Page 68 of Life and Death: Twilight Reimagined (The Twilight Saga)

“Will that be enough?”

“Sure, kid, no problem.”

I sat back against the seat, folding my arms across my chest. My city began to rush around me, but I didn’t look out the windows.

I had to fight to maintain control. There was no point in breaking down now, it wouldn’t help anything.

Against the odds, I’d escaped. I was able now to do everything I could for my mom.

My path was set. I just had to follow it.

So, instead of panicking, I closed my eyes and spent the twenty-minute drive with Edythe.

I imagined that I had stayed at the airport to meet her.

I visualized how I would have stood right at the do-not-cross line, the first person she would see as she came down the long hallway from the gates.

She would move too fast through the other passengers—and they would stare because she was so graceful.

She would dart across those last few feet—not quite human—and then she’d throw her arms around my waist. And I wouldn’t bother with careful .

I wondered where we would have gone. North somewhere, so she could be outside in the day.

Or maybe somewhere very remote, so we could lie in the sun together again.

I imagined her by the shore, her skin sparkling like the sea.

It wouldn’t matter how long we had to hide.

To be trapped in a hotel room with her would be like heaven.

So many things I still wanted to know about her.

I could listen to her talk forever, never sleeping, never leaving her side.

I could see her face so clearly now . . . almost hear her voice. And, despite everything, for a second I was actually happy. I was so involved in my escapist daydream, I lost all track of the racing seconds.

“Hey, what was the number?”

The cabbie’s question punctured my fantasy. The fear I’d controlled for a few minutes took control again.

“Fifty-eight twenty-one.” My voice sounded strangled. The cabbie looked at me like she was nervous that I was having an episode or something.

“Here we are, then.” She was anxious to get me out of her car, probably hoping I wouldn’t ask for my change.

“Thank you,” I whispered. There was no need to be afraid, I reminded myself. I knew the house was empty. I had to hurry; my mom was waiting for me, terrified, maybe hurt already, in pain, depending on me.

I ran to the door, reaching up automatically to grab the key under the eave. It was dark inside, empty, normal. The smell was so familiar, it almost incapacitated me. It felt like my mother must be close, just in the other room, but I knew that wasn’t true.

I ran to the phone, turning on the kitchen light on my way.

There, on the whiteboard, was a ten-digit number written in a small, neat hand.

My fingers stumbled over the keypad, making mistakes.

I had to hang up and start again. I concentrated on just the buttons this time, carefully pressing each one in turn.

I was successful. I held the phone to my ear with a shaking hand. It rang only once.

“Hello, Beau,” that easy voice answered. “That was very quick. I’m impressed.”

“Is my mom okay?”

“She’s perfectly fine. Don’t worry, Beau, I have no quarrel with her. Unless you didn’t come alone, of course.” Light, amused.

“I’m alone.” I’d never been more alone in my entire life.

“Very good. Now, do you know the ballet studio just around the corner from your home?”

“Yeah. I know how to get there.”

“Well, then, I’ll see you very soon.”

I hung up.

I ran from the room, through the door, out into the morning heat.

From the corner of my eye, I could almost see my mother standing in the shade of the big eucalyptus tree where I’d played as a kid.

Or kneeling by the little plot of dirt around the mailbox, the cemetery of all the flowers she’d tried to grow.

The memories were better than any reality I would see today. But I raced away from them.

I felt so slow, like I was running through wet sand—I couldn’t seem to get enough purchase from the concrete.

I tripped over my feet several times, once falling, catching myself with my hands, scraping them on the sidewalk, and then lurching up to plunge forward again.

At last I made it to the corner. Just another street now; I ran, sweat pouring down my face, gasping.

The sun was hot on my skin, too bright as it bounced off the white concrete and blinded me.

When I rounded the last corner, onto Cactus, I could see the studio, looking just as I remembered it.

The parking lot in front was empty, the vertical blinds in all the windows drawn.

I couldn’t run anymore—I couldn’t breathe; fear had gotten the best of me.

