- •Eclipse Stephenie Meyer
- •237 Park Avenue, New York, ny 10017
- •I saw a dim glimmer of possibility in that smile, but I proceeded slowly. “I’m confused, Dad. Are we talking about Jacob, or Edward, or me being grounded?”
- •I leveled a dark look at him. “There’s no competition.”
- •I pointed to the thick envelope on the counter. “I just got my acceptance to the University of Alaska!”
- •I took a deep breath. “I need to make it better, Edward. I owe him that. And it’s one of Charlie’s conditions, anyway —”
- •I ignored the ribbing, my attention caught by his assumption — was he serious? “But I didn’t bring them back. Don’t you know?”
- •It didn’t take long to determine where my restlessness stemmed from.
- •In my head, I went through the conversation again. . . .
- •I wiped my hand dramatically across my forehead, and then pretended to wring my hair out.
- •I sighed. Of course Charlie was waiting to pounce.
- •I turned slowly to face him. His expression was perfectly smooth — impossible to read.
- •I frowned in confusion. “What don’t I know? Edward?”
- •I was vividly conscious of Edward, his arms still wrapped protectively around me, motionless as a stone. I shot a look at his face — it was calm, patient.
- •I did try. And surprisingly, there were other things almost as stressful to dwell on besides my status on the endangered species list. . . .
- •I stopped with one arm in my vest. I knew that look.
- •I clutched the papers in both hands as I stared at the picture beneath the caption. A lump rose in my throat.
- •I tried to compose my face so that he would go on. My nails were digging into my palms with the stress of the story, even though I knew it had turned out fine.
- •I shuddered; of course she would be back. Would Edward really tell me next time? I wasn’t sure. I’d have to keep an eye on Alice, to look for the signs that the pattern was about to repeat. . . .
- •It was disconcerting the way he said this, like it would be a good thing to have no vampires in Forks. My heart thumped unevenly at the emptiness of the picture he painted.
- •I growled unimpressively.
- •I glanced up and down his mammoth frame, trying to be unbiased. “Not exactly, I guess.”
- •I took a deep breath. “Sorry. Age is a touchy subject for me. That hit a nerve.”
- •I gasped. “Emily is Leah’s cousin?”
- •I frowned. “Did Jared tell you that? He shouldn’t have.”
- •I followed Angela up the stairs to her room. She kicked toys out of the way as she went. The house was unusually quiet.
- •I shrugged.
- •I gasped and his eyes opened. They were as cold and hard as night.
- •I frowned suspiciously. “Or . . . Is this something else altogether? Some vampires-and-werewolves-are-always-enemies nonsense? Is this just a testosterone-fueled —”
- •It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but it looked like her bone white face got paler.
- •I shook my head.
- •I trudged off to English. Without Edward, the day was guaranteed to be unbearable. I sulked through my first class, well aware that my attitude wasn’t helping anything.
- •I nodded cautiously.
- •I stared at his face, waiting for his eyes to open.
- •I stopped breathing. This wasn’t the kind of thing he usually allowed. Despite his cold hands, I felt suddenly warm. His lips moved in the hollow at the base of my throat.
- •I smiled. “Didn’t you find any mountain lions?”
- •I shuddered.
- •I cringed at my father’s name.
- •I winced, and Esme rubbed my shoulder.
- •I handed the phone to Edward; I hoped he could read the warning in my eyes.
- •I took it slowly, feeling confused.
- •I pulled away from him and ran to put the knife in the sink before I doused it with bleach.
- •I shuddered again. “What can we do?”
- •I stared at him blankly. “I do?”
- •I took the red helmet, weighing it in my hands. “I’ll look stupid.”
- •I didn’t mention it out loud, but the biggest difference between the two circumstances was that Renйe and Charlie had been on better terms.
- •I tucked the helmet under my arm and threw the jacket across the seat.
- •11. Legends
- •It was easier being with my Quileute friends than I’d expected.
- •I shrank a little closer to Jacob’s side. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch with humor, and his arm tightened around me.
- •I paused, one foot on the ground. “No, Jake. Get some rest, I’ll be fine.”
