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Grim Reaper's Release

When the gruesome murder of a pastor is mysteriously caught on tape, what will happen to the vampire race? Suddenly, the world knows about vampires. The Cullens need to get out of Forks. And fast. But what will happen when the Volturi wants to interfere? Or the Southern Armies? And, more importantly, who are these strange vampire twins? Photobucket

...I've been away for a seriously long time, haven't I? O.O

Well, I'm back with a new story and I still haven't decided if I should continue my other stories. A lot's been happening in my life and I'm sure my feelings on all of my other stories have changed drastically. Anyway, this is just an idea that's been floating around my head for probably a year now but I've never really developed it into more than just a smidge of an idea.

Just a few warnings before I continue: This story is seriously...morbid. It's not really a good story at all. There's violence, world domination, chaos, and the world kind of goes insane...but it has a happy ending! Promise!

Also, the chapters are gonna be really long on this. Like, seriously long. It's not that I want to get this done in less chapters or whatever, it's just that in each chapter, a few different character's point of view's on different things need to be included to add other factors of the story. I mean, if I had each new point of view a chapter, we'd probably be up to 50 chapters by the time I get to the middle.

That being said, I guess a few things you should know is that I don't know when I'll be getting new chapters up. I hope, with winter break here, I'll have this story done by the middle of February, maybe? I was planning on having this only 7 chapters at the maximum, but the farther I get into this story, the longer it seems. And, I hope, I'll be getting each chapter up each week. I've already written chapter 2 and 3 but I'm gonna post them weekly.

Next, I seriously need to thank my best mate Kira with this story. She gave me a HUGE idea for it and has been such an amazing supporter of all my stories from the start!

*breathes in relief* Alright, I think that's all for now. Now that I've gotten it all out, go read. I'm sure the story is much more interesting than my babbling. *snort*

23. Metallic Nightmares

Rating 4/5   Word Count 10243   Review this Chapter

6 Hours After Jasper's Escape

It was the first time since the common traits of vampires had been released that every television flickered onto another Special Report from the American government. The viewers turned their heads anxiously towards the electronically powered screens, their eyes widening in fear of what could possibly be said now. Almost half of the world's population watched inside their city's shelters, anticipating the presence of vampires while resting on thin cots and eating canned foods. The others, the humans who were comfortable with wading it out, sat on their familiar pieces of furniture in their family rooms. And there was even one house in the South of the United States whose inhabitants weren't entirely human, yet they watched with frowns on their faces, wondering what could be happening to their distant friends and comrades.

Anyone who was watching could see only subtle changes in this special report from the government. The background was the same, the flags of the world shielding your eyes from whatever could be happening behind whoever the camera was focused on. The professional tone of the message was the same, the speaker reciting his words with precision and clarity. Yet there was one thing off. There was no Timothy Fitzgerald.

The familiar face of the human's hero was nowhere to be seen. His alert and calm face had been replaced by another, his warning words said by a new reporter, and this alarmed the population of the world. If the one man who had been fearless of these abominations, the one man they all looked up to and all but worshipped the ground he walked on had either chickened out of the operation or disappeared, what hope did the human species have?

Instead of Timothy, there was a gaunt older gentleman. He wore a white lab coat, pure white without any smudges of dirt or filth, and a beige dress shirt under that, buttoned up to his thin neck. He was a balding man, his grey hair thinning out and most would have placed him to be in his late fifties. There was a noticeable lack of light to his dull eyes and the spectacles he wore on his crooked nose did nothing but highlight his skeletal look. Anyone would be able to tell by the look on his face that he would be doing nothing but delivering horrible news at this break of dawn.

On the east coast of the States it was one o'clock in the morning and you could see the poor man on the screen was missing his sleep by the bruises under his eyes. Many of the citizens of the world were bleary eyed, either asleep already or jolting awake by the sound of their televisions flickering on or just waking up to the start of a new unpredictable day.

The man's name flashed along the bottom of the screen, its bold white letters capturing the audience's attention. "Dr. Joshua Mitchells," it read, identifying the scientist on screen. Almost everyone simultaneously wondered who in the world this Dr. Mitchells was, just as they had the first time Timothy had come to them all on the television. But soon they had grown to love their principled hero, hadn't they? Maybe it was time for a second hero. Maybe this worldly issue was just too large for only one man, maybe he had called in a reinforcement of some type.

"For those of you who do not yet know my name, I am Dr. Mitchells, the leading scientist behind the vampire operation," the doctor started spontaneously. He looked awkward in the spotlight, like he was more comfortable and used to being the mastermind behind the curtain. He unnecessarily fidgeted and shifted at his glasses.

"Timothy Fitzgerald, whom most of you probably already know, asked me to jump into this operation and I eagerly agreed. It is because of him that I come to you tonight, asking you to listen to my words with a conscientious mind." Everyone listened, waiting for his next words. Why was he filling in for Timothy? Why had he paused before saying his name, grasping onto the words that fell behind it? What was even the reason for all of this?

"I have three pieces of news to report to all of you. The first is something Timothy was planning on telling you all. He was scheduled for his own separate report this coming morning but I'm afraid I will have to fill in for him. This first piece of information is something that may change all of your lives. The government has finally decided we are ready to release the full names of the captives we have here, within our control."

There was a large, shocked pause everywhere. What did he mean? The full names? Who cared about the monsters' names? No one wanted to know them, they just wanted them gone, killed, executed for their abnormalities. Knowing their names, seeing their pictures, it just made it personal. It made it seem like these creatures had souls and personalities. The human population didn't want to view them that way.

The scientist continued, his eyes flickering to the papers he was reading off of. "From interrogating these...creatures, we have gathered many facts from them. The captives were once human beings, just like you and I, and were not born this way. They were turned this way by others. So, all of this in mind, it is very possible that some of you may know these vampires. They could have been ancestors of yours who, to the family, thought they were murdered or disappeared mysteriously. I encourage all of you to sift through your family trees for the names of these vampires. We hope to learn as much about them, as both humans and vampires, as we possibly can."

