“Be careful,” she warned as I struggled. “I think you hit your head pretty hard.”
I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.
“Ow,” I said, surprised.
“That’s what I thought.” Nothing seemed funny to me, but it sounded like she was trying not to laugh.
“How in the …” I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. “How did you get over here so fast?”
“I was standing right next to you, Beau,” she said, her voice suddenly serious again.
I turned to sit up, and this time she helped me, but then she slid as far from me as she could in the limited space. I looked at her concerned, innocent expression, and was disoriented again by her gold-colored eyes. What was I asking her?
And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.
“Don’t move,” someone instructed.
“Get Taylor out of the van!” someone else shouted. There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edythe’s hand pushed my shoulder down.
“Just stay put for now.”
“But it’s cold,” I complained. It surprised me when she chuckled under her breath. There was an edge to the sound.
“You were over there,” I suddenly remembered, and her chuckle stopped short. “You were by your car.”
Her expression hardened abruptly. “No, I wasn’t.”
“I saw you.” Everything around us was confusion. I could hear the lower voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I stubbornly held on to the argument; I was right, and she was going to admit it.
“Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way.”
She stared at me, and something strange happened. It was like the gold of her eyes turned up, like her eyes were drugging me, hypnotizing me. It was devastating in a weird, exciting way. But her expression was anxious. I thought she was trying to communicate something crucial.
“But that’s not what happened,” I said weakly.
The gold in her eyes blazed again. “Please, Beau.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Trust me?” she pleaded.
I could hear the sirens now. “Will you explain everything to me later?”
“Fine,” she snapped, suddenly exasperated.
“Okay,” I mumbled, unable to process her mood swings with everything else I was trying to come to terms with. What was I supposed to think, when what I remembered was impossible?
It took six EMTs and two teachers—Ms. Varner and Coach Clapp—to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edythe insisted she hadn’t been touched, and I tried to do the same, but she was quick to contradict me. She told them I’d hit my head, and then made it sound worse than it was, throwing around words like concussion and hemorrhage. I wanted to die when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Edythe got to ride in the front. It was a thousand times more humiliating than I’d imagined today would be, and I hadn’t even made it to the sidewalk.
To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.
“Beau!” he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.
“I’m completely fine, Char—Dad,” I sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
He rounded on the closest EMT for a second opinion. While the EMT tried to talk him down, I tuned them out to consider the jumble of absurd images churning in my head—images that were not possible. When they’d lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car’s bumper—a very distinct dent that fit the slim shape of Edythe’s shoulders … as if she had braced herself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame… .
And then there was her family, looking on from a distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval (Eleanor) to fury (Royal), but held no hint of concern for their little sister’s safety.
I remembered the sensation of almost flying through the air … that hard mass that had pinned me to the ground … Edythe’s hand under the frame of the van, like it was holding the van off the ground …
I tried to think of a logical explanation that could make sense of what I had just seen. All I could come up with was that I was having a psychotic episode. I didn’t feel crazy, but maybe crazy people always felt sane.
Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edythe simply glided through the hospital doors on her own.
They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn’t obligated to wear the embarrassing neck brace anymore. As soon as the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.
There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Taylor Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around her head. Taylor looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But she was staring anxiously at me.
“Beau, I’m so sorry!”
“I’m fine, Taylor—you look awful, are you all right?” As we spoke, nurses began unwinding her bloody bandages, exposing dozens of shallow slices all over her forehead and left cheek.
She ignored me. “I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong… .” She winced as one nurse started dabbing at her face.
“Don’t worry about it; you missed me.”
“How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone… .”
“Umm … Edythe shoved me out of the way.”
She looked confused. “Who?”
“Edythe Cullen—she was standing next to me.” As usual, I didn’t sound believable at all.
“Edythe? I didn’t see her … wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?”
“I think so. She’s here somewhere, but they didn’t make her use a stretcher.”
I knew I wasn’t crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I’d seen.
