A/N: I've got another song inspiration by Carlos Cipa for you. It's called "dark tree". It's soft, sweet, sad, and moody and I kept it on repeat the whole time I was writing. This guy might be my new favourite and a staple in my writing playlist.

Also two warnings: 1) This chapter may be triggering for those who are sensitive to suicide and 2) Please read this one carefully. It is intentionally disjointed and a little chaotic.

Chapter 18

She woke with a fury in the budding light of day, and the bed beneath her rumbled with the force of the wind. In the ashes she waited, the fire burning low, and when that fire faded from a flame to a spark, and from a spark to a tingle, she twitched, and all at once the world came alive.

She heard sounds in ears that were too sensitive. There were odors that she could not place. There was a voice and it was speaking and there was a soft touch on her cheek, but the feel of it so shocked her that she gasped, and rose, and flew before she was blinded by a startling, brilliant white. Her feet touched wood, though she had been so sure that they had burned away. Her scorched hands touched a wall. Her tongue ran over teeth as sharp as razors, her ears were ringing with the noise of the world, and when she opened her eyes again, staring into the brilliant, heated white of day, there were prisms of dust making rainbows in the air.

There was no more fire. There was no more smoke. She was here, in this place, in a room she did not know, and he was here, with her, his hand held out askance.

She could not remember what he was called. She could not remember what she was called. She didn't know who she was, or where, or how she had come to be anything at all. She had a body, now, though she'd been sure that the fire had eaten it. She had a mind. She had a voice. The world was clear but her head was fuzzy and as she breathed one breath, and then another into her singed, blackened lungs, she felt the burn and it was delicious.

"I know it's overwhelming," said the voice and she matched it, just a moment too late, with the face that swam before her. He did not come close, keeping out of her reach entirely and she studied him, this mystery creature, committing all of him to memory.

"Just take it easy for a moment," he said. "It'll take time to come back."

"What?"

The man only smiled.

"Just… be for a moment. I know it's strange."

Strange was not the word.

Beneath her feet, where her toes gouged the wood, she could feel every splinter and divot. She smoothed her soles over the imperfections, taking in every last bump and ridge, but she did not know how she did it, or why. There was no more pain to plague her, no more weakness to bind her. Her body was hard. Her skin was cool. Her hands, burned up in the fire, had healed to a pristine satin white and each fingernail was rounded, sculpted. At her back she felt the wall and the small variations in temperature as the sun outside shifted between the clouds, and there was moisture in the air— so much moisture that when she opened her mouth, some came in to wet her tongue. She could see the finest morsels of dust, every imperfection in the plaster and the wood, and as she stared into that whiteness, blinking away the spots, she saw that the white was not white at all, but a rainbow of colours that she could not name. She watched it as it rose, coming ever higher with the rising sun, and when the man spoke again, just a moment too late, she jumped, putting her body through the wall.

"I know it's different," he said and though the crack of plaster and sheetrock was loud, he didn't flinch. "I know you're confused."

She stared at him, perturbed.

"Do you remember where you are?"

She said nothing.

"Do you remember who you are?"

This time, she frowned.

"It'll come back to you, in time," he said. "Bits and pieces, at least."

She stared at him, unblinking.

"I was burning."

He hung his head.

"You've changed, Bella," he said and this name, spoken so casually, gave her a visceral jolt. "I'm sorry sweetheart, but it's over now."

"Changed?"

"Yes."

"Changed into what?"

He fell silent, his lips pursed.

"Give it time," he said again. "Regain your bearings. It'll come back to you and when it does, I'll answer any questions you might have."

"I don't…" She stared at him, trying to place his face in the mire of the past. "I can't…"

"It's alright," he said again. "You know me, Bella. Deep down you do. And if you don't right now, you oughtn't worry because when the dust clears you will again. I'm sure of that."

"I'm not," she said and he smiled, though it was quick and rather weak. "I'm… sorry. I don't remember…"

"I'm Carlisle," he said and something stirred in her again. "It's Carlisle, love. You'll remember soon."

"I don't remember."

"I know you don't."

"What…?"

He waited, patient and still.

"What happened?"

"The Change alters many things," said the man and Bella listened as closely as she could. "It takes a while for things to even out."

"How long?"

"I don't know."

"My throat hurts."

"I know, love."

"Why do you call me that?"

"Love?"

"Yes."

"Because I love you," he said and this, too, gave her pause. "Even if you remember nothing else at all, I hope that you'll at least remember that."

She closed her eyes, her mouth dry.

"My throat hurts."

"I know…"

"Why does it hurt?"

"Because you're thirsty." The word frightened her and she did not know why. "You'll feel better after you hunt."

"Hunt?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Come," said the man— said Carlisle— and when she took his hand, he squeezed. The pressure felt nice, though she did not reciprocate, and when he led her to the door, she followed.