But how could this be? The viewers were mystified by this possibility of these vampires being related to them. All worried thoughts of Timothy vanished quickly and were replaced by wondering on what it would be like to be able to say that Great Grandpa Jack never died from a mugging in the streets of San Francisco, he was really turned into a vampire or the distant cousin who lived hundreds of years before who was ‘abducted' had actually been bitten.

"I would like to start the releasing of the names with their leader, their ‘father', if you could allow yourself to imagine these creatures like that. His name was Carlisle Cullen and he resided in London in the mid 1600's. He was a son of an Anglican pastor who firmly believed in the burning of, ironically, vampires and other supernatural creatures. It is estimated he is about twenty three years old and went missing on said hunts. His father's name was Lyndon Cullen and his mother, Tatum Mabbott." An unexpected picture flashed onto the screen of a young man, his face completely wiped clean of any emotion and staring dully at the camera. He was blonde, his gold hair beginning to fall from the slicked back look he had been wearing, and his bright topaz eyes almost matched the tone of his hair.

Foreheads crumpled at the picture, wondering if maybe he was a distant relative. The very thought was dizzying as anyone with Old English relations thought far back to their ancestors' tales.

"The next is an American man who was named Jasper Taylor Whitlock. He was from Odessa, Texas, born in 1843 and turned into a vampire in 1863. He was a Major during the Civil War for the Confederacy and his parents' names were Robert Whitlock and Theresa Codington." People leaned closer to their screens, their eyes wide in anticipation for the next picture. It eventually flashed up, beholding another blonde man who looked even younger than the first and with broader shoulders. He was glaring at the screen, his eyes a honey color and with the usual flawless features.

Dr. Mitchells proceeded to flow through the list, naming Edward Anthony Masen from Chicago, Illinois, Esme Anne Platt from Columbus, Ohio, Rosalie Lillian Hale from Rochester, New York, Emmett Alexander McCarty from Carthage, Tennessee, Mary Alice Brandon from Biloxi, Mississippi , and eventually Isabella Marie Swan from Forks, Washington, who was only turned into a vampire in the past year. The scientist predicted many people would know her, including living parents and schoolmates.

There was chaos among the humans watching. The names given sounded familiar to some who figured the lost relatives could have been these vampires. To others, it could have purely been their imagination. The very thought that this ‘Emmett' was their uncle of generations before, said to disappear on a bear hunt, seemed ludicrous to one middle aged woman in the state of Tennessee.

There was a breaking pause as the humans struggled to catch up, some even jotting the names down on little notepads so they could check records of their family name later. They all wanted to get to the bottom of this, to know if they knew these strange vampires or not.

Dr. Mitchells continued, his lips turned downwards in a tense frown. "If any of you have any information at all concerning these individuals, please call the number at the bottom of the screen." Even more people scribbled down the phone number onto any surface available. "This next piece of information is crucial and vital to everyone. It concerns Jasper Taylor Whitlock, the second man I identified to you from Texas." His picture flashed up again for a long period of time as Dr. Mitchells spoke.

"I ask you to all memorize this face, to learn it and study it. Last night at approximately 7 pm, Jasper escaped from our facilities. We do not have any leads on where he may be, what he may be doing, or who he may be with. He could be rejoining other vampires, those of who have yet to make their presence known to us. If you see him, hear of him, or anything of the sort, I ask you to call the number I mentioned before." The annoying ten digit hotline flashed up again, its numbers flowing in front of the bottom of Jasper's picture.

There was an almost collective gasp from the world's inhabitants. He had escaped? Escaped! How? Didn't they keep an eye on him? Have him restrained inside of a cell or something? Were his powers so limitless that he could be anywhere by now?

Dr. Mitchells continued on, describing traits of this mysterious Jasper, how he was angry and moody, though often quiet and kept to himself. There were shared thoughts that he was mentally insane and had lost his mind completely while in his cell. This news disturbed the public. A vampire was no good what so ever, a deranged vampire was even more dangerous.

And then fell a hushed silence. Dr. Mitchells closed his mouth, finished with his announcement on the escape of Jasper. His eyes fell downcast and many wondered why his third piece of information was so hard for him to get out. Hadn't they been through enough drama tonight? Couldn't he just tell them already?

"My last shred of information is grave news. I wish I wasn't the one to tell you, but as a close friend of Timothy's, I feel the duty to tell the world of this information. Tonight, at about the same time as Jasper's break out, Timothy Fitzgerald was murdered in his office." He stopped, struggling to breath. "We have the murderer in confinement and he will be put to death later today for not only killing the man who gave us hope in this dark night but for also betraying his human race for earlier accusations. From now on, I will regrettably be taking Timothy's place in this operation and continuing the search for more vampires and putting them into extinction."

The human population couldn't believe his words. Dead? Dead. Timothy Fitzgerald was dead. He was not returning, he was never coming back to his place on the Special Report scene; he was never going to accomplish his dream of ending the line of vampires. And to think he had been murdered! Why? Who would do that? Who in their right mind would take away their last hope? No wonder the murderer was being executed, he should be for his sins! He deserved anything coming to him.

And then Dr. Mitchells' Special Report came to an abrupt end. He coughed slightly and then pushed his glasses back atop his pointed nose. "As Timothy would say, I hope everyone survives the coming day and night."

With that morbid ending, his face clicked off the screen and was replaced with nothing but soundless darkness.


Brody's Point of View

"For the last time," I stressed, slowly, empathizing my syllables, "I did not kill Mr. Fitzgerald. Why would I? It makes no sense!" The interrogator peered back at me from his position across the metal desk from me. He was one of Timothy's men, one of his best agents, and apparently, he had been selected to put together the facts of his murder.

And he thought I did it, as did almost everyone else in this building.

He sighed, his head falling as he glanced at the mysterious file started on me. It led back to my childhood, I had learned from glancing at it, listing all of my relations, teachers, friends, grades. Everything. It was like my own personal biography laid out right before me.

