I’d kept my face smooth and nodded and thanked my rarely lucky stars that Edward could not read my mind.
Because I’d had morphine and venom together in my system before, and I knew the truth. I knew the numbness of the medicine was completely irrelevant while the venom seared through my veins. But there’d been no way I was going to mention that fact. Nothing that would make him more unwilling to change me.
I hadn’t guessed that the morphine would have this effect—that it would pin me down and gag me. Hold me paralyzed while I burned.
I knew all the stories. I knew that Carlisle had kept quiet enough to avoid discovery while he burned. I knew that, according to Rosalie, it did no good to scream. And I’d hoped that maybe I could be like Carlisle. That I would believe Rosalie’s words and keep my mouth shut. Because I knew that every scream that escaped my lips would torment Edward.
Now it seemed like a hideous joke that I was getting my wish fulfilled.
If I couldn’t scream,
how could I tell them to kill me?
All I wanted was to die. To never have been born. The whole of my existence did not outweigh this pain. Wasn’t worth living through it for one more heartbeat.
Let me die, let me die, let me die.
And, for a never-ending space, that was all there was. Just the fiery torture, and my soundless shrieks, pleading for death to come. Nothing else, not even time. So that made it infinite, with no beginning and no end. One infinite moment of pain.
The only change came when suddenly, impossibly, my pain was doubled. The lower half of my body, deadened since before the morphine, was suddenly on fire, too. Some broken connection had been healed—knitted together by the scorching fingers of the flame.
The endless burn raged on.
It could have been seconds or days, weeks or years, but, eventually, time came to mean something again.
Three things happened together, grew from each other so that I didn’t know which came first: time restarted, the morphine’s weight faded, and I got stronger.
I could feel the control of my body come back to me in increments, and those increments were my first markers of the time passing. I knew it when I was able to twitch my toes and twist my fingers into fists. I knew it, but I did not act on it.
Though the fire did not decrease one tiny degree—in fact, I began to develop a new capacity for experiencing it, a new sensitivity to appreciate, separately, each blistering tongue of flame that licked through my veins—I discovered that I could think around it.
I could remember
why
I shouldn’t scream. I could remember the reason why I’d committed to enduring this unendurable agony. I could remember that, though it felt impossible now, there was something that might be worth the torture.
This happened just in time for me to hold on when the weights left my body. To anyone watching me, there would be no change. But for me, as I struggled to keep the screams and thrashing locked up inside my body, where they couldn’t hurt anyone else, it felt like I’d gone from being
tied
to the stake as I burned, to
gripping
that stake to hold myself in the fire.
I had just enough strength to lie there unmoving while I was charred alive.
My hearing got clearer and clearer, and I could count the frantic, pounding beats of my heart to mark the time.
I could count the shallow breaths that gasped through my teeth. I could count the low, even breaths that came from somewhere close beside me. These moved slowest, so I concentrated on them. They meant the most time passing. More even than a clock’s pendulum, those breaths pulled me through the burning seconds toward the end.
I continued to get stronger, my thoughts clearer. When new noises came, I could listen.
There were light footsteps, the whisper of air stirred by an opening door. The footsteps got closer, and I felt pressure against the inside of my wrist. I couldn’t feel the coolness of the fingers. The fire blistered away every memory of cool.
“Still no change?”
“None.”
The lightest pressure, breath against my scorched skin.
“There’s no scent of the morphine left.”
“I know.”
“Bella? Can you hear me?”
I knew, beyond all doubt, that if I unlocked my teeth I would lose it—I would shriek and screech and writhe and thrash. If I opened my eyes, if I so much as twitched a finger—any change at all would be the end of my control.
“Bella? Bella, love? Can you open your eyes? Can you squeeze my hand?”
Pressure on my fingers. It was harder not to answer this voice, but I stayed paralyzed. I knew that the pain in his voice now was nothing compared to what it
could
be. Right now he only
feared
that I was suffering.
“Maybe… Carlisle, maybe I was too late.” His voice was muffled; it broke on the word
late.
My resolve wavered for a second.
“Listen to her heart, Edward. It’s stronger than even Emmett’s was. I’ve never heard anything so
vital
. She’ll be perfect.”
Yes, I was right to keep quiet. Carlisle would reassure him. He didn’t need to suffer with me.
