the end

I felt absolutely awful in the morning. I hadn't slept well; my arm burned and my head ached. It didn't help my outlook that Edward's face was smooth and remote as he kissed my forehead quickly and ducked out my window. I was afraid of the time I'd spent unconscious, afraid that he might have been thinking about right and wrong again while he watched me sleep. The anxiety seemed to ratchet up the intensity of the pounding in my head.

Edward was waiting for me at school, as usual, but his face was still wrong. There was something buried in his eyes that I couldn't be sure of—and it was unsettling. I didn't want to bring up last night, but I wasn't sure if avoiding the subject would be worse.

He opened my door for me.

"How do you feel?"

"Perfect," I lied, cringing as the sound of the slamming door echoed in my head.

We walked in silence, he shortened his stride to match mine. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but most of those questions would have wait, because they were for Alice: How was Jasper this morning? What had they said when I was gone? What had Royal said? And most importantly, what could she see happening now in her strange, imperfect visions of the future? Could she guess what Edward was thinking, why he was so gloomy? Was there a foundation for the tenuous, instinctive fears that I couldn't seem to shake?

The morning passed slowly. I was impatient to see Alice, though I wouldn't be able to really talk to her with Edward there. Edward remained aloof. Occasionally he would ask about my arm, and I would lie.

Alice usually beat us to lunch; she didn't have to keep pace with me like Edward did. Bit she wasn't at the table, waiting with a tray of food she wouldn't eat.

Edward didn't say anything about her absence. I wondered to myself if her class was running late—until I saw Conner and Ben, who were in her fourth hour French class.

"Where's Alice?" I asked Edward anxiously.

He looked at the granola bar he was slowly pulverizing between his fingertips while he answered. "She's with Jasper."

"Is he okay?"

"He's gone away for a while."

"What? Where?"

Edward shrugged. "Nowhere in particular."

"And Alice, too," I said with sadness. Of course, if Jasper needed her, she would go.

"Yes. She'll be gone for a while. She was trying to convince him to go to Denali."

Denali was where the other band of unique vampires—good ones like the Cullens lived. Taras and his family. I'd heard of them now and again. Edward had run to them last winter when my arrival had made Forks difficult for him. Laurent, the most civilized member of James's little coven, had gone there rather than siding with James against the Cullens. It made sense for Alice to encourage Jasper to go there.

I swallowed, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in my throat. The guilt made my head bow and my shoulders slump. They had to leave because of me, because it was difficult to be around me, just like Royal. I felt terrible.

"Is your arm bothering you?" he asked solicitously.

"Who cares about my stupid arm?" I muttered sadly.

He didn't answer, and I laid my heads on my folded arms on the table.

By the end of the day, the silence was becoming ridiculous. I didn't want to be the one to break it, but apparently that was my only choice if I wanted him to talk to me.

"You'll come over later tonight?" I asked as he walked me—silently—to my truck. He always came over.

"Later?"

It pleased me that he seemed surprised. "I have to work. I had to trade with Mrs. Newton to get yesterday off."

"Oh," he murmured.

"So you'll come over when I'm home, though, right?" I hated that I felt suddenly unsure about this.

"If you want me to."

"I always want you," I reminded him, with perhaps a little more intensity than the conversation required.

I expected he would laugh, or smile, or react somehow to my words.

"All right, then," he said indifferently.

He kissed my forehead again before he shut the door on me. Then he turned his back and loped gracefully toward his car.

I was at least able to drive out of the parking lot before the rising feeling of dread hit, it only worsened by the time I got to Newton's.

He just needed time, I reasoned. He would get over this. Maybe he was sad because his family was disappearing. But Alice and Jasper would come back soon, and Royal and Emmett, too. If it would help, I would stay away from the big white house on the river—I'd never set foot there again. That would be okay. I'd still see Alice at school. She would have to come back for school, right? And she was at my place all the time anyway. She wouldn't want to hurt Charlie's feelings by staying away.

No doubt I would also run into Carlisle at the hospital. Maybe I'd see Esme around town, and perhaps Emmett would want to come visit, too.

After all, what had happened last night was nothing. Nothing had happened. So I fell down—that was the story of my life. Compared to last spring, it seemed especially unimportant. James had left me broken and nearly dead from blood loss—and yet Edward had handled the interminable weeks in the hospital much better than this. Was it because, this time, it wasn't an enemy he'd had to protect me from? Because it was his brother?

Maybe it would be better if he could just hold out until we left for college. If he could just last through the school year, we could go away. Surely Edward could wait a year. What was a year to an immortal? It didn't seem like that much to me.

I was able to talk myself into a relatively composed state that would allow for working. I got out of my truck and walked to the store. Mike Newton had beaten me here today, and he smiled and waved when I came in. I grabbed my vest, waving back. I was still distracted by Edward's behavior.

