OK! So this isn't a new ending, this part fits in between the wedding proposal and the wedding. It's still a Work In Progress, and it's a bit long, but it'll explain a lot!
*******************
Stretching out, he dropped elegantly from the chair down onto one knee, and sliding a box from his back pocket, he transferred it into his right hand and popped it open. I gasped, and my hands flew to my mouth in shock. His eyes twinkled as he spoke those famous words, and a jolt of electricity crackled through me as I heard his rich, warm voice: “Aimee Cullen, will you marry me?” he asked, and I managed to stutter an answer after a long three seconds.
“Yes,” I whispered, and tears welled up again. Gently, he took my hand in his and slid the ring onto my finger. I looked at it properly for the first time. It was obviously platinum, and embedded in it was a beautiful square diamond, flanked on each side by a slightly smaller, but no less perfect, diamond. Pulling him up by the wrists, I pressed my lips against his, and I felt a wonderful warmth that seemed to be coming from my very core.
Pausing to gaze deeply into his eyes, I knew that I was finally utterly content.
There was one thing I knew I had to do before my wedding. Before I could start my new life properly, with my new family, I had to talk to my brother. There was somewhere I had always yearned to go, and I knew the only person who could help me was Edward.
I needed to visit my parents’ grave. I needed to see their names, immortalised in stone. I needed to feel the smooth, curling letters under my fingers, read the epitaph. I wondered what the tombstone would say. What would the stonemason have put? A stranger, who had never known the warm embrace of my mother’s arms, or my father’s unique tobacco-and-peppermint smell. It would probably be impersonal, a quick “Caring mother, loving wife,” or “Doting father, adored husband” that was written on thousands of tombs the world over. I wondered if Edward’s name was there, or mine. I wondered if Edward was registered as dead. I wondered if I was.
But I couldn’t bring myself to ask at first. I kept my thoughts private, and delayed and delayed, until finally, two months before the wedding day, I psyched myself up enough to confront Edward.
I asked him one evening. As midnight struck, I sat carefully beside my brother on the couch. The TV was showing a baseball game, but I could tell he wasn’t really watching. His thoughts were, as ever, guarded, but the few glimpses I saw were all worries – worry about Nessie growing up, about Esme and Carlisle seeming upset, about me getting married....
I knew that the distant manner wasn’t personal. I knew he hadn’t been the same since I had left, all those months ago, and that nothing I said or did could bring back the brother I knew and loved.
Carefully, I rested my head in his hard lap. He stroked my hair mechanically, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. Edward? I called tentatively. There was no response, but the mental barriers lowered a fraction, and more thoughts spilled into my mind. Worry – shock – fear – sadness – loss – relief. Edward, I need you to tell me where Mother and Father are buried. I need to see them, before I get married.
The pain rose to a peak, although when he finally spoke, his words were flat and emotionless, carefully measured:
“I don’t know. Ask Carlisle, he’ll tell you, I’m sure. He’ll probably even go with you, if you ask.”
As he had taken the consideration to speak out loud, I replied to him verbally too: “No, Edward. Carlisle can come with me if he wants, but you’re coming too. I think you need to be close to them…” I stopped. His eyes were on me, brimming with angry tears, and I felt the irritation in his thoughts as he stormed from the room. Sighing, I rose fluidly, and called Carlisle’s name silently.
I found my father sat in his office, perfectly motionless in his high-backed desk chair, like a statue to a Greek god that had been placed irreverently on a leather parody of a throne. He held a heavy, leather-bound book in his hands, although his eyes were not on it, put rather staring at something outside of the window. As I moved towards him, he came to life abruptly. Spinning around, he faced me and smiled, and I held out my hands for the book. “Aimee, what can I do for you?” he asked me, but I wasn’t listening. I was staring down at the book. On the left hand page was a single photograph, and on the right were a few lines of curling script, which I dimly recognized as Alice’s writing:
The youngest members of the Cullen family, June 21st 2009. From left to right: Edward, Bella, Renesmee, Aimee, Seth and Mia.
However, it was not the writing that intrigued me. It was the glossy, full colour photograph beside it that held my attention. Taken on my birthday, it showed a smiling Edward with his arms around Bella and Nessie, with Seth, Mia and myself sat beside him. However, it was not the memories that brought a lump to my throat. It was the look on Edward’s face – the look of total, utter contentment – that brought the tears to my eyes. A single tear overflowed, running slowly down my cheek before dripping onto the page, landing in the center of my perfect, smiling face. I wondered if it was an expression I would ever see on my brother’s face again.