I thought of my mother to keep my feet moving, one in front of the other.

As I got closer, I could see the sign taped inside the door. It was handwritten on bright pink paper; it said the dance studio was closed for spring break. I touched the handle, tugged on it cautiously. It was unlocked. I fought to catch my breath, and opened the door.

The lobby was dark and empty, cool, the air conditioner thrumming.

The plastic molded chairs were stacked along the walls, and the carpet was damp.

The west dance floor was dark, I could see through the open viewing window.

The east dance floor, the bigger room, the one from Archie’s vision, was lit.

But the blinds were closed on the window.

Terror seized me so strongly that I was literally trapped by it. I couldn’t make my feet move forward.

And then my mom’s voice called for me.

“Beau? Beau?” That same tone of hysterical panic. I sprinted to the door, to the sound of her voice.

“Beau, you scared me! Don’t you ever do that to me again!” Her voice continued as I ran into the long, high-ceilinged room.

I stared around me, trying to find where her voice was coming from. I heard her laugh, and I spun toward the sound.

There she was, on the TV screen, mussing my hair in relief.

It was Thanksgiving, and I was twelve. We’d gone to see my grandmother in California, the last year before she died.

We went to the beach one day, and I’d leaned too far over the edge of the pier.

Mom had seen my feet flailing, trying to reclaim my balance. “Beau? Beau?” she’d cried out in panic.

And then the TV screen was blue.

I turned slowly. The tracker was standing very still by the back exit, so still I hadn’t noticed her at first. In her hand was a remote control. We stared at each other for a long moment, and then she smiled.

She walked toward me, got just a few feet away, and then passed me to put the remote down next to the VCR. I pivoted carefully to watch her.

“Sorry about that, Beau, but isn’t it better that your mother didn’t really have to be involved in all this?” Her voice was kind.

And suddenly it hit me. My mom was safe. She was still in Florida. She’d never gotten my message. She’d never been terrified by the dark red eyes staring at me now. She wasn’t in pain. She was safe.

“Yes,” I answered, my voice breaking with relief.

“You don’t sound angry that I tricked you.”

“I’m not.” My sudden high made me brave.

What did it matter now? It would be over soon.

Charlie and Mom would never be hurt, would never have to be afraid.

I felt almost dizzy from the relief. Some analytical part of my mind warned me that I was close to snapping from the stress, but then, losing my mind sounded like a decent option right now.

“How odd. You really mean it.” Her dark eyes looked me up and down.

The irises were nearly black, just a hint of ruby around the edges.

Thirsty. “I will give your strange coven this much, you humans can be quite interesting. I guess I can see the draw of observing you more closely. It’s amazing—some of you seem to have no sense of your own self-interest at all. ”

She was standing a few feet away from me, arms folded, looking at me curiously.

There was no menace in her expression or stance.

She was so average-looking, nothing remarkable about her face or body at all.

Just the white skin, the circled eyes I was used to.

She wore a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt and faded blue jeans.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that your friends will avenge you?” she asked—hopefully, I thought.

“I asked them not to.”

“And what did your lover think of that?”

“I don’t know.” It was weird how easy it was to talk to her. “I left her a letter.”

“How romantic, a last letter. And do you think she will honor it?” Her voice was just a little harder now, a hint of sarcasm marring her polite tone.

“I hope so.”

“Hmmm. Well, our hopes differ then. You see, this was all just a little too easy, too quick. To be quite honest, I’m disappointed. I expected a much greater challenge. And, after all, I only needed a little luck.”

I waited silently.

“When Victor couldn’t get to your father, I had him learn more about you.

What’s the sense in running all over the planet chasing you down when I could comfortably wait for you in a place of my choosing?

After Victor gave me the information I needed, I decided to come to Phoenix to pay your mother a visit.

I’d heard you say you were going home. At first, I never dreamed you meant it.

But then I wondered. Humans can be very predictable; they like to be somewhere familiar.

“And wouldn’t it be the perfect ploy, to go to the last place you should be when you’re hiding—the place that you said you’d be.