Life and Death

by Stephenie Meyer

  I stopped abruptly. She waited, then stared at me when I didn’t finish.

  “You what?” she pushed.

  “Well, I mean, it doesn’t matter, right? So I just let it go.”

  Her eyes grew wider and wider, and then suddenly they were narrowed into little slits, glaring at me. I didn’t want to point out to her again that she should probably be watching where she was going, but her speed had crept up to past ninety-five now, and she seemed totally unaware of the twisting road ahead of us.

  “Um, Edythe—”

  “It doesn’t matter?” she half-shouted at me, her voice going shrill and almost … metallic. “It doesn’t matter?”

  “No. Not to me, anyway.”

  “You don’t care if I’m a monster? If I’m not human?”

  “No.”

  Finally she stared at the road again, her eyes still long slashes of anger across her face. I could feel the car accelerating under me.

  “You’re upset. See, I shouldn’t have said anything,” I mumbled.

  She shook her head, then answered through her teeth. “No, I’d rather know what you’re thinking, even if what you’re thinking is insane.”

  “Sorry.”

  She blew out an exasperated sigh, and then it was quiet again for a few minutes. I stroked my thumb slowly up and down her hand.

  “What are you thinking about now?” she asked. Her voice was calmer.

  “Um … nothing, really.”

  “It drives me crazy, not knowing.”

  “I don’t want to … I don’t know, offend you.”

  “Spit it out, Beau.”

  “I have lots of questions. But you don’t have to answer them. I’m just curious.”

  “About what?”

  “How old you are.”

  “Seventeen.”

  I stared at her for a minute, till half her mouth twitched up into a smile.

  “How long have you been seventeen?” I asked.

  “A while,” she admitted.

  I smiled. “Okay.”

  She looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

  This was better, though. Easier, with her just being herself, not worrying about keeping me in the dark. I liked being on the inside. Her world was where I wanted to be.

  “Don’t laugh—but how do you come outside in the daytime?”

  She laughed anyway. “Myth.”

  The sound of her laughter was warm. It made me feel like I had swallowed a bunch of sunlight. My smile got bigger.

  “Burned by the sun?”

  “Myth.”

  “Sleeping in coffins?”

  “Myth.” She hesitated for a moment, and then added softly, “I can’t sleep.”

  It took me a minute to absorb that. “At all?”

  “Never,” she murmured. She turned to look at me with a wistful expression. I held her gaze, my eyes getting trapped in her golden stare. After a few seconds, I’d completely lost my train of thought.

  Suddenly she turned away, her eyes narrowing again. “You haven’t asked me the most important question yet.”

  “The most important question?” I echoed. I couldn’t think of what she meant.

  “Aren’t you curious about my diet?” she asked, her tone mocking.

  “Oh. That one.”

  “Yes. That one,” she said bleakly. “Don’t you want to know if I drink blood?”

  I winced. “Well, Jules said something about that.”

  “Did she now?”

  “She said you didn’t … hunt people. Your family wasn’t supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals.”

  “She said we weren’t dangerous?” Her voice was deeply skeptical.

  “Not exactly. Jules said you weren’t supposed to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn’t want you on their land, just in case.”

  She looked forward, but I couldn’t tell if she was watching the road or not.

  “So, was she right? About not hunting people?” I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

  “The Quileutes have a long memory,” she whispered.

  I took that as a confirmation.

  “Don’t let that make you complacent, though,” she warned me. “They’re right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We … try,” she explained. Her voice got heavier and slower. “We’re usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make … mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you.”

  “This is a mistake?” I heard the hurt in my voice, but I didn’t know if she could, too.

  “A very dangerous one,” she murmured.

  We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn’t look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road underneath us, and I was suddenly terrified that I would never have another chance to be with her like this again—openly, the walls between us gone for once. What she was saying kind of sounded like … goodbye. My hand tightened over hers. I couldn’t waste one minute I had with her.

  “Tell me more.” I didn’t really care what she said, I just wanted to listen to her voice.

  She looked at me quickly, seeming startled by the change in my tone. “What more do you want to know?”

  “Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people,” I said. It was the first question I could think of. My voice sounded thick. I double-blinked the extra moisture from my eyes.

  Her answer was very low. “I don’t want to be a monster.”

  “But animals aren’t enough?”

  She paused. “I can’t be sure, but I’d compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn’t completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time.” Her tone darkened. “Sometimes it’s more difficult than others.”

  “Is it very difficult for you now?” I asked.

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  “But you’re not hungry now,” I said—stating, not asking.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Your eyes. I have a theory about that. Seems like the color is linked to your mood—and people are generally crabbier when they’re hungry, right?”