Mike interrupted my thoughts. "How was your birthday?"

"Oh," I sighed, "It was nothing special."

Mike looked at me from the corners of his eyes with confusion.

Work dragged. I wanted to see Edward, to talk to him. I had been quiet and passive so far, but that wasn't going to help either of us. I needed to be assertive and we needed to talk about this problem. I hoped Edward would be past the worst of this, whatever it was exactly, by the time I saw him again. I tried to convince myself it was nothing; that everything would go back to normal.

The relief I felt when I turned onto my street and saw Edward's silver car parked in front of my house was more than welcome. Somewhere, in the back of my head, it bothered me that his presence alone had such sway over my mood.

I hurried through the front door, calling out as soon as I was inside.

"Dad? Edward?"

As I spoke, I could hear the distinctive theme music from ESPN's SportsCenter coming from the living room.

"In here," Charlie called.

I hung my raincoat on its peg and hurried around the corner.

Edward was in the armchair, my father on the sofa. Both had their eyes trained on the TV. The focus was normal for my father. Not so much for Edward.

"Hi," I said weakly.

"Hey, Beau," my father answered, eyes never moving. "We just had cold pizza. I think it's still on the table."

"Okay."

I took a tentative step towards the kitchen, my eyes on Edward. He finally looked over at me with a polite smile. "I'll wait here," he said simply. His eyes strayed back to the TV.

I stared for another minute, confused. Neither one seemed to notice. I could feel that feeling of dread resurfacing. I hurried to the kitchen.

The pizza held no interest for me; I had no appetite. I sat in my chair and stared at nothing in particular. Something was very wrong, maybe more wrong than I'd realized. The sounds of the television continued in the living room.

I had no frame of reference for this. I had never had a boyfriend, let alone a vampire boyfriend before. What was I supposed to do? My resolve to talk to Edward about the problem wavered; would that help? Would that only upset him more? If his temper was the problem I'd know instantly how to deal with that, but this was different. And more than that, this didn't just concern Edward and me; this changed things with his family. Jasper was certainly off limits, maybe if we worked that out Edward wouldn't be so… whatever he was right now.

My head was spinning trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. In front of me, on the table, was the scrapbook Renée had sent. A distraction, and a welcome one at that. I touched the pretty cover of the scrapbook, and sighed, thinking of my mother. I flipped the front cover open. Little metal corners were already in place to hold the first picture. I decided to distract myself by getting started filling the pages with memories. Everything suddenly seemed fleeting for some reason.

I pulled my new phone out of my pocket and looked at the solitary photo I had taken of Edward. On the screen it was beautiful, and he looked so carefree and happy. So much had changed, and so abruptly. The boy sitting in my living room now was completely different. That dread reared its head again.

I didn't want to think about it. I headed upstairs with my phone eager to distract myself.

My room hadn't really changed all that much in the seventeen years since my mother had been there. The walls were still light blue, but now dark red curtains hung in front of the window instead of the pastel yellow ones she had hung. There was a bed, rather than a crib, but she would recognize the quilt draped untidily over the top—it had been a gift from Gran.

Regardless, I snapped a picture of my room. There wasn't much else I could do tonight—it was too dark outside. I felt the urge to take as many pictures as I could, to preserve a moment in time that felt like it was slipping away.

Change was coming. I could feel it. It wasn't a pleasant prospect, either.

I took my time coming back down the stairs, phone in hand, trying to ignore the knots in my stomach as I thought of the strange distance I didn't want to see in Edward's eyes. He would get over this. That's what couples did—they got over things.

I had the camera on the phone ready as I leaned around the corner, being sneaky. I was sure there was no chance that I had caught Edward by surprise, but he didn't look up. I felt a brief shiver as something icy twisted in my stomach; I ignored that and took the picture. The phone made a loud shutter sound as the flash lit up the room.

They both looked at me then. Charlie frowned. Edward's face was empty, expressionless.

"What are you doing, Beau?" Charlie complained.

"Oh, come on." I forced a smile as I went to sit on the floor in front of the sofa where Charlie lounged. "You know Mom will be calling soon to ask if I'm using my presents. She'd love to see some pictures."

"Why are you taking pictures of me, though?" he grumbled.

"Because you suggested I take pictures with the phone," I teased, keeping it light. "You're obligated to be one of my subjects."

He mumbled something unintelligible.

"Hey, Edward," I said, with admirable indifference. "Take one of me and my dad together."

I threw the phone toward him, carefully avoiding his eyes, and knelt beside the arm of the sofa where Charlie's face was. Charlie sighed.

"You need to smile, Beau," Edward murmured.

I did my best, and the phone flashed.

"Let me take one of you kids," Charlie suggested. I knew he was just trying to shift the camera's focus from himself.

Edward stood and lightly tossed him the phone.