The light above us reflected on his gelled back hair and he glanced back up, his steel blue eyes cold and detached from their sunken in holes. "Then why were you the only one in the room when we arrived? Fitzgerald was on the floor, strangled to death, and you were about to leave the room. Just admit it, Mr. Averton, you killed him to save your own life."

I sat back in the uncomfortable chair, shaking my head back and forth. It was a lost cause. I was a dead man either way. If they were going to kill me before for just helping Renesmee, surely they would still kill me for ‘murdering' their leader. I didn't even know why I was trying anymore to persuade them it wasn't me. The truth wouldn't change the quickly approaching consequences.

"It didn't happen like that," I whispered, staring at the metal desktop with a clenched jaw.

The agent laughed loudly, his smugness pouring off of him in tangible waves. "Right! I forgot, Jasper did it, didn't he? Or so you keep telling me. But the truth, Mr. Averton," he leaned forward, his face coming into the light and out of the shadow. I stared at his young face; he couldn't be much older than me. "Is that Jasper could never kill Timothy without lapping up his blood like the hound that he is. He can hardly stand the company of humans as it is, how do you figure he could be able to suffocate Timothy without losing control?"

"But you don't understand! He did do just that! I thought Fitzgerald said that there were cameras everywhere! Couldn't you just check the tapes-"

The agent snickered, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as if I was the most moronic person he had ever met in his life. "I told you, there are no security cameras in Timothy's office. It is one of the very few rooms unwatched in this facility. Obviously, now, cameras are being installed." How convenient, I immediately thought. He gave me a disdainful look and kept going.

"You know what I think happened, Mr. Averton?" I huffed out an incredulous breath as my arms lifted in exclamation.

"No, but please, humor me," I bit out. He sneered, leaning back, toying with the golden pen between his fingers as he looked thoughtful.

"When slowed down to approximately .0001 seconds, we can see Jasper Whitlock racing up the stairwell and down the hall. Quite obviously, he's indeed very fast, almost as fast as the newborn in Canada. Now, we saw him break the lock to Fitzgerald's office and slip in. No amount of tampering with could allow us to hear the conversation that occurred inside his office. I think he came in and maybe took pity on you. Maybe he even felt bad that he had almost killed you before. He broke the handcuffs around your wrists and helped you escape. Fitzgerald tried to get him to stop; he was merely a powerless old man who could do nothing. After a verbal confrontation between Jasper and Timothy, he finally left, leaving you alone to do whatever you needed to...and then you suffocated Timothy for almost killing you. You were about to leave his body there, planning on blaming the untimely homicide on Jasper because you figured if he was gone, out of the picture, there would be consequences for him but we got there before you had left and found you red handed."

He looked so sure of himself, so sure that this fallible plan was flawless. But there were so many holes to it, so many things that didn't quite fit. "And why would Jasper ever take pity on me? He doesn't know me, doesn't feel anything towards me. After he killed Timothy, he broke the handcuffs. Why? I can't tell you but it was definitely not pity. Maybe he was hoping his actions would frame me for his murder."

His eyes searched my face for a brief second, skeptical of my words. "That idea is ridiculous," he finally stated, his lips taut and face severe under the inadequate lighting.

"So is your idea," I mumbled back, looking down to my hands as a blush covered my cheeks. I knew how insane I sounded but I also knew his made up allegations were even more ridiculous. I heard the legs of his metal chair scrape against the floor as he stood up silently and I glanced back up at him.

"It doesn't matter if my idea is unbelievable. The higher up officers will believe it because it's more convenient. You don't get it, Brody, do you? This isn't about justice anymore, it never has been. It's about how to reach survival the easiest way. People are going to want to believe you killed Fitzgerald because punishing you for your crimes is so much easier than punishing Jasper." He gave me an unsympathetic smile and picked up his stack of files.

My jaw dropped as his words sunk in. Jasper, who wasn't here, who may never come back, who we may never see again against me who was in their grips, who was mortal and easy to injure. It then seemed obvious as who they would want to deem as the killer: the one who could receive penalty.

I rubbed my temples, trying to calm myself down. "I didn't do it," I pled, my voice lowering.

He laughed again, the sharp sound hurting my ears inside this horrible asylum. "But the world wants the killer to be reprimanded and you're much easier to hunt down then old Jasper Whitlock. Plus, who do you think the government would rather go up against? Invincible Jasper who can move faster than our eyes can see or weak, mortal Brody who could only fight one man at a time. It all comes down to fear in this world, Brody, and the agents are terrified of Jasper. You're simply the easier man to go after." He pushed in his rickety metal chair and struggled to meet my gaze.

I wondered if there was even a small amount of good to him. All of the government officials couldn't be heartless maniacs who only did things when they came to their advantage, could they? There had to be some compassionate men in there. But then again, maybe that's what it meant to work for the government. Maybe they only hired the unfeeling, callous men to do their bidding.

He turned away from me and sauntered up to the cell door, probably thankful he wasn't in my shoes, wasn't the one about to die for another man. I couldn't find it in me to hate Jasper Whitlock, though any rational man would despise him for framing me so. But in all reality, even if he had owned up to killing Timothy, I would still be in these shoes. Who knows, maybe I would even be dead by now. Maybe Jasper had saved me, bought me a few more hours because of the distraction of Timothy's unexpected murder.

I sighed, letting my head fall back to look at the dreary ceiling. Was this how the Cullens felt, only without the weight of a swiftly arriving death on their shoulders? I couldn't imagine being kept in this cell for even an hour more, yet they had been restrained in here for days. The thought made me cringe, especially when keeping in mind that they couldn't sleep. Twenty four hours of being wide awake, alone with only yourself as company. Even the thought was torture.