- •I sighed and let my eyes close in contentment, resting there in his hands.
- •I’d sobered up by then, so I nodded and struggled to keep the frown off my face.
- •I shuddered. “No.”
- •I shuddered.
- •I didn’t realize Alice had come to stand behind me again.
- •I looked only at her as I answered. My voice was just slightly louder than a whisper. “I could help.”
- •I felt my face slip into a pout. He laughed at my expression as he extricated himself from my arms and legs. He leaned against the counter next to me and put one arm lightly around my shoulders.
- •I watched his face carefully for any change in expression. His eyes tightened the tiniest bit.
- •I shook my head. “You’re impossible.”
- •I jerked away from him.
- •I held up my injured hand.
- •I heard Charlie heave himself off of the sofa. Jacob got to the hall first, and much more quietly, but Charlie was not far behind him. Jacob’s expression was alert and eager.
- •I wasn’t listening.
- •I stared down blankly at my hands. My left hand rested lightly on the dark brace I rarely thought about. My broken knuckle didn’t hurt much anymore.
- •I stared, still frozen in horror, at Alice’s new expression. Her face was alive with exultation, all the despair wiped clean from her perfect features.
- •18. Instruction
- •I stared at Edward, my eyes stretched wide. “They’re coming as wolves?”
- •I squinted toward the forest, seeing nothing.
- •I watched with anxious eyes as he waved Alice forward.
- •I watched Alice more carefully now.
- •I grimaced, trying to ignore her.
- •I reached my hand out, my fingers trembling slightly, and touched the red-brown fur on the side of his face.
- •Inspiration came swiftly. “Angela and Ben,” I decided at once. “At least that will get them out of town.”
- •I stared at Edward as he explained, my forehead creasing. He patted my arm.
- •I swayed on my feet. Edward put his arm around my waist, pulling me closer and supporting my weight.
- •If this was the only reaction to Jacob’s gift, I would take it gladly. “Whatever makes you happy.”
- •I tried to smile back at Jacob, swallowing against the lump in my throat. I didn’t seem to get it right.
- •It was after dark when we reached the house. In spite of that, the meadow was bright in the light shining from every window.
- •I began to feel cautiously optimistic. Perhaps getting what I wanted would not be as difficult as I’d expected it to be.
- •I shook my head against his chest, grimacing. “You’re just trying to distract me. Let’s get back to the subject.”
- •I twisted my head to kiss the palm of his hand.
- •I glared. “That’s not what I meant. I already know how strong you are. You didn’t have to break the furniture.”
- •I was wrong.
- •I shook my head, and laughed glumly. “You make me feel like a villain in a melodrama — twirling my mustache while I try to steal some poor girl’s virtue.”
- •I glared at him through narrowed eyes.
- •I rolled my eyes. “Very mature, Edward.”
- •I looked at Edward, and he was smiling; whatever was bugging Alice amused him.
- •I turned to Alice, worried now, but she didn’t look at me. Her bad mood hadn’t passed yet.
- •I grimaced in horror as she grabbed my left hand and then dropped it just as quickly.
- •I watched him carefully as he cleaned the gash, looking for some sign of distress. He continued to breathe evenly in and out, the same small smile on his lips.
- •I rolled my eyes. “Same old, same old.”
- •I took a slow breath before I spoke. “No. I’m pretty sure it’s because you can’t talk.”
- •22. Fire and ice
- •I stared at him in outrage. No wonder Edward was reacting this way.
- •I was too far gone to ask them to stop talking about me like I wasn’t there. The conversation had taken on a dreamlike quality to me, and I wasn’t sure I was really awake.
- •It took Jacob a minute. “Oh. Ugh. The third wife. Okay, I see your point.”
- •It was quiet again, and the tent held still for a few minutes. The wind seemed to have decided that it wasn’t going to flatten us after all, and was giving up the fight.
- •I winced, wondering what might have come out of my mouth in my sleep. The possibilities were horrifying.
- •I elbowed Edward in the ribs — probably giving myself a bruise.
- •I stretched my neck up, straining to reach my lips to the edge of his jaw. I couldn’t see into his eyes. He was staring up at the ceiling of the tent.