I went to stand beside Edward, and the arrangement felt formal and strange to me. He put on hand lightly on my shoulder, and I wrapped my arm more securely around his waist. I wanted to look at his face, but I was afraid to.

"Smile, Beau," Charlie reminded me again.

I took a deep breath and smiled. The flash blinded me.

"Enough pictures for tonight," Charlie said then, handing me back my phone. "You can take more tomorrow."

Edward dropped his hand from my shoulder and twisted casually out of my arm. He sat back down on the armchair.

I hesitated, and then went to sit against the sofa again. I decided to be indifferent, too. It was harder than I thought it would be. I stared at the TV screen in front of me, seeing nothing.

When the show ended, I hadn't moved an inch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward stand.

"I'd better get home," he said.

Charlie didn't look up from the commercial. "See ya."

I got awkwardly to my feet—I was stiff from sitting on the floor—and followed Edward out the front door. He went straight to his car.

"Will you stay?" I asked, no hope in my voice.

I expected his answer, so it didn't really hurt.

"Not tonight."

I didn't ask for a reason.

He got in his car and drove away while I stood there, unmoving. I barely noticed that it was raining. I waited, without knowing what I waited for, until the door opened behind me.

"Beau, what are you doing?" Charlie asked, surprised to see me standing there alone and dripping.

"Nothing." I turned and walked back to the house.

It was a long, restless night.

I woke up as soon as there was a faint light outside my window. I showered and dressed for school mechanically, feeling tense and uneasy. After I had eaten a bowl of cereal, I decided it was light enough for more pictures to distract myself. I took one of my truck, and then the front of the house. I turned and snapped a few of the forest by Charlie's house. Funny how it didn't seem sinister like it used to. I realized how much I'd grown to love it—the green, the timelessness, the mystery of the woods. All of it.

I slid my phone back into my pocket, eager to take more pictures at school. I tried to concentrate on my little project rather than the fact that Edward apparently hadn't gotten over things during the night.

Along with the unease and dread, I was beginning to feel impatience. How long could this last?

It lasted all through the morning. He walked silently beside me, never seeming to actually look at me. I tried to concentrate on my classes, but not even English could hold my attention. Mr. Berty had to repeat his question about Lady Capulet twice before I realized he was talking to me. I stuttered out the answer, embarrassed, while Edward continued to ignore me.

At lunch, the silence continued. I was tired of it, I wanted to scream to break monotony. Trying to further distract myself, I leaned across the table's invisible line and spoke to Jessica.

"Hey, Jess?"

"What's up, Beau?"

"Could you do me a favor?" I asked, reaching into my bag. "My parents got me this new phone and my mom wants me to take pictures for a scrapbook. Will you guys all put your numbers in it and take some pictures of everybody?"

I handed her my phone.

"Oh my god, I've been asking my dad for this one!"  she snatched it away full of excitement, and turned to snap a candid shot of Mike with his mouth full.

A picture war ensued. I watched them hand the camera around the table, giggling and complaining about unflattering angles. It brightened my mood, a little, to see them so happy. I watched as they took pictures of each other, of themselves, and added their numbers into the phone. It was all so effortless, so easy. So normal.

"I think we better stop before we fill up your phone," Jessica finally snatched the phone back from Mike and returned it to me.

"Thanks, Jess. I appreciate it."

"I hope you know I'll be texting you daily." Jessica grinned.

"I would expect nothing less." I smiled.

After school, Edward walked me back to the parking lot in silence. I had to work again, and for once, I was glad. Time together obviously wasn't helping things. Maybe some time apart would be better.

Work progressed as slow as usual. I could barely pay attention the entire time. At home, I said a brief hi to Charlie, grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen, and hurried up to my room.

I sat in the middle of my bed and connected my phone to my new laptop to download the pictures.

When the first picture came up on the screen I sighed. Edward looked just as beautiful as he did in real life, staring at me out of the screen with the warm eyes I'd missed for the past few days. It made me sad to see him happy and warm knowing that it was only a few short days ago. I made the picture my phone's wallpaper.

I scrolled through the rest of the pictures quickly, but three stood out to me.

The first was the picture of Edward in the kitchen, his warm eyes touched with tolerant amusement. The second was Edward and Charlie, watching ESPN. The difference in Edward's expression was severe. His eyes were careful here, reserved. Still breathtakingly beautiful, but his face was colder, more like a sculpture, less alive.

The last was the picture of Edward and me standing awkwardly side by side. Edward's face was the same as he last, cold and statue-like. But that wasn't the most troubling part of this photograph. The coldness between the two of us was almost painful. Visible even in the photograph. Anyone who looked at us would think we barely knew each other, not that we'd promised forever. I closed the picture with a gnawing ache of sadness.

