Page 71 of Life and Death: Twilight Reimagined (The Twilight Saga)

I ENDED UP CHANGING MY MIND.

The fire in my arm wasn’t really so bad—the worst thing I’d ever felt up to that point, yes. But not the same as my entire body on fire.

I begged her to make it stop. I told her that this was really all I wanted. For the burning to stop. Nothing else.

I heard Archie telling her that everyone had said the same thing—reminding her that she’d begged Carine to kill her, too. Telling her my first decision was the one that counted.

I remember at one point screaming at him to shut up.

I think he apologized.

But mostly it was hard to pay attention to what was happening outside the fire.

I know they moved me. It seemed like I was on the bloody, vomit-covered wood floor for a long time, but it was hard to judge how the minutes passed.

Sometimes Carine would say something and it would feel like a year had passed before Archie answered her, but it was probably just the fire that made the seconds into years.

And then someone carried me. I saw the sun for another year-long second—it looked pale and cool. Then everything was dark. It was dark for a long time.

I could still see Edythe. She held me in her arms, my face near hers, one of her hands on my cheek. Archie was nearby, too. I think he had my legs.

When I screamed, she apologized, over and over again. I tried not to scream. It didn’t do any good. There was no relief, no release in it. The fire didn’t care what I did. It just burned.

When my eyes were in focus, I could see dim lights moving across Edythe’s face, though all around her head it was just black. Aside from her voice and mine, the only sound was a deep, constant thrumming. Sometimes it got louder, and then it was quiet again.

I didn’t realize I was back in the black car until it stopped. I didn’t hear the door open, but the sudden flash of light was blinding. I must have recoiled from it, because Edythe crooned in my ear.

“We’re just stopping to refill the gas tank. We’ll be home soon, Beau. You’re doing so well. This will be over soon. I am so sorry.”

I couldn’t feel her hand against my face—it should have been cool, but nothing was cool anymore.

I tried to reach for it, but I couldn’t exactly tell what my limbs were doing.

I think I was thrashing some, but Edythe and Archie kept me contained.

Edythe guessed what I wanted. She grabbed my hand and held it to her lips.

I wished I could feel it. I tried to grip her hand without knowing how to make the muscles move, or being able to feel them.

Maybe I got it right. She didn’t let go.

It got darker. Eventually, I couldn’t see her anymore.

It was black as ink inside the car—there was no difference between having my eyes open or closed.

I started to panic. The fire made the night like a sensory deprivation chamber; I couldn’t feel anything but pain—not the seat beneath me, not Archie restraining my legs, not Edythe holding my head, my hand.

I was all alone with the burning, and I was terrified.

I don’t know what I must have gasped out—my voice was totally gone now, either raw from screaming or burned past usability, I couldn’t guess which—but Edythe’s voice was in my ear again.

“I’m right here, Beau. You’re not alone. I won’t leave you. I will be here. Listen to my voice. I’m here with you. . . .”

Her voice calmed me—made the panic go away, if not the pain. I listened, keeping my breathing shallow so I could hear her better. I didn’t need to scream anymore. The burning only got more and never less, but I was adapting. It was all I could feel, but not all I could think about.

“I never wanted this for you, Beau,” Edythe continued.

“I would give anything to take this away. I’ve made so many mistakes.

I should have stayed away from you, from the first day.

I should never have come back again. I’ve destroyed your life, I’ve taken everything from you.

. . .” It sounded like she was sobbing again.

“No,” I tried to say, but I’m not sure if I even shaped the word with my mouth.

“He’s probably far enough along that he’ll remember this,” Archie said softly.

“I hope so,” Edythe said, her voice breaking.

“I’m just saying, you might use the time more productively. There is so much he doesn’t know.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” She sighed. “Where do I begin?”

“You could explain about being thirsty,” Archie suggested. “That was the hardest part, when I first woke up. And we’ll be expecting a lot from him.”

When Edythe answered, it was like she was spitting the words through her teeth. “I won’t hold him to that. He didn’t choose this. He’s free to become whatever he wants to be.”

“Hah,” Archie said. “You know him better than that, Edythe. The other way won’t be good enough for him. Do you see? He’ll be fine.”

It was quiet while she tuned in to whatever Archie was seeing inside his head. Though I understood the silence, it still left me alone in the fire. I started panicking again.

“I’m here, Beau, I’m here. Don’t be afraid.

” She took a deep breath. “I’ll keep talking.

There are so many things to tell you. The first one is that when this passes, when you’re .

. . new, you won’t be exactly the same as I am, not in the very beginning.

Being a young vampire means certain things, and the hardest to ignore is the thirst. You’ll be thirsty—all the time.

You won’t be able to think about much else for a while.

Maybe a year, maybe two. It’s different for everyone.

As soon as this is over, I’ll take you hunting.

You wanted to see that, didn’t you? We’ll bring Eleanor so you can see her bear impression—” She laughed once, a damaged little sound.

“If you decide—if you want to live like us, it will be hard. Especially in the beginning. It might be too hard, and I under stand that. We all do. If you want to try it my way, I’ll go with you.

I can tell you who the human monsters are.

There are options. Whatever you want. If .

. . i f you don’t want me with you, I’ll understand that, too, Beau.

I swear I won’t follow you if you tell me not to—”

“No,” I gasped. I heard myself that time, so I knew I’d done it right.

“You don’t have to make any more decisions now.

There’s time for that. Just know that I will respect any decision you make.

” She took another deep breath. “I should probably warn you about your eyes. They won’t be blue anymore.

” Another half-sob. “But don’t let them frighten you. They won’t stay so bright for long.

“I suppose that’s a very small thing, though.

. . . I should focus on the most important things.

The hard things—the very worst thing. Oh, I’m so sorry, Beau.

You can’t see your father or mother again.

It’s not safe. You would hurt them—you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.

And . . . there are rules. Rules that, as your creator, I’m bound by.

We’d both be held responsible if you ran out of control.

Oh—” Her breath caught. “There’s so much he doesn’t know, Archie. ”

“We’ve got time, Edythe. Just relax. Take it slow.”

I heard her inhale again.

“The rules,” she said. “One rule with a thousand different permutations—the reality of vampires must be kept secret. That means newborn vampires must be controlled. I will teach you—I’ll keep you safe, I promise.

” Another sigh. “And you can’t tell anyone what you are.

I broke that rule. I didn’t think it could hurt you—that anyone would ever find out.

I should have known that just being near you would eventually destroy you.

I should have known I would ruin your life—that I was lying to myself about any other path being possible. I’ve done everything wrong—”

“You’re letting self-castigation get in the way of information again, Edythe.”

“Right, right.” A deep breath. “Beau. Do you remember the painting in Carine’s study—the nighttime patrons of the arts I told you about?

They’re called the Volturi—they are . . .

for the lack of a better word, the police of our world.

I’ll tell you more about them in a bit —you just need to know that they exist, so that I can explain why you can’t tell Charlie or your mother where you are.

You can’t talk to them again, Beau.” Her voice was straining higher, like it was about to fracture.

“It’s best . . . we don’t have much choice but to let them think you’re dead.

I’m so sorry. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. It’s not fair!”

There was a long pause while I could hear her breath hitching.

“Why don’t you go back to the Volturi?” Archie suggested. “Keep emotion out of it.”

“You’re right,” she repeated in a whisper. “Ready to learn a new world history, Beau?”

She talked all night without a break, until the sun came up and I could see her face again. She told me stories that sounded like dark fairy tales. I was beginning to grasp the edges of how big this world was, but I knew it would be a long time before I totally comprehended the size of it.