  She laughed. “You’re more observant than I gave you credit for.”

  I listened to the sound of her laugh, committing it to memory.

  “So everything I thought I saw—that day with the van. That all happened for real. You caught the van.”

  She shrugged. “Yes.”

  “How strong are you?”

  She glanced at me from the side of her eye. “Strong enough.”

  “Like, could you lift five thousand pounds?”

  She looked a little thrown by my enthusiasm. “If I needed to. But I’m not much into feats of strength. They just make Eleanor competitive, and I’ll never be that strong.”

  “How strong?”

  “Honestly, if she wanted to, I think she could lift a mountain over her head. But I would never say that around her, because then she would have to try.” She laughed, and it was a relaxed sound. Affectionate.

  “Were you hunting this weekend, with, uh, Eleanor?” I asked when it was quiet again.

  “Yes.” She paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. “I didn’t want to leave, but it was necessary. It’s a bit easier to be around you when I’m not thirsty.”

  “Why didn’t you want to leave?”

  “It makes me … anxious … to be away from you.” Her eyes were gentle, but intense, and they made it hard to breathe in and out like normal. “I wasn’t joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I’m surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed.” She shook her head, and then seemed to remember
something. “Well, not totally unscathed.”

  “What?”

  “Your hands,” she reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. She didn’t miss anything.

  “I fell.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Her lips curved up at the corners. “I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that was the possibility that tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Eleanor’s nerves.”

  “Three days? Didn’t you just get back today?”

  “No, we got back Sunday.”

  “Then why weren’t you at school?” I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much her absence had affected me.

  “Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn’t. But I can’t go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll show you sometime,” she promised.

  I thought about it for a moment. “You could have told me.”

  She was puzzled. “But I knew you were fine.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know where you were. I—” I hesitated, dropping my eyes.

  “What?” Her silky voice was as hypnotic as her eyes.

  “It’s going to sound stupid … but, well, it kind of freaked me out. I thought you might not come back. That somehow you knew that I knew and … I was afraid you would disappear. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I had to see you again.” My cheeks started heating up.

  She was quiet. I glanced up—she looked pained, like something was hurting her.

  “Edythe, are you okay?”

  “Ah,” she groaned quietly. “This is wrong.”

  I couldn’t understand her response. “What did I say?”

  “Don’t you see, Beau? It’s one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved.” She turned her anguished eyes to the road, her words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. “I don’t want to hear that you feel that way. It’s wrong. It’s not safe. I’ll hurt you, Beau. You’ll be lucky to get out alive.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “That’s a really stupid thing to say.”

  “Maybe, but it’s true. I told you, it doesn’t matter to me what you are. It’s too late.”

  Her voice whipped out, low and sharp. “Never say that. It’s not too late. I can put things back the way they were. I will.”

  I stared straight ahead, glad again for the scarf. My neck was a mass of crimson splotches, I was sure.

  “I don’t want things back the way they were,” I mumbled. I wondered if I was supposed to move my hand. I held it still. Maybe she would forget it was there.

  “I’m sorry I’ve done this to you.” Her voice burned with real regret.

  The darkness slipped by us in silence. I realized the car was slowing, and even in the dark I recognized the landmarks. We were passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

  “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Do you want to?” she whispered.

  “More than anything else I’ve ever wanted.” It was pathetic how obviously true the words were. So much for playing hard to get.

  She closed her eyes. The car didn’t deviate so much as half an inch from the center of the lane.

  “Then I’ll be there,” she finally said. “I do have a paper to turn in.”

  She looked at me then, and her face was calmer, but her eyes were troubled.

  We were suddenly in front of Charlie’s house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything totally normal. It was like waking up from a dream—the kind you didn’t want to lose, the kind you kept your eyes closed tight for, rolled over and covered your head with a pillow for, trying to find a way back in. She shut off the engine, but I didn’t move.

  “Save me a seat at lunch?” I asked hesitantly.

  I was rewarded with a wide smile. “That’s easy enough.”

  “You promise?” I couldn’t keep the tone light enough.

  “I promise.”

  I stared into her eyes and it was like she was a magnet again, like she was pulling me toward her and I had no power to resist. I didn’t want to try. The word vampire was still there between us, but it was easier to ignore than I would have thought possible. Her face was so unbearably perfect, it hurt in a strange way to look at it. At the same time, I never wanted to look away. I wanted to know if her lips were as silky smooth as the skin of her hand—

  Suddenly her left hand was there, palm forward, an inch from my face, warning me back, and she was cringing against the car door, her eyes wide and frightened and her teeth clenched together.

  I jerked away from her.