Instead of doing my homework, I stayed up to print out the pictures and put them into the album. With a ballpoint pen, I scrawled captions under all the pictures, the names and dates. I got to the picture of Edward, warm and loving, and put it on the first page.

When I was done, I printed off a second set of prints in an envelope and penned a long thank-you letter to Renée.

Edward still hadn't come over. I had hoped maybe he would show up at some point while I was busy with the photos, but that hope was in vain. I tried to remember the last time he'd stayed away like this, without an excuse, a phone call… he never had.

Again, I didn't sleep well.

Edward wasn't there when I arrived at school. Despite the dark rain clouds in the sky, he was oddly absent. The entire day was a slow blur as my heart sunk lower and lower. I felt relief when I saw him waiting for me by my truck at the end of the day, but it faded quickly when I saw his stony face.

It was hard to remember the reason for all this mess. My birthday already felt like the distant past. If only Alice would come back. Soon. Before this got any more out of hand. I decided then, seeing him across the lot, that we would talk it out, no excuses. If he still wouldn't see reason, then I was going to see Carlisle tomorrow. I had to do something.

I reached my truck, my stomach full of knots.

"Do you mind if I come over today?" he asked before I could speak.

"Of course not."

"Now?" he asked again, opening my door for me.

"Sure," I kept my voice even, though I didn't like the urgency in his tone. "I was just going to drop a letter for my mom in the mailbox on the way. I'll meet you there."

He looked at the fat envelope on the passenger seat. Suddenly, he reached over me and snagged it.

"I'll do it," he said quietly. "And I'll still beat you there." He smiled my favorite crooked smile, but it was wrong. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Okay," I agreed, unable to smile back. He shut the door, and headed toward his car parked near the back of the lot. As he walked away I realized he was wearing the same outfit he had been wearing the last time I saw him, like he hadn't changed.

He did beat me home. He was parked in Charlie's spot when I pulled up in front of the house. That was a bad sign. He didn't plan to stay, then. I shook my head and took a deep breath, trying to build up my courage.

He got out of his car when I stepped out of the truck, and came to meet me. He reached to take my book bag from me. That was normal. But he shoved it back onto the seat. That was not normal.

"Come for a walk with me," he suggested in an unemotional voice, taking my hand.

I didn't answer. I couldn't think of a way to protest, but I instantly knew that I wanted to. I didn't like this. This is bad, this is very bad, the voice in my head repeated again and again.

But he didn't wait for an answer. He pulled me along toward the east side of the yard, where the forest encroached. I followed unwillingly, trying to comprehend the emotions I was feeling. It was what I wanted, I reminded myself. The chance to talk it all through. So why was I feeling so anxious?

We'd gone only a few steps into the trees when he stopped. We were barely on the trail—I could still see the house.

Some walk.

Edward leaned against a tree and stared at me, his expression unreadable.

"Okay, let's talk," I said. It sounded braver than I felt.

He took a deep breath.

"Beau, we're leaving."

I was confused, I didn't understand why we would leave so suddenly. College was a year off.

"Why now? Another year—"

"Beau, it's time. How much longer could we stay in Forks, after all? Carlisle can barely pass for thirty and he's claiming thirty-three now. We'd have to start over soon regardless."

His answer confused me even more. I stared at him for a moment.

"I can't just leave, Edward. Charlie, my friends…" I trailed off.

He stared at me coldly.

I felt my stomach drop, my heart began beating hard. I realized I'd misunderstood.

"When you say we—"

"I mean my family and myself." Each word separate and distinct.

I shook my head back and forth mechanically, trying to clear it. He waited without any sign of impatience. It took a few minutes before I could speak.

"I'm not sure I understand."

"We're leaving. And where we're going… it's not the right place for you."

"But, Edward..."

"I'm not good for you, Beau."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. "Don't be ridiculous."

"My world is not for you," he said grimly.

"What happened with Jasper—that was nothing, Edward."

"You're right," he agreed. "Nothing compared to what it could have been. In fact, it was exactly what was to be expected."

"But, but… just leaving?"

"I told you, Beau—"

"You promised me in Phoenix, Edward." I cut him off. "You promised that we would see this through. You promised you would stay—"

"As long as it was best for you," he interrupted to correct me.

"What is this about Edward?" I felt the anger in my voice, "Something about souls? About right or wrong? Carlisle told me about all that, and I don't care. Don't throw this away because of it. Let's talk this out, let's discuss it."

He took a deep breath and stared, unseeingly at the ground for a long moment. His mouth twisted the tiniest bit. When he finally looked up, his eyes were different, harder—like the liquid gold had frozen solid.

"Beau, I don't want you to come with me." He spoke the words slowly and precisely, his cold eyes on my face, watching as I absorbed what he was really saying.

There was a pause as I repeated the words in my head a few times, before understanding came to me.

"You… don't… want me." It was a statement, not a question.

"No."