“And her—her spine?”
“Her injuries weren’t so much worse than Esme’s. The venom will heal her as it did Esme.”
“But she’s so still. I
must
have done something wrong.” “Or something right, Edward. Son, you did everything I could have and more. I’m not sure I would have had the persistence, the faith it took to save her. Stop berating yourself. Bella is going to be fine.”
A broken whisper. “She must be in agony.”
“We don’t know that. She had so much morphine in her system. We don’t know the effect that will have on her experience.”
Faint pressure inside the crease of my elbow. Another whisper. “Bella, I love you. Bella, I’m sorry.”
I wanted so much to answer him, but I wouldn’t make his pain worse. Not while I had the strength to hold myself still.
Through all this, the racking fire went right on burning me. But there was so much space in my head now. Room to ponder their conversation, room to remember what had happened, room to look ahead to the future, with still endless room left over to suffer in.
Also room to worry.
Where was my baby? Why wasn’t she here? Why weren’t they talking about her?
“No, I’m staying right here,” Edward whispered, answering an unspoken thought. “They’ll sort it out.”
“An interesting situation,” Carlisle responded. “And I’d thought I’d seen just about everything.”
“I’ll deal with it later.
We’ll
deal with it.” Something pressed softly to my blistering palm.
“I’m sure, between the five of us, we can keep it from turning into bloodshed.”
Edward sighed. “I don’t know which side to take. I’d love to flog them both. Well, later.”
“I wonder what Bella will think—whose side she’ll take,” Carlisle mused.
One low, strained chuckle. “I’m sure she’ll surprise me. She always does.”
Carlisle’s footsteps faded away again, and I was frustrated that there was no further explanation. Were they talking so mysteriously just to annoy me?
I went back to counting Edward’s breaths to mark the time.
Ten thousand, nine hundred forty-three breaths later, a different set of footsteps whispered into the room. Lighter. More… rhythmic.
Strange that I could distinguish the minute differences between footsteps that I’d never been able to hear at all before today.
“How much longer?” Edward asked.
“It won’t be long now,” Alice told him. “See how clear she’s becoming? I can see her so much better.” She sighed.
“Still feeling a little bitter?”
“Yes, thanks so much for bringing it up,” she grumbled. “You would be mortified, too, if you realized that you were handcuffed by your own nature. I see vampires best, because I am one; I see humans okay, because I was one. But I can’t see these odd halfbreeds at all because they’re nothing I’ve experienced. Bah!”
“Focus, Alice.”
“Right. Bella’s almost too easy to see now.”
There was a long moment of silence, and then Edward sighed. It was a new sound, happier.
“She’s really going to be fine,” he breathed.
“Of course she is.”
“You weren’t so sanguine two days ago.”
“I couldn’t
see
right two days ago. But now that she’s free of all the blind spots, it’s a piece of cake.”
“Could you concentrate for me? On the clock—give me an estimate.”
Alice sighed. “So impatient. Fine. Give me a sec—”
Quiet breathing.
“Thank you, Alice.” His voice was brighter.
How long?
Couldn’t they at least say it aloud for me? Was that too much to ask? How many more seconds would I burn? Ten thousand? Twenty? Another day—eighty-six thousand, four hundred? More than that?
“She’s going to be dazzling.”
Edward growled quietly. “She always has been.”
Alice snorted. “You know what I mean.
Look
at her.” Edward didn’t answer, but Alice’s words gave me hope that maybe I didn’t resemble the charcoal briquette I felt like. It seemed as if I
must
be just a pile of charred bones by now. Every cell in my body had been razed to ash.
I heard Alice breeze out of the room. I heard the swish of the fabric she moved, rubbing against itself. I heard the quiet buzz of the light hanging from the ceiling. I heard the faint wind brushing against the outside of the house. I could hear
everything.
Downstairs, someone was watching a ball game. The Mariners were winning by two runs.
“It’s my
turn
,” I heard Rosalie snap at someone, and there was a low snarl in response.
“Hey, now,” Emmett cautioned.
Someone hissed.
I listened for more, but there was nothing but the game. Baseball was not interesting enough to distract me from the pain, so I listened to Edward’s breathing again, counting the seconds.