I got up off the hard chair and walked towards the cot to sit down on a plusher surface. After Jasper had left, agents flocked to the scene like...like...vampires to a bloody gash. I hadn't even had time to move a foot from my shocked stance and then they were in there, grabbing me and restraining me. The handcuffs Jasper had so carefully removed had been replaced by a second pair as even more officers crowded in to take the vitals of the corpse.

They herded me into this holding cell, so very similar to the Cullens, on an empty floor. I knew it was below the big Cullen, Emmett's, floor and that kind of had me wary. Below me would have been Jasper's cell and the knowledge that I was just a floor between the two cells caused an unsettled wave of nausea to flow through me.

Since being locked down here, I had heard noises above me. I tried to politely ignore the numerous thumps and thuds but every now and then my eyes would drift upwards as I wondered just what on earth Emmett Cullen could have been doing but then I asked myself if I even wanted to know and there went that speculation.

I tapped my foot on the tile floor and looked down at my watch. 1:10 in the morning. I stifled the growing yawn, demanding I stay awake. How horrible would it be if in my last hours of life, I willingly went to sleep? It seemed like a terrible waste of life, a weak ending to my years.

Though when I looked around the room, the alternative of sleeping didn't seem so bad. At least in sleep, anything could happen in your dreams. You could slip into another reality. It was either that or struggling to stay awake in a lifeless holding cell unaccompanied by anyone else.

Another loud bang reverberated from upstairs and I stiffly lay down, spreading out on the cot. I blinked multiple times, flinching when Emmett once again must have done something else to aggravate the walls around him. I didn't know what to do and that was the inevitable truth. The only thing I could do was to wait for my death. There was no other option and that scared me. I had never been in a situation where there was only one option, and that one option held the end of my life in its grasp.

My eyelids fluttered shut and I relaxed into the thin wedge of mattress. Hopefully my dreams gave me a better reality than anything I would ever be able to find here.


Alice's Point of View

I walked aimlessly along the walls, my fingertips trailing over the tiny unnoticeable crevices unseen to the naked human eye. I could feel the bumps and lumps of uneven plaster and the peeling of the dirty white paint that I hadn't glimpsed before. I didn't know if I was walking quickly, too quickly for a human to perceive any shape from, or if I was walking dangerously slow. I didn't care too much either way. It didn't affect me.

Nothing happening around me really affected me anymore.

With tightly shut eyes, I felt more detached from the world than I ever had. No amount of isolation or emotional loneliness could take place of this feeling of abandonment. There had never been a moment in my whole world that I had ever felt so solitary, never a moment where I truly did feel alone because all of those other times, I at least had my visions.

There was nothing to be seen now. Jacob's presence in our daily life wiped the future clean. I was trying desperately hard, trying with all my mental might, to get even the tiniest bit of radiating future from Jasper's fate. I couldn't just sit still as I searched through the world's occupant's destinies, like I usually did. My feet had to move, my body had to be doing something. I felt dead inside otherwise.

Every now and then I would break through Jacob's barrier. I had to face the fact that Jasper's fate, the future I watched closer than anyone else's, was no longer intertwined with my own. Jacob for the meantime was a part of my present and future. Jasper had chosen a different route, a path that took him away from this family and away from me.

Knowing that he was no longer linked to me crushed every bit of hope within me of ever getting out. I didn't feel strong without him here; I didn't feel like I could come out of this even half the person I used to be.

Any blur of his future that came to me was vastly different from the last. They came few and far between but I urged on, treading through the murky darkness of my mind to find him. I could never completely explain the feeling of having a vision to anyone besides Edward because not only was the sensation so beyond words but I wondered if my family would think of me as truly insane if I explained it.

Having a vision was like an out of body experience, to say the least. I could feel my soul lift from my body, leave my physical self and escape into something completely different from this world. To me, it resembled the cosmos of the universe except for the fact that I was blind once inside this foreign land. Usually once there, I focused on whomever I was trying to find a future of and it came. It was like I was directed to them in this altered reality and once I found them, I grasped onto their destiny and watched.

But with Jacob around, there was no directing gust of knowledge. I could focus as hard as I could on a person or even people but nothing would occur as long as their future was interlaced with his. Before, I was looking for Jasper, trying to know if he would kill his prisoner, but all I could do was wander through the inky darkness full of billions and billions of souls' futures. It was like finding a needle in a haystack. Impossible and a waste, in the end, for he had killed the man before I had even got close to him.

So now I roamed the dark planes, grasping onto futures of others and seeking out Jasper's. I kept coming up empty handed, even when I focused my whole entire being onto my husband. I thought of everything about him; the ever flowing aura that followed him everywhere, the way he spoke and how when he was taken off guard or embarrassed slightly, his Southern accent shone through the mask of modern speaking, the way he looked to me, sparkling not just when bathed in the sunlight but constantly radiating beauty even when his skin was scarred beyond repair, and most importantly his glorious personality, one that I could never forget or live without.

No matter how forcefully I concentrated on him, though, I was only sporadically led to his decisions. Either he was wavering about coming back to us, coming back to me, or he was thinking about coming back after he had finished whatever he was out to accomplish.

The first time I was rushed to his future, it was very brief. I almost felt like crying at the lack of a vision I had received and the disappointment that I felt would have been enough to cripple any human. All I had seen was a mere mortal, standing under a streetlight in the middle of a dark alley in some unknown city. He was reaching into his pockets, glaring at someone I could only assume was Jasper. An ugly, red scar trickled down his face, between his eyes and ending at his lips.

I had then been snatched back to reality, grasping at what I saw was the inevitable. Jasper must have been planning on killing this man; there was no other explanation for his presence in my husband's life. The thought left me sickened and feeling even more alone than before. There was nothing I could possibly do to help him except escape.

And I wasn't sure I could do that. At least here I knew what was happening; I knew what was going on with my loved ones. I didn't know if I could leave them and then go after him, not knowing where he would be and how to reach him. Without any money, purse, or cell phone, there would be no way to find him except through my visions and I had already lost my trust in those.