- •It would be no more than I deserved if I somehow lost them both.
- •It was a moment before I could speak, and still the only answer I could give him was, “Please.”
- •It stunned me when Edward chuckled reluctantly.
- •I raised my head slowly to meet his patient gaze. His expression was soft; his eyes were full of understanding rather than the revulsion I deserved to see.
- •I closed my eyes and shook my head in agony. The sharp nylon fibers of the tent floor scraped against my skin.
- •It would be quick — she had no time for games here — but it would be thorough. Something that it would be impossible to recover from. Something that even vampire venom could not repair.
- •Victoria jerked her chin toward Edward, wordlessly ordering the boy forward.
- •Victoria’s gaze zeroed in on the gap between us. It would take her less than a second to kill me — she only needed the tiniest margin of opportunity.
- •Victoria kicked something aside with a flick of her bare foot — the missile that had crippled her attack. It rolled toward me, and I realized what it was.
- •Victoria did not even flinch to the sound of her name. Her eyes did not flicker once toward her partner.
- •I nodded, trying to hide the sudden terror — how much more could I handle before I collapsed? “No reason to be afraid. Got it.”
- •I already had my story memorized and corroborated. “I don’t care. I want to be there when Jacob wakes up.”
- •I took a deep breath to steady myself. Jacob had begun healing too quickly, and some of his bones had set wrong. He’d been out cold for the process, but it was still hard to think about.
- •I turned back to the fridge so that he couldn’t see my face.
- •I bent down to get a frying pan out of the cupboard, and hid there an extra second or two.
- •I winced, but Charlie was so caught up in his story that he didn’t notice.
- •I bit my lip. I was never going to get through this. Why didn’t anyone ever try to kill me when I wanted to die?
- •It took me a minute to even understand. He babbled on, looking more and more awkward, until I got what he was saying. Then I hurried to reassure him.
- •I winced and nodded. “I’m so sorry.”
- •I touched his face, laying my hand against his cheek. He exhaled at my touch and closed his eyes. It was very quiet. For a minute I could hear the beating of his heart, slow and even.
- •I knew what he meant. “After.”
- •I managed to convey, after several attempts, that it wasn’t going to get any better anytime soon. I needed to get past Charlie before it got late enough for him to call Billy.
- •I smiled just a bit at his correction, and then I sighed. “We are going to go see Alice.”
- •I shook my head.
- •I repeated for him the conversation I had with Charlie last night before I’d gone to see Jacob.
- •It would be wrong to strike back. I knew that. I was biting my tongue. But she’d be sorry if she didn’t walk away. Now.
I sighed and let my eyes close in contentment, resting there in his hands.
“Now will you answer a question for me? The whole truth, not sparing my feelings?” he asked.
“Of course,” I answered at once, my eyes opening wide with surprise. What would he want to know?
He spoke the words slowly. “You don’t want to be my wife.”
My heart stopped, and then broke into a sprint. A cold sweat dewed on the back of my neck and my hands turned to ice.
He waited, watching and listening to my reaction.
“That’s not a question,” I finally whispered.
He looked down, his lashes casting long shadows across his cheekbones, and dropped his hands from my face to pick up my frozen left hand. He played with my fingers while he spoke.
“I was worrying about why you felt that way.”
I tried to swallow. “That’s not a question, either,” I whispered.
“Please, Bella?”
“The truth?” I asked, only mouthing the words.
“Of course. I can take it, whatever it is.”
I took a deep breath. “You’re going to laugh at me.”
His eyes flashed up to mine, shocked. “Laugh? I cannot imagine that.”
“You’ll see,” I muttered, and then I sighed. My face went from white to scarlet in a sudden blaze of chagrin. “Okay, fine! I’m sure this will sound like some big joke to you, but really! It’s just so . . . so . . . so embarrassing!” I confessed, and I hid my face against his chest again.
There was a brief pause.
“I’m not following you.”
I tilted my head back and glared at him, embarrassment making me lash out, belligerent.