I felt a wave of sadness hit me hard, coupled by a flicker of anger that I didn't quite understand. I stared into his eyes. He stared back without apology. His eyes were like topaz—hard and clear and very deep. I felt like I could see into them for miles and miles, yet nowhere in their bottomless depths could I see a contradiction to the word he'd spoken.

"Well, that changes things." My voice was quiet as the sadness was replaced by an overwhelming numbness. I understood what he was saying, but it didn't make any sense. Not after this past year, not after what we had been through in just the first months of our life together. Not after everything he had said and promised to me.

He looked away into the trees as he spoke again. "Of course, I'll always love you… in a way. But what happened the other night made me realize that it's time for a change. Because I'm… tired of pretending to be something I'm not, Beau. I am not human." He looked back, and the icy planes of his perfect face were not human. "I've let this go on much too long, and I'm sorry for that."

"Don't." My voice was a hoarse whisper, my throat had gone dry. "Don't do this."

He just stared at me, and I could see from his eyes that my words were far too late. He already had.

"You're not good for me, Beau." He turned his earlier words around, and these hurt more, cut deeper.

"How dare you?" My words surprised me, his eyes flickered minutely. "After everything? After everything you've said and promised? After everything I went through just to be with you?"

"It shouldn't be so difficult to be with someone." Was all he said in reply.

I could feel the numbness being replaced by hurt and anger.

"But I made that choice, didn't I?" I snapped, "I chose this. But maybe I wouldn't have if you hadn't made me believe you loved me. If you hadn't led me on for a year."

He said nothing, but I saw some tinge of remorse in his face and it gave me some satisfaction. It was short lived as realizing that he regretted leading me on meant that he had, in fact, not loved me like he said. That it was all a lie. A momentary distraction. My anger was thoroughly dwarfed by the sadness again.

"So, that's it?"

He nodded once.

The numbness flooded back, drowning me.

"I would like to ask one favor, though, if that's not too much," he said.

"A favor?" I choked the words out, disbelievingly.

As I watched, his frozen eyes melted. The gold became liquid again, molten, burning down into mine with an intensity that was overwhelming.

"Don't do anything reckless or dangerous," he ordered, no longer detached. "Keep yourself safe. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I could only nod.

His eyes cooled, the distance returned. "I'm thinking of Charlie, of course. He needs you. Take care of yourself—for him."

I nodded again. "Of course."

He seemed to relax just a little.

"And I'll make you a promise in return," he said. "I promise that this will be the last time you'll see me. I won't come back. I won't put you through anything like this again. You can go on with your life without any more interference from me. It will be as if I'd never existed."

"Another promise," I said coldly. I could hear the blood pounding faster than normal behind my ears. His voice sounded farther away.

He smiled gently. "Don't worry. You're human—your memory is no more than a sieve. Time heals all would for your kind."

"And your memories?" I asked. It sounded like there was something stuck in my throat, like I was choking.

"Well"—he hesitated for a short second—"I won't forget. But my kind… we're very easily distracted." He smiled; the smile was tranquil and it did not touch his eyes.

He took a step away from me. "That's everything, I suppose. We won't bother you again."

The plural caught my attention.

"Alice isn't coming back," I realized. I don't know how he heard me—the words made no sound—but he seemed to understand.

He shook his head slowly, always watching my face.

"No. They're all gone. I stayed behind to tell you goodbye."

"Alice is gone? Emmett?" My voice was blank with disbelief.

"They wanted to say goodbye, but I convinced them that a clean break would be better for you."

I felt dizzy; it was hard to concentrate. His words swirled around in my head, and I heard the doctor at the hospital in Phoenix, last spring, as he showed me the X-rays. You can see it's a clean break, his finger traced along the picture of my severed bone. That's good. It will heal more easily, more quickly.

I tried to keep my breathing normal, I felt like I was in some sort of dream, or a nightmare.

"Goodbye, Beau," he said in the same quiet, peaceful voice.

"Wait!" I choked out the word, reaching for him, taking a stumbling step forward.

I thought he was reaching for me, too. But his cold hands locked around my wrists and pinned them to my sides. He leaned down, and pressed his lips very lightly to my forehead for the briefest instant. My eyes closed.

"Take care of yourself," he breathed, cool against my skin.

There was a light, unnatural breeze. My eyes flashed open. The leaves on a small vine maple shuddered with the gentle wind of his passage.

He was gone.

My body was numb, and my mind went blank. Not knowing why, I stumbled forward through the forest. I knew it was useless, I knew I would never catch up to him, never find him. There were no footprints, the leaves were still again, but I walked forward without thinking. I could not do anything else. I had to keep moving. If I stopped looking for him then it really was over.

Love… over.