Since the first vision, all I had gathered were brief encounters with his destiny. Something about a telephone booth and then a store. I could at least try to understand the telephone booth. He could have been making a call, trying to reach someone. Ok, understandable. But a store? I didn't know where this was leading to.

It was nothing but a small, shifty looking store along a row of shops lining a road. Inside were racks of clothing and displays of cheap, modern looking clothes with layered designs and unique combinations. Nothing I would ever buy for me or anyone else in my family. For some reason, though, Jasper was paying attention to this one individual store and I could tell would eventually enter it.

Then came the mysterious images of other upcoming events in Jasper's life. There was a twenty four hour CVS that I guessed he entered and then the dead corpses of multiple small animals. Rabbits, squirrels, even large rats. Animals that I knew would never sustain him or any other vampire.

I sighed, not daring to open my eyes and look at the same four walls around me. I kept sifting through the darkness, waiting for another decision of his to be made. The last one had occurred hours ago and his lack of decision-making made me anxious for a new vision. I at least had the comfort that he was, in the end, still hunting off of animals. Switching between a diet of animals and humans was better than converting completely back to preying off of humans.

Never bothering to open my eyes, I sunk to the ground of the holding cell and wrapped my arms around my head. If I couldn't find him in this mental sea of darkness, how would I know if he was alright?

Oh, Jasper, where are you?


Edward's Point of View

What will happen to him? Memories flooded into my mind of the young man, floors above me, by the name of Brody Averton. I looked down at Renesmee's wide brown eyes and frowned at her endearing little face. She was still cradled against my chest, refusing to let go with obstinate fingers that reminded me so much of Bella.

Her small hand fell from my cheek and her brow crumpled, causing a small line to form on her flawless forehead. "You can't let him die, Daddy," she murmured, choosing to verbally explain her fears. I glanced away from her face to look at the door to the cell. It was closely guarded by the officers who were watching for even the slightest movement within here.

It would be difficult to escape and save Brody but it would be possible. I wasn't sure what I would do with Renesmee, though. I couldn't take her with me but if I left her here, who knew what they would do. They would most likely take her away from me again and I wouldn't risk that for anything in the world.

"I'm trying, Renesmee," I told her quietly as I glanced around the room, "but I'm not sure what I could possibly do for him." She let out an exasperated breath and knelt up on my knees, placing her palms on both sides of my face and tugging it to her so she could look at me. I complied with her wish, looking her in the eyes.

She had a stubborn look set on her face, like she knew she would be able to sway me to do whatever she wanted very easily. "What do you mean you're not sure what you could do?" Her voice was slightly outraged and doused in shock. I pursed my lips and glanced at her with caution as to what she was going to say.

"Renesmee, I can't just run off and save him. There are consequences. There are officers lining this whole entire hallway. And what about you? I can't leave you here." Her eyes went wide momentarily and then her face split into a grin that would be able to win over any unsure father's heart. She bounced slightly in excitement.

"I can come with you!" Her eyes glittered with uncontained happiness and I slumped over, picking her up in the process and rocking her against my chest. No, she could definitely not come with me. Though it would be much safer for her to come with me than leave her here, there was no way I could worry about protecting her and saving Brody at the same time while wondering on whether I could sneak past the agents.

"No," I sighed against her soft hair, "you can't. It's far too dangerous." She went limp in my arms, something she often did when she was refused something she desperately wanted.

"Why not?" She whimpered, her head falling somberly atop my shoulder. I reached up to cup it in my palm as she breathed slowly, incredibly disheartened by my rejection of her proposal.

"I told you, it's too dangerous for you. I just got you back, Nessie, I'm not going to welcome the possibility of having them take you away from me again." She exhaled in dissatisfaction to my response and I chuckled softly at her adorable rage. Sometimes I wondered if she was a bit too much like her mother. Her attraction to danger seemed a bit too strong for my liking.

She leaned up against my arm and pouted delicately. "But what if I don't get in the way? Plus, Daddy, you can do anything. Once we get Brody, he won't interfere with anything. We'll be on our best behavior, promise." Her wide eyes were so truthful, void of anything but honesty, and I quickly felt myself slipping away to her.

Was it possible to save Brody while taking Renesmee with me? I knew the officers would act negatively to it, obviously, but nothing they could do could harm me or Renesmee. Their bullets wouldn't be able to pierce her skin but they could surely pierce Brody's. What if I could get out, be quicker than any human eye could see, and find Brody before they initiated his death penalty? Looking into Renesmee's eyes and seeing her determination to save her new human friend was beginning to take its toll on me.

I stood up, taking Renesmee with me, and listened to the agents outside the door. They were distracted by the time of night, all of them wishing to be asleep in their beds instead of watching over us. Renesmee gasped a tiny bit and glanced at the door with a mischievous smirk on her face. All I could pray for was that someday, Bella would somehow forgive me for dragging Nessie into this.

"We're going aren't we?" Her bubbly whisper reached my ears and I gave a reluctant nod. She huffed out an almost inaudible squeal as I stepped closer to the door.

I paused by the door, glancing out of the small pane of glass inserted in the entrance. The officers lined the hall, chattering and conversing. They didn't expect me to start anything and thought of the night to be a boring one. I shook my head back and forth; how wrong they were.

With my hand on the door, ready to shove it open because of the broken doorknob I had earlier smashed. Just a tiny nudge would push it open far enough to slip out and I would probably be able to close it fast enough that no one would notice the commotion.

Before I began, though, I looked at Renesmee in the eyes. "Let's keep this whole ordeal our little secret, alright?" If Bella ever found out, well, I didn't even want to think about it.

Renesmee giggled softly and nodded. "No telling Mommy. Got it." She smiled innocently and I immediately trusted her to not let anyone know of our little adventure. Not even Alice would be able to see it if Renesmee was involved and that thought comforted me plenty.

I tightened my hold on her reflexively even though I knew none of the humans outside would be quick enough to snatch her from my arms. My hand pushed on the door and it slid open without a sound, not even capturing the attention of any of the talking men. Their tendency to become easily distracted actually surprised me. You would think officers involved with such an ‘important' operation would be better trained.

