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The Dark Light Stories

“You created me as your toy and now you’re forcing me to sleep with a ghost. Can you still tell yourself that you’re not selfish?”*** Warning: This story is Carlisle/Edward slash. There will be sexual scenes between these two characters. If that bothers you, as they should say in marriage: run now or forever hold your peace. These stories will follow Carlisle and Edward through ten life-changing events, from Edward's transformation to meeting Bella. They will explore the love that evolved between the two men and the betrayal that 87 years together can bring.

Each section will be set to a song from HIM's "Dark Light" CD, which I recommend you listen to: A) because it rocks and B) because it follows the story. The chapters will be as follows: 1. Killing Loneliness: Edward’s Beginning 2. In The Nightside of Eden: Lovers 3. Rip Out The Wings Of A Butterfly: Carlisle’s Doubts 4. Dark Light: Esme’s Turning 5. Vampire Heart: Edward’s Rebellion 6. The Face of God: Carlisle’s Regrets 7. Under The Rose: Edward’s Return 8. Drunk On Shadows: Rosalie’s Turning 9. Play Dead: Edward’s Regression 10. Behind The Crimson Door: The Last Kiss

7. Under The Rose: Edward's Return

Rating 0/5   Word Count 1649   Review this Chapter

Under The Rose: Edward’s Return

Edward’s skin smelled rusty with blood. He could feel the dirt thick in his hair and there was human skin under his fingernails. He smelled like he was decomposing. The boy beneath him, because he was really just a boy, hung limp in his arms. He was heavier than Edward thought when he was dead. His neck hung in ragged shreds, portions of his vertebrae exposed and seeming to glow under the moonlight. He had been a young tough, homeless, violent. He had raped and murdered two women. That was what Edward knew when he first saw him but when he drank from him, he saw more. He saw that the boy had been violently abused as a child and that he was as lost as any soul could get. Now he was dead at 22. Edward had cried those odd, tearless sobs as he drank from him.

Sighing, he dug his nails into the dirt and began to dig a grave.

He thought about leaving the boy and burying himself instead. He could imagine it, sunk into the cool, wet earth with the feel of worms wriggling past his ears. Small rodents would creep past and then scurry on, smelling something dead but still dangerous. He would start to get hungry and weak and cry for blood but the animals wouldn’t roam close enough. He could die, he was certain of it, but he had no idea how long that might take.

‘How would you get the dirt on top of you?’ he thought suddenly. He smirked and gulped down his laughter but a few squeaks still managed to pry their way out.

“There goes your dramatic suicide,” he mumbled.

He had taken to talking to himself lately. Other than the few choice words he had hissed down the stairs at Esme four months ago, he had spoken to no one else. He stayed away from cities and even towns, haunting the edges of civilization. He had attuned his senses to evil thoughts, learned to sort through the million random cruelties of every day human life and narrow in on the surprisingly rare few that killed for pleasure and amusement.

With the hole finished, he leaped back out and undressed the body. His victim had a myriad of scars and bad tattoos but Edward doubted anyone would even look for him, let alone correctly identify him. He would take the clothing away and bury it some where’s else, perhaps a good 15 or 20 miles away.

As he tried to measure how the body would fit, the boy’s head began to split away from the rest of his ravaged neck.
“Damn,” Edward whispered as he tried to hold the head on.

The hole was much too narrow to fit the body lying down but it would have to make do, he didn’t feel like widening it. Edward glanced around him, sighed, and grabbed the back of the boy’s neck. With a sickening crack, he broke the boy’s body in half and dropped both pieces into the dark ground. He proceeded to cover the body with herbs and foliage before lumping all the dirt back on. After his first kill, he realized that humans finding the grave shouldn’t have been his first worry. He returned a few days later to the gravesite and found that a cougar had dug up an arm and gnawed it clean. Now, he buried it deep enough so nothing could smell it and heaped on anything to cover the scent of rot.

He picked up the boy’s clothing and heard something jingle in a pocket.

He dug around and pulled out a thin, damaged locket. Inside was a tiny lock of white blonde hair. Gently, he extracted the hair and stroked it. It was silky soft, definitely human, but so similar in color and feel to Carlisle’s that it made Edward shake.

He tucked it back in the locket and slid it into his pocket.

