The Journey
by Laura Spudzmom
Chapter 08
Eager eyes watched as the small child ran through the grass, his tinkling laughter floating through the air as he chased a fluttering butterfly.
Just over five years old now, the child was breathtaking, with skin like peaches and cream and curls of the finest spun gold brushing his collar. Just the sight of him made the watcher's heart ache and he wondered, as he always did, what color the boy's eyes were…
Perhaps today, he would allow himself close enough to see…
The watcher's breath hitched as the boy tripped and fell, the sounds of his distress reaching him in an instant and before he could reconsider, he'd hopped down from the tree he was hiding in and approached the whimpering child.
He knelt, helped the boy up, dusted off his short breeches and straightened his doublet. "There now," he said while dabbing at the scrape on his knee with his kerchief. He then licked his fingertip and swiped it over the scrape, healing it instantly. When he was through, the boy's tears had stopped and he was looking at him with wide eyes.
"Are you an angel?" the child asked in wonder as the rays of the sun glinted off the watcher's pale skin and bright blond hair. The watcher smiled sadly.
"No little lord, I am not."
"You look like an angel," he persisted. "Mother told me they are creatures of light and very beautiful…like you."
The watcher stared into innocent, warm, brown eyes—'the exact shade of hers,' he thought—while caressing the boy's baby-soft cheek with gentle finger tips.
"They are, sweet child," he murmured. "But I am not counted among them." He gently chucked the child under his chin. "I do believe you might be though," he said with a sad smile and was gratified as the boy grinned back.
The sound of heavier footsteps approaching had the watcher looking up sharply as he stood and moved to hide in the thick branches of the trees. "Go now child, your mother seeks for you," he whispered and the little boy smiled while executing a perfect little bow. Pride swelled in the watcher's chest at the sight.
"My thanks to you, sir," he said politely before turning and running toward his mother.
"William!" she called. "William Carlisle Cullen, where are you?"
The watcher's eyes closed as her voice rang out, the familiar sound of it bittersweet as it pierced him through with pain and remembered joy. Then he opened his eyes and drank in the sight of her as she stopped to peer around for the child, a hand shading her eyes from the bright sun as she did so. She was still as lovely as ever and his whole being ached afresh at his loss.
A bright smile curved her lips when she spied her son and she held her arms open as he ran to her.
"Mother," he yelled.
She bent down and scooped him up and he giggled as she planted little kisses just under his jaw.
"What mischief have you been up to young man?" she asked and he leaned back in her arms and frowned.
"I wanted to catch a butterfly for you, but I tripped and fell." He pointed to his knee and she gently grasped his leg to look at it. Her brow furrowed as the small, pale-pink patch glittered in the sunlight.
"Oh my dear little Will, does it hurt?"
He shook his head. "No," he said. "The angel man helped me and now it doesn't hurt a bit."
She looked up sharply and the watcher sank back into the foliage. "Angel man?" she questioned while still looking intently toward the trees. "William, what did he look like?" she asked quietly, her heart now pounding.
The boy fiddled with the buttons on her blouse as he answered. "He had hair like mine," he said with a smile, "and golden eyes!" Her breath caught and the boy scrunched his face and looked up at her. "Do all angels have golden eyes like him, Mother?"
"I—I do not know," she murmured as she set him on his feet. "Perhaps they do." Bending down, she turned him toward home and patted his bottom. "Back to the cottage with you, young man. 'Tis time to eat and your Grandfather is there and would like to see you."
"Yes, Mother," he said and ran off.
When he was out of sight, she turned toward the trees, one hand held to her chest. "Carlisle? Is it you?" she whispered while clutching a fistful of her skirt and walking toward the trees. She stopped and listened a moment before calling out again, "Are you there?" She advanced a few more steps. "Please, if you are, please show yourself. Please, speak to me," she begged.
His eyes closed, all his muscles locked in place as he struggled against his longing. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to feel her in his arms again… "I—I should not…" he murmured just loud enough for her to hear and a small cry left her lips as her eyes frantically searched for him.
"Please! It's been so long…" she begged and stepped forward.
His head dropped. "Halt," he said, his tone thick with emotion. "Stay where you are. Come no closer and I will…show myself."
"Agreed," she whispered as tears now traced her cheeks.