I deftly slithered through the opening and into the hallway, testing my movements by pausing for a moment. No one heard me or even saw me because of their buzzing conversations. I gripped tighter, slightly apprehensive that our presence had gone unnoticed. I bumped the door back into place with my elbow before taking off. With a burst of speed, I sprinted down the cluttered hallway and towards the stairwell at the back.

Once inside the vertical shaft, we glanced back at the officers. Some mumbled that it had gotten recently chilly, which I figured was from the sudden displacement of air which I had caused. Others never even realized one of their captives had escaped. I shook my head, astonished by their obliviousness to the situation at hand.

Suddenly, a thought caught my attention. It was panicked and dazed, like someone being wakened up from a nightmare. This is it. Finally it. How much time to I even have left? 45 seconds? 30?

I exhaled a frustrated sigh and took the stairs two to three at a time. If I was putting everything on the line to save this man, I wasn't going to get there and be too late.

Will we get there in time? Renesmee was frightened beyond words to speak verbally and I couldn't blame her. I, too, was startled by the prospect of being too late.

"I hope so," I told her as we scampered up the stairs, "I really hope so."


Brody's Point of View

"Come on now, it won't help any to resist." I blinked in order to clear my blurred vision as someone yanked me up and off of the lumpy cot. My muscles ached and throbbed from being coiled into the same position and I reached up to rub my eyes, feeling tired and weak.

How long had I been out? The last thing I remembered was lying down on the soggy cot, trying to decide on whether or not I wanted to go to sleep and then I...

I must have fallen asleep. I drowsily peered through my eyelids, glaring at whoever was waking me up. The same interrogator stood before me, his neatly gelled hair slicked back and the small, professional glasses pushed far up on his nose. He wore a stiff suit and smelled strongly of the lab upstairs; chemicals and the rubber-like scents coating his skin.

His arms were latched under my forearms and I shrugged him off. "I can get up on my own, thanks," I mumbled, still in a haze from my former rest. I couldn't remember too much of it. A part of me hoped my mind would conjure up some sort of blissful dream but I couldn't recall anything happening.

I yawned, stretching my arms. Sometime through the night I had ended up in something that resembled the fetal position and now that I was awake, my arms were practically screaming to be stretched out.

The man sighed, tapping his pristine shoes on the floor as he watched me. "You do know we have a tight schedule, right?"

I gave him a bitter look and stuffed my hands in my pockets, feeling on edge. Who wouldn't? I would be dying in the next few minutes. A sick type of anticipation filled my gut. I wanted to stall this as long as possible just as much as I wanted it all to be over with. I didn't want to stand another minute locked up down here like an animal but what other alternative was there besides giving in and being slaughtered?

"Yeah, so...," I glanced over his shoulder wearily and at the officers who had followed him down here, "Let's get the show on the road?" I knew that question was incredibly inappropriate for the upcoming event but what else could be said?

He laughed coldly and nodded. "As you wish." He spread his arm out, gesturing for me to lead the way. I gulped uneasily and began walking towards the opened door. It seemed devastating to know that my freedom would only be short lived when I stepped outside of the cell. It would soon be crushed by my ill-fated death.

I followed the numerous officers, head down as I thought about what was to come. Being involved with the government, I knew the process of most executions used in the United States. My stomach crinkled into knots; the most common was lethal injection and it was never a pretty procedure. I had heard sometimes the victims writhed in pain for minutes, up to an hour, without one of the anesthetic injections.

My feet suddenly felt like dead weights connected to my legs, which felt like they were full of heavy, solid cement. I kept going, knowing it wouldn't help to be unwilling, just as the unnamed agent had told me when he woke me up.

I looked at him over my shoulder and spoke up. "Hey, what's your name?" I knew it was a random question but really, if I was going to die soon, who really cared?

He frowned in what I could imagine was disappointment at my question. "Detective Harlow." I nodded, thoughtfully. I couldn't say the name sounded familiar what so ever but I could at least pretend like I had heard of it out of decency.

After climbing up several flights of stairs - which caused my leaden legs to burn in agony - the officers emptied out into a long, winding metal hallway. I had never seen anything like it, except maybe in the movies. Pieces of steel and thick silver constructed the walls in a warped style as it drifted off to the right and to the left and even sprouting into multiple other hallways.

My breathing began to speed up on reflex alone. Would this be one of the last sights I saw? An ugly passageway used for executions and death penalties? It even smelled of death, of decay tinged with the prickly scent of bleach. The air up here was cooler, much colder than it had been stories below, and it caused a cold sweat to break out across my flesh. I reached up to loosen my collar and my fingers fumbled against my damp skin.

"Lead the way," I meekly said, trying to smile. It faulted and turned into a deep scowl on my face, which I tried to wipe off but couldn't. Without my mind's consent, my body was beginning the panic. My moist hands shook, along with my trembling fingers, and I could feel my muscles contracting, wanting to turn the other way and just run away from this metallic nightmare.

An officer humphed but I couldn't decipher which one it had come from. They all looked the same to me in their khaki bulletproof armor and thick army helmets. They were even all about the same frame: taller than average and broad-chested.

I shook my head, ignoring the longer wisps of brown hair that fell in my vision, as I tried to clear my mind. It wouldn't help to lose my mind now that I was so close to an everlasting peace.

They led me down the corridor, past thick doors made of different metals and other elements. I swallowed noisily and felt an uncontrollable need to drink something. Damn, I thought, when was the last time I even drank or ate? I couldn't remember having even a drink of water since before Fitzgerald had called me down to his office and when Jasper had tumbled in, he had been about to pour himself a glass of whiskey. I would never know if he had planned on pouring me one.

We finally stopped in front of a large, intimidating steel door. I knew all the doors placed sporadically in the walls were all the same size but this one seemed huge. It loomed over me and I could have sworn even casted a dark shadow.

