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Thicker than Blood

Summary:
AU. Best friends are forever, but when Elizabeth's best friend disappears, the entire world will never be the same, and forever takes on a whole new meaning. Bella Swan
born in 1881
Died 1899
body never recovered How will the story change??


Notes:
This was the Challenge by lions_lambs


3. Moonlight Sonata

Rating 5/5   Word Count 910   Review this Chapter

I remembered was being walked home to the dark house that I occupied with Papa. I remembered that it was strange that there was no light flickering in the upstairs room, where my father usually would sit and glance through the photo albums and letters from my mother, god rest her soul. It had been hard for my father to loose her in childbirth, he lost her and his still born son all within a single hour. As a result, he often would spend the time he had alone, hunting for the ghosts of by gone days.

The house had been cold. There had been no fire lit as the autumn frost had descended with the evening. I had left Elizabeth giggling upon the arm of Edward and I heard her melodic laughter through the closed door of my home as they strolled further down the street.

I had removed my gloves, holding them tightly in my hand and I hung my shawl on the hook by the door. I had crept slowly up the steps, listening to them creak in the darkness. Maybe my father had already been asleep in bed, or maybe he had not yet come home, I didn’t know. I reached the landing to the second floor and noticed that no crack of light escaped from any of the rooms. I walked forward, pushing open the door that guarded the den. I poked my head in, glancing to see if Charlie was perhaps sitting at his desk, dozing off as I had found him countless nights.

They had been standing there for who knows how long; just waiting for someone to come in, waiting, ever waiting. I saw him, pale skin, and black hair, dressed in fine clothes for the time. He stood hidden in the shadows of the room, leaning ever so casually upon the mantle. I saw the glint of his teeth in the moon light as he smiled at me in a way that I can only describe as wickedly. I witnessed the blur as he moved; the white and black blending together till it was but a blink in my vision. The cold touch of his fingers on my flesh, the pricking of my skin, all slowly melted together, as I first became woozy with the lose of blood, and then became conscious of a different feeling.

I felt as if my body was slowly being melted within a crucible; each segment of my body breaking down into infinitively small bits. Every inch of my body began to scream as the burning pain slowly flowed through my veins, scorching everything it touched. I began to yell out in agony, only for my desperate sounds to be blocked by his stone hand. I choked upon my screams, withering in the absolute horror that had consumed my body. It surrounded me, I felt like I was drowning within liquid fire, it made ash of my skin as I tried to gulp in precious air.

He carried me into the night, along ally ways, and by way of shadows, until Newberry was far behind, and there was naught around us but the unyielding night, and all I felt was the bitter acid of pain consuming me.

My mind wandered within the pain, searching for solace where none could be found. The heat of hell tinged my soul as the night slowly succumbed to the light of day. I saw only glimpses of thoughts, of meager memories scattering on the wind, hiding themselves from the flames licking my torrid self. I flinched as I heard my own screams echoing off of whatever walls now held me. Darting images reveled to me my father’s worn smiling face, the bright eyes that Elizabeth so often wore as her mind streamed with dreams, and countless other silhouettes of friends and buildings of my youth.

I didn’t notice when the sun dipped below the horizon, I barely knew if it was dark or light. There was nothing to relieve me of the torture that I was in. I would have prayed, but I had never been of a pious nature. Instead I just hoped that it soon would be over.

The newspaper fluttered to the ground, it was wrinkled from being wind blown, and a buddy foot print defaced the front page. It was only a single small article that caught the attention of a long passer by.

The house of Charlie Swan, local police officer and upholding member of society, was the scene of a brutal murder. The young daughter of Officer Swan, Isabella, was reported as having been last seen entering their dwelling, but upon the arrival of Officer Swan home, there were no remains of the girl. Upon the search of the house, a pair of white gloves where found upon the den floor, splattered with what inspectors could only assume was the blood of Isabella Swan. No body has been recovered, nor any suspects arrested. The funeral will be held Saturday at Sharon Methodist Cemetery.

My white hands snagged the paper from where it lay. The words appeared to scream off the page. No remains. I laugh without humor. How can there be remains when one is not truly dead?

My red eyes stare out across the deserted landscape. I flee from the town, from the corpse resting at my feet, and most of all, I run away from what I have become.