The hallway was darker than the bedroom, panelled in soft, smooth wood, and as they walked in this new space, Bella ran her fingers over the boards. He moved slowly for her, letting her stop and stare at the marvellous swirls of colour in the knots, and though she felt a prick of something that might have been her conscience, she could not help herself. The hallway was long and wide— so long, in fact, that they hardly made their way anywhere at all— and though she could see up ahead where the wood of the wall was splintered and cracked it was not this that stole her attention, but the door.

It was a door like all the others in the hall, latched tight to keep her out, but she thought that if she focused hard enough she would remember this door. She had touched it before, had felt it before, had run her fingers over the wood and the knob before, and she reached again for it now…

But Carlisle's hand, so quick and so gentle, reached out to stop her and Bella froze, her mind reeling with possibility.

"Not yet, love," he said, but she did not listen. "Just come downstairs…"

At once, as if she'd appeared out of thin air, there was another body in the hall and this one was much smaller. Bella thought she knew her, too, though again, she could not place her. When two, slender arms came up around her neck she stiffened, and when she felt the soft press of lips on the apple of her cheek she froze, frowning.

"Not yet, please," whispered the girl and Bella continued to say nothing. "Not just yet. Maybe later."

"I know that room."

"I know you do," whispered the girl. "I know, honey, but please just wait."

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

"Alice?"

Carlisle hovered, his hand still outstretched. The name clicked in Bella's mind, fastening hard and strong to the girl in her arms, and it fell into place like another piece of the puzzle in her mind.

"Give is a minute, Carlisle," said Alice. "Just a moment, please, while we collect ourselves…"

"I'll be downstairs."

"Thank you."

Alice held her tight.

"I love you, Bella," she said and again the words made her falter. "I know you don't understand— not yet, anyways— but just know that I do."

"Okay."

"Come downstairs."

"I just want to see…"

"Please come downstairs."

"I…"

Alice let her go.

"I'll show you myself, once you've hunted," she said and Bella frowned at her, perplexed. "I'll open the door myself, but please, let's hunt first."

"I just need to see…"

"Please?"

"No."

Bella pulled herself away.

"Please Bella."

"I… not yet."

"It'll be there later."

"It's here now."

"We've all the time in the world."

"I need to know."

And before Alice could stop her— before she could catch those scrabbling hands or stop those strong, quick footsteps— Bella had flung the door open and stepped inside.

The room, which hovered somewhere on the fringes of her memory, had devolved into a ruin that she could not place, marked by violence she could not remember. It was not a room she knew— not the small, hot bedroom full of books and dolls she had occupied when she was a little girl, and not the rainy, moss-green room in which she had lived later on. It did not look like the burning room, where she had spent her days in hell, and it did not look like the hallway, but though she could not place it among the patchwork of memories that had survived the raging inferno she still thought that she knew it, and it made her sad.

There were boards on the windows beyond which Bella could see the faint, eerie glow of the overcast dawn as it crept over the horizon on the other side of the house. She could smell the air outside through the gaps in the wood, rife with scents that told of spring, and if she focused carefully on that small, almost indiscernible point of brightness she could see the swaying green of leaves and spruce needles in the yard. The darkness did not thwart her— it did not dull any colour or blur the edges of her sight— and she gazed with quick, pristine clarity over the wreck and ruin, her mind racing to make it all make sense.

The floor, gouged and scratched, had been torn down to the joists in a great, long strip that ran diagonally from one corner to the other, ending at that broken window which held not even a shard of glass. The hardwood had splintered into great, sharp pieces that were piled carefully along the far wall, with some still lodged deep into the plaster where they'd struck. She could see where the walls had been knocked, where the uniform speckling of creamy paint had been marred by obtrusive, oblong dents and holes, and she could see where the furniture had been smashed— a dresser, now empty of clothes, lay on its side by the ruined floorboards and a bed of fine, glossy wood had been dismantled, its mattress pushed haphazardly into the closet.

She took it all in in the space of a breath and when she heard Alice sigh, she wheeled around.

"Come away, Bella," said Alice softly and though there was no malice there, no threat, Bella felt her hackles rise. "There's no need…"

"There's every need." Her voice had gone low and angry. "There is every need, Alice. I…"

She turned around again to look it over once more.

The damning evidence of violence, which she could not recall, though she was sure she ought to, made something sinister boil up in her. She did not remember what had been said. She did not remember what had been done. She remembered only the terror in her heart, so sharp and so bitter, and that horrendous, scorching burn…

The memory of the burning made a shiver course down her spine and she forced it back, turning instead to face the back wall. There was a sound from outside— the barest, briefest uprising of wind— and when it penetrated that gap in the wood on the window, filtering in like a light, airy stream, Bella felt her throat flare and she choked, her mouth watering and her nose stinging.

"Bella…"

She could smell it. She could taste it. It was fragrant, and it was tainted, and it called to her, though it was wrong…

"Come away," said Alice sharply, though Bella barely heard her through her muffled ears. "Please, Bella…"

Her nostrils flared, taking in more of that delectable, burning scent, and she turned away towards the bathroom. She could see the mark on the floor— the etched burn of bleach on the cracked marble tile— and if she looked closely enough, focused hard enough, she could see the barest remnants of a dark stain in the grout...