He stepped out slowly and stopped, peering at her with his head lowered in shame as rays of sunlight glinted off his exposed skin.
She gasped and covered her mouth as a cry left her and she reached toward him with a hand. "Oh Carlisle," she murmured. "You are…beautiful."
He held up a hand and looked away, his head bowed. "I am an abomination; something to be reviled and feared, not looked upon in wonder!"
A sob bubbled up from her and she shook her head, eyes wide in disbelief. "Look at me," she demanded but he stubbornly refused. She took another step forward and he stepped back.
"No! Come no closer, I say!"
"Look at me!" she said fiercely, her brown eyes blazing with anger at his display of shame.
Slowly, he turned his head and met her gaze.
"In my heart," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, "I knew you would not be a killer and your eyes prove this to be true. You are not an abomination Carlisle Cullen! You are my husband and the father of my son!"
He scoffed. "Your husband and father of your son died in that alley of evil and filth as was only fitting Isabella. Be not fooled by this pleasing countenance!That man is no more!"
She clenched her fists. "My husband—William's father," she hissed, "stands before me this very moment with a good and pure heart, damn the countenance!"
His face twisted with pain and desperation and he struck his chest with an open hand. "No heart beats in this body Isabella! My blackened soul lives on the blood of God's creation! I am a child of perdition! Nothing more, can you not see?!"
She swiped at the tears on her face, her chin jutting out as she determined to drive her point home, no matter the pain she knew her words would cause. "If you have no heart Carlisle Cullen, then why are you here? Have you and your blackened soul come to kill me?" she spat as she stepped closer. "Have you, child of perdition," she sneered, "come to kill our son?"
He hissed in pain and outrage at the thought. "No!" he shouted before lowering his voice. "I would never…could never…the mere thought of such a thing…" he stammered while rubbing his chest. He met her angry, tear-filled gaze with his own sorrow filled one. "I would walk into a pyre to keep from hurting either of you or anyone for that matter. That is why I've kept my distance…'till now." He bowed his head. "I—I longed to see you…to see my child."
He looked up, his gold eyes imploring. "The pain of losing you…I prayed for the solace of death with the dawn of each day and each day it was denied me! God forsook me and left me to suffer alone as I learned to resist the evil of my existence. I forced myself to gorge on the blood of animals while denying the monster's true prey. When I could finally do that without going mad with thirst, I ventured into the city, taking in the scents, drawing closer and closer to people 'till I could walk among them without a murderous madness seizing me. Only then… Only then, Isabella, did I allow myself to search for you."
She stepped closer and he allowed it.
"Do you not see?" she pleaded as fresh tears ran down her cheeks. "Were you truly a child of perdition, if your soul was black as you claim, you'd give no thought to killing."
He looked away and she took a step closer. "Have you taken a life Husband?"
"I have not," he admitted before looking back at her as she took the final steps to reach him.
"Husband," she whispered as her hand reached out to cup his cheek. His eyes closed and he leaned into her touch.
"Wife," he murmured and caught her as she fell into his arms. "How I have missed you…"
She tucked herself into his hold as closely as possible and stayed there, just relishing the feel of his arms around her and his solid form under her cheek until the faint sound of a voice broke their peace.
"Isabella?! Daughter, where are you?"
"It's my father," she murmured as Carlisle tensed.
He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head before gently pushing her away. "You must go," he urged.
She clung to his doublet and stared into his eyes. "I'll only go if you say that I'll see you again."
He smiled sadly and ran the pad of his thumb over her plump bottom lip. "You will see me again," he agreed.
"When?" she demanded and watched as he closed his eyes and bowed his head.
"'Tis not meet that you grow attached Isabella…"
She grasped his face with both hands, her stare fierce as she held his gaze. "Grow attached?" she hissed. "You vowed to be my husband 'till death! You are not dead and I hold you to your vow Husband mine, now, when shall I see you again?"
He glanced behind her at the sound of approaching footsteps. "On the morrow," he whispered and disappeared just as Lord Bouchard found her.
She stood, gazing into the trees as she dried her eyes.
"Isabella?" her father questioned. "Is aught amiss?"
She turned and smiled sadly as she took his arm and began to walk with him back to the cottage. "No father. All is fine. I was simply taking a moment to myself."