“Aimee?” Carlisle asked again, and when I failed to respond he stood, and carefully wrapped me in his cool embrace. I pulled away, but before shock could manifest itself on his face, I was back, the book now safely on his desk instead of crushed between the two of us. As my silent tears turned to choking sobs, I buried my head in Carlisle’s shoulder, and watched, through teary lashes, as his shirt turned slowly from pale blue to navy as it was stained with my tears. As his hands rhythmically stroked my hair, as Edward had been doing just moments earlier, my sobs slowly subsided, and I collapsed into the seat he had vacated only seconds previously.
Perching carefully against the edge of his desk, he stared at me with inquisitive eyes, and silently asked me a single question: So do you want to talk about it?
I shook my head slowly, and held up one finger, not trusting myself to speak. I swivelled absentmindedly in the chair, and eventually found myself spinning to face out the window. I realized with a jolt that I was looking where Carlisle had been a moment earlier, and I understood instantly.
Sat beside the river, head in his hands, was my brother. The look of pure pain on his face was crystal clear to me, even from this distance.
Suddenly, the room seemed claustrophobic. Leaning forward, I pushed the catch on the window, and it swung open nearly inaudibly. Edward flinched at the sound, as though it was as loud as an explosion, but his expression did not change.
A breeze blew across my face, and behind me I heard the pages of the book rustle as they flipped over and over. There was a curious sliding sound, and I realized that it was Carlisle moving something out of the way. Something he didn’t want me to see, that he hid from his thoughts. Spinning around, I grabbed his wrist and took the piece of paper from his hand. Before I could open it, however, the photograph in the book stopped me dead for the second time.
It had been taken two days before my birthday. In it, Mia was sat in my arms, and Seth was sat with his arms around us both, on the rock beside the river that my brother was sat on now, head in his hands. The photo-me was sat smiling serenely at the camera, blissfully unaware that in two months her life would change forever. I could hardly bear to tear my eyes away from the photo to read the caption, but finally I managed to force my eyes over to the right hand page. The paper here was different, thicker, creamier, and had clearly been glued into the book. It was covered with lines of flowing script, and I recognized Alice’s hand once more, surrounded by other handwriting too. I realized it was a dedication, surrounded by birthday wishes, and forcing my eyes to read, I was amazed by the compassion and depth expressed in the short passage:
For Aimee,
We’re glad that you found us at last, and hope that you can finally find happiness in your new life, with your beautiful partner and daughter. Now you have truly found your family, you will always be welcome, wherever we may be. You have come home at last: you have made us all so happy. Happy birthday, sister.
Alice x
“Carlisle… if this was for me, why did I never receive it?” I asked, my voice wavering. He leant towards me and placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Aimee… we were going to give it to you last year, but Alice saw… something. You suddenly disappeared from her visions, and she warned us that maybe it was not a good idea. And then you…” his voice tailed off. I knew it was hard for him to think about the time I went away, and I took his hand in mine and placed it against my cheek. Looking down, I realized I was still holding the piece of paper I had taken from him, and I unfolded it carefully.
It revealed itself to be a large sheet of A3 paper, folded down to A6 size. On one side was a scanned copy of the photograph of Edward, Bella, Nessie, Seth, Mia and me, and on the other was a recent photo of Edward now: depressed and introverted. They were both surrounded with Carlisle’s curling handwriting.
Loneliness? Separation? Loss? “Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all”? Lost Aimee, found her. Alienated her, loved her, lost her? Confusion? Fear of out-of-control emotions?
I understood instantly. Carlisle was trying to work out why Edward was so depressed. I raised my head and met his awkward gaze. When I spoke, with no trace of anger in my voice, he was shocked.
“Have you a clear idea yet?” I whispered, and he shook his head slowly.
“Only those theories, and they are far from conclusive…” his voice trailed off, and I could tell from his thoughts that he was suffering with his son. I remained silent for a few seconds longer, and then placing my hand on his on the desk, I asked him what I had originally intended.
“Carlisle, it’s my parents.” He understood instantly. “I need to know where they’re buried. I need to see them…” I stopped, my mouth forming a silent o of shock.
“Aimee, like many influenza victims, there simply wasn’t enough time to bury all the dead separately. They were cremated en masse, in separate lots, and they have no fixed headstone.” He told me. I nodded slowly, his words confirming what I had seen in his thoughts.
“But I know a place we can go to. It’s something Edward and I created, to help him come to terms with his loss… your loss.”
I felt his mental shield go up, and I smiled in anticipation.
“When can we leave?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Now, if you want,” he whispered, and I nodded, before running from the room, silently calling for Alice and Esme.