Before Alice could stop her— before she could reach so much as a hand to pull her back— Bella was away from Alice's worry and engulfed in the blackness of the room. The smell was stronger here, both the good and the bad, and when she took a deep, purposeful breath she felt her throat erupt again and she wavered, peering down at the floor to find the source.

She needed to find the source.

In the space of a single heartbeat— hardly more than a second— Bella became aware of three things. First, as the sting bloomed like a flower in her throat and her chest, there came another body into the bedroom— a larger one, and careful. It was a man, she saw, and he stood between herself and Alice, and when Alice reached around him to try and pull her back, he was quick to warn her off. They whispered to one another, though Bella hardly had the capacity to listen, and when he kissed her fingers as if in consolation Bella heard his name floating back to her in a dream. She recalled that name with a sudden triumph, though it did not last long, and when the smell overcame her once again she filed it away for later.

Jasper.

The second thing she noticed was that the smell, which rose with such tantalizing temptation from the grout between the tiles, was an old smell, and though she could not explain why, this fact infuriated and peeved her.

The third thing, which came on the coattails of her sudden temper, hit her when she rose from the floor, her teeth bared in savage fury. She wheeled around to face her keepers, to accuse them of she knew not what, but before she could there was a movement in the room that she had not noticed before. She stopped halfway through her turn, facing a wall she had ignored on her way in, and when she saw the eyes of the Other, brim full of a wild, untamable rage she paused, her breath hitching in her chest.

The face was on the wall, she saw, reflected in the dark through the chaos of a shattered mirror. She stared so fiercely, that creature of the night, and when Bella rose, her forehead pressing against the cold, sharp glass, she felt a jolt of recognition. She remembered that face, recalled its edges and its lines, and when she brought a finger up to trace the nose, the jaw, she felt herself at once enthralled and terribly, horribly frightened.

It looked like her, this girl from the beyond, and yet as she took in the curves and the textures, she saw that it did not. She recalled the face she'd known before the carnage— somewhat fuzzy, as most things seemed to be, but clear enough to see the differences. The girl had changed, evolved into something similar, but different, and she felt her temper rising again, her confusion coming to a head as she backed away, unable to take her eyes away from that broken, fractured face.

There was no blush on those paper-white cheeks and the freckles on her nose had disappeared into smooth, unblemished silk. The irises of her eyes, once a rich, chocolate brown, had transformed into a startling, vivid scarlet and they watched at her with an unblinking scrutiny. They were a little bigger than before, just a touch wider and a little more round, and they stared with such consternation that Bella had no choice but to stare back, perturbed. What roundness had remained in her face from childhood had been carved away. The bump on the bridge of her nose— nearly indiscernible to all but her— had been smoothed down. Her lips were fuller, her chin a little rounder, and as she tilted her head first to one side, and then the other, she felt a creeping, slinking dread sneak up her spine.

She shivered when that Wonderland creature grinned at her, baring white, perfect teeth that gleamed in the dark and she recoiled, turning her face away.

Just outside the bathroom, Jasper surveyed her with wary caution.

"Come on, darlin'," he said and he reached a hand out, holding it up between them. Bella glanced down at it, reeling. "Come away from that just now. That's right… you're alright."

But as she looked down at the hand that was riddled with crescent rainbows and jagged wounds, she could not bring herself to take it. She stared at that hand and then back again at his face and though he betrayed nothing, his face impassive and smooth, she thought she could see a flicker of hurt in the liquid gold of his eyes. It took her a moment to place those scars, to understand why they made her so wary, and though he did not move so much as an inch, neither did she. It was a long moment in that silence and she understood neither his silent question nor her own stubborn answer, but when it grew too quiet and the pause grew awkward, Alice spoke again.

"Come with me, Bella," she said and this time, Jasper did not hold her back when she reached around him, pushing his hand away. "It's alright. Come with me."

Beneath the green canopy of trees where she could barely see the sky, Alice held fast to that white, slender hand as they walked, slow and steady, into the belly of the forest. Beside her, walking as if in a trance, Bella hardly dared to breathe and Alice was full of righteous, scorching pity. The girl did not know them. She hardly knew herself. She knew only the thirst, and even that she did not understand, and the world was so clear, and so bright, and so loud.

"Deep breaths, Bella," she said and though the girl did not obey, neither did she scoff. "It'll settle soon. It won't be so bad once you've acclimated."

Her nose twitched and Alice held her tongue.

"Where are we going?"

"Into the woods," Alice replied. "To hunt."

"To hunt what?"

"Whatever we find."

Bella stared at the ground, her brow furrowed.

"What is it, Bella?"

"Nothing," she replied. "Nothing…"

"You'll feel better when you've fed."

"Have I done this before?"

