You disgust me," Edward lashed out.
"At the end, you'll end up destroying your own soul, Edward. The past is the past. You don't want to dwell there too long to lose focus on reality" – Carlisle didn't want to use this card, but he didn't seem to have any other choice – "just like Elizabeth."
Edward's heart stopped before pummeling into a mad-dash race. "Don't mention her name in front of me," he disrupted primly, face pale and grisly.
"There's always the fear of not being able to grow. You must overcome that fear, forgive yourself, and move on –"
"But I can't run and excel like you expect me to," the younger man interrupted, voice and eyes much more soft-hearted now as he laughed darkly, "I'm sorry, but it's true. I'll never be able to run. People tell me that all I have to do is put forth my best effort. They say that that way, I'll fly, but all of it is a big, ugly lie. There are birds out there, for Christ's sake, that fall while flying! No one wants to fly, Carlisle. All it means is that while no one wants to, they would rather do that than to be left alone, abandoned, broken…" He shook his head fiercely to clear his head. "They don't want to be left lying on land while everyone moves on and joins the clouds. Everyone only tries to fly… and ends up faking it."
When Carlisle had no answer, Edward disconnected the eye-contact, slightly embarrassed and apologetic in a strange, masochistic way. As he began to walk away again, though, he heard the feathery voice once more, the sound as clear and memorable as the bells of Notre Dame.
"History might repeat itself, but people can never go back to the past."
Edward closed his eyes. He knew that. Only, he couldn't let go of his past no matter what. He was incapable of moving on… and such an undeserving, selfish demon wearing the mask of a human like himself wanting such relief was blasphemous.
"Live, dear boy, and there'll be something good you'll get out of it. I can promise that, Edward."
"I don't need promises. Promises mean nothing. Every promise, at the end, is left broken." Just like every one of mine.
And then he walked away – away from Carlisle Cullen and away from the cozy orange of Hope, heading it off by the sharp glaciers of his heart before the seed could be properly watered.
When the Demon loathed the Angel, even the Angel couldn't smile.
Wow, long chapter. Hope I didn't bore you… or too many things at you all at once, lol. At least most of the major characters are properly introduced, right? More confusion? I hope so, heh. So which character intrigues you the most? Each has their own special story :)