Eleven hours later, I was sat, perfectly motionless, in the back seat of Alice’s Porsche. It had not been designed for five, but nobody except Edward had expressed a lack of desire to come, and Alice and I had simply gripped his arms and marched him into the car, like a mother would do with a stubborn toddler. He rode shotgun with Carlisle, whilst I sat sandwiched between Alice and Esme, the seatbelt clasps digging into my legs. Esme’s hand rested lightly on my arm, and my head was resting on her granite shoulder.
Beside me, Alice was staring straight ahead, and I knew that she was looking for Edward’s future, trying frantically to keep her brother – and me – safe. Her hand rested on my other arm, and if she saw anything that seemed especially significant, I would show Carlisle quickly. Edward never showed any response to anything Alice, Carlisle or I thought, remaining rigid and impassive in his seat. On the long, empty stretches of road we seemed to be coming across more and more as the forest grew deeper and more lush, he would allow his eyes to leave the road and stray across to Edward’s cold, blank face, and attempt to make eye contact. Each time, he was unsuccessful, and eventually he stopped trying.
We finally drew to an abrupt halt by a stretch of trees that looked much like the thousands of others we had passed. Carlisle turned to look at us, a solemn expression on his face, and tried to smile. “We’re here,” he announced, and I caught the note of sadness in his voice.
As soon as the car doors were locked, Carlisle was running. He headed north-west at first, switching direction at the most random of times, and I found that we were branching off to the west more and more. Finally, we drew to a halt, and Carlisle raised one arm and pointed, somewhat melodramatically, into the forest before him. His hand threw back rainbow reflections onto his face, and I guessed we had reached a clearing of some description. I took a tentative step forwards, and then stopped, reaching back to take my brother’s cold, unresisting hand, and dragging him with me. I took a single step, enough to take me and my brother into the bright sunlight, and cast dancing, shimmering rainbows over the trees, and then froze.
In front of me was a small, oval clearing, rising to a small hill in the center. On top of this natural mound was a large block of granite, pale gray and unaffected by the passage of time. It shimmered gently, and it took me a moment to realize that this was as much due to tiny, shimmering fragments naturally embedded in the rock as the light reflected from our skin. I could see from where I was that there were words carved into the granite around its circumference, and as we moved a little closer I noticed the natural hollow on its surface, where a pool of sparkling, crystal water lay, seemingly unaffected by the chill breeze from the east.
Carefully, I threaded my way through the meadow, my brother following quietly behind me, until I was close enough to properly read what the words said. Up close, I could see the stone had weathered little, although the words themselves looked smooth, flawless, with an edge that no stonemason’s tool could achieve. I heard the others enter the clearing behind me, and pivoting on my toes, I spun to face my father. “You,” I whispered. “You put this here, didn’t you?” My tone was not accusatory; rather it was thick with tears. Carlisle nodded slowly, and reaching out, I began to trace the lettering with my fingers.
In loving memory of Elizabeth Masen, 1881-1918, much beloved mother of Edward and Amelia, and her husband, Edward Masen, 1879-1918, a caring and wise father. Rest in peace.
I sensed Esme come up beside me, and turning; I buried my face in her soft, caramel-colored hair and sobbed. Beside me, I felt Edward’s face soften, and silent tears of remorse, loss, regret, begin to flow silently down the hard contours of his face.
After a few moments, I pulled gently away from Esme, and went to sit below the spreading branches of a young maple on the northernmost tip of the clearing. Alice came and sat beside me, understanding my need for silence. After a few moments, Edward came and sat beside us, so I was sat between him and Alice. Esme and Carlisle sat at the opposite end of the clearing, and I could hear them murmuring softly to each other: planning a hunting trip, deciding on what to do for Christmas, talking about the wedding. I sighed, and tried to tune out.
After a few moments of silence, I finally spoke. “Edward,” I whispered, and heard Esme and Carlisle’s conversation cease as they subtly turned to face us, and tensed their limbs, ready to spring if necessary. Without waiting for my brother’s response, I carried on in a stronger voice.
“Edward… we need to talk. I need some answers. I need to know why you’re acting this way…” I stopped. Edward was already striding off into the forest, and leaping to my feet, I followed. I was dimly aware of Alice behind me, and pausing for the briefest of seconds, I slipped my hand into hers.
Ahead of us, Edward froze. Turning, I saw his eyes burning with anger, and when he spoke his voice was calm but full of underlying menace. “No,” he whispered. His eyes blazed. “Not Alice. If we’re going to talk, she stays here.”
Alice squeezed my hand reassuringly. Had she squeezed a human’s hand that hard, it would probably have destroyed most of the bones in their hand. “Edward.” I fought to keep my voice steady. I wanted to shout, to scream, but I kept my tone polite and quiet. “Alice is my sister… your sister. Whatever you’re going to say to me, it can be said in front of her.”