"No," replied Alice. "Not like this, anyway."

"My throat hurts."

"I know."

"Why does it hurt?"

"Carlisle already told you."

"I don't understand…"

"I know you don't." Alice paused her walk, squeezing that hand in hers. "I know, honey, and I'm sorry. Just trust me for a little while and let me show you."

"What are we doing?"

"Hunting."

"I don't know how," she replied and Alice eyed her carefully.

"It's instinct," said Alice gently. "No one can really teach you…"

"Not for me."

"It is now," she replied and when the wind picked up again, carrying with it a rich array of scents from the forest, she stiffened.

"Close your eyes," said Alice and though Bella frowned at her, she obeyed. "Just breathe."

Exaggerated and impatient, she obeyed again.

"What do you smell?"

"I don't know."

"Think about it."

"Alice…"

"Just try, please," she said and though her nose wrinkled, Bella fell silent. "Take another breath. Pay attention this time."

When she inhaled, Alice breathed with her.

"What do you smell now?"

Bella paused, biting her lip.

"Trees," she said. "Pine. You."

"Good. What else?"

"Mildew. Fire. And…"

"And?"

"I don't know what it is."

Inhaling again as the wind picked up, Alice caught the scent that Bella had noticed, breaking into a wry grin. Alice steered her east, taking her hand again as she pulled her downwind, and when she let her go, Bella stiffened. Alice saw the change in a fraction of a second— saw how that calm uncertainty morphed into sudden, savage want— and when the wind blew again, bringing that scent down from the hills, Bella turned to her with wild, delectable anticipation. Those eyes startled Alice, ruby red darkening to deepest black, and when she breathed again her knees bent as if she were readying herself to spring.

"It's elk," said Alice, though she was not sure that Bella could hear her. "About a mile in. Just keep downwind, and…"

Bella was off before Alice could finish.

She did not see the hunt as Bella tore through the trees, vanishing between the trunks like a ghost. She did not see the violence or the chaos. Bella was silent as she moved, bare feet springing over leaves and branches and when she came upon her target, about a mile ahead of Alice who was slower, Alice heard the impact. She knew the sound of victory, the quick and frightened yelp of the animal's final fight, and she ran on, forcing her feet to go just a little faster. She smelled the blood when it spilled on the ground, mastering her own impulses and desires, and she followed that smell, the soft sounds of her sister's triumph, until she came upon the clearing where the girl was crouched, her head bent low over the creature's long, slender neck.

The girl hissed as she approached and Alice wisely chose to stop, waiting until the meal was done. Alice knew better than to disturb her, knew better than to approach when she was so new and so hungry, and it took only a moment for those defences to settle, for the girl to slip back into her ease. She did not turn her back to Alice— indeed, though she stood quite still and unassuming, Bella hardly took her eyes off of her— but she finished her feast with relish. She did not know her own strength. She did not understand the delicacy of the kill. Her hands were bloody, dripping great, fat drops onto her shirt, and only when she'd drained the beast, falling back with a thump on her backside in the dirt, did she seem to notice this at all. Alice saw the swallow, the way her throat bobbed as she came down from the high, and when she saw her hands, and then the dead animal before her, Bella rose like a shot and stared, wild-eyed and frenzied.

"I told you you'd get it," said Alice softly but the girl did not reply. "You did good, Bella. Just like you're supposed to."

Bella closed her eyes.

"I killed it."

Alice stared at her.

"I… oh my god."

When she dragged her fingers over her face, leaving sticky, red smears on her cheeks, Alice felt a renewed spark of pity.

"It'll get easier."

"I killed it, Alice," she said again and this time, Alice heard the panic. "I didn't even think. I just…"

"I know."

"I've never killed anything before."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," said Alice and at this, she saw Bella's shoulders sag. "You've done nothing wrong."

"Neither did he." She tapped the antlers with her foot. "He didn't deserve that, Alice, and I couldn't even do it cleanly…"

"It'll come with practice."

"I don't want to practice," Bella spat. "It's disgusting."

"It's better than the alternative," Alice said and there was an edge to her voice, a warning. Bella's eyes flashed with anger but that anger dissolved almost as quickly as it had come, and Alice saw the weight of that truth lie heavy on her heart. She turned away, then, her hands clenched into fists, and when she hung her head Alice saw the defeat like lead, settling into every vein and pore.

"Better, by far, than what could be," said Alice softly. "You'll grow to like it, eventually."

"No I won't."

"Give it time."

She didn't have anything to say to this.

"What do I do with it, now that it's dead?" she asked and Alice sighed, glancing down at the carcass. "Where do we… put it?"

"That depends," said Alice and when she brought a hand up to Bella's shoulder, the girl leaned back. Alice took this as a good sign. "If we're far enough into the woods, we can leave it where it is. There are always scavengers willing to clean up after us."

Her nose wrinkled, but she didn't argue.

"But we're too close to the house just now," Alice continued. "Too close to town. When that happens, we bury it."