Detective Harlow reached out to the lock and pushed in a long, silver key and turned it. He pushed the door open and held it open, almost respectively, for me. I took a cautious step inside and shifted my weight once inside.

"Don't just stand there," he barked out, "get on the table."

I tossed him a desperate, pleading look but he averted his eyes. I could feel my face begin to sag from the weight of the present circumstance. I would die. I would die in this room, this horrible, shadowy, rusting, creaking room that belonged in horror movies and horror movies alone.

There was a large, old-fashioned fan that hung overhead. The blades sliced through the air while also creating violent shadows on the floor below it. I wondered if they had it in here simply to create a frightening atmosphere because the building wasn't so ancient that it lacked air conditioning. The walls were a murky shade of dark green that twisted my insides as I looked around and noticed that the walls were actually made up of bricks like some out-of-date hospital room. Multiple tables lined the walls, their surfaces all shiny and metallic with some scary-looking tools lying above them. There wasn't much light in the room, except for the flickering light bulb placed near the fan which, as the blades twirled, it would momentarily obscure the light and douse parts of the room in a deep darkness.

Placed in the middle of the room was an oblong table, its base shooting up from the concrete floor. It was an unhealthy shade, rusty metal and peeling paint. It reminded me of the tables you saw in the veterinarian's office that you placed your pet on top of. There were thick, coarse bands criss-crossing the top and winding underneath.

I glanced around, looking for anyone who would possibly cave and show some sign of sympathy for me, but there was no one. There was a sudden static sound and a calm, monotone voice spoke over the loudspeaker to me.

"Brody, just follow Detective Harlow's instructions and get on the table." Dr. Mitchells. I blinked, looking around for where he had spoken from. His voice snapped off and I realized there was nothing to do except stride towards my fate: the executioner's table.

I stood in front of it and looked over my shoulder at Detective Harlow in the doorway. He turned around and closed it behind him, concealing the stoic faces of the officers who stood outside. He then proceeded towards one of the metal tables and picked up a pair of latex gloves. He put them on with a loud slapping sound and I flinched a bit from the echo in the room.

So it would be him to kill me? I groaned under my breath. What a way to die.

I lifted myself up onto the table and sat there for a moment, allowing my legs to dangle off the side. The throbbing pain had noticeably decreased since I had took the weight off of my legs but it still hung there, barely perceptible.

I looked about at the surrounding four walls, trying to figure out which one Dr. Mitchells was watching from. It was now clear that in one of the nearby rooms was a team of government officials and scientists, all set on watching me die. I gulped again, allowing a long shaky breath retreat from my lungs.

Detective Harlow reached up to a crooked cabinet overhead and opened it up, revealing multiple cases of individual sterilized needles and bottles of chemicals. I closed my eyes tightly and leaned back, not really caring to see what would be soon injected into my veins.

I could hear his shuffling feet but the sound was soon replaced by the squeaking sound of wheels turning. I opened one eye and looked over to where he had just been standing. He was still there, loading a bunch of supplies onto a steel tray on wheels and eventually turned towards me and pushed it as he rolled it closer. I shifted awkwardly on the hard surface of the table and took a few deep breaths, staring intently up at the shadowy ceiling.

For a moment, I think I zoned out. I was looking so closely at the ceiling above me that I temporarily lost track of what was happening around me. The way the fan cut through the air was mesmerizing though I couldn't feel any rush of cool air. Instead, it felt sweltering inside this dark room but one of the things I do know happened was that I reached up to swipe the back of my hand across my damp forehead, even though I couldn't feel my arm lifting up.

The blades of the fan were dizzying and the shadows it created on the ceiling were compelling. I knew I was beginning to lose it but if I would soon be dying, I didn't see why I should be concerned about my sanity. In my mind, I could see the shadows beginning to take shapes of their own, actual forms and 3-D physical objects. I blinked warily, caught in my own hallucinations.

The sudden physical contact I felt on my arm snapped me back to attention. I glanced wildly at my right, wondering what was happening.

Detective Harlow's tray on wheels was parked next to my head as he wound his hands under my arms. He rolled the sleeves up and past the crook of my arm and then reached over me to do the same to my left. I lay there, practically unmoving, and was even a bit grateful that his impatience had caused him to prepare myself for the execution instead of asking myself to do these things. I knew if he had told me to do something as simple as rolling up my sleeves, it would have taken me ages to get my shivering fingers to cooperate.

He stuck his hand under my back but I was too weak to lift myself up and make his job more convenient. He pulled something out from under me and I stared soundlessly at the object in his hand. He was holding one of the leather straps in his hand and I breathed out a shaky breath at the sight of it.

"Are you even trained to do this?" I asked unevenly, glancing up at his face which was a mask of concentration. His brows were furrowed over his eyes and his lips turned down into a deep frown.

"I'm actually trained to be a doctor. I went to medical school for many years and have been taught how to perform this without a hitch. So, yes, I'm trained," He replied brusquely. I didn't even have the energy to roll my eyes, which I normally would have done at his haughty remark.

I could feel him tightening the straps around my chest and then torso until I felt I could scarcely breathe under the thick weight. His hand then moved down to my legs where he tied the straps over them so I couldn't kick out, I assumed. I turned my head to the side, seeking air under the pressure on my chest and found myself eyelevel with his tray of death.

There were four small bottles of liquid sitting on top, their tops unscrewed and ready for use. Next to each were five needles and I frowned. Even without the drugs, I could feel my mind beginning to grow hazy but I knew four bottles didn't add up to five needles.

"Do you know how lethal injection works?" Detective Harlow gasped as he yanked on a strap harshly. I flinched at the bubbling pain in my left arm that he was tying to the table. I shrugged as well as I could and mumbled my answer.

"A little. I know there's...needles involved." I glanced carefully back at the sharp, pointy objects and inhaled. Needles. Not my forte at all. Detective Harlow snickered as he walked behind my head to tightened the strap on my right arm.