They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, harassed by Taylor’s constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince her I was fine, she continued to beg for forgiveness. Finally, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore her.
“Is he sleeping?” a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.
Edythe was standing at the foot of my bed, her expression more a smirk than a smile. I stared at her, trying to put the pieces together in my head. She didn’t look like someone who could stop attacking vehicles with her bare hands. But then, she also didn’t look like anyone I’d ever seen before.
“Hey, um, Edythe, I’m really sorry—” Taylor began.
Edythe lifted a hand to stop her.
“No blood, no foul,” she said, flashing her bright white teeth. She moved to sit on the edge of Taylor’s bed, facing me. She smirked again.
“So, what’s the verdict?” she asked me.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, but they won’t let me go,” I said. “How come you aren’t strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?”
“It’s all about who you know,” she answered. “But don’t worry, I came to spring you.”
Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. She was young, she was blond … and she was more beautiful than any movie star I’d ever seen. Like someone sliced up Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, and Marilyn Monroe, took the best parts, and glued them together to form one
goddess. She was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under her dark eyes. From Charlie’s description, this had to be Edythe’s mom.
“So, Mr. Swan,” Dr. Cullen asked in a gentle voice, “how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I said, for the last time, I hoped.
She walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head, and turned it on.
“Your X-rays look good,” she said. “Does your head hurt? Edythe said you hit it pretty hard.”
“It’s fine,” I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick, questioning look Edythe’s way. She avoided my eyes.
The doctor’s cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. She noticed when I winced.
“Tender?” she asked.
“Not really.” I’d had worse.
I heard a low laugh, and looked over to see Edythe smiling.
“Well, your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all.”
“Can’t I go back to school?” I asked, imagining Charlie trying to play nurse.
“Maybe you should take it easy today.”
I glanced at Edythe. “Does she get to go to school?”
“Someone has to spread the good news that we survived,” Edythe said blithely.
“Actually,” Dr. Cullen corrected, “most of the school seems to be in the waiting room.”
“Ugh,” I moaned.
Dr. Cullen raised her eyebrows. “Do you want to stay?”
“No, no!” I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly—I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. She was sturdier than she looked.
“I’m fine,” I assured her again. No need to explain that my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.
“Take some Tylenol for the pain,” she suggested as she steadied me.
“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” I insisted.
“It sounds like you were extremely lucky,” Dr. Cullen said, smiling as she signed my chart with a flourish.
“Lucky Edythe just happened to be standing next to me,” I amended, shooting another glance at the subject of my statement.
“Oh, well, yes,” Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of her. Then she looked away, at Taylor, and walked to the next bed. It made me sure the doctor was in on it.
“I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay with us just a little bit longer,” she said to Taylor, and began checking her cuts.
As soon as the doctor’s back was turned, I moved to Edythe’s side.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I whispered under my breath. She took a step back from me, her jaw suddenly clenched.
“Your father is waiting for you,” she said through her teeth.
I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Taylor.
“I need to speak with you alone,” I pressed.
She glared—but it wasn’t the same as that first day, not nearly as homicidal, so I just waited. After a second, she turned her back and stalked quickly down the long room. Long as my legs are, I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, she spun around to face me.
“What do you want?” she asked, sounding annoyed. Her eyes were cold.
Her unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less certainty than I’d planned. “You owe me an explanation,” I reminded her.
“I saved your life—I don’t owe you anything.”
I flinched back from the resentment in her voice. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Beau, you hit your head, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tone was cutting.
Her anger only made me more sure that I was right, though. “There’s nothing wrong with my head.”
She turned up the heat of her glare. “What do you want from me, Beau?”
“I want to know the truth,” I said. “I want to know why I’m lying for you.”
“What do you think happened?” she snapped.
It was harder to say the words out loud, where I could hear the crazy. It shook my conviction, but I tried to keep my voice even and calm.