"We don't have shovels."

Alice laughed.

"We don't need shovels, Bella," she chuckled. "Your hands are as good as any shovel could be. Come on. We'll work quickly and then maybe we can move further in and find something a little more… appetizing."

"I don't want to, Alice."

"One elk will keep you for about half a day," Alice said. "If that, given how new you are. You don't want to lapse, Bella. The thirstier you are, the harder it becomes to keep yourself in check."

Bella frowned at her, disgusted.

"Come on," Alice said and though she smiled, it was hardly convincing. "Help me dig. It won't take us long."

They moved with a purpose as they shifted the earth together, moving deeper and deeper into the soil. She'd made a mess, it was true— it would take some time for her to learn her strength and her limits— but as they emerged, triumphant and filthy, Alice grinned at her and for just the barest, quickest moment, Bella grinned back.

"Toss it down when I tell you," she said, slipping back into the hole. "Just slide him in. I'll just get rid of that root, and then we can move on."

"Thanks, Alice."

"Don't sweat it."

Alice dipped back down beneath the earth. Later, when she would have time to make sense of it all, she would come to know that this was her mistake. She never should have left Bella alone. She never should have gone back into that hole without her. She never should have been so careless and she never should have been so trusting, but she would not understand this until much later and by then, it would be too late.

She was deep in the hole, her hands around that stubborn, strong root, her fingers caked with mud and her face filthy with grime. She did not hear as quickly as she should have. She did not sense the shifting wind. She did not notice, at first, how it moved from south to east, and she did not notice when that wind, blowing noisily through the canopy, made the world stand still.

There was a gust. There was a hiss. There was a frantic scrabble— the sound of feet on earth— and a quick, blurred movement overhead. Alice paused, taking this all in with sudden apprehension, and she lifted herself out from the hole, crouching at the edge to take in the changes.

Around her, the forest was untouched. The elk was still there, and so were the flowers and the ferns. The pile of dirt at her back had grown tall, the hole a little deeper, but where the girl had been standing, surveying the damage of her first hunt, there was nothing left at all but empty space and the imprint of two, perfect feet embossed in the spongy ground. She was not here, though she had been just a moment before. Alice heaved a sigh, taking in a deep, careless breath, and when she did she knew at once what had happened and she felt a stab of panic in her heart.

"Bella?"

Venom, slick and deadly, pooled in her mouth. She felt her eyes darken. She felt her muscles tense. She breathed in that air, catching the scent of ripe, human blood, and in the instant that she did, she caught Bella's scent too, long gone from here in a frantic chase towards the source.

"Bella!"

She was floating. She was sprinting. She was flying. She was running.

Bella had never liked running. She had never felt the thrill of endorphins or the sweet rush of triumph after a sprint. She had never moved so fast before and certainly not like this, and as she forced her legs onward, darting like a bullet through the trees, she felt free. She felt exhilarated. She was excited and she was strong, she was powerful and she was fierce, and for just the briefest second— just the barest, most fleeting of moments— she was happy.

She ran like she never knew it was possible to run, towards a smell that had no right to be so scrumptious. She could taste it in the air. It was burned into her mind like a brand. It was flowers, and fruit, and musk, and wine and she longed to take it in, to let it slip through her, heady and strong, until she was drunk. She wanted to breathe that scent. She wanted to bathe in it. She would find it, and she would take it, and there was not a soul in all the world that could keep her from it…

She didn't know what it was. She didn't know why it was. She didn't know where it had come from, or where it was going, but she knew, in her heart, that she would find it, and when she did, she would have it.

She ran through the trees, zagging wildly around trunks and stumps. She flew through the grass. She soared above the weeds. She crushed the flowers and ate the wind and she watched all the forest creatures scatter, and when she found them, rising like deer in a field along the verdant, winding trail, she felt a thick, bitter release of venom in her mouth.

They were there— they were right there— and she was here, waiting.

There were two of them, walking side by side down a path, and though Bella ran like a beast, they did not hear her. She lurked in the shadows. She hardly dared to move. These were the Sources, the very roots of her exaltation, and as they walked, they laughed, and as they laughed, she growled.

"How much longer?" asked the woman and the man tugged her hood up a little higher to keep away the drizzle. "It's going to…"

"Don't even say it!" the man shouted over her. "Don't jinx us please!"

"It's going to rain!" the woman sang. "Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain…"

Above them, beyond the canopy of trees, Bella heard the prophecy fulfilled as the clouds began to drip and the man, throwing his head back, bellowed out a laugh.

She could see the pulse throbbing. She could smell it… she could smell it…

Oh god, she could smell it.

Before the man could speak, she sprang.

He didn't scream, that startled, frightened boy. He barely even gasped. She was on him like a leech, her teeth finding that pulsing, throbbing artery in the space of half a heartbeat, and she drank, so long and so deep that she felt his body slacken in her grip. The woman screamed for both of them, tearing off down the path on clumsy feet, and though Bella knew it was wrong, knew it was deplorable, when she was finished with the man she took the woman, too.