“I’m not that girl, Edward. The one who gets married right out of high school like some small-town hick who got knocked up by her boyfriend! Do you know what people would think? Do you realize what century this is? People don’t just get married at eighteen! Not smart people, not responsible, mature people! I wasn’t going to be that girl! That’s not who I am. . . .” I trailed off, losing steam.
Edward’s face was impossible to read as he thought through my answer.
“That’s all?” he finally asked.
I blinked. “Isn’t that enough?”
“It’s not that you were . . . more eager for immortality itself than for just me?”
And then, though I’d predicted that he would laugh, I was suddenly the one having hysterics.
“Edward!” I gasped out between the paroxysms of giggles. “And here . . . I always . . . thought that . . . you were . . . so much . . . smarter than me!”
He took me in his arms, and I could feel that he was laughing with me.
“Edward,” I said, managing to speak more clearly with a little effort, “there’s no point to forever without you. I wouldn’t want one day without you.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” he said.
“Still . . . it doesn’t change anything.”
“It’s nice to understand, though. And I do understand your perspective, Bella, truly I do. But I’d like it very much if you’d try to consider mine.”
I’d sobered up by then, so I nodded and struggled to keep the frown off my face.
His liquid gold eyes turned hypnotic as they held mine.
“You see, Bella, I was always that boy. In my world, I was already a man. I wasn’t looking for love — no, I was far too eager to be a soldier for that; I thought of nothing but the idealized glory of the war that they were selling prospective draftees then — but if I had found . . .” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “I was going to say if I had found someone, but that won’t do. If I had found you, there isn’t a doubt in my mind how I would have proceeded. I was that boy, who would have — as soon as I discovered that you were what I was looking for — gotten down on one knee and endeavored to secure your hand. I would have wanted you for eternity, even when the word didn’t have quite the same connotations.”
He smiled his crooked smile at me.
I stared at him with my eyes frozen wide.
“Breathe, Bella,” he reminded me, smiling.
I breathed.
“Can you see my side, Bella, even a little bit?”
And for one second, I could. I saw myself in a long skirt and a high-necked lace blouse with my hair piled up on my head. I saw Edward looking dashing in a light suit with a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand, sitting beside me on a porch swing.
I shook my head and swallowed. I was just having Anne of Green Gables flashbacks.
“The thing is, Edward,” I said in a shaky voice, avoiding the question, “in my mind, marriage and eternity are not mutually exclusive or mutually inclusive concepts. And since we’re living in my world for the moment, maybe we should go with the times, if you know what I mean.”
“But on the other hand,” he countered, “you will soon be leaving time behind you altogether. So why should the transitory customs of one local culture affect the decision so much?”
I pursed my lips. “When in Rome?”
He laughed at me. “You don’t have to say yes or no today, Bella. It’s good to understand both sides, though, don’t you think?”
“So your condition . . . ?”
“Is still in effect. I do see your point, Bella, but if you want me to change you myself. . . .”
“Dum, dum, dah-dum,” I hummed under my breath. I was going for the wedding march, but it sort of sounded like a dirge.
Time continued to move too fast.
That night flew by dreamlessly, and then it was morning and graduation was staring me in the face. I had a pile of studying to do for my finals that I knew I wouldn’t get halfway through in the few days I had left.
When I came down for breakfast, Charlie was already gone. He’d left the paper on the table, and that reminded me that I had some shopping to do. I hoped the ad for the concert was still running; I needed the phone number to get the stupid tickets. It didn’t seem like much of a gift now that all the surprise was gone. Of course, trying to surprise Alice wasn’t the brightest plan to begin with.
I meant to flip right back to the entertainment section, but the thick black headline caught my attention. I felt a thrill of fear as I leaned closer to read the front-page story.
SEATTLE TERRORIZED BY SLAYINGS
It’s been less than a decade since the city of Seattle was the hunting ground for the most prolific serial killer in U.S. history. Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer, was convicted of the murders of 48 women.
And now a beleaguered Seattle must face the possibility that it could be harboring an even more horrifying monster at this very moment.