  “Sorry!”

  She stared at me for a long moment, and I would swear she wasn’t breathing. After a long moment, she relaxed a little.

  “You have to be more careful than that, Beau,” she said finally in a dull voice.

  Cautiously—like I was made of glass or something—her left hand lifted mine off her right and then let it go. I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Maybe—” she began.

  “I can do better than that,” I interrupted quickly. “Just tell me the rules, and I’ll follow them. Whatever you want from me.”

  She sighed.

  “Seriously. Tell me to do something, and I’ll do it.”

  I regretted the words the second they were out of my mouth. What if she asked me to forget about her? There were some things that weren’t in my power to do.

  But she smiled. “All right, I’ve got one.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, wary.

  “Don’t go in the woods alone again.”

  I could feel the surprise on my face. “How did you know that?”

  She touched the tip of her nose.

  “Really? You must have an incredible sense—”

  “Are you going to agree to what I ask or not?” she interrupted.

  “Sure, that one’s easy. Can I ask why?”

  She frowned, her eyes tight again as she stared out the window past me. “I’m not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let’s leave it at that.”

  The sudden bleakness in her voice made me shiver, but I was relieved, too. She could have asked for something much harder. “Whatever you say.”

  She sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Beau.”

  I knew she wanted me to leave now. I opened the door unwillingly.

  “Tomorrow,” I emphasized. I started to climb out.

  “Beau?”

  I turned and ducked back awkwardly, and she was leaning toward me, her pale goddess face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating.

  “Sleep well,” she said. Her breath blew into my face—it was the same compelling scent that haunted her car, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, totally stunned. She leaned away.

  It took me a few seconds till my brain unscrambled and I was able to move again. I backed out of the car, having to use the frame for balance. I thought she might have laughed, but the sound was too quiet for me to be sure.

  She waited till I’d stumbled to the front door, and then her engine quietly revved. I turned to watch the silver car disappear around the corner. It was suddenly really cold.

  I reached for the key automatically and unlocked the front door.

  “Beau?” my dad called from the living room.

  “Yeah, Dad, it’s me.” I locked the door and then went to find him. He was on his favorite couch, a baseball game on the TV.

  “Movie over so early?”

  “Is it early?” It seemed like I’d been with her for days … or maybe it was just a few seconds. Not long enough.

  “It’s not even eight yet,” he told me. “Was the show any good?”

  “Er, not very memorable, actually.”

  “What is that around your neck?”

  I grabbed the scarf I’d forgotten and tried to yank it off, b
ut it was wrapped too many times around my neck, and I just choked myself.

  “Uh—I forgot a coat—and someone lent me a scarf.”

  “It looks goofy.”

  “Yeah, I figured. But it’s warm.”

  “Are you okay? You look kind of pale.”

  “Aren’t I always kind of pale?”

  “Guess so.”

  Actually, my head was starting to spin a little, and I was still cold, though I knew the room was warm.

  Wouldn’t it be just like me if I did end up going into shock? Get a grip.

  “I, uh, didn’t sleep great last night,” I said to Charlie. “Think I’m gonna hit the sack early.”

  “’Night, kid.”

  I walked up the stairs slowly, a sort of stupor starting to cloud my mind. I had no reason to be so exhausted—or so cold. I brushed my teeth and splashed some hot water on my face; it made me shiver. I didn’t bother changing, just kicked off my shoes, then climbed into the bed fully dressed—the second time in a week. I wrapped my quilt tightly around me and fought through a couple of small shudders.

  My mind swirled like I was dizzy. It was full of impressions and images, some I wished I could see more clearly, and some I didn’t want to remember at all. The road whipping by too fast, the dim yellow light at the restaurant glinting in her metallic hair, the shape of her lips when she smiled … when she frowned … Jeremy’s eyes bugging half out of his head, the headlights screaming toward me, the gun pointed at my face while cold sweat beaded on my forehead. My bed shook under me as I shivered again.

  No, there were too many things I wanted to remember, wanted to cement into my head, to waste time with the unpleasant stuff. I pulled the scarf I was still wearing up over my nose and inhaled her scent. Almost immediately, my body relaxed, the tremors stilling. I pictured her face in my head—every angle, every expression, every mood.

  There were a few things I knew for sure. For one, Edythe was an actual vampire. For another, there was a part of her that saw me as food. But in the end, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that I loved her, more than I’d ever imagined it was possible to love anything. She was everything I wanted, the only thing I would ever want.

  10. INTERROGATIONS

  IT WAS DIFFERENT IN THE MORNING.

  All the things that had seemed possible last night in the dark sounded like bad jokes when the sun was up, even inside my own head.