Her hands were too strong. Her grip was too tight. Her teeth were too sharp, and her frenzy too wild, and then she could not see, could not feel. Taste was all she knew— the taste of that smell, and the smell of that taste— and then the woman was limp too, and there were no more sounds of laughter or life. It was quiet in the aftermath— so terribly, awfully quiet— and when she dropped that corpse, so broken that she could hardly tell what it had been, she felt a thrill of shock.

There was blood on her hands, and there was blood on the ground. There were gashes on the faces. There were savage, angry bites on arms and legs. There were bones that had been broken, and skin that had been torn, and they were still, oh so terribly, dreadfully still…

And between it all— between the blood, and the flesh, and the sinew, and the bone— she could see the terror on those faces, those ruined, broken, beaten faces. The air reeked of death. Her tongue was bitter with the taste of fear. She could feel the cracking of bone between her able, piercing fingers, could hear the deafening shriek of a life cut short… and then she could not look anymore, could not stand the sight. She could not look upon that face and see the havoc she had wrought, could not peer down into those dead, unseeing eyes to realize just what she had done. She could not look at either of them, could not make sense of the image that had burned itself forever in her memory, because there was blood on the floor and on her hands and in her hair…

There was blood on the floor. There had always been blood on the floor.

Like an elastic band that had been stretched too far and then let go again, there was something in her mind that snapped back into shape. She had not felt the stretch—or at least, she did not remember it— but she felt its return with a violent force that she did not expect. She felt its sting, how it smarted and stung, and all at once, with the feel of that blood between her fingers, she was pulled back because she finally, finally remembered.

The blood on the floor. The sickly sweet smell of decay. The pink sinew beneath the skin, the ragged wounds torn into flesh and bone, the way the eyes had stared at her, unseeing and still, and the sound of her own scream, like a banshee in the night. So frightened. So raw. So loud that it had brought the neighbours running, and so long that it had stolen her voice away…

There had been a gravestone. There had been a cliff. There had been a terror—such an angry outpouring of violent, hopeless love— and then there had been a fall…

She could not cry— not like this, as she was. The tears would not come. They would never come again. She would never lose her voice, would never lose her mind, and she would never lose sight of him, the way he had been at the end. She would never lose the memory or this terrible, wrenching guilt because she was the monster and the monster was her and just surely as she had killed these poor creatures before her, so, too had she killed her father.

"No…" The word spilled from her like water, breaking her banks like a river in a flood. "No. No, no, no, no, no…"

The word did nothing. It gave her no consolation. Her ears were full of rushing wind. Her mouth, tracing over that word again and again, was full of empty pleas. She said it again, though it served her no purpose, and when it did not she began to shout. When Alice entered the clearing Bella could not see, and when those hands touched her, so gentle and sweet, she felt her skin writhing beneath the touch.

"Oh honey…"

"What did I do, Alice?"

"I'm so sorry, Bella…" Her voice sounded far and so terribly, terribly sad. "I'm so sorry…"

"What did I do!?" The question erupted from her like a geyser. "What did I do, Alice?"

"It's not your fault…"

But Bella could not listen.

Her ears were rushing. Her mouth was dry. Her face felt hot, though she knew not how this could be, and her hands were shaking. By the time she had pulled herself away from Alice, away from the bloody mess she'd made amongst the trees, she was running, though she knew no goal or purpose. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care.

"Bella, wait!"

Bella did not listen.

When she ran—really, truly ran— she left Alice in the dust. She could feel the punishing rhythm of her feet in the dirt. She could taste blood on her tongue, lingering between her teeth. She did not dare use her nose—indeed, she hardly dared to breathe— but with each passing second and with each passing thought, she ran all the faster. The brush underfoot did not hinder her. The hills and valleys did not stop her. She vaulted a river—a feat which should have amazed and astounded her— with no more effort than she might give to a puddle, and by the time she realized just where she was headed she was there. It fell before her in a deathly, terrible plummet, and when she skittered to a halt just shy of the fragile, crumbling edge of the cliff, she felt the world come back to her with startling, terrible clarity.

She did not know how long she stood, glaring at the dark, frothing waves below. She did not know how long she stared into the surf, how long she crouched in the mist. She knew not when she was, or who, or how, or why but none of it mattered as she rose, her bare feet crunching on broken, splintered stone.

She remembered the fall— the sickening jolt of the plunge and the icy caress of the sea. She remembered the voice, so faint and so sad, that had told of her guilt and her love. She remembered how the waves had felt when they had taken her, how she had sunk like a stone and then bobbed up for air, and how, even as the riptide dragged her further out into the unforgiving water she had cried, and when she had cried, the world had gone dark.