The police are not calling the recent rash of homicides and disappearances the work of a serial killer. Not yet, at least. They are reluctant to believe so much carnage could be the work of one individual. This killer — if, in fact, it is one person — would then be responsible for 39 linked homicides and disappearances within the last three months alone. In comparison, Ridgway’s 48-count murder spree was scattered over a 21-year period. If these deaths can be linked to one man, then this is the most violent rampage of serial murder in American history.
The police are leaning instead toward the theory that gang activity is involved. This theory is supported by the sheer number of victims, and by the fact that there seems to be no pattern in the choice of victims.
From Jack the Ripper to Ted Bundy, the targets of serial killings are usually connected by similarities in age, gender, race, or a combination of the three. The victims of this crime wave range in age from 15-year-old honor student Amanda Reed, to 67-year-old retired postman Omar Jenks. The linked deaths include a nearly even 18 women and 21 men. The victims are racially diverse: Caucasians, African Americans, Hispanics and Asians.
The selection appears random. The motive seems to be killing for no other reason than to kill.
So why even consider the idea of a serial killer?
There are enough similarities in the modus operandi to rule out unrelated crimes. Every victim discovered has been burned to the extent that dental records were necessary for identification. The use of some kind of accelerant, like gasoline or alcohol, seems to be indicated in the conflagrations; however, no traces of any accelerant have yet been found. All of the bodies have been carelessly dumped with no attempt at concealment.
More gruesome yet, most of the remains show evidence of brutal violence — bones crushed and snapped by some kind of tremendous pressure — which medical examiners believe occurred before the time of death, though these conclusions are difficult to be sure of, considering the state of the evidence.
Another similarity that points to the possibility of a serial: every crime is perfectly clean of evidence, aside from the remains themselves. Not a fingerprint, not a tire tread mark nor a foreign hair is left behind. There have been no sightings of any suspect in the disappearances.
Then there are the disappearances themselves — hardly low profile by any means. None of the victims are what could be viewed as easy targets. None are runaways or the homeless, who vanish so easily and are seldom reported missing. Victims have vanished from their homes, from a fourth-story apartment, from a health club, from a wedding reception. Perhaps the most astounding: 30-year-old amateur boxer Robert Walsh entered a movie theater with a date; a few minutes into the movie, the woman realized that he was not in his seat. His body was found only three hours later when fire fighters were called to the scene of a burning trash Dumpster, twenty miles away.
Another pattern is present in the slayings: all of the victims disappeared at night.
And the most alarming pattern? Acceleration. Six of the homicides were committed in the first month, 11 in the second. Twenty-two have occurred in the last 10 days alone. And the police are no closer to finding the responsible party than they were after the first charred body was discovered.
The evidence is conflicting, the pieces horrifying. A vicious new gang or a wildly active serial killer? Or something else the police haven’t yet conceived of?
Only one conclusion is indisputable: something hideous is stalking Seattle.
It took me three tries to read the last sentence, and I realized the problem was my shaking hands.
“Bella?”
Focused as I was, Edward’s voice, though quiet and not totally unexpected, made me gasp and whirl.
He was leaning in the doorway, his eyebrows pulled together. Then he was suddenly at my side, taking my hand.
“Did I startle you? I’m sorry. I did knock. . . .”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “Have you seen this?” I pointed to the paper.
A frown creased his forehead.
“I hadn’t seen today’s news yet. But I knew it was getting worse. We’re going to have to do something . . . quickly.”
I didn’t like that. I hated any of them taking chances, and whatever or whoever was in Seattle was truly beginning to frighten me. But the idea of the Volturi coming was just as scary.
“What does Alice say?”
“That’s the problem.” His frown hardened. “She can’t see anything . . . though we’ve made up our minds half a dozen times to check it out. She’s starting to lose confidence. She feels like she’s missing too much these days, that something’s wrong. That maybe her vision is slipping away.”
My eyes were wide. “Can that happen?”
“Who knows? No one’s ever done a study . . . but I really doubt it. These things tend to intensify over time. Look at Aro and Jane.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Self-fulfilling prophecy, I think. We keep waiting for Alice to see something so we can go . . . and she doesn’t see anything because we won’t really go until she does. So she can’t see us there. Maybe we’ll have to do it blind.”