I felt the anger blaze in him. His tone changed instantly, and although he wasn’t shouting, I could tell he wanted to. Instead, he spoke icily, in a mocking tone: “Would you act like that if it was Rose with you?” I blinked at him in bafflement.
“No, you wouldn’t. Let me tell you why. You would say Alice was your favorite sister, wouldn’t you?” As I stared at him, unsure what answer he was looking for, wondering if there was an answer I could give that would not enrage him further, he continued.
“That’s the whole problem isn’t it? You think that everybody loves you, that you’re the favorite. You breeze in here, assume your position in the family, as the youngest, let me remind you, and breeze on with your life, making the assumption that you’re Esme and Carlisle’s favorite, that you’re better than the rest of us. Well you’re not. You never were, and you never will be…” he hissed, and I lunged for his throat.
“You will leave them out of it! Esme and Carlisle have nothing to do with this. They were only trying to protect me – ” I broke off as he gained the upper hand and slammed the side of my head into a sturdy birch tree, shaking the whole tree from root to tip. A large branch broke off from the lower canopy, landing where Alice had been standing only milliseconds previously. In my head, I willed her to run as I continued: “ – from psychos like YOU!”
Suddenly, I was free. Gasping for air my body did not need, but instinctively craved, I reached up to brush the bark out of my hair. Turning around, I saw Edward, lying snarling on the ground, with Carlisle knelt on his chest, out of range of his teeth. Are you OK? He asked me, and I nodded, dazed. A thought struck me. Esme? Where’s Esme? I asked Carlisle frantically.
She’s back in the clearing with Alice. She’s pretty upset. Edward slumped back against the moss, all the fight gone from his body. He groaned almost inaudibly, and before I could sprint back to the beautiful clearing, Carlisle helped him up. A look of deep understanding passed between them, and I paused in the shadows.
Edward took an unsteady step forward, and paused to grasp the trunk of the birch tree he had slammed my head against seconds previously. I saw the imprint my cheek had made, and Edward began to pulverise the edges with his fingertips, so absorbed in this seemingly mundane task – which we all partook in regularly, the first rule being to remove evidence – that I had begun to tune out, to draw my attention back to Esme and Alice in the meadow, when he spoke once more, his voice a hoarse whisper. “What have I become, Carlisle? I undertook this way of life, your way of life, because I did not want to be a monster, and yet I attack my own sister, slander my parents and hurt the feelings of my sister. What have I become?”
Carlisle paused for a moment, and as I watched he placed his hand on Edward’s shoulder. Before his mouth had formed the words I had seen in his head, I was running. I did not wish to intrude on the intensely private, father-son moment any more than I already had. I felt their eyes boring into my back as I ran, and was saddened by the sense of despair from my brother.
Back in the beautiful, sun-bathed meadow, I found Esme, sat by the tree that Alice, Edward and I had been sat under, her head resting on Alice’s shoulder. She was crying silently, tears trickling down her cheeks, and whispering to Alice. I could hear them perfectly from where I was stood, and I felt it was unnecessary to intrude on this private moment too. However, I couldn’t help but listen to what Esme was whispering, and what I heard reduced me to tears too.
“Why do they have to fight?” Esme whispered, her soft voice thick with tears. “I hate it when they fight. Edward knows we don’t have favorites, he knows we’re just trying to protect her. She knows that. I love you all more than life itself, and you know I can’t stand to be away from you for too long. It breaks my heart to see Edward tortured so. If only I could help him… help them both…” she broke off, and I felt guilty that she blamed herself.
A pair of hands clasped around my waist. Biting down, I managed not to scream, and wondered how this person had managed to sneak up on me. Gently, I probed their thoughts, and turning, I gazed into a pair of golden eyes. A pair of eyes that had finally lost their angry glaze, their hard, vacant expression. My eyes stared deep into my brother’s, and the tears started to flow once more.
After all these months, Carlisle had finally managed to thaw my brother’s heart, and for that, I knew I would be eternally grateful.
* * *
Inevitably, all wedding planning was commandeered by Alice and Esme, although I insisted – to Alice’s delight – that I be allowed to help. We decided on a color scheme of blue and white, with my dress to be a deep blue color, whilst my bridesmaids – Alice and Mia – would wear gray. I was forbidden to lay eyes on my dress until one month before the wedding, and when I did, it took my breath away
****************************
I hope it explains a bit! I will add more when I can!
Mia x
Gender:
Points: 7040
Reviews: 78