this town * cullen

chapter twelve

The fire was everywhere, and I wished someone would put it out. I couldn't see physical evidence of a fire, but my eyes had always deceived me. I did have the worst vision in my entire family. Death was surely better than this, and I begged for death. The cool arms that held me didn't speak, and we were flying. These selfish arms kept me restrained, and I wanted out, but they held me tight. That, or my muscles weren't working properly. Both were equally likely.

"You'll see her soon, don't worry," Edward's voice tried calming me, after I finished screaming. There was no point in it, as there was no relief in the action. I realized this after only a few minutes, and I'm sure Edward was glad for it. Couldn't they put out the fire? Where were firefighters when I needed them?

The pale light of day gave way to dimmer inside window light after awhile of running. I was almost surprised I could tell the difference. I could hear a door, but I couldn't see it against Edward's chest.

"Alec!" I could hear Renesmee's voice, which I automatically began to search for. I was held close, though, and I couldn't move. I needed to see her. Was I in Hell? Was my torture hearing her without seeing her? I wanted to scream. I seemed to have done something though by the way Edward spoke.

"Alec, you'll see her, please calm down," his voice was smooth and unnaturally calm. Did he not understand the pain I was in? I was becoming surer on the Hell theory. Still, why would they have such an angel voice in Hell?

I was being set down then, lying across the couch I couldn't feel. The world felt like fire, and the sinking of the couch under my weight didn't help my condition. Perhaps I was sinking through the earth and into the core. I looked up, and I finally saw her blurry outline. Her bronze-hair unmistakable.

"I'm so sorry, Alec," she managed through sobs. I tried moving my hand to comfort her, the muscles not moving correctly under my control. I felt like a baby, no control of the limbs I had. She took my hand, though, as I possibly was able to move it. Perhaps I wasn't in Hell, but in Heaven. Her face was Heaven in itself, but the burning was too close to Hell. Purgatory? Too many emotions to decide.

"Alice, please, can you help me get her out of these clothes?" Ness looked away from me for a moment to look at Alice, only feeling her begin to undress me quickly and put me into clean clothes. This felt unneeded against the fire I had raging though me. How could anyone be so worried about something so mundane in the middle of torture? I could only focus on Renesmee.

We sat like that for a long time, the fire burning consistently. Mumbled apologies were most of what I heard and the years seemed to pass in slow motion. It was impossible the amount of pain I was in. Maybe I was in some nightmare I was unable to wake up from, burning alive in real life.

"Maybe we should use this time to explain some new things to her, since she is far enough along to remember what we tell her. We can use our time wisely," Edward reasoned with Renesmee above me, but I could only see her face. Which seemed to be blurring more, in and out of focus. Though, as each time her face came to focus, I could see more and more. I wished it had worked like that as a human. It was only then i realized what was truly happening to me.

"I never gave you the long form of the story of my accusation of being an immortal child." She explained how many vampires came to their home, witnessing her growth as a hybrid. She grew fast in the month they had, and it was evident she was not what someone had claimed she was. It was hard to accept, and the Volturi hadn't accepted it yet. They had yet to accept her as a hybrid, and this was how they knew.

"If you're going to be a part of this family, I feel we should explain our stories to you. Renesmee hasn't gone through the pain you're going through, but the rest of us have," Edward spoke with an apologetic tone. He began to explain his own story, and how he was changed by Carlisle in 1918, when he was 17 years old and dying of the Spanish Influenza. I wished I had sickness to die from; it had to be easier than this.