"Uh, yeah, needles are definitely involved." His voice sounded snippy and sarcastic and I wrinkled my nose in response. "Basically, I'm going to inject four different...substances into your veins. First, two injections of saline solution into each arm, then I'll be injecting sodium thiopental which is a sort of anesthetic. It'll put you to sleep and you won't even feel it when the other two are injected in. The third is pancuronium bromide which will start paralysis and eventually stop your breathing. The fourth and final is potassium chloride, which you probably know, will stop the heart from beating. Alright?"

Alright? How did he expect me to answer to that? Sounds good to me? I just nodded, mentally telling myself that if I cried now, if I shed one damned tear, I would never forgive myself.

He took one needle and dipped it into what I could only presume was the saline solution. "Just try to calm yourself," he mumbled distractedly, "it'll all be over soon anyway." Yeah, sure, calm myself. I felt like telling him, "Well, buddy, let me see if you can calm yourself if you were in the same shoes as me" but I realized I didn't quite have enough power to do so.

I felt his fingertips press lightly on the inner, softer flesh of my arm and gulped a big breath of air. Right, calm. Maybe trying to calm myself wasn't a fruitless effort. Just think of...think of beaches. Yeah, sounds good. Sandy, hot beaches with a slight sea breeze over the refreshing, tumbling waves and tropical palm trees swaying over head.

There was a tingling sensation on my skin and I ground my teeth together. He slid the needle into my vein skillfully and gave a satisfied sigh. I turned my arm on pure reaction, trying to shield my exposed skin from his hands. I soon realized, though, that my efforts didn't matter. He was already onto my other arm, injecting the second dose of saline solution.

I looked up blearily at the ceiling, being caught once again in the motion of the violent blades. The hot air pressed down on me forcefully and I wondered why they even had a fan in here. It didn't do any good except produce creepy shadows all around me.

There was a sudden sharp jolt in my arm and I yelped, taken off guard by the pain there. "It's just the sodium thiopental," the detective murmured softly. I swallowed, my heart drumming noisily in my ribcage. I felt like it would beat right out of my body by the pace it was going at. I couldn't even remember it ever pounding so loudly and quickly before. Not even running in a marathon twice in my life had instilled such painful beating.

I shook under the restraints of the straps, scared out of my mind. I hoped it was just the drugs that had created such a strong illusion of fear and not actually my mind. My jittery gaze flickered all around us, from the dark corners where I could only guess what creatures lived back there to the twisted doorway. I shuddered again, somehow managing to feel suddenly frigid in the recent hot air. I felt like I had been doused in an icy stream in mid-January.

And then, finally, I began to slowly lose consciousness. This was it. Finally. If all I had left in life was torture, both mental and physical, in this rickety room, I wanted out. I wanted death.

I could hear the slurping, sucking sound of the detective - what was his name? Harper? Harlen? - fill the fourth needle with whatever drug came next. I couldn't remember the chemical title of it, I just knew the symptoms. Paralysis and slowing of the breathing, which relieved me because of the sudden route of asthmatic sounding breathing my lungs had taken.

I began to slow my heartbeat as I heard the ticking sound as the man -how did I even know him? Why was he here? - flicked his nails against the thin glass of the needle. Darkness was beginning to cloud my vision, blotting out the shapes and forms of the room. All I could see was the swiftly piercing blades of the fan above me as they flew through the air. I imagined them breaking loose, flying off the base of the fan, and spiraling around the room, just like the planes I used to fly as a little kid in the park next to my neighborhood. Oh, and Dad would always come, too, and we would fly those army planes for hours and hours until-

Until what? My lips twitched as I fought off confusion. I couldn't remember what would happen next. No, I couldn't remember what I had just been thinking of. Something with...Dad? Was that it? I frowned slightly and drifted numbly. Where was I?

I heard someone move beside me and sluggishly looked over at the strange man next to me with the needle. He was leaning down over my arm, the jagged end pointing towards a blueish vein underneath my skin. I wanted to yell out at him to stop, that I didn't think it was good that he was doing this, but I couldn't find my lips to form the words. I couldn't even move my tongue, it just settled limply at the bottom of my mouth.

His form blurred in my eyesight and I blinked. A cool wetness fell from my eyes and I breathed deeply. Why was my heart pounding so frantically? Or my whole body convulsing so madly? I swallowed back the saliva in my throat and groaned as the needle came closer to my flesh. No, I didn't think it was good to inject that into me-

"Hey!" I flinched from the outraged yell that came from the man beside me, the man with the needle. He looked up, his face red and sweaty, and a large vein bulging in his forehead. The image swam before my eyes but I could make out the line of direction his eyes travelled in.

I turned my head the other way to follow his gaze but my vision swam. I couldn't make anything out but splotchy darkness before my eyes, like a black veil had been placed over my face. I gurgled out a breath of air, feeling a thickness of my lugs that hadn't been present before. Was I drowning? It felt like it, though I wasn't sure what would possibly be drowning me.

Through the darkness, through the thick shroud of obscurity, I could see a burst of light. Just a speck that was moving away from me. Growing tinier and tinier as it got farther and farther away. Inside the tiny flame of white light, there was a man, though. Someone standing there, facing me. I wanted to reach out to him, to beg he help me, but I couldn't move my hands.

I glanced unsurely down at my arms and tried to shift them. Why couldn't I move my arms? Why couldn't I move my whole body? I could feel my chest shaking from the heavy breathing as I panicked at my limpness.

The man in the doorway moved and something else came into shape by his feet. Something small, something thin and frail looking. I frowned, was that a child? Oh, what was a child doing in this place? Why would someone ever bring a child in here?

I cried out as something stabbed into my right arm. I jerked wildly and was about to glance over and see what had been jammed into my veins now but a sudden growl captured my attention from the blurring man to my left.

I finally glanced over to see a needle jutting out from my arm at a sickening angle and felt the sudden desire to vomit at the sight of it.

But I never got to because it was then that I lost not only consciousness but also all physical feeling.