“I know that you weren’t standing next to me—Taylor didn’t see you, either, so it’s not concussion damage. That van was going to crush us both—but it didn’t. It looked like your hands left dents in the side of it—and your shoulders left a dent in the other car, but you’re not hurt at all. The van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up… .” It just kept sounding worse and worse. I couldn’t continue.
She was staring at me, her eyes wide and incredulous. But she couldn’t entirely hide the tension, the defensiveness.
“You think I lifted a van off you?” Her tone questioned my sanity, but there was something off. It was like a line delivered by a skilled actor—so hard to doubt, but at the same time, the frame of the movie screen reminded you nothing was actually real.
I just nodded once.
She smiled, hard and mocking. “Nobody will believe that, you know.”
“I’m not going to tell anybody.”
Surprise flitted across her face, and the smile faded. “Then why does it matter?”
“It matters to me,” I said. “I don’t like to lie—so there’d better be a good reason why I’m doing it.”
“Can’t you just thank me and get over it?”
“Thank you,” I said, and then folded my arms. Waiting.
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
“Nope.”
“In that case … I hope you enjoy disappointment.”
She scowled at me, and I stared back, thoughts scattered by how beautiful her anger was. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being totally distracted. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.
“If you were going to be like this about it,” I said, “why did you even bother?”
She paused, and for a brief moment her perfect face was unexpectedly vulnerable.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
And then she turned her back on me and walked away.
It took me a few minutes until I was able to move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.
The waiting room was unpleasant, like I’d expected. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side; I put up my hands.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I assured him, abruptly aggravated by the whole crazy situation.
“What did the doctor say?”
“Dr. Cullen saw me, and she said I was fine and I could go home.” McKayla, Jeremy, and Erica were all there, beginning to converge on us. “Let’s go,” I urged.
Charlie put one arm out toward me, like he thought I needed support. I retreated quickly toward the exit doors, waving halfheartedly at my friends. Hopefully they would forget about this by tomorrow.
Unlikely.
It was a huge relief—the first time I’d ever felt that way—to get into the cruiser.
We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Edythe’s defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I’d seen.
When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.
“Um … you’ll need to call Renée.” He hung his head, guilty.
I was appalled. “You told Mom?”
“Sorry.”
I slammed the cruiser’s door a little harder than necessary on my way out.
My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home—forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment—but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the mystery Edythe presented. And more than a little obsessed with Edythe herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn’t as eager
to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be.
I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. I stopped on my way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep.
That was the first night I dreamed about Edythe Cullen.
4. INVITATIONS
IN MY DREAM IT WAS VERY DARK, AND WHAT DIM LIGHT THERE WAS seemed to be radiating from Edythe’s skin. I couldn’t see her face, just her back as she walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t catch up to her; no matter how loud I called, she never turned. I got more and more frantic to get to her, until that anxiety woke me. It was the middle of the night, but I couldn’t sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, she was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the edges, never within reach.
The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.
I found myself the center of attention for the rest of the week, which really sucked. Taylor Crowley was super annoying, following me around, coming up with different hypothetical ways to make it up to me. I tried to convince her that what I wanted more than anything else was for her to forget about it—especially since nothing had actually happened to me—but she wouldn’t give up. She found me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. McKayla and Erica didn’t seem to like that; they flashed more side-eye at her than they did at each other, which made me worry that I’d gained another unwelcome fan. Like being into the new kid was the latest fad.
No one was worried about Edythe—no one followed her around or asked for her eyewitness account. I always included her in my version; she was the hero—she had pulled me out of the way and nearly been crushed, too, but all anyone ever said was that they hadn’t even realized she was there until the van was pulled away.
I wondered a lot about why no one else had noticed her standing so far away by her car, before she was suddenly and impossibly saving my life. There was only one solution I could think of, and I didn’t like it. It had to be because no one else was so aware of Edythe. No one watched her the way I did. It was pathetic, and kind of stalkerish.
Life and Death Page 6