Eager eyes watched as the small child ran through the grass, his tinkling laughter floating through the air as he chased a fluttering butterfly.
Just over five years old now, the child was breathtaking, with skin like peaches and cream and curls of the finest spun gold brushing his collar. Just the sight of him made the watcher's heart ache and he wondered, as he always did, what color the boy's eyes were…
Perhaps today, he would allow himself close enough to see…
The watcher's breath hitched as the boy tripped and fell, the sounds of his distress reaching him in an instant and before he could reconsider, he'd hopped down from the tree he was hiding in and approached the whimpering child.
He knelt, helped the boy up, dusted off his short breeches and straightened his doublet. "There now," he said while dabbing at the scrape on his knee with his kerchief. He then licked his fingertip and swiped it over the scrape, healing it instantly. When he was through, the boy's tears had stopped and he was looking at him with wide eyes.
"Are you an angel?" the child asked in wonder as the rays of the sun glinted off the watcher's pale skin and bright blond hair. The watcher smiled sadly.
"No little lord, I am not."
"You look like an angel," he persisted. "Mother told me they are creatures of light and very beautiful…like you."
The watcher stared into innocent, warm, brown eyes—'the exact shade of hers,' he thought—while caressing the boy's baby-soft cheek with gentle finger tips.
"They are, sweet child," he murmured. "But I am not counted among them." He gently chucked the child under his chin. "I do believe you might be though," he said with a sad smile and was gratified as the boy grinned back.
The sound of heavier footsteps approaching had the watcher looking up sharply as he stood and moved to hide in the thick branches of the trees. "Go now child, your mother seeks for you," he whispered and the little boy smiled while executing a perfect little bow. Pride swelled in the watcher's chest at the sight.
"My thanks to you, sir," he said politely before turning and running toward his mother.
"William!" she called. "William Carlisle Cullen, where are you?"
The watcher's eyes closed as her voice rang out, the familiar sound of it bittersweet as it pierced him through with pain and remembered joy. Then he opened his eyes and drank in the sight of her as she stopped to peer around for the child, a hand shading her eyes from the bright sun as she did so. She was still as lovely as ever and his whole being ached afresh at his loss.
A bright smile curved her lips when she spied her son and she held her arms open as he ran to her.
"Mother," he yelled.
She bent down and scooped him up and he giggled as she planted little kisses just under his jaw.
"What mischief have you been up to young man?" she asked and he leaned back in her arms and frowned.
"I wanted to catch a butterfly for you, but I tripped and fell." He pointed to his knee and she gently grasped his leg to look at it. Her brow furrowed as the small, pale-pink patch glittered in the sunlight.
"Oh my dear little Will, does it hurt?"
He shook his head. "No," he said. "The angel man helped me and now it doesn't hurt a bit."
She looked up sharply and the watcher sank back into the foliage. "Angel man?" she questioned while still looking intently toward the trees. "William, what did he look like?" she asked quietly, her heart now pounding.
The boy fiddled with the buttons on her blouse as he answered. "He had hair like mine," he said with a smile, "and golden eyes!" Her breath caught and the boy scrunched his face and looked up at her. "Do all angels have golden eyes like him, Mother?"
"I—I do not know," she murmured as she set him on his feet. "Perhaps they do." Bending down, she turned him toward home and patted his bottom. "Back to the cottage with you, young man. 'Tis time to eat and your Grandfather is there and would like to see you."
"Yes, Mother," he said and ran off.
When he was out of sight, she turned toward the trees, one hand held to her chest. "Carlisle? Is it you?" she whispered while clutching a fistful of her skirt and walking toward the trees. She stopped and listened a moment before calling out again, "Are you there?" She advanced a few more steps. "Please, if you are, please show yourself. Please, speak to me," she begged.
His eyes closed, all his muscles locked in place as he struggled against his longing. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to feel her in his arms again… "I—I should not…" he murmured just loud enough for her to hear and a small cry left her lips as her eyes frantically searched for him.
"Please! It's been so long…" she begged and stepped forward.
His head dropped. "Halt," he said, his tone thick with emotion. "Stay where you are. Come no closer and I will…show myself."
"Agreed," she whispered as tears now traced her cheeks.