Every time he touched people now, it was with their death in mind. They always hissed at his freezing touch, screamed when they saw his face. He missed Carlisle’s skin and the familiar, pleasant warmth of vampire flesh and the safety of its sturdiness. He didn’t understand how humans lived in their blazing flesh, bleeding at every scratch and bump and always snuffling around for rotting bits of meat and leaves and to eat.

He didn’t remember what it was like to be in that skin. He didn’t want to.

He walked away from the grave and found a deep, cold lake to bathe in.

The moonlight flickered off his skin as he stripped naked. The boy had destroyed his shirt when he had tried to stab Edward’s marble chest with a penknife. The beautiful, embroidered linen now looked like a dirty rag.

The water would have almost killed a human it was so cold. Even Edward afforded it a gasp of surprise when he dove in. Underwater, he opened his eyes and floated near the bottom, watching fish flicker in the dim light from the moon. He surfaced without a sound, the water rippling away from him and floated on his back.

He liked Canada’s vast, open purity. It was mostly devoid of humans except for glowing plots of cities, scattered along the American border or hedged up against the oceans’ shores. He tried to imagine what Carlisle was doing right now.

Working, most likely, elbow-deep in some human torso and totally oblivious to the heady scent of the blood all around him. Edward could picture the serene expression he got when he was operating. He had watched him once, from behind the safety of the student’s observatory. Encased in that glass bubble and still twitching at the distant, bleach-diluted smell of blood, he saw Carlisle’s face go perfectly still as he slit a clean line down a young woman’s abdomen and went to work with a bone saw.

That was as long as Edward lasted before he darted away down the dark corridors of the hospital, desperate to get away from that carnal need of his and away from the smells of old death and new life.

But he could be doing something else; maybe reading or out walking.

Or screwing Esme.

The last thought made him cringe but he forced himself to move past it, storing it as another dim little ball of rejection and hate. He assumed they had moved and tried to picture where Carlisle would have gone. He was sure that he was still in the Americas, Europe held an old, unspoken fear for Carlisle. Edward had seen it in his face when he had asked about his past, about the three men who stood beside Carlisle in the ancient painting that he carried from place to place.

Lovers or family, he assumed it had to be one or the other.

And then he thought of Carlisle’s smile, a special smile he gave only to Edward when they were melting together in the dead of night or when he was caught watching Edward from the corner of his eye. A gentle, almost secretive smile that seemed to split Edward’s heart every time he saw it.

He missed that smile more than anything.

He glided towards the lakeshore until his toes found the silted bottom. He let the cold wind dry his marble skin and then he dressed in his victim’s clothes and sunk his own in the lake.

He was exhausted and miserable and killing humans left him with the nagging feeling that even the immortals somehow end up in Hell.

He wanted Carlisle.

He was going home.


A scuffling noise at the edge of the garden drew Esme’s attention. She sniffed the air and smelled the unmistakable scent of old human blood, of dirt and sweat and iron, and underneath that, that enthralling fresh melon and dew scent she thought was gone forever.

“Edward?” she called softly, standing up.

She couldn’t stifle the small scream that escaped her as he moved into the clearing. His eyes were a terrifying, glowing red. She stepped back; moving away from what she was sure was going to be a violent confrontation. With all her might, she wished for Carlisle to come down from his study and help her.

“Esme,” Edward murmured. “It’s me. It’s Edward.”

The tension left her shoulders when she heard his voice, soft and placating. She suddenly realized that he didn’t know what his eyes looked like.

She watched his face as he read her thoughts, the soft pressure between her eyes as gentle as a baby’s finger.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he whispered. “Where’s—“

He stopped abruptly and Esme knew Carlisle had come out of the house. She turned and saw him standing at the top of the slope, just outside their patio. The expression of his face was unreadable.

He moved towards Edward and cupped his face in his hands, staring straight into those volatile, alien eyes.

“I wanted to know what it was like,” Edward whispered. “I just wanted to know what is was like."

Carlisle said nothing, just pulled Edward against his body with a touch so intimate that Esme felt compelled to look away.


I dream of the winter in my heart turning to spring
While the ice gives way under my feet
And so I drown with the sun

I've been burning in water and drowning in flame
To prove you wrong and scare you away
I admit my defeat and want back home
In your heart under the rose

I open my eyes with a sigh of relief
As the warmth of summer sunlight dances around me
And I see you with dead leaves in your hands

I've been burning in water and drowning in flame
To prove you wrong and scare you away
I admit my defeat and want back home
In your heart under the rose