I needed to find him. To tell him how I felt, how hurt I was. I needed to talk, to yell, to cry… something. He was right, I was human. And he had robbed me of a human goodbye, of human closure. He had said his goodbye and left, and left me with nothing—no chance to really say or do anything. It was cold, harsh, selfish… it was cowardly of him. Anger and betrayal fueled my steps now. I walked and walked.

Suddenly, I began to regain a sense of clarity. I would never find him, and worse, I was lost. Very lost. I looked around helplessly, not recognizing anything, seeing no visible path. I felt a twinge of panic join the feelings of hurt, sadness, and betrayal. The panic only mounted as I pushed through the thick undergrowth. Time made no sense as I trudged on. It was hours passing, but also only seconds. The forest looked the same no matter how far I went. I started to worry I was traveling in a circle, a very small circle at that, and the panic mounted. I stumbled often, and, as it grew darker and darker, I fell often, too.

Utterly lost, I began to hyperventilate. My hands tensing and un-tensing, shaking more and more violently. I was completely panicked and scared.

Finally, I tripped over something—it was black now, I had no idea what caught my foot—and I stayed down. I rolled onto my side, trying to breathe, but I was still hyperventilating. Nothing felt real anymore. I was dizzy and nauseous. I curled up on the wet bracken, forcing myself to take measured breaths.

As I lay there, raking in gasping breaths, I had a feeling that more time was passing than I realized. I couldn't remember how long it had been since nightfall. Was it always so dark here at night? Surely, as a rule, a little bit of moonlight would filter down through the clouds, through the chinks in the canopy of trees, and find ground.

Not tonight. Tonight the sky was utterly black. Perhaps there was no moon tonight—a lunar eclipse, a new moon.

A new moon. I shivered, though I wasn't cold.

It was black for a long time before I heard them calling.

Someone was shouting my name. It was muted, muffled by the wet growth that surrounded me, but it was definitely my name. I didn't recognize the voice. I tried to answer, but I only heard the strange, strangled gasps coming from my throat. I wondered why I couldn't speak, it took me a long time to think of a reason and, eventually, the calling stopped.

Sometime later, the rain woke me up. I don't think I had fallen asleep; probably passed out from hyperventilating. I felt numb still, more numb than I had before and it wasn't from the cold.

Though I was cold, freezing in fact. The rain bothered me a little, I unwrapped my arms from around my legs to shield my face.

It was then that I heard the calling again. It was farther away this time, and sometimes it sounded like several voices were calling at once. I tried to breathe deeply and answer, but no sound came from my throat.

Suddenly, there was another sound, startlingly close. A kind of snuffling, an animal sound. It sounded big. I felt the panic rise again, overtaking the numbness, but the sound went away.

The rain continued, and I could feel the water pooling up against my cheek. I was trying to gather the strength to get up when I saw the light.

At first it was just a dim glow reflecting off the bushes in the distance. It grew brighter and brighter, illuminating a large space unlike the focused beam of a flashlight. The light broke through the closest brush, and I could see that it was a propane lantern, but that was all I could see—the brightness blinded me for a moment.

"Beau."

The voice was deep and unfamiliar, but full of recognition. He wasn't calling my name to search, he was acknowledging that I was found.

I stared up—impossibly high it seemed—at the dark face that I could now see above me. I was vaguely aware that the stranger probably only looked so tall because my head was still on the ground.

"Have you been hurt?"

I tried to respond, but still no sound came from my lips. I only stared.

"Beau, my name is Sam Uley."

There was nothing familiar about this name.

"Charlie sent me to look for you."

Charlie? Charlie was looking for me, and Charlie mattered. I needed to get up.

The tall man held out a hand. I tried to reach out to grab it, but my own had was shaking violently and I wasn't sure why.

His black eyes looked concerned. In a quick and supple motion, he pulled me up from the ground and into his arms.

I didn't feel cold anymore as he held me, loping swiftly through the wet forest. Some part of me knew this should upset me—being carried away by a stranger. But my mind wasn't able to focus right now. I hooked my arms around his neck, and buried my head in his shoulder.

It didn't seem like too much time passed before I heard the deep babble of many many voices. Same Uley slowed as he approached the commotion.

"I've got him!" he called in a booming voice that rumbled from his chest and through my body.

The babble ceased, and then picked up again with more intensity. A confusing swirl of faces moved over me. Sam's voice was the only one that made sense in the chaos, perhaps because face was still buried in his shoulder.

"No, I don't think he's hurt," he told someone. "He's shaking though, pretty badly."

I wasn't cold anymore, at least I didn't think I was.

"He wouldn't say," Sam continued, "All he said was 'He's gone.'"

Had I said that? I didn't recall.

"Beau, son, are you all right?"

That was one voice I would know anywhere—even distorted, as it was now, with worry.

"Charlie?" I turned my head slowly, my voice sounded strange and weak.

"I'm right here, Beau."

I felt a hand on the back of my head, "Why is he shaking so bad?"