She had killed him. She had killed him. She had killed him, that father who had given her nothing but love, because she had brought the danger to him. He had been home because of her. Home because he'd been up with her. Home because she had cried, and home because she had screamed, and home because he had held her, trembling in the dark, until the nightmare had faded and she could breathe again. He had kissed her, impulsive and sweet, and the warmth had soothed her, and she had heard that voice again on the cliff, untouched by the violence and the ruin. She thought that if she stopped—if she really, truly stopped to listen—she would hear it again now.

I love you too.

"Bella?"

It was Him, she knew, and she felt the very marrow of her bones ignite. Him. That Him with a capital H who was the hammer and the glue. He had completed her. He had smoothed her edges. He had held her, and he had loved her, and he had ruined her, and he had killed her, and she could hear him now as he came through the trees. She could hear the footsteps, light as air on wet leaves, and she could feel him as he moved like quicksilver through the gloom. He was fast, she knew, and he was focused, and when she felt his hand on her— only the lightest brush of fingers on her cool, hard shoulder— she slipped away like an eel and stood, tall and poised, precariously close to the edge of the cliff.

"Come away, Bella, please," he said. "It'll do you no good."

She hissed, pressing her eyes shut.

"It's not your fault…"

"It's all my fault."

"It's natural…"

"It's barbaric." The word left her like a curse and he caught it, holding it close. "It's brutal. I don't even…"

The words died, just like everything else, and she moved a little closer to the edge.

"It's instinct," he said and his voice was soft, kind. "It takes time to master it."

"I don't have time."

"You have nothing but time," he replied and at this she felt her heart sink again. "All the time in the world, love."

"I don't want it."

"I know."

"I didn't ask for it."

"I know."

"I told you…"

"I know, Bella." His voice was strained. "I know. I'm sorry…"

"Don't."

"Come home."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I won't."

His breath was sharp, as if she'd twisted a knife between his ribs and when he reached out a hand again, she pulled away. There was worry in his voice, though she could not tell if it was for her or because of her, but still, she did not look. She could not turn around, could not bring herself to face him there, so steady and so strong, and so when she saw the briefest movement of a hand at her back, reaching out to brush its fingers down her arm in consolation, she ducked away. This hurt him too, she knew, but she did not relent, and when he tried again to soothe her, to placate, she slapped his hand away with a vicious strike.

"Don't touch me," she said and the words were harsher, crueller than she meant them to be. "Please don't touch me."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be sorry."

He fell silent.

"Just… don't." The words fell from her like a sigh. "Don't touch me, and don't be sorry…"

"What would you have me do, then?"

"Just leave me be."

"Not like this, Bella," he whispered and there was an ache there, a sorrow. "I won't leave you here alone, like this."

"Like what?" Her voice was cold. "What am I like, Edward?"

"Frightened," he said and the truth of it annoyed her. "Alone. Worried, scared, sad, upset… Please come home."

"I can't come home."

"Why not?"

Like a thousand birds trapped inside a cage, Bella felt the wings beating in her very core. It made her nervous and it made her sick, and when she imagined it— imagined herself returning to that house with the blood of innocents on her hands— she could hardly stand it. She could not look them in the face— not Esme and most certainly not Carlisle— and she could not tell them what she had done. She could not look that kind compassion in the eye and tell of her violence, of her cruelty in taking a life, of her complete and utter loss of control. They could not see her like this, not after everything they'd done for her, and she would not be their shame. They had given her nothing but kindness, had done nothing but keep her, and love her, and care for her, and she had repaid that generosity with brutality, their goodness with chaos. She could hardly remember what had come before— could not name the days, or the actions, or the words— but she felt that kindness in her heart, and that same heart splintered when she recalled the vivid scarlet of the blood, the piercing, lethal screams she'd so cruelly snuffed out.

She turned instead towards the cliff.

"I don't want this, Edward," she said and though he was still and calm, there was a spark of fear in the way he sighed. "I don't want it, Edward…"

"I'm sorry."

"I just…"

"It won't hurt you." He was close to her now, too close. "You can jump a thousand times, Bella, and it won't ever hurt you."

"I don't care…"

"I think you do."

She seethed, her fury rising again.

"You don't know anything."

"I know that it won't do what you want it to," he said. "I know that you'll be as furious down there as you are up here. As sick down there. This won't help."

"I don't want it!"

"The cliff can't hurt you," he said again, and though she longed to slap him, to bite, she forced herself to stare out into those steely grey waves. She would not look at him—not now that she had gone so long without it— and her eyes narrowed on a lonely, distant island instead. Perhaps that was the island, the one she'd landed on in a time so far removed from the present that it felt like eons, and she wondered how long it would take her to float back out again…

"I told you once before," Edward said, taking in her silence with a shiver. "A long time ago. I envied you, Bella. I envied your transience, your potential. We cannot self-destruct— not without help— and I'm sorry, but none of us would ever allow it to come to that."