Twenty-one thousand, nine hundred seventeen and a half seconds later, the pain changed.
On the good-news side of things, it started to fade from my fingertips and toes. Fading
slowly
, but at least it was doing something new. This had to be it. The pain was on its way out.…
And then the bad news. The fire in my throat wasn’t the same as before. I wasn’t only on fire, but I was now parched, too. Dry as bone. So thirsty. Burning fire, and burning thirst…
Also bad news: The fire inside my heart got hotter.
How was that
possible
?
My heartbeat, already too fast, picked up—the fire drove its rhythm to a new frantic pace.
“Carlisle,” Edward called. His voice was low but clear. I knew that Carlisle would hear it, if he were in or near the house.
The fire retreated from my palms, leaving them blissfully pain-free and cool. But it retreated to my heart, which blazed hot as the sun and beat at a furious new speed.
Carlisle entered the room, Alice at his side. Their footsteps were so distinct, I could even tell that Carlisle was on the right, and a foot ahead of Alice.
“Listen,” Edward told them. The loudest sound in the room was my frenzied heart, pounding to the rhythm of the fire.
“Ah,” Carlisle said. “It’s almost over.”
My relief at his words was overshadowed by the excruciating pain in my heart.
My wrists were free, though, and my ankles. The fire was totally extinguished there.
“Soon,” Alice agreed eagerly. “I’ll get the others. Should I have Rosalie… ?”
“Yes—keep the baby away.”
What? No.
No!
What did he mean, keep my baby away? What was he thinking?
My fingers twitched—the irritation breaking through my perfect façade. The room went silent besides the jack-hammering of my heart as they all stopped breathing for a second in response.
A hand squeezed my wayward fingers. “Bella? Bella, love?”
Could I answer him without screaming? I considered that for a moment, and then the fire ripped hotter still through my chest, draining in from my elbows and knees. Better not to chance it.
“I’ll bring them right up,” Alice said, an urgent edge to her tone, and I heard the swish of wind as she darted away.
And then—
oh!
My heart took off, beating like helicopter blades, the sound almost a single sustained note; it felt like it would grind through my ribs. The fire flared up in the center of my chest, sucking the last remnants of the flames from the rest of my body to fuel the most scorching blaze yet. The pain was enough to stun me, to break through my iron grip on the stake. My back arched, bowed as if the fire was dragging me upward by my heart.
I allowed no other piece of my body to break rank as my torso slumped back to the table.
It became a battle inside me—my sprinting heart racing against the attacking fire. Both were losing. The fire was doomed, having consumed everything that was combustible; my heart galloped toward its last beat.
The fire constricted, concentrating inside that one remaining human organ with a final, unbearable surge. The surge was answered by a deep, hollow-sounding thud. My heart stuttered twice, and then thudded quietly again just once more.
There was no sound. No breathing. Not even mine.
For a moment, the absence of pain was all I could comprehend. And then I opened my eyes and gazed above me in wonder.
20. NEW
Everything was so
clear.
Sharp. Defined.
The brilliant light overhead was still blinding-bright, and yet I could plainly see the glowing strands of the filaments inside the bulb. I could see each color of the rainbow in the white light, and, at the very edge of the spectrum, an eighth color I had no name for.
Behind the light, I could distinguish the individual grains in the dark wood ceiling above. In front of it, I could see the dust motes in the air, the sides the light touched, and the dark sides, distinct and separate. They spun like little planets, moving around each other in a celestial dance.
The dust was so beautiful that I inhaled in shock; the air whistled down my throat, swirling the motes into a vortex. The action felt wrong. I considered, and realized the problem was that there was no relief tied to the action. I didn’t need the air. My lungs weren’t waiting for it. They reacted indifferently to the influx.
I did not need the air, but I
liked
it. In it, I could taste the room around me—taste the lovely dust motes, the mix of the stagnant air mingling with the flow of slightly cooler air from the open door. Taste a lush whiff of silk. Taste a faint hint of something warm and desirable, something that should be moist, but wasn’t.… That smell made my throat burn dryly, a faint echo of the venom burn, though the scent was tainted by the bite of chlorine and ammonia. And most of all, I could taste an almost-honey-lilac-and-sunflavored scent that was the strongest thing, the closest thing to me.