"Let's get him inside," Sam Uley suggested.

He walked quickly, I wished I could tell him to put me down and let me walk, but I couldn't find my voice. I managed to finally open my eyes.

There were lights everywhere, held by the crowd walking with Sam and Charlie. It felt like a parade. Or a funeral procession. I closed my eyes again.

"We're almost home now," I heard Charlie mumble now and then.

I opened my eyes again when I heard the door unlock. We were on the porch of our house, and Charlie was holding the door open for Sam.

Sam carried me to the couch in the living room.

"I'm all wet," I objected feebly.

"It's all right," I heard Charlie say gruffly. And then he was talking to someone else. "Blankets are in the cupboard at the top of the stairs."

"Beau?" It was Sam's voice, very low and soft. "You can let go now, you're home."

I realized I hadn't released my grip on Sam's neck, I let go and wrapped my arms around me tightly. As soon as he moved away I suddenly felt freezing cold.

"Beau?" a new voice asked. I looked at the gray-haired woman leaning over me, and recognition came after a few slow seconds.

"Dr. Gerandy?" I mumbled.

"That's right, dear," she said. "Are you hurt, Beau?"

It took me a minute to think that through. I was confused by the memory of Sam Uley's similar question in the woods. Only Sam had asked something else: Have you been hurt? He'd said. The difference seemed significant somehow.

Dr. Gerandy was waiting. One eyebrow rose, and the wrinkles on her forehead deepened.

"I'm not hurt," I said quietly. Not physically, at least.

Her warm hand touched my forehead, and her fingers pressed against the inside of my wrist. I watched her lips as she counted to herself, her eyes on her watch.

"What happened to you?" she asked gently.

I froze under her hand, feeling panic and anxiety.

"Did you get lost in the woods?" she prodded. I was aware of several other people listening. Three tall men with dark faces, from La Push, the Quileute Native American reservation down the coastline, I guessed—Sam Uley among them, were standing very close together and staring at me. Mr. Newton was there with Mike and Mr. Weber, Angela's father; they were all watching me more surreptitiously than the strangers. Other deep voices rumbled from the kitchen and outside the front door. Half the town must have been looking for me.

Charlie was the closest. He leaned in to hear my answer.

"Yes," I whispered. "I got lost."

The doctor nodded, thoughtful, her fingers probing gently against the glands under my jaw. Charlie's face hardened.

"Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?" Dr. Gerandy asked.

I closed my eyes and nodded.

"I think he had a severe panic attack, probably induced from being lost in the woods," I heard the doctor mutter to Charlie after a moment. "He should be fine now. Let him sleep it off, and I'll come check on him tomorrow," she paused. She must have looked at her watch, because she added, "Well, later today actually."

There was a creaking sound as they both pushed off from the couch to get to their feet.

"Is it true?" Charlie whispered. Their voices were farther away now. I strained to hear. "Did they leave?"

"Dr. Cullen asked us not to say anything," Dr. Gerandy answered. "The offer was very sudden; they had to choose immediately. Carlisle didn't want to make a big production out of leaving."

"A little warning might have been nice," Charlie grumbled.

Dr. Gerandy changed the subject, "Does Beau have a history of panic attacks?"

Charlie's response was delayed, like something was on his mind, "Not in years."

"If they continue, I can prescribe something." Dr. Gerandy said softly.

I stopped listening. I was drifting in and out of alertness. I heard Charlie whisper thanks to the volunteers as, one by one, they left. I felt his fingers on my forehead, and then the weight of another blanket. The phone rang a few times, and he hurried to catch it before it could wake me. He muttered reassurances in a low voice to the callers.

"Yeah, we found him. He's okay. He got lost. He's fine now," he said again and again.

I heard the springs in the armchair groan when he settled himself in for the night.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again.

Charlie moaned as he struggled to his feet, and then he rushed, stumbling to the kitchen. I pulled my head deeper under the blankets not wanting to listen to the same conversation again.

"Yeah," Charlie said, and yawned.

His voice changed, it was much more alert when he spoke again. "Where?" There was a pause. "You sure it's outside the reservation?" Another short pause. "But what could be burning out there?" He sounded both worried and mystified. "Look, I'll call down there and check it out."

I listened with more interest as he punched in a number.

"Hey, Billy, it's Charlie—sorry I'm calling so early… no, he's fine. He's sleeping… Thanks, but that's not why I called. I just got a call from Mrs. Stanley, and she says that from her second-story window she can see fires out on the sea cliffs, but I didn't really… Oh!" Suddenly there was an edge in his voice—irritation… or anger. "And why are they doing that? Uh huh. Really?" He said it sarcastically. "Well, don't apologize to me. Yeah, yeah. Just make sure the flames don't spread… I know, I know, I'm surprised they got them lit at all in this weather."