This speech was ludicrous to her, though she could feel the truth in her gut. There was no fear anymore— not of the waves, and not of the fall— though by all rights there should be. There should be fear. There should be absolute, gut-roiling terror. She should be afraid of the pain, and the anguish, and whatever would come after, but she was not, and deep down she knew why. The rocks could not break her, could not dash her to pieces and scatter her in the current. The water could not drown her. The sea could not claim her and there would be no sweet release, and this made her furious and sad. Her disappointment had a taste, like a bitter, rotten seed and she swallowed it down as best she could, but when her mouth opened again to speak, she felt the words fall heavy like anchors.

"I don't care."

"It won't help," he said again. "None of this will help, Bella… please. Let me help you."

"I don't care."

"No one is upset with you," he went on, as if she could be bargained with. "Not for this. It's not your fault, love, and no one will be angry…"

"I'm angry!" Her shout split the air like thunder. "I'm angry, Edward! I'm furious, and I'm disgusted!"

"You didn't mean to do it…"

"Oh but I did," she hissed. "I did it, Edward, and I liked it. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was cruel. I knew all of it and I did it anyways, like I was no better than an animal."

"You're not an animal."

"What am I, then?" she demanded and as she did, she could not stand it another moment. She wheeled around, coming nose-to-nose with that handsome, familiar face, and though she tried not to, she breathed him in. He was warmer now than she remembered, and somehow softer and sweeter, but all of this served only to pique her and she backed away, her heels hanging off the edge of the rock.

"You are yourself, Bella," he said. "As we all are. It's not what we are that matters… it's who we choose to be."

"I chose to be that," she returned and he sighed, his fingers twitching out to touch her again, hovering barely an inch above her cheek. "I chose that, Edward, and I can't take it back."

"We all make mistakes."

"It wasn't a mistake."

He stared at her.

"I meant it. Oh god, I meant it… I wanted it, and I'm sorry that I did, but I'm going to want it again."

"Yes."

"And I'll take it again."

"Not if you don't want to."

"I will want to."

"It takes time, love. Time to get it right…"

"You were right, Edward."

He stared at her, betraying nothing.

"You were always right. I was a fool and I was naive, but you were always, always right."

"Bella…"

"We are monsters," she hissed and as if she had slapped him, he took a step back. "We are nothing. I'm only sorry I ever doubted you."

"Come home, Bella, please," he said and she laughed, hard and cold. "Please. Come home with me. Let me explain…"

"No."

"Please, love…"

"No."

"It won't do you any good…"

"I don't care!"

"Carlisle will be here soon."

"I don't care!"

And when she turned, swivelling around on the balls of her feet, she felt the rock begin to crumble. Her feet dug in, sending a cascade of stones skittering down the embankment, and when she felt the earth begin to move, she held her breath.

"Bella please…"

When she leapt, leaving the cliff behind to tumble through empty space, she felt nothing. No wings. No fear. No terror, no regret, no love…

… nothing but the cold, empty void of the great, black sea.

A/N: Hello again! As you all are undoubtedly aware, this whole story is my rebuttal to what I consider to be huge gaps and failings in the original story. Of course I've taken some liberties with the timeline and storyline, but as I've said before I absolutely despise how the original story refuses to follow through. The Change is held up as a terrible trauma, yet somehow canon Bella manages to avoid all the unpleasant bits. This chapter delves a little deeper into what I think the real consequences would be. Literally everyone besides Carlisle (and maybe Rosalie, to a point) had a rough start and slipped up. I think Bella should have as well.

Also, for those who might be a little confused:

When I sat down and thought about what I thought the Change should look like, I really felt inspired (if that's the right word) by the idea of human memory loss. In my understanding, memory loss would happen for two reasons. One, because human senses are so dull that old memories are dull in comparison to new ones and two, the change is violent and might literally change brain chemistry and structure. When Bella woke, she had no idea where or who she was (as was hinted at the end of last chapter). She remembered a little bit with Carlisle. We saw some more memories return when she was in the bedroom, but the real catalyst was the violence in the forest which led to memories of Charlie. Her human memories are not gone forever, only buried and muddled, and while I think they won't be as strong as before, they certainly haven't just vanished.

When Bella ran off to chase the hikers, Alice was too far behind to catch her. The hunt, in my view, is quick (even if it reads a little long) so by the time Alice found her the damage was done. When Bella ran from her a second time she wisely chose to make a phone call before she made chase, and though we didn't see him at the beginning of the chapter, I certainly wanted Edward to appear at the end.

Those of you who follow me on Twitter know that I recently revamped the outline for this story to flesh out the ending a little more. If that outline sticks (which, let's be honest, happens only about half the time when I get going), we'll have four chapters left after this one. I could keep it going on forever if I tried, but I think I've found a good natural stopping point in my outline so we'll aim for that and see how it goes.

Also, thank you for sticking with me. In the interim I've written a few chapters of The Island, and in the notes for those chapters I explained that while I love to write, I also have ANXIETY. It sucks, it stifles my creativity, and it makes me worry about all kinds of crap I can't control, but whenever I'm able I'll be putting out new chapters, so please keep an eye out.