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The Falling

Summary:
In the action itself, she is weightless and free. The flight is not to be feared, only the impact. A story on the life of Esme Cullen. Image Hosted by ImageShack.us Banner By incredible Iris!


Notes:
I may submit this to the official site. What do you think?


58. Chapter 58

Rating 5/5   Word Count 552   Review this Chapter

Run from the fall,

I run my hand over my stomach. I can feel something stirring there, something distinctly alive. I grin.

“Hello,” I whisper, and I sense a response, even though I know I’m inventing it. “You don’t know me yet, but I’m your mother Esme, and I love you very much.”

“What are you doing, Esme?” Charles grumbles, half asleep.

“Nothing, dear.”

He rolls back over. I wait to hear his snores before I do as I must. It is not a long wait until he begins to exhale heavily, one more hideous habit I no longer have to tolerate. I smile. Gently, I place a hand on his face. He doesn’t stir. I shake his shoulder, and nothing happens.

“Charles,” I hiss urgently. No response.

Excellent. Both hands resting just above my navel, where my stomach is just beginning to expand, only enough so that I can sense the difference, not that anyone else can, I stumble to my feet. A bag is waiting for me by the closet door. I scoop it up and leave.

Charles has the automobile’s key by his bedside, so I take that too on my way out. I am very quiet, just to be on the safe side.

Not quiet enough. As I open the door, an inescapable creak pounds in my ears. I wince, waiting for the sound. It comes.

“Esme?” his loathsome voice demands. And then there is a knowledge. He’s fully awake. “Esme, get back over here.”

“Or what?” I taunt. I’m not sure where this courage is coming from. It’s probably stupidity, a false bravery that’s likely to get me killed.

“Or I’ll kill you.” The threat is delivered so simply. It terrifies me, because I know he means it, though he says it with total calmness.

“No, you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“You might kill your wife. You’re that soulless. But you wouldn’t kill your child.”

Through the darkness, I see his eyes widen. He lumbers to his feet.

The spell breaks as he moves. I turn and run, as fast and far and hard as I can, clutching my bag and his car keys, sprinting down the stairwell and onto the first floor.

There are heavy footsteps following me. I run faster still, opening and slamming shut the door, and locking it behind me.

The man should not have left all of his keys on one ring. As I slide into the driver’s seat of the automobile, I hear him pounding on the door.

It’s a double lock, so he could lock me in the house whenever he left. Now it’s serving me. He’s trapped in there until he actually breaks down the door or climbs out a window.

I am almost free. I start up the engine, and the car screams into life. It mirrors his loud and desperate calls.

I ignore the pleading. It’s remarkably easy to harden my heart to it. I find I don’t care what he wants, even though he’s begging.

I don’t care.

I laugh over the roaring engine into the sweet freedom of the night.

Into a beguiling safety,