Charlie hesitated, and then added grudgingly. "Thanks for sending Sam and the other boys up. You were right—they do know the forest better than we do. It was Sam who found him, so I owe you one… Yeah, I'll talk to you later," he agreed, still sour, before hanging up.

Charlie muttered something incoherent as he shuffled back to the living room.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He hurried to my side.

"I'm sorry I woke you, kiddo."

"Is something burning?"

"It's nothing," he assured me. "Just some bonfires out on the cliffs."

"Bonfires?" I asked. My voice didn't sound curious. It sounded dead.

Charlie frowned. "Some of the kids from the reservation being rowdy," he explained.

"Why?" I wondered dully.

I could tell he didn't want to answer. He looked at the floor under his knees. "They're celebrating the news." His tone was bitter.

There was only one piece of news I could think of, try as I might not to. And then the pieces snapped together. "Because the Cullens left," I whispered. "They don't like the Cullens in La Push— I'd forgotten about that."

The Quileutes had their superstitions about the "cold ones," the blood-drinkers that were enemies to their tribe, just like they had their legends of the great flood and wolf-men ancestors. Just stories, folklore, to most of them. Then there were the few that believed. Charlie's good friend Billy Black believed, though even Jacob, his own son, thought he was full of stupid superstitions. Billy had warned me to stay away from the Cullens.…

The name stirred something inside me, something that began to claw its way toward the surface, something I knew I didn't want to face.

"It's ridiculous," Charlie spluttered.

We sat in silence for a moment. The sky was no longer black outside the window. Somewhere behind the rain, the sun was beginning to rise.

"Beau?" Charlie asked.

I looked at him uneasily.

"He left you alone in the woods?" Charlie guessed.

I deflected his question. "How did you know where to find me?" My mind shied away from the inevitable awareness that was coming, coming quickly now.

"Your note," Charlie answered, surprised. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a much-abused piece of paper. It was dirty and damp, with multiple creases from being opened and refolded many times. He unfolded it again, and held it up as evidence. The messy handwriting was remarkably close to my own.

Going for a walk with Edward, up the path, Back soon, B.

"When you didn't come back, I tried calling your phone but you didn't answer. I called the Cullens, and no one answered there, either," Charlie said in a low voice. "I found your phone in your school bag in the truck and I got worried, so I called the hospital, and Dr. Gerandy told me that Carlisle was gone."

"Where did they go?" I mumbled.

He stared at me. "Didn't Edward tell you?"

I shook my head. The sound of his name unleashed the thing that was clawing inside of me—a pain, mingled with anger that knocked me breathless, astonished me with its force.

Charlie eyed me doubtfully as he answered. "Carlisle took a job with a big hospital in Los Angeles. I guess they threw a lot of money at him."

Sunny L.A. The last place they would really go. I remembered my nightmare with the mirror… the bright sunlight shimmering off his skin—

Agony ripped through me with the memory of his face.

"I want to know if Edward left you alone out there in the middle of the woods," Charlie insisted.

His name sent another wave of emotion through me. I hesitated, but ultimately shook my head. "He left me right here on the trail, in sight of the house… but I tried to follow him."

Charlie started to say something; I cut him off. "I want to go to my room and lay down, I can't talk about this right now, Dad. I'm sorry."

He sighed, and nodded gently. I forced myself off the couch, I felt heavy. I noticed my school bag sitting on the floor by the stairs. I scooped it up as I forced myself up the stairs.

Then the thought hit me.

Someone had been in the house to leave a note for Charlie, a note that would lead him to find me. A horrible suspicion began to grow in my head. I rushed to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me before I ran to the CD player by my bed.

Everything looked exactly the same as I'd left it. I pressed down on the top of the CD player. The latch unhooked, and the lid slowly swung open.

It was empty.

I fished my phone out of my school bag and pressed the button on the front. The wallpaper on the screen was the picture of me and Charlie. I frantically scrolled through the photos folder on the phone—my room, me and Charlie, the truck, the house, my friends… No Edward.

The album Renée had given me sat on the floor beside the bed, just where I'd put it last. I lifted the cover with a shaking hand.

I didn't have to flip any farther than the first page. The little metal corners no longer held a picture in place. The page was blank except for my own handwriting scrawled across the bottom: Edward Cullen, Charlie's kitchen, Sept. 13th.

I stopped there. I was sure that he would have been very thorough.

It will be as if I'd never existed, he'd promised me.

I dropped the book on the floor and sat slowly on the bed. It was over. Break ups happen, sure, but this felt different. At least, I thought it felt different. I had nothing to compare it to. But I had nearly died just to be with Edward, I had nearly given up everything for him, we had promised each other forever. And now, he was gone. Just like that. So easily.

It was then that I realized how foolish I had been. The waves of heartache that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under.

I had given Edward Cullen too much, and now I had nothing left.