He stepped out slowly and stopped, peering at her with his head lowered in shame as rays of sunlight glinted off his exposed skin.
She gasped and covered her mouth as a cry left her and she reached toward him with a hand. "Oh Carlisle," she murmured. "You are…beautiful."
He held up a hand and looked away, his head bowed. "I am an abomination; something to be reviled and feared, not looked upon in wonder!"
A sob bubbled up from her and she shook her head, eyes wide in disbelief. "Look at me," she demanded but he stubbornly refused. She took another step forward and he stepped back.
"No! Come no closer, I say!"
"Look at me!" she said fiercely, her brown eyes blazing with anger at his display of shame.
Slowly, he turned his head and met her gaze.
"In my heart," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, "I knew you would not be a killer and your eyes prove this to be true. You are not an abomination Carlisle Cullen! You are my husband and the father of my son!"
He scoffed. "Your husband and father of your son died in that alley of evil and filth as was only fitting Isabella. Be not fooled by this pleasing countenance!That man is no more!"
She clenched her fists. "My husband—William's father," she hissed, "stands before me this very moment with a good and pure heart, damn the countenance!"
His face twisted with pain and desperation and he struck his chest with an open hand. "No heart beats in this body Isabella! My blackened soul lives on the blood of God's creation! I am a child of perdition! Nothing more, can you not see?!"
She swiped at the tears on her face, her chin jutting out as she determined to drive her point home, no matter the pain she knew her words would cause. "If you have no heart Carlisle Cullen, then why are you here? Have you and your blackened soul come to kill me?" she spat as she stepped closer. "Have you, child of perdition," she sneered, "come to kill our son?"
He hissed in pain and outrage at the thought. "No!" he shouted before lowering his voice. "I would never…could never…the mere thought of such a thing…" he stammered while rubbing his chest. He met her angry, tear-filled gaze with his own sorrow filled one. "I would walk into a pyre to keep from hurting either of you or anyone for that matter. That is why I've kept my distance…'till now." He bowed his head. "I—I longed to see you…to see my child."
He looked up, his gold eyes imploring. "The pain of losing you…I prayed for the solace of death with the dawn of each day and each day it was denied me! God forsook me and left me to suffer alone as I learned to resist the evil of my existence. I forced myself to gorge on the blood of animals while denying the monster's true prey. When I could finally do that without going mad with thirst, I ventured into the city, taking in the scents, drawing closer and closer to people 'till I could walk among them without a murderous madness seizing me. Only then… Only then, Isabella, did I allow myself to search for you."
She stepped closer and he allowed it.
"Do you not see?" she pleaded as fresh tears ran down her cheeks. "Were you truly a child of perdition, if your soul was black as you claim, you'd give no thought to killing."
He looked away and she took a step closer. "Have you taken a life Husband?"
"I have not," he admitted before looking back at her as she took the final steps to reach him.
"Husband," she whispered as her hand reached out to cup his cheek. His eyes closed and he leaned into her touch.
"Wife," he murmured and caught her as she fell into his arms. "How I have missed you…"
She tucked herself into his hold as closely as possible and stayed there, just relishing the feel of his arms around her and his solid form under her cheek until the faint sound of a voice broke their peace.
"Isabella?! Daughter, where are you?"
"It's my father," she murmured as Carlisle tensed.
He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head before gently pushing her away. "You must go," he urged.
She clung to his doublet and stared into his eyes. "I'll only go if you say that I'll see you again."
He smiled sadly and ran the pad of his thumb over her plump bottom lip. "You will see me again," he agreed.
"When?" she demanded and watched as he closed his eyes and bowed his head.
"'Tis not meet that you grow attached Isabella…"
She grasped his face with both hands, her stare fierce as she held his gaze. "Grow attached?" she hissed. "You vowed to be my husband 'till death! You are not dead and I hold you to your vow Husband mine, now, when shall I see you again?"
He glanced behind her at the sound of approaching footsteps. "On the morrow," he whispered and disappeared just as Lord Bouchard found her.
She stood, gazing into the trees as she dried her eyes.
"Isabella?" her father questioned. "Is aught amiss?"
She turned and smiled sadly as she took his arm and began to walk with him back to the cottage. "No father. All is fine. I was simply taking